#his part in new world where he’s on top of that expensive car with money falling around him is also a scene i liked yen yen bill lol | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

katyswrites · 2 years

Text

don't call me 'baby'

PART 4 | SERIES

Pairing: Steve Harrington/fem!reader

Warnings: Sugardaddy!Steve, SMUT (18+), unprotected sex, praise kink, swearing, alcohol use, age gap

Wordcount: 5.3k

A sugar daddy modern AU, a whirlwind summer romance in Italy, and two people from completely different walks of life, somehow finding each other in one of the most beautiful cities in the world. But, what will happen when summer ends?

PART 4 | bought this dress so you could take it off

His eyes widened, and you didn’t think you’d ever seen anyone move as fast as he did to give the driver new instructions. As the car peeled away and turned towards the center of the city, you took a moment to gauge what the man beside you was thinking. He was fidgeting with his hands a bit, and as if feeling your gaze, he eventually settled to fold them in his lap and stare out the window. For the first time that night, you smugly realized what a power you had. He was nervous, and anxious, and from the way he was avoiding eye contact, completely out of his comfort zone.

Steve Harrington fascinated you. Now that certainly wasn’t a novel thought. You thought about the kindness he had shown you that first night, and how he somehow managed to seem real and down-to-earth when he shed his suit. Then, you think about the deal he had offered, and how he essentially offered you anything you wanted. You also remember how he had avoided the subject when you asked why he didn’t want to be in a relationship, how sometimes he had such a confident air about him, and how in other instances, he became this shy boy who didn’t even know what to do with his hands. Which was exactly the version of himself that you were seeing right now. You had to admit, the idea of having that effect on him secretly thrilled you.

The city of Rome passed you by, late-night commuters rushing along sidewalks, tourists perusing maps and pausing to take photos on their phones. All of these little snippets of people’s lives, completely unaware that nothing they could be doing could be as thrilling as what your life had become over the last few days. Your fingers ghosted over the necklace hanging around your throat, the phantom feeling of Steve’s fingers on the back of your neck burning.

When the car rolled to a stop, your jaw nearly dropped. You already knew where you were - The Palazzo, right near the city’s historic center. Luxury apartments - you passed by them all the time, sometimes lazily dreaming of being able to stay somewhere like this one day. You knew well enough that it was one of the most expensive places to live in the city, and that doesn’t necessarily surprise you. But the old, ornate building was already beautiful, and you hadn’t even stepped inside yet.

“You - you live here?” you asked, bewildered.

“Mm hm,” he said, opening the door. “It’s only temporary though, obviously.”

“Right,” you said, taking his extended hand as he helped you out onto the sidewalk.

You followed him to the entrance, where Steve nodded to a doorman who beckoned you inside, because of course his building has a goddamn doorman.

You stayed silent as you followed him, trying to keep your mouth from hanging open as your footsteps echoed along the marble floor of the lobby, taking in the glistening chandelier and Renaissance-era paintings that adorned the walls. It was already nicer than anywhere you had stayed in your life, and you hadn’t even actually seen his apartment yet. But, when he pressed the button in the elevator, you realized it was for the top floor.

He was staying in the goddamn penthouse.

The silence that had fallen between you two should have been awkward, and in some ways, it was. But your mind was reeling as you took everything in, and it was only now that it truly occurred to you how much money Steve probably had. Suddenly, the arrangement between the two of you didn’t seem so outlandish at all.

When he opened the door to the apartment and stepped aside to let you in, you took a sharp breath. As expected, it’s gorgeous inside. It’s sleek, modern, and massive. The kitchen and dining area alone was probably the size of the entire apartment that you and Robin shared.

The floors are lined with a pale gray hardwood, the place obviously pre-furnished with its perfectly placed furniture and decor. But, as you set your bag on the marble island in the kitchen, you realize where the true luxury is: the view.

The top floor was high enough that you could see the entire city, the roofs and warm light of buildings sprawling before you. The Tiber River was just in view, and even though you had been living here for several years, it was the first time that you realized just how beautiful Rome was.

As you took it all in, no doubt gawking, Steve stayed silent next to you, flicking on the lights.

“Have you been staying here all along?” you asked quietly.

“Yes,” he said. “Since February - I only signed on for six months though, since my business here is probably only until the end of the summer.”

“Right.”

You glanced around, and realized something - the place was spotless. Not that you had expected Steve to be messy, by any means. But, there was no sign that anyone actually lived here - not a coat slung over the chair, an errant coffee mug left out, not even a stain on the sleek countertops.

“Do you like living here?” you asked.

He paused for a moment, looking nearly startled by the question.

“Oh! Uh - I mean, I guess. I’m not here a lot, to be honest. I work late a lot, and I’m only staying here for a while, so… it’s nice, don’t get me wrong. But I mostly come home, go to bed, and shower in the morning… I’m mostly at work.”

“Oh,” you replied softly.

And that was when it really hit you: Steve Harrington was lonely.

He cleared his throat.

“So - can I get you anything to drink? Water, coffee, wine -”

“Wine,” you replied quickly. Suddenly, the liquid courage of alcohol felt like a necessity. “If you have it.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure thing - red? White? Bubbly?”

You shrugged.

“Anything is fine.”

He nodded, turning and making his way to a wine rack sitting on the countertop. Unsure of what to do, you settled on one of the high stools along the island, resting your elbows on the cool countertop.

The entire situation suddenly felt surreal. Here you were, in Steve’s unbelievably gorgeous apartment. And the two of you were alone, and not in public, for the first time since you met. And, as your gaze settled on him opening a new bottle of wine, you once again thought about just how handsome Steve was. You thought maybe that would fade as you got used to seeing him, but it hadn’t yet. The thought of that, somehow, was terrifying.

By the time he handed you the glass of chianti, no doubt something stupidly expensive, and clinking his glass with your own, you were positively sweating. You felt your stomach lurching, and suddenly were twice as thankful that you didn’t end up eating a heavy dinner tonight. You met his eyes as you sipped your wine, and you noticed how he kept shifting on his feet, despite the way he feigned casualness as he leaned against the stove. It comforted you to know that, at the very least, he was a bit nervous, too.

You downed your drink perhaps a bit too quickly, taking big gulps like it was water. You already felt warm, your head just a bit fuzzy, and just as Steve was opening his mouth to say something, you straightened up in your chair.

“Where’s your bathroom?”

Your voice was just a bit shrill, getting caught in your throat from not speaking for the last few moments.

“Oh - down the hall, past the bedroom.”

“Thanks,” you muttered, stool scraping on the hardwood floor as you all but sprinted in the direction he was pointing.

Once the door was shut behind you, you pressed your palms on the sink and leaned into it, letting out a deep, shuddering breath. You stared at yourself in the mirror - your lipstick was slightly smudged from the wine, and you had foolishly left it in your bag on the counter. You smoothed and spread it around with your thumb, settling for good enough as you took another moment to collect yourself.

You stared at your reflection for a while, long enough that it felt like you had stepped outside of yourself and were instead looking at a stranger. A strange girl, wearing someone else’s dress, and a necklace that somehow didn’t seem right on her frame. You shut your eyes, and inhaled deeply. You thought about the man waiting outside. You thought about how he had looked at you when he first saw you tonight, and how he had looked like all of his Christmases had come together at once when you suggested going straight to his place. And, you thought about how it had felt to kiss him, and how all you wanted was to do that again.

When your eyes flew open again, you felt like yourself - no, not exactly. You felt like a version of yourself who was more confident, a little more brave, and who, while looking at herself in the mirror, understood why the man outside wanted to give you the world just for the chance to touch you.

It was that thought that had you pushing yourself off of the marble counter and out of the bathroom. You pushed your shoulders back and held your head a little higher as you turned the corner to the kitchen, trying your best to sway a bit as you moved. He looked up as you approached, straightening up and placing his glass down.

“Hey,” Steve said, “is everything alri-”

He didn’t get a chance to finish his question, because you started kissing him, fast and fierce.

His breath hitched and he froze for a second, but the moment your hand found its way to the back of his neck and pulled him closer, he relaxed and leaned into you. The kiss outside the bar had been slow, sweet, and perhaps a bit sloppy. The kiss in the car was pretty chaste. But this -

It was gnashing teeth and tongues, his hands coming up to cup your face as he kissed you with more ferocity, matching your energy. You sighed into his mouth, backing up until your back hit the counter.

And that was when Steve’s hands started to wander.

His hand moved from your face and down to the small of your back, wrapping around you and pulling you impossibly closer to him. His lips wandered too, moving along your jaw and to your neck, earning a gasp from you. Encouraged, he trailed his lips upwards to the soft, sensitive spot right behind your earlobe.

You let out a moan then, throwing your head back to give him better access as he sucked at your skin.

“You like that?” he murmured into your neck, nose and lips pressed to your skin as you threaded your fingers in his hair.

“Yeah,” you breathed, eyes fluttering shut as he peppered more kisses along any exposed skin he could find. “I do. But -”

You gripped his hair a little harder, pulling his head back so he could stop and look back down at you.

“- I think there’s something else I’d like more.”

His eyes widened, and it took everything in you not to smile smugly. There was something intoxicating about this, something that made you feel a little bold. Yes, he was older, held the bank account, worked as a higher-up in some company that ruled the corporate world. In his life, Steve had people at his beck and call. But here, right now, you had this power over him in a way that nobody else did. The thought alone was enough to make you giddy.

“Where’s your bedroom, again?” you asked coyly, voice soft and low.

That was what had him taking you by the hand and down the hall, past the bathroom where you gave yourself the pep talk a few moments ago, and practically slamming the door behind you.

You didn’t even have time to take in the dim room, only illuminated by the city lights through the massive glass wall to your left. No, because the moment you were in the room, he was on you again, grabbing your face and kissing you like his life depended on it.

But you only let it last a few moments pulling back abruptly. He just stared at you, a bit dumbfounded, searching your face for something.

Then, you reached out and pressed your hand to his chest, gently pushing against him until he got the message and was backing up. When the back of his legs hit the mattress, he stumbled back and onto the bed. The weight of the mattress bounced beneath him, and he was staring up at you like you were made of stars.

“Hey,” he whispered, “you don’t have to -”

But you leaned down and started kissing him again, his words dying on your lips.

“Shut up, Harrington,” you breathed, forehead pressed to his. “I need to thank you for my necklace, after all. It really is beautiful.”

You began running your hand up and down his thigh as you spoke, and he shuddered in response. Then, before he could say anything else, you were dropping to your knees in front of him.

“Are you sure -”

“Steve? I’m doing this because I want to,” you assured him, reaching up to undo his belt buckle. “And, yes, I’m sure. Because, I’ve basically been thinking about this every night since I met you. So, can you do me a favor, and shut up?”

You didn’t know where it came from, this confidence, but something within you made it easy to talk to him like this. Maybe it was the way his breath hitched as you touched him, and how drunk you felt from having that effect on him.

You fumbled with the button of his fly, trying your best to not let your fingers shake as you slid the zipper down. He gulped as you shimmied his pants down his legs to his ankles. Wasting no time, you splayed your hand across his boxers, palming the sizeable bulge there. He hissed as you touched him, and you sucked in a breath when you felt him twitch under the material, hot and hard and thick.

He shivered at your touch, and groaned when you finally dragged the band of his underwear down. His cock sprung free, and you couldn’t help but gasp at the sight of it. He was big, bigger than you had anticipated. The weight of it slapped up against his stomach, the tip hard and already leaking. But, you recovered quickly, and decided to use this to your advantage.

“Oh, no,” you whispered.

“What?” he breathed.

“Well, Harrington, I simply don’t know how this is going to fit,” you said playfully.

He groaned again, murmuring, “You’re going to kill me, woman.”

You smirked, then bit your lip.

“You know, d’you mind if I get a little more comfortable?”

His Adam's apple bobbed, and he shook his head quickly.

“Please - Christ, do whatever you want.”

You smiled, and slowly stood up, turning until your back was facing him.

“Do you mind?” you asked innocently.

You heard him rustling as he moved behind you, and getting the message, his fingers found the zipper at the back of your dress, fingers fumbling for a moment until he finally got a grasp and slid it down, ever so slowly.

You cast a glance at him over your shoulder, his eyes staring back at you, glassy and wide.

“Thanks,” you whispered, shouldering the dress off and letting it fall to the ground, stepping out of it. You slowly lowered yourself back down to your knees in front of him, feeling a surge of pride as his eyes raked up and down your form. You had planned for tonight, wearing a new bra and panty set, all thanks to -

“I bought these at your expense,” you whispered, gesturing to the little clothing you had left. “Hope you don’t mind.”

“God, no,” he breathed. “Please tell me you bought out the whole store.”

You giggled, returning your attention to his cock, hard and heavy right in front of you.

“Let me take care of you, now,” you murmured. “I wanna make you feel good - can I make you feel good?”

He nodded, spreading his legs just a little further to let you get situated between them.

He made what might be the prettiest noise you’ve ever heard as you wrapped your hand around him. He swore, his cock thick and warm in your palm. You began pumping him slowly, pride surging in your chest and he hissed and groaned, jaw clenched as you did.

You smoothed your thumb over his tip, spreading the slick there and letting it coat your fingers as you continued to pump him. He was already a mess, eyes glassy as he stared down at you, practically whining. He was like putty in your hand - it was thrilling.

“Fuck,” he moaned, bracing his elbows against the mattress. “I - Christ - I’m sorry, it’s just - it’s been so long since -”

“Since what?” you asked, feigning as much innocence as you were capable of while holding his dick in your hand.

“Since - since anyone’s touched me like this, shit.”

“Is that so?” you asked. “Well - then I’m guessing it’s been a while since someone did this too, yeah?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, you lowered down and wrapped your lips around his tip. He groaned, deep and dirty. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think you killed him.

You went to work, licking a long stripe along his shaft before returning to the head, lazily licking and sucking. He was too damn big for you to take him completely, you knew that - so instead, you took him as deep as you could, continuing to wrap your hand around the base, jerking him off slowly.

“Christ,” he whispered, a guttural groan leaving his lips. “That’s it, sweetheart - just like that, baby.”

You felt warmth spread throughout your body at the praise, encouraged to take him just a little bit deeper. You hummed in response, the vibration of it sending him into a frenzy. He threw his head back, unable to contain it anymore. You allowed yourself to glance up for a moment through your lashes, and the man looked like he was living in pure ecstasy.

After only a few minutes, you felt a hand on the back of your head, and heard him desperately whisper, “Baby - wait.”

You stopped, pulling your mouth off of him and looking up.

“Is something wrong?” you asked, feeling bold enough to bite your lip as you did.

“Jesus, no. But -” he hesitated for a moment, and you could tell he was gathering himself.

“I’m so close, it’s embarrassing. And, I really want to fuck you, if you’ll let me.”

You felt your stomach flip, and smiled.

“Yeah - do whatever you want to me, Harrington.”

“Oh - fucking hell, baby.”

He pushed himself further up the bed, and you followed, hovering over him.

“I only ask one thing,” you murmured, lips pressed to his ear.

“Yeah?”

“Get rid of all this,” you said, gesturing to his top half, still fully dressed.

You’d never seen someone moved faster, Steve reaching to hastily undo his tie. He looked ready to tear his shirt off, but you opted to not let that happen by helping him unbutton it.

As soon as he was bare beneath you, you lowered yourself over him and pressed your lips to his. You kissed him slowly, lazily. His arms wrapped around you and you felt his fingers tracing down between your shoulder blades, halting when they reached the band of your bra. He unhooked it easily, a little too easily, and you let the straps fall down and off of you. You lowered yourself further into him then, pressing your bare breasts to his chest.

“C’mon,” he whispered, “Let me see you, baby.”

You obliged, sitting up as you straddled him. He sighed at the sight of you, reaching up and immediately cupping your tits in his hands. You arched your back and pressed into his palms, throwing your head back. He ran a thumb over each nipple, and you sighed breathily as they pebbled under his touch.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful,” he murmured, almost as if he didn’t mean for you to hear him. You rolled your hips against his in response, and his breath hitched in his throat.

“Fuck.”

“How d’you want me?” you asked sweetly.

“Any way you’ll let me,” he breathed, groaning as you brushed your clothed core over his cock.

“Is that so?” you asked, feeling just a bit cheeky. “You want me to ride you? Hm?”

He just moaned in response, pupils blown wide as he stared up at you.

“Jesus, you’re a fuckin’ dream.”

Your heart fluttered at the praise, and you lifted yourself up on your knees, just enough to tug your panties off and shimmy them down your legs.

You moved to hover over him again, but he wrapped his hand around your wrist, firmly enough to stop you.

“Wait,” he said. “Can you - lean back, a little.”

He sat up as he coaxed you until you were sitting too, sitting in his lap as your legs spread a little wider to accommodate him.

“Lean back, spread ‘em a little wider for me, baby.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Why are you -”

“I just - I want to touch you. If you’ll let me, just - please?”

You could have thrown your head back and laughed, but your chest suddenly ached, at the idea that he actually wanted to do this, even though you knew what he really wanted.

“You don’t have to -”

“You should feel good too,” he said, cutting you off. “At least a little bit, yeah?”

You nodded, leaning back a bit and spreading yourself for him, your hands finding purchase on his thighs as you pressed your feet into the mattress.

“There you go, sweetheart,” he cooed. “Look at you, all spread out for me. Fuckin’ perfect.”

You felt your cheek heat, and didn’t even have time to think about responding before he reached between you, sliding one finger through your folds.

You sighed, eyes fluttering closed. He coated his fingers in your slick, and after a few moments, let one slip inside your entrance. You cried out as he did. Head falling forward into his chest.

“Jesus, look at that - you’re so fucking wet. You feel too good - did you get this wet just from sucking me off?”

You breathed the sound of an affirmation into his skin, and he chuckled.

“You dirty, dirty girl,” he murmured. “So wet, so soft -”

You moaned as he added a second finger, fluttering at the stretch. He shushed you soothingly, slowly pumping his fingers and stretching you out. Once his thumb joined the mix and found your clit, you started to lose control, bucking into his hand as you threw your head back.

“You like that?” he asked, not for the first time that night.

“Yes,” you breathed, moaning as he rubbed circles on your clit. “Just like that - ah! Fuck, that’s good - just keep touching me -”

Encouraged, he began to pump a bit faster. You moved with him, rolling in rhythm as he fucked you with his fingers. He began talking, then, babbling sweet nonsense - how beautiful you looked, how he loved the noises you were making, how much he had thought about this -

“Steve! Fuck! I - Oh, just like that - please, I -”

“Yeah?” he asked. “What do you want?”

“You,” you uttered, gasping as his fingers curled against that one sweet spot inside you. “I - fuck, I want your cock, I need it -”

“You sure?” he asked smugly. “You said yourself, you didn’t think it’d fit -”

��I will,” you said, determined. “Just for you, I will… sir.”

That word made his fingers cease, much to your chagrin. As you let your eyes flutter open, you realized he was practically short-circuiting, staring at you like you were a dream.

“Jesus Christ,” he said softly. You let out a small laugh, gently pushing on his chest until he fell back, bouncing against the mattress. You crawled up until you were right over him, staring down at Steve. His eyes were wide, chest heaving.

“Fuck,” he said. “I’ve got to grab a condom -”

“You could,” you purred. “Or - I’m on birth control. And I don’t have anything, I swear.”

He looked like you had punched him.

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah - I mean, if you want -”

“Fuck, yes -” he said, groaning as you brushed your wet slit over the tip of his cock. “You really are gonna kill me.”

You grinned.

“Let’s hope not.”

Without another word, his hands found your hips, moving with you until you were lowering yourself on his dick, slowly enveloping him inch-by-inch.

The stretch wasn’t easy - it had been a while for you, and he really was big. He hissed as you wrapped around him, head falling back against the pillow.

“Oh fuckfuckfuckfuckFUCK,” you moaned, gasping at the stretch.

“Oh my god,” he groaned. “You feel so fuckin good.”

“And you’re huge,” you admitted. “I - I really don’t know if it’s going to fit.”

You knew he would - maybe a bit of a stretch, but nothing impossible. But, what you really wanted was to get him going - no, to ruin him. And it was working. He made a desperate, primal noise, totally blissed out as you finally fully sank down on him. Once he was fully bottomed out, you stilled for a moment, adjusting to the feeling of being so full. And Steve, it seemed, was on the same page.

“Oh god - okay, you’ve got to give me a second here. I’m sorry, but I’m gonna lose it, and I don’t want this to end before it starts - I’m sorry, you feel too good -”

“It’s okay,” you whispered. “I need a minute, too - there’s a lot of you.”

A small smile formed on his lips at that. The only sound for a few moments was both of your deep, heavy breathing, chests heaving until they were almost in unison.

“Can I move?” you asked. “Please - I want you to lose it. I want to make you feel so good, to thank you for taking such good care of me -”

“Jesus, yes, do whatever you want,” he gasped.

That was enough for you. You rolled your hips over his experimentally, and he let out a deep, guttural groan. You clenched around him, just for good measure, and he made a sound that made you think he’d gone to heaven.

You began to move more, finding a rhythm as you rode him. Steve stared up at you, his usually-perfect hair mussed from where your hands had been, his brows pinched in pleasure. He began to move his hips to meet yours, thrusting up into you as his fingers dug into the soft flesh of your hips.

One thing you were starting to figure out about Steve - he was talkative in bed. A motormouth, actually. And, as it turned out, so were you, in a way you hadn’t been with other partners.

“Fuck,” he breathed, babbling as you moved. “Look at you - so fuckin’ pretty, you’re taking me so well. You said I wouldn’t fit, but you made sure I did. Isn’t that right, sweetheart? Shit, it’s like this pussy was made for me - fuck -”

“You feel so good, filling me up - ah, shit - touch me, please -”

He obliged, hand snaking down to where you met, fumbling for a moment before finding the bundle of nerves at your core. He began circling your clit with his thumb, earning sweet, soft moans from you.

“Fuck, just like that,” you whined. The necklace he had given you was still on, the pendant gently bouncing against your sternum as you rode him.

“Look at you,” he murmured. “So fuckin’ pretty, wearing the necklace I gave you - this is what I pictured, you know that? When I gave it to you - fuck, ohmygod - when I put it on you, I wanted to just tear everything else off of you -”

“Even my pretty dress you bought me?” you asked, finding the strength to still toy with him, even as his cock thrusting into you was driving you nuts.

“Especially that dress,” he groaned, eyes darkening.

You lifted yourself almost completely off of him before slamming down, and he cried out. His thrusts were growing more sloppy, both of you moving faster. You felt a familiar hook start to put in your belly, and you rolled deeper, taking as much of him as you could. He continued to touch you, one hand working on your clit as the other kneaded the flesh of your ass.

“I’m fuckin’ close,” he moaned, shifting to sit up. The new angle let him thrust deeper into you, hitting that perfect spot within. Your walls fluttered around him, and you buried your head in his shoulder.

“Let go,” you whispered into his skin, pressing a few kisses there. “I want you to - please, come inside me. I want you to come… sir.”

That was it for him. His cock twitched, and he was spilling into you. The sudden warmth and deep cry of your name was enough for you, too. You screamed as you came, pulsing around him as he gave a few last thrusts into you, filling your pussy until it was dripping onto the base of his cock.

While you were still riding out the aftershocks of your orgasm, his hand came up to find your face, pulling it from where you were buried in his neck until you were looking at him. He kissed you, slow and deep, your legs still shaking as he stayed buried inside you.

You both stayed like that for a few moments, until he started to soften inside you. You pulled off of him, hissing as you lost the feeling of his length filling you, clambering off of him and flopping onto the mattress. You stared up at the ceiling, chest heaving. He pressed a quick kiss to your shoulder and rolled off the bed, returning a few moments later with a washcloth.

You accepted it thankfully, reaching down to your cunt. But you were still a bit too sensitive, hissing as you tried to clean the situation, and decided to just leave it. That was when it set in - it was possible that you had just struck the jackpot with Steve Harrington.

Fuck.

Before you could dwell on it any further, you felt a deep grumble in your abdomen. That was when you turned to face Steve, his hair messy and cheeks flushed as he pressed into the pillows.

“Hey - Steve?”

“Mm?”

“While I’m beyond glad we skipped dinner… it might be coming back to bite me in the ass now.”

He laughed, running a hand through his hair.

“I can call something for takeout, if you want.”

He rolled out of bed and headed to the kitchen, presumably to get a menu from somewhere. As you watched him leave, feeling strangely vulnerable about the intimate act of watching him walk naked around his apartment, you fell back onto your back.

As you stared up at the ceiling, you pressed you palm to your forehead, shaking your head in disbelief.

Yeah, you thought. This arrangement is going to work out just fine.

Author's note: thank you guys for all the love on this series! I'm doing my best to not take too long between updates, but please keep in mind that I have two jobs, I'm working on other ongoing ao3 fics, and have an inbox full of requests that I've been neglecting. Plus, it's ski season, so I'm away a lot on the weekends. But, your thoughts and feedback are always appreciated - I love reading your replies, messages, and tags! And, as always, shoutout to my friend Em for fueling my fantasies for this AU.

Turn on post notifications, so you never miss a new chapter :)

#steve harrington #dcmb fic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington/reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington/reader smut #steve harrington x reader fluff #steve harrington/fem!reader #steve harrington au #sugardaddy!steve harrington #sugar daddy au #modern steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfiction

937 notes · View notes

santaasi · 6 months

Text

VIOLENCE

pairing: boxer!jj maybank x gf!reader

summary: jj maybank wants to put the whole world at her feet, but the only way he knows in this life is violence

warnings: angst, a lil bit of fluff, (kinda) violent behavior, some language, no use of y/n, jj calls reader kitten, english isn’t my first language

word count: 4.7k

a/n: this work was originally conceived as a small drabble with a maximum of 1.5k words but it became a full one-shot. i guess i can't be brief. as always, I recommend you to listen to this amazing song while reading: Eden - Suffering for Love. Have a good time <з

She hated what he was doing. She hated this little ring, which looked like a cage when even animals could not be kept. She hated being in a crowd of sweaty men drinking beer and shouting his name. She hated watching his face, which she loved to cover with kisses, get hit after hit. And she hated that she felt a vague pleasure when his fist flew into his opponent's face.

All in all, she hated violence. And JJ Maybank's lifestyle was full of this violence.

But more than that, she hated the fact that she was the cause of this violence in JJ's life. Everything he did was for her and because of her. He kissed the ground she walked on.

Therefore, he was ready to do anything just to give her a bouquet of her favorite flowers. Or to arrange the most unforgettable date for her on the beach. Or to give her that rare and outrageously expensive book for her birthday that she had dreamed of for so long. And for all of this, money was needed, which JJ did not have. But there was hatered and violence in his veins, which for the first time in his life came in handy.

At first, these illegal fights were just additional earnings for him, when he had to make ends meet, to repay debts, or when he just wanted to pamper his princess (always). But then... the high-stakes, wins, the big money, her smiling face - pulled him into a place he didn't want to get out of. And JJ Maybank knew perfectly well that if she found out about his new little part-time ‘job’, she wouldn't like it. So, he kept it a secret. Violence was his little secret.

But she was never stupid. She found all these little gestures on his part sweet and innocent. She didn't wonder where he got the money from, because he had a job. In this godforsaken car repair shop. But when Mr. Joyce, his boss, called out to her on the street, asking her to send her ‘errand boy’ to take his share after he was fired, she began to suspect something was wrong.

With his first big win in boxing, he rented them a small cozy house on the outskirts of the cut. It was a gift for their second anniversary. And she moved from her parents' huge mansion on Figure 8 to this small house to be near him, to love him and to spent her whole life with him.

They never talked about JJ's new job, she didn't ask where his money came from, or where he got new beatings every week right after the previous ones had just healed. She didn't want to get into his soul with questions, having already understood perfectly well for two years that if he wanted to, he would have told everything himself. But all this bothered her, because of which she did not sleep well, she always walked around sullen and gloomy. And at some point she just couldn't stand it.

She remembered this day as if it were yesterday. She going down the dark stairs to the basement, standing in the crowd, looking around for the top of his blond hair, and how her heart stopped for a moment when she saw him in that cage. She stood frozen with horror and fear for him, unable to say even a word. She saw how he struck blow after blow, how his eyes burned with determination and how he grinned triumphantly into the crowd, enjoying himself after winning.

He always enjoyed the taste of victory and the roar of the crowd shouting his name at such moments, because it made him feel needed, noticed and appreciated. But as soon as he saw her frightened look at him, everything inside him turned upside down. She was standing there, looking at him with her big, frightened eyes, like a little deer that had met with a gun pointed at her in the woods. And the air was knocked out of his lungs in a second just from one of her looks, which stabbed into his heart like a knife. He watched her slowly squeeze through the crowd, trying to get out, trying to escape from what she saw.

For the first time in his life, JJ Maybank didn't know what to do. He understood that she needed time to make sense of everything, but he didn't want her to make some hasty decision without him.

So, he quickly took his salary and things and left the basement, meeting with the cold wind and with her. She stood hugging herself, trying to warm her body, which was shaking either from cold or shock. JJ draped his jacket over her shoulders and lit a cigarette, waiting for her to speak first.

Everything inside him was shaking with fear that she would leave, that she would not want to be with him anymore. And this thought terrified him more than anything else in the world.

"Why didn’t you tell me?" she asked in a barely audible voice, concentrating all her attention on the flashing light at the end of the road. A tiny cloud of steam escaped from her lips.

"It didn't matter, kitten," the guy croaked, looking at her. JJ had never seen her so seriously cold before. There was a lump in his throat. "You never cared where I took the money so I..."

"It didn't matter? Doesn't it matter to you, JJ?!" her voice rose and she turned to him, looking at him in rage with tears in her eyes.

"’Cause it does metter to me! ‘S metter to me where you are, if you're okay, how y’feel.… And after everything we've been through, did you jus’ decide to hide that you're engaged in illegal fighting now?" her chest heaved and her fists clenched. She did not understand at what point she stumbled, that he no longer trusted her. What did she do wrong?

"Why don't you trust me, Jay? I thought... we..." her lips trembled and her voice cracked. All the rage seemed to have disappeared in a moment, leaving only pain and resentment. Resentment against the person she loved most, for whom she fought for so many years and went against everyone, even against her parents. And for what?

JJ stood next to her in a daze. He watched her body shudder from the cold and saw tears begin to shine in her eyes in the light of the lanterns. She looked like a little kitten who had been kicked out of a warm and cozy house onto the street, where she was surrounded only by a big world filled with fear and horror. And to tell the truth, that's how she felt. All those relationships filled with love and trust that she had tried to build brick by brick between them were now slowly crumbling before her eyes. She never asked questions. And maybe that was her mistake. Maybe that's why her JJ decided she couldn't be trusted. Maybe that's why he decided to hide part of his life from her?

But that wasn't the case for JJ. He has always trusted her and will trust her no matter what happens, because she is the one for him. She was always there for him in the most difficult moments of his life. She pulled him out of the swamp of darkness and pain that he had been immersed in all these years. She took him under her wing, took care of him and loved him. JJ always believed that she was his guardian angel. That at some point in his miserable life, God, if he really existed, sent her to save his, JJ Maybank's, worthless life and give him a reason to stay.

She was always perfect in his eyes. Innocent and pure. He couldn't let all the dirt and violence he was dealing with show on her. But even more, he couldn't bear the thought that after recognizing him as so evil and cruel, she would abandon him. That's why he's hiding it. That's why he didn't tell her anything.

"Jay, please say somethin’.… this silence is drivin’ me crazy," her voice was hoarse and helpless. She looked at him with her big tearful eyes and JJ felt his heart breaking. Did he really do this to her? "What did I do wrong?"

Maybank could have sworn he barely heard her last words. The phrase swept past him like a cold wind, leaving behind a wave of goosebumps. He wished he hadn't heard them. He wished he didn't feel that stabbing feeling in his chest that they caused. But JJ heard that soft voice, broken for a second, which, like a blow to the gut, forced the air out of his lungs.

JJ Maybank had done the most terrible thing to her. He made her doubt herself. And he hated himself for it. The guy frowned, trying a couple of times to open his mouth and say at least something ... at least something so that she would understand him.

"That's what I thought," Dana whispered softly, nodding and turning around and walking in the same direction from where she came.

The sound of her footsteps echoing down the empty street brought JJ out of shock and he immediately started running after her. He couldn't let her go. She was his world. His everything.

"Kitten, wait! Stop! I'll explain everythin’, okay?" catching her hand, he gently turned her around.

The girl's face was pale and lifeless. For the first time in all this weeks, JJ noticed blue circles under her eyes, and a lack of shine in her pupils. She didn't say anything, just stood there waiting for his explanation. The girl knew that she would never be able to leave him without listening. No matter how many times JJ Maybank messed up, she would always accept and listen to him.

"I jus’ wanted to give you better life, kitten. I- I-... ‘n that was the only way," JJ whispered, taking her hands in his. His fingers moved slowly and soothingly over her palms.

"I know you don't like... all this. I know ‘s too much. But ‘s worth it to see y’smile..." JJ looked at their joined hands and let go of one, reaching into his pocket and showing her a stack of greenbacks.

"There's a thousand bucks here. I got a thousand dollars for jus’ one fight, kitten. ‘S enough to cover all our expenses and there will still be..." Maybank looked up at his girl, smiling, but when he met her sad expression, his smile immediately faded.

Her name came out of his mouth, but she just shook her head as she came closer. Her hands gently touched his face, tracing each wound with her finger. A split eyebrow. A bruise on the cheekbone. A bleeding scar on the bridge of his nose. A split lip. She flinched a little every time her finger touched a particularly badly bleeding wound, as if all these wounds were hers.

"Do you really think that this money is more important to me than you are? Do you really think that this money is worth all your injuries to me?" Dana whispered softly, frowning slightly. Her voice was soft and soothing, but her eyes were shining.

JJ saw her bite her lower lip to keep from crying. His heart ached. JJ saw her pain. He said her name again, but she shook her head, taking a deep breath.

"You still haven't realized in all these years that I don't care about money, Jay?" She cupped his face with her hands and looked him straight in the eyes. "I left my parents, I left my life behind to be with you. I don't need money, I need you."

JJ's arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her to him. He needed to feel her next to him. To feel that she would never leave. JJ rested his chin on her hair, inhaling the scent of floral perfume.

"I know, but I don't want you to live in need, kitten. I promise it for a while.… I'll figure something out"

JJ kissed the top of her head, holding her close. And she believed all his words again, hoping that he would really end it soon. She had no desire to watch him torture himself because of her.

"I can't do this anymore, Jay," the girl confessed months after their first encounter. This time his ‘performance’ went worse than expected.

She stood behind him with her arms crossed over her chest, looking at him through the mirror. JJ slowly treated his wounds on his face, sometimes spitting blood clots into the snow-white sink. He looked terrible. His entire torso was dotted with red bruises, and there was no living place on his face. Even after the worst fights with his father a couple of years ago, he didn't look that bad.

She watched as he slowly applied the alcohol-soaked cotton wool to his bruised eyebrow, pressing it too hard, which made him cringe in pain. She suppresses the urge to reach out to him and take everything from him, treat his wounds properly and kiss every bruise on his face, as she has done since the very beginning of their relationship. First because of Luke, and then because of his... his job. But she remained standing behind him, leaning her head back against the cold tiles on the wall. It seemed to calm her down a little. But all these thoughts about JJ, about these illegal fights, about what their relationship had become because of it, did not give her peace of mind. She didn't want to support this violence anymore. She doesn't want to see him suffer.

"You know 'm doin’ this for ya. For us, kitten," JJ said wearily, putting down the cotton wool and turning to the girl. Her gaze swept over his features again, which she did not recognize because of the swelling and bruises, and the girl frowned even despite his soft smile. "'m doin’ this so that we have the money to pay for this house. And for the bills. And for the food and all other stuff that ya need"

"If I get a job too, then you won't have to fight..."

“No! I have everything under control. You're not gonna work in some diner just ‘cause I..." the guy swallowed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Just ‘cause I can't provide for the life you had before me."

She shook her head and frowned. That was the whole damn problem. The fact that before her relationship with him, she was a kook, lived in a large mansion with a cook, a maid and a gardener, had an unlimited golden card and could do anything. And JJ was a pogue. And he didn't care about it until they decided to move in together a year ago, and since then he has set himself the goal of doing everything possible so that his kook princess doesn't lift her finger a day in her life. Although she didn't mind, she was never one to be afraid of getting her hands dirty. She was willing to work in the most God-forsaken eateries twenty-four hours a day just so that JJ wouldn't enter this fighting ring anymore. Because to see him like this almost every night…

"I'll figure it out, kitten. It's okay," she felt JJ's hands wrap around her cheeks, wiping away the tears with his thumbs, which she didn't even notice how they flowed. She focused her gaze on him and shook her head, biting her lip, suppressing a sniffle.

And again she hears "I'll figure it out." Sometimes it seems to her that she has heard this phrase from him every day throughout the year. Although it probably is, because all they've been doing this year is fighting. Then make up. And after that they quarrel again. So in a circle.

Her whole life over the past year has become like trash day, from which she can not get out.

"No, Jay. Nothing's gonna be okay as long as you go there," she couldn't even bring herself to say out loud the place where her boyfriend went almost every night. She swallowed the lump in her throat and put her palms on top of his. "With each new time you come in a worse and worse state… 'm afraid... one day… 'm afraid..." her voice trembled and she had to take a couple of breaths before speaking again. "I'm afraid that one day you won't come home, Jay. And I don’t wanna know... I don’t wanna know how I will live after that"

She felt a new wave of tears roll down her cheeks, and Jay cursed softly to himself before moving away from her. Over the past two months, these conversations have become more frequent and it annoyed the guy. None of these talks ended well. And JJ Maybank hated fighting with his girlfriend because she was the only one he lived and did everything for in this world. There was no point in his life without her. But despite this, he said what he considered necessary at that moment. Pause. They needed a pause.

The girl's eyes widened and she stared at the guy in shock. He couldn't offer it. Couldn't he?

"I'll stay with John B. until... until you calm down," the guy came out of the bathroom, opening the closet, taking out a pre-packed bag of things. She followed him out, watching him pull on his hoodie.

"What the hell, Jay? Are you leavin’ me?" her voice broke into a scream, and her heart began to beat at breakneck speed. He couldn't leave her. He won't leave her.

"This is a pause. ‘S just a pause for a few days. I'm tired of fighting’ with ya," JJ breathed wearily, without even turning to her.

"If you stopped goin’ to that damn basement, all the quarrels would be over!" the girl shouted, watching him leave.

"I'll text you" was the last phrase he threw before the front door slammed shut and she fell to the floor sobbing.

She didn't understand at what point everything had changed so much. At what point did all their lovely quiet evenings turn into this? At what point did their I love you’s and happy morning cuddling turn into JJ deciding to leave her?

It all looked like a terrible nightmare and she didn't know how to deal with it anymore.

Two weeks have passed since their last fight. It was the most difficult and terrible two weeks of her life. After almost three years of a relationship, she had to relearn how to be on her own and live alone.

For the first few days, she woke up in the morning in the complete silence of their small house in a cold bed, remembering how the door slammed after he left. She walked from room to room like a zombie, trying to occupy herself with something just to avoid thinking about him, but every time she was distracted by something, her thoughts returned to JJ. When she brushed her teeth in the morning, she looked in the mirror, hoping to see him in the reflection and laugh at the mean faces that he made to make her smile. When she was cooking in the kitchen, she remembered JJ quietly whistling some silly tune from an ads, which annoyed her. Even when she was lying on the couch reading a book, she always remembered how JJ would lie down next to her, wrapping her in his strong arms and asking her to read aloud. Maybank didn't give a damn what kind of book it was or what it was about, he just liked listening to her voice and heartbeat.

In those two weeks he wrote to her only a couple of times. She couldn't find a place for herself, only occasionally asked Sarah how JJ, who lived in her and John B.'s house, was doing. From her, she learned that today was his another fight with a man who was famous for his special cruelty. And that scared the hell out of her.

That was exactly the reason why she was standing now among shouting and jostling men, as she had been a few weeks ago. Beer and drool flew in all directions while some young boys were fighting in the boxing ring, who were put on the "warm-up" before the main fight. The fight between her JJ and Broady Harington aka killing machine. And her heart leapt in her chest at the very thought of it.

She wanted to see him before the fights. To apologize. To say that they can solve everything. That her life doesn't make sense without him. And that he doesn't need to participate in this fight. But the bully guard at the service entrance wouldn't let her in. He pushed her out of the room, forcing her to wait for the end of the fight. So she stood in the crowd, fiddling with the hem of her white dress that Jay had bought her for their first anniversary. She thought it would reduce the degree of tension between them.

The girl in the red swimsuit and the referee entered the ring, announcing the start of the fight and then the world around her stopped. It was the first time she had seen him in two weeks. All the wounds on his body and face had almost healed and he looked so young but determined that she didn't even recognize him at first. There was something wrong with him... something was definitely wrong. His gaze focused on the mat under his feet, the way he put on gloves with special slowness, and how the muscles in his jaw moved and tensed. He didn't even look into the crowd, as he did before every fight, to see her and get an encouraging smile. JJ Maybank was completely focused on his goal and in some way it scared her.

When Sarah told her on the phone that JJ had been preparing for one main fight of the season for a month. She didn't believe it. He usually chose small daytime fights that earned him a good income. But over the past month, he began to disappear in the evenings, and he began to bring more money, even began to offer her to look for a real house. Not a rented one that they had now, but their personal home. And she was surprised by that, but she did not attach any importance to it. But now... now she realized that all his evening absences and visits with particularly severe beatings, and all this talk about a private home…

A loud roar knocked her out of her thoughts and she turned her gaze back to the ring. JJ lay on his back, covering his face with gloves, while his opponent delivered a series of strong punches, trying to break through the defense. The air seemed to be knocked out of her lungs and she leaned forward, clinging to the bars, breathing heavily.

"JJ!" she screamed before one of the guards forced her to move away.

The guy's whole body tensed up when he heard her voice for the first time in two weeks. And as if at the behest of some force unknown to him before, he turned the man sitting on him over, making a blow. The girl exhaled in surprise, looking at her boyfriend's bloody face. At the rage that distorted his beautiful features, and a wave of goosebumps went through her body. She missed the whole fight, wandering in her thoughts. But now she was watching JJ snatch his victory from the hands of a man who was famous for his violence. And she was even a little proud.

The referee's voice starts counting down to the end. JJ continues to strike without noticing anything around him. The man lies exhausted under him.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

JJ Maybank wins. The crowd is shouting and rejoicing. Drops of beer break and soak into the fabric of her white dress, but she doesn't care. She pushes through the crowd, heading out of the ring to meet him. Her winner and the beloved guy she missed so much.

His arms close around her waist, pulling her to him. She feels the metallic taste of blood in her mouth when he covers her lips with a forceful kiss and for the first time she does not resent it. Her heart beats in time with his as he holds her in his arms and looks into her eyes.

"The last one," he whispers into her hair, kissing the top of her head. She raises her head uncomprehendingly, frowning slightly. "It was the last fight. I... I won't participate anymore."

"Why?" she asks softly and naively, childishly, fluttering her long eyelashes.

The guy grins. She sees his eyes glisten and feels her heart begin to beat faster. Just like that first day when she bumped into him on Midsummer and he spilled the entire champagne tray on her expensive dress. Even then, she somehow realized that she had found the very love here that they write about in books and make films. And it was at that very moment that she already realized that JJ Maybank was her man.

"I don't wanna see y’worry and cry ‘cause of me. I don't wanna see you on the other side of the cage among these nasty men, ‘cause you came to support me. I don't wanna quarrel with you anymore, kitten" His voice was soft and gentle, and so soothing that she felt a rush of butterflies in her stomach again.

"So I found a regular job ‘n I'm gonna be the most ordinary person with the most ordinary life, but with the most fuckingly perfect girl in the whole damn world."

She giggles through her tears and pulls him closer to her, dragging him into another kiss. He doesn't resist. When had he ever refused to kiss her? JJ Maybank was created to kiss and please her. Therefore, at this very moment, he couldn't care about anything more than her in his arms and his lips on his lips.

"Hm! Maybank, I don't want to distract you from your entertainment, but come into my office and pick up your check. Unless, of course, you want to leave me 600 thousand dollars," the head of the bookmaker's office in which Maybank worked chuckled, which made him take his mind off his girlfriend.

He lets go of her waist, and is about to follow the boss. But before that, he turns back to her, pulls her to him, kissing her on the cheek.

"I hope you chose the house, kitten, ‘cause tomorrow we are gonna buy it. Now you definitely won't get rid of me, princess," the guy whispers in her ear, and then disappears into the crowd.

She stands there for a couple more minutes, trying to understand everything he said to her, before breaking into a loving smile and heading for the exit from this evil place, to which she hopes never to return. JJ finds her sitting on a bench outside a couple of minutes later, and they return home, where for the last time, she will heal his wounds and kiss each scar so that they don’t sting so much.

And when the next evening, or a week, or even a month later, JJ Maybank does not go to the basement for another fight, but stays with her in their own house to watch a movie, she can do nothing more, but only enjoy life. And to love a guy who now represents only gentelness, not violence.

JJ Maybank was her gentleness, and she would never let him go.

thankx for reading <3

i'm a little dissatisfied with this work, but I hope you enjoyed it anyway! you can always share your opinion in comments or my inbox :3

- your santi 🪐

#– santi 🪐#jj maybank fic #jj maybank x y/n #jj mayback imagine #jj maybank x you #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank #obx fanfiction #obx x reader #jj maybank angst #jj maybank fluff #boxer!jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x fem!reader

116 notes · View notes

the-hinky-panda · 9 months

Text

The Medic Series: Part I

Title: The Medic Series

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Johnny Coco Cruz x OFC (Morgan "Stitches" Fox)

Summary: Morgan Fox is a nurse who is looking for a fresh start. She leaves La Jolla the night before her wedding for a fresh start in Santo Padre.

Author's Note: This series takes place in the same universe as @bullet-prooflove's Community Series.

Everyone had warned her about taking the job at the Santo Padre Clinic.

Morgan Fox had graduated at the top of her nursing class. She went through her Emergency Room training in East LA at one of the busiest trauma centers in the state of California. She could treat a gunshot wound blindfolded, find and administer narcan in under five seconds, and she’s enough of a scrapper to hold her own with violent junkies.

She liked working in LA. She felt like she was actually making a difference when she sat with a prostitute who had a botched abortion and held her hand until the tears stopped. When she was the only nurse that would buy and stash electric blankets for addicts that were going through detox and wracked with chills. When a gang member was killed, she would sit with their family members and assure mothers that there was nothing more they could have done for their children.

Her father, the CFO for Wells Fargo West Coast branches, had a heart attack and her mother needed help with his recovery so she returned to La Jolla. Unfortunately, survival was not in the cards for her father and a month later he died of a brain aneurysm. Her sister was already married to a megachurch pastor so it was just Morgan and her mother alone in the seaside mansion. The work in the La Jolla hospital was less than satisfying. Women recovering from plastic surgery and malnutrition from starving themselves to fit into expensive gowns for charity events didn’t bring much satisfaction.

The only thing that kept her in La Jolla was the arrival of a new heart surgeon. He had been doing his fellowship with the cardiac surgeon that operated on her father. Shortly after her father’s passing, Dr. Jasper Wilcox was placed as the on-call heart surgeon and was spending his breaks down by the ER nurse’s station where Morgan worked. He would bring her terrible cups of coffee to hold her over until he could take her out to a five star restaurant. He came from old money and was not opposed to spending it. Morgan’s mother loved him so after six months of dating, a Christmas wedding was being planned.

Then her world fell apart. She caught Jasper with another nurse in the locker room showers. That was when the rumor mill finally reached her, that Jasper had banged just about every nurse in the hospital. When she went to her mother with the revelation, her mother told her to look the other way. And if that didn’t work, look at his bank account and investment portfolio. But Morgan started looking elsewhere: another LA, another place in need of compassion. That was how she ended up getting the job offer at Santo Padre Clinic.

It was Christmas Eve when she called the Santo Padre Clinic to let them know she was accepting the nurse position. She waited until her bachelorette party was over before packing her car with clothes and a couple boxes of belongings, and leaving under the cover of night. She left a note for her mother and Jasper, short, sweet and to the point about wanting something more than money and a sham of a marriage.

She arrives in the bordertown Christmas morning, feeling very much like the refugee family of Mary, Joseph, and Jesus: scared and alone. However, there is room at the town motel and Morgan spends her Christmas day looking for an apartment online and ignoring the texts and calls that are blowing up her phone. She drinks a bottle of expensive champagne and watching re-runs of “The Christmas Story” on the TV. By six am the next morning, she’s dressed in her scrubs and sitting on the cracked concrete steps of the clinic. At 6:30, another woman arrives in faded scrubs, graying hair, and a tired face.

“Are you Fox?”

Morgan jumps to her feet. “Yes, ma’am.”

She scoffs and unlocks the door. “You can drop the ma’am. We don’t stand on much ceremony here. I’m Fernanda. Most people call me Nan.”

Morgan follows her into the building and helps turn on lights. Nan gives her the tour of the workplace. It’s small, outdated, and falling apart. Their supplies are minimal, the equipment barely functioning. Nan watches her with a skeptical eye.

“So what do you think, Nurse Barbie?”

“I think it’s perfect.”

Nan laughs shortly. “I give you two weeks before you’re back in La Jolla.”

#coco cruz x ofc #johnny coco cruz x ofc #mayans mc fic #mayans fic

22 notes · View notes

unitedstatesofworld · 2 months

Text

DJ Khaled's Treasure Chest: Unveiling the Enormous Net Worth of DJ Khaled

DJ Khaled – a name synonymous with booming beats, viral catchphrases, and an extravagant lifestyle. He's not just a DJ; he's a producer, a social media sensation, and a businessman with a knack for turning everything he touches into gold. But have you ever wondered just how much this hip-hop icon is worth? Buckle up as we take a dazzling Net worth of DJ Khaled, exploring how he made his fortune and what he spends it on. Spoiler alert: it's as impressive as you'd expect!

The Rise of DJ Khaled

From Humble Beginnings to Hip-Hop Stardom

Khaled Mohamed Khaled, better known as DJ Khaled, was born on November 26, 1975, in New Orleans, Louisiana. His parents were Palestinian immigrants who ran a small family business. Music was always a part of Khaled's life, and he started his career in a local record store, where he met and connected with some of the biggest names in hip-hop.

From these modest beginnings, DJ Khaled's journey to stardom began. He worked his way up through the radio stations in Miami, eventually landing his own show. His charismatic personality and unique style quickly made him a favorite among listeners.

Breaking into the Big Leagues

Khaled's big break came when he started working with Terror Squad, a hip-hop group led by Fat Joe. His production work on their hits caught the attention of the music industry, and soon, he was collaborating with the likes of Lil Wayne, Jay-Z, and Beyoncé. With his infectious energy and relentless drive, Khaled established himself as a force to be reckoned with in the music world.

The Sources of DJ Khaled's Wealth

Music and Production

At the heart of DJ Khaled's fortune is his music career. As a producer, he's worked on numerous chart-topping hits, and as an artist, he's released several successful albums. Songs like "I'm the One" and "Wild Thoughts" have not only dominated the charts but have also raked in millions in sales and streams.

Record Label and Business Ventures

Khaled is the founder of We the Best Music Group, a record label that's home to a roster of talented artists. This venture has significantly contributed to his wealth, as it allows him to earn money from both his own music and the successes of the artists he signs.

But Khaled's business acumen doesn't stop at music. He's ventured into various industries, including fashion, with his luxury streetwear brand, and tech, through investments in apps and startups. Each of these ventures adds another layer to his financial empire.

Social Media and Endorsements

DJ Khaled's presence on social media is nothing short of legendary. With millions of followers across platforms like Instagram and Snapchat, he has turned his life into a brand. His posts, often featuring motivational messages and glimpses into his opulent lifestyle, have made him a favorite among fans and a valuable partner for brands.

Endorsement deals with companies like Apple, Ciroc, and Weight Watchers have padded his pockets even further. His ability to connect with audiences and promote products effectively makes him a sought-after spokesperson.

Living Large: Khaled's Lavish Lifestyle

Real Estate and Luxury Homes

When it comes to living the high life, DJ Khaled spares no expense. He owns several luxurious properties, including a $25.9 million mansion in Miami. This palatial estate boasts 10,681 square feet, nine bedrooms, and breathtaking views of the ocean. It’s not just a home; it’s a testament to his success.

Cars and Toys

Khaled's car collection is the stuff of dreams. From Rolls-Royces and Lamborghinis to customized Maybachs, his garage is filled with some of the most expensive and exotic cars on the planet. Each vehicle is a statement piece, reflecting his love for luxury and his status as one of hip-hop's elite.

Extravagant Spending

Beyond real estate and cars, DJ Khaled's spending habits are the epitome of extravagance. He’s known for his lavish parties, complete with celebrity guests, top-shelf drinks, and entertainment that would put most concerts to shame. He also invests heavily in jewelry, sporting some of the most dazzling pieces you'll ever see.

Philanthropy and Giving Back

A Heart of Gold

Despite his opulent lifestyle, DJ Khaled is also known for his generosity. He actively participates in various charitable activities, supporting causes such as education, disaster relief, and youth empowerment. His philanthropic efforts show that he hasn't forgotten his roots and is committed to giving back to the community.

Conclusion

The net worth of DJ Khaled is a testament to his incredible journey from a local DJ to a global music icon and business mogul. His ability to diversify his income streams and capitalize on his brand has allowed him to amass a fortune that many can only dream of. Whether he's producing hits, launching businesses, or sharing his life on social media, DJ Khaled continues to be a dominant force in the entertainment industry. And with his infectious positivity and relentless hustle, there's no doubt that his treasure chest will only continue to grow.

#dj khaled young #dj khaled songs #Net Worth of DJ Khaled

0 notes

leshitshow · 1 year

Text

Thursday Depression Notes:

One of my sources for depression is I hate my neighborhood. It's pretty damned removed from the rest of my town so I feel super cut off and isolated from the world most of the time. The neighbors are very suburban and antisocial so that doesn't help. I rent and my house is small, which, I'm fine with - but it floods in the rainy season and then because it floods it smells like mold. And my storage space is not really useful too. My landlord is trying to fix the issue, though. Thankfully. But the house is too fucking expensive, rent wise. My boyfriend apparently doesn't comprehend expensive rent. Like, I guess - dude. Must be nice to never look at a price and do a double take. Sure as fuck isn't how I operate.

Anyway, the reason I am in this home is because the riots from 2020 scared my partner. He didn't want to live in a downtown setting anymore. Half of me gets that but the other half of me resents him for it for multiple reasons.

Reason #1 - I told his stupid ass early in our younger years that violence is what happens in the downtown parts of a city when shit goes down. I have no fucking clue where his brain was then. Out in the pastures of privileged white dude-dom, apparently. When things are rough in a city the downtown area is most certainly going to be the roughest of them all. I mentioned this at the time because he was so bent on downtown life and I just wanted him to understand it's not all fancy condos and easy access to everything. That it's also a dynamic collection of poverty, frustrated people, and overcrowding as well. I also told him that because I had a moment I was sick of downtown life - but that was maybe a year out of my entire lifetime. Still, that was the year he could've moved us to a suburb and I'd be like... "this is fine." That time was short and gone so I resent his fear of living in a very urban area because the time I wanted to try something new, he didn't. And he fully ignored the realities of downtown life when I explained it to him.

Reason #2 - Suburbs FUCKING SUCK. I can see why the USA is in the state it is socially. The culture of the suburbs truly is built on "fuck you, I got mine." Suburbs = boomervilles. I'm pretty sure I could be bleeding and dying on the sidewalk in front of my home and my neighbors would step over me to walk their dogs. I know people seem to think that's how urban cores are but that's just not true. In urban cores people are stacked on top of each other. We have to learn to get along with each other and because of that we learn that it's beneficial to validate your neighbor's existence. You can't walk down the sidewalk of my old downtown neighborhood without someone at least looking you in the eyes and smiling at you. Getting someone to do that in my current suburban neighborhood... I have no idea how that could ever take place. No one smiles at you let alone bothers to look at you.

Reason #3 - It's isolated far from everyone and he's never fucking there. I am more alone in the suburbs than I have ever been in my whole life.

Reason #4 - In retrospect it seems he always has to get his way and I've been living in that lie for a while, now. It was fine beforehand because it benefitted me. Now it doesn't and I'm being a lot more critical of the viewpoint, overall, because he honestly does seem to get the final word ... and in a longer look at this fact it really has barely been of any use to me. Outside of just being with someone I love.

Reason #5 - I built my life around living in an urban core. I decided to go back to school for a second career since he killed my first career. (Whole other depression note.) So I have no fucking money for a car. I depended on public transit and my bicycle and being close to work and relatively close to school to live my life. Moving to the burbs really fucked all of that up for me.

So the real point of my writing these depression notes out today is because my very good friend is offering me a place to stay in a better part of town for WAY CHEAPER rent and I reallllly want to go. I haven't mentioned this shit to anyone - yet. But if I take the offer then I would be leaving a shitty suburb in a trashy little house that is on a pretty piece of property and in some mini hills. I'd live in one of my favorite city neighborhoods in a six bedroom home that doesn't flood with two amazing kitchens but the property isn't as pretty or hilly. Ask me if I care about hills. I hate coyote, anyway.

The issue is I have been in my relationship for two decades. It's still working out, for the most part. He does listen to me. Probably now more than ever because after stealing my way of life, putting us in a neighborhood I hate, and pretty much just fucking abandoning me for a job I gave my life up so he could have - I finally told him I am leaving him for basically being unsupportive and he agreed he fucked up. So I guess I am giving him another chance... but I'm like not sure if it's really worth it. I want it to be worth it but I'm just ugh...

1 note · View note

cheesus-doodles · 3 years

Note

Wait guys, sugar daddy bff baji!(sugar best friend?) he will spoil his bff with whatever she wants!(in exchange for his kisses and cuddles abs to always wear that suspiciously looks like a wedding diamond ring on her finger, that he told her was a promise ring to be bffs forever). He a big CEO or boten executive with a black card and a Bugatti car.

BAHAHAHAHHAHA sugar bestfriend I love it anon!

Link to relevant ask!

Masterlist

‎

As if regular yandere bestfriend Baji doesn’t already spoil the shit out of you whenever he can with pockets as deep as his, but sugar bestfriend Baji? Buckle up for one hell of a ride if you’re not one for living above your own means.

Say this Yan BFF Baji moonlights as a Bonten executive while running his little pet shop alongside Kazutora and Chifuyu - he’ll be the one most likely to snap under the pressure of watching you wear yourself out slaving away for a company that would never care about you, all the while nobly refusing the money he offers you, saying that you were doing fine. And after enough pushing and begging and threatening Baji, both the Bonten executives and his two friends having had enough of his moping and whining that you were going to work yourself to death, Baji finally gives in and takes Ran’s suggestion that he tell a little white lie to you and say that he landed an “advisory position” at a big wig firm, and that you two would never have to worry about money again. Takes you out to a fancy dinner to celebrate, this baby boy is super excited to show you the life that he could give you.

All the income statements he showed you on your request were of course falsified documents done up by the best at Bonten, completely traceable to one of their front companies if you ever bothered to do a little looking, but you being you, you were just happy for your bestfriend. Happy that he was moving up in life, and you were determined to do the same.

Uh oh. That wasn’t what Baji wanted to hear.

Back to the drawing board of him pacing up and down the board room, ranting and raving about you again while the others just groan in their chair. Koko straight up authorising the purchase of your company and the subsequent firing of you just so Baji would shut the fuck up about you, with Mikey’s blessing. Your bestfriend finally manages to convince you to take a break from the cruel working world while you bawl into his shoulder, telling you that he was taking on that advisory position full-time, and that he earned enough for the two of you. Offers to let you work at the pet shop with Kazutora and Chifuyu if you wanted to once you had a good break, somewhere you could work at your own pace without having the threat of being fired for “no reason” hanging over you, which you said you would consider.

Now the spoiling could really begin. First thing he does is to move the two of you from the desolate neighbourhood that he had been enduring for you to a upscale apartment - a penthouse at the top of one of the skyscrapers owned by Bonten. You were pretty horrified when you first arrived at your new home, anxiously wringing your hands and asking Baji if this was all too expensive, and whether he could really afford this. Reminding him that you didn’t need any kind of luxury, and that you were more than happy to just be staying with him no matter where you were. You were so scared of touching any of the things - even to the point that you didn’t dare sit of the spotless leather sofa in fear of damaging it, until at least Baji manages to convince you that the place was owned by him, not rented. Still, you were always tiptoeing around for a good part of the next two months.

At least Baji still got all the cuddles and forehead kisses he wanted when he trudges home from a long day of crime work, you awaiting him at home with a hot home cooked meal that no chef could beat. Does spend most of his time "working from home" though, so this baby boy could bathe in your affection more. Cuddles in between meetings? Lying in your lap while looking through his emails? It was like heaven.

Baji knew you well enough to know that you didn’t like wasting money, that you didn’t want or need any of the fancy things. He had tried to take you shopping on high street, but you had taken one look at the price tags and forced him to leave, so that wasn’t working. Rindo suggestion of taking you to meet them as an excuse for getting a few nice pieces did the trick, and you seemed intrigued at the idea of meeting the colleagues that Baji spent so much time with, so you reluctantly agreed to the dress, shoes and bag that had enough zeroes to make your eyes water (those three piece did after all cost more than your old rent for a year) - your bestfriend was instead busy thanking his lucky stars he hadn’t showed you that Bugatti he bought for your birthday yet.

That same car was the car that he picked you up in on the night of the dinner, whisking you away to meet the rest of the Bonten executive. To you, they were all distinguished gentlemen who were more than lovely to you the whole night, amusing you with stories about Baji messing up at work, much to his horror. Mikey finally taking pity on his old friend and telling them to behave, before assuring you that Baji really was worth the kind of money he was being paid, and that you should just relax.

Kakucho would help to float the idea of a “bestfriend ring” during the course of the dinner as planned earlier, saying that he had heard about the idea in *insert exotic country you had never been to*, and that it would definitely help Baji feel better and work better since he would basically have his bestfriend with him all day. You were incredulous, but finally believed the other man when Koko backed him up, Baji excitedly promising that you two could go pick one out later. Ended up looking suspiciously like a wedding ring in your opinion, with the large diamond set in a platinum band surrounded by smaller polished pieces, but Sanzu had already earlier threatened the store into helping out, so all you heard was the store assistant assuring you that it was indeed just a promise ring for bestfriends.

Baji constantly looking out and whining for you to wear your ring, and you do it because those watery puppy eyes still work on you after all these years. Tells you that he instantly feels better when you do, only for you to roll your eyes and lightly smack him.

You never asked for anything or bought anything despite having a personal copy of Baji’s black card, more than happy to just be able to spend time with your bestfriend. But that doesn't stop him from ordering and having countless number of luxury pieces from high end fashion brand from across the world delivered. Assures you that they were non-returnable or refunable when you insisted that you didn't need them, and that Baji should return them, only for you to finally reluctantly agree to keep. Baji of course thinks that you look stunning in the clothes, pleads with you to wear them for him when he brings you out for dinner - you know this baby boy just wants to show you off to anyone who bothers to look. You don't however notice the hidden Bonten security trailing the two of you everywhere, clearing out places before Baji even steps a foot into a shop.

Baji never asks for anything in return for the insane amount of cash he showers on you, with just your constant presence in his life and the affection and attention you shower on him enough for him. You were safe and with him. There was nothing more he wanted.

When you started bringing up going back to work at the petshop or looking around for a job yourself, looking a bit down when you mentioned that you were hoping to one day go back into the workforce and earn your keep, Baji can’t quite decide if he’s upset that you want to work when he could give you the world, or that he’s upset at himself for hurting you by not letting you do as you please.

But with you having been seen around him, it was way too dangerous for you to be wandering around the streets or work somewhere where he couldn't have close supervision over you. Goodness only knows how far your besfriend would go to keep you safe from the world - so if you rather not be the unwitting cause of dead bodies turning up in the harbour, you should decide to stay put at the little pet shop at the corner of the street.

413 notes · View notes

mostlycompetentwriter · 3 years

Text

SSICK

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Changbin

Genre: Mafia AU; Prequel

Word Count: 8K

Warnings: Explicit Smut; References to Cheating; Alcohol Consumption; Mentions of Guns, Blood, and Violence

Summary: Your marriage to a Mafia boss was an arranged affair, but that doesn’t mean you can’t still find love.

Read the original story here!

The silence between you both was heavy - something suffocating and painful.

It pervaded the interior of the car like an invisible fog, and you brought your lower lip between your teeth - a nervous habit - as you stole another look at your new husband.

From the cursory glances you had afforded him, Bang Chan was exceptionally handsome. You had always been attracted to dark-haired men, and there was an alluring haze filtering the green in Chan’s hazel-colored eyes. In the days leading up to your arranged marriage, you had tried to convince yourself that everything would be fine - at least Chan seemed nice during your initial conversations (as far as being a Mafia boss goes).

Unfortunately, the deal sanctified between your parents and Chan had been one born of necessity - Chan needed a pretty wife to hang from his arm when he was invited to the events held by his business front, and your parents needed the protection he could afford them.

But being a pawn had never sat with you well, and you were disappointed that your life had been dictated without your input. Like you were a business transaction that lacked feelings and emotions. Something to negotiate in the big offices at the top floor of Chan’s downtown headquarters.

You bit down harder on your lip at the thought, enough to threaten the prospect of drawing blood, but then there were cold-tipped fingers parting your mouth, and you froze when you realized that they belonged to Chan. “Don’t do that,” he said with a stern gaze.

“Sorry,” you whispered, turning to look out the tinted windows of the car even though you could still feel his eyes on you.

“We’ll be there soon,” he promised as if it was the prospect of anticipating the compound where he lived that was driving you mad with nervous anxiety.

“Thanks.”

You didn’t know what else to say, but there wasn’t much you could think of since you had no idea what Chan was like. You didn’t know his interests or his favorite occupations, and you couldn’t even tell a soul what he looked like under those expensive suits that hugged tight to his form.

You stole another glance at him when his cell phone started ringing, and Chan took the call with a grunt, listening to whatever he was being told.

Perhaps it was the judge from the courthouse? Maybe your marriage hadn’t been made official!

But such mistakes would never escape one of the world’s most notorious Mafia leaders, and Chan hung up with a scowl - something that seemed to be a permanent fixture on his face. Or maybe he was just as inconvenienced as you were about the whole marriage.

Maybe he didn’t even think you were pretty.

You shivered at the idea, hating that you could be so preoccupied with such trivialities as appearances. But then again, it was what you were brought on to do for him - look nice and make him appear complete as he galvanized the city with lavish parties. To portray yourself as put-together and more than worthy of being at his side.

Even if you came from nothing - thinking of your past in which you grew up with a father who constantly gambled his money away and a mother who never really wanted to have children. In fact, you were certain that your mother had never even loved you - until an opportunity arose for you to save her own ass. Bringing you to this fucked-up situation, loathing the mere notion that your parents had been forgiven off all their debt and could act as important clients under Chan’s direction.

No one ever messed with someone under his supervision, and they would be safe just as long as their names were mentioned right along with his own.

Just the thought of it had you digging your nails in the soft leather of the car, and you didn’t even realize that the driver had pulled into the driveway of a lavish estate that seemed to disappear further and further from the main road.

“Are you coming inside?”

You blinked twice to bring yourself back to the moment, dating your head between Chan and the outside where you had been so lost in your thoughts that you failed to notice that the car had stopped outside of a multi-story brick building - the pinnacle of lavish estate living. “Yes,” you agreed, opening your own door and scooting across the seat to plant your feet on concrete, surveying the location around you.

It seemed like the compound was secluded, hidden away in a densely-packed forest, and the house itself reminded you of those you recalled seeing pictured on the front covers of the House and Home magazines that your mother kept neatly stacked on her nightstand when you were younger.

“Come on,” Chan said, ushering you forward onto the porch, shoulder brushing against one of the columns supporting the overhead awning where the roof extended outward. He inputted a code into the little sensor next to the door - too fast for your own eyes to understand - and then pushed his way inside.

You followed behind him - obediently as always - and kept your hands tucked in your pockets. The first room you stopped in was the foyer, and it was already far bigger than your entire childhood home. There was enough visual stimuli to keep you standing in the foyer for hours, detailing each little art piece hanging from the wall or one of the sculptures standing against the walls painted with a fresh coat of white.

The chandelier above you hung down from the domed ceiling, sloped in an elegant oval. It was more than obvious that Chan had plenty of money, and your breath caught in your throat when you realized that a line of men were walking down the spiraled staircase, fancy shoes clicking against the pristine marble floors with each step.

“Everyone,” Chan said, putting on a smile and dragging you closer with a hand low on your waist.

You tried not to flinch at the contact. It was a good opportunity to practice your facade.

“This is my wife, Y/N.”

“Hello,” you said, hating that your voice sounded small. It was hard to speak up when you were surrounded by such good-looking men, and the guns strapped to their waists were more than intimidating.

“Hyunjin and Jeongin,” Chan started, gesturing to the tallest pair. Both were equipped with dark hair and eyes - bangs hanging low over their foreheads. “They help with surveillance and data software.”

“Nice to meet you,” you whispered, drawing your eyes away from theirs.

“Minho is in charge of combat, Jisung helps a a lot with our undercover work, and Seungmin-”

He broke off with a sigh when the sudden sound of a distant door slamming reverberated throughout the foyer, and a gasping man ran into the room to move into line as if he had always been there.

But Chan simply rolled his eyes and moved on, bringing you down the line until you stopped in front of a man with bright blond hair and cold blue eyes. “My brother, Felix,” he said, and a hint of smile broke the cold reverie of his previous frown.

You could see why they were brothers - they looked so much alike that it was almost uncanny. In fact, even if you hadn’t been properly introduced, it wouldn’t be so far-fetched for you to assume their relationship regardless.

“And this is Changbin,” Chan said, nodding to the glowering man who had sprinted into the room after your arrival.

Despite standing shorter than the rest, there was a commanding presence about Changbin that made it impossible to look anywhere else. He was ridiculously attractive, and his black hair was pushed back from his forehead with some kind of gel - keeping it styled to perfection. His dark eyes were calculating - like he could see beyond the exterior to something far more intimate.

Something dark and foreboding.

You paused to look at him closer, eyes sweeping up and down. “There’s something under your eye,” you said, pointing to the spot.

“It’s nothing,” he grumbled.

“Blood,” you countered, and you could hear Chan’s sharp inhale.

Changbin seemed furious that you had pointed it out, reaching it into a pocket for a napkin to roughly wipe it across his skin. But there was no mistaking the tremor in Chan’s shoulders, and he gritted out that Changbin should see in his office later, leaving the man in question to glare at your back as Chan excused you both for the remainder of the evening.

Later that night, long after Chan left you to attend to whatever business called for his attention, you found yourself bored in your room, and you were wandering the compound when you heard the whispered hushes of voices coming from one of the offices down the hall.

Deep down inside, you knew better than to eavesdrop on any of your new housemates, but then you heard the distinct tenor of Chan’s voice, and he had been missing from your shared room for hours.

What if something bad was happening?

Even if you weren’t supposed to know about it, you still shivered at the thought, taking a step closer to the door to listen to the conversation, spotting Chan standing next to Changbin from a thin slit in the door where light spilled into the corridor.

From their stilted posture, arms crossed over their chests, you figured that they were having some kind of an argument. And a sixth sense compelled you to lean forward in expectation:

“You never listen to me,” Chan said, and you were surprised to hear frustration in his tone.

“What are you going on about?” Changbin groaned, eyes rolling across his boss. “I was there, wasn’t I?”

“You showed up late!”

“Yeah? I had something important to do! Something you assigned me to take care of!”

“And I told you to do that later!” Chan hissed. “This was her first introduction to our clan! I wanted you to be there with the others.”

“Why? Are you trying to impress your whore?”

You stiffened when you realized that they were talking about you - as if you deserved such treatment. Their heated exchanges wasn’t the sort of conversation you were used to hearing whenever it involved your name. In fact, no one had ever spoken of you with such vile connotations before, and you found yourself seething on the inside.

“She’s my wife,” Chan insisted, and you were a little touched by the determination behind his words. “You will respect her.”

“I don’t respect anyone,” Changbin growled. “Lest of all your pretty decorations.”

“She’s more than that!” Chan argued. “You know why she’s here.”

You couldn’t fathom the idea of Chan defending you over his own members. After all, you only knew him by the whispered rumors of his reputation. Plus, everything else your parents had told you that painted him to be an enigmatic mystery.

Yet, here you stood, on the other side of the door, listening to him passionately call you his own. Not in the sense of some object that he had bought, but as something that he needed. More so than you initially believed.

“Whatever,” Changbin grumbled as if he was done with the argument. “ Are you done scolding me? I want to finish what you had me start.”

“Go then,” Chan growled. “But I better see you on your best behavior from now on.”

You swallowed hard at the thinly-veiled threat, realizing that Changbin was coming for the door.

He would see you standing there, uninvited, if you didn’t act soon.

Relying on instinct, you darted into the room next to Chan’s office, waiting until Changbin passed with a muffled curse and his heavy footsteps sounded distant on the faded carpet.

It was early the next morning when you were woken up by the sun soaking through the curtains, glancing over to discover that Chan was not in bed with you.

You were glad, at the very least. It had been awkward to climb into bed with a man who was nothing more than your husband on paper. But at least he made no attempts to touch you - despite what you had expected.

In a strange turn of events, you were grateful for his manners, and as you looked up at the ceiling, feeling the last remnants of sleep leaving your eyelids, you thought that maybe this arrangement didn’t have to be so bad. Perhaps you could make the most of it?

But then your stomach started to growl, reminding you that there were still needs to take care of and you couldn’t be expected to just stay in your bedroom all the time.

You muffled a sigh, waiting only a second longer before getting up to dress yourself from the clothes still packed away in the suitcases that the house workers had brought up, changing fast and giving your appearance a brief once over in the long mirror next to the door. Then, you made your way downstairs, toes curling against the cold linoleum, trying to remember the mental map that you had drawn the previous night inside your head.

For the most part, it was quiet and peaceful downstairs, and you were half-expecting to have the kitchen to yourself. But fate wasn’t on your side, and you groaned when you spotted Changbin moving around the kitchen, grabbing things from drawers and muttering under his breath - no doubt obscenities about you.

As you stood contemplating your next move, you considered retreating up the stairs back to your shared bedroom with Chan. But then you realized that you couldn’t possibly show this man fear or hesitation, even if his words from the previous evening filled you with an indescribable rage with a touch of humiliation coating the outside.

Instead, you closed your eyes and took a deep breath, re-opening them to announce your presence, waltzing into the room and averting your gaze from where Changbin had immediately locked onto you - like you were his next target.

“Take a picture,” you muttered. “It lasts longer.”

Changbin snorted at your comment, but then he went back to whatever he had been doing before, leaving you with the painstaking task of finding all the necessary equipment and ingredients to manage your first cup of coffee.

In your defense, it wasn’t your fault that you were unfamiliar with the layout, and you could feel Changbin’s silent judgment in the occasional looks tossed in your direction.

“Do you mind?” you groused, plugging in the coffee machine as Changbin sauntered closer.

“Did Chan give you permission to do this?” Changbin returned with a mocking tone which you chose to seethe over in silence.

There were several sharp retorts waiting on your tongue, but you pushed them aside and watched the coffee machine sputter to life, adding the water and grinds before crossing your arms. “I don’t need his permission.”

Changbin lifted a brow, tilting his head to the side as he considered you. “You’ll never make it with us,” he said. “This business will destroy you.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“I’m just giving you a fair warning,” Changbin returned, and there was a ghost of a cocky smile that filled you with rage.

“You don’t like me,” you said bluntly, ignoring Changbin’s stare as you continued pouring yourself coffee. “That’s fine.” You lifted the cup to your lips, drinking it down despite the way it scalded your throat. “I don’t like you either.”

You took another sip of your drink, aware of the pervasive silence filling the living room faster than the liquid dripping from the coffee machine. It was a breath-taking kind of silence that rendered you speechless and frozen in place, not even reacting when Changbin moved closer, brushing his arm against your own. “I never said I didn’t like you,” he grumbled, and his voice slipped right through your facade, touching the melting walls surrounding your heart.

Over the course of the next several weeks, you fell into somewhat of a routine: waking up each morning to exchange hostile insults with Changbin in the kitchen, wandering the halls to explore the giant house you were stuck in, and then falling asleep early in your bedroom - sometimes with Chan crawling in on the other side.

It wasn’t anything remarkable, and there was a part of you that could admit to being bored with the arrangement - until Chan announced one night that you were to accompany him and Changbin to a party downtown, and you tried to hide the rising tide of excitement that bubbled underneath your skin.

You went all out on looking your best - dressing in a tight black dress that fell to your knees, complete with long stockings and high-heeled shoes that brought your height above Chan’s. Standing next to him with a smile plastered on your face, your felt more like yourself, greeting everyone who came up to talk to you both while Changbin lumbered at the back with a sigh.

The party was all a ruse - you understood that from being involved in this business for your entire life. But this was the part where you pretended otherwise, and Chan had married you just for this purpose, so you were going to do the best you could.

The party itself was a celebration from a rival group that Chan was trying to maintain good relations with to avoid confrontation. You understood the value of keeping the peace, and you could feel the palpable importance when you first walked into the house and met the host who gave Chan a look that spoke a thousand words - tread carefully on my doman.

At one point late in the evening, Chan found himself engaged in a hushed conversation with a man whose balding head and sharp black eyes made you feel uncomfortable. Even with your well put-together ruse, Chan must’ve noticed your discomfort. “Wait here,” he whispered to you before leading the man off into another room.

You watched Chan leave to talk to that strange businessman behind closed doors, leaving you alone with Changbin, who took advantage of invading your personal space.

“Well,” Changbin immediately started, and you were surprised that he was initiating a conversation. “I guess it’s just us.”

“Yeah,” you said, squinting at him in confusion as you reached out for a glass of champagne from a passing waiter.

Changbin watched you with a smile. “Don’t get too drunk.”

“It’s none of your concern,” you muttered over the rim of the glass.

“Everything that involves Chan is my concern,” Changbin returned, and he stood in front of you with his sculpted arms bulging against the sleeves of his coat - barely concealing the gun strapped to his waist.

“Is that right?”

“You haven’t fucked him yet,” Changbin remarked in lieu of an answer to your question, and you tried to control your expression, refusing to let him see how his words affected you. “Why?”

“I don’t want to fuck him,” you replied, lifting the glass of champagne to your lips once again for a dainty sip.

“He’s disappointed,” Changbin continued, and you were unnerved by his insistence on continuing such a personal conversation. “He really wants to fuck you.”

“So?” You lifted a shoulder in response, feigning indifference, even if the truth was even more complicated; quite simply, you were surprised to learn that Chan wanted you like that. He had given no indication that he was interested in anything other than a superficial connection.

“Would you fuck me?” Changbin asked instead, and you forced down the champagne that sat at the back of your throat.

“No,” you replied, refusing to meet his gaze.

“Why?”

“Because I’m married.”

“I don’t think you care about that very much,” Changbin whispered, and you shivered in spite of yourself as his words brushed against your ear. “What if you weren’t married?”

“I still wouldn’t fuck you.”

Changbin clicked his tongue, and there was a smirk on his face. “You’re lying,” he said.

“I’m being honest with you.”

Changbin chuckled, and you fisted the edges of your expensive dress, trying to keep yourself from giving him the reaction he so desperately wanted. “Look at me,” he said, directing your chin and turning your head so that your eyes could meet his own. “Look at me and tell me that you wouldn’t beg for my cock.”

“I wouldn’t,” you practically spat, and this seemed to anger Changbin - the first sign of authentic emotion that you had seen from him ever since you arrived that night to remark on the blood painting his skin.

“We’ll see about that,” he challenged, and the sudden firestorm of passion sparking behind his eyes was enough to send you scampering after Chan, even at the risk of seeing the hostile businessman again.

The next night, you were getting ready to return to your bedroom when you heard something that sounded like a scream.

It shocked you to a standstill, furrowing your brows as you wondered if you had just been hearing something. But then it started again - even louder this time - and it was so bone-chilling that you felt it all the way down to your toes.

Instinctively, you knew better than to follow those noises, but maybe you had grown more daring during your time next to Chan. Instead of doing the reasonable thing and walking upstairs, you started in the direction of the basement which you had discovered in passing during your frequent walks, but had never bothered visiting.

But you were suddenly standing there at the source of those screams - standing outside the door, fingers poised over the silver knob.

Your stomach was churning at the mere thought of going where you were meant to be, and there was an uncomfortable sweat coating the back of your neck.

For a long while, you just stood there, contemplating what you should do next, but then another scream erupted from the other side - the loudest and closest of the evening - and you were pushing open the door with your breath caught in your chest.

You started following the sounds of those painful screams, walking down the stairs leading into the basement that had always seemed to scream danger. With your heartbeat just as loud in your ears, you felt completely numb taking one step at a time, eyes adjusting to the dim light guiding your path.

Once you were at the bottom of the stairs, your gaze was drawn to several glowing lanterns, the only light source in the heavy darkness. And standing in the middle of the floor, looming over someone disguised in a white sheet and tied to a plastic chair, was Changbin.

It was probably your stuttered breath that caught his attention. Finding yourself ensnared with his overwhelming presence.

Your eyes met from across the room, and you didn’t so much as even breathe as you looked at the blood staining his apron. It was all over him, even spotting his skin in some places, and the knife poised at his side was glistening with a sharp sheen of scarlet.

“What are you doing down here?” Changbin growled, and both you and the poor soul wrapped in that thin, white sheet - discolored from all the red - flinched at his tone.

“I-I heard something...” you stuttered, gasping when Changbin marched over to you, reaching out to take a hold on your arm.

“Really?” he scoffed, eyes wide with hostility. “You hear screaming and think it’s okay to investigate for yourself?”

“Changbin, I-I’m sorry-”

“That’s not good enough!”

“What do you want from me?”

The question was met with silence at first, and you cowered under his oppressive stare. “You should be very afraid of me, Y/N,” he said, and you pulled your arm free from his impossible grip, not even bothering to save face as you sprinted back up the stairs.

Over the next several months, you had gotten used to the fact that Chan was often gone most nights to attend to whatever illegal business that he was engaged in at the time.

But it still didn’t help the fact that you had needs, and you kept a small box hidden away in the closet that was full of toys to satisfy you since you couldn’t rely on anyone in the house for that sort of thing.

Especially Chan.

Not that you would ever entertain the idea. The fact still stood that Chan had brought you here as a business deal, and your marriage was nothing more than a job that you were contracted to perform.

And as long as he insisted on leaving you alone, you had to find alternative means to satisfy yourself. Which is how you found yourself laying atop your shared bed, clothes strewn across the floor, panting for breath as you turned on the vibrator once again and brought the toy between your legs, pushing it in and out to mimic the motion of the cock you really craved thrusting desperately into you.

“Fuck,” you cursed, trying to keep your sounds to a minimum.

There were still other people in the house, and you had learned the hard way that Changbin’s room was right next to your own.

But the thought of Changbin did something strange to your heat-addled brain, and you were alarmed when you started to see images of Changbin behind your closed eyes - dressed in nothing, revealing all the lines of his hard, muscled body.

Even if you couldn’t confirm your suspicions, you had seen the way he filled out a pair of trousers, and you knew that his cock was thick - big enough to leave you gaping and desperate to have him fill you over and over again....

You let out a loud moan - one that you knew the others had heard - unable to control yourself any longer, coming unglued all at once because of the mental stimulation.

Holy shit!

Did you just orgasm because of Changbin!?!

If you were in any other situation, you would be screaming and making a fuss over the unexpected turn of events. He had been nothing but rude to you since you first arrived, and things had grown tense ever since your confrontation in the basement. But all you could do was lie there and consider the repercussions of this unexpected turnaround.

And you weren’t given enough time to really think about it because you could hear Chan’s car pull in the driveway and you panicked.

Stretching your legs over the side of the bed to toss the toy into the box you often kept locked away, kicking it as hard as you could to send it flying under the bed, and leaping all across the room to put your night clothes back on.

It took less than a minute to erase the evidence of your activities, and you gave the bed another once over to ensure that you had left nothing out for him to find.

Then, you dipped under the covers and turned off your desk lamp. Forcing your eyes to close and your heart to slow its anxious pacing.

After another minute of forcing yourself to calm down, you heard the door to your bedroom open and you felt Chan join you in your bed, his weight dipping the mattress until there was nothing but silence.

The next night, you found yourself at another lavish business affair, seated at the bar playing with the olive in your drink as Chan walked away to talk to someone he had informed you was “very important.”

They usually were, you thought, narrowing your eyes when Changbin appeared next to you, like he had been waiting for hours to approach only after Chan had disappeared, and there was no place for you to go, swallowing down the rest of your drink and setting the glass on an empty tray.

“I heard you last night,” Changbin said once he was close enough for you to overhear him, and you could feel your entire body flush when your brain connected the dots - recalling yourself moaning on top of Chan’s bed with a toy plugged between your legs.

“You didn’t hear anything,” you retorted, realizing just how dangerous it was to reveal yourself.

“You’re desperate,” Changbin smirked, like he couldn’t figure out how to take a hint, and he nodded in the direction of the bathroom. “You don’t want Chan because you didn’t choose him.”

“You don’t know anything,” you retorted, but then Changbin took a step closer to look deeper into your eyes, and whatever he found there made his smirk deepen.

“Well, now I’m giving you a choice,” Changbin said. “I can see that you want it, so let me give it to you, baby.”

He offered a wink to entice you further, slipping through the crowd to enter the bathroom first. And you realized in that moment, no matter what your brain was screaming at you, that you were going to follow him.

But you never expected such violent passion to erupt between the two of you as soon as you walked inside, watching him shut and lock the door in place with desperate fingers slipping against the hinges. And then, before you could even open your mouth to speak, his lips were colliding against your own, stealing your breath as if he needed it more than anything else.

Such a heart-stealing kiss made you realize that the connection was simply undeniable - nobody had ever kissed you like that, and when his hands grabbed your waist to pull you against him, you acknowledged that no one had ever touched you that way either.

In fact, every bit of contact was charged with something electric, and you could feel the tight bulge in his dress pants as he rutted against you, keeping you wrapped in his strong arms and preventing your chest from fully compressing with each staggered inhale. Almost like Changbin wanted to meld your bodies together - to become one person - and he was determined that brute strength alone would be the only way to keep you from escaping.

Not that you had any desire to leave the heated room, sweat already starting to form on your upper lip, tasting every exposed inch of his flesh, and leaving bruises behind on the tanned skin around his collarbone. “Shit!” Changbin cursed when your teeth dug in harder, and his hands moved around to squeeze your ass in response.

It was already too much for your poor heart to handle, even if the horniest part of your brain was demanding more, and your moans were reverberating between the walls, growing louder and louder until you realized that you were in a public place. And your eyes immediately darted to the door, wondering if anyone outside could hear what you were doing. “What?” Changbin taunted as if noticing the way you moved your head to the side. “Don’t you want them to know how much of a whore you are?”

You shivered at his words, whimpering at the dark look in his eyes as he maneuvered you around, giving you the perfect view of you both locked together. The mirror attached to the bathroom wall revealed that your appearance looked nothing short of fucked out, eyelids drooping and Changbin’s mouth leaving behind a wet trail of saliva across your throat, fingers moving under your dress to play with you like he thought your legs could possibly hold you up against the sudden onslaught of pleasure.

“Changbin!” you sobbed, falling forward and allowing your head to rest atop your arms, keeping your forehead from slamming against the granite countertop.

“Look at you,” Changbin sneered, and his free hand trailed down the back of your dress, following the slope of your spine.

“You haven’t seen all of me,” you challenged, and you grinned when Changbin worked the hem of your dress higher, hitching the fabric under your arms so that you were left on display for him from the waist down.

“Let’s get rid of these too,” Changbin said, fingering the edges of your panties before drawing them further down your legs, letting them pool at your feet as he continued working you open on his fingers.

From the way you had seen those fingers brandish a knife and firearm, you knew that he was talented, and every part of your being was aching for more as he stretched you for his cock. “Come on,” you hissed, hoping to urge him on. But it only seemed to make Changbin slow down, crooking his fingers upward so that he could graze against a spot that had your legs turning to jelly.

If it wasn’t for the arm tightening around your waist, then you would have fallen to the floor. Thankfully, Changbin understood that you were on edge, and he was quick to unfasten his jeans, moving them down just enough to free his cock before he was sheathing himself in one fatal stroke, groaning out as he rested his forehead against the top of your spine.

“Oh!” you gasped, convulsing at the sensation of him filling you up so well, twisting at your insides, and fanning the flames licking at your stomach. “Changbin!”

“That’s right,” he growled. “Say my name.”

He rewarded you with a series of rapid thrusts that were powerful enough to send your hips slamming painfully against the jutted ridge of the sink. It would undoubtedly leave bruises behind, but you found that you couldn’t care less, too fucked out to form rational thoughts about your well-being.

“So tight around my cock,” Changbin growled. “You really need to be fucked more often.”

“Just shut up,” you hissed, feeling your eyes roll into the back of your skull when he found the perfect angle to hit you just right - each grind of his hips stuffing you with his throbbing cock before leaving you gaping for his thickness, shaping your walls to accommodate his brutal pace.

With your head buried against your arm, sweat perspiring on your skin, you could do nothing more than pant for air and whimper with each thrust that brought you ever so closer to the edge.

And you knew perfectly well that nothing would ever be the same after this - that your relationship with Chan and Changbin would transform forever. But the way that Changbin was making you feel, large hands gripping your waist and making you feel even smaller, was far too good for you to worry over the consequences - as pervasive as they might be.

Instead, you swallowed down a scream, biting your tongue hard enough to draw blood and reaching down to rub at your clit - the barest of contact just enough to send you contracting around him, listening to his groan against your sweat-caked neck as you came all at once. “Fuck,” he snarled, feeling your fluttering walls wrap so tight against his cock, hips stuttering in place as he tried to maintain the same rhythm, more focused on his own pleasure after getting you to that perfect high.

His animalistic pounding was verging on overstimulation, but then you could hear the first break of his orgasm in the timid whine whistling between his bared teeth against your skin, and then the overpowering warmth of him filling the space between you - something sticky and wet.

Enough to leave you gasping for more, reaching back to hold his hand for comfort as you both took several moments to collect yourselves in the aftermath of your passionate coupling.

“We should get back,” Changbin eventually said, and he was so gentle when his cock slid out, leaving behind a mess that you could only attempt to clean up with the paper towels stocked on the counter.

You both exchanged tentative kisses as you helped the other dress - an acknowledgment that something unique was blossoming between you after so many months of dancing around, taking every opportunity to touch him and treasure his warmth.

“We’ll be alright,” Changbin even assured you, without any prompting, before you were both rejoining the party, finding your way over to Chan who welcomed you with a clipped smile as he returned to the conversation that he was having with another nameless face in the crowd.

But you played your part well, ignoring the lingering tension from the fucking that you had just endured. Even if you could feel Changbin’s cum dripping down your legs, forcing them to automatically close together, trying to keep a straight face for Chan.

The debate he was having about some sort of upcoming business exchange was muted in your ears as every sense was attuned to Changbin standing across the room, watching you a lidded gaze.

Two Months Later

He had to know. You were certain of it - more than anything else.

It was the most pressing thought swimming through your head while you laid in bed next to Changbin, one of his arms wrapped around your waist while his flaccid cock plugged itself between your spent walls.

The position had grown familiar to you in recent days, especially since Changbin claimed that he slept better buried inside of you, and you could hardly argue since you liked how close it brought him.

Over the past several months, you and Changbin had grown closer, spending more and more time together, sneaking quickies during the day and sleeping with one another at night when Chan wasn’t home. Which was often these days since Chan seemed preoccupied with something happening to his business. Even if Changbin insisted that nothing was wrong.

But you knew that Chan had enemies. He was a constant target because of his impressive power and influence over the city. You could hardly be convinced otherwise.

Still, you kept your mouth shut because it was better to keep things quiet.

Instead, you focused on the sensation of Changbin’s breaths tickling the back of your neck, his strong, well-muscled body touching every part of yours. The cologne he hadn’t bothered to wash off smelled thick and heady, and you were ready to surrender to his warmth when your phone started vibrating from the nightstand.

You reached out to look at the message, aware that Changbin was rousing next to you with a guttural groan that sent a wave of arousal between your legs.

Chan: I’m almost home.

“I have to go,” you said, wordlessly holding up the message so that Changbin could read it himself.

“He wasn’t supposed to come home tonight,” Changbin grumbled, tightening his arms around you in a possessive hold.

“Well, he is,” was all you offered, starting the tedious process of unraveling Changbin’s arms from you and making him sweet promises of generous love-making the next night while kissing his pout away from his puckered lips.

“Let’s get breakfast in the morning,” Changbin said to your retreating form. “He should be gone by then.”

You shivered at his words. They were laced with clear hostility toward Chan, and no matter how angry Changbin might be, he was still directing those feelings against his boss. A punishable offense in most Mafia groups.

But you only whispered a soft “good night” to Changbin before retreating to your shared room with Chan just down the hall.

You were tired enough to find yourself back on the precipice of sleep, snuggled under the sheets, when a thin fragment of light cut through the door, admitting Chan who didn’t say a single thing.

For some reason, Chan was in a solemn mood that night, immediately starting for the shower, without checking on you like he usually did. And your heart thumped quickly in response, worried that Chan was angry at you. But you resisted the urge to grab your phone and text Changbin, knowing that he would come to your room and cause problems that you weren’t capable of resolving.

There was no need for conflict, even if it seemed that you were headed in the direction of an inevitable confrontation. Eyes wide open and glued to the ceiling when Chan returned, swiping a towel through his wet hair before laying down next to you in bed. Radio silent for the longest spell of time until he took a deep breath and shattered the glass barrier between you both.

“I know you’re fucking Changbin,” Chan whispered, breaking the tense silence all at once.

You sucked in a sharp breath, and your entire body grew numb as your brain helpfully supplied you with an image of the gun that Chan kept in the nightstand next to your bed. “Chan-”

“I don’t want excuses,” Chan interrupted in a tired voice, exhaling loudly as he shifted on the bed next to you. “And I don’t want your lies.”

There was a lump in your throat that you struggled to swallow around, staring up at the ceiling in frozen terror. “What are you going to do?”

You held your breath once the question was posed out in the open for him to consider. Perhaps this was the part of your relationship where you ended up on the side of a ditch for breaking your promise to Chan - the wedding vows you reiterated to the priest that you would always be faithful to him.

“You’ve never loved me,” Chan said, but he wasn’t angry.

It didn’t offer you a response to your question, but it was better than Chan screaming or reaching across the space next to you to give you a well-deserved lashing. “No,” you replied, deciding that honesty was your best solution. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he murmured - so quietly you almost didn’t hear him. “I pushed this on you thinking I could get my way.”

“But still...”

“It’s alright,” he reassured you - as if sensing that you were uneasy. “Why would I be mad? It’s not like we met under favorable circumstances. I don’t even think you consented to the marriage under your own free will.”

“It’s what my parents wanted,” you said. “The marriage was part of your deal with them, so I won’t break it.”

Chan chuckled, but you found no humor in the situation. “I’ll ask for the divorce papers,” Chan continued. “I’ll keep my deal with your parents, and you won’t have to go back to them. I doubt Changbin would let that happen.”

“Is it that easy?” you wondered, allowing yourself to relax - just a little - as the impending threat of Chan’s rage seemed to dissipate into nothing.

“I think so,” Chan said, and you could see him attempting to meet your gaze through the coverage of shadows. “Did you think I would be furious?”

“Of course,” you said. “I betrayed you.”

“It would’ve been far worse for you to betray your own heart,” Chan said and he spoke in such a way that you couldn’t help but see the logic in such simplistic terms.

You nodded to acknowledge him, finding more of his features in the dark as your eyes adjusted. “I really am sorry, Chan.”

He sighed, and you could feel his warmth as he edged closer. “It was never your choice from the start. I realize that now, and you have nothing to apologize to me for.”

“I do,” you argued. “I could’ve kept to myself. Ignored Changbin when he tried to initiate anything.”

“Yeah right,” Chan grumbled. “I recruited him for a reason. If he wants something, then nothing will stand in his way.”

Your heart gave a little flutter at that, and your hand landed on top of your chest to calm the racing organ. “I never intended to fall in love with him.”

“I know, but I just want you to be happy, Y/N,” Chan said. “And if you’re happy with Changbin, then be with him instead of me.”

His words ricocheted around your head, seemingly so simple in their proposal. But you knew better. Your divorce from Chan would cause an uproar. There would be opposition from both Chan’s family and your own. Especially from your parents. The ones who would fear that they would lose the safety blanket that Chan had so neatly tucked around their shoulders...

“Don’t think about it so much,” he whispered, cutting through those dark forebodings with a gentle hand caressing the side of your face, fingers gliding along the slope of your nose.

Then, Chan turned away on his side, and no more words were spoken.

One Year Later

His smile was brighter than the florescent lights in the courthouse.

But you could understanding his eagerness - you shared it just as well. Keeping yourself contained even as excitement threatened to bubble over, tightening your hand around Changbin’s as you both stood before an ordained judge in the courtroom downtown.

It had seemingly come out of nowhere - Changbin’s request to marry you once your divorce was finalized from Chan. But you couldn’t deny that you wanted him more than anything, and you accepted him with a kiss and the sensation of a ring sliding onto your finger.

Which brought you here - waiting for the ceremony to make everything official. Trying not to let your impatience show as the judge went through all the exchanges of vows and necessary signatures. But once he declared you husband and wife, Changbin turned you around to look at him.

“You’re mine, now,” he said, kissing you in full view of the judge and everyone else waiting in that packed little room.

His smell was washing over you - thick and encompassing. The taste of him reminded you of every summer in your childhood - coming home after a long day to sink your teeth into the sweetest fruit. You grinned at the memory, nipping at Changbin’s top lip.

“Fiesty,” Changbin smirked, taking hold of your hand to lead you out of the courtroom.

Outside the building, the air was warm and the cool breeze felt pleasant as it touched the bare skin of your arms. The bottom of your dress fluttered along with the leaves, and you giggled playfully as you held yourself from Changbin’s arm, barely keeping yourself contained.

But he was no better than you, stopping every so often on the way to the car to pull you in for another smoldering kiss. Even as people passed you on the sidewalk, glancing at you from the corner of their eyes. Like they couldn’t possibly fathom such soul-binding love.

After so long together, you knew that Changbin was ready to move on - to find your next adventure in the world. And you were more than willing to join him.

After all, this time it was your choice, and you had chosen Changbin - someone who understood how you worked, and could read you at a level where even a practiced scholar might find confusion.

Even if it hadn’t started that way at first - but your relationship had become something different.

You couldn’t stop thinking about him when you settled next to Changbin, watching him turn the ignition over with a practiced hand. Racing through the streets of the city in Changbin’s sports car, feeling the wind rushing through the windows, feeling the happiest you had ever been in your entire life...

Until the unexpected sound of gunfire rang in your ears and brought you back to reality in the worst sense, automatically reaching over for Changbin’s hand across the console. You glanced out the rear-view mirror to locate the sound, finding a black SUV trailing you close behind.

“We’re being followed,” Changbin informed you, wrapping his fingers between your own in reassurance.

“Followed?” you repeated with a whine.

“It’s alright,” Changbin said in a smooth tone, clearly responding to your obvious distress.

But your eyes still found the headlights of the car weaving through traffic, and your hand squeezed Changbin’s as it gripped the gearshift between you.

#changbin smut #changbin fanfic #changbin oneshots #seo changbin fanfic #changbin scenarios #changbin imagines #seo changbin scenarios #stray kids scenarios #stray kids smut #stray kids imagines

295 notes · View notes

ocean-blue-whump · 2 years

Text

It’ll Take a Team

The start of a new series! No whump yet, but soon there will be.

A huge thanks to the wonderful @thingsthatgowhumpinthenight for the editing help!

If anyone would like to be tagged in future updates, let me know!

CW: banter between friends, talk of criminal activity

***

“It’s not possible.” Jude crosses her arms and leans back in the diner booth, her burger, fries, and strawberry milkshake untouched in front of her. “Respectfully, Penn, we’ve been working together for…”

“Seven years, as of next Friday.” Penn chuckles and takes a sip of his coffee, staring at the philly cheese steak on the plate next to the chipped mug. “Why is this impossible?”

Jude sighs. “Seven years, and we’ve never worked a job like this.”

“Not with this payoff. In cash.” Penn sets his mug down, rubbing the back of his neck where the chain of his dog tags rests, the metal cool on his chest underneath his sweater. “Ten million. We could do a lot with ten million.”

“We can’t pull this off. Think about it.” Jude finally grabs a fry with her perfectly manicured fingers. “It’s a necklace, right? That part isn't too hard. We’ve stolen jewelry before, but this…this necklace is the most expensive thing either of us will have touched. It’s on the fourth floor of an eight story building. The most secure building in the world by the way. Going in from the roof is just as complicated as going in from the ground. Not to mention whatever the security is. It’ll be guards, cameras, motion alarms, laser grids at the least.” She takes a deep breath, leaning forward slightly and raising her voice. “Then we have to transport it across the country to the person who contacted you. Planes are risky. Airport security searching our bags could end the whole operation. And cars run the risk of law enforcement tracking us down. It’s a lose-lose situation.”

“You’ve put a lot of thought into this,” Penn says, tapping his scarred fingers on the table in a slow, even rhythm.

Jude shrugs. “It’s ten million dollars. Of course I thought about it.” She checks her watch and looks out the window, at the sun beating down on the pavement outside and their cars parked side by side. Hers, a gray BMW sedan. His, a black Ford truck. If he knows anything about Jude, she’s making sure no one’s looking at them for too long. Not anxious, just…habit. Being a thief comes with its own set of occupational hazards. “Look. If we were even going to remotely think about attempting this, we’d need a team. The best of the best.”

Penn grins. “Ah, I knew you’d come around to it.” He’s had Jude by his side since he got into this business; her advice is the only thing he trusts. She’s his teammate until the end, ever since the job they worked together in Richmond. He was six months out of the Marines, and she...well, it wasn’t the smoothest meeting in the world, but it’s a fond memory nonetheless. Better than most of the ones he has. Penn looks up at her, snapping himself out of the past. He has to focus on the present, to the next job and the next motel room and the next payoff. “So, a team. What are you thinking?”

Jude holds up her hands, counting on her fingers. “A jewel thief, for starters, and a safecracker, a conman, a technology expert, and someone who knows the building top to bottom. Not someone employed there, but someone who can give us logistics.” She shakes her head. “Last one’s tough.”

Penn takes another sip of coffee, it’s bitter, and chalky on his tongue, but he’s had worse. “So we split the money. Still a huge takeaway.”

Jude shakes her head. “But even with a team, it’s going to be the hardest job we’ve ever done.”

“Seven year anniversary, Jude. Gotta be a big one.” He gives her a wide grin, the tiny scar on his lip stretching.

Jude finally cracks a small smile. “We need a team. I’m only doing this with a full team.”

“You got any suggestions?” Penn looks up as a waiter walks over, refilling his coffee.

Jude waits until she’s gone before talking again. “Yeah. I know our jewel thief, and I’m pretty sure she knows our conman. And I can take the lead on trying to find our logistics person. I’ve burned less bridges than you have. No offense.”

Penn scoffs, picking up his coffee again. “Yeah, none taken.” He takes another quick sip and sets the mug down, tapping the handle in the same pattern as earlier. “Remember the tech guy we contracted a few jobs back? We never met him in person, just through his…wordy emails.”

Jude laughs. “Oh, he was nervous as fuck. I remember. Do you think it’s a good idea to bring him into this?”

“Do you have a better suggestion? He was good, better than good. He’s exactly what we need to pull this off.”

“No, I trust your opinion.” Jude sighs. “And the safecracker?”

Penn doesn’t say anything, just looks Jude in the eye and tilts his head slightly.

She stiffens up, dark eyes giving him a dangerous look back, a sharp contrast to her floral button down shirt. “No.”

“Jude—”

“Penn. Please tell me you’re not thinking about who I’m thinking about. He’s a hack. A performer.”

“You and I both know he’s much more than that. Come on. In Vegas, that wasn’t just a show. He’s the real deal.”

She rolls her eyes and runs her hands through her twists, jet black hair falling down to her ribcage. “Do you even know where to find him?”

“Yeah.” Penn laughs, flexing his fingers and letting the memories fade into the background. “I do.”

“So, you contact the buyer, tell him.” Jude checks her watch again. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”

“Seventh anniversary. You know I’m right.” Penn raises his coffee cup. “A toast to ten million dollars.”

Jude doesn’t raise her milkshake. “What do you know about this buyer, Penn? How do you know we can trust him?”

“I don’t know a damn thing except that he has the money to pay us. It’s better this way. You know it’s better this way.”

“I hope you’re right.” She raises her glass, the pink milkshake with a mountain of whipped cream, no cherry. Penn knows her diner order better than he knows his own address most of the time. “To seven years of being the best damn thieves there are.”

Penn clinks his mug against her glass. “And to the biggest heist we’ve ever done.”

She takes a sip of her milkshake. “The safecracker is your problem, you know.”

“Yeah, I figured.”

“He might not be a scam, but he’s definitely a pain in the ass.”

Penn grins at her. “Just eat your damn lunch, Jude, and worry about getting us a logistics person.”

Her eyes sparkle as she pops a fry into her mouth. “And you worry about making a plan that doesn’t get us killed.”

“I’m not losing anyone.” Penn shakes his head and his words freeze on his tongue, what he won’t say out loud. I can’t lose people again. Instead, he smiles and picks up his sandwich. “Let’s steal some diamonds.”

#heist team #penn #jude #whump #whump writing #whumblr #writeblr #blue's words

20 notes · View notes

fruitcoops · 3 years

Note

could you possibly write something about Sirius & remus dating and remus feeling bad that Sirius keeps paying (since obviously he's big deal NHLer v trainer)

Oof, yes. This was combined with asks for some Coops hurt/comfort where one doesn't want to talk, as well as an argument. SW credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for wealth insecurity, small argument (not a blowout)

Grocery shopping had never been Remus’ favorite thing in the world, but he had to admit it was a lot more fun when everything came with the thrilling reminder that he was living with the love of his life. He got to learn Sirius’ preferences on everything from candles (softer scents, or something woodsy) to towels (as fluffy as humanly possible) and filed every detail away in the little pocket of his brain entirely dedicated to the beautiful man that could reach the top shelves.

“What’s next?” he asked an hour into their latest Target excursion.

Sirius tilted his phone to show the screen. “Sheets.”

“I still can’t believe you had a hole in those and didn’t notice,” Remus said with a shake of his head.

“How do you know it wasn’t your fault?” Sirius countered with a playful quirk of his eyebrow.

“I’m not the one that runs marathons in my sleep,” Remus laughed, standing on his toes to kiss his stubbly cheek. “Oof. Prickly.”

Sirius scrunched his nose. “You like it.”

“Hmm. Perhaps.”

“Perhaps,” he mimicked, bumping Remus’ hip with his own. “What kind do you want?”

Remus shrugged one shoulder as they turned down the next aisle, scanning the shelves of plastic-wrapped packages in a million different patterns. “I like the look of the white ones, but grey or blue could be nice. You?”

“As long as they’re soft and have you in them, I don’t care.”

“Sap,” he teased, though he was unable to fight the blush racing hot up his neck. Sirius didn’t protest; his small, smug smile needed no explanation. Remus pushed the cart slowly down the aisle, making note of the price tags as he went. Sheets were always an expense—not as bad as blankets or, god forbid, a new mattress, but an expense all the same. He had managed to keep his last ones in good condition for almost ten years before they wore out.

The $30 set doesn’t look too bad, but that’s a weird color…Sirius hates microfiber…I’d rather not sleep on puppy print…getting laid on a 1970s paisley pattern would kill me instantly… “How about these?”

He startled and glanced down the aisle, where Sirius was holding a set in faint gray. An unbidden grin pulled at the side of his mouth. “The softest of the bunch, huh?”

“Of course,” Sirius laughed. “Come feel, it’s like heaven.”

Remus pushed off and hopped up on the undercarriage, riding the cart all the way until he reached Sirius’ side; his hand was halfway to the exposed block of fabric when he froze. $186.99, read the price tag below the stack of sheets in varying colors. Almost $200, and the only difference was the softness. “I…” he faltered slightly, looking between Sirius and the sheets for a moment.

“Do you not like them?”

“No, I do,” Remus said as his mind whirred. He had never spent more than a hundred dollars on sheets before. It wasn’t wildly out his budget, especially once he started working with the Lions, but he had always been careful with money. Sirius…Sirius had never had to do that. Never in his life.

“Is it the color? Because they have white ones—”

“It’s 200 dollars,” he almost laughed. Sirius fell quiet in obvious confusion as Remus turned to look at him. “Sirius, those sheets are 200 dollars.”

“Yes?”

“There’s—” Remus broke off again; something a little too much like shame for his liking crawled up his throat. “I—sure, yeah, if you like them.”

“It’s not about what Ilike,” Sirius continued, as if he couldn’t see the discomfort tensing every one of Remus’ muscles. “It’s our bed. I don’t want to get sheets you hate.”

“No, no, they’re nice.” Too nice. Remus forced a smile. “I like them.”

Sirius looked at him for a moment. “Which ones do you prefer?”

The ones that don’t cost the same as my monthly food budget. “Uh, the color threw me off at first,” he said. “The blue ones are better.”

The crease between Sirius’ brows eased by a degree and he kissed Remus’ jaw gently, then switched the sets. “D’accord, mon loup. Whatever makes you happy.”

Remus was as quiet as he could be without arousing suspicion for the rest of the trip. Sirius paid for their things—like always, Remus realized with a turn of his stomach—and helped him carry the bags to the car without another word about the sheets.

He stayed quiet the whole way home.

The shame mounted as they drove. It seemed everything was a sudden, unwelcome reminder of just how different he and Sirius were. Sirius’ family had a chef during his childhood—Remus made himself PB&Js every morning for the entirety of middle school. Sirius had a brand-new car—Remus had never had cause to justify that over public transportation and Uber. It was embarrassing, and Sirius’ unintentional thoughtlessness was more frustrating than he thought it would be.

He didn’t say anything as they pulled up to the house and unloaded their shopping bags; his shirt and jeans itched his skin like sandpaper. Judging from the look on Sirius’ face, he had picked up on Remus’ frustration, but there was no way Remus was going to get into the root of it while he still felt so twitchy.

Damn you and your emotional intelligence, he thought as he slipped past Sirius’ worried glances and up the stairs to their bedroom. Be oblivious for once and let me get through this.

The bed was stripped bare—their duvet and pillows sat in a heap on top of the mattress. Remus thought back to the first night he had slept there, marveling at the cloudlike support on his achy lower back. He had chalked it up to the pure bliss that came with finally having what he really wanted, but his traitorous brain was starting to convince him it wasn’t the joy that made it seem so nice.

He had never gone without food. His parents always made sure he had clothes that mostly fit and the school supplies he needed. They paid for his hockey gear and the team dues until he was old enough to work part-time and start saving his own money; scholarships had always been of a quiet importance in their house. Things got tighter when Jules was born, but they made it work. Remus would always be grateful for that.

Sirius had never had to think about money in that way. Not once.

Remus sighed through his nose as he pulled his battered Wisconsin hoodie over his head and tightened the drawstring of his sweats, letting the comfort envelop him. “It’s not his fault,” he murmured into the mirror. “Don’t get into your head about this.”

Sirius was in the living room when Remus made his way down the stairs with his hands curled into the worn sleeves of the hoodie. He said nothing while Remus began absently cleaning up the scattered items around their junk bowl, though his gaze prickled the back of his neck.

“Mon loup?” came the soft question after two minutes of tense silence.

“Yeah?” he managed around the tightness in his lungs.

He could practically taste Sirius’ hesitation. “Did I—nevermind. Sorry.”

“What?”

“It’s nothing,” Sirius said again, though he seemed to be folding in on himself. Remus hated seeing him try and take up less space, and hated the idea that he was the one that caused it.

$200. On sheets.

“What’s going on?” Remus asked, leaning back against the countertop.

“No, I just—” Sirius pasted on a smile and cross the room, dropping a tentative kiss to the top of his head as he passed despite the wary look in his eyes. “Just a thought. It’s nothing.”

“You’re upset.”

“No, no, I’m good.”

“Please don’t lie to me.” It came out harsher than intended and Remus winced. “I mean—Sirius, something is obviously bothering you.”

He chewed the inside of his lip for a moment, rubbing his thumbs in small circles over the marble countertop before making brief eye contact. “You’re angry,” he said at last, cautiously. “Are you angry with me?”

“No,” Remus said, then paused. Sirius’ face fell. “Well, I’m a little irritated, but—but it’s stupid, and I shouldn’t be.”

“It’s not stupid.”

Remus swallowed hard at the kicked-puppy look on Sirius’ face. “It is.”

“I’m sorry,” Sirius said.

And that was…honestly, kind of the worst thing he could say. “You don’t get it,” Remus said, staring at the floor. “Sirius, you just spent 200 dollars on sheets.”

If anything, that seemed to upset him more. “You said you liked them.”

“I—” Remus flailed his hand around. “I do! But Jesus, honey, that’s kind of a lot!”

“We both liked the sheets.”

“I don’t know how to tell you that that’s expensive!” he blurted as the words wormed their way out and hung in the air. “Two hundred dollars might be peanuts to you, but that used to be my food budget for the month!”

“Remus—”

“You have never had to budget a day in your life,” he said, quieter. “Your watch probably cost more than a month’s rent for my apartment, you’ve never taken public transportation—”

“Remus—”

“—and you make millions of dollars every year!” He paused, out of breath, and ran a hand through his hair in disbelief. “Millions, Sirius. And—and now that we’re together, that we’re living together, it’s just really apparent in a way that it wasn’t before.”

Sirius’ throat bobbed. “I wish you had told me at the store.”

“It’s not about the sheets,” Remus laughed, because there was nothing else he could do other than cry. “We have entirely different views of how much money is worth. You can pay for things for me and I can’t do the same for you, and that feels like shit.”

An unsettling quiet blanketed the whole first floor as Sirius stayed very, very still, like a small animal caught in a trap. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” he confessed, barely above a whisper. “You’re right. Money is…it’s not something I’ve had to think about, but I like spending it on you.”

“I don’t like being cared for,” Remus forced out around the grate that had been keeping it down. “I don’t like feeling like I can’t support myself, or that I’m a burden on you and especially that I can’t repay that.”

Sirius finally met his eyes, and he looked appalled. “Remus, you’re never a burden.”

“It feels like it.” He was horrified to feel the burn of tears in his eyes. “Sometimes. When—when you buy nice things for me, or we go on nice vacations, or even when you buy groceries for us for the fifth time in a row, it feels like I’m using you for your money.”

“But you’re not.”

“No!” Remus said immediately. “God, no, never. That’s the last thing I want. But I don’t want you to have to change your lifestyle to make it revolve around me, either. I feel like I’m caught in the middle and there’s no good answer.”

Sirius watched him for a moment, the way that always made Remus feel a little bit like a particularly intricate play he was trying to work out. “What did you want to say at the store?”

“I—what?”

“What did you want to say while we were getting the sheets?”

Remus bit his lip in thought. “Those are too expensive, and I think we should get different ones,” he said eventually. “I like the color and the fabric, but I don’t want to spend that much money on sheets when we could do something else with it.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t ask sooner.” The earnest look on Sirius’ face eased some of the bubbling feelings in his chest. “And I’m sorry you didn’t feel like you could tell me.”

“I was embarrassed.”

“…why?”

“Because it’s embarrassing to look at your multi-millionaire boyfriend and say, ‘I can’t afford $200 sheets’, Sirius. It sucks. I feel like I can’t measure up.”

Sirius nodded. “I’ve never judged you for your money, not once. Just for the record. There’s nothing I would rather spend it on than making you happy.”

“I don’t want to be sheltered and provided for.” Remus blinked back the last of the tears and closed his eyes. “I want us to be equals. That’s important to me.”

“Okay.”

“And I don’t know how to fix this right away.”

“I don’t, either.” Warm fingers brushed the back of his hand and he leaned into Sirius without looking. “Can we try and figure it out, though? As a team?”

“Yes, captain,” he snorted, feeling Sirius’ soft huff on the top of his head. They stood silently for a few seconds before Remus let go of his tension with a slow exhale. “I don’t think a joint bank account is a good idea yet, but maybe we can start by alternating who buys groceries? Or something small like that. I don’t want to feel like this anymore, not with you. I love you too much.”

Sirius nuzzled into his hair for a moment before lips pressed against his temple. “How about we start by making the bed?”

The pressure on Remus’ chest eased. Making the bed was easy. They had the exact same method for it, a function of Sirius growing up with a militant mother and Remus’ aunts lovingly terrorizing him into learning how to do hospital corners. It was an olive branch that he could happily accept with a light squeeze around Sirius’ waist. Baby steps, he thought. We’ll deal with the big stuff when we’re better settled. He offered a half-smile to Sirius. “What are we waiting for?”

#remus lupin #sirius black #coops #sweater weather #lumosinlove #money talk #hurt/ comfort #angst #argument #sheets

222 notes · View notes

tommyspeakycap · 3 years

Note

Hi love, I adore your writing so much! And as you just asked for some ideas/concepts here’s mine for Jack Grealish from prompts list 2: fluff #11 where he’s asking her (she’s his best friend) to go for a walk cause there’s so much going on in his life and he just needs to talk. fluff #36, angst #31 and a happy ending please? Basically a Best friends to lovers thing as I’m a sap for that…thank you!! xx

Fluff #11; “I know it’s 2 in the morning but do you want to…”

Fluff #36; “because I fell for you, isn’t it obvious?”

hope I did this justice for you!

Fell for you

“Jesus god,” you grumbled with hands aimlessly palming across the mattress for the blaring sound of your phone from its place charging somewhere on the bed. Your next move is an elongated “Ahhhhh,” sound, fatigue still holding tightly onto your body in a way that seals your eyes shut even as you try to shut off the sound your phone was deafening your with. In a wakened state, you might’ve noticed that it was your ringtone that had interrupted your sleep. However as tired as you were you ruled it as your alarm right away and moved yourself into seated position with the duvet still wrapped tight around you and your eyes still shut.

You were suspended in that space between being asleep and being awake, still sitting up when the offensive sound came screaming through your phone once again.

This time, your eyes snapped open in fright and the fatigue-blurred letters of Jack Grealish’s name popped up across the top of your screen.

“How is it morning already?” You protest down the line, a heavy sigh passing your lips to follow. Jack’s chuckle can be heard through the line, “It’s not.” He replies simply, prompting you to pull your phone away from your ear to hold out in front if your face.

02:17am

“Then why on earth am I up?” You mumble, a question more posed to yourself than the man on the other end. “Wait, why are you up? And why are you calling so early?”

“I’m outside your door.”

“You’re what?!” You throw back your duvet and swing your legs over the side of the bed. You’ve hung up the phone already by the time you reach the front door at a tired shuffle. His hair is tousled when you see him, like he’s been running his hands through it over and over, you imagine that he has. He does that when he’s stressed. You have to squint against the street lights and his car headlights outside, still on as it sits running on the street. “Can we go somewhere?” He asks, his voice as desperate as his eyes look when he speaks, begging you to agree. Not that he would need to beg. You’d do anything for that man. Even if it did mean dragging yourself from your bed at 2 in the morning.

“Course.”

No question, no pressure. He loves that from you. He knows you’ll ask him later and when the time is right you’ll force him to tell you of course. Now is not that time yet and you’re nowhere near awake enough to do so much anyway. “Let me just grab my-“

“I have a hoodie in the car and your shoes in my boot.” He cuts in, tugging your arm gently out the door of your house. He knows you better than any other person in this world, so he knows full and well that there’s not much you are going to do in the way of protesting when you’re so soon out of sleep. He’d often teased with layers of worry deeper beneath that he genuinely worried for you living on your own. You open the door to people far too easily, and he will not fail to bring that up sometime tomorrow. For now, he steps into your doorway where you had stood moments before, grabs your keys from the cabinet and pulls the door closed behind him with a click of the latch locking behind him.

The cold paving stones beneath your feet make you shine in protest, shifting your weight between each one to ease the chill. In was in that cold that you look down and make the realisation, or rather come to remember the fact that you don’t have any pyjama bottoms on. “Jack!” You yelp, “I’m not wearing trousers!” You suddenly feel very exposed and rightly so, standing outside your home suddenly very awake in only a long claret and blue shirt that only extended down to the middle of your thighs. “Eh?” He whips around, “You what?”

It’s only now he really takes you in with rosy cheeks from embarrassment, your hair messed up from your sleep. His frantic eyes soften and his heart stops thundering in his chest finally. The sight of you there calms him. You’re there. Right there. His (y/n) is right there in front of him.

“What’s the rush, Jack? Is everything okay?”

Your gentle words and tired eyes bring him back to the ground, the flurry of his racing thoughts only now finally calmed. He often acts on impulse, but you are always able to slow his brain down a few paces. His sits heavily, "I know it's two am but...do you think we could go somewhere. My heads fuckin'... I don't even know." He dips back down to run that hand through his hair once again. His words stoke a bit of a worry in you, head tilted to the side in question. Jack doesn't tend to be the kind who gets himself panicked and all wound up like he has right now. That's more your half of the friendship. You did the worrying, he did the easygoing.

"It's okay, Jack. Of course. Come on then, let's go." You nod your head and he goes around the back of the car to get the shoes and socks he promised you. You very nearly choked up a lung when he presented you with a brand new Balenciaga box. "What the fuck, Jack?" You all but wheeze out, head whipping towards him climbing into the passenger seat.

"Got you a present 'cause I'm leaving soon." He shrugs with a jaw-dropping ease. You list open the lid and inside sit a pair of sliders that cost nearly £400. You physically gawp. "Oh my god."

"What?" Jack asks, drawing out of his parking spot on the street, "Heard you telling your mum you needed new sliders for the summer, do you not like 'em?"

His nerves would be clear in his voice if you hadn't been in such a ferocious level of shock. You're glad you weren't eating anything because it surely would have choked you to death. Of course you had seen Jack wearing brands like Balenciaga, Gucci, Versace and the likes, but you had never owned such an expensive piece of clothing. "I mean of course I love them, J but I meant from Primark or bloody amazon, you shouldn't have spent al that money on me." You protested, but Jack really pays it no mind. In fact, the suggestion that you don't deserve everything luxurious that this world has to offer offends him more than it does anything else. You should know that you deserve everything good that this world can give and he has the means to actually give that to you. He'd count himself an absolute fool not to.

"Gonna pretend you didn't say that." He mutters, eyes kept carefully on the empty road ahead of his car. Your eyebrows are furrowed, a part of you brain still very much trying to a) wake up and b) process the expensive of the gift he handed to you so casually. "Not arguing about it either." His voice cuts you off the second you open your mouth to speak, shutting down your protest before it even leaves you.

As the fatigue of your sleep wears off, your mind continues to be just as boggled as it had been the moment his name popped up on your screen at 2am, if not more boggled now.

"You're acting so weird, Jack. What the hell is going on with you today?" Your insistence is careful with your pressure. It's enough to try to open him up but not enough to make it sound like a confrontation. Neither you nor Jack like confrontation especially with each other. The words make him chew on his lip as he careens the large white range rover through a turn that leads up a gravel road that crunches beneath his tires. The stops when he's met with a with a large gate that prevents cars but a little slot for people to walk through. Jack leaves his door open when he leaves the car with a curtly mumbled "Stay here" as he does. He pushes open the gate with ease before he gets back in the car and follows the path up the hill further.

He stop abruptly in a very small gravel car park without any parking lines to abide and steps out, slamming his door behind him like he absolutely always does; you swear that man couldn't be quiet if his life depended on it. Which was another reason why you were so surprised by his silence. You clamber out after him with that same fear of falling flat on your face that always fills your mind each and every time you leave his car. But Jack is where he has been every time you step out the Range Rover since the first day he got it; standing by your door to hold your hand so you can jump out without a trip onto the gravel beneath. He shuts the door behind you and hands you a spare pair of his loose fitting track pants.

On an average day you might've teased the reason he hasn't worn them was because they wouldn't have squeezed the life out his legs. Today wasn't one of those days, so you slip them on without a word. Followed up by his way too big for you socks and the brand new black slides. Even wide awake, this confuses you to no end. Jack was never quiet and never elusive. He was boisterous, loud, open and confident.

The second you turn around, you realise why he brought you here.

The view of the stars, the sky completely clear. There wasn't a street lamp in sight. The moon provided the kind of spotlight hue that you kind of thought only existed in the enhancement of Hollywood movies. "Woah," you breathe, words stolen by its beauty.

"Yeah," Jack laughs, "Now you know how I feel every time I look at you."

You head turns to him so fast it sends your head spinning a little, or maybe that's just the shock of his words. You couldn't tell.

"What?"

He shrugs his shoulders, scuffing his feet along the gravel to meet up with where you stand. But he freezes before he gets the chance.

"Why are you wearing that?" He asks, a very sudden cold change in his tone that actually makes your body feel colder. "Wearing what? This?" You gesture to the claret and blue shirt you had thrown on in a haste to get to him standing at your front door a short while ago. You turn to see his unhappy scowl and the firm discontented cross of his strong arms. "Yeah that," he grumbles, "And where'd you even get it." He adds with a flare of his nostrils. He looks adorable angry like this, like he's trying so hard to look angry when his emotions lie truly elsewhere.

You look down at the shirt with furrowed brows, before you shift your shoulder forward, crane your neck and pull the material around to view the back as best you could. "What's wrong with it?" You ask finally, attempts to defy the natural state of your body failing to allow you to see your back.

"It's Ginny's." Jack states as if its the most obvious thing in the world. You just look at him bewildered. "And?"

He huffs as he takes a few more heavy steps up to you, looking like he had a lot of things to say without any way of being able to get them to coordinate from his brain to his lips. "Why do you have Ginny's shirt though?"

You breathe a little bit of laughter at him, shaking your head softly. "it was just a joke. I saw him after a match waiting for you so I jumped out at him and pretended to be a fan for a video and he signed it and gave to me as a joke. I just threw it on when you showed up at my door in the middle of the night. Wasn't exactly a fashion statement."

Jack still grunts in dissatisfaction at your answer, refusing to meet your eyes. "You have plenty of mine to wear though, don't need his." His argues in a disgruntled grumble. You raise and drop your arms down by your side with a sigh. He was really testing your patience now. "Hm, last time I checked you couldn't give me yours anymore because your ex didn't like it." You protest with a wag of your finger, making him turn his head downwards with something like a shudder running through him at the mention of her name. "Yeah well there's a reason she's my ex innit." He mutters under his breath.

"What the hell is the problem with you today Jack?" You exclaim, his eyes jolting to you in surprise. You don't often snap.

"First you show up at my door in the middle of the night and drag me out of my house and then you won't actually speak to me and now you're picking a fight about John M fucking Ginn?" You snap, the anger and confusion he had stirred up showing in your emphatic hand gestures that only come out when you're telling him a passionate story or going off your head at him. "He's your best mate, why would that even bother you?!"

"I'm sorry, I-"

"I'm not done, Jack!" You yell, holding out a hand. "You haven't even spoken to me all week. I found out you made the England call up on fucking twitter Jack, twitter! And your mum told me about you dumping your girl and I can't even get through to you and now you're buying me gifts and bringing me here? I don't know if I'm coming or going here Jack, you have to give me something. We're meant to be friends." You voice breaks on the last syllable and a lump forms in Jack's throat that he can't just swallow away. Any pain, any hurt and any slight sadness of emotion that appears in you shatters his heart. He thought that was a normal reaction until two weeks ago when he realised it only happens to him when its your upset he witnesses.

"I'm sorry." He says, his voice thick and wavering with the same level of emotion. "I really, really am." He stands right in front of you now, so close you're basically chest to chest, faces merely inches apart.

"And I'm scared." He admits, sending a pang through your already aching heart. "Scared because I'm leaving and I can't take you with me." His words tickle your lips as they leave his, clouds of air puffing above the two of you as his hot breath meets the cold night air. "You've done it before, J. It'll be fine." You soothe, hands gently raising to reach up and brush the hair out of his face. His let's forth a content sigh of relief at the feeling of your touch. "That was before though." He confesses with a slight shrug. He watches that furrow sow itself back into your brows.

"Before what?"

"Dance with me?" He suggests, his arms finding their way around you with ease, much less fumbley than you remember from your high school prom. Your head tilts in that adorable confused way that makes a grin form on his cold lips.

"Why?" You query, eyes slightly narrowed in suspicion. He laughs softly. "Because the music is slow and the sky is gorgeous and because I love you."

Before you get the chance to recognise, process or even understand what he said, he's swaying you around the gravel under the stars.

"Because you what?" You squeak, your eyes desperately searching his as you look for any reason this might be some kind of a joke or one of pranks that makes you want to throttle him. He just smiles at you with those crinkled eyes and the love shining right there in his eyes for you to see. Your stomach flutters like the teenager you were when you fell in love with him. His lips dip down to capture yours in the best kiss that your being has ever felt, his hands ringing your hair, stroking down over your cheeks with those warm hands of his.

"Because I've fell for you, isn't it obvious?"

#jack grealish imagines #jack grealish imagine #jack grealish x reader #jack grealish prompt #jack grealish blurb #england national team imagine #england national team #footballer fics #football fics

287 notes · View notes

seokiie · 4 years

Text

𝙸𝚜 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝙰𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚍? 𝙸𝙸

+ 𝘚𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: 𝘈𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘦𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘛𝘢𝘦𝘩𝘺𝘶𝘯𝘨, 𝘺𝘰𝘶'��𝘦 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦'𝘭𝘭 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘢 𝘴𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥. 𝘖𝘧 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴𝘦, 𝘧𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘧𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨.

+𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵: 4.1𝘬

+ 𝘗𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨: 𝘛𝘢𝘦𝘩𝘺𝘶𝘯𝘨/𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

+ 𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴: 𝘴𝘦𝘮𝘪-𝘱𝘶𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘤 𝘴𝘦𝘹, 𝘛𝘢𝘦𝘩𝘺𝘶𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘱𝘱𝘢 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬, 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘱𝘪𝘦, 𝘤𝘢𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘹, 𝘤𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘴, 𝘮𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘪𝘱𝘭𝘦 𝘰𝘳𝘨𝘢𝘴𝘮𝘴, 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘛𝘢𝘦𝘩𝘺𝘶𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘌𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩, (𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘪𝘮𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵 !! 𝘛𝘢𝘦'𝘴 𝘩𝘶𝘨𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘤𝘬 !!)

On AO3 || part one

"Are you working a double today?" Your friend says with her jacket in hand and bag around her shoulder.

"No. No, I think I'm gonna head back to my dorm today." You sigh from behind the counter, untying your apron and folding it in your hands.

You felt kind of dumb. For the past month and a half you've been staying late at work, working doubles just in case a certain someone decided to show up. Just your luck, he never did. It was almost taunting, working extra hours almost every day just to go home alone. He never texted you and, well, to be fair you never texted him either. You felt like you had a pass, though, because you didn't know when he'd be back in America. What was the point of texting first if you didn't know that one crucial fact?

While the extra money was nice, you couldn't afford to work late anymore. Midterms were just around the corner and you really needed to get back to your dorm and study.

As you're gathering your things to leave and locking up, the whole situation seems to hit you. You and Taehyung are from completely different worlds. Taehyung's apart of a worldwide Korean pop group and you're a broke college student who works part-time at an urban cafe. You mentally facepalm at the fact that you thought Taehyung would ever come back to you. He probably has so many options in Korea, not even. He has options all over the world, for god's sake.

You're letting out another groan of self-pity when you're phone chimes with a new text. Almost a little too eagerly, you unlock your phone and-

It's a text from your roommate.

You coming back tonight or are u working late??

You let out another groan. You're roommate only asked that if she was planning on bringing a guy back to the dorm, which wasn't allowed but you're no snitch.

"Lucky me, looks like I'm spending the night at the library." You roll your eyes at no one but yourself, turning off the main light and stepping out of the cafe. The air outside is a lot colder compared to this morning. You kind of regret not bringing a jacket as goosebumps start to rise on your bare arms and thighs. On top of that, you have to walk all the way to the library. It really was your lucky day, huh. You close the front doors, locking them then shoving the keys into your bag.

It wasn't too late, it was maybe seven or eight o'clock yet it was still cloudy and sullen. Walking somewhere as far as the campus library while it was this dark didn't sit right with you but you didn't have anywhere else to go or any other way to get there. Ah, at least the library had heaters and those comfy beanbag chairs-

"Hey." Just as you're starting to comfort yourself with the promise of a gigantic physics textbook, long fingers are wrapping around your arm and gripping you with a force that has you stumbling backward. Are you being kidnapped? You always saw posts about watching out for sex traffickers but you never thought it'd happen to you. You're too young, you have a future!

"Who-who are you?! Don't kill-" You're practically begging for your life, nearly screaming in hopes that someone walking by will see something wrong until... until you actually look up and meet the eyes of this ominous stranger.

"T-Taehyung?" You finally stop your struggle when you notice the black mask, black hoodie, and blond curls. Did he get taller compared to the last time you saw him?

"Hi."

Is that all he had to say? He kind of just stands there with his fingers still wrapped around your arm. His eyes are squinty and you can tell he's smiling despite the mask. He was clearly happy to see you but you weren't one hundred percent sure you felt the same way.

"Hi? Seriously?" You raise an eyebrow and scoff, trying to pull your arm out of his hold a second time but his grip is still too tight. You can see the moment his smile falters and you'd feel guilty if it weren't for his nails digging into your arm right now. Seriously, does he have any idea how strong he is?

"You not happy to see me?" You can hear the pout in his voice and his hold on you finally loosens. You let your arm fall to your side and you rub the area with your other hand, trying to make some of the pain go away.

"I- I'm- you can't-" You sputter. Okay, you were happy to see him, you have to admit, but that doesn't mean you weren't a little frustrated with him.

"Aw, just as shy as I remember." Taehyung's eyes get squinty again and he brings his hand up to pat the top of your head. You don't know whether to feel embarrassed or exhilarated at the gesture.

"Wanted to see you for while. Did you... miss me?" You watch the way Taehyung's eyes trail down your body and you feel your skin heat up at the simple action. Despite half his face being hidden, you could practically taste the lust in his eyes.

"I... It doesn't matter if I missed you. I didn't think you'd ever come back..." You cross your arms and turn away. You don't want him to notice how flustered he'd made you with just a couple of words.

"Why would you think that? You think the coffee shop was it? You think I don't want more?" Taehyung brings his hand up to your face and rubs his thumb over your cheek gently. It seemed like a comforting gesture but you could tell there was much more to it.

"As I was on the plane, my mind... it went to you. I don't know why. All I can think is how good you'll taste..." Taehyung's eyes visibly darken as his hand moves down your body from your cheek to your waist, his fingers pressing against your back slightly as he pulls you closer.

"Fuck, I could barely wait. You'll let me have you, right? You'll let me fuck you properly this time?" He suddenly tugs you forward and to avoid tripping into him, you place both of your hands on the plain of his chest, hard and muscular and fuck. He must've done that on purpose. You could sense his smirk through his mask.

"Wait... Shit, Taehyung, someone's gonna- someone's gonna see us." Your hold on Taehyung's shirt tightens when you feel big hands drifting slowly from your waist to your ass. Honestly, you really did miss him, you missed having his hands on you like this, and now that he's finally touching you your frustration is starting to melt away.

"Let's go somewhere." It's only been a month or so and his English had improved so much from when you last saw him. He seemed to speak more naturally now. If anything was certain it was that Taehyung took studying way more seriously than you did.

"Where..?" Your mind is kind of a mess right now but you try to remind yourself that this is Taehyung. Worldwide superstar Taehyung whose apart of the biggest boy band in the world. If anyone saw you two together or even thought to take a picture of you two together everything would be ruined.

"Somewhere. C'mon."

Your mom had told you many times growing up, never talk to strangers. She especially told you to never ever get into cars with strangers. As you're sitting in the passenger seat of Taehyungs car, you wonder if your mom's shpeal applies to a moment like this. Well, Taehyung wasn't exactly a stranger. And with the way he made you cum you don't think you'd ever let him become a stranger.

"What you are thinking?" A warm hand on your thigh snaps you out of your thoughts. He probably thought something was wrong since you were looking out the window with your arms crossed. To be fair, there was no way you could be relaxed in this situation. The big hand that covers the vast majority of your thigh definitely helps though.

"Nothing." You say quietly. To be completely honest, you can't really remember what you were thinking about, the simple gesture of putting a comforting hand on you having wiped your memory entirely.

"Nothing?" You can hear the way Taehyung's voice drops an octave, turning it into some kind of seductive murmur. His hand drifts a little higher and he gives a light squeeze, his fingers pressing into your inner thigh delectably. Fuck sake, can this man give you a break?

"Ye-yeah... nothing." You stutter. Were you really touch starved to the point where a mere hand on your thigh had you salivating? You guess so.

"Really nothing?" His hand rests there for a little while before moving under your skirt. Your breath hitches and your legs open the tiniest bit as if on instinct. That seems to grab Taehyung's attention because, for the first time during the car ride, his eyes flicker towards you then back to the road. He inhales deeply then lets out a slow exhale.

"Taehyung..." You meant to say his name as a warning but it comes out as more of a breathy moan. A pair of fingers press against you through the thin material of your panties. You only wore them because you wanted to feel pretty but it looks like they came in handy.

Before you can bask in the feeling of Taehyungs fingers rubbing against you, he pulls away and puts both hands back on the wheel. A couple of curse words you don't understand stumble from his mouth and suddenly he's pulling over.

"Wha..?"

"Backseat. Now." Taehyung parks the car and everything starts to make sense when you see him unbuckle his seatbelt haphazardly.

"We're doing this here?" Surprise is evident in your tone and okay, yeah, maybe car sex has been on your bucket list for a while now, and maybe doing it with Taehyung in the back of his expensive GV80 wasn't such a bad idea.

"Was gonna take you to our hotel but too far. Can't wait anymore. Get in the backseat right now." Taehyung licks his lips and when you meet his eyes you finally notice how dark they are. You quickly unbuckle your own seatbelt and crawl over the armrest console into the comfy leather seats. You could honestly fall asleep here.

"You look fucking delicious." Taehyung slowly pushes you down until your laying on your back and he's looking down at you. The glint in his eyes is something ominous and hungry. He was looking at you as if you were his next meal. No guy has ever looked at you with this much lust in their eyes.

"Touch me, please." You don't want to sound needy but holy shit all you've been able to think about these past few weeks is Taehyung fucking the life out of you. By the looks of it, you're not the only one.

"Soon." Is all he says before pressing soft lips against yours. The kiss starts off slow, the two of you learning the other's motions almost like you were dancing. When you let out a breathless pant, he slips his tongue in your mouth, and all of a sudden things aren't moving as slow anymore. You bring your hand up and slide your fingers into Taehyung's silky hair easily, inadvertently making him kiss you harder.

"I hope- I hope you didn't replace me..." Taehyung pulls away for a second only to press light pecks down your jaw, all the way down to your neck. "... while I was gone."

"I didn't. Promise. I waited for you. Please..." Taehyung sucks dark hickeys into your neck, sucking until you hissed in pain. You always had a sensitive neck and the man above you was truly making the most of it.

"Good. Don't want one- anyone in this hole beside me. This pussy is mine." As if to emphasize his point, he grinds his hips down against yours and fuck, there's no way he's that hard already.

"Ah, Tae-" You moan at the feeling of him rubbing against you. Even with the layers and layers of clothes in the way, you could feel perfectly just how thick and long he was. Not to mention the clear possession in his voice.

He already had you wrapped around his finger.

"Ah, jinjja, I can't believe this. You forget what I said last time?" Taehyung pulls away to unbuckle his belt and the action alone has your brain buffering.

"Eyes are up here, jagiya." He uses a singular finger to tilt your chin up and his voice is doing that thing again. That thing where it's deep and smooth like butter and you can practically taste the flirtation in his tone.

"Answer me. You forgot, hm? Call me oppa." As soon as his pants are off, he's sliding down your body and flipping up your short, pleated skirt. You're not exactly sure what he's about to do until he leans in close to your lower abdomen, bites the thin waistband of your panties, and pulls them down your thighs slowly with his mouth.

"I'm waiting." He mumbles, letting go of the panties and letting the waistband snap against your thighs. He spreads your legs apart as far as they can go with them bounded together by your expensive underwear. Then he's flicking his tongue across your clit, purposely teasing.

"Oh- oppa, fuck!" You throw your head back when he finally drags the flat of his tongue up your slick folds, giving it a few more slow licks.

"Wanted to taste you for so long-" The words stumble out his mouth quickly and he doesn't take his lips off you for a second.

Taehyung's focus shifts back to your clit, spurred on by your airy moans. Your fingers are itching to knot themselves in his hair again - you just want to pull him closer, grind your hips into him. It's too much and not enough at the same time.

"Oh my god, oh my..." Taehyung swallows and looks up at you with dark eyes, his cheeks and ears a light shade of red as he licked his lips. Your wetness was all over his chin and the corners of his mouth and you've seriously never seen a guy enjoy giving oral so much. For god's sake, he looked like he was about to ascend.

"It's wet." He moans. The words were so simple and obvious but the way he said it, god, you want it on repeat.

A big hand drifts up your thigh slowly as his mouth wraps around your clit again. While the hand on your thigh kneads the skin there gently, his other hand is inching between your legs. Nothing can prepare you for the feeling of two long fingers pressing into you.

"Ah, ah- wait-" The fingers slide in easily with how wet you are. It seems he hasn't forgotten where your sweet spot is if the way he curls his fingers directly into that bundle of nerves indicates anything.

"You like it, hm? It's just fingers but you're going crazy. It feel that good?" Taehyung growls, sucking on your sensitive bud lightly as he thrusted his fingers inside you, curling them each time and making you see stars.

"Answer me, jagiya." He says around your clit. If he kept this up you'd be coming embarrassingly fast.

"Mnnhh, I like it. I like- I like it a lot." You try your best to speak a coherent sentence but you end up cutting yourself off with your own stuttered moans.

"Tae, close. So close..." You try to warn him but he ignores you entirely. Instead, he continues sucking and opening you up with his fingers, even as your orgasm flows through your whole body, making you spasm a little.

"Mashisoyo," Taehyung says it quietly like he's talking to himself. He removes his two fingers from inside you and admires the way your cum seeps out of you. He prides himself on his work but he wasn't near close to being done.

"Wait- wait, what're..." You barely get a second to calm down before Taehyungs mouth is back on you. He spreads your thighs apart farther using both hands and swipes his tongue up your folds, collecting every drop of your cum on his tongue and swallowing it down with a satisfied 'mmm'.

"Fuck sake, are you real? How can you taste so good?" He sighs against you before pressing his tongue inside your hole. You writhe under him, sensitive and overstimulated.

"Hard. So hard right now. I need it inside you." Taehyung sits up and when your vision unblurs, you can clearly see the way his cock strains against his designer boxers.

Designer boxers?

"Let me?" At this moment, you can't help thinking that Taehyung looks cute here. He's sitting up, rutting helplessly against his hand. Rosy cheeks, parted lips, and an aching cock. An aching cock he needed you to fix.

"Of course." As soon as the confirmation exits your mouth, he's freeing himself from his boxers and sliding the restricting material down his thighs. He tosses the underwear somewhere in the car. He'd deal with it later.

"Woah, I forgot... how big you were..." Suddenly recollections from your last sexual encounter with the idol flood your memory. The way the tip of his cock brushed against your cervix, the way it hurt but it felt so good. The same fear that he wouldn't fit still grazed your skin as last time but you weren't any less determined to take him. Lord knows you needed him just as much as he needed you right now.

"Ah, don't say a thing like that... embarrassing." He tries to turn away to hide his embarrassment but you can see the smile curling on his lips. How was it possible for a guy with a dick this big to be so humble? It was insane.

"I'll insert now." He says, slotting his hips between yours.

"Insert?" You repeat, confused. You've never heard someone use the term 'insert' while having sex.

"Did I say it right? It means put in, you know?" You really can't help laughing at that. That laugh quickly turns into a groan of pleasure when you feel the thick head of his cock press against your folds, threatening to split you open.

"Fuck, it's hot." Taehyung has to stop himself before he can fully get his tip inside because the last time he had sex was a month and a half ago and holy shit, he might actually cum prematurely.

"You-you're stretching me open, oppa." Hearing you call him 'oppa' seems to awaken something inside him. You bite your lip hard in an attempt to suppress your whimpers as he gradually slides in deeper.

"Ahh, it's hugging me." Taehyung closes his eyes tightly as he buries himself inside you to the hilt. Somehow, being so deep inside you made him feel at home.

Slowly, very slowly, he starts building a rhythm, grinding into you with careful and precise thrusts. You're not completely sure if he's moving gently for you or himself but you're very grateful.

You part your lips slightly to let out a moan as Taehyung's cock drags along your walls. Before you can properly let a sound out, he's pressing his lips against yours again. Unlike before, he's immediately licking into your mouth, almost as if he can't get enough of you, like he needs to taste you to survive.

"Perfect. Perfect for me. Perfect and tight just for me." As you both adjust to the beautifully familiar feeling of each other, he starts to move faster. He pulls away from your lips and presses them back against your neck. For some reason, getting fucked in Taehyung's expensive car was ten times as luxurious as any other one night stands you've ever had.

"Tae, it feels-" You never considered you to be extremely vocal in bed but somehow this man managed to drag every sound, every moan from the back of your throat like it was nothing.

"Feel good? I feel good." He groans against your neck. He's been holding back this whole time but the longer he's inside you, the harder it gets to control himself.

"You don't- fuck, I'm not made of glass, you can go harder." You slip your hands under his shirt and glide them over the expanse of his back. His skin was a bit damp from how hot the car had gotten.

"Really?" You feel him smirk against your neck before his lips brush over the shell of your ear.

"So, more? I don't know, little girl, what if I break you?" He enunciates the word 'break' with a particularly rough thrust that has you seeing literal stars. That along with the way he's whispering and lightly biting your ear has you shivering under him with need. You need more.

"Mm- ah, break me! I don't care." You whine loudly. At first, you were happy he was letting you adjust but right now you needed his thick cock fucking you into these leather seats.

His objective seems to change after that. Instead of teasing you relentlessly, his hips start moving at an ungodly rate, the head of cock nudging at your cervix as if it was trying to get its attention. It was a dangerous feeling and you know what could happen if you got injured up there, but it felt so good. The way he filled you up so perfectly, rubbing against that bundle of nerves even when he pulled out just to thrust back in was just too addicting.

He growls something in Korean and if you could use half of your brainpower right now, you'd try and figure out what but you could literally feel Taehyung in your guts and it's hard to focus on anything else.

"Naekkeo..." His breathing gets heavier and his thrusts are starting to get sloppier. You barely notice, though, with your second orgasm already rearing around the corner.

"Who does this belong to, hm?" He says between breaths. The sound of skin slapping skin was so loud in the car and you wonder if the vehicle was shaking with how hard Taehyung was pounding into you. There's no way it wasn't.

"Who does this fucking pussy belong to?" He reiterates and the clear dominance behind his words has you keening. You wonder if you could cum just from him speaking to you like that.

"Y- ya- you! Belong- belongs to- you!" You clench hard around him when you feel your orgasm ripple through you in waves, one after the other till your head was thrown back and you were calling out Taehyung's name like a mantra.

"Tight, nnha, it's fucking... tight..." Taehyung's restraint was quickly deteriorating and before he can even form a cognitive thought he's coming inside you. His hips buck wantonly as you practically milk him dry with how hard you're clenching around him. The feeling of his warm cum pumping inside you nearly makes your eyes roll back. You truly missed that feeling.

"I shouldn't have- ah, I came inside..." Taehyung raises his eyebrows in a shocked, worried expression and slaps a hand over his mouth. It takes you a moment to come back to reality but when you do, the first thing you see is an anxious Taehyung. It makes your blood run cold.

"What happened? Was it bad?" You sit up, your initial reaction being to comfort him. He pulls out carefully and you feel his cum oozing out of you, seeping onto the fancy leather seats. Oh.

Oops.

"No, no. So good. But this could be bad." He gives a nervous chuckle and looks down where you're practically leaking. You bite your lip at the sight. It was kinda hot.

"I'm on the pill and I'm clean, so don't worry." You giggle at your forward-thinking. After the promise of a second time with Taehyung, there was no way you were letting him pull out again. You had a bit of a breeding kink but there was no way you were getting pregnant. Thank god for birth control

"Pill? What pill?" He tilts his head, clearly confused but his lips turn up in a smile after seeing you giggle.

"Birth control. It prevents pregnancies." You explain it simply. He makes a sound of understanding and nods before throwing his arms around you and pulling you into his lap. Now it's your turn to be confused.

"Let's hug like this for a while then I take you back to the hotel. Couple minutes away." His arms are wrapped around your waist and he's pressing his nose against your neck, just breathing you in.

"I thought you said it was too far of a drive." A smirk graces your features.

"I just couldn't wait."

★━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━★

[I do not allow any translating, editing, reposting, or use of any my work!!]

1K notes · View notes

tingleparker · 4 years

Text

Reap the rewards

Arvin Russell x Fem!Reader

Requested?: Yes! Thank you @Iwant2combust <3 hope it did your request justice.

• Warnings: Religious themes, Being followed? If you have watched the film, preachers a bit of a nonce :)) but nothing full on. Slow paced in the beginning. No spoilers.

• Summary: You were no longer the new comers in town, though you find the new Preacher making you feel uneasy. That is until you notice him following you, so you make a quick plan to get some help from a Russell boy.

• Word count: 1.7k

A/n: lads, Arvin is just phew 🥵 anyways, writings a bit rusty but enjoy! <3

Check out my other works here! or send a request here!

Though only moving into town a week ago, you were no longer the newcomers; a new preacher had come into the small town of Coal Creek. This had sent your mother into a frenzy, stressing out about the dishes needed to be cooked for this reverend for the upcoming sermon. You weren’t into the whole praising God and thanking the lord, kind of thing; you had seen what it had done to your mother. Your father leaving early into your life, your mother praying constantly and heavily but it did her no good. Years of continuous praying for the return of your father or blessings to come down onto your small family were engraved into your mind but it did absolutely nothing but maintain that dark cloud over the pair of you. Your father never returned and with becoming short with money, your mother had planned to move you two slightly down south; selling your current house before buying a cheaper one down in Coal Creek.

The sunny day had come, the sermon was being held in the town's church; families lining up to meet the reverend as well as bring the offering of meals. You stood next to your mother, huffing at the sundress you were forced into by her, as she glared at you before putting on a smile looking forward. As you waited in line, you studied the building as well as the townsfolk. Plates of food slowly racked up onto the front tables as each family brought an offering to the Reverend, his wife alongside him as you snuck a peek over the family in front to see the new folks in town. Shifting your gaze over your shoulder, your eyes find a boy in an off-white button-down, hands in pockets and a similar non-caring expression you had on. A smile begins to form on your lips as he realises your staring, making eye contact before he gives a slight nod. With this your mother harshly grabs your arm pulling you forward as you realise he had been nodding for you to move forward.

“Lovely to meet you Reverend” Your mother politely greets, a nervous smile on her face as she offers her plate.

As the preacher begins to taste the meal your mother had worked hard on, his eyes flickered to you. The look in his eyes along with how he had licked at his fingers made you increasingly uncomfortable, finding your shoes more pleasing than to stare into the man's eyes.

“I’m going off for a walk Ma!” You yell out before walking out the door.

You needed to get out of the house, wanting to explore the town as well as get away from the constant murmurs of your mother praying. Your feet began moving as you walked into town, a calming breeze around you and you felt at peace with your own thoughts at that moment. Walking around the small town, you don't realise the time as the sun began to sink; the sky dusked. Though it wasn't too late where you would be surrounded by the darkness, you knew it would be a good time to start heading back home. Passing back through the town, it had become distinctively quieter than before. Your ears perked up at the constant sound of an engine rumbling nearby, which was unusual as there were only cars which drove past in a swift speed but only ever so often.

Taking a quick look behind you, you spot a slow driving car; a flashy white vehicle. The same expensive-looking vehicle that you had often seen parked near the church, the same car that Preacher Teagardin owns. You whip your head back around to look forward before picking up your pace. Like hell did you trust this man, the same look he gave you during the sermon flashed through your mind as goosebumps formed along your arms. You looked around trying to spot somewhere to duck into and hide out or at least feel safe, the low rumble of the car still following at a leisurely pace behind you. As you notice bright lights through the increasingly darker world, you let out a sigh of relief before hastily making your way over to the store. It wasn't much, a small grocery store but it would do; there would be workers there at least. As you push the glass door open and walk in, you notice a bored-looking employee up at the front counter as well as a single customer in the small isle. You see through the store's windows that the Reverend parked outside the building, peering in; causing you to briskly look away from him hopefully without getting noticed. You took a deep breath as you approached the single customer, dressed in an open white button-up, blue cap adorning his head. There was a grimy feeling you could feel as you knew the Reverend's eyes were on you through the glass. This made you make a rash decision; you hoped this man was better than the Preacher.

As you come to stand beside the man, your hands creep along his waist as your arm comes to wrap around his body.

“Hi there, I’m Y/n. Sorry, this is a bit weird, I just need some help. Only for a couple of minutes, I promise.” You greet and plead as you lean up to the stranger's ear, seeing that the Reverend has come into the store.

“And what kinda’ help do you need?” The man asks, finally tilting his gaze towards you, you realise it was the same Russell boy from the sermon.

“I-I know it might sound stupid.. but I just- I get an off feeling with the new Reverend is all. He’s been behind me all this time, just uneasy is all” Looking down towards the ground as you respond, feeling dumber as you say it out loud.

Hell, this was a Preacher after all. This man was supposed to be a minister sent by the Lord. You didn’t believe all that but growing up with a heavily religious mother you knew some things, and those facts could not be filtered out.

“And what’s in it for me?” The question snapped you back to the reality of being in the store, your mind ticking for ideas.

A smile emerges on your lips as your hands move away from his torso. Only to move facing the boy, hands snaking up behind his neck to clasp together. The movement gaining you a questioning eyebrow raise by him. Though a curious stare, his arms also wind around you; resting on your hips.

“How ‘bout I get you some dinner some time? Just you and I, no creepy Preacher around.” You offer, unconsciously playing the nape of his neck.

“Arvin Russell, at your service ma’am” He teases, though you let out a sigh of relief bringing his body even closer to yours for a grateful hug.

“So what brings you to this store, this lovely evening, Arvin Russell?”

The pair of you stand there intertwined for a few minutes, getting to know each other. He was cute, the way he spoke lovingly of his family and his determined personality he had made you feel at ease; almost forgetting about the older man wandering around the store as well. That is until you see the man dressed in his suit walk past the two of you, making eye contact with him causes you to hide into Arvin's neck.

“How ‘bout I give you a ride home huh?” Feeling the vibrations when he had spoken this question, you were not going back outside to walk home so it was a simple choice.

You give a slight hum of approval before placing a gentle kiss on the skin of his neck. You pull away from him, watching a light blush rise onto Arvin's skin as you smile. Starting to walk away from him and towards the door. Before you could make it out though, you’re tugged back.

Arvin's fingers clasping yours, holding your hand as well as holding the door open for you to walk out. You let out a slight giggle before the two of you walk out the store hand in hand.

Though just before you get to Arvin’s car, he spins you around. Back coming into contact with the side of his red vehicle, a small laugh leaves your lips as you forget about the grimy man in the suit who had followed the pair of you out the store. Without another word, you feel his hands fall onto your cheeks as his lips press against yours. Unconsciously your eyes flutter shut, hands moving around Arvin's neck and lips moving in sync to his. You don't notice the time that passed as the two of you lock lips until you're only slightly parting for air.

“What was that for?” You ask out of breath, forehead still pressed against his.

“Putting on a show darlin’” Arvin responds with a smirk, before you have any time to wonder what he meant when you hear a car ignite its engine.

You peer around Arvin to watch Preacher Teagardin reverse out of the parking lot and drive away into the distance. You let out a relieved laugh as you lean slightly forward to peck those lips that were recently on yours.

“So about that dinner?” The young boy cheekily asks, a smirk on his face.

“Well, we got time now don’t we?” You slyly respond as you take the blue cap off his head and place it on top of your own.

You move out from under Arvin and open the passenger's side door, letting yourself fall into the seat. You smile as you watch the boy stand there for a moment grinning before jogging around the vehicle and entering the driver's side. As the two of you drive down to the town's diner, you couldn’t bear to imagine if you ended up in the Preacher's car instead. Though you looked over to the side, seeing the boy driving, taking in his stunning side profile. The golden light of the sunset bouncing off his skin, as he looked ethereal.

You know Arvin notices your staring though without taking his eyes off the road, he slips one of his hands into yours; intertwining your fingers.

For the first time in a long time, you thank god.

#arvin russell #arvin russell x reader #arvin russell imagine #arvin russell imagines #arvin russell x you #tom holland x reader #tdatt fic #tdatt x reader #tdatt #arvin russel imagine #arvin russel x reader

2K notes · View notes

retrievablememories · 3 years

Text

tokyo 2112 | baekhyun (m)

title: tokyo 2112 pairing: rich guy!baekhyun x reader genre: sci-fi/cyberpunk au, enemies to lovers, angst, non-explicit smut request: “hi, how are you? 💕 could i request some cyberpunk x baekhyun fic? i have in mind Tokyo, neon lights and explosive lovers. please feel free to choose the amount you want to write or you can. and thanks! ✨” word count: 12.8k warnings: body modifications/prosthetics, attempted robbery, physical violence (not between bh x reader, though reader does think about fighting him 💀), blood, non-graphic wounds, mentions of sex/one non-explicit sex scene, mentions of a car accident, frequent alcohol use/unhealthy reliance on alcohol, smoking, mentions of classism/poverty, mentions of experimentation, surgery is performed on the reader but not described, one mention of being weighed on a scale-like device a/n: this is my first real, lengthy attempt at enemies2lovers (or maybe just the genre “reader’s an a-hole who makes a lot of assumptions”) because i’m a clown and like to challenge myself for no reason...and this is why i don’t fool with this particular romance genre 💀 feedback is appreciated, this fic is just a whole lot of me experimentally punching above my weight and i’m a bit undecided on my feelings about it

also, i imagined the reader’s arm with a similar structure to the winter soldier’s, for reference

Tokyo, year 2112

You meet him in a Lower Tokyo club, the neon lights bleeding into each other and creating a deep, vivid landscape. It’s an unnaturally pretty scene—unnatural like everyone and everything else inside this club.

There’s a look of subdued wonder on his face, which makes you roll your eyes. He’s all made up and way too pretty to be in this dingy club with his gaudy piercings and expensive rings. Still, he enters the building in all his affluent glory, standing out against the crowd of gritty and cobbled-together androids and half-humans.

He’s a rich man’s son and an even richer man’s grandson. He’s known for being attractive, intelligent, and ridiculously rich—and that’s about all you know of the man himself. Him and his family have been excellent at keeping their personal lives air-tight, only ever letting the public know what they want everyone to know. But ultimately, they are only human. You know they cannot be as perfect as they try to maintain, and you can only imagine the unsavory things in their family history that go much deeper than anyone could ever think up.

“Do you think he wears all that to make up for the lack of enhancements?” Your friend Valor asks. He’s gesturing specifically to the man’s lip piercing and the chains hanging off of it, attached to the collar of his shirt. It’s a little strange, but it’s a signature look for him, and certainly not one of the weirder things in here.

“I’d like to rip it right out,” you reply in lieu of an actual answer to Valor’s question.

The man appears misplaced—like a researcher conducting a study of alien beings rather than a regular club goer—though he doesn’t seem to mind this. He just observes everything around him.

Valor chuckles and shakes his head at the display, throwing back another shot. “Weird.”

“Hm. Come on.” You steer Valor in the other direction, looking to get away from the man before he can get near your area of the club. Though this is your first time being in such close quarters with Byun Baekhyun despite his popularity across Tokyo, you’d like to cut things short if at all possible.

Another hour passes, and the drinks keep flowing. Your mind has gotten pleasantly hazy by now, almost enough to make you forget about the trespasser in your club scene. Almost.

You, Valor, and three other familiar faces sit at a small table near the back of the club. One of the guys is recounting some run-in he had the other week with the Droid Commission, though you can barely hear over the music that’s only getting louder, so you just nod and pretend to understand. However, he suddenly falters in his tale and his eyes dart up to a spot above your head. Turning back, you see that he is standing just over your shoulder. Without thinking, you recoil.

Baekhyun slides from behind you and comes to stand in front of you all now, a strangely convivial smile on his face. He acts like he’s merely visiting you all at brunch instead of standing in a club in the roughest part of the city.

“Exquisite work here,” he says, though his words drown in all the noise. None of you know what he’s saying, or who he’s saying it to. Noticing the acute confusion, Baekhyun lowers himself to your level, his scent passing across your nose as he does. Some robust and fancy cologne you don’t know the name of. Your eyebrows furrow at his proximity, and your blood rushes; maybe out of anger, or maybe just from being drunk. Then he touches your left shoulder, right where the metal of your arm connects to your living flesh.

Yeah, definitely anger.

“I said, this work is exquisite. Quite fascinating, really. Who made it?” Baekhyun has to get fairly close to your ear for you to hear him above the commotion, and you can feel the heat of his mouth next to your skin. His eyes travel the length of your arm, which is fully exposed in your tank top. His voice is irritatingly smooth, and the chains of his lip ring lightly brush your shoulder when he pulls back after he finishes speaking. Though your arm may be made of metal, it still has artificial sensory “nerves” running through it that connect it to the rest of your nervous system—and right now, they are screaming from that slight touch.

Maybe you really are just too damn drunk.

You look into Baekhyun’s dark eyes, which are imploring, coy, and playful all at once. The others at your table watch this interaction as if suspended in time, probably trying to process the sheer nerve of this dude.

“Fuck off,” you blurt out, and brush him off your shoulder with your flesh hand.

He remains unoffended; he even looks entertained by your blunt rejection.

The man who was previously telling his story speaks up. “You heard her. Fuck off, pretty boy.”

Baekhyun straightens up and nods, then reaches into his jacket. Two of the men leap to their feet, thinking he’s about to pull out a weapon—which would not be the first or last occurrence in this club—but he only brings out a business card, tucked between two of his fingers.

“Ever vigilant, aren’t you?” Baekhyun says, laying the card on the small tabletop. Then he directs his next sentence to you. “If you decide you feel like telling me more...get in touch.”

Then he disappears back into the mass of moving bodies just as quickly as he came. You flex the fingers on your metal hand, trying to figure out what the fuck just happened.

Both men at your table sit back down, although they’re still a bit disgruntled. Valor picks up the card to inspect it. “You gonna call that weirdo?”

“Please. You know me better than that by now.” You pluck the card from his hand and rip it up without a second thought. However, it takes a little longer to forget about the heated imprint of Baekhyun’s fingers on your shoulder, or his whispering voice fluttering against your eardrum.

Getting the arm was merely an act of survival, the way you saw it.

Money was low and jobs were scarce—ones that weren’t dangerous, straight-up unappealing, or low pay. There had been a scientific research trial for a new cybernetics program, and it paid much better than many other opportunities around—enough to live on for at least a year, give or take, especially with the cheaper cost of living in your area. You’d been terrified about giving up a part of your body, thinking your body might reject the foreign technology and kill you for the offense, but your desperation outweighed the fear.

Thankfully, it worked.

That was nearly two years ago, though, and the trial was long over. Even with you spending as frugally as you possibly could, the money was close to running out.

Odd jobs here and there help you out some, but they are few and far between and don’t pay nearly enough to make a living on.

You’re getting increasingly anxious about the lack of options and dwindling money, though you also spend half of your time getting drunk, hitting up the club, and simply trying not to acknowledge your crumbling life. If worst comes to worst, you can always think about finding another research trial and exchanging another body part. Maybe. These cybernetics programs often crop up more in Osaka, which would require you to leave the city, but maybe you could get another gig and scrape up enough money for travel...

For now, however, you are back at the club’s familiar bar and making small talk with the bartender, who’s an android without a real name or identity. Everyone just knows it as T-4000, though it appears to be fine with its little niche in the world. Sometimes it teases you about your arm and wonders when you will make a complete transformation into a “metalhead” like itself. Though you cringe, the company is better than nothing when the others aren’t around, so you allow the jokes.

Alone at the bar, you’re too preoccupied with staring into your drink to register the body sliding onto the bar stool next to yours until you hear The Voice flowing out again.

“One Blue Lagoon, please.”

Oh, fuck. You put your head in one hand and angle your body away from his in hopes that he doesn’t notice it’s you. But just as your fortune turns out, he happens to be facing your metal arm.

“Oh, it’s you again.” Baekhyun sounds pleased to see you, like this is some great unexpected coincidence, though you know that’s not likely true. You lift your drink to your mouth and pretend you don’t hear him, though that doesn’t deter him. “I never did hear back from you. How sad.”

“I have no desire to talk to you or anyone like you,” you say, still with your head turned.

“Anyone like me?” He chuckles.

“You don’t belong here, in case you didn't notice.”

“By whose definition?”

“Everyone’s,” you retort. T-4000 comes back with Baekhyun’s drink, and it gives you a look of bright amusement and curiosity with its digital-screen face as it rolls away to help another customer.

“I don’t concern myself with ‘everyone’s’ opinions,” Baekhyun replies, drinking from his glass. “Just the ones who matter.”

“Right, like your rich friends,” you scoff. “Why the hell are you even here?” You turn to him then, though looking at him feels like a mistake—like staring into a solar eclipse. He’s still wearing his chains, like always, and his eyes are smoked out with dark shades of eyeliner. The makeup makes him look eternally tired, but in some high-fashion model way.

“Because I don’t like being around my so-called ‘rich friends’ any more than you would.” Baekhyun smirks.

“So sorry.” You roll your eyes. “Maybe you should become a hermit, then.”

“You seem to be doing a good job of that right now. Where’s your friends from last time?” He looks around as if they’ll materialize.

“None of your business.”

Baekhyun leans on the bar counter, placing his arms on top of it, and his cologne hits you again. You try to hold your breath against the scent, though you can almost taste it in the back of your mouth. Shaking your head, you peer directly into his eyes now, which are as exceedingly curious as the last time. They’re still inky dark under this lighting, reminding you of black holes that absorb all light and life.

“Is it bad for me to want to know more about your arm?”

“Like I just said, it’s frankly none of your business.” You cast a forlorn glance at your drink, which has gotten dangerously low.

“Fair enough.” He sips again. “Now. What if I want to know about you?”

The back of your neck flares with heat, though you can’t fathom why. “You must be truly bored if that’s what you came here for. Unfortunately, you aren’t as interesting as you seem to think you are.”

“You injure me.” But you both know he’s not hurt at all by anything you can think of to say to him. “But this isn’t about me—it’s about you.”

“What about me? How you want to steal my arm and use it for scrap metal, maybe? Or to build yourself a body mod, even? You really stand out in here being the only one who’s not partway made of tin or some shit, and it makes people distrust you. You can figure that out, right?”

“You make a lot of assumptions.” Baekhyun swirls his drink around in his glass, the blue liquid swishing around the sides. “Let me make some, then. You seem like a mysterious, closed-off, and perpetually discontented person. And despite what you might think, it’s not my first time seeing you around. I guess I can’t interest you in entertaining my presence just for company’s sake?”

You pause, wondering where Baekhyun could have possibly spotted you. You don’t hang out in any of the places someone of his standing would usually be seen in. But then again, does he even frequent those areas of Upper Tokyo? He’s always spending his time mingling in Lower Tokyo’s notable haunts instead. “...Are you some kind of peeping tom or something equally pathetic?”

T-4000 perks up at that, even from its distance on the other side of the bar, and it scoots a little closer as if it’ll need to call the Droid Commission in another minute. Which, in actuality, is a terrible idea—calling on one of the city’s many vigilantes would have a more effective outcome, if need be, but sending them for Baekhyun of all people might land you all in prison.

“Tokyo is big,” Baekhyun deadpans, like it’s something even a baby would know. “You can see anyone anywhere.” Then his voice melts back into its normal suave tone. “I’ve noticed you in passing, once or twice. Your arm is something special, but it’s hard to forget a person like you.”

Despite yourself, you don’t totally hate the comment. That alone makes you want to leave the club and not look back for at least the next month or so, knowing he’s probably said this to dozens of other people before. You stay in your seat, though, trying to see what easy line this man is going to throw out next.

“I wonder why I’ve never noticed you, then.”

“You seem to be too consumed with your own problems half the time, even though I don’t know what those are. The stress is written all over your face, though.”

Can never miss a chance to be insufferable, it seems.

“Okay Mr. Psychoanalyst.” You knock back the tiny bit of drink left in your glass and push it away from you. You shake your head at the android when it gestures for a refill.

“Not a psychoanalyst, you’re just achingly easy to decipher.” His tone is casual, like this isn’t meant to be an insult, though you take offense anyway.

“You’re not very good at whatever this is,” you say.

“What do you think this is? Flirting? Maybe you wouldn’t be wrong there.” He laughs.

“Yeah, well. Get some more practice and then maybe you can convince some other poor sap to get to know you better and sign over the rights to their cybernetics, but I won’t be falling for it.”

“I guess that means I’ll just have to try harder, then.” And then he finishes his drink, too. “Not the stealing your arm bit, but the getting to know you part.” He pauses for another moment, and then says, “It’s easy to become enamored with this place.” He waves his hand around at the club’s surroundings. “Expect to see me around more often. I think I’ve already taken a liking to you.”

Baekhyun tips his empty glass to you and gets up from his stool. His cologne swirls around you as he leaves, not overpowering, but enough to make its mark on your olfactory memories. You don’t look back to see where he walks off to, too busy trying to ignore the small headache building behind your eyes and your elevated heart rate.

He’s already taken a liking to you. Why would a ridiculous comment like that even get to you?

God. You really need to get laid.

So, you do just that.

Not with Baekhyun, but with someone from the club whose name you don’t even remember before it’s even over. It was painfully uneventful sex, and it did nothing to banish the man from your mind, which makes you feel even more irritated.

Walking back to your tiny apartment afterwards feels like a certified Walk of Shame even though it’s late at night and no one really cares to notice you. You spit on the sidewalk as if that could properly convey your disgust. You think of Osaka again—and what the fuck are you going to do to even get the money to get there?—and of the business card that you’d ripped up without remorse.

You shake your head, sending that thought back to the depths of your mind. Nevermind. That doesn’t matter. What could he possibly have for you, and why would you want it? Tucking your hands tighter in your pockets, you keep your head down and remain inconspicuous until you get back to the not-so-welcome sight of your own place.

You, Valor, and a few others sit around a makeshift bonfire at Tokyo’s Rainbow Bridge—or what remains of it, anyway, with weeds and tall grass sprouting up in the space that was once its parking lot. For the past hour, this impromptu hangout been nothing but smoking cigarettes and drinking cheap alcohol and shooting the breeze. The nights are always much colder than the days, the chill biting into your skin and seeping into your clothes, but you try to ignore it and huddle closer to the fire. Maybe there is something, anything else you could be doing other than this, but you are just a bit too weak—and a little too lonely—to say no to the companionship. Even if it means listening to the uninteresting conversations of men who you barely know outside of the club or without a bottle of whiskey in their hands.

Your hangout session remains sleepy and boring for a while until someone makes a suggestion. One of them keeps going on about some steady, reliable work he’s supposedly found from a trusted friend, though he refuses to elaborate on what kind of work it is when asked. You make a sound of disgust and tune him out. Useless suggestions are as bad as none at all.

“Maybe we oughta rob that Baekhyun dude.”

You look up from the flames, fixing your eyes on the one who said it—a man called Lockjaw—and someone else chuckles in disbelief.

“You serious?” Valor asks.

Lockjaw sits forward in his ratty lawn chair, and with the way the light hits his face, it’s easier to see how his bottom jaw and teeth are completely metal. It makes you wince internally every time you see him, though you always feel kinda bad afterwards. That must’ve hurt exponentially worse than your own procedure. “Why the fuck not? He struts around Lower Tokyo like he has it all...and the bastard does. We sit and grovel for scraps, yet there’s a walking goldmine right in front of us.”

The idea of taking Baekhyun’s riches had never quite appealed to you or fully manifested in your mind. You didn’t want anything belonging to him, mostly because of your own disdain towards the man. However, the suggestion appears in sharp relief now, so obvious that it’s hard to believe no one else proposed it until now. You don’t immediately respond to this concept being thrown around, but something uneasy settles in your chest.

Valor sits back with a mildly disinterested look. “And you think someone like him doesn’t have major security hanging around waiting to incinerate someone with a ray gun if they tried it?”

“Do you ever see anyone hanging around him?”

“Doesn’t mean they’re not there. Somewhere.”

“Then we’ll be strapped up,” Lockjaw says, throwing his hands in the air. “And any of his little ‘security team’ who tries it will be blown into the stratosphere. That’s how we take care of that.” You shake your head only slightly, a movement not noticeable enough to be picked up by the others. You rub your tongue against the inside of your cheek, picturing all the ways this plan could go belly-up. To your irritation, Valor decides to drag you into the fold despite your efforts to stay out of the conversation.

“What do ya think, Y/N? Baekhyun’s been on your tail lately, maybe you could help lure him in.” That stirs up several murmurs and targeted stares in your direction.

“Yeah?” Lockjaw leans forward even more, his ass nearly slipping off the edge of the chair. “Think you can get in good with him?”

You shift uncomfortably in your seat. “Uh...it’s not like I’m buddy-buddy with him—”

“You don’t need to be, just tell him to bring his ass here and we’ll do the rest.”

Your mouth tightens. With all eyes trained on you, some expressions less friendly than others, it feels impossible to refuse. “I guess.”

“It’ll provide the money you’ve been worrying over for the past year.” Valor offers, and you shoot him a side-eye. Not like you needed him to broadcast your business to the world.

“That’s how life around here works,” another man chimes in, putting his cigarette out on the dirt and getting off his makeshift stoop of an upturned bucket. He stretches his arms and legs, and though you can’t see them under his long pants, you can hear the soft whirring and clicking of his metal legs. “Eat or be eaten. I’ve made my choice.”

Lockjaw gives a wolfish smile. Your apprehension rises, though you say nothing. “Eat, we will.”

You try to act nonchalant the next time you see Baekhyun at the club. You only notice him as you’re leaving, having already waited most of the night to see if he’d show up this time. You slow to a stop as you spot him in the alleyway behind the club, speaking to another club-goer—you’ve seen the person around before. You can only imagine what they were talking about before you’d interrupted their little scene, and the person scurries off, perhaps somewhat reluctantly, once it’s clear they’ve lost Baekhyun’s attention. Maybe that was the poor sap he’d finally found who’d be misguided enough to give up their cybernetics.

Baekhyun approaches you with a smile, his chains catching in the light of the flashy neon sign above. The kohl is dark and smoky around his eyes, in perfect sameness with every other time you’ve seen him.

“Hello, one who’s name I still don’t know—”

“You should come see me,” you interrupt. You want this to be as quick as possible, not wanting to dwell on any fake niceties.

Baekhyun lifts an eyebrow. “See you? At...your place, or—”

“At the ruins of Rainbow Bridge. Thursday night, around 9. Unless you’re too busy doing rich people stuff.”

“Rainbow Bridge…” He draws the words slowly across his tongue. Probably thinking of what a ruin the bridge is now—and has been for the past few decades—and wondering why you’re asking him to meet there of all places.

“I have a friend who lives around there—no fucking place to stay, you know, just holes up wherever he can. But he can...let you see the inner workings of my arm. Pick him up, take him back to your place; I’m sure you have a lab.” And because you know what he’s really looking for, you throw in, “He’s studied the technology, knows it inside-out. He could help you build...whatever it is you want.”

Baekhyun’s eyes, which you normally perceive as two lightless voids, sparkle at that last part. You can practically see the light increase in them. “Oh really?”

You roll your own eyes. “Yes, really. I’m not going to let you walk off with my damn arm, but you can...take notes on the mechanisms and shit. It’s up to you. I just got tired of you fuckin’ asking, so don’t think this is going to turn into some weekly meetup or whatever.”

He nods, slowly at first, and then more assuredly. “Alright, then. I’ll come.”

“So...yeah.” A sudden wave of anxiety crashes over you now that the trap has been laid. You feel as if you make one wrong move now, it’ll blow everything. He’ll find out and hate you for it. But why should you care about him hating you? “Then...see ya Thursday. Bye.” You decide to make your exit, walking briskly past him in the alley.

“Leaving so soon?” Baekhyun asks, turning back to watch your figure retreat. You wave one hand behind you in a dismissive gesture.

“I’ve been here all fuckin’ night, Byun. I’m going home now—to get some sleep, if I’m lucky.”

He chuckles, the sound fading behind you as you walk away. “Sweet dreams.”

Your steps falter just slightly when those words leave his lips, and several emotions begin warring in your chest. You ignore them all and continue on your walk back to your place, though you almost wish you could turn back to the club and ask for another drink or three. Something to get your mind off that ridiculously simple phrase that’ll be spinning around in your mind all night.

The night of the plan, you begin having major second thoughts.

It’s not as if you didn’t already feel shitty about it, but your mind keeps racing with how ridiculous of an idea this really is. It’s far too late to talk anyone out of it, as they’ve already stocked up on contraband weapons and laid their gameplan, but you feel less and less “okay” about being a part of it.

Most of all, you feel increasingly guilty about using Baekhyun’s trust in you for this; he never seemed to assume you had any other motives behind your invitation. Even if it’s ridiculously, oddly naive of him to trust you—someone he knows nothing about—you don’t feel great about exploiting that for your own gains.

It takes him less time to show up than you’d hoped. He’s right there at the agreed time, annoyingly punctual, his sleek black luxury car pulling up in the dirt and patchy grass. It looks like it was cut out of a magazine and placed there—almost comically out of place. Just like him.

Baekhyun gets out of the car and walks out onto the grass to meet you, uncaring of the mud and dirt he’s stepping in. He smirks, his hands in his pockets and his chains dangling. “Would now be a good time to get your name, or are we in too deep at this point?”

There’s no one else but him. Definitely too trusting.

You nervously chew your lip as you mull that question over. If everything goes like the others intend it to, there won’t be a point in telling him your name. But if he’s still alive by the end of the night, you could be exposing yourself. Still...a name won’t matter either way if he can give a perfect description of you to the Droid Commission.

Suddenly, you decide not to give it any more thought. “It’s Y/N.”

“Y/N, Y/N...” He says your name like he’s tasting a charming new food. “I like it. It suits you.”

Baekhyun’s smile is too sincere, and it doesn’t make you feel any better. “Come on.” You turn your back to him as you lead him through the tall grass and toward a broken section of the bridge’s main road. It leans against the main structure of the bridge and sticks halfway out of the muddy ditch that was once Tokyo Bay, its jagged edge reaching toward the night sky.

It’s darker under here, with the broken bridge blocking out the moon and stars and lights from buildings nearby. Your stomach rolls.

“So, who is this friend of yours?”

You turn to Baekhyun then, and you don’t know if he can read the anxiety on your face. Maybe he can. He’d proudly bragged about his own abilities for figuring people out.

It happens all at once, somehow slow and fast at the same time.

One of the men—the one with two metal legs—slinks out from behind the broken bridge and sneaks up behind Baekhyun, a stun spear in his hands. Its two large metal prongs are lit up with electricity. Those metal prongs are aimed directly at Baekhyun’s back, ready to make contact, but that never happens.

“Look out!” you scream, and shove Baekhyun out of the way. He stumbles off to the side, falling against the concrete bridge, and you wildly grasp the long spear with both hands, blocking the man from reaching Baekhyun.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Metal Legs shouts. He drives the spear’s metal bar forward, knocking it into your upper chest and collarbone with a force that makes your teeth chatter, and the pain and shock take your breath away for a few moments.

You’re not a fighter. You usually try to stay out of any ridiculous brawls when they do happen, whether at your apartment building or the club, but you do your best to hold the dude off. So even though you stumble back, you keep your hold as tight around the spear as you can and shove it back, putting your weight behind the movement and cracking it against the man’s chin. He howls with pain and anger and his hands momentarily loosen on the weapon. You take that opportunity to snatch it completely from him.

Nearby, Baekhyun is busy fending off Lockjaw with a long knife, both of them fully engaged in a fierce clash of blades. You feel a burst of surprise. He was armed this entire time? Had he realized something was suspicious after all? Most of all, how does he know how to fight?

You don’t have much more time to think about that, though. Metal Legs is recovering from the hit, his hand reaching for his side like he’s about to pull out his own knife or gun. You leap forward and shove the prongs of the stun spear into his ribs. He quickly collapses to the dirt, motionless after a handful of frightening convulsions. You feel cold fear at the idea that you might’ve just killed him, but you can’t dwell on that when you see the others bursting out of the tall grass a few yards away from you and Baekhyun. The backup, in case something went wrong—which it most definitely has.

Lockjaw has Baekhyun up against the concrete of the bridge, his knife near Baekhyun’s neck and Baekhyun trying to block the blade. The sharp metal inches increasingly closer to its target. With your legs shaking, you run up behind Lockjaw and dig the electrified prongs into his side, sending more volts through his body than you can imagine.

Lockjaw’s weapon drops, and Baekhyun stumbles away. The man takes a little longer to be knocked unconscious than Metal Legs, but you are relieved when he’s out a few seconds later.

You look at Baekhyun, who appears dazed and winded; you belatedly realize he might’ve received some of the shock too, with both men’s arms locked together when you initially used the spear. “Get out of here! The rest are coming—go!” A shot from a ray gun zips through the air between you two and burns the concrete of the bridge.

Baekhyun looks at you wordlessly. Then he grabs your wrist as tight as a vise. You glance at him questioningly, and your confusion mounts when he drags you along with him as he takes off towards his car. The red smearing across your hand and wrist tells you he must be bleeding from somewhere, and shock blooms in your chest for a wild moment.

The car door opens without him even touching the handle or speaking a command, and he jostles you into the backseat, trying to avoid the spear’s prongs; you’re still holding it tight, as you expected you’d need it to face the others—however futile that would’ve been. You’re so frazzled once you get in the car that it takes you a moment to realize Baekhyun is in the backseat with you. “What are you doing?!”

“Get on the highway,” Baekhyun speaks, ignoring your frantic question, and the engine roars in your ears as the car peels out of the grassy lot. The vehicle narrowly escapes another round of angry shots fired by the others, and the grass sizzles where the shots land.

A self-driving car. Of course he’d have one of those. You stare at the steering wheel as it turns on its own, maneuvering you both away from the scene of the crime and back onto the paved roads.

“Your arm…” You look at the sleeve of Baekhyun’s jacket. It’s torn now, and you can see the skin of his forearm underneath, which displays a long cut. Lucky for him, it’s not deep enough to need stitches. He has similar, smaller ones on his hands.

Baekhyun examines the wound and makes a sound of disgust. “It’ll be fine,” he says decisively. “The bastard wasn’t as good with a knife as he wishes he was.”

You nod silently, though the movement feels mechanical. As the reality of the situation seeps in, a whirlpool of dread forms in your stomach.

“Fuck, I-I’m fucked.”

Baekhyun gives a humorless laugh. “You’re fucked?”

“I’ll...need to lay low for a while.” Then you glance at him. “Unless you’re driving me to the Commission. Then, well…at least they can’t get to me while I’m in prison.” Your laugh is equally humorless.

“You’re going into hiding?” Baekhyun asks, and the corner of his mouth lifts. You don’t expect this reaction. Not after him almost being jacked and led into the situation by none other than you.

His smirk exasperates you. You almost want to roll your eyes at him not realizing why you’d need to hide. Or maybe he’s just playing coy about it; but you give him a break for now. “I ruined the plan and helped you out, so yeah, my own place is not gonna be safe anymore. ‘Friends’ are fleeting out here. Especially if you fuck with someone else’s money.” Valor crosses your mind, the only one you could really call a friend out of all the others—and only because you knew more secrets of his than they did. Your chest tightens with a strange guilt. You should’ve just said no from the beginning.

The car is quiet for a few long moments. Then Baekhyun shatters the silence with, “Come home with me, then. You can stay there for a little while.”

You bark out a laugh. “You can’t be for real.”

He sits back against the leather seat. “I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t. It’s a waste of time otherwise.”

“After I just—could’ve gotten you killed?”

“I said it before—you’re like an open book. Your emotions are practically written on your face. It’s pretty damn obvious to me you were never truly up for this plan. Unfortunately, you aren’t the badass you think you are, but at least your efforts saved me.”

“But I still—”

“You certainly don’t have to take the offer if you don’t want it.”

You become quiet at that. Even if you don’t think you deserve this level of mercy, you don’t want to shun this offer of safety and be left to contend with the streets alone. Your voice is tense and quiet when you respond. “I’ll take it.”

Baekhyun’s home is a penthouse in the heart of Upper Tokyo, which doesn’t surprise you. The contrast in his neighborhood’s appearance with what you’re used to seeing in Lower Tokyo is stark and painful—spotlessly clean streets with sweepers continually traveling up and down them, bright holographic billboards, people walking around with personal androids accompanying them. You begin to feel resentful again, and you wish you could swallow those feelings after he’s been gracious enough to rescue you, but you can’t help it.

You two must make quite a sight once you pull into the apartment building’s parking garage—you holding a stun spear, wearing a slightly shabby outfit of a T-shirt, jeans, and jacket, and Baekhyun walking out with disheveled, torn clothes and bloody hands. Someone gets out of the parking garage elevator once the doors open, and they give a startled look when they see you two.

“Good to see you, Jongin,” Baekhyun greets the other man. His tone is friendly, but his expression dares the other man to ask any questions—which you both know he won’t.

“Good evening, Baekhyun.” The man gives a slight nod in your direction as he walks past you two, though there’s no hiding the distaste he thinks he’s disguising. His eyes linger on your metal hand, and you feel exposed; you try to convince yourself he’s just looking at the spear, which would also make sense.

You try to shake the feeling off as you and Baekhyun step into the elevator cabin, but confusion rushes over you to replace it. The floor of the elevator is more like a scale, sensing the weight of your bodies and sinking slightly further into the floor once you step onto it.

“What’s that all about?” you ask.

“Oh, yeah. That. This isn’t like your typical elevator, it’s a teleportation channel,” Baekhyun says this nonchalantly as he reaches for the touchscreen panel on the wall.

“Um, what? I don’t want to be teleported anywhere.” You jump right back out of the cabin before the doors can close, and Baekhyun gives you a weary look as he holds them open with one crimson hand.

“It’s safe, you don’t have to worry about anything. All it does is take the atoms in your body and replicate them elsewhere; the floor measures your mass. I’ve done it hundreds of times.”

“You don’t say.” Sarcasm drips from your voice. “Yeah, no thanks. I’m not interested in turning into ground meat on the other side of that thing.”

“There are no stairs in this building, just teleportation channels. If you want to climb the side of the building to get to my place, be my guest.” Baekhyun starts pressing on the panel as if he’ll leave you behind, and panic spikes in your chest. You decide to get back on with him, much to your displeasure.

You close your eyes tight just as the inside of the cabin starts glowing with light, and you can only hope your last lived experience won’t be riding a teleporter with Baekhyun in the same night you tried to mug him.

Surprisingly, the transportation doesn't feel like anything. One minute you’re there on the parking garage ground floor, and the next minute you hear the whoosh of the doors opening again. It’s like you never moved an inch, but you obviously have when the doors reveal the lavish interior of Baekhyun’s home.

Grateful to be at your destination, you step out of the teleporter as quickly as possible. “How did we end up right inside your place?”

“Clever, right? It uses fingerprint recognition so no one else can get access but me, but you’d know that if you hadn’t slammed your eyes shut.”

For all your talk of Baekhyun being out of place in Lower Tokyo, you suddenly feel like the fish out of water inside his penthouse. There’s metal and glass and holographic materials everywhere, which is the same stuff you’d find in Lower Tokyo, but here it’s all much more sleek, shiny, and well-maintained. His living room alone looks bigger than your entire apartment.

“Come on, don’t just stand there.” He gestures for you to follow him further down the hall, and you hesitantly do.

“Um...I don’t really want to carry this all night,” you say, referring to the stun spear still in your hands.

Baekhyun turns back to you, blocking the path to the rest of the hallway. “Do you even know how to turn it off?” It’s still charged with energy. You look at it up and down, but it isn’t immediately obvious to you. You don’t want to admit that, though, and keep awkwardly looking for some sort of Off switch until Baekhyun can’t stand the silence anymore. “Look, just give it to me.”

Your mouth twists at that. It seems nonsensical considering he’s just given you a safe haven, but you’re wary he’ll try to turn the weapon on you. Maybe he was waiting to get you alone and dispose of you himself. He appears to understand your thought process, because he scoffs loudly and holds his hand out for the spear.

“If I really wanted you dead, I could’ve done it in the car—or better yet, let your friends take care of you. Just hand it over.”

“Mm, I think not. I don’t think you’d want to get blood on your pretty leather seats.” Still, you give him the spear, if a bit reluctantly. You don’t know what he does with it, but he takes it into another room and tells you to wait in the hall. When he returns, it’s gone.

Baekhyun leads you to a clean and unoccupied guest room. It’s large, with floor-to-ceiling windows that give an expansive view of the city below. It’s also nicely decorated, much like one of Upper Tokyo’s many upscale hotels, but it seems like it hasn’t seen a warm body in months. There’s a certain lack of warmth to it. “Don’t get many visitors?”

“Now is not the best time to make jokes about me filling my perpetual loneliness with frequent trips to your club, if that’s what you’re attempting to lead up to.” He steps through another door, which you find out leads to the bathroom. “Everything you need should already be here—except clothes. I’ll get those in a moment.”

“Right,” you mumble, your eyes carefully tracing over everything in the bathroom. You know your skeptical behavior is probably pissing him off at this point, but distrust has long become an inherent feature of yours. You’ll keep this act up if you know it’ll get under his skin.

The hot water in this shower doesn’t run out after five minutes like the one back home. You can’t shake the old habit, though, and you wash yourself as quickly as you can, body tensed with adrenaline as you expectantly wait for the warm flow to stop after the five minutes are up. When that doesn’t happen, your muscles relax a little. Though it feels good, you don’t know if you’ll get used to this any time soon.

The clothes he lays out for you on the bed are plain and black, but still better quality than what you’re used to seeing and wearing. Soft on your skin. Smell good. You wonder where he’s went off to—maybe to wash up and patch up his wounds, if he has any sense. You also wonder if you should try exploring his place, but you feel like that’ll be risky; he has too much advanced technology around here that would probably find a way to kick you out of the penthouse window at the first sign of nefarious activity.

...Which is how you end up merely sitting on the bed and waiting to see what will happen next. But not before checking the entire room for any signs of surveillance tech or something else foreboding. This is also when you make the joyous discovery that your phone is missing, and you reason it must’ve fallen out of your pocket in the earlier clash; you know you had it when you first met up with Baekhyun. That pisses you off, but there’s nothing you can do about it now. Though you feel disconcertingly cut off from the outside world without it, who would you even contact anymore? One of the others, who’d probably try to track you down and enact a cold, hard revenge for you blowing up the plan? Lockjaw’s face flashes into your mind, along with the other scalding looks you received the night of the planning, and you shudder slightly.

When Baekhyun comes back to your room—and you’re almost surprised that he does—he looks significantly smaller in presence without his all-black clothes, glittering face chains, and heavy makeup.

Indeed, the man standing in front of you with damp hair, baggy pajamas, and bandaged hands doesn’t seem like the same suave person from the club at all.

“So now what?” you say, raising an eyebrow at him.

He shrugs. “Well, if you’re going to be living here, you need a tour.”

Living with Baekhyun isn’t quite what you expected it to be. He’s home more often than you’d think, for one. You would’ve thought he’d always be in business meetings or off somewhere finding more luxury goods to buy or just doing whatever. You can’t really get mad at him for being in his own home, but you try to keep space between the two of you. With your own designated spaces, it’s not hard to do this, which you are at least marginally glad about.

Trying to deal with Baekhyun while completely sober isn’t your idea of a walk in the park. Despite yourself, you wish you could go back to the club even once; Baekhyun certainly won’t let you drink up all his liquor, nor will he tell you where he’s hidden it. For your own good, he claims. Sure.

To your surprise and slight relief, he doesn’t ply you for any more details about your arm, though you’ve definitely caught him running his eyes across it more than once—studying it like words on a page. Whatever’s spinning around in that mind of his, you can only guess. His lingering interest only makes you think he’s scheming for a way to take the arm off you when you’re sleeping or equally vulnerable, though, so you remain guarded around him.

“One day, you’ll have to understand that I’m not the evil villain you think I am,” he tells you. He regards your attempts to avoid him with a certain bored amusement, like how one might think of a particularly entertaining pet cat.

You let the steam of the food you’re cooking billow up across your face, making your eyes water from the slightly-too-warm heat before answering. Leave it to him to bother you during one of the times when you can get some undisturbed, Baekhyun-free peace. “Maybe you should stop dressing up as one whenever you go out, then.”

He chuckles. “It’s like you’ve made it your personal mission to throw verbal stabs at me whenever possible.”

You shrug. “I have to do something to pass the time here.”

Baekhyun rolls his eyes. “You could do that just by having a normal conversation with me.”

You cross your arms, looking at him from where he stands at the kitchen island. He’s in his dressed-down form now, sans eyeliner and jewelry.

His kitchen is not like any other you’ve encountered, fully equipped with the capabilities to make every single one of his meals by itself—and order more ingredients whenever necessary. It’s undoubtedly convenient. But you often still like to make food of your own, just so you don’t have to feel so...dependent on him for every little thing. “About what?”

“About who you are. What you like. What you dream about—I don’t know, something.”

“What I dream about.” You make a noise of disbelief. “How can you waste time on dreams when you live the life I do? I just focus on trying to survive. That’s it.”

Baekhyun opens his mouth automatically like he’ll say something, but he pauses as if he’s just absorbed the full weight of your words. Suddenly, there’s a certain sadness pooling in his eyes and pulling at the corners of his mouth, and you hate it—intensely. You don’t want his pity or sympathy. And yet, he’s already given it to you by letting you live in his home.

“Before you say something pathetic, just don’t,” you blurt out, wanting to stop him before he can start. “You want to talk? My favorite color is green, and my favorite food—alcohol. I have an arm made of fucking titanium, the club was my main hangout spot, and I hate entitled people. Talk about that.”

Baekhyun’s sympathy evaporates into an unimpressed expression, lost just as quickly as a whisper on the wind. “Closing the door again, I see. Alright. Have it your way.” He leaves the room then, giving his back to you and shutting you out similar to how you just did to him.

This should be what you wanted. But it only makes you feel oddly unsatisfied.

“Here.” Baekhyun slides something across the table towards you after dinner one day—another dinner where you sit on opposite ends of the table and where you try to ignore his existence. You instantly recognize the small, glistening package as a cellphone, though it’s a model much more advanced than you could’ve afforded.

You look up at him as he stands in front of you, one of his hands shoved into the pocket of his black pants. “...What are you doing?”

“Giving you something to communicate with so you don’t feel like some princess stuck in a glass castle.” You roll your eyes at that. “I’m not sure who you’d talk to since all your friends do hate you, but the thought counts. And everyone needs a phone.”

You sit forward to look at the phone in its packaging, tracing your metal fingers against the surface. The sensation circling around in your stomach is an odd one. “Please don’t tell me that you hosting me in your penthouse was just an easy way to get a sugar baby.”

Baekhyun looks slightly flustered at that accusation, and you’re gleefully, childishly pleased about taking him off guard. His surprise is quickly replaced with a shit-eating grin, though. “It’s nothing like that; I could’ve already had that kind of arrangement 100 times over.” His tone suggests that he has, which sends a chill crawling up your spine. But maybe not 100 times over. “I did it to help you out. But if thinking of it that way gets you off, be my guest.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Byun,” you say, taking the phone out gingerly. It’s a lightweight thing, looking like it might dissolve if you look at it too hard. Its screen is clear raised glass—which you assume will project out the hologram technology this phone is inevitably equipped with—and has silver backing. It’s a piece of work. Though it appears fragile, you know it’s sturdier than that—or it wouldn’t be such a popular model as it is now. “It’s...nice, though.”

Baekhyun waves his hand noncommittally. “I wouldn’t settle for anything less—even if it’s for someone as eternally pissed-off as you.” You bite your lip against the rebuttal that wants to come rolling out, instead preoccupying yourself with figuring out the controls on this thing. Which takes an embarrassingly long moment. Baekhyun watches you for the duration of it, biting his own lip against the urge to laugh at the frustrated furrow between your brows and the crinkling of your nose. Really, the phone looks like a thin sheet of metal with a slice of glass over it; how are you supposed to operate this? Eventually, he says, “There’s a button on the bottom that activates it...you have to press that.”

“Right, clearly.” You try to rid yourself of your embarrassment as you turn the thing on, but even as Baekhyun leaves the room you can hear his chains clinking together as he laughs silently at your confusion.

As if your life could not get any more chaotic, your metal arm begins malfunctioning.

The metal is not as flexible as it was just a few days before, and it gives you a hard time whenever you try to do simple maneuvers. Your arm is overtaken by a sensation that feels like nerve damage with how the entire limb and shoulder tingle and burn from wires that no longer want to do as they’re told. You’re not entirely sure what’s wrong with it—a good oiling could usually fix any stiffness when necessary, but this nervy feeling is new.

For a while, you try to hide it from Baekhyun, which feels kind of ridiculous even to you. You’re only hurting yourself more, but you are a little too prideful to give him the pleasure of inspecting your arm like he’d always wanted to from the start. You don’t want to be his science experiment.

However, it comes to a point when you must ask for help when your arm stops working entirely.

You wake up to this terrible realization. After another morning of having gotten only a little sleep the night before, something immediately feels wrong. Your arm is dead weight beside you. When you try to sit up, it doesn’t respond to your movements. You can only feel the painful tug on the flesh part of your shoulder where the weight of the metal pulls at it, and you groan in pain and annoyance.

You support your arm with your other hand to prevent the tugging, which quickly gets exhausting and annoying as you try to go through the morning motions. You can’t keep this up while washing, so by the time you get out of the shower, your shoulder is killing you from where the arm dangles.

When you get to the common room, Baekhyun isn’t there. He isn’t anywhere else in his penthouse, either. You don’t even know how long he’s been gone. When you bring yourself to finally call his number, you bitterly remember that you still don’t have it saved in your phone. You want to scream in irritation. You can’t leave to go look for him—yeah, right—or get help from anyone else, either, because of the fingerprint recognition on his apartment entrance. Now that you think about it, you are like a princess in a glass castle here. That reawakens another bout of anger in you. Safe haven or cage?

Baekhyun appears an hour or two later—you’re not totally certain, having refused to expend the strength to move from your current spot to check the time—wearing his usual getup. You don’t know if you should be relieved, but an emotion similar to that sweeps through you despite your lingering apprehension and dislike.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. His eyebrows crease when he sees you splayed across his couch, your metal arm propped up on the couch back.

Don’t be combative, you think to yourself. But it’s like an impulse; you can’t stop yourself. “Why do you immediately assume something’s wrong?”

“You’ve never been so casual,” he gestures to your posture, “around me or in my place before, so I’m trying to figure out if your brain has been infected by cyber bugs or something. Because if we need to quarantine, then—”

“Well, you’re not totally wrong for once.” You struggle to sit up, your movements stiff, and your arm slides off the couch back and slumps limply to your side. Baekhyun's eyebrows shoot towards his hairline at that, and he looks at you questioningly, stepping closer to you.

“What happened to your arm?”

“Don’t even fucking know…it’s been feeling weird for a week.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

You look up at him, cynicism coloring your expression. “I’m sure you can take a wild guess.”

He gives the familiar sigh-and-eye-roll combo, like he’s done probably a hundred times since he’s met you. “Yeah, I can.” He waves his hand. “No matter. I’m calling Yosuke.”

“Who’s Yosuke?” You turn to watch Baekhyun retreat—probably to his bedroom or office. He turns back to you momentarily.

“Someone who can fix your arm.”

—

Yosuke turns out to be a man around the same age as Baekhyun—a big contrast to the older, wizened cyberneticist you’d pictured in your mind. He and Baekhyun act overly familiar with each other, apparently being long-time friends since their younger years.

There is no difference in how he treats you and Baekhyun, which is another thing you didn’t quite expect. He is clearly wealthy like Baekhyun, coming in with a nice suit and expensive jewelry and a suitcase full of more tools than you’ve even seen before, but he doesn’t have the haughty rich man aura. That makes you feel a little more comfortable, and you are glad that Baekhyun let you have some privacy with this and left the lab for the actual procedure. Even if it meant he didn’t get his wish of poring over your arm’s wiring like some kind of cybernetics kinkster.

To your relief, the fix is simple enough. The implanted electrodes in your shoulder that help send signals between your brain’s neurons and the artificial nerves have failed, but those are relatively simple to replace.

“Shitty tech, I guess,” you mumble, casting a displeased look at your arm. You aren’t sure why, but you feel embarrassed about it failing on you. Maybe you just thought it’d be reliable forever. “I got it as part of an experimental research program, so it was probably never going to be the most dependable thing anyway…”

“Hm.” Yosuke smiles. “Maybe not, but it’s still an extraordinary piece of work—especially in this early form. Some of these mechanisms are new even to me. Was that the 2110 Tokyo trial, by chance?”

You nod, though you feel a tiny bit less relaxed with knowing that even Yosuke doesn’t recognize all the intricacies of your limb. Hopefully you’ll still walk out in one piece. “Yeah, the very one.”

“Excellent work,” he reiterates. “It was an early research trial, but still yielded some of the most functional and human-like large-scale cybernetics of the last few years. You could’ve done a lot worse. Maybe you already know that, though.”

“Maybe,” you repeat quietly, but you are mostly speaking to yourself now.

—

After the electrode replacement is done in Baekhyun’s home lab, you can finally feel your arm like normal again. Yosuke does a few sensory feedback and dexterity tests to make sure your arm can function as it should, and he promises to come back the next day for another round just to be sure.

You almost don’t want Yosuke to go when he finally does pack up to leave. It feels nice to be around someone who doesn’t inspire some wretched, nonsensical anger in you.

Baekhyun slips back into the lab after Yosuke leaves, and you glance up from your arm at his arrival. He looks at your bandaged shoulder and watches appreciatively as you flex your metal fingers. “All good now?”

“It’s fine,” you mumble. “Thanks.” Saying that word to him is not easy, but you relent, figuring you should at least give him that much. “You should be thanking the gods you don’t have to go through this kinda shit.”

“Really.” It’s not a question, the way he says it. It’s filled with sarcasm. Baekhyun reaches down and rolls up his left pant leg, his chains hanging as he does, and you recoil, confused. Why the fuck is he showing you his bare leg?

“It’s cybernetic,” he says, barely concealed pride in his voice. “You can’t even tell, the work is so good.” Something like jealousy and anger stirs in your chest. Even if you had wanted to tuck those emotions back in, they’ve escaped from the cage now and are intent on running rampant.

“So. Byun Baekhyun is part-metalhead, after all?” You slide off the surgical chair you were sitting in for Yosuke’s procedure, coming to stand a couple feet in front of Baekhyun. You look down at his leg—which, for all intents and purposes, looks like a completely flesh-and-blood limb. “You joker. Quit fuckin’ around.”

“It’s not a lie.” He knows you won’t believe him, so he taps a spot behind his ankle twice. A long, thin panel that stretches from just above his ankle to his upper thigh opens on his leg, exposing the wiring and metal within. You can’t school your expression in time, and your mouth drops. “Incredible, right? Custom-made. So, yes…I do have an idea what it’s like.”

“Custom-made, huh.” You bite your lip so hard you think it might bleed. “Unbelievable. You’re the kind of person who does these things because you want to, because you can, not because your survival hinges on it. You must truly think you’re special.” The words come hurtling past your lips like venom.

“I didn’t choose this on a whim,” Baekhyun argues, straightening up to face you and letting his pant leg back down. The look on his face says his patience has finally run out, presumably tired of you throwing insult after insult at him since you’ve been in his home. “You don’t know anything about me other than what you’ve seen and heard on screens and from others. I’ve tried to get familiar with you. You reject it at every turn.”

“I don’t want to ‘get familiar’ with someone who gets custom cybernetics that cost hundreds of thousands just because they fuckin’ felt like it, while the rest of us have to do it just to get enough money to live for maybe a year on.” You’re gritting your teeth so hard that your jaw feels like it might crack.

Baekhyun steps closer to you, diminishing the space between you further. His eyes burn with animosity. “I was in a car accident, Y/N. I was just a teenager. No one even knows this but the people closest to me, and I don’t want anyone else to know it. I lost my leg and nearly my life with it. Before you start preaching to me about choices versus survival, realize that you aren’t the only fucking person in the world who’s ever had to do what was needed to survive.”

Your breath catches. You feel like the wind has been knocked out of you. Suddenly, all the fight drains from your system, and you are left feeling deflated and cold. His blazing eyes feel like two bullets trained on you, and your gaze falters.

Baekhyun doesn’t wait to see if you’ll have another response lined up for him; he turns heel and stalks out of the room.

As promised, Yosuke returns the next day for your additional tests. Your conversation with him isn’t as enjoyable as it could be. You are still reeling from Baekhyun’s revelation and unsure how to approach him. Neither of you spoke to each other for the rest of that night, instead choosing to actively avoid each other. You know you can’t keep this game up forever, though.

“Baekhyun’s in a sour mood today,” Yosuke remarks. “Rare for him. Any idea why?”

You shake your head, worrying your lower lip with your teeth. “Mmm...no.”

The slight smile on Yosuke’s face tells you he doesn’t believe you. “Well...I’m sure you two will figure it out sooner or later. He seems to have an affinity for you.”

“What?”

“He was pretty concerned when he contacted me about your arm. He’s mentioned you before then, too. He seems fascinated by you.”

You purse your lips together. You remember his days of annoying flirting in the club, which feel so far away now, and how he’d come to you with a bunch of flowery words and told you he’d taken a liking to you. Perhaps he was really telling the truth about that. You wonder if he possibly mentioned the attempted mugging to Yosuke, and you cough nervously.

“Well, he’s…” you wave your flesh hand, “...a character.”

Yosuke chuckles. “You two seem kind of fitting, I don’t know why. Similar love for recklessness, maybe—from how he describes you, anyway. Like peas in a pod.”

Fitting? Peas in a damn pod? The next words come thoughtlessly rushing out of you in an effort to change his mind and slap away whatever outlandish idea he has of you and the other man. “I don’t want Baekhyun.”

Yosuke raises an eyebrow, though he keeps his gaze on your arm as he watches the movements of your metallic fingers for any irregularities. “I never said you did, Y/N.”

In your haste, it occurs to you that maybe Yosuke really was just referring to your similarities—which you’ll continue to vehemently deny—rather than suggesting any deeper connection. Though that’s what it sounded like to you. Fuck. You don’t know anymore.

Is this what they’d call a Freudian slip, then? How wonderful. You rub your temples with your free hand and shake your head. “Then let’s just forget the last few minutes of this conversation.”

Yosuke smiles. “Whatever you’d like to do.”

—

Yosuke leaves soon after he’s finished testing your arm, but he reassures you that you can see each other again if you feel like having the company—just have Baekhyun arrange things.

Speaking of Baekhyun. You should probably say something to him. You’re not enthusiastic about puttering around his home feeling even more awkward than you did when you first arrived there. So, you walk to his office and knock on the door, turning your ear to it to see if he’ll give a response. You don’t have to wait to hear one, though, because the door panel slides back on its own.

You’ve never been in his office before, though you knew where it was—it was one of the places he decided not to show you on his little house tour—but it’s just as obnoxiously streamlined and full of tech as every other part of his home. Baekhyun sits behind his desk, elbows propped on its surface and fingers crossed together.

“Y/N.” His voice holds none of the playfulness, casualness, or even cool sarcasm you’ve heard from him before.

You step a few feet forward into his office. You feel like you’re standing underneath a spotlight, lit up for the entirety of the world to see. In reality, it’s just you and him here—Byun Baekhyun, one of the richest men in Japan.

He stays silent, presumably waiting for you to speak first. That is what you came here for, so you do, even if it makes you feel like you’re going to peel out of your skin.

“I was a dick. I’m sorry.”

Baekhyun blinks. “An apology? From you? The world must be ending.”

“I’m trying to be serious here, Byun.” You sigh. “I was...wrong to assume what I did about you. I guess...I don’t really know anything about you...but. I felt like I had you all figured out already. So, I’m sorry.”

The tension in Baekhyun’s shoulders releases, if only a little. His expression shifts into something not quite as impenetrable as it was just a few moments ago, but not completely open, either. “Apology accepted, then.”

“Thanks.” You shove your hands into your pockets. “Well, I thought...if I’m not to make any more assumptions about you, I should probably get to know more about you?”

Baekhyun looks interested now, and he releases his hands from their formerly tense position. He leans forward slightly. “Then I should do the same with you.”

Your hackles raise, despite you trying to keep yourself more open-minded. “I...don’t want to. You know enough already.”

Exasperated, Baekhyun spreads his hands out in front of him. “Here we go again. What are you so afraid of? And why even ask me about myself if you don’t want to share anything about you?”

“You can think of it as gathering intel—not making friends. I’m not asking you about your life story so we can have picnics together and talk about our wildest dreams.”

Baekhyun scoffs in disbelief. “When are you ever going to be honest with yourself? Emotional constipation isn’t a good look for you.”

“Honest with myself about what?”

“You are attracted to me. You are interested in me beyond supposedly gathering intel. And for some reason I can’t conceive, it enrages you.” The words come off his lips with the trace of a smirk, and though they make your skin prickle with heat, his smirk makes you want to jump across the desk and land one good punch on him.

You snort. “You’re a piece of work. Attracted to you? Everyone doesn’t throw themselves at the first person with a whiff of money or notoriety.”

Baekhyun gets up from his desk to step closer to you, much like he did the other day. He’s close enough for you to count the moles on his face, barely noticeable except for when he’s at this proximity. His cologne wraps its scented arms around you and pulls you in. You didn’t notice it as acutely yesterday, too embroiled in the argument and trying to process what he revealed to you, but now it hits you full on. How is this not considered some kind of olfactory warfare?

“Then tell me you don’t want me.” He whispers it to you in that same stupid, silky voice he’d always used in the club. That voice, combined with his scent, transports you straight back to that environment—the pungent taste of alcohol, the blinding neon lights, the ear-splitting music. And the one man who you just can’t figure out.

You open your mouth only slightly, afraid to breathe in more of his fragrance and lose yourself to it like a fool. “Fuck you.”

“That’s not an answer.” Baekhyun’s voice remains in the same low whisper, and he grins like he already knows the truth. “But I can do that, if you’d like.”

It doesn’t take much effort for him to close the rest of the space between you. When he kisses you, you don’t slap him, stomp on his foot, or knee him in the balls like you might’ve thought you would. Instead, you kiss him back—gradually, tentatively, but your lips fall into a rhythm with each other’s.

His lip piercing is unyielding on your skin; the edges of it press into your lip. The kiss is not rough or even frantic. You think this all might’ve been easier if it was—easier to allow yourself to keep hating him so intensely and channel that energy into your actions. However, all your previous thoughts of knocking his head off or pulling his lip ring off fall away; you just allow yourself to exist solely in this moment and absorb the feeling of his lips on yours.

Maybe now you could allow yourself to admit—internally, at least—that yes...you did want this. You wanted it from the first ridiculous time you met him in the club, and when he put his insolent hand on your shoulder. Whispered into your ear like he knew exactly what effect it was going to have.

Baekhyun’s bedroom—the one other place he hadn’t shown you besides his office—is neatly arranged and smells entirely like him. Other than those base things, you don’t care what the rest of the room is like. When you both somehow make it there, Baekhyun backs you up onto the bed, his lips still attached to yours.

The weight of his body is solid on yours. His tongue nudging against your lips and asking for entrance makes your body flush with heat. Before you can get fully invested, you pull away. He looks at you questioningly.

“Take this off,” you mutter, pushing his face chains away from you. He laughs lowly, pulling away from you to take his piercing out and put the chains away.

Pulling your clothes off comes naturally; it doesn’t feel clumsy and stilted like it did the last time you slept with someone. Baekhyun’s hands flit over every inch of newly exposed skin he can access.

The way Baekhyun touches your metal arm is reverent, worshipful, and you hadn’t realized how much you needed this—this kind of unabashed admiration—until it happened. No one has ever touched your metal arm in a way that wasn’t clinical or otherwise similarly detached. His fingers glide across it like it’s still made of skin and blood and bone, and he kisses the length of it, up to your neck and all the way back down to your metallic fingers again.

Water beads at the corners of your eyes. You try to ignore it. You don’t even acknowledge the few tears that do slip out, sliding towards your ears from your supine position.

Baekhyun lifts himself to be level with your face again. You turn away from him, too afraid to see whatever emotion will be lying in his eyes—not wanting to reveal the full magnitude of your vulnerability to him—but you don’t say a word when he presses his lips against the tear tracks on your skin.

Funnily, ironically, every motion comes instinctively. Him rocking against you, his heavy, dark breaths echoing in your ears, his long and low moans—your lips searching for his, your teeth creating blooming bruises on his skin. Though you have pushed him away and dismissed his proffered company at every opportunity, this intimacy feels like a grand coming-together—something that was bound to happen at the end of every road.

—

The sheets are twisted, the sweat is cooling on your skin, and you are both tired but satisfied. Content in a way that neither of you have truly been in a long time. You rest your head on Baekhyun’s chest, closing your eyes and listening to him breathe underneath you, the metal of your arm still warm from the heat of his skin.

“I could give you an upgrade.”

Your mouth twitches. You think you might have imagined the words, so you stay silent for a while longer until Baekhyun nudges your arm, checking if you’ve already fallen asleep.

“Upgrade?”

“Your arm. I could...have a new arm built. One like my leg.”

You sit up to look at him, the sheets falling from your body. “Don’t say pretty things you think I want to hear just because you’re still in the post-orgasm haze.”

Baekhyun blows air out of his nose, too tired to properly argue or even scoff at you. “Like I said before, I don’t waste time saying things I don’t mean.” His voice quiets. “We both know you can’t get your limb back, but...I could...give you something to help, at least. It’s...easier to deal with the cybernetics when they actually look like they belong on your body.” You know he speaks from experience there, by the way his gaze falters and drops to his lap.

“To feel more like a human again, huh.” Some part of you—multiple parts of you, maybe—had still been grieving over the arm you’d given up almost two years ago. Maybe it was a silly thing to be hurt over compared to the many other problems in your world, but it was difficult to stop feeling like you’d sold away a portion of yourself for nothing. Nothing but fleeting money.

Baekhyun’s offer stirs something in you. You turn your body away from him, feeling the tingle in your nose and eyes again that could only signal one thing. “Stop doing this. Being so...I don’t know, forgiving. Not after all I’ve done and said to you.”

Baekhyun sits up then, resting his hands on your arms. “I want to do this for you. Stop acting like you don’t deserve anything good in the world.”

You turn back to face him after a long moment, though the tears still linger in your eyes. “I don’t want to be the only one who benefits.” You shake your head slowly. “If you really agree to give me a new arm...you have more than enough resources to help change the nightmare Lower Tokyo has become. Help them. Help us. I don’t want to be some one-off experiment or pet project you discard once you’ve gotten your fill—some broken bitch from Lower Tokyo you think you can fix and turn into one of your family’s many success stories.”

Baekhyun is breathless from your admission; this is the most transparent you’ve been with him since you’ve met. Though part of him wants to shrivel back from your words, he clings to your long-awaited honesty, even if it is only shared with him to rebuke him and his family’s selfishly opulent ways. He thinks of why you pushed so hard against him trying to make a personal domain of Lower Tokyo, leaving the comforts of his own place to absorb the shadows of yours, and a better understanding of your rejection begins to dawn in his mind. Tentatively, he brings one of his hands from your arm to your cheek, thinking you might still wince away from him, but you don’t move.

“You’re right.” His voice is tight with the knowledge of it. “I can help, Y/N. You, and everyone else. I mean—I will. If there is one thing you can trust me on…let it be this.”

You stare into his dark brown eyes, trying to hunt for any signs of dishonesty, though you find none. There is only the heat of his hand on your face, and his open, yielding expression. “I will hold you to that, Byun Baekhyun.”

359 notes · View notes