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ghoststyles · 2 months

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Casanova

HIIIII 🤍 Here is a little piece I've been working on for a while! This is inspired by the song Casanova by Rayland Baxter. Harry is a manipulative little twat in this, so bare with me 🤍

7.5K words;

TW: SLIGHT mommy kink. He doesn't call her mommy but he calls her mama and Miss/Missy. P in V sex, oral sex, phone sex. FACETIME SEX <3 Slight mentions of suicide. EXTREME drug and alcohol abuse. Arrests, jail. the works.

ENJOY AND GIVE ME A BOOP IF YOU LIKE IT :D

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Money, all I ever want is money But I never wanna work for the money So I borrow the money from a woman

Harry Styles knew who he was from a young age. A charmer. A flirt. He uses his wits and his good looks to manipulate the people around him until they have no choice but to give in, conning them and infiltrating their lives for his own gain.

His days are simple; He sleeps until 11, combs his hair into a perfect swirl of chocolate curls, brushes his perfectly white and straight teeth, spritzes his neck with his ridiculously priced Tom Ford cologne, climbs into his Porsche Cayenne to hit the gym, and grab an $18 smoothie for the ride home. From there, he lets the day unfold how it pleases, until it’s time to go to the club with his friends. Here and there, he’ll meet up with his dealer and his bookie to spice it up.

Rinse. Reuse. Repeat.

As a child, Harry was dirt poor. He’d never let anyone know that, however. His perfectly curated image blossomed the minute he got to college, leaving any ounce of mediocrity behind. His friends were none the wiser, assuming Harry was there blowing his trust fund like the rest of them, when really, he was a charity case.

Every day, he’d walk to the corner store for cigarettes for his dad and cans of tuna fish, stealing a small item to try and feel something. The owner, Mr. Abbott, knew Harry stole from him, but never said a word. He’d return to their one bedroom apartment, flicking the light on, only to find the electric bill hadn’t been paid.

His parents are not addicts or criminals, by any means. If they were, he’d at least have a touching back story. Neither of them have the drive or the desire to succeed like he does. They lived their simple lives, worked paycheck to paycheck to support him and his siblings and never worked for more.

On the day he left for college, he vowed to himself to never let anyone see him as the poor, pathetic boy he was. He’ll put his own silver spoon in his mouth, if he must.

So, as he sits high and mighty on his throne after doing a few lines off a pretty girl’s tits in the VIP section of his favorite club, The Viper, surrounded by his fellow socialite friends, he thinks of one person.

You.

Harry isn’t unemployed, per se, but, he doesn’t exactly have a job, either. Two years ago, at the ripe age of 21, he graduated magna cum laude from university, with top marks in all of his classes. But, he knew he didn’t want to work a traditional job. He wanted to travel, he wanted to live lavishly, and he wanted to party.

That’s where you come in. The gorgeous, alluring and kind-hearted woman that feeds the beast that is his lifestyle. He wouldn’t change it for the fucking world.

Swiping aimlessly one day on the dating apps, he stopped his scroll abruptly to study your profile. You’re perfectly curated - the collection of photos reflecting your outgoing personality and beauty.

38. Looking for some fun. Dog mom. CEO. Let me spoil you <3

Seeking a male ages 21-28.

His eyebrow quirks. A sugar mommy? Is that a thing?

He swipes right, hoping deep down you match. This could be it. This could be his way in. The funds from his financial aid are quickly dwindling, and he’d be sooner caught dead than with a part-time job.

He dawdles around his apartment for a few hours, pacing the room to see if you matched with him. The possibility of this arrangement is scratching an itch he’s been desperate to quell.

He readies himself to meet his friends at the club, placing cologne on his neck and wrists. For good measure, he adjusts himself in his trousers to get a little blood flowing down there.

As he plucks his keys from the door, he hears the familiar ping from the dating site ring out from his laptop. Stopping in his tracks, he pivots to stand at his desk. He swallows thickly before entering his passcode.

Congratulations, Casanova94, you matched with BabyHoneyxo

A dazed smile makes its way to his lips, his dimple popping significantly. This is going to be good.

Can you believe I never met her? Can you believe she never met me, too? But she calls me everyday, telling me to behave And no I never listened

Now, almost two years later, you and Harry have still never met in person. But, that’s by your request. You want a companion. A call boy. Someone who will always answer the phone when you need it. And ever since you inherited your family’s wealth and company, you want someone to spoil.

It started off slow; texts asking about one another’s day, learning about hobbies and interests. Then, the wire deposits came in. Harry wasn’t sure if he had hearts in his eyes or dollar signs. You don’t tell him how to spend the money, but you definitely drop hints.

“Get yourself a new outfit, baby. Then send me a picture,” you smiled lazily on FaceTime one night. “Maybe you can find something to match the Porsche.”

Harry chuckles boyishly, “You’re too good to me. I just went shopping last week!”

He has you eating out of the palm of his hand.

“I know, I know. I just want my baby boy to be happy. Can you pull yourself out for me, baby? Wanna see you,” you purr, making yourself comfortable on your king sized bed in your quiet penthouse. You’re winding down for bed, even though your lover is just getting ready for the night.

“Mhm,” Harry responds, voice an octave higher and desperate sounding. He slides himself out, letting his cock harden slowly in his hands. “My friends will be here soon, Missy.”

“That’s okay, bubba. We’ll be quick. Mmm, look how big and gorgeous you are,” your sultry tone sends shivers up his spine. He adjusts the camera so you’re looking at his abdomen from below his thick cock.

“My perfect boy,” you moan out as you touch your clit for the first time this evening. “Always so good for me.”

“Yes, Missy. Wanna be good for you. Can I touch myself harder now?”

“Yeah, baby, go ahead. Squeeze that big cock. Tell me when you’re close.”

At this point, you’re furiously rubbing your clit, and gently teasing a finger inside. His breaths are becoming more labored as he pumps his cock at a faster pace. You pause just before your climax, sending your heart rate to a thunderous pace you can hear the ringing in your ears.

You look over at your phone propped up next to you to find your little love sweating and fisting himself hurriedly. The whimpers coming from the other end make the hairs on your arms stand up. After a beat, you continue the assault on your clit, starting off slow in order to reach that peak again.

“I-I’m close, Missy. Please let me cum. I f-feel so good,” at the tail end of his begging, he moans deeply.

“Uh-uh. Who always cums first, baby?”

“You, Mama. You cum first,” he pants, his eyes making panicked contact with yours.

“That’s right. Good boy. I’m so close baby,” you squeak out as you stick two fingers in your cunt. You cry out, at your release, gently tweaking your nipple with your other hand.

Harry isn’t far behind, taking one last swipe over his tip, using his other hand to cup his balls. He cums all over his fist, small specks of white littering his belly. He whimpers again, barely able to open his eyes.

“Let me see, baby,” you whisper, waiting for him to show you his load. He pans the camera silently, the haze already leaving his head. But he’d never tell you that.

“Thank you, Missy. I feel so good.”

“Mmm, bet you do, baby. Now go clean up and have fun with your friends. I’ll talk you tomorrow. Behave!”

“Okay, I will. Goodnight.”

The minute Harry presses ‘end’, an ounce of remorse bubbles in his chest. Just an ounce. He rises from his bed to jump in the shower, ridding him of his guilt and shame.

Sure, you’re gorgeous, and nice. But you’re not what’s getting him off. Or so he likes to tell himself. Throughout your sessions on FaceTime, Harry’s mind wanders to the girls he’s hooked up with the weekend before, and the countless drugs he’ll consume on a night out. That’s what gets his rocks off.

You’re the means to his ends. The gateway to his wildest dreams. He’s going to hold onto you for as long as he can, even if he has to get off over the phone a few nights, or pretend to care about the philanthropy you’re supporting that week.

Harry should be your only philanthropy, he thinks to himself. This is the easiest job he’s ever done. And it only makes it better that he can do whatever he wants, with no consequences.

As he gets out of the shower, his prick still swinging in the air, he picks up his phone to see a Venmo payment from you.

Y/N L/N paid Harry Styles - $2,000.00 - 😘

Without even hesitating, Harry, heart rate rising a bit, opens up a text field - to his club promoter. He ignores the dozens of texts from family members over the last few weeks. He’ll make his yearly obligation call to his mother at some point.

Hey, Mike! Can we upgrade to V.I.P tonight? I can put $2K down now.

He’ll thank you later. Tonight, he’s the hero of his friend group. A slight nervousness prickles on his neck. Harry isn’t naive - he knows he should be smarter with his money - your money. But you haven’t given him any reason to believe the well will run dry any time soon.

So far, despite your generosity, Harry still lives paycheck to paycheck. He blows his money on extravagant trips, nights out at the club, and plenty of booze and coke. It’s times he hopes to look back on one day and smile. He swears to you he’s saving the money and working towards investing and buying a house.

Scout’s honor.

I got a real bad feeling, I'ma let her down Got a hole in my pocket and I'm running around Spending all of her money on drugs and things To keep my mind from runnin' Back to the hole that I came from

Every night that he steps out of his apartment, he shakes the nagging feeling in his gut, the embodiment of the life he left behind. He calls his Uber Black to take him to the Viper, his little white baggy in the breast pocket of his Burberry overcoat.

He nods to the driver when he opens his door and proceeds to pour a small line of the substance onto the screen of his phone, but not without seeing another text from you.

Mrs. Robinson 🤍: Enjoy the night, sweet boy! Be safe xo

Harry smiles to himself at your contact in his phone. You all but had a fit when you found out he’d never seen The Graduate. Once he saw it, his world changed.

Swiping away your message, he plugs up his nostril, inhaling sharply as he moves his face over the surface of the screen. He grunts lightly, throwing his head back and shaking it out. That should hold him over until they’re in their secluded area of the club.

The car pulls up to the club around 11:45, the house music already bumping. The line looks brutal. He scans it to see if he spots any 10s waiting that can keep him company later. Miles, Marquise and Jade are already inside at their table.

The bouncers greet Harry, bumping his fist and patting him on the back. He can feel the eyes of the nobodies in line glaring at him enviously. When you spend the average person’s salary in one night at the club, you eagerly reap the benefits.

As he’s escorted through the crowd by the five-foot-nothing hostess, his senses are on high alert. He can hear his heart beating over the music and can feel the bass shaking the floors. He smiles tightly at the girl as she leads him to his table and scurries back into the crowd.

Marquise and Miles, his best friends from undergrad stand to greet him, as Jade greets him from the lap of her catch of the day, a burly, bearded dude already glowing from sweat and the 8-ball they’re about to dig into.

Taking his first swig of the Don Julio his regular bottle service girl, Tasia, pours into his mouth, he cracks a wicked smile, convincing himself there’s no where else he’d rather be.

Back to the hole that I came from Back to the hole that I came from Back to the hole that I came from And I don't ever want to go back

“So,” you start quietly on your daily FaceTime coffee date. You’re perched in your home library’s windowsill. “I was thinking of flying you in for my 40th. It’s going to be pretty chill. I’ll probably hire a chef and have a dinner at my place. Maybe 15-20 people.”

Harry is cocooned in a blanket on his bed, his iced coffee you had DoorDashed to his apartment slowly melting on his bedside table. His eyes had slowly drifted shut as he listened to you talk about everything and nothing. That’s how these things went — you talk and he listens. You’re after his companionship, after all.

At your words, his eyes shoot open, causing him to try and sit up gently so he can hear you better, not believing what you’re saying. Inhaling, he hesitates before he starts to reply.

“Uh, um,” he bites his lip and looks at himself in the corner of the screen, trying to gauge if he looks as shocked as he sounds. “W-when are you thinking? I have a couple trips coming up and plans with my friends.”

He decides to play it cool. You have to know this is a huge development in this arrangement, right?

“Well, my birthday is the 27th, obviously.”

He scoffs, “I knew that part, Miss. When is the party?”

“Watch the ‘tude, baby. I was hoping for that Saturday, maybe. But I’d be willing to work around what you have coming up.”

He’s lying through his teeth. He doesn’t have major travel plans until the summer, when his friend group will jet off to Greece. He’s been saving up your pennies to charter a private plane.

“Don’t agree to it now, but please think about it. I love spending time with you and I’d love to finally meet you. We can tell my family that you’re part of one of my philanthropy groups. I’m your largest donor, after all,” you stick your tongue out at him.

“Okay, let me get myself together for the day, and I can see what’s going on,” Harry grits out, trying not to let you down.

“Okay, baby. Have a good day. Let me know if you get up to anything fun,” you say with a mild hurt in your tone. The least he can do is make an effort to finally meet you.

“Will do. Bye, Miss,” He says quietly, swiftly hanging up the call and chucking the phone towards his pillows.

“Fuck!”

Hm, Casanova You know that I'm a casanova Throw my pennies in the well Waking up in jail 'Cause I never paid attention Do you remember all the good times? Do you remember all the bad times too? She reminds me everyday, telling me to behave And no I never listened

You didn’t let him off the hook that easily. Every day that passes as your birthday party looms, you mention flights, or activities you can do once he arrives. Harry laughs them off, distracting you by touching himself or telling a story from his gatherings with friends.

It’s not until you’re barking orders at him over the phone, 1 week before your party, denying his orgasm that he finally relents.

“Miss, please, I-I need to cum,” he whimpers as he has a ghostly touch over his angry, red cock. “P-please, I’ll do anything.”

“Anything, hm? I want my pretty baby at my birthday party. Wanna show you off and whisper filthy things in your ear and feel that pretty cock under the table. Agree to fly out to me and I’ll let you cum, baby.”

“Miss,” he croaks out, his stomach in shambles trying to stop himself from coming for the third time. “Okay, okay, Mama, I’ll go. I-I’ll come for your birthday! Please let me cum.”

You all but squeal in delight, instructing him to finally let go. Talking him through it, he keens from your praises for following the rules. A nervous heat travels up his neck, realizing what he agreed to in his post-nut clarity.

“Good boy. Take a picture before you clean up, okay? I’ll talk to you in the morning and I’ll have my assistant send over your travel information.”

He nods, unable to make eye contact. You’re oblivious and overjoyed, thinking he’s just too fucked out to look at you.

“G’night, Missy,” he chokes out.

“Goodnight, sweet boy,” you hum before hanging up.

Harry snaps a photo of his messy left fist and cum-covered stomach before cleaning himself up and returning to bed. He eagerly picks up his phone to check his dating apps for his matches. He’d been talking to a new girl, Madelyn, for the past week, so excitement bubbles in his stomach.

She’s meeting him and his regular group at the Viper tonight, so he’s excited to show off to her. Maybe she’ll even be down for a romp in the back seat of his Porsche.

His phone pings, signaling another deposit from you.

Y/N L/N paid Harry Styles - $5,000 - Can’t wait to see you 😘

He smiles, his right thumb picking at the skin of his ring finger. The guilt he feels from abusing your kindness starts to eat at him. But he didn’t get this far by being nice to people. You can’t possibly have feelings for him, right? You haven’t even met, for god’s sake. He shivers, shaking the feeling so he can focus on the night ahead.

Pushing you far, far in the back of his mind.

It’s now the night before your 40th birthday party, and you’re buzzing with excitement. Your penthouse is decorated in pink and floral frill - almost like your Great Aunt Gertrude exploded - but it’s chic and will be a hit amongst your New York City socialite friends. Your party planner floats around the room, puttering with the florals, candles and gem stones scattered around.

You anxiously check the time, counting down the hours until Harry boards his flight from LA. He’s jumping on a red eye, so you’ll greet him with coffee and donuts when he lands. A pang of nervousness hits you as you remember how distant he was this week, saying he was busy with friends or doing god knows what an unemployed 23 year old does in Los Angeles.

Monday, 3:31 PM

Mr. Gladstone 🤍: Sorry, missy. I’ve been at Miles’ art showing all day.

Wednesday, 11:27 AM

Mr. Gladstone 🤍: Sorry! At the gym with Do Not Disturb on. Hey, can you send me some cash? Last min car maintenance 😢

Friday, 5:58 PM

Mr. Gladstone 🤍: Hi missy. My friends want to go to the opening of the new Carbone out here. Think your friends can get us a table? It’ll be 9 of us.

Hope your dad’s chemo appointment went okay.

You can’t be mad at the little monster you’ve let him become. You are always an after thought as his only priority is making sure the cash cow is alive and well. He extends effort just enough to make the butterflies in your stomach reappear when he does give you the attention you crave.

Inhaling deeply, you ascend up the grand staircase in your Upper East Side brownstone and begin your pampering routine, sending photos to Harry of the hydrating eye patches on and curlers in your hair, blowing kisses and sticking out your tongue.

Typically, Harry answers relatively quickly to your silly messages, but, tonight, he’s gone radio silent. Maybe he’s trying to conserve his phone battery for the flight?

You open your medicine cabinet to examine your fast-acting anti-anxiety pills, hoping you can will away this uneasy feeling. Padding over to your bed, you pop your pills before tucking into your silk sheets. Before putting your phone on the charger, you send Harry one last message.

Mrs. Robinson 🤍: Safe flight, baby ♥️ I’ll be tracking you, but tell me which terminal when you land. Can’t wait to see you 😚

Flicking out the light, you close your eyes with the hopes of finally meeting your lover in just twelve hours.

I got a real bad feeling I'ma lose my cool Everywhere that I go, everything that I do Stop me using the money on drugs and things To keep my mind from runnin'

Back to the hole that I came from Back to the hole that I came from Back to the hole that I came from Back to the hole that I came from And I don't ever want to go back

Ping!

Harry, Delta airlines can’t wait to welcome you aboard Flight 0723 to JFK, departing 18:35

Ping!

You may now board Flight 0723 to JFK, departing 18:35. Welcome aboard, Harry.

Harry’s leg is bouncing uncontrollably as he watches the busy bodies move around him. Despite his social butterfly nature, his social anxiety rears its ugly head every once in a while. Or, it could be tonight’s concoction of pills.

He places his phone on Do Not Disturb, just as he gets a text from you. Closing his eyes in defeat, he comes face to face with the awful, shameful and downright despicable choice he’s made.

He’s not going to New York.

Instead, he’s standing booth side at a club next to John Summit, his favorite DJ, as he passes around a bottle of 1942. The pills he’s on are plastering a wide smile on his face as the throng of bodies around him jump around, despite the absolute panic and guilt he feels in his veins.

He’s wondering when you’ll realize he’s not coming. The lack of texts? The empty escalator to the pick-up area well after the flight has landed? He can picture your cherub cheeks reddening with embarrassment, fighting back hot tears.

To distract himself, he leans down to capture the blonde girl to his left in a kiss, despite not even making eye contact with her prior. When she peers up at him, her pupils are just as dilated as his as they sway back and forth.

He kisses her once more, just as Marquise offers him another baggie.

The panic sets in about 30 minutes after his flight landed. Surely that’s enough time to grab his bag and meet you here, right?

Your eyes urgently scan over every person that walks by probably sending them into fight or flight as a deranged woman looks them over in search for her boy.

You look down at your phone, the background a photo of your dog, completely clear of any notifications. With vigor, you throw out the box of donuts and his iced black Americano. Swallowing your pride, you skulk back to the parking lot to cry in the safety of your car.

You feel like a loser. A pathetic middle-aged woman who got fooled by a man half her age. The mental gymnastics that takes place as you drive home with white knuckles on the steering wheel should have you committed.

Your dating life wasn’t easy. It started in high school, where you were invisible to the boys, always deemed not good enough to date. Extending through college, you were still nearly invisible, working over time to find just one guy to have any interest in you and take your virginity. Just to get it over with.

As the dating scene expanded in your 20s, you still struck out with men your age. It wasn’t until your late 30s when your hopes and dreams of a family came crashing down on you that you’d made that godforsaken dating profile.

You still remember how your heart skipped a beat when you saw Harry’s photo for the first time. His boyish charm was palpable, followed by his incredibly witty prompt answers. He was your solution. If you couldn’t earn someone’s love, you could at least buy it.

The lump in your throat is preventing you from calling him and leaving the fiery voicemail you so want to do. You assume he’ll ignore any calls from you anyway.

Pulling into your private garage, you let out your frustrations by wailing and smacking the steering wheel of your Bentley. To prying eyes, the cops should be called. You allow yourself to flip for 5 minutes before putting on a brave face and going inside to begin getting ready for your birthday party, ringing in another year of heartbreak and disappointment.

3 glasses of a 1982 Cabernet Sauvignon. That’s how much alcohol it took to have you crying in front of your friends and family.

You couldn’t tell them what was really wrong, of course. They have no idea about your and Harry’s arrangement. They’d call you an idiot if they knew how much money you’ve sent him.

Everyone is shooting you sympathetic looks as you cry on your best friend’s shoulder. For all they know, you’re stressed with work and your dad’s cancer diagnosis. It’s a lot of pressure on a single woman.

Rubbing your back, Candice whispers all the affirmations she’s been telling you since college. It’s incredibly annoying to get advice from someone whose life is perfect.

You quietly thank her, clearing your throat of the lump that’s formed. Looking around the room, you make a break for it, grabbing your phone as you lock yourself in the guest bathroom.

Tears blurring your vision, you dial his number for the first time all day. It rings and rings, finally sending you to voicemail, as you’d suspected.

You’re silent for a beat after the beep.

“I-I don’t even have words for how I’m feeling right now. I was so fucking excited to see you…feel you….kiss you. And instead I’m locked in a bathroom at my own birthday party, calling you like a fucking loser,” you start, snot threatening to drip down your face.

“I give, and I give and I give, and yet you still let me look like a fucking idiot in front of my friends and family. You couldn’t do one fucking thing for me? You…You didn’t even have to put any effort. I paid for a car service, paid for a first-class seat, bought you a wardrobe…”

“I just hope whatever the fuck you’re doing right now is worth it. I don’t ask questions about what you do with my money, since I’m the one who started this. B-but I thought you were a decent person. I feel so fucking stupid right now,” you are talking to yourself at this point. You shakily inhale and stare at the ceiling.

“We’re done. I’m done with your bullshit. I’m not gonna let some ungrateful brat take advantage of me anymore. Have a nice life, Harry. Hope you have to move back to bumblefuck and lose all the friends you’ve been lying to this whole time,” you end off the message with pure venom leaking through your words.

You press end, feeling slightly better that you’d used his deepest darkest secret as ammunition. The mirror in front of you shows a shocking picture; running mascara, watery, red eyes, and disheveled hair.

Patting some toilet paper under your eyes, you clean up the best you can before returning back to the party. If you were strong, you’d block his number. But you can’t help but wonder what his response could be.

He deserves it. It’s 4:40 AM and he just mustered the courage to listen to your message. His under eyes feel heavy as he listens to your words, hitting him where it hurts. His hands are shaking as he lowers the phone to his lap, drowning out the sound of your sad, heartbreaking voice.

5 years ago, he was a decent person. Now, he looks in the mirror and sees his slightly gaunt face and tired eyes staring back at him. He even notices a few gray hairs every once in a while.

His lifestyle takes a toll on him — He’s well aware of that. But for now, he has no reason to stop. Harry lightly smacks his head back on the seat of the Uber back to his apartment. Cracking the window, he lets the sounds of the early morning deter him from vomiting.

The car arrives at his apartment — a guest house in Hidden Hills, the only place he can afford with the zip code he desires so badly. He never brings anyone to his place, too paranoid of his secrets getting out. Vision doubling, he struggles to stick his key in the lock. He knees the door has he twists the knob, sending him tumbling flat on his face.

Smacking his head on the tile floor, he recoils, lifting his hand to feel droplets of blood on his nose and bottom lip. The metallic taste is leaking into his mouth, sending him into a spiral. His front door is still wide open, allowing him to see the sun peaking over the hills in the distance.

He crawls over to the threshold, slamming the door shut with his foot. He lays back down on the cool floor, exhausted from his efforts. His breathing evened out, lulling him into a comatose state before succumbing to the darkness.

But before he passes out, all he can picture is your gorgeous, disappointed face.

I'm back in the hole I got nowhere to go La la la la, la, la Spinning around In the cold dark hole deep down in the ground Back to the hole that I came from Back to the hole that I came from

The thing about rock bottom is that you don’t realize you’ve hit it until you’re clawing your way back to the top.

In the days following your fallout, Harry’s experienced enough misfortunes to last a lifetime. It started off with his credit card declining on a $6 breakfast sandwich, only to come back hungry and sad to his car being repossessed in front of all the Hidden Hills housewives out and about.

The panic rises in his chest, and it’s taking everything in him not to call you and beg for forgiveness. He’s come to realize how fucked up his actions towards you became. He misses the butterflies and longing he felt when you first started your arrangement.

He stomps back inside, miserable and feeling like a loser. If it wasn’t for Marquise’s birthday party later, he’d be sure to go dive in the ocean in hopes of never resurfacing.

His closet is taunting him — full of the clothes you’ve bought him. He can remember every single piece he tried on for you, and the praise you were so quick to give him. He never reciprocated when you’d show him new pieces and showing off your incredible body. But, you hadn’t called him out on it, so he continued on.

The all black outfit he chose reflects his mental state. Filled with dread and remorse, he pulls out his kitchen drawer to peruse the substances he has left. His stash is dwindling as fast as his bank account, so he has to be strategic until he figures out his next move.

Grabbing the baggies, he situates them in the breast pocket of his jacket to conceal everything. They’re going to a new club tonight, so there’s no being saved by the bouncers if shit goes south.

The party goes off without a hitch. Bottles pouring, dancers hanging from the ceiling, and an influx of out of town girls willing to do anyone and anything. Harry has nearly pushed you completely out of his mind, but he does something completely out of character.

Mr. Gladstone 🤍: I’m sorry.

You’re at a wine bar with your girlfriends in the Village, and the message you receive shakes you to your core. You haven’t heard from him in days. Not even after you repossessed the car and canceled his credit card tied to your account. You thought for sure that would smoke him out of his foxhole. But, he’s Harry. He’s selfish and too full of pride to ever come forward and apologize.

Your friends notice the faltered look on your face, but opt to ignore it as they bitch about their husbands and kids. Despite your fleeting dreams of having a family, most of the time you’re thankful you can’t relate to them.

Turning off your phone, you throw it in your new Kelly bag — a little treat to get over the heartbreak — and return to the conversation.

He doesn’t even remember how it went down.

The last clear memory he has is being escorted out of the club to go back to Marquise’s. The combination of coke and alcohol, plus this week’s tumultuous events had him on edge, so when the unfamiliar bouncer at this mediocre club grabbed him wrong, it sent Harry into a frenzy.

To match his bloody nose and busted lip, his knuckles are now decorated with crusty amber smatterings of blood — his own, and the bouncer’s. His jaw and wrist were aching, still mouthing off like a rabid animal as the cop read him his Miranda rights.

So now, he sits in a cold cell in the county jail awaiting his arraignment — a seemingly straight forward assault and battery charge, now amplified by the 40 grams of cocaine and Adderall in his coat pocket. The bastard cop smiled to himself when he patted him down. Harry will give him this one, the rinkydink small town cop who is used to giving out traffic violations.

Tired, in dire need to piss, and on the verge of a mental breakdown, Harry’s head snaps up when the officer notifies him of his bail — a measly $75,000 — and lets him know he has one phone call. Balling his fists, he looks up at the ceiling.

“Fuck!”

The cop assists him in standing up. His wrists are chained together behind his back, after all. Releasing him from the confines, Harry rubs his wrists where the cheap metal chafed him.

“You have 5 minutes to make a call. Do you know the phone number or do you need me to access your cell phone?”

Harry scoffs. Who the fuck still memorizes phone numbers?

“Phone,” he replies, a clear edge in his voice.

“Whose contact am I looking for? Mom, Dad?”

“Fuck’s sake. No, I need the number of,” Harry pauses suddenly as he remembers your name in his phone.

“Mrs. Robinson,” he finishes quietly.

The cop raises his eyebrows, but says nothing, and reads the number aloud to him. It rings, and rings, diminishing any hope that you’ll answer. It’s in this moment Harry is at his rockbottom.

“Hello?”

“This is a collect call from the Department of Corrections for the City of Los Angeles. An individual is trying to contact you. Do you wish to answer?”

You gasp as the automated voice informs you of your worst nightmare.

“Hello?” you say quietly. It’s 8:15 AM, and you’re at the cafe on the corner for a latte and reading, trying not to disturb those around you.

“M-missy?” His voice sounds broken. It sends a stabbing pain straight through your chest.

“Harry, what happened? What did you do?”

“I-I fucked up. I fucked up so bad. N-not just with you. I know I fucked everything u-up,” he’s starting to sob, unable to catch his breath between words.

“B-but I got into a pretty bad fight last night, and I had some,” Harry pauses to look over his shoulder to make sure the officer isn’t listening. He wipes the tears in his eyes with his thumb. “I had some stuff on me, so now I’m in a lot more trouble. A-and I know I fucked everything up and I don’t deserve anything from you, but I don’t have enough money for bail.”

You sigh, not really even sure where to begin. Tears are threatening to spill over as you hear his clearly broken sobs.

“How much do you need?”

At this point, Harry hung his head at your silence. He snaps his head back up when you agree to help him.

“It’s $75,000.”

“Jesus, Harry, what the fuck did you do?”

“I don’t even know, I barely have any memory of—”

“Five minutes, inmate!” the officer interrupts him.

Harry rolls his eyes and continues.

“I’m not sure what happens next. B-but thank you, Y/N. I know I don’t deserve this in the slightest.”

You shiver at his use of your first name. Closing your eyes, “I know you don’t. Just tell me who I need to call.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you mutter as you hear your incessant doorbell ring. It’s 6 in the morning, just a few days after you paid Harry’s bail. You’ve been laying low, unsure if you’ll even hear from him again.

Your doorman, Paul, informs you of a visitor. A visitor? At this time? Unable to even comprehend what’s going on, you press the button to confirm opening the door, and wait.

Your bunny slippered feet tap your coffee table anxiously. Is it your mom? Here to inform you of someone’s death? Or is it your best friend from college who couldn’t come to your party? Or is it —

You’re broken from your racing thoughts as a timid knock on the door echoes through the house. You shuffle hesitantly over to the door, unable to even bring yourself to look through the peephole.

Closing your eyes while pulling open the door, the absolute wind is knocked out of you as you eye up your waiting guest.

He’s tall, tanned and gorgeous as his photos. It’s unfair to look like this after stepping off what she assumes was a red eye flight. He looks exhausted. His lip and nose are busted, and he has a yellowing bruise on his left eye.

“W-what?” you flounder in disbelief.

His hands fold together at your reaction, unsure if he should hug you or keep a respectable distance. He opens his mouth to say something, but stops himself. He’ll play by your rules.

“What the fuck is going on?”

You look adorable. The sleep barely wiped from your eyes. Slight bed head and disheveled silk pajamas. Harry is in disbelief that this is the woman he’s come to realize his feelings for.

“I know this is so fucked up,” he trails off. “Coming here. I don’t deserve even a minute of your time, but I needed to come here and tell you how fucking sorry I am. How deep into the superficial bullshit I got. I took advantage of you and your kindness and I lost myself in the process.”

You must look flabbergasted, because he inches closer, placing his hands gently on your arms. His touch is searing, but the first reminder that he’s actually standing in front of you and not an extremely lifelike apparition.

“I-I,” you stumble.

“We don’t even have to talk right now. You can send me away, if you need. But I’m here, I’m here in New York and I want to change. I want to be better for you. These last few days— when I had absolutely nothing — made me realize something.”

His eyes are now earnest and starting to tear up. Your reflection is so clear in his tide pool green irises.

“I had nothing, and it made me realizing you’re my everything.”

His profession had you clutching your metaphorical pearls. Your heart is racing, sending your central nervous system into a tizzy. You know he’s not lying, because he’s looking dead in your eyes waiting for your reply.

“H-Harry, I don’t even know what to say,” you stall. Your body knows what it wants to say.

“I know and like I said, if you need time, I underst—”

“If you’re here and you’re not bullshitting me; you really want to change. Then, you’ll fuck me like it.”

If Harry’s jaw could drop to the basement, it would. Instead of word vomiting, he lunges forward, guiding both of your bodies back to the hallway and placing a panty-dropping kiss on your lips. He doesn’t even have time to admire your beautiful home.

You break the kiss, grabbing his wrist to lead him to your room. The sheets are mussed, your clothes are all over, but you can’t even begin to fucking care. You all but dive back onto your bed, pulling your nightgown up to reveal your bare, perfect pussy.

Harry drops to his knees, wrapping his hands around your thighs. The photos and the FaceTimes don’t do any justice to the sight in front of him. You’re complete and utter perfection.

He waits for your approval before leaning forward to lick from back to front. Your back arches slightly, throwing your ankles over his shoulder. His fingertips dig into your skin deliciously, so you grab onto your blankets for dear life.

“Give it to me, Missy. I’ve been waiting two years for this perfect cunt. What the fuck was I waiting for?”

You laugh, not expecting his sense of humor at this moment. For the last few months, it’s been like talking to a robot. It was an exchange of goods and services. But here, in front of you, is a man. A man who’s willing to change his ways for you. The man you’ve waited all your life for.

“Always here for you. It’s yours,” you purr, placing your hands on top of his.

He growls, vigorously licking into you. He removes his right hand to insert his two middle fingers into your center. This has you howling, unable to even remember the last time a man did this for you.

“Baby, baby. I’m gonna cum. Gonna cum for you, finally,” you whine, focusing on the immeasurable pleasure stemming from your legs.

“Mhm, I can feel you, Mama. Let go for me,” he begs, making direct eye contact with you.

It’s the moment you lock eyes that you’re letting go. All the stars are aligning and symphonies are playing in your head.

“Ah, ah! There, Harry!”

Harry keens at hearing his name roll off your tongue. He slides up your body to kiss you, allowing you to taste yourself. You grab at his under shirt, insinuating that you want it off.

He peels it off and cheekily pulls your tit out of your nightie. He winks before connecting his lips to your nipple, rolling his tongue around the bud and sucking gently.

“Please, want you inside me. Gimme my big cock, baby.”

“It’s yours, Mama. All of me.”

Harry slides his briefs down his legs, revealing the main event. His dick swings slightly before hitting him in the stomach. You moan, unable to wait even another minute for him.

“Please,” you cry out, scratching down his chest.

He lines himself up, moaning in ecstasy as he pushes in. Your mouth falls open, a silent whine escaping.

“So big, baby. I should’ve flown out to you the minute you sent me a dick pic. Like a fucking middle schooler.”

Now Harry is laughing. He’s in disbelief that he would ever treat you the way he did. The clarity from the last few days is damning.

His pumps are getting faster and longer, bottoming out every other thrust. He looks down to where you’re connected, your pussy lips wrapped around him deliciously, a slight white substance leaking out of you. He leans down to kiss you, wanting this connection he’s subconsciously wanted since he met you.

“Want you to cum with me, Missy. Cum with me. Want to show you I mean it. I mean everything I said.”

You gently put your hand on his cheek, to which he immediately nuzzles in at the touch.

“I know you mean it, baby. It’ll be okay. We’ll figure this out.”

He nods, leaning down to kiss you again, his thrusts slowing but still ramming you to the hilt.

“You close?”

“Yes, baby boy. Cum with me, I’m cumming now.”

Harry’s cock twitches as he bumps your walls before releasing long and deep into you. You push your noses together, lips ghosting over one another’s.

Harry is finally home.

“You’re gonna fucking pay for this, little brat.”

He flashes a shit eating grin, kissing you again.

“I expect nothing less.”

And I don't ever Back to the hole that I came from Back to the hole that I came from And I don't ever want to go back

#harry styles #harrystyles #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #harry edward styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles fiction #harry styles fan fic #harry styles x yn #harry styles writing #harry styles au #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff

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honeykaes · 11 months

Text

algorithmic

pairing: xiao x afab!reader II 1.8k

disclaimer: smut, 18+ content, minors do not interact, dark content, yandere content, use of they/them pronouns, cyberpunk:edgerunners au, sci-fi, hacker!xiao, inappropriate use of ai (xiao), nonconsensual use of likeness, masturbation, handjob, blowjob, couch sex, impact play. Creampie, momentary foursome (if you’ve seen the anime, you know what I’m talking about), stalking, invasion of privacy, nonconsensual voyeruism, rough sex, biting, descriptions of vagina, unedited

synopsis: when you joined the yaksha gang after stealing the sandevistan upgrade, xiao finds himself falling harder and harder for you until he’s completely obsessed. To statiate his obsession, he creates an algorithm to help him experiences situations he can only dream of doing with you.

Wǎnshang City—night lights shining for the very rich at the upper towers reaching for the heavens while the smog and sin consume the poor who couldn’t fathom reaching their hands that high. Xiao had seen glimpses of both in some sense.

He had a comfortable apartment, not at the highest towers but somewhere near but away from the slums he grew up in. As a kid, he was always talented when it came to programming, hacking and netrunning. His new lifestyle was funded by unsavory methods working with a gang known as the Yakshas. Led by Bosacius, they got gigs from an unknown sponsor. It unsettled him but Indarias and Menogias swore it was fine.

He didn’t feel bad the blood he knew that was on his hands or the blackmail he gathered against Celesti-corp. Xiao knew to keep his head down and do what he was told and he would live a comfortable life for the days he had left unless a gig went wrong—but he didn’t fear death either.

He did fear you though.

There was something about your eyes, and determined face that made Xiao’s heart palpitate tightly in his chest. His cheeks grew flushed as he furrowed his brow.

You had come under the Yakshas’ radar after you managed to steal a military grade Sandevistan implant that Bosacius was supposed to get. Even when the group insisted on stealing it and even killing you for the upgrade, he uncharacteristically chimed up saying you could fill in Pervases old role as a Solo, just helping them run schemes with your Sandevistan implant that made you faster than human comprehension.

As Bosacius hesitantly agreed, demanding Xiao become your “babysitter”, he could feel that fear begin to shake at him. The fear of how quickly and innocent you had wormed your way into his heart.

Spending time, going on runs, Xiao felt himself falling harder and harder for you but struggling and choking on words on how to go about it. Even as he closes his eyes, he can see your image laughing with him in a simulation he programmed on the moon.

He scoured through any bit of information he could on you: discovering you were a college dropout after getting into a fight with a classmate, living in the slums your whole life, you losing your best friend in a highway accident due to an egotistical executive not paying attention to the road.

Anything. Pictures, videos, your social media, your address, he knew everything he could about you.

It was like a sickness, a virus that infected his mind; always thinking about that genuine smile and laughs you gift him with.

God, how much he would love for those lips to wrap themselves around his cock.

Xiao snapped his eyes open, downing the rest of his drink and placing it in the kitchen skin. He could feel his cock beginning to strain his sweatpants. He leaves the kitchen, cupping his appearing bulge with a soft sigh before finally reaching his bedroom. He closes the door, quickly taking his shirt off—revealing the various tattoos and upgrades he has along his torso.

He grabbed a hair tie, pulling his hair up in a small ponytail and shivering from the change of temperature on his now revealed neurolink port. His hands grab the waist of his pants, slowly pulling the bunched fabric down along with his boxers. Xiao’s cock springs up, trembling and flushed.

He crept his hand up, gently clasping on it as a whine emitted from him causing his cheeks to flush harder. He dragged his thumb to his tip, feeling the moisture of his budding pre-cum coat the pad of it. He jerked along his member a few times before letting himself go as he walked over to his nightstand drawer and rummaged, grabbing two things: a bottle of lube, and a masturbator port.

Throwing the port on the bed, he squeezed lube into his other hand and clasped his throbbing cock once more, pumping it slightly faster and completely coating it in the translucent, thick liquid. Goosebumps began rising in the few places that don’t have upgrades at, the coolness of the lube adding to his sensitivity.

He lets himself go once more, grabbing his VR headset and throwing it on the bed before he joins. As he rests his head on the pillow, he grabs the masturbator port lining it up to his cock and sank down, velvety and gummy walls of the toy clamping down when it sensed he had bottomed out.

“I’ll see you soon…” he muttered, putting on his VR headset and closing his eyes. As his consciousness finally adjusted to the simulation.

As Xiao opened his eyes, he saw you in front of him—eyes half-lidded guiding your finger along his lower abdomen. He was fully nude already along with you, seemingly on the couches of the yaksha’s headquarters.

You pressed your lips on his chest, leaning back up and flashing a not-so-innocent smile at him.

“Aww, Xiao. You always treat me so well…it’s time I pay the favor back,” you cooed, leaning into his ear. “I’ll let you do whatever you want to me, anything.”

“Anything. You should be careful with those words, you know. You better not tell anyone else things like that,” he grunted. You pouted, pressing your lips against his tanned nipple, darting your tongue out and letting it swirl around the bud. Your hand drifted up, grabbing tightly on Xiao’s cock, beginning to slowly pump him—he could feel the machine beginning to suck down and milk his cock.

“No one but you Xiao. There is no one but you. But don’t worry, I’ll remind you over and over again, just like this,” you cooed. A moan escaped from Xiao’s lips and his hips bucked, feeling you jerk him tighter. His eyes settle at your chest before reaching his hand out to squeeze tightly, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Is this how they really feel…is this what they really look like?” he asked himself, resisting the urge to sigh. His thumbs roll over your nipples before pinching them as you yelp. You stop pumping his cock before slowly falling to your knees, kissing along the base of his cock until you reach the tip.

“You still seem so tense today Xiao. Relax, let me help you!~” you cooed. You opened your mouth, taking him inside of you. He watched as you gagged, trying to adjust to his length before sucking sharply and kneading the area you couldn’t fit in your mouth. Watching your bobbing your head, Xiao digs his nails into his thigh. When he looks up, he is shocked when he looks up at another, glitchy version of you gazing beside him.

This version played with your puffy folds before rubbing along your clit, moaning his name repeatedly. His eyes zeroed in at your slick oozing out of you, strings of it connecting to both of your soft thighs. Just as he looked away again, another glitchy version of you appeared legs lifted high showing off the dildo you were pushing inside of yourself—also moaning out his name.

Overwhelmed, Xiao looked down at the first version of you, still sucking his cock as his hips began to buck once more. Shutting his eyes tight and clenching his jaw, Xiao unraveled himself pressing your head down further on his cock as globs of his cum shot into your mouth. You struggled to swallow all of it, taking a few gulps as some managed to slip down your lips and chin, staining the title floor with his shame.

The glitched versions of you disappear as he left your mouth with a pop. Adjusting your body so your ass was in the air. He pressed his hand down on your head, into the leather of the couch—cock-drunk smile on your lips as he guided his tip along your slit.

He grunted sliding it back and forth, trying to slip in and missed before nudging against your clit. You whined, shaking your hips together as Xiao clicked his tongue in frustration. Xiao’s pace is relentless as he plunges his cock into you. The sound of slapping skin echoed throughout the room, vibrations from his pace rippling through your ass.

“Xiao! Xiao! Fuck, harder! Even harder, please!!” you beg out, only causing his frustrations bubbling.

“They wouldn’t say it like that!” he growled, feeling them clamp tighter against him. He leans down brushing his canines along their shoulder and roughly bit down, digging his nails to their waist.

“More, more, more, more! I need more. I need all of you. I need it. I need you,” he hissed out. He could tell the copy of you said something back along with the line of ‘I love you’ but it was distorted, causing tears to begin to develop in Xiao’s eyes. His fantasy was crumbling down, this thing he was fucking was merely a cold, fake copy of you.

Xiao’s hips halted, as a grunt escaped himself as his second high of the night overtook him. Thick ropes of cum spurted deeply inside of the copy, before Xiao abruptly slid out and slapped their clit as they whined. The copy hummed while a small river emerged from their hole, dripping out and along their thighs.

“Y’know I still wanted you inside of me—”

“I still have to play with the programming if I want to protect it. Maybe make an algorithm to see how they properly would respond to these situations based on interactions I had with them,” Xiao muttered, ignoring them. “All the errors and the glitching is proof this isn’t ready yet.”

Xiao’s vision went black before he ripped the VR set off of him, revealing his bedroom—alone, with you nowhere near him. Sweat clung onto his forehead, bangs sticking to it as his eyes focused on the masturbator; never truly inside of you as he wished.

“Tck, pathetic,” he grunted. He slid the contraption off, throwing it to the side and grimacing at the cum clinging on his softening cock. Throwing his head back to the pillow and looking at the ceiling, Xiao sighed.

He doesn’t know how much longer he can go with just having you with his programming.

He clicked his tongue, getting up from his bed and moving to his desk determined briefly to recode his pathetic algorithm but his eyes drifted to the spyware he had. Xiao clicked it, revealing your form. You were in minimal clothing, trying to deal with the hot summer’s night without air conditioning lounging in your bed and scrolling on your phone.

A rare soft smile fell on Xiao’s lips, before it darkened, noticing your hands beginning to wander beneath your pants.

It seems he may have the means to upgrade his algorithm with your true responses after all.

#genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut #genshin x reader #genshin smut #xiao x reader #xiao smut #yandere xiao #yandere genshin #yandere genshin impact #cw yandere #cw dark content

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roosterforme · 5 months

Text

The Intern Part 1 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: After you try to delay the inevitable, you begin your job search. At least that way you'll be able to get out of your father's house and away from everyone who acts like you're incapable of doing anything on your own. When Bradley pursues you, in part to bolster his own agenda, he's pretty convinced you're more capable than most.

Warnings: Language, reader's dad has a name (eventually 18+)

Length: 3700 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Find the Prologue here.

The Intern masterlist. Check out my masterlist for more. Banner by @mak-32

Your father wasted no time over the breakfast that his chef made. You were still in your pajamas which consisted of a white silk camisole and shorts set, but he was already in a charcoal suit and tie, ready to seize the day. Or at the very least, your freedom.

"You need an internship," he said firmly as he smeared jelly on a piece of toast. "You need to complete a professional internship to show everyone that you are clever and talented and can think on your feet. You need to show them in person that your last name has nothing to do with it."

This was going to be a lot more involved than you originally thought. You carefully cut into your poached egg and asked, "So I can't just intern with you?"

He sighed and gave you a bland look. "I would love to have you with me all day and show you the ropes at Avio Technologies, but you already know that's not possible. You need to find a different department or a different company altogether."

You chewed your food and shot him a bland look of your own. It was almost amusing that he thought he could outwit you when he was the one who taught you how to play all of his games. "Maybe we could talk about this tomorrow?"

"You already got an extra day out of me, Sweetheart. My generosity has been all used up."

He looked almost amused now, so you knew you were skating on thin ice as you said, "I think an internship that starts in September would be the way to go."

When he set his knife down and bit into his toast, you straightened your back while he chewed. He took his time responding, and when he did, he asked, "And what exactly would you do during June, July and August?"

"There's a lot to be said for a little relaxation, Daddy," you told him in your most professional voice. "I've spent the last six years working nearly every day."

"And I've spent the last thirty five years working nearly every day. Please, get to your point."

You folded your hands in front of yourself and said, "I would be a better intern if I were well rested."

He wiped his mouth with his napkin and stood, taking one last sip of his coffee. If you or he wanted more to eat, his chef would make it. And you could see his housekeeper standing in the kitchen doorway ready to run in and clean up after him as soon as he left the dining room. All of it made you want to scream. You weren't even sure you wanted this lifestyle.

"Are you aware of the stipulations on your trust fund?" your father asked you in a voice laced with more than warning. You could feel the blood rush from your face. You'd been waiting your entire life for that money, and not because you wanted to use it the same way he did.

"Yes."

He nodded at you before he kissed your forehead. "Then make your decisions accordingly. I'll be back in a few hours."

As soon as he was out of the dining room, his housekeeper had her hands on his empty plate and coffee cup, and you abandoned the rest of your food for the relative solace of your bedroom. It wasn't even nine o'clock yet, but it was close to lunchtime on the east coast. Maybe you could call one of your friends from school, but they were probably starting internships of their own this week. You glanced out your windows at the pool, but the landscaping crew was out there with leaf blowers, so you just flopped down onto your bed.

What did you want out of an internship? You wanted it to be like school. You had no problem with hard work, but you preferred it to come with a hefty side of fun. Cocktails, dancing, late night dinners, boys, shopping. You weren't too picky about how that fun was served up, but you were absolutely certain there was more to life than working nonstop. And nobody in their right mind needed as much money as your father had.

You reached for your computer and rolled onto your stomach. The last place you wanted to intern was at Avio Technologies where your supervisor would report every detail of your work back to him. Even if you found a department that had nothing to do with what he was working on, you'd be screwed. Your dad knew everyone. He'd find out if you forgot to cover your mouth when you coughed or yawned too loudly. No, you needed to find something without your dad's help.

After you update your résumé and your LinkedIn profile, you thought about contacting that hot recruiter you met in grad school. You were pretty sure you still had his number in your phone contacts. Maybe you should make a to-do list. Or maybe you should go back to bed now that your dad was gone. You ended up lounging around for so long that your stomach was growling because of your unfinished breakfast.

"Fuck it," you murmured, strolling out of your room still in your silk pajamas. If the groundskeepers saw you as you walked past the French doors, then it was their own fault. And honestly, you were more covered up now than you were when you were wearing your bathing suit anyway.

The fact that you had to sneak into the kitchen so nobody tried to help you toast a slice of bread was beyond annoying, but you tiptoed through the house anyway. You ended up walking around as you ate the toast, probably leaving a trail of crumbs, but at least this way the housekeeper would be entertained again. You wondered what the staff did all day long when it was only your dad here. He could literally take care of himself if he tried, but why try when you're worth billions?

You popped the last bite into your mouth and started dancing through the foyer to the song that was stuck in your head. You did a few spins and pirouettes, and then you started making up an actual routine as you hummed. When you heard the front door open, you tried to freeze, but your foot caught on the marble floor, and you stumbled awkwardly. Just when you braced yourself for a lecture from your father, you were greeted by deep laughter and amused brown eyes instead.

"Oh," you said, pressing your palm to your chest as you regained your footing. "It's just you."

"Just me," Bradley Bradshaw replied with a shrug. He surveyed your body, and you could tell he was trying his best not to react to your outfit. Or lack thereof.

You crossed your arms over your chest. "Yes. I'm still in my pajamas."

"I didn't say a word about it," he replied immediately, those brown eyes suddenly feigning innocence.

You knew your shorts left nothing to the imagination. You were also very aware that your nipples were probably peaked against your silk top, but you kept reminding yourself you were wearing less than this yesterday in the pool. Bradley however was wearing another designer suit that hugged him in all the right places, and his tie was once again a little too loose for you to take him completely seriously. His hair was a bit mussed today, too. Maybe his wife or girlfriend had run her fingers through it, but if that was the case, then he shouldn't be looking at you this way.

"What are you doing here?" you asked him.

His hands were back on his narrow hips as he replied, "Supposed to have lunch with your father."

"At least the chef and housekeeper will have something to do," you muttered to yourself. Then a little louder you said, "My dad's not back yet, and I hope you don't expect me to entertain you."

He chuckled. "Of course not. You look busy as hell dancing around. I definitely wouldn't want to interrupt that."

"Correct," you replied, tipping your chin in the air. "I've got no time for nonsense. Unless... did you bring your Armani swim trunks? It's a little early in the day for skinny dipping." You took a step closer to him. You couldn't pinpoint exactly why it was so fun to tease him, but he looked down at the floor and blushed a little bit before he replied which made you feel even bolder.

He met your eyes and said, "How embarrassing. I'm too early for lunch, and I'm too early for skinny dipping." His voice was a little softer now and you bit your lip, which drew his gaze to your mouth.

"You could always come back later."

His amused smile from yesterday was back as he said, "You really are a bit of a brat."

Then your father was right there, closing the front door behind him with a flourish as you took a step away from Bradley. He hadn't moved an inch, and his eyes were still on yours even as your father said his name.

"Sir," Bradley replied, turning toward him and holding out his hand. Your father shook it before patting him on the shoulder.

"We've been over this before, Bradley. You can call me Ted. We've been working together for a while."

"Ted," Bradley repeated, and you could tell that your father was secretly pleased by this show of respect. You wanted to roll your eyes, and then you realized that you were standing in the foyer in your pajama set at noon, and that was going to be a problem.

When your father turned toward you, his gaze was unamused. "Have you done anything today?"

"It's only lunchtime, Daddy," you replied. "But I updated my résumé."

"You have something better than a résumé," he snapped. "You have connections. Use them. I want you to have solidified an internship by the end of the week."

"But-"

He cut you right off, and you could feel the heat rising to your face as Bradley looked at you a little sympathetically.

"I don't generally deal with people who force me to repeat myself," your father said. "And I think you'll find I'm not the only one."

Now you were getting a little angry. He was talking to you like you just tanked a business deal for him. "I'm not some random person from your company."

But you could tell he wasn't listening now. He wouldn't really listen again until you had a job. "Once you find yourself an internship, I think you'll see that whomever you're working under won't take kindly to that sort of attitude. Now go get dressed," he said, dismissing you as he nodded toward the dining room and started walking.

You were left standing there with your hands on your silk covered hips and your bottom lip held firmly between your teeth. Bradley was giving you a curious look as he started to follow your father. "I'll see you around?"

"Yeah," you replied, barely meeting his eyes. Your dad embarrassed you in front of him. And sure, maybe you should have been dressed for the day, but you just got back to California. You wanted a chance to catch your breath. But now you were standing there watching both of their retreating forms with a bad taste in your mouth.

----------------------------

After an uneventful lunch with Ted, Bradley walked slowly back through his house. It was really more of a mansion or an estate, something that Bradley supposed he himself could afford now if he so desired, but he was used to his condo in Mission Hills. And he just couldn't picture having staff living with him.

He found that his head was on a swivel, peeking out the French doors to check the pool area and glancing up the main stairs to see if you were still around. A smile always crept to his lips whenever he thought about you, and it was obvious why. You were clearly a bit of a handful. Definitely a touch bratty. Old enough to know better, but young enough to not give too much of a damn. And you always made Bradley laugh.

At Christmastime, you were tipsy and tried to get him to drink a bottle of wine with you. He spent the rest of the night wondering what would have happened if he actually followed you into your father's kitchen, just the two of you. If anyone else happened upon that scene, he figured it would have gotten back to Ted. It was probably for the best that someone else had interrupted that.

But now his mind was swirling with information. You needed an internship. Bradley was headed off to Europe and could use an extra hand with work all summer. There would be endless meetings and constant schmoozing about the proprietary missile guiding software that Avio Technologies was currently peddling to the US Navy. Bradley was silently dreading doing it alone.

You might also serve as a useful source of information. If anyone knew what exactly was going on at Avio regarding the misuse of funds that he was certain he'd stumbled upon, Bradley was sure it would be Ted. Your father knew everyone. He had his hands in the research end of things where Bradley worked as well as the sales end of things where his old friend Jake Seresin was currently dabbling.

This is why Bradley was spending so much of his time here now; he was looking for information. And also for Ted's daughter. If he could appeal to your tastes as far as a job went, maybe he could get you to join him for the summer.

"Once again, I'm sorry about my daughter," Ted said with a sigh as he walked Bradley across the foyer. "She's stubborn. Headstrong. She wants to have her own agenda. She'll make an exceptional CFO someday."

Bradley couldn't help but chuckle. "Something tells me you're right."

"She just has a lot to learn about staying in your pajamas until noon and working your connections to your benefit, but she'll get there," he replied with a wave of his hand.

Bradley glanced up the stairs one more time, hoping for a glimpse of white silk and your pretty face, but you had tucked yourself away somewhere out of sight. "Thanks for lunch," Bradley said, holding out his hand for Ted to shake. "I always appreciate when you let me pick your brain, sir."

He chuckled and clapped Bradley on the back again. "How many times do I have to tell you to use my first name?"

"Always one more, I guess," Bradley replied, heading toward the front door with a smile. "See you at the office later this week."

Once he was outside in the sunlight, he slipped on his favorite pair of aviators he'd had since he first started flying F/A-18s and headed for his SUV. He walked past an assortment of sports cars in the circular drive before he got to his more modest black Range Rover Velar. As he drove back into the city to the office, he already started to formulate a plan. He just hoped you'd be around when he showed up again tomorrow. You were already integral to his agenda.

When his phone rang, he took it in the car as he wove through traffic. He didn't even check the number since only a handful of people had it. "Bradshaw," he said as he pulled up to a red light. "Bradley, it's Judy." He sighed and relaxed back against the seat; his receptionist was exceptional. She could take a pile of bullshit and whittle it down to the bare minimum of necessary information for him. He needed to give her another raise. "I have a few résumés here, and some of them were dropped off by hand. You know... a few Vice Presidents are trying to get their kids jobs in the software development lab. There are also some who are hoping for professional internships. Want to look at them, or should I toss them?"

Bradley ran his hand over his mouth before he said, "I'm on my way back to the office now. I'll take a look at them, but I'm hoping I found an alternative solution to a professional intern that might just be perfect."

------------------------

The following morning, you stood in your closet and held up your white bikini. You looked at it longingly, ran your fingers along the cute triangles that made up the top and wrapped the ties around your fingers before tossing it aside. Instead, you changed out of your pink nightie into an outfit that your father would probably refer to as 'smart casual' as soon as he saw you.

But you were alone for breakfast, because he was already gone for the day. When his chef asked you what you wanted to eat, she looked annoyed when you said cereal and fruit and told her you could get it yourself. The refrigerator was completely stocked, and you loved that your dad had removed cherries from his shopping lists since you found out you were allergic.

You swiped a peach and some berries onto the counter and started cutting them up, and now the chef looked like she was about to faint. You added them to the top of your cereal bowl and smiled pleasantly at her before you headed into the dining room with your coffee and breakfast. You'd have to contact some potential employers today. You already knew that. But you found yourself lingering over your meal until the cereal was soggy, trying to put off the inevitable a little longer.

You bargained with yourself. If you spent the morning looking for an internship, then you could lounge by the pool for the afternoon. "Excellent bargaining. You're so smart," you told yourself as you returned your dirty dishes to the kitchen while the housekeeper bounced on her feet nervously. She met you at the sink and snagged everything out of your hands.

With your computer on your lap, you sat on the couch and made a list of companies in San Diego that might fit the bill. The problem was, Avio was at the top of the list, simply because of the sheer number of different departments housed in the main office downtown. When you clicked on the Research and Development header, you saw a smug looking photo of Bradley Bradshaw and started to laugh.

"Clearly you know you're handsome," you muttered, reading about him in his short bio. Department Lead for Research and Development at Avio Technologies. Fifteen years as a US Naval aviator. Retired with medals of honor and a rank of Lieutenant Commander. Leading Avio in cutting edge research for naval aircraft software. "Impressive."

You scrolled through a few other departments and made a separate list of people to ask your father to introduce you to. When your stomach started growling, you realized it was already noon. "Time flies when you're not having fun," you murmured as you dashed upstairs, your bikini calling to you like a siren song.

Only because it would be convenient, you decided to ask the chef to make you lunch so you could eat it outside by the pool. You were just tying your sheer beach cover up over your bathing suit and leaving your room when you heard your dad's voice along with some others. As silently as you could, you tiptoed barefoot down the main stairs, looked both ways and dashed to the left toward the French doors. And then you slammed directly into someone.

"Shit," you whispered, grabbing onto an Armani suit while hands came up to your back to steady you. Then you looked up into those same pretty brown eyes as the big hands tightened around your waist. "It's you again."

Bradley was laughing, and the deep rumble had you pressing yourself against him. "Me again."

You tried not to laugh as you whispered, "If you come with me, you can ditch the rest of the suits." For some reason, you wanted him to join you on the patio, just like he had the other day. He'd ditched everyone else for your company then, and you wanted him to do precisely that again.

You tugged him toward the doors, but he just shook his head. "It's too early for skinny dipping, remember?" A rather inappropriate retort was poised and ready to go, just sitting on the tip of your tongue, but he added, "But I actually was looking for you."

Now your heart fluttered. "You were?"

"Mmhmm," he hummed, releasing his hold on you. Your initial instinct was to whine until he touched you again, and you had to bite your lip to prevent another embarrassing moment. "I couldn't help but overhear yesterday that you're looking for a professional internship."

When he paused, you said, "I am. Go on."

He smirked, and he looked so much like his photo on the Avio Technologies website, you almost started laughing again. "I think I have something that could be exactly what you're looking for. Are you free tomorrow?"

"I could be. As long as it doesn't interfere with my sunbathing," you told him, and you watched his Adam's apple bob as his gaze dipped briefly to your chest.

Your breath caught in your throat as that pretty pink color flooded his cheeks. He reached into his pocket without taking his eyes off your face and then held a business card between his index and middle fingers right in front of your lips. "Call my office this afternoon. Judy will set something up for tomorrow." He paused again. "If you're interested."

You plucked the card from his grasp, and he smiled as he turned to his left and headed for your father's conference room. As you studied the tidy font, you wondered what he was looking for in an intern. You wondered what he could offer you. After a quick detour to grab your phone, you went outside to make a call.

You were interested.

------------------------

Interested is an understatement for me. Offer her a job, Bradley! And pack you swim shorts, baby boy. Thank you @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 2

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2kmps · 12 days

Text

ROACH KING

trust-fund baby!gojō satoru x tabloid journalist!reader | 1,046 words

summary; you're a tabloid journalist on the brink of finally reaching the spotlight after an unsuccessful career. gojō is a self-serving trust-fund baby with nothing better to do than to see you crash and burn. it doesn't go well.

warnings; mc punches gojō in the face, gojō is a super shitty trust-fund baby, mc is a plagiarist, unwanted kiss, implications of manipulation on both sides, brief mention of blood at the end, not proofread.

thank u @stellamancer for the request!! 💙

a/n: my header for gojo needed to be as annoying as possible. I hate him. reblog this if u think it's cool ig.

“You're a goddamn roach, Gojō.”

The Usurper King sat at his throne in perfect leisure, reclined in an ergonomic chair swathed in supple violet leather, long legs propped at an angle so anyone walking through the door would see his gleaming black oxfords—one new purchase among many others, and a white smile with elegant, symmetrical teeth. He had witnessed you enter his new office with a grin; a self-assured, imperturbable one that was immediately meant to put you in your place once you saw it.

It was rare that anyone saw his eyes as they were oftentimes hidden by a pair of blackout sunglasses. Gossip was a common topic at a tabloid firm, even more so internally than what was fabricated and published for soft-brained readers to chew on and shake around like a dog with a toy that cried when it’d get mean enough.

Most speculation was that he came to work high on something since he never liked to mingle among the peons on the main floor, a testament to his role in life as a trust-fund baby living the lavish lifestyle with the kind of time to put shit up his nose and in his veins. However, you'd seen the blues and whites of his eyes on occasion—pristine, but always a little dry from Japan’s seasonal agitators, so you knew that it wasn't the case.

It was simply that it fed into the perceptions he wanted people to have of him. Mysterious. Handsome. Rich. Those instead of the qualities you truly knew him for being: A lowlife, a roach, a fucking thief who’d never have to worry about the consequences of anything in life because he had money and half of the Japanese government on his side. It wouldn't do for the idolized poster boy for the country to fall into something so obscene such as a scandal or jail.

“You stole my article,” you said, leaning back against the door once you had it shut and locked behind you. “How dare you. That article was going to be my big break. But, instead you steal it and publish it. Why did you get Ichiji fired? He was the best editor-in-chief we had ever had. Did you do it to make yourself feel big, Gojō? Is this some double-whammy for getting back at me because I wouldn't sleep with you?”

That wasn't the case because Gojō hadn't slept with anyone, despite all the rumors proposing otherwise. The only reason you knew that was after an entirely too intimate dinner where he'd drank too much wine and not enough of his meal. He had confided that truth to you in the same manner as you had when you revealed to him that the article you were going to publish—your singular spotlight moment—had been someone else's idea.

A nobody. A new girl fresh out of graduate school who was bright-eyed, bushy-tailed and brimmed with audacity to try to stand apart from the other tabloid journalists.

Miwa had wanted to change the trajectory of gossip; focus it on full-truths rather than the convoluted circuit of half-truths and exaggerations. She aimed for gossip to be pure and honest, extinguish those vapid fires of tried and true to experiment with something fresh.

She was intending to derail you before you'd even had your chance to reach the top. That was just something you couldn't have, so you pulled a few strings, finagled some things and ultimately ended up with her article in your lap instead, your name ready to be printed instead of hers.

Unfortunately, your repertoire of qualities lacked stealth and common sense, as Gojō had intercepted this early on and had decided that this would be easy entertainment to beat all the usual mundanity.

“Why are you getting mad at me?” Gojō slipped his feet off the desk and got out of his chair, posture slouched in a way equally cool and sloven. “You're the one who stole the article. I just gave it back to that girl you took it from. Don't you feel just a little ashamed?”

You lifted your chin as he got closer, tried stacking your spine as tall as it could go just short of standing on your toes to match up with him. “Don’t you feel bad that you kicked out an innocent, hard working man because you were bored and wanted to see how my life would explode?”

“This ain't about you, y’know?” Gojō was inches away now, black sunglasses tucked away in his chest pocket so he could see you uninhibited through those stellar blue eyes. You hated how he looked at you with fascination, a little thing he wanted to keep and bat around with his hands. “You're pretty self-centered, but I think you know that.”

You flattened to the door, feeling the slippery varnish against your fingertips as you tried to think of what to do with your hands while he studied you, leaning in closer.

Since this entire thing had begun, from the moment he injected himself into your life, you'd never known a moment of peace and be made sure you didn't. In a way, you thought this was God’s retribution for sacrificing every principle and ethics in favor of recognition in a career you'd never been particularly good at. What better way to smite than with a force veritably worse than you?

Gojō leaned into a stilted, passionless kiss, one completely different from others you had shared. But, those had come before you knew what he had planned to do to you, that his plan had been to steal away the glory that awaited all because he wanted to see how things unraveled.

You waited until he got his fill or was dissuaded, whichever came first, before winding up your arm and launching the peaks of your knuckles straight into the right side of his jaw. A slap wouldn't have sufficed, not with how pissed off you were, not for this asshole. So, you threw as much of your momentum and weight into that punch as you could, enough to catch him off-guard and send him crashing to the floor in a clamorous heap.

You licked your lips where he kissed you, where you saw blood trickle from the corner of his mouth when he looked up at you, for the first time ever, in pure shock.

“I'm gonna get fired anyway,” you said, flinging out of your hand and flexing each finger. “Might as well have made it count.”

#gojou satoru x reader #jujutsu gojo #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #jjk gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jjk imagines #jjk x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen imagines #2k writes

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lunamugetsu · 1 year

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I see a lot of people going with the idea that if Danny were to be captured and tortured by the GIW, that the main people that would find him are Young Justice, Teen Titans or the Justice League main heroes.

So I raise you this idea.

The one who finds the GIW facility that's keeping Danny prisoner is The Question. The resident faceless conspiracy theorist hero that works for the Justice League. (the one I'm thinking of is the guy from Justice League Unlimited. The one that got together with Huntress. You can imagine this with the Renee Montoya version if you want, but I'm just thinking of the guy Question)

Now hear me out. The Question is known for having crazy conspiracy theories and in the the cartoon, Supergirl asks Green Arrow why they have the Question on the roster for the Justice League since he has such crazy theories, he must be insane. And Green Arrow replies with that some of his theories have actually turned out to be true.

So couple that with how The Question gets crazy theories and he does investigate them on his own time. It wouldn't be a stretch that he finds out that there's an obscure government agency that he instantly starts getting suspicious of as there's very rarely any documentation he can find about it. But what hammers his suspicions in is the obscene amount of money that's being pumped into that agency and a serious of facilities that somehow exist and yet also do not exist but he knows it's real because some of them required a humongous power grid to be able to have the facility function.

The Question starts investigating the facilities. Going undercover finding obscure ways to get into the building. He gets in finds a super secure, heavily fortified area that he could tell where most of the energy is being powered to keep locked. He finds the lab areas where he can see the autopsy tables all with machinery that are definitely raise some eyebrows. He starts downloading information about the facility from their servers and finds that the codes to unlock the area that was blocked to him before.

He goes to investigate that area and low and behold, who does he see but an imprisoned Danny who has clearly been tortured. The Question would then go "well I'm breaking him out" and just does an impromptu jail break and takes the kid which sounds the alarm. They're getting the heck out of there. The Question contacts the Justice League gets him and the kid to the Watchtower.

Later on Danny is staying with the Question, because Danny need a place to stay and he's cool with the faceless dude that saved him from his prison. The dude is like super chill with all of the stuff he talks about and actively listening to everything he talked about. Even adding comments of his own like

"I knew it! Lunch Ladies are connected with creation of the mystery meat! And they're funded by the government so they can use it as a brain control weapon to control the future generation!"

"The politicians of today could possibly be possessed by the ghosts of the past. They're unwilling to relinquish any power they possessed even in the afterlife!"

Plus, Danny's like completely cool with making food and cleaning up after Question. Because one, the food doesn't come to life and try to attack him like it does at home. And two, the man keeps all of his conspiracy stuff pretty organized so there was hardly anything for Danny to clean up. And sure the guy has a weird lifestyle with things such as brushing his teeth with baking soda because he says fluoride is used by the government to be able to see the people better from their satellites. Or that he'll look through everybody's garbage and would sometimes drag Danny with him to help, which he later learns is a great way to gather information about someone. And having conversations with the dude is kind of creepy when he can't see the dude's face, but he gets used to it and then starts practicing his shape shifting to see freak out the other heroes when they see he has no face.

Meanwhile The Question would have moments while working where he's like "Wait! Did I feed the kid this morning?" also Huntress is there because she doesn't trust her boyfriend at keeping a human being alive, even if they are half dead.

#Danny phantom #DC #DP x DC #dp x dc au #dp x dc crossover #Justice League #Danny phantom x Justice League #question #Danny Fenton #dpxdc #dp x dc

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inorganicone2230 · 4 months

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Like Hoarded Gold (Part 1) Yandere!Gojo/Geto x Fem!Reader

Part 2

Summary: Suguru Geto and Satoru Gojo are complete strangers to you, but when they unexpectedly learn of the tragic news that has irrevocably shattered your life to pieces, the two of them become determined to help you and make you happy again, whether you want them to or not.

Warnings: Not many for this chapter, just the guys being nosy creeps for now.

Side Note: I do NOT and never will condone the actions committed in this or any future chapters, please be mindful and respectful of the fact that all of this is purely fiction.

“Come on, babe.”

Satoru Gojo moaned shamelessly into the kiss he shared with his lifelong friend and romantic partner, Suguru Geto, as he pressed the dark haired man down into the gym mat of the darkened storeroom they had snuck into.

“You're so fucking needy.”

Suguru playfully taunted him, even as he groaned and pawed at the other young man just as desperately, his hands finally finding purchase on Satoru’s hips so he could grind their still clothed and aching erections together.

They’d had a break between lectures and when Satoru had teasingly suggested that the two of them find a quiet spot for a quicky, he had been more than happy to agree, which was how they now found themselves in their current situation; namely, the two of them laid out on an old mat in the storeroom of the college gym, desperately dry-humping one another.

“You're not gonna sound so cocky once I’m balls-deep in your tight fucking ass.” Satoru shot back, nipping his neck hard enough that it was surely going to leave a very noticeable bruise, one he knew Suguru would wear with immense pride and satisfaction.

Suguru’s chuckle was deep and sensual as he reached between them to begin unbuckling his boyfriend's belt and pants, desperate to get his large hands wrapped around Satoru’s fat cock.

“Wanna bet on-”

The door to the storeroom suddenly creaked open and both men instantly froze as dim light from the previously empty gym briefly flooded the space before closing and going dark again.

“Shit!” Satoru whispered harshly into his ear, just loud enough so only he would hear it. “Did a professor or someone else follow us?”

It's not like the two of them had ever tried to hide their relationship from the public, such a thing would have been an impossible endeavor anyway, what with how affectionate and touchy Satoru could be most of the time. But even with their relationship being public knowledge, it still hadn't stopped the occasional creeper or fame-chaser from trying to catch them in compromising situations, usually to try and extort the white haired young man for a cut of his rather impressively large fortune and inheritance.

With the unexpected death of his parents only four years prior, and Satoru being their only child, he had been the sole beneficiary to the Gojo family's vast wealth and assets, and while he still had to graduate college first before he could receive the entirety of his inheritance in full, the monthly stipend he received every month to fund their lifestyle until then was certainly nothing to sneeze at.

But it also had the unfortunate drawback of painting a big red bullseye on his back, and subsequently Suguru’s as well, one that led some people to think that they would be an easy target for some quick cash if a compromising photo could be taken and dangled over their heads.

“Just stay quiet for now.” Suguru replied, then tenderly kissed Satoru's cheek with the kind of affection he knew would leave the Gojo heir blushing. “If they try anything, I'll be the one to handle it.”

And he meant it to, he had already beat the shit out of a few creeps for trying this kind of shit, and would be more than willing to do so again if it came down to it.

Satoru was his, and he would always have his back, just like he knew Satoru would always have his.

The two of them, thankfully, were tucked away in a corner of the storeroom behind some stacked boxes of equipment, so they would see anyone that came around the corner, but when no one came, the two of them slowly rose to their feet to take a peek around, wondering if maybe the individual actually hadn't stuck around and left when the door shut.

But there, leaning against the wall next to the door was a young girl, one who both men briefly recognized as a first year, more specifically, she was a foreign exchange student who they just so happened to share one or two classes with this semester.

You had your phone drawn up to your ear and seemed to be calling the same number repeatedly as your expression grew more and more frantic every time the person(s) on the other end failed to pick up.

“The fuck?” Satoru silently mouthed as they looked at one another, confusion written all over each other's faces, but Suguru was just as lost as his partner and only shook his head at him.

He now suspected that you had no idea you weren't alone in here, which meant that you weren't a threat, so his posture had relaxed once more, but now he was also fairly curious as to what had brought you here, and who you were so desperately trying to get ahold of.

And based on the noticeable gleam in Satoru's bright blue eyes, Suguru knew he was also just as curious.

And then, as if their nosiness had triggered something on the other end of your phone, they suddenly heard your voice speak, your tone sounding both relieved and panicked as words, in what they were able to tell was English, began tumbling out of your mouth in fast succession.

The only problem however, was that neither of them knew enough of the language to be able to piece full sentences together.

“Oh come on!” Satoru quietly groaned in exasperation.

He knew enough to be able to pick out a few words here and there; words like ‘no’ and ‘please’ and ‘wait’, which you seemed to be repeating quite often as your voice grew more and more panicked, but eventually, whoever was on the other end must have abruptly ended the call, because you stopped talking as the phone slowly slid from your slackened grip and fell to the floor with a loud enough crash that he knew without even seeing it that the damn things screen was likely shattered to bits from the impact with the concrete flooring.

You looked so sad and heartbroken in that moment, and before either man knew what was happening, you dropped to your knees with a sickening thud that left both of them wincing. Your knees were most definitely going to be in a world of hurt once you finally managed to pull yourself out of whatever dark hole that conversation had thrown you into.

And then came the wailing…

The sounds that came pouring out of you were absolutely gut wrenching, and despite not knowing anything about you, not even your name, it took everything Satoru and Suguru had to stop themselves from going to you and demanding what it was that had caused this.

You had your arms wrapped so tightly around yourself, like you would fall to pieces if you weren't holding yourself together in that lonely embrace, and you were sobbing so hard that they both feared you might actually make yourself sick if you didn't get your breathing under control.

“What do you think we should do?” Suguru whispered.

Satoru didn't once take his eyes off you as he shook his head in uncertainty.

“I honestly don't know.” He answered. “We would probably just make things worse if we suddenly pop out and she learns we've been here this whole time.”

Suguru had to agree, and as much as it killed him to stand back and let your trauma unfold like this, he knew that Satoru was right.

Neither of them completely understood why they had this unexplainable urge to go to you, someone who was a complete and total stranger, but it was a matter they were going to have to ponder together and discuss at great length before making any solid decisions on.

But for now, they simply had to let the situation run its natural course and hope for the best, even if waiting and patience was never either of their strong suits.

And so they did.

They waited for almost thirty minutes, watching and listening to the sound of your very soul shattering as you cried yourself into exhaustion before you eventually managed to pick yourself back up off the floor and slowly and silently exit the storage space. Neither of them failed to notice the dead expression on your face or how utterly lifeless your eyes appeared to be, and both men knew it had little to do with the poor lighting from the few small windows sprinkled along the walls near the ceiling.

And only once they were certain they were alone again did both Satoru and Suguru finally release the breath neither of them realized they were simultaneously holding.

“Fucking hell…” Satoru groaned and slumped down to the floor to sit on his haunches. “What was that all about?” He asked, looking up at Suguru through feather soft lashes.

Suguru leaned back against the wall across from him and let out his own sigh of frustration.

He didn't understand what this feeling was or where it was coming from, but it was taking all his restraint not to go chasing after you, to make certain you didn't do anything foolish.

Perhaps it had something to do with seeing you in such a vulnerable state when you thought you were completely alone…

He had seen plenty of his friends in bad moods or had been a shoulder for them to cry on when they were stressed and upset, but he had never seen anyone in real life break apart so uncontrollably the way you had just now; not even Satoru after the death of his parents, if one could even call those two absent shit-stains by the title of parent.

“I don't know.” He whispered. “Maybe she has a significant other back home and they got into a fight or something?”

He saw the darkened look that flashed across Satoru's face and knew immediately that the thought of that prospect didn't settle with him any better than it did with Suguru himself.

“Or someone she knows could have gotten hurt, or even died.” Satoru casually stated, and wondered what it must have said about him that he hoped it was that and not Suguru's option.

This was not what either of them had expected to deal with today, not that anyone could have predicted it, but now that they had witnessed what you obviously must have thought was a moment of extreme vulnerability, their interest was thoroughly piqued and he knew that neither he nor Suguru would be able to walk away and just forget about it so easily.

At the very least, he wanted to know the details of the situation, even if they couldn't do anything about it to help you in the end, because if he didn't, then those mournful cries of yours would follow him for a long time, possibly forever, and he wasn't entirely sure he could stay sane if the burning question of it wasn't answered.

“Come on, let's go home for the rest of the day and figure out what we want to do.” Suguru said, and held his hand out to help his boyfriend rise to his feet. “There's no point in attending any more of our classes today if neither of us will be able to properly concentrate.”

It wasn't until they were almost to the door that something caught Satoru's attention and he had to pause for a moment to thank the heavens for his good fortune, because there was your shattered phone, still laying on the ground where it had originally dropped.

“It must be our lucky day, babe.” He said with a grin, bending down to pick up the device.

“I'm not too surprised, the poor thing was practically catatonic when she left, and a broken phone was probably the last thing on her mind.” Suguru wrapped his arms around Satoru's middle and rested his chin in the crook of his neck to look over his shoulder and watch him gingerly tap at the screen. “Maybe we could use returning it as an excuse to talk to her?” He suggested, but dismissed the idea just as quickly when he realized that would mean needing to explain how they found it and how they knew it was yours.

Satoru nodded his head absentmindedly, already knowing that he and Suguru had likely reached the same conclusion on that option, but he had one that might prove to be a bit more useful to them in the long run, especially as the lock screen lit up and showed both men that it was only the protective cover over the screen that was shattered. The sturdy case and screen protector had spared it from any true damage, and as he stared at the picture you had set of you and what appeared to be your parents at your high school graduation ceremony, he couldn't help but feel that fate was too good a word to describe this opportunity, and it had to mean something so much more.

“Let's stop by a cell-phone store on the way home.” He suggested, before pocketing the device and turning to give his boyfriend a conspiratorial wink and smile. “I have an idea of my own that I think you'll like a whole lot more.”

----------

Later on that night, Satoru and Suguru found themselves snuggled up together on the couch that faced the large wall of windows in their penthouse apartment that overlooked the Tokyo city skyline.

When the two of them had first graduated high school together nearly four years earlier and started apartment hunting together, they had immediately been sold on this particular property, located in Minato, based solely on the views it provided of the city at night, and naturally, with Satoru being who he was, they ended up with the absolute best the building had to offer, right at the very top on the 45th floor.

It had already come fully furnished at the time they had first moved in, but over the course of their almost four year residency, they had slowly replaced everything with pieces that were more suited to their own tastes and preferences.

That was one thing that he loved so much about Satoru, despite the apartment being in his name and the money from his monthly stipends paying for everything they had, his boyfriend never made him feel less than for not being able to contribute more than his ability to cook and help clean. Satoru always told him that the money was just as much his, and had even gone so far as to get Suguru's name put on the account and debit/credit cards of his very own so he never had to ask for money.

Satoru, for all his childish tendencies and spoiled entitlement, saw the two of them as equal partners in their relationship, and did everything he possibly could to show him that at every opportunity.

But the greatest gift of all, besides just being in his life, had been in the form of his college expenses.

Satoru had always been destined to attend his parents alma mater, the University of Tokyo, but for Suguru, with his poorer background and lack of financial resources, despite his excellent grades and a long list of extracurriculars that had earned him a full scholarship to the elite high school they had both attended, the prestigious university had always felt more like a far off and unattainable dream as he'd sent in his application for it, and half a dozen other more affordable and realistic schools.

Schools that were far enough away that it would have seen him and Satoru separated and likely to break up.

So when, mere days after his parents' funeral, Satoru had expressed a keen desire to pay for his tuition entirely from his own pocket, just to help him achieve his dreams and keep them from being separated, Suguru had known then and there that the white haired young man was the one for him.

It wasn't about the money though, Suguru had never given a single thought to asking his, admittedly very wealthy boyfriend, for financial assistance. It was Satoru's genuine desire to help him and not lose each other that had cemented it in his mind that they were it for one another; that, come hell or high water, he would fight tooth and nail to keep what they had, and Satoru had been more that eager to share the sentiment.

And now, here they were, making what might be one of the biggest decisions of their life together as they scrolled through your now deactivated phone, and seething with rage at what they were learning.

“You're reading the same thing as me, right? I’m not misinterpreting this?” Satoru asked through clenched teeth.

Suguru's mood wasn't much better as he took the phone from his boyfriend's tightening grip to read the translated email more closely.

“No, you're not.”

After leaving campus for the day, the first thing they had done was drive to a small electronics store on the outskirts of the city to have your phone deactivated. And thankfully, with the help of a very hefty bribe, the creep working the shady storefront had been more than happy to ignore the questionable ethics of forcefully disconnecting and resetting the password on a phone that clearly didn't belong to either of the men asking for it to be done, and in less than thirty minutes, the two had been on their merry way back home.

It had been Suguru's idea to run everything on your phone through a translator app so they could try and figure out what was going on with you, and while they both felt a mild sense of guilt over snooping so deeply into your private life, they told themselves it was for your own good, that they were only trying to help.

The translations were by no means perfect, but both men were smart enough to read between the lines and mentally fix whatever errors there were in the process, and while your text messages had been a bust, with most of them being fairly quick and concise, your emails proved to be much more fruitful.

And rage inducing…

Satoru had been right in assuming that whatever had brought on your traumatic breakdown had to do with your family, but if what they were reading had any kind of truth to it, which neither of them were truly doubting, then it was so much worse than just someone you knew and loved dying on you.

The email in question was from your mother and read as followed;

(Y/N), I know this will come as a tremendous shock to you whenever you read this, and I need you to understand that me and your father are not making this decision to be cruel to you, but you are no longer a child, you are a grown woman on her own at college, in another country no less, and I feel like I should be allowed to be honest with you about the changes both our lives are about to take.

I think you are well aware by now that having you was not a choice neither I nor your father made willingly, you were a genuine accident, and while we care about you and want you to succeed more than anything, you are grown now and fully capable of no longer needing us. Me and your father put our dreams and desires on hold and raised you for nineteen years, and now it is time for us to be allowed to live our lives how we see fit. We have already sold the house and all but its most important items, all of your belongings have been packed up and moved to a storage unit that I have provided the number for down below. It has been paid off for the next six months while you decide how and what to do with it, but this is the final assistance we will give you, as we need all the money we can spare to begin our new lives elsewhere.

I know this is going to be very hard for you to understand, but your father and I were free spirits before we had you, travel and adventure was our life, and while we did our due diligence upon having you, I won't lie and say that you were our greatest joy. Having to be tied down to one place for so long in order to give you the stability you required, it killed us a little inside with each year that passed, and now that we are finally free, we feel it is best we no longer keep in contact with you going forward. It will only serve to remind us of a time we no longer want to think about, and it will only give you false hope in the end that things could go back to your perceived version of normal, and that is not fair to any of us.

We will be replacing our phones and numbers at the end of the week, so feel free to call us anytime between now and then if you have anything to say or add.

And please, take care of yourself and live your life to the fullest.

That was where the email ended.

It had been sent less than 24 hours ago, and a quick check of your call log showed them that your parents were indeed the last people you had tried calling, your mother having been the one to finally pick up and respond to your, now understandably, very frantic calls earlier in the storage room.

“What kind of sorry excuse for a mother would do this to their own child?” Satoru asked, his voice as cold and icy as his eyes and hair. “My parents were shit at being parents, and even they would have never done something as cruel and heartless as this.”

Suguru nodded in complete agreement as he reread the words on the screen again for a third time, and had to fight down every urge he had to punch this awful woman's number into his own phone and give her a piece of his mind.

“The only kind of people who could do this with as little remorse as she seems to have, are the kind that should have never been allowed to conceive in the first place.” The dark haired man responded, and draped an arm over his loves shoulders for comfort.

The two sat in silence for a long while after that, slowly processing everything they had learned, and in that time, Satoru had opened up your photo gallery for them to look through, idly scrolling through picture after picture, wanting to understand you further and gain insight into who you were. They started from the oldest ones at the very top, which seemed to date back three years, and while you seemed more interested in taking pictures of other people and the things and places around you, when a photo of yourself did eventually pop up every now and then, it always blindsided then how joyful and happy you seemed, especially in contrast with how they had seen you earlier, so sad and broken.

“So, what do we do now, Suguru?”

Suguru sighed, having known they would eventually have to discuss this.

“I know we were mostly just curious to find out what was the cause of her breakdown earlier, but now that we know the whole story, I don't think I can just leave this situation alone.” He said, and felt Satoru relax beside him, that was enough to tell him that his partner felt the same as him.

“Normally, I'd say that destiny and fate can suck my fat cock, but I don't feel like it was just mere coincidence that led to us being in that storage room with her today, it was definitely something more.” Satoru said, his confidence returning in full force as he stared down at a picture of your bright and smiling face, wishing more than anything that they could see it in person. “So who better to help a poor damsel in distress than the two best equipped guys in the city; we have the money, the means, and the time to show her were on her side.”

“I couldn't have said it better myself.” Suguru chuckled and kissed his cheek. “Now the only question is how do we proceed and make it happen?”

Satoru flashed him that signature too confident grin as he leaned back into his arms and pulled out his own phone.

“Don't worry, I got us covered on that front.” He said, scrolling through his minimal contacts to find the one he needed. “She might not figure it out right away, but our girl isn't going to know what to do with herself once she realizes she's got two knights in shining armor looking out for her.”

I've recently gotten really into JJK and since I'm not really feeling the motivation to write for any of my other fics at the moment, here is the newest idea that is rotting my brain from the inside out.

Please enjoy and let me know what you think!

And as always, I want to give a BIG thank you to my amazing friend @talpup for all the brainstorming and encouragement on these stories! I’m sure I would have given up on this blog a while ago if it wasn’t for all of their help. I highly encourage anyone who takes the time to read this to go over to their page or their AO3 account under the same name and check out their works, especially Chaos and Erase The Shadow. They are two of my favorite BNHA fics of ALL TIME! And who has also started their own Yandere!Overhaul fic called Crossroads and is set in a 1920′s prohibition style era, it’s amazing and you need to check it out!

#18+ONLY #MINORS DNI #Like Hoarded Gold #yandere!suguru/satoru #fem!reader #yandere!suguru/satoru x fem!reader #geto suguru #gojo satoru #original female character #no curses au #college setting #light stalking #light smut #typical yandere behavior #yandere jjk

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f4irycafe · 2 years

Text

𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 - 𝒂𝒐𝒕 𝒃𝒐𝒚𝒔

⤷ summary: aot boys wth high maintenance girlfriends.

⤷ characters: jean, armin, connie, eren,

⤷ content warnings: suggestive themes, fluff, black!coded reader, college!au.

⤷ notes: my MEN.

PLEASE REBLOG

𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐧

baby boy is obsessed with you. like the biggest simp outta all of them fs.

jean isn't rich, but he's worked hard for all the $$ he has.

and he def doesn't mine spending all that shit on you okayyyyyyyyy.

he knew you liked to keep up w yourself, new nails and lashes every few weeks, new wig/braids/locs every few months.

he was just soo in awe of your presence for a while he didn't even consider how much that stuff costs.

"baby how much does your hair cost?" he asks you one day as ur just chilling on the couch in your dorm.

"couple hundred, why?" atp he knows all abt your hair care n stuff so this isn't no invasive ass question.

eyes = dropped out of his head.

he tries to play it cool like, "oh alright," but inside he's like, i've been letting her pay hundreds for her hair ALONE this entire time.

now whenever you mention you wanna go get ur lashes refilled, or ask him to pick a color, his first question is,

"how much is it?"

i feel like there is one or two services he chooses to pay for consistently, like braids and nails. he got money, but not that much so he can't be wildin out for you.

you get the biggest heart eyes when he does tho. sometimes you don't even have to ask and you get a veno notif on your phone.

"$250 from jean" - get the white tips i like.

cause yuk know, he likes to watch em when you ... yeh yeh u get it.

supportive, love to spoil you, but will act so nonchalant abt it.

𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧

rich boy armin? rich boy armin.

he lives a high maintnence lifestyle as it is, tailed clothes, designer book bags, shoes, glasses, family homes in europe. your typical trust fund baby.

honestly, that was the first thing he noticed about you. the nice but still lowkey car, the sleek bags, the perfect professional looking wigs and braids, even the smells you wore just exuded an air of confidence.

he loved it.

being a boy tho, he didn't realize just how much money went into upkeep with your look per week.

he was shocked, sure, but your finances barely made a dent in his pockets.

the type boyfriend to just hand you an asswad of cash at the beginning of the week and say "go crazy,"

at first you wanted to test just how much you could get out of him. a new white tie dress for some elite school event, the new apple watch that just dropped, wigs that cost upwards of $500 for you to only wear them for a week.

when you finally realized that this boy would do any and everything for you, you toned it down a bit.

but now, he pays for all your shit. eyelashes, hair, nails, perfume.

you still be paying for your phone, car, rent etc, but all that personal shit, yeah its his.

𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧

hehehe. y'all know this is my husband quit playingggggg

while armin goes after the pretty rich girls, eren goes after the ones that do this shit just cause they can.

you be working for every inch of hair on your head trust and BELEIVEEEEEEE.

thats one of the things he admires about you, how hard you work for the stuff you want. even if that shit seems superficial to others, you can fr do anything you put your mind to.

another trust fund baby. (i hc grisha as a world class surgeon and carla as a lowkey fashion designer)

he just thinks ur so pretty. like jean, worships the ground you work on.

one night you're trying to set up an appointment for these fancy ass locs that almost touch the floor but you're stressin tryna figure out when you can fit another shift in at work between studying, classes and your extracurriculars while on ft w him.

he's quiet and contemplative on the phone, not really giving answers outside of "i'm sorry bae :("

in the morning you wake up to a venmo notif.

"stink-a-link paud you $600 - hair app. get those nails you've been wanting too."

at first you kinda freak out cause 600??? aint no one treated you like this before.

he just smiles when you try to call him, asking him to take it back.

"i got money to spend, and ik how much this style means to you. if you're happy i'm happy pretty girl."

the sweetest.

plus he gets bragging rights. cause who tf elses girl is looking this damn fine? right , no ones.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐞

CONSTANCE

if you've been here for a while you know its rich drug dealer connie or nothin.

yall probably got together cause he was ur plug and gave u a lil too much free weed lmaooooo.

but he been payin for your shit from the start.

the only catch - u gotta get what he wants.

its never wack or emberassing, our boy got taste and an eye for fashion, trust he does u right.

he be putting the description in the venmo tag LMAO

"buss down 30in. honey brown beach wave ..."

LIKE BOY HOW U KNOW WHAT THAT ISSSSSSSSS? U THE OPPS OR SOMETHIN

sometimes he'll just give you like a color for the nails and hair. he don't be knowin much about lashes tho, but he likes the cat eye ones the most.

everyone is always thirsting after you fr.

makes him so proud. maybe a lil too proud HAHA

but he'll drive u to all ur appointments. he doesn't care how long they are he'll wait. or go home and bring u food if its a long hair day.

hypes u up so much when u get in the car talkin bout "you so pretty babe".

can't stop looking at you.

elles rambles: i - love them so much. biased w eren as always. but i want these boys to spoil me. specially connie :))))))0

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shroomsroom · 16 days

Note

the gang with a latina s/o

Summary: The Outsider x Latina!Reader

Warnings: none

Author's Note: I don't know much about this so I'm sorry for its vagueness

PONYBOY CURTIS

there's not many Latinas in Tulsa so you kinda stuck out

You were a nice blend of soc and greaser that he really liked

He would be very awkward around you because, like I said, not very many Latinas

Very sweet and tries to learn everything about your culture

JOHNNY CADE

Met you at your job and was instantly smitten

Asked you to the lot after and you were kinda freaked out

is Obsesssssseddd with how you do your hair and makeup and how good you smell

Really really really wants to meet your family

SODAPOP CURTIS

obsessed since day one

Like had your yearbook photo in his locker

Heard thru the grapevine that you thought he was cute and literally asked you out next period

Is like frantically looking for a spot that would have food that made you feel at home. Like frantically.

STEVE RANDLE

tried to talk to you in Spanish (Hola mi amor) ((with the worst accent too might I add))

You laughed at him (kindheartedly)((he was smitten))

Asks you to come to work with him and you literally just sit there all day while he sneaks glances at you

Funds your lifestyle. You want a new lip gloss? It's bought. Want a new expensive perfume? Its stolen for you!!

TWO-BIT MATTHEWS

does not stop with the Spanish. Like everything you see him he says Hola.

No matter how many times you tell him to just say hi he won't

He does it because he 'wants you to feel more at home with him' (oh girl 😰😰)

Takes you out every night but genuinely doesn't know what you would do for fun or eat..

DARRY CURTIS

Thinks you're a goddess

A little oblivious to how things are when you aren't white

Beats or intimidates anyone who fucks with you

Buys you your fav snacks and drinks at any given opportunity

DALLAS WINSTON

Dallas Winston is a white bitch

Thinks you're “exotic” LMAO

tries to bag you just because you're slightly different than the girls he normally sees

Finds it so hot when you speak your language but he will NEVER tell anyone that. never.

#shroomsroom #clara'sroom #the outsiders x reader #dallas winston x reader #dally winston x reader #johnny cade x reader #steve randle x reader #pony curtis x reader #ponyboy curtis x reader #soda curtis x reader #sodapop curtis x reader #two bit mathews x reader #two bit x reader #two bit matthews x reader #darry curtis x reader #darrel curtis x reader

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hikari-kaitou · 1 year

Text

Translation from Gyakuten Saiban Fan Book

What sort of person is Phoenix Wright?!

How does the producer of the trilogy, Mr. Inaba, view the main character, Phoenix Wright? And what about the character designer, Mr. Iwamoto, who voiced Wright's rival, Miles Edgeworth? What's his opinion on the matter?

Mr. Inaba's comments

Interviewer: I'd like to ask you about what type of guy you think Wright is. Let's start with his birthday.

Inaba: Wright always seems chipper, so perhaps he was born in the spring?

Iv: That might be why that pink sweater suited him so well (lol). What about his living situation?

Ia: I feel like Maya probably swipes the money he makes at his law firm, so Wright is poor. He probably lives in a really basic apartment.

Iv: So his cell phone is probably not the latest model, but rather…

Ia: It's probably a previous generation one that he's used for a long time. Like one of the ones with a green display (lol). He can't afford a new one.

Iv: He's very working class, then (lol).

Ia: I definitely think he is. There's no doubt in my mind. He's got no money. I don't even want to imagine a posh Wright (lol).

Iv: How mean (lol). If he's really that low on funds, then I imagine he doesn't have much money to spare on hobbies.

Ia: He doesn't seem like the type to be particularly interested in music, and since he's poor, he probably can't afford CDs. If he does listen to music, it's probably just whatever is playing on the radio as he hangs out at the fishing pond.

Iv: So you see him as the type of guy who goes to the fishing pond?

Ia: if he did fish as a hobby, I can see him doing it in a pond or something. He's definitely not the sport fishing type.

Iv: You make him sound like he has a typical working class, chill lifestyle.

Ia: I don't see him as the type to spend most of his time indoors though. He probably plays catch or walks his dog… I think that kind of thing suits him best.

Iv: His dog is a mutt, of course?

Ia: Probably a mix of Japanese breeds. He either found the dog abandoned somewhere, or it just happened to wander into his office, or Maya forced it on him so he ended up keeping it.

Iv: Last question: what do you think Wright's type is?

Ia: Probably the dominant type. After all, he dated Dahlia and worked for Mia (lol).

Mr. Iwamoto's comments

Iv: So about Wright's birthday, when do you think it is?

Iwamoto: Maybe in May? I think it'd be funny if it were the same as Takumi-san's. Maybe his blood type and birthplace are the same as Takumi-san's too?

Iv: Inaba-san had an image of Wright consistent with a working class guy, but what do you think?

Iw: No objections (lol). He doesn't seem like he'd spend much money on his clothes. At the very least, I think he has the type of personality where it wouldn't be unusual to see him outdoors.

Iv: It's hard to imagine him wearing expensive brand-name outfits, isn't it?

Iw: He probably wears jeans, but not like the vintage kind. He probably sleeps in a t-shirt and boxers. Come to think of it, Suekane-san doodled Wright in a sweatshirt once, so he might be the type to wear sweatshirts.

Iv: So what about sports?

Iw: Maybe field soccer? If you put the word "field" in front of a sport, it sounds more working class. Like "field baseball."

Iv: He sounds totally working class, just like Inaba-san's image. Do you think he gets together with a bunch of friends and plays a rowdy game of field soccer?

Iw: I wonder. Wright seems like the type of guy who doesn't have a lot of friends somehow. His only soccer buddy is Larry Butz, so he plays just with him. They'd be like "You play goalie next, ok?" They'd take turns doing penalty shootouts… jeez, that's depressing (lol). In contrast to Wright, Larry seems like he'd be more shy around other people. He probably doesn't remember any of those people's names (lol).

Iv: In terms of physical build, Wright has more of a swimmer's body than a soccer player body. His shoulders are broad.

Iw: Suekane-san drew him pretty burly in the first game, didn't she? I tried to keep that image when I drew him. But if you really want to know what Wright's body type is like, you can find out by having Takumi-san strip for you (lol). I think Wright is highly influenced by Takumi-san himself.

Edgeworth version

#ace attorney #phoenix wright #my translation #atsushi inaba #tatsurou iwamoto

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gazzistt · 5 months

Text

·˚ ༘₊· 𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐈 𝐒𝐈𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 🧘🏾‍♀️

itadori, sukuna and choso headcannon // here me out…all three of them as siblings. sukuna as the eldest, choso, then itadori.

notes┆︎i usually reference this au when writing my [ itadoriolderbrother! sukuna x reader ], so if you want to know more about that world refer to here :))

⊹˚∘ SUKUNA.

Sukuna grew up spoiled. SPOILED. Being the first and only child of Kaori and Jin at the time, they gave him everything he could ever want.

I like to think that Jin and Kaori were rich as hell. I'm talking about five estates all decked out in multiple traditional-style mansions. They had maids, butlers, attendants—everything!This is where Sukuna spent most of his time and can explain why he acts like he’s better than everyone later in life.

Sukuna was homeschooled for the beginning of his life, never having to mingle with regular people. He learned everything from the comfort of his home, attendants at his beck and call. It was here he learned etiquette, manners and basic liberal skills. Afterward, he was sent to the best schools in the country—his parents only wanting the best for him.

As Sukuna grew older he got a job at his father's company and found out that his parents made him the sole successor to ALL of their assets—only adding to his trust-fund nature.

Sukuna had a very close relationship with his parents, so much so that he was devastated when his mother died shortly after giving birth to Yuji.

This led to his more brutish nature, distancing himself from his father and baby Yuji, going off on a more crude path. He became rouge, got in trouble a lot more, and started fighting. Jin tried his hardest to rectify his behavior, but those attempts didn't seem to work out. So he let him be.

Jin soon found himself growing more weary and left Yuji in the care of his parents, Co-parenting with his father. But, shortly after that, Jin passed away.

Sukuna attended his funeral, and although he wasn't as devastated, it still hit him hard. His grandfather asked Sukuna to visit him and Yuji for some time, seeing as he now had custody over the children as their legal guardian.

However, Sukuna only fulfilled this request during Yuji’s toddler years. After that, Sukuna was as absent as could be. So absent, that Yuji forgot he even had an older brother.

It wasn’t anything personal, but Sukuna was too used to the luxurious lifestyle he grew up with. Their grandfather was a lot more…modest, more simple, more basic. And that was precisely the reason why he stopped showing up.

Sukuna only appeared again when his grandfather died, leaving Yuji without proper care. He decided to take guardianship of the boy and ‘rekindle’ their relationship. Although it was a bit of a daunting task considering he was absent for 16 years of his life. Whoops.

Nevertheless, Yuji eventually came around, the two of them growing close despite their constant bickering and opposing views. Sukuna was family after all.

Sukuna and Itadori lived in a condo in one of the most expensive neighborhoods in the area. Itadori didn’t realize it at the time, but his brother was insanely rich. Sukuna never really talked about it, and Itadori never wanted to hear anything about his parents—which Sukuna thought to be a shame, because he would never have the childhood that he did.

⊹˚∘ ITADORI.

Itadori didn’t know what to do when this random man suddenly claimed to be his brother. I mean, how does one even respond to that?

Eventually, Itadori had no choice to believe him. I mean, Sukuna looked exactly like him! It was almost like they were twins, except he had tattoos covering his face, was much older, and had much less face fat too.

It also helped that Itadori could remember Sukuna—faintly, but just enough to know that he met him a couple times in his life.

When it came to living with Sukuna, there were some…difficulties. I mean, he was arrogant, pretentious, and shameless—all the personality traits that made up the people Yuji hated. But Yuji learned how to tune out Sukuna’s voice, choosing not to let his temperament rub off on him.

For the most part Sukuna left him alone. He did have a job, after all. He would fly out for days at a time, coming back home only to chill in his room, and never coming out until he had someplace to be.

At that point Itadori practically made the home his own, the emptiness and barren design choices soon becoming occupied with color and random objects. Like the sudden appearance of a sleeping bag (?), a PS5, clothes, paintings, wallpaper—by the time Sukuna came back home he couldn't even recognize his own home!

“Hey you brat, what the hell did you do to my house?” Sukuna snarled, his briefcase dropping to the floor in his stupor.

“Oh! I thought you were supposed to come next week—”

“You thought?” Sukuna shakes his head, walking towards his brother who was sprawled out watching a movie on his couch. “What? We're you gonna paint my walls too?”

Needless to say, Yuji found himself sleeping outdoors that night.

Amidst the discourse, Yuji did appreciate the little moments he had with Sukuna. Like when he taught him how to fight!

Apparently, to Sukuna, Yuji had a lot of raw strength in him. Whatever that meant. Yuki couldn’t see it yet, but Sukuna insisted to step in to teach him how to punch.

“Kid, what enemies are you fighting?” Sukuna chuckles, throwing his head back with laughter. He just couldn't believe what he was seeing, his own brother—trying to throw a punch with the most dubious of forms.

“Shut it. I don't want to hear it from you.” Itadori tells him, continuing to shadow box in the middle of the living room. “If you don't have anything good to say, then don't distract me.”

Sukuna scoffs, throwing his hands up in his defense. “Whatever. I just can’t watch my doppelganger throw punk ass punches.”

Sukuna then gets up, stopping Itadori from…whatever he was doing. He stands in front of him and throws a punch, showing Itadori a visual of the perfect form.

“Hey, that looked solid!” Itadori said with newfound enthusiasm, bouncing around the room.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, that looked like it would connect!”

Sukuna simply smirks, shaking his head. Of course it looked like it would connect. He was the best fighter he knew—and there would be no way he’d let his little brother embarrass that title.

But the most weirdest moment that happened to Itadori by far was when he gained yet another brother.

⊹˚∘ CHOSO.

One day Itadori got into a little scuffle with some guys. Nothing too drastic—just a slight little altercation.

But, by the time Itadori came home, he was beaten and bruised—clearing losing the fight.

All Itadori knew was that he got absoulety wiped clean by an emo guy with black hair and dark circles. A bit embarrassing to say the least, but Itadori was so sure that he would never see that guy again.

Until…he did.

“You’re not Yuji.” Choso says flatly, eyebrows lifting in confusion.

“Yeah, I'm not.” Sukuna responds, just as confused. “Who the hell are you?”

Currently, Choso was standing outside the door of Sukuna’s condo—how he got there is unknown. All he knew was that his brother was in there and he had to see him.

“I’m Yuji’s brother.”

Sukuna stared blankly at him, a scoff leaving his lips. “The hell you are, that kid was the last one to pop out of my mom, that's for sure.”

“Oh, so you must be his brother? Well, I guess that makes us siblings as well.”

“Huh?”

Sukuna was thoroughly confused. Who the hell was this random ass kid? And why did he claim to be related?—he must be mental.

Sukuna couldn't deal with this so he called Yuji to clarify. That is when he revealed that this was the chump who beat him up.

Apparently, they beat each other so badly that Choso’s injuries led him to believe that Yuji was his brother.

And he was thoroughly convinced. Equipped with shared memories that only Sukuna and Itadori could have known.

Being a kind soul, Itadori decided that they should allow Choso to stay with them—just until he could regain his memories. Although it seemed unlikely, he believed that there really was a chance Choso could be related to them.

Sukuna, however, wasn't too pleased at this idea, since that merely resulted in another mouth to feed. Nonetheless, Choso began living with the brothers—an arrangement that soon became permanent.

Surprisingly, Choso fit in perfectly. Almost as if Sukuna and Itadori were missing a puzzle piece. He wasn’t loud like Itadori, nor was he pompous like Sukuna. He leaned more toward the reserved side, acting as a medium between the two extremes.

He would sometimes chill around the house, playing board games with Itadori and sometimes Sukuna—if he willed it. But the majority of his time is spent taking walks, reminiscing, and listening to music.

Choso‘s friends are kind of shady to be honest, always getting into altercations and trouble. But whenever Itadori expresses his distaste for one of them, he drops them immediately.

I just think Choso is such a family man, always putting their interests first. He is a firm believer of ‘blood is thicker than water.’ Always ready to protect his brothers of any harm should become them.

Thankfully, it hasn't come to that yet—and he enjoys the new home he found for himself.

a/n: finally finished this 😩😩 i need some water. also i just think choso random appearance to be so fucking funny b/c what do you mean your related to me?

#FIRST FIC #FIRST POST ^3^#⊹˚∘#🌷🌱#sukuna ryomen #ryomen sukuna #itadori yuuji #itadori yuji #jjk #jjk headcanons #choso kamo #jjk choso #older brother sukuna #itadori has brothers #jjk au

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graveyardlifeguard · 25 days

Text

Survivors Part 3

Summary: Occurs during the events of Season 4x13 and Season 4x14 of 9-1-1.

*This is my first attempt at writing after many, many years so please go easy on me*

Warnings: Shooting, Injury, Blood

Notes: A little short but I needed to put all of this in one because the next part is uhhh.. the big one.

Strictly Angst with a teeny tiny bit of Fluff

Eddie Diaz x Paramedic! Reader

After showing Eddie the countless Fund Me pages I’ve unfortunately found, we decided to loop Carla in on the situation at hand.

“That’s a lot of Fund Me pages.” Carla states, agreeing with me.

I had shown Eddie all of the pages I had found, five to be exact, of which Carla was able to find three more. This had gone past just lying to us, this had turned into Sheila, if that was her real name, lying to thousands of people and scamming them out of money. I couldn’t imagine how someone would be capable of doing that but here we are.

“There’s Sheila and Charlie Burns of El Paso. Sheila and Charlie Young of Phoenix. Sheila and Charlie Watts of Santa Fe. It’s him, the same kid, every time. Just different last names in different states.” I trail off.

I just couldn’t wrap my head around this. How could someone just use their sick child as a cash grab to get out of working. Unless he wasn’t actually sick. I try once again to shake the thought out of my head but that last time I did that, it seems that I was correct in my thinking. Before I can voice my opinion on that idea, Eddie speaks up.

“Charlie did say they moved around a lot. That would explain the different accounts and different cities, but not the different names.”

Eddie has his arms crossed over his chest and I can just feel the irritation and disappointment rolling off of him in waves. He was a single parent with a sick child. Never once would he have EVER thought about throwing Christopher all over the internet to try and garner money. He had put in the work and the overtime himself to make sure that Chris was taken care of.

Carla chimes back in, still looking over one of the pages still pulled up on the laptop, “What did his mom say his illness was?”

I let out a dry, humorless laugh before replying, “She didn’t. Not really. Just said that it was an Auto-immune disorder.”

I can tell that Carla is becoming frustrated as well, she had taken care of Christopher for a while, so she knew the lifestyle that came with having a sick child. She had been to countless appointments with Eddie and Christopher. Whether it was a regular checkup, blood work or physical therapy, Carla had been there and seen the struggle that Chris had to go through sometimes.

“She did say that Charlie had to go to a lot of different doctors. Could be doctor shopping. Which if what you do when you’re really not sick, you’re just looking for a doctor to say that you are.”

It wouldn’t be the first time that this has ever been heard of unfortunately. There was a whole medical diagnosis for this exact thing, Munchausen Syndrome by Proxy. Having someone, typically a parent, fake an illness or disorder on their child to gain sympathy or money from people wasn’t unheard of, but it was extremely rare. I had never seen it before, but that didn’t mean that it didn’t exist. Case and point, Sheila Leute. From beside me, I can see Eddie rubbing his hand over his face. Subconsciously, my left hand catches his and I begin rubbing the veins on top of his hand. Something he normally jokingly scolds me for, but in the moment, he seeks comfort in. We were feeding off of each other at this point. The frustration and sadness were palpable among the three of us.

“Well, we couldn’t be the only ones. Most of the Fund Me pages were shut down, but the comments are still up.” I turn the laptop towards Eddie so he can see what I am.

He reads a couple of comments out loud. He stops quickly with an “Oh God” escaping under his breath that doesn’t go unnoticed by Carla and I. Carla beats me to the punch by asking what he read.

He lets out a frustrated sigh before reading, “I think she’s making her kid sick.”

Although I knew the possibility was there and was already a thought in my mind, it was an odd feeling to see that someone else had the same thought that I do. It was a reassuring in a sad way. Eddie shuts the laptop quickly after reading it. I can tell that the frustration had finally built up to his breaking point on the topic. Carla looks absolutely appalled as my head falls back onto Eddie’s arm. Carla leaves shortly after with Eddie and I moving towards the bedroom.

————

Once in the bedroom, we both begin our nighttime routines in silence. It’s not like were avoiding each other, it felt as though we were both trying to process all of the information we had just discovered. Getting into bed, Eddie pulls me tight into his chest, almost like I would disappear if he let go. Nothing is said for a moment before he finally breaks the silence.

“I love you.” Is all he says for the moment. He continues shortly after, now moving to where he can see my face.

“How can she do that to her own son? How can you take something so special as having a child and just use them as a prop to gain money from?”

The sadness in his voice is something I haven’t heard in a while. It’s something that I had not missed. Not in the slightest. Eddie had spent years by himself with Christopher. I couldn’t even begin to imagine the thoughts that he was having. Not about this.

“Eddie. There is no way for us to know why she would do something like this. As much as we would love to know, I don’t think this is something that we will ever get answers to. I know what you went through with Christopher. The sacrifices you had to make and still have to make occasionally. I can’t even begin to imagine the level of pain this brings you. All we can do now, with this knowledge, is doing something about it. We can help this little boy. We can work now to get him away from her. I’m going to call CPS in the morning and do a Wellness check on him. We’re going to save him Eddie, I promise you.”

Eddie stares at me for a moment. Not moving and not saying anything before he leans in and gives me a long kiss. It takes me by surprise for a second before I relax into the kiss. His hands are cupping my face with mine around his side. After a few minutes, he pulls away, breathless and kisses me on the forehead. He sits like that, lips stuck to my forehead before fully moving his head back. In his eyes, I see nothing but admiration. He looks at me as if I put the moon in the sky. I know that the look is reciprocated in my own eyes. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest, and I know that this is where I am supposed to be. Here, with Eddie.

“I love you,” he repeats “I love you more than you will ever know. Thank you for constantly being a positive, reassuring light in my life.”

I smile up at him before giving him a soft kiss on the lips, my left hand cupping his cheek. “I love you Eddie Diaz, so much I think I might die.

He laughs before releasing me to roll over to turn off his table lamp. We hadn’t noticed but it was already midnight, and unfortunately, we both had to be at work in seven hours.

“Don’t do that. If you were to die, I’d have to find someone else who puts up with me as much as you do, and we both know the only person who would be able to do that is Buck.”

I laugh as we lower ourselves into the bed, not even realizing how tired we both are until our heads hit the pillows and were fast asleep.

#911 imagine #eddie diaz #imagines #angst #eddie diaz x reader #eddie diaz imagine #ryan guzman

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unholytemple · 26 days

Text

more in depth version of this post- set pre-stanford (sam’s 18, dean’s 22)

cw for religion kink/blasphemy, jealous dean, possessive dean, public frotting

sam’s a bright kid. far too bright for all this religion crap, in dean’s opinion. there’s no god, no big man in the sky that decides everyone’s destinies. dean doesn’t want some dusty old book telling sam how to live his life. that’s his job.

dean let it slide when sam was younger, chalked it up to a fascination with fairy tales, but sam’s too old for the easter bunny, just like he’s too old to believe in god. yet every knight, sam kneels at the foot of his bed with his hands clasped as he prays to go to heaven if he dies in his sleep. and every night, dean rolls his eyes at his stupid little brother.

dean dreads sundays the most, which is saying something, because it’s not like any other day is much better. but on sundays, sam begs dean to take him to church and of course dean goes with him. he wouldn’t let his brother go alone, but that means dean has to sit through boring sermons and over enthusiastic preachers telling the congregation that they’re all sinners.

they’re all hypocrites, every one of them. especially sam. sam and dean kill for a living; there’s no way god approves of that. sure, they kill monsters, but innocent people get hurt too. besides that, they gamble and steal to fund their lifestyle. sam has no problem hustling some poor drunk at pool, but he slaps dean’s hand away when he tries to take a twenty from the collection plate. if everyone’s a sinner, then sam and dean are the worst of them.

dean loves sam, so he tries not to get on his case too much about all the religion bullshit, but it’s hard sometimes. mostly he sticks to teasing him about it. it’s playful, but it still gets under sam’s skin. dean makes sure to use the lord’s name in vain as often as he can, just to see sam’s face twist when he does. dean rolls his cigarettes with bible paper, reading out the verse before dumping some loose tobacco from his altoids tin onto it. sam hates it, but he supposes it’s better than dean wiping his ass with the pages, which he often threatens to do.

dean thinks all of sam’s jesus freak shit is annoying, but what really bothers him is that sam is devoted to something else. something other than dean. dean is the only higher power that sam needs in his life. dean gives him guidance when sam has problems. dean tells him the difference between right and wrong.

in dean’s opinion, he’s much kinder than god. dean has no problem with drinking too much, fucking thy neighbor, cheating and lying and stealing. if dean was sam’s god, maybe sam wouldn’t be such a stick in the mud.

sam knows all of his little sins can be forgiven. that’s what jesus died for, after all. one day dean gets an idea: make sam into such a sinner that god won’t want to save him. he’ll be so lost and scared that he won’t have any other choice but to turn to dean to be his savior.

it wasn’t hard, really. dean knows sam better than sam knows himself. dean’s listened in on sam whispering confessions of his sins when he thought only god could hear him. lust, homosexuality. it was hard for dean to pretend to be asleep when he heard sam confess his impure thoughts for his older brother. he begged for forgiveness, to be cleansed, to become pure again. he swore he would never act on them. dean was going to make him act on them.

it didn’t take much. they’re already so close, so grossly codependent. it happened in church, on the lord’s day, in the back row of pews. dean’s hand had been inching up sam’s thigh for the past twenty minutes and sam’s pretending he doesn’t notice. it’s not until the heel of dean’s hand is pressed to hid crotch that sam says something.

“dean, what are you-”

“pay attention, sammy. follow along in your little book. this is how you get to heaven.”

“but you’re-”

“shut your goddamn mouth.”

sam does. dean continues to palm over him and he can feel his brother growing hard underneath his hand. sam sits stiff as a board the whole time, but never asks dean to stop. before long, sam’s hips are twitching, seeking more friction. it’s so wrong, it’s against everything god says. lust, homosexuality, incest, in a church of all places. sam’s cheeks burn red as his brother touches him and he tries not to think about the burn he’ll experience in hell.

“what’s god gonna think when you cream your jeans for your big brother?” dean asks, voice far too loud for their setting.

“it’s bad, dean. we can’t- we shouldn’t.”

“god sounds like a real drag. why would you wanna worship someone who won’t let you love your brother? you love me, don’t you, sammy?”

“‘course dean, it’s just…”

“it’s okay, you don’t have to worry about what god thinks anymore. just you and me like it’s always been, huh?”

sam squeezes his eyes shut and nods, panting “okay, okay” until he cuts himself off with a gasp. he just came in his pants in church on sunday morning. his brother made him cum in his pants in church on sunday morning. there aren’t enough blessings in the world to save sam now. he’s damned, and dean wouldn’t have it any other way.

“it’ll be you ‘n me forever. no god’s gonna take you from me.”

#sam #dean #wincest #samdean #religion #pre stanford

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fluentmoviequoter · 3 months

Text

Do Something!

Requested Here!

Pairing: Jim Street x fem!reader (works an LAPD desk job)

Summary: 20-David is tired of watching you and Street pretend not to be in love with each other, too oblivious to realize your feelings are reciprocated. When you distance yourself from Street, they have to encourage him to do something.

Warnings: brief angst, vague mentions of insecurity, fluff, comfort at the end

Word Count: 2.3k+ words

When you transferred to work a desk job in LAPD SWAT, mostly comprised of completing paperwork and applying for grants and government funding, you were warned of several things. Those warnings, focused on the officers' high-pressure lifestyles and gruff exteriors, did not mention how easy it would be to fall for one of them.

The moment you met Jim Street, he captured your entire attention. Several months into your new job, you have fallen in love with him. He is a SWAT officer, incredibly handsome, and absolutely out of your league. So, you’ve decided to watch him from a distance, do what you can to help him, and hope your feelings pass like a high school crush. Unfortunately, falling in love with someone isn’t as easy to move on from.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Hondo,” Hicks calls from his office doorway. “We need two accounts of yesterday’s raid for the paperwork. They’re waiting for it.”

“I’ll go,” Street volunteers.

“You want to do paperwork?” Hicks asks.

“No, he wants to see the girl who submits it,” Luca answers. “He’s in love with her but won’t admit it.”

“That’s not entirely true,” Street argues.

“Which part?”

“Uh, the love part. I don’t even know her.”

“Street, kid, you don’t have to know someone to fall for them,” Deacon says, patting Street’s shoulder. “But I’ll give the other account and then get out of your way.”

“Hey, try to pick up some courage on the way!” Luca calls after Street.

“You could always just tell her you like her, ask her out, send her a letter, whatever you do,” Deacon reminds Street.

“She doesn’t feel the same,” Street laments.

Deacon shakes his head, wondering what he did to have to deal with not one but two oblivious idiots who are in love with each other but won’t admit it.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Hi, Sergeant Kay, Officer Street,” you greet. “This should be quick.”

Deacon knows the drill, and you type while he tells you what happened. When he concludes, you print it and pass it to him for proofreading and his signature. Carrying through on his promise to Street, Deacon leaves as soon as he’s done, praying that something happens while you’re alone in the office.

“Alright, your turn, Officer Street.”

“You can just call me Street,” he offers.

“Okay, Street. Just start talking whenever you’re ready. Tell me everything you remember.”

As you did with Deacon, you type quickly, keeping your eyes on the screen so you don’t get distracted by Street sitting across the desk. After you print the report, you sit back and watch him read it. You must avoid daydreaming, and luckily, Jim passes the paper back to you before you can begin.

“Thank you,” you say, inhaling deeply when your fingers brush his.

“Need anything else from me?”

Everything, you think, yet you say, “That’s it for now. Thank you for coming so quickly. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to return the favor.”

Street pauses as he stands, and for a moment, you have a glimmer of hope that something will happen, but then he says, “Thanks,” and walks out of the door.

Sighing, you slouch in your chair and take a few breaths before returning to your duties.

✯✯✯✯✯

Street and Luca are sparring, and Luca barely misses Street’s face when he suddenly drops the punching pad.

“Whoa, dude, what the heck was that?” Luca exclaims.

Street is looking over his shoulder, so Luca turns quickly, shaking his head when he sees what made Street speechless and immobile. You’re standing with Hicks, dressed in one of your nicest outfits. Street overheard you mention something about a proposal meeting, but he didn’t consider how beautiful you would look for it. Granted, he thinks you’re always beautiful, but his mind wanders to how you’d look on a date with him, and he distantly acknowledges that he is a goner.

“Are you going to stand there and drool over her or do something?” Luca asks.

“What?” Street asks, snapping his mouth closed as he turns to Luca.

“Just ask her out, man, she clearly-“

“Is out of my league. I’m not going to ruin the little bit of friendship we have.”

“So you finally admit you like her.”

“No. I just see her a lot, I guess.”

“You guess,” Luca repeats sarcastically. “You’re an idiot, Streeter.”

Street doesn’t argue, and Luca considers actually punching him in the head to knock some sense into him.

✯✯✯✯✯

When you return from the proposal, you are in a great mood because the private investors love your ideas and feel empowered to do something bold. As soon as you enter SWAT HQ, you begin looking for Street. The worst case scenario is he says no and never wants to see you again, which would be terrible, but you’re hoping for the best: a yes.

Hearing Street’s voice outside the situation room, you smile and round the last corner. Street is talking to Molly Hicks, though, and you freeze, letting your smile fall. Street laughs at something she said, her voice quiet enough that you can’t hear. As Street reaches up to grasp her forearm while he replies in a whisper, you realize that you misread everything you thought was a signal.

Rushing to your office, you close the door and lay your head on your desk. You thought Street liked you, too, and that’s why he was a little awkward and different around you. But, no, he chose Molly. And why wouldn’t he? She’s probably better for him than you ever could be.

Your computer chimes with an incoming email, and you brush your hands over your forehead and the top of your hair before burying yourself in paperwork. On any other day, you would procrastinate finishing the more involved forms. Today, you blow through them quickly, desperate to keep your mind off Street and maintain the distance you’ve put between you. If he likes Molly, who are you to get in the way of that?

✯✯✯✯✯

“Molly, Street, to what do I owe this… pleasure-adjacent incident?” Hicks asks.

“Dad,” Molly chides.

“Sorry. What do you want? And, Street, if you tell me you’re dating my daughter-“

“Oh, no, sir,” Street interjects. “We tried once and… we’re good.”

Hicks raises his hands in a request for someone to tell him what’s going on.

“Fine, I’ll ask,” Molly says. “Can SWAT officers date other LAPD employees?”

“Depends on the person, their departments, histories.” He looks over to Street to add, “For example, a SWAT officer and a, let’s say, grant writer and secretarial employee, would be able to have a relationship. The officer just may have to give action reports to a different employee to complete the paperwork without bias.”

“Oddly specific example,” Street jokes. “But I still think this is a terrible idea.”

Molly rolls her eyes. “Jim here thinks that his feelings aren’t reciprocated.”

“You’re kidding me, right? I didn’t think you were this oblivious.”

“Rude, sir,” Street argues.

“I called him an idiot,” Molly adds.

“Yeah, that fits, too,” Hicks agrees.

“This isn’t really helping my confidence level, guys.”

“I’m sure your ego can take it.”

✯✯✯✯✯

You usually leave around the same time as Street, but after waiting for five minutes and seeing no sign of you, Street walks out alone. Inside your office, you’re putting the finishing touches on a report, glad to work a few minutes longer to avoid Street. He may not talk to you much outside of work, but he’s incredibly perceptive and would probably catch on and ask what’s wrong.

Truthfully, you want to move on from Street, want him to be happy no matter who he is with, but you refuse to let him go, though you never really had him.

Street’s motorcycle is gone when you exit, and you sigh, realizing it will be a long few weeks of avoiding him while your heart heals. If your heart heals.

✯✯✯✯✯

Walking toward your office, you turn when you see Street. It’s been three days since you last saw him, more than that since you talked, but seeing him still makes you feel something. Not only the heartbreak of knowing he chose Molly but the initial happiness stemming from the joy of falling in love with him.

Luca walks by, stopping and taking a few steps backward as he realizes you’re hiding in a doorway. He sees Street down the hall and pieces everything together.

“What’d he do?” Luca asks.

“What did who do?” you reply.

“Street.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“It’s like dealing with middle schoolers,” Luca huffs as he walks away.

When you peek around the corner, Street is gone, and you rush to your office and close the door behind you.

✯✯✯✯✯

The path to Hicks’ office goes straight past the man you’re trying to avoid, but you have time-sensitive documents to deliver. Steeling your nerves and straightening your shoulders, you walk straight to Hicks’ office without looking for anyone in particular.

After you enter the office, Street watches the door. Hondo asks a question, but Street can only focus on you and why he can’t seem to spend any time with you recently, never seeing you for more than a few seconds at a time.

“Street!” Hondo yells, finally getting his attention.

The office door opens, and Street immediately looks away again.

“Oh my- Street, just do something!” Luca exclaims, pushing him forward.

“Like what? She clearly doesn’t like me! She won’t even look at me! You want me to tell her I love her when the most time I’ve ever spent with her alone was to finish paperwork! That’ll go well, Luca, thanks so much for the great advice.”

You clear your throat behind Street, and when he looks at you, you gesture toward your office. Street follows wordlessly, assuming this is the beginning of being let down slowly. You, however, are doing everything you can to hide your smile. It sounded like he was talking about you, and that’s all the hope you need to put yourself out of your misery. A bad answer is still an answer, and right now, closure sounds better than another sleepless night wondering why you’re not good enough.

✯✯✯✯✯

“So,” Street begins, leaning against your desk.

“Were you talking about me?” you ask, getting straight to the point. “Let’s stop dancing around whatever this is between us, okay?”

“Yeah, I was talking about you,” he confesses. “I’ve had feelings for you for a while, but I thought you didn’t feel the same.”

“What kind of feelings?”

“I- I think I’m falling in love with you. I’ve never felt this before, but I like it.”

“What about Molly? I saw you laughing with her, and-“

“Have you been avoiding me because of that?” Street interjects, realizing that the morning before he talked to Molly was the last time he saw you.

“Yes,” you whisper. “Because you looked happy, and I didn’t- I couldn’t deal with losing you if I was still seeing you.”

“Losing me?”

“I assumed you were with Molly. You said you thought you were falling for me, but I know that I am in love with you. Seeing you happy with someone else while I was too scared to tell you how I feel hurt.”

“Molly was telling me that I was stupid for not telling you,” Street explains, his usual personality beginning to shine through the awkward nervousness.

“Now what?”

“Hicks said we be in a relationship.” You furrow your brows, and Jim clarifies, “It’s not against the rules for us to date, I just have to finds someone else to do my paperwork.”

“Do you want to be in a relationship with me?”

Street notices a shadow hovering outside the door before another joins. He motions for you to be play along, taking your hand as he answers, “No, that’s not what I want.”

You follow his eyes, smiling when you realize someone is listening in.

“Okay,” you answer sadly, interlacing your fingers with his. “Then why’d you say all that?”

“I was confused. We’re- we’re never going to work as more than friends.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“What is happening?” Luca asks.

“This can’t be right,” Hicks answers. “They’ve both been acting like different people and now they’re not going to do anything?”

Hondo moves against the door and can’t stop it before it opens, and Luca topples inside. When he looks up, Street is sitting on your desk, and you’re standing between his legs, his arms around your waist, and your hands pushed in his hair.

“Did you pretend to break up and then start making out?” Luca asks, rolling his shoulder as he stands. “That’s messed up, man.”

“So is eavesdropping,” Street deadpans.

“No more longing looks or hiding in hallways?” Hondo asks. “You’re all good?”

“Better than good,” you answer, smiling at Street.

“Bye,” Street adds, his attention back on you. “Close the door and get away from it on your way out.”

Luca wants to ask for more information about why you hid from Street, having missed the part about Molly, but decides to ask later when he sees you leaning in again.

After the door closes, you hear Hicks inquire, “Did we make a mistake?”

“A big one. They’re going to be inseparable and intolerable,” Hondo answers.

“I think they’re pretty cute together,” Luca says.

“Me too,” Street mumbles against your lips, holding you close so you don’t slip away again.

This moment and the idea of a future being happy with Street is worth everything, you decide. The sadness and long nights have made room for a love you didn’t know existed.

“Still think you’re falling for me?” you tease.

“I may need more information before I update my claim,” Street replies, smiling lazily as he cups the back of your neck to bring you in again.

#jim street x reader #jim street x fem!reader #jim street fluff #jim street #swat cbs #fem!reader #requests

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