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aemonds-little-belle · 1 year

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Feelings sold Separately

CHAPTER SEVEN (THE HUG)

Modern!Aemond Targaryen x Reader

TAGS - (REPOSED FROM AO3)

Alternate Universe - Sugar DaddySugar BabySugar Baby AUAUokay this is a whole ass story that's just one long ass brain fartliterally i am just coming up with this on the spotlow key really love it thoughSugar Baby/Sugar Daddyobviouslytalks of class issuesaemonds been hurt in the pasti think there will be some sexy stuff eventuallywait fuck i didn't mention this is a modern!aumodern!AUAlternate Universe - Modern Setting<3Aemond "One-Eye" Targaryen is Bad at Feelingsstop that was recommended but so accurateI don't know how to do tagsI'm SorryI promise it's goodAnd no one diesand it's just so classically a sugar baby/ sugar daddy au it hurtsreader works at a cafe ... obviouslythis will follow a similar storyline to the show just modern and also not at allFamily Issueswait probably dom/sub vibes tooDom/subLight Dom/subclearly i don't know where this is going yetmy readers are always written fat because i am fatso keep that in mindSlow Burnit's so slowbut I think it's greatlike genuinely two idiots in lovebut they take soooo long to noticeUghI love fanfiction

PLEASE DON'T FORGET TO REBLOG + + + + + +

Aemond stormed out of the mall, the heavy doors pushed open as if they weighed nothing, his heart pounding as he looked down at his phone again. “Aemond?” Y/n’s voice quietly called out, Aemond turned, seeing her sat on a small concrete wall, her eyes watery, a few tear stains adoring her cheeks. He froze, ‘she’s still here’, she hadn’t even left the parking lot, let alone the city, his heart racing for, suddenly, no reason at all. She stood up, rushing over to him, immediately linking her arms around his waist, her head hitting his chest with a small ‘umph.’, tears falling down her cheeks again. “I’m sorry! I shouldn't have run off, I just, I couldn’t find you, and I panicked.” She cried, pure terror running through her veins, her chest heaving slightly.

Aemond finally unfroze, a large puff of air leaving his lungs as he wrapped his arms around her shoulders,one hand cradling the back of her head, his own shaking slightly. “I shouldn’t have left you.” He admitted, un-embracing her, both of his hands now clasping her face, her cheeks smushed slightly, his thumbs wiping away a few tears, her arms still clasped around his waist as her chin rested on his chest. “But.” His voice lowered slightly, his eye hardening, his mind finally clearing, the chaos of her disappearing now gone. “You don’t leave like that.” Y/n nodded her head as best as possible, her lip still wobbling slightly. “If you can’t find me, you call me, if you can’t find your phone, you yell.” Though the idea sounded a little silly, he showed no backing down, just pure seriousness lacing his words. “Got that?”

“Yes, Aemond, I promise.” She would have given him her life if he asked, his touch quieting her mind, all bad thoughts gone, all worry washed away. “I’ll scream next time, I promise.” Aemond chuckled as he looked down at her, her words slightly muffled because of how close to him she was, and the fact that he wouldn’t relent his squish of her cheeks, her face too cute. Just as quickly as she had run into his arms, she left them by taking a few steps back, her hands falling into one another to anxiously fiddle. Aemond hated the sudden lack of warmth, his waist flushed with cold air after her arms had been retracted, his multiple layers unable to replicate her soft touch. “Sorry, I shouldn't have … Sorry.” She slightly pouted, realizing her actions might have been unprofessional.

“I didn’t mind.” Aemond admitted, his face void of emotion, scared to show her just how much he enjoyed, ‘needed’, the hug. Y/n just nodded back, her eyes finding the ground rather than focusing on his eye. “What Nera said, Y/n, it isn’t ..” ‘She cut me off, me.’

“True, I know.” She nodded her head, as if she was reassuring herself again. “She, well, she said I wasn’t your type, but you said you’re trying something new so, I knew that already.” Her words were quiet, above a whisper, but still barely audible, as if she wasn’t ready to hear them herself. “And if you only dated people that looked one way I’d be a little worried.”Aemond chuckled, his hands clasping behind his back, pride swelling in his chest, she felt stable enough in their arrangement, trusted that he liked her, rightfully so, so much so she wasn’t going to stumble at a few mean words. “Was she one of your …”

“No.” Aemond felt himself stumble slightly, Y/n was a breath of fresh air, everything he had been missing, everything he ever wanted, he hated to talk about those who didn’t make him feel the same way she did.

“Oh.” To Y/n that didn’t make sense, she seemed to know an awful lot about how Aemond treated past sugar babies, but maybe she made it all up, or …

“She’s a friend of my last Sugar Baby.” He said the title so easily, Y/n taken aback, last night, all day today, she felt more like a friend, or a … She just felt normal, but she knew deep down what this was, and it seemed Aemond hadn’t lost sight of it like she had. “The arrangement didn’t end well, I just didn’t expect her to behave so immaturely. I shouldn’t have left you alone with her.” He said again, regret washing over him, though he didn’t say the words that made Y/n cry, he still felt responsible for her sadness.

“I like stickers.” Y/n blurted out, Aemond raising his eyebrow, confused as to where this random tidbit of information had come from. “I just, I mean we’re all immature sometimes.” She sighed, a little embarrassed. “Some people just hold onto the wrong childlike features.” She finally explained, shrugging her shoulders slightly, hoping she could mop up this mess of sudden rambling. “You couldn’t have known, Aemond, really it’s okay.” Her words were laced with genuine sympathy, her heart hurting as she saw the man she had grown so fond of crumble slightly, right in front of her.

“I’m supposed to protect you …” ‘She’s gained some sort of nerve.’ He thought as she cut him off again.

“I thought you were supposed to spoil me.” Y/n lightly sassed, not sure if he would allow it. Aemond’s head cleared, she clearly held no anger towards him, even trying to show him his own innocence in the situation. “You’ve bought me at least ten things today.” ‘Ten things you know about.’ “I’d say you’ve spoiled me, job done, case closed.” She had a shit eating grin on her face, the free attitude she had that morning back, just Y/n being herself.

Aemond on the other hand, as much as he thought it was cute, didn’t enjoy her continuing the argument, he enjoyed having the last word. “You’re right.” ‘That hurt to say.’ “I am supposed to spoil you.” Y/n smiled thinking she had won, got off with the sass problem free. “But you’re supposed to rely on me.” He took a few steps towards her, her eyes meeting his as he hummed. “Would you say you relied on me? Running away?” He asked, his tone hinted at a mock.

“I didn't have …”

“Mhmh.” He shook his head. “You ran away from the situation, little dragon, job not done, case back open.” Y/n held back a chuckle at his joke, he was too quick witted even for her, and how he said it without cracking a smile, she had no idea. “So while I go grab all your gifts.” It pained him to call them that, they were more necessities than anything, something he bought her because she needed them, something he had never gotten the opportunity to do, always buying luxury items for the hell of it, but now each item held a specific purpose, and had a reason behind it. “Why don’t you go and warm up the car?” He pulled out his car keys from his pocket, Y/n looking at him in confusion, thinking it was cute of him to think she had any idea of how his car worked. “This button to unlock, this one to warm it up.” He showed her two of the many buttons on the key fob, a chuckle rising in his chest as she took the information very seriously, nodding her head in agreement vigorously.

Y/n watched as the buildings flew by, greys and blacks, some greenery, mixing into a marble of shades as Aemond drove. “Thank you.” Y/n looked to him now, his suit jacket long gone, button up shirt sleeves rolled up, dragon tattoo back on display, a look Y/n enjoyed. “For everything, you really didn’t have to.” ‘Oh fuck.’ She realized her mistake too late, Aemond already chuckling, a mischievous smirk plastered on his face.

“Y/n if you keep breaking rules I’m going to have to start …” His voice fizzled out, unsure of what to say next, could he tell her he would ‘punish’ her, was that too harsh a word? Did he even have a way to do that? He couldn’t just cut her off money wise, she wasn’t money motivated, could he punish her by buying her a bunch of stuff? His mind began to swirl, not even aware that his unfinished sentence might have been noticed by Y/n.

“Technically there’s no written rules.” Y/n quipped back, completely unaware of Aemond’s current self-made demise. “So I didn’t break any rules.” She shrugged her shoulders.

“I told you this morning, say ‘thank you’ instead of telling me what to do, Hmm?” His tone hardened, he loved that Y/n had begun to break out of her shell, but the talking back was truly about to send him over the edge.

“Can you actually write down some rules?” Y/n asked, her head tilted slightly as she thought of the idea. “I know you told me what you want me to do in general, so I get those ones.” She added. “But smaller ones, like be thankful instead of telling you what to do, and the screaming one, I’d like to have a bit more guidance.” ‘You’re killing me Y/n.’

“And if I write these rules.” Aemond pulled off the highway, the car slowing, the outside becoming clearer again. “What’s going to happen if you break them?” Y/n looked stunned, yet inside her entire body was on fire, she was sure her pupils had dilated at least a tad bit, the exposed forearms, deep voice, Aemond’s overall demeanor really pushing all the right buttons suddenly. “You aren’t money motivated, I can’t just reduce your monthly payment, that might make you act up more.”

“I still think it’s too much, minimum wage for what? Just sitting here?”

“Mhm.” Aemond hummed, his smirk getting bigger. “See that right there?” He looked over at Y/n. “Usually, that would have cost you a thousand dollars.”

“Aemond, how much were you paying those girls?” Y/n chuckled, her eyes wide as saucers.

“Like I said, I could pay you a thousand dollars a minute, and it wouldn’t do a thing to my net worth.” Y/n sat stunned, yes he had said that before, but she was still, slightly, shocked, and impressed, that he actually meant it. Though she knew he was rich, she didn’t realize that he truly spent a lot of money on just people’s company alone. “So what would make you behave? Seriously, something that will work.” Y/n just stared at the road dumbfounded, genuinely unsure of what she would hate so much she would stop breaking the rules for fun. “Should I start calling you ‘Baby’ instead? Treat you like all the other girls before you?”

‘So I am different.’ “Aemond, that’s just mean.”

“Y/n.” He emphasized her name. “That’s the whole point of a punishment.” ‘Shit did I actually call it a punishment?’

Y/n huffed, leaning back in her seat, he was right after all, it would make her stop acting up just for fun. “You said you would take the money out of their pay right? When they did something wrong.” Y/n asked, her spark suddenly back.

“Yes, but that’s not going to work for you.”

“I know.” Y/n pouted, longing for an easy way out. “But what if instead of taking the money out of my pay when I break a rule you take it off a donation.” Y/n had a smile on her face. “You set a reasonable amount away for a charitable donation, and then every rule I break the number goes down.” She sounded like a mad scientist describing some new discovery she was proud of. “Then I’ll behave, because I’ll be saving the world.” Aemond hummed, a little resentful over the fact he hadn’t thought of that, he just wasn’t used to having a generous and thoughtful sugar baby. “Well, saving it with your money, and my good attitude.”

“And what is a ‘reasonable amount’ to you?” He asked, knowing he’d just double or triple it behind the scenes.

“Two thousand dollars?” Y/n closed one eye, unsure if she was asking for too much, Aemond chuckling because it was obnoxiously too little.

“Ten thousand, and you have a deal.”

“Aemond.” Y/n monotoned, unamused by his amount.

“Yes, little dragon?”

“That’s too much.”

“I thought you were trying to save the world?” He chuckled, enjoying how many times he has quoted herself back to her, a new hobby he quite enjoyed. “Should I make it twenty thousand because you’re talking back? Or do you think I know how to handle my own money?” ‘Gods I kind of like him when he’s mean’.

“I don’t know, you seem to spend a wasteful amount on women alone.” Y/n smirked, the shock wearing off.

“Y/n.” Aemond’s voice was once again deep, his eye hardened. “There’s a thousand dollars right there.”

“There are no written rules you can’t start yet!”

“Two Thousand.”

“Aemond!”

“Clearly this tactic is not working, Three thousand.” Aemond shook his head, a playful energy filling the car as Aemond pulled into a grocery store, the building much less fancy than the city they were just in, but much too expensive looking to be anywhere near Flea Bottom. Y/n looked at him in shock, half because he was being mean, the other half because she thought the store looked cool. “We can start when I give you all of the rules, and I’ll even let you have a few days to read them over.” ‘Sympathy, thank you, I missed that’ “Now are you ready to run your errand or would you like to drool a little more?”

“You’re really funny today.” Y/n chuckled.

“And you’re very playful.” He retorted. “Clearly we both have secret sides.”

#aemond targaryen x oc #prince aemond #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #modern au #modern!aemond x reader #modern!aemond targaryen #aemond fanfiction #aemond x reader #sugar daddy!aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #house of the dragon #hotd #sb/sd!au #sugar baby!au

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rphelperblog · 2 years

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Gotham Tv Show Rp meme

inspired by @insania - feel free to edit or change for rp purposes

“What they want is a hero, and tonight I will give it to them.”

“To family. In the end that is all that matters.”

That’s the spirit, boys. Think big, and kinky.”

You’re a smart monkey, but you’re a monkey. And I’m the zookeeper.”

Friends don’t owe friends, silly. They just do favors because they want to.”

“Im not a criminal, you know? Jut...insane.”

“You're just a little sinner like the rest of us. I'm almost kind of sad about that.”

“When you know what a man loves, you know what can kill him.”

“The best cure is a laughing cure.”

To truly build something, you must first tear down what is already there.”

“We have one simple choice. We die here alone on our knees or we stand up, and we fight with our family.”

“Hit me, and I’ll let you kiss me.”

I’m more than a man. I’m an idea, a philosophy. And I will live on in the shadows within Gotham’s discontent. You’ll be seeing me soon. Au revoir.”

“There’s nothing more contagious than laughter.”

Walking with a friend in the dark is better than walking alone in the light.”

“ The city’s sick. Sick in a way I hadn’t realized.”

“This is who I am. It was just finally admitting the truth to myself. Well, that and murdering some people.”

“wow, you miss a lot being dead.”

“The cupcake is sweet, the bullet is deadly. A beautiful woman’s a dangerous thing.”

“We all could go insane with just one bad day.”

“A man with nothing that he loves…is a man who cannot be bargained. A man that cannot be betrayed. A man who answers to no one… but himself.”

“Haven’t I told you to stop creeping up on people like that, it’s bloody rude!”

I can’t be bought, but I can be stolen with a glance. I’m worthless to one, but priceless to two. What am I?”

Foolish arrogance led me astray. But I learned my lessons. I’ll be back, stronger and smarter than ever.”

“For the first time in a long time, I feel alive. I remember who I am. I remember why I’m here.”

“Somebody takes a cop’s gun, you shoot him. That’s basic.”

“Hope is a carrot easily dangled in front of the desperate.”

“Lunatics and idiots? Ooh, my kind of people.”

“I don’t want revenge. I want to understand how it all works.”

“The less you have, the more they’re worth. To friends.”

“Taking a punch is just as important as throwing one.”

“Everybody has to start somewhere.”

“Please don’t think too badly of me. We are what we are.”

“It’s good you’re changing. Just don’t change too much.”

“everyone needs a hobby.”

“Fear doesn’t need conquering. Fear tells you where the edge is. Fear is a good thing.”

“When crooks become more popular than cops, that’s anarchy.”

“You make a life of crime sound very noble.”

“You have a little danger in your eye. I wonder what you plan to do with that.”

“What’s the secret to good comedy? Timing. And what’s courage? Grace under pressure. And who’s the boss? I’m the boss.”

“We can’t change the past, but there’s a difference between moving on and letting go.”

“What do a dead man, a cruise ship and emu have in common? Correct, nothing.”

“I promise you, however dark and scary the world might be right now, there will be light. There will be light”

“Pick your battles. Don’t let them pick you.”

“Cops have feelings, too. It’s not unprofessional to show your feelings.”

“A good riddle reveals the asker. To solve it is to solve the mystery of the person posing it.”

“Foolish arrogance led me astray. But I learned my lessons. I'll be back, stronger and smarter than ever.”

“Aren’t all the best guys a little scary?”

“You don’t bend or you will get broke.”

“I should put a bullet in your head right now.”

You disappear in the middle of a case, you can't even tell me why?”

you seem like a nice guy, but this is not a city or a job for nice guys.”

“A diamond plate, a glowing grate, a place you never leave. Where am I?”

“What has no hands but might knock on your door, and you better open up if it does?”

“We can’t change the past, but there’s a difference between moving on and letting go.”

“In the darkness, there are no rules. So, tonight, do what you want. Kill who you want. And when morning comes, you too shall be reborn.”

“I can sneak up on you or be right in front of you without you even knowing. But when I reveal myself, you will never be the same. What am I?”

“Please don’t think too badly of me. We are what we are.”

“A nightmare for some. For others, a savior, I come. My hands, cold and bleak, it’s the warm hearts they seek.”

“Cop partnerships are like marriages. You know each other better than your wives.”

The guns are bought. The killing room is waiting. He doesn’t know it, but he’s a dead man.”

That's what 'personal' means.”

“Please don’t think too badly of me. We are what we are.”

“Of course. I'm a businessman. You can't have organized crime without law and order. I love this city, and I see it going to hell. But I won't let it fall apart without a fight.”

“I haunt your dreams like a ghost, for I know what scares you most. So you run, run! As fast as you can! There’s no escape from the magic man.”

“You’re all prisoners. What you call sanity, it’s just a prison in your minds that stops you from seeing that you’re just tiny little cogs in a giant absurd machine. Wake up! Why be a cog? Be free like us. Just remember, smile.”

“Did you know my family built this city? We carved the bedrock upon which it stands, yet there is not a bridge, an alley, a ditch that carries our name. My forefathers were betrayed, their legacy erased, and I am here to punish those who wronged us and reclaim what is ours.”

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littlepadika · 3 years

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Calling Home (1) | Frankie Morales x Reader

Summary: You are a receptionist at the VA. Frankie Morales keeps calling. Yearning ensues...

Rating: M -> E in later chapters

Warnings: fem!reader, age gap (legal), praise kink, voice kink, discussion of addiction/PTSD/trauma, no use of y/n, no beta reader, reader is bad at Spanish, Frankie has a sexy voice 😩

Masterlist here

AN: My first fic. Pedro writers have inspired me to finally start writing again 🥺. Concept inspired by the movie RED. I hope you like it ❤️Set after triple frontier.

Chapter One

~~~~~~~~~~~

The first time he called was an ordinary Thursday.

“Veterans Affairs, how can I help you?”

You had been working at the VA office for about two weeks. Fresh out of college you felt lucky to have a job in the first place. You went to school to be a writer but your big idea for 'The Next Great American Novel' had yet to present itself. At least here you had access to the most inspiring stories and interesting people. Men and women who had seen more and done more than you probably would in your entire life. You loved talking to clients on the phone. It was weird but something about only being able to hear people’s voices excited you. You would sometimes write little stories in your head about the people you'd talk to, filling in the details that were unknown.

Your desk accessories reflected your love of books and writing. You had your growing collection of books sitting on your desk sandwiched between baby pink bookends. Next to them was a matching desk organizer filled with your favorite sparkly pens and sticky notes. You had decorated the plain cubicle walls with posters of quotes from your favorite books. You also brought your favorite candle from home. Even though you couldn’t light it you still liked to lift it to your nose once and a while and smell it between chapters. When you weren’t on the phone or scanning documents you would read. You finished To Kill A Mockingbird in your first week on the job and were now halfway through Murder on the Orient Express.

You were starting a new chapter when Frankie Morales called the first time.

You picked up the phone on the second ring already mustering your chipper 'customer service' voice. “Veterans affairs.” You stated your name. “How may I help you?”

“H-Hi. My name is Frankie- uh-Francisco Morales." A deep voice answered you. "I’m calling because I have gotten my benefits check yet. It’s been a month. I was hoping you could tell me if it got sent?”

“Okay Mr. Morales." You flipped on the computer. "Let me check. Can you spell your last name for me?”

“M-o-r-a-l-e-s”

“Okay... let's see.” You clicked on his account. You were momentarily distracted by his picture likely taken when he graduated basic if you had to guess based off the uniform. He looked sweet. Sharp nose and strong jaw balanced by kind eyes and a shy smile. You could imagine how age would continue to soften his expression making him even more handsome. The image was a strange juxtaposition to the voice you were hearing on the phone which was much deeper and rougher. His profile said he was special forces. A pilot. The rest of the information was blacked out. Something you were used to seeing on many people's accounts but even his years of service were redacted. He must have been involved in some dangerous stuff, you thought to yourself. The dates that were not redacted were mostly in Latin America. You clicked over to processing requests. “Looks like the check got sent one week ago.” You informed him.

"I'll look again but I haven't seen anything-" It sounded like he was apologizing when clearly it was not his fault.

"No no. It's probably a mistake on our end." You interrupted. With how shitty and outdated the payroll interface was you wouldn't be surprised if there was a mix up. "I’ll go ahead and let payroll know to send another."

"Great. Thanks." He replied sounding relieved. The roughness in his voice gave way to a smooth baritone.

“No problem. I'm sorry for any inconvenience it may have caused. We'll get it sent right away." You hoped he was not relying on this benefit check for anything important. While you could promise you'd fix the problem, the administration was notoriously slow. When he didn't respond you asked, "Is there anything else I can help you with today, Mr. Morales?”

“Uh-no" The roughness back in place. "Thank you." He paused before adding your name onto his thank you which made you smile. People usually never remembered your name.

“Alright. Have a nice day and thank you for your service.” You chirped before hanging up. The smile he put on your face lingered for a few minutes as you returned to your book.

The next time he called was exactly twelve days later.

“Veterans affairs” you answered, your routine greeting cut short as your eyes were still on your book.

“Hi- I’m calling because uh I still haven’t gotten my benefits check. This is Frankie Morales.”

“Oh Mr. Morales.” You recognized his voice even before he even said his name. You quickly shut your book, pushing your hair out of your face. Had you been thinking about him? No! Okay maybe you stared at his picture for a few minutes longer after he hung up. Yes, it was probably very unprofessional but you couldn't fight the curiosity. You were trying to rationalize the contrasting sharpness and softness of his features with his voice. How it all worked together. How one person's voice could change textures and colors so easily. You wondered what kind of things this man might have seen on the job. Most of the veterans you would help day to day did not have so many redacted missions and deployments. You were in the middle of Narcos season one so you immediately thought of drugs or something equally dangerous. After much pondering, you had come to the conclusion that Frankie Morales was both insanely attractive and insanely courageous. “Still no check, huh?”

“Nope.” He sighed the sound making the phone's shitty speaker crackle as you held it to your ear.

“Let me just check that it was approved...“ you found his profile again and scrolled to the status page. “Hmm... it says it was sent out last Friday after we spoke. That’s so weird...”

“Yeah. Really weird.” He echoed your frustration on the other end.

Typical payroll, you thought to yourself as you rolled your eyes. “I'll get another one sent to you right away. I'll see to it myself.” You tucked the phone under your chin and typed out a short email to Mary in payroll letting her know you'd be stopping by her office to explain the situation. You realized he hadn't hung up yet.

“Sorry for the back and forth.” You said, trying to fill the silence.

“It’s not your fault." The earlier irritation gone. "You’ve been really helpful.” His voice sounded warm and reassuring. Less gruff than it was last you spoke. Instead it was that rich baritone that you caught of glimpse of last time.

You feel your face warm at his compliment. It was this annoying reflex you had. Praise always made you blush no matter what context but it was worse when it came from a (you assume) gorgeous stranger.

“And just to verify that your address is correct- you’re on Maple Lane in Miami, Florida?”

“That’s right.” He confirmed.

“Okay. Sent!” You clicked send on the email, which caused the window to close and reveal Frankie’s profile page again. “I was curious-" You spoke before you really made the decision to speak. You didn’t want to overstep but once again your curiosity got the better of you. Honestly, you were just searching for a way to keep him on the phone. The day had been so boring.

“Your profile says you were stationed in Costa Rica.”

“For a bit.” He replied after a moment. He didn’t sound too defensive but there was definitely some tightness in his answer that made you feel bad for asking. Like you were scratching a wound.

“Did you like it? The country I mean.”

“Are you planning a trip?” He sounds a little amused.

“Yeah- well- kind of. It's more a trip in my head right now. I’d like to go there one day. It looks so beautiful.” You sighed closing your eyes trying to imagine the heat on your skin.

“It is." He agrees. "Really humid though.”

“Mm that sounds nice.” You would kill for some warm weather after such a long winter in DC.

“It was too muggy for me at times." He grumbled. "If you do go, stick to the costal areas where it’s more breezy or else you’ll just be sweating the whole time.”

“I don’t mind a little sweat” you shrugged, still thinking of the awful east coast winter you were currently suffering through. The sexual connotation of what you said hit you hard as soon as you heard the statement in its entirety. You felt your face flush again, though the man on the other end would never know.

“I’m learning Spanish!" You announced loudly trying to move the conversation past your awkwardness.

“Wow. Muy impressivo.”

“Si” you replied but after a moment you admit “I don’t really know what you said.”

Frankie laughed loudly on the other end and you couldn’t help but join in, drawing dirty looks from the elderly lady, Donna, working in the cubicle across from you. You ducked your head behind a stack of papers to avoid her glare.

“Fake it till you make it.” He chuckled.

“Maybe you should help me out.” You took on an indigent but still playful tone. “You sound better than duolingo” Your smile widened when he laughed again. His laugh was what you hoped it would be, by all your assumptions from his picture. It was an unencumbered, unburdened, rich sound with only a hit of roughness from the air behind it.

“Tell me you’re not using that dumb app to learn.” he scoffed, saying your name in an almost scolding tone.

“I’m got my thirty day streak today.” You boasted.

“You’ll be a total tourist if you go by duolingo.”

“But the owl is so cute every time I get something right!” You argued your voice taking on a more childish cadence.

“That’s how they trap you, silly girl.” He teased right back. Usually such a condescending nickname would piss you off but something about the affection behind him using it made you feel very differently. You felt warm like you were proud to be silly as long as it made him laugh.

“Then you saved me just in time, Mr. Morales.” You bit your lip. His scoffing and laughter died down on the other end.

“Frankie” He corrects you.

“Frankie…” You repeated it, smiling at how well the nick name suited the voice over the phone. Honest, sincere, and not pretentious at all. Way better than the pompous guys you know with equally stuffy names like “Edward” and “Christopher.”

“So what do you want to know?” Frankie interrupted your thoughts. “Dime”

You started asking him questions in Spanish to the best of your ability. Granted they weren't particularly probing questions. What is your name? What is your favorite color? What is your favorite animal? What's your favorite book? I am reading Gone Girl. He answered them all with patience and amusement, occasionally interrupting you to correct your pronunciation or explain what a word meant. Every time you’d repeat the word back correctly he would say something like “good” or “there you go” or “you got it”. You hated to admit that his kind words and his praise was doing something to you. You didn't even realize you were clenching your legs together unconsciously, almost in anticipation of his next correction or next answer. His low voice so sweet and encouraging against your ear, more tangible when he was speaking Spanish. You just wanted to hear more of it. Would it be this sweet in other situations? Would it get huskier or rougher? If you closed your eyes it was like he was sitting right next to you. It would be all too easy to slip into that daydream and escape the dull office.

Suddenly out of the corner of your drooping eyes you saw a flashing red light on the phone console meaning another caller was waiting.

“Shoot- i’m sorry, Frankie- I have to take this call.” You shot forward in your chair, legs uncrossing.

“Of-Of course. I should let you get back to work.” He sounded a little sad or so you hoped. You felt bad for interrupting him after you both were having so much fun. You wanted to say he could wait on hold but he killed that idea when he said, "I have work too. Technically I'm five minutes past my lunch break."

Your pout turned to a smile. He was spending his precious lunch break with you? Get a grip! you snapped at yourself.

“You’re welcome to call again if you want.” You threw out the offer in a small voice, scared you would be rejected. You peered over the cubicle wall to see if you were still being glared at. Thankfully Donna was away from her desk. Probably out for a smoke. “It’s really boring here and usually no one calls.”

“Maybe I will.” He replied and you could hear the smile behind those words. You felt your heart clench weirdly in your chest like it didn't know how to process the sudden spike in emotions.

“Bye, Frankie.” You beamed.

“Bye”

This time the smile on your face lasted for hours. Frankie’s laugh echoed around in your head, taunting you, sending your mind to the gutter. His voice went from grit to molasses on a dime. You wanted to be the one to bring out those sounds. You wanted to hear his voice bend and stretch and strain as you fucked him. What the hell is wrong with me? you screamed internally. You had never been so depraved and with a stranger no less! You clearly needed to get laid fast because this much yearning would not end well.

Frankie got the second VA check a few days later and this time he didn’t even feel bad about ripping it in half. He was already reaching for the phone to call you.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Tags: Message to be added 💕 no minors please!

#frankie morales #francisco morales #triple frontier #pedro pascal #frankie morales x reader #frankie catfish morales #pedro pascal x reader #frankie morales x you #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x y/n #frankie morales x y/n #catfish morales #calling home series #i would die for frankie #frankie morales has a sexy voice #daddy!frankie

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dickwheelie · 3 years

Note

This is a little specific so feel free to give it a pass if you're not into it, but would you like to like to do season 2 Lunch Date Era jonmartin with the 'friendly hugs' prompt? Thank you, and have a good day!

specific prompts are actually really nice, they give me something solid to work off of, so this was actually perfect! I had a lot of fun writing this one. thank you and enjoy, anon!

____________

Jon can't stop bouncing his leg.

He keeps forgetting that he's doing it, and then noticing again, and then forcibly stopping himself, but it never lasts long. The cafe is crowded and loud, which is distracting enough on its own, but Martin is also there, sitting across from him and tucking into a sandwich, gamely trying to engage Jon in conversation even though Jon keeps getting distracted and bouncing his leg.

"Jon? You there?"

Martin's voice fades back into Jon's awareness, and he shifts his gaze back to him. "Sorry," he says for the fifth time that lunch hour, "um, say that again?"

He feels bad. He does. Ever since he found out about Martin's CV, Jon's been kicking himself over how paranoid he'd been, thinking that Martin was out to get him, shouting at him over what turned out to be nothing. Jon doesn't want to be that sort of boss, that sort of person, but he'd just been so overwhelmed. He could hardly believe it when Martin asked him to join him for lunch, after all the things Jon's said to him. Still, he's grateful for the olive branch. It's too bad he keeps messing it up by forgetting to listen to Martin when he talks.

Speaking of--

"Oh, damn," Jon mutters, interrupting whatever it is Martin is trying to tell him. "Martin, god, I'm so sorry, I just got--"

"Distracted?" Martin says, and to Jon's surprise he doesn't seem annoyed, just . . . concerned. "I've noticed. Jon, are you feeling alright?"

"What? Yes, I'm fine." Jon eats the last few bites of his salad so he doesn't have to meet Martin's eyes.

"Sure? Because you seem really anxious." Martin's voice has that soft, worried lilt to it that Jon used to get annoyed by. It doesn't bother him so much anymore. It's . . . sort of nice, really, to be worried over, sometimes.

Not now, though. Because right now Jon doesn't need to be worried over. "I'm not anxious. Just . . . it's distracting in here. It's loud."

"Oh, well, let's go then," Martin says, finishing up his sandwich and standing up to gather his coat. "It's not too cold out. We can walk around downtown until lunch hour is over."

"I--" Jon wants to protest, but he realizes that yes, getting out of this small cafe would be very welcome. "That's . . . that's a good idea, actually."

His leg can't bounce when he's walking, and the early winter air is cold but not biting, and the walkways aren't crowded. Jon can feel himself calming down by the time they get a block away from the cafe. Maybe he had been a little anxious, after all. This was a very good idea. Martin has very good ideas, he thinks.

"If that cafe was too much," Martin is telling him, and thankfully Jon is actually able to listen to him now, "there's another place we could try next time. New Indian place, right around the corner from the Institute. Tim says he goes there whenever he has a PT appointment, to treat himself."

Jon wants to go back to the fact that Martin wants there to be a next time, but for now there's something more pressing to address. "Tim's still doing physical therapy?" he says. He'd thought he was finished weeks ago.

"Yeah, he says it's just follow-up appointments. He's mostly okay, they just need to make sure he's improving, I guess." Martin shoots him a sidelong look. "I thought you and he were close."

"Not, um . . . not so much anymore." Jon stuffs his hands into his coat pockets, ducking into his collar. "We don't really . . . talk."

"Oh," Martin says. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah." Jon doesn't want to get into it. Thankfully, Martin doesn't press the issue.

"Are you still going to PT?" Martin says instead. "You don't have to tell me, obviously. I just . . . I never see you outside the archives anymore."

Jon bites the inside of his cheek. "I, um . . . I sort of . . . stopped going. After the second appointment."

Martin stops short in the middle of the sidewalk, and Jon has to double back. "Christ, Jon!" he says, not angry, but aggravated. "You can't just skip out on that stuff, you could do permanent damage--"

"Martin, I'm fine," Jon says. "See, I'm walking around and everything. Trust me, if it was bad, I'd have kept going, but the whole thing was a waste of time and I had work to get done--"

"Your health comes first," Martin says, with finality, before his demeanor softens. "I'm not an idiot, Jon, I notice you staying late and coming in early, I notice when you skip meals. You're running yourself ragged. It's a job, Jon, and trust me, I know how important this work is, I get it, but none of it, alright, none of it's more important than you."

Jon blinks at him. He wants to protest, but every half-formed rebuttal sounds either defensive or outright silly. Martin is right, after all. Jon just wishes that he weren't, because then he wouldn't have to reevaluate everything he's been doing for the past two months.

Martin goes on, taking a step closer to him. "Just . . . you don't need to keep throwing yourself at a wall, Jon. At least give yourself a break every once in a while."

"I can't just walk away, Martin. O-Or, I don't--" Jon's voice has gone shaky. He clears his throat and tries again. "I--I don't really know how. There's just . . . there's so much, and I don't know where any of it leads, if it's leading anywhere at all, and . . . I just . . . I've no idea what I'm supposed to do about all of it."

Martin gives him a look that Jon doesn't know how to place. It's not pity, or condescension, which Jon would expect from most everyone else. He just looks . . . sort of sad. His hands are clasped in front of his chest, tugging restlessly on his fingers. "Jon, would you . . . um, that is . . ." Suddenly Martin thrusts his open arms out towards Jon and blurts out, "Would you like a hug?"

Jon's speechless. What a thing to be asked, he thinks, and especially by a coworker, no matter how well they know each other, it's completely unprofessional, and even if Martin were his closest friend, which he isn't, but even if he were, why on earth would Jon of all people need a hug? Sure, he's not doing all that great, but Martin doesn't need to know that, and anyway how is a hug supposed to fix anything, especially a hug from someone who doesn't know the half of what Jon's been going through lately, or how scared and confused he's been, or about Jon's very serious problems that are complicated and terrifying and can't be fixed with something as childish and simple as a--

"Yes, please," Jon says, the words coming out in an exhale of pent-up tension, and he all but collapses into Martin's open arms. His face lands just under Martin's chin, half-tucked into his shoulder, and he's just barely able to wrap his arms around Martin's midsection as Martin hugs him back tightly, squeezing him against his chest, and Jon had never known how strong Martin was, how much he had been hiding beneath those soft jumpers of his. His arms, all muscle beneath fat, feel as though they could fight off an army if they really wanted to, and despite his nagging paranoia, Jon can't help but feel utterly protected by them. He feels himself relaxing, bit by bit, sinking into the softness of Martin's chest, letting him hug him closer, just tight enough to be secure without hurting. As he leans into the hug, he doesn't feel any concern about Martin losing his grip or slipping backwards. Martin can take his weight; he knows this. He is as solid and reliable as a wall, and just as stubborn, and he will not drop Jon. Jon lets out a deep sigh, his breaths evening out and slowing, tension seeping from his limbs until he feels entirely relaxed. He feels cared for. He feels safe. It's been so, so long since he's felt safe.

He doesn't even notice that he's closed his eyes until Martin's arms shift around him, and Jon realizes they've been hugging for probably way longer than is normal. His eyes snap open and he backs off, hands sliding away from Martin, clearing his throat awkwardly. He tries not to miss the gentle security of Martin's arms.

"Um," Martin says, sounding like he's about to apologize, but Jon interrupts him.

"Thank you," he says, trying to keep his voice even. "That was--I, um. I needed that." When was the last time he'd hugged someone? Jon can't even remember. "It was really nice," he says quietly. Another one of Martin's brilliant ideas.

Martin nods, looking relieved, and perhaps a little fond, though it may just be Jon's imagination. "Anytime," he says, and Jon thinks he might mean it. He hopes he does. "What are friends for, eh?"

Jon blinks. Are they friends? How long has that been the case? He looks at Martin, hands stuffed into his coat pockets, a small smile on his face, and he thinks that yes, maybe they are friends. It would be nice to be friends, anyway. If Martin says they're friends, Jon won't correct him. "Yeah," he says, and he's very glad to see Martin's face brighten at the word. "I, um," and Jon needs to clear his throat again, "I-I'll try. To have a break once in a while."

"Promise?" Martin says, and Jon can't help but laugh.

"I promise."

Martin nods. "Okay. Good."

"This, today, lunch I mean, this was nice. I'd . . . um. I'd like to do it again."

"Oh! Um, sure. Definitely," Martin says, smiling.

"We can go to that Indian place," Jon says.

"Sure," Martin says. "Tomorrow?" His look is hesitant, but Jon's answer is immediate.

"Yes," he says, letting a smile run over his lips. "Yes, Martin, I'd like that very much."

#tma #the magnus archives #jonmartin #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #gwyneth writes

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hrina · 4 years

Text

Something Strange

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: R WORD COUNT: 6.3k+ REQUESTED: no

uhhhh hi. so. this is my (first ever) halloween fic, ft. infuriatingly cocky ghostbuster!harry. i really hope you guys enjoy it, and just like every other writer on this godforsaken site, i’d love to hear any feedback that you might have. ok im done now lol go forth and read :)

warnings: cursing, brief nsfw content, a nasty habit of jumping to conclusions, and harry being an asshole with a secret heart of gold.

~*~

October 2nd, 2021

Your attention is first caught by the massive, obnoxiously-coloured truck parked in Mindy and Gerald’s driveway. The entire vehicle is a shade of navy blue, though its sophistication is ruined by the neon green bubble lettering streaked across its doors.

Spooked? Call Styles’ Scares!

Beneath that, there’s a promise painted in bright pink:

Lasting results or your money back!

“What the hell?” you mutter.

You unbuckle your seatbelt and exit your car, momentarily forgetting about the groceries sitting in the trunk. Mindy and Gerald are standing on their porch, absorbed in a light-hearted conversation. When they catch sight of you trekking across the lawn, they smile brightly and offer up a pair of welcoming waves.

“Hi, there!” you call, shoving your hands into the back pockets of your jeans. “What’s all this?”

“Good afternoon, dear!” Mindy replies. She quickly descends the front steps, meeting you halfway and enveloping you in a tight hug. “How are you? It’s been a while since we last spoke.”

“You can drop in whenever you want,” you say, chuckling. “It’s not like I live very far away.”

“How have you been?” Gerald follows his wife, steadily making his way off the porch. “How’s school?”

“It’s alright.” You shrug. “Things are picking up, now, but I’m trying my best to stay on top of them.”

You toss your thumb over your shoulder, gesturing to the bright pickup truck parked in their driveway. (It really is ugly, you think. Probably one of the ugliest vehicles that you’ve ever had the displeasure of perceiving.)

“What’s going on?”

“Oh!” Mindy lifts her hands to her mouth, gazing at you with wide, serious eyes. “Our house is haunted.”

You balk. “Pardon me?”

“I know, I know,” she sighs, shaking her head. “It sounds silly. I didn’t believe it at first either, but—something keeps knocking our picture frames off the wall. And the lights! They start flickering at random intervals throughout the day.”

“Are you sure it’s not just rats?” you joke.

Gerald, who has now joined you on the lawn, holds up his hand solemnly. “We tried using traps, but they haven’t been touched at all.”

“Exactly.” Mindy nods, turning back to you. “We’re already worried about Joseph’s wedding next week, so one of the ladies at the community centre recommended Harry. That same day, Gerald gave him a call, and that was the end of it.”

“Who’s Harry?” you ask, brows knitting together in confusion.

“Er—” A deep voice sounds from behind you. “I am.”

When you turn around, you come face-to-face with one of the prettiest men you’ve ever seen. He’s got mossy green eyes, dark pink lips, and brown hair that curls around his temples and behind his ears. Smooth skin stretches out over high, chiseled cheekbones and a sharp jaw. He’s wearing a pair of light-wash jeans and matching white sneakers. A black hoodie covers his broad chest; upon taking a closer look, you note that the two front strings have been tied into a picturesque little bow.

Mindy wastes no time, introducing the two of you immediately. When Harry holds out his hand for you to shake, you don’t hesitate.

“Did you want my card?” he asks, peering at you curiously.

You study his expression. Beneath his seemingly sincere exterior, arrogance runs wild and unchecked. You know this man. You’ve met him a hundred different times under a hundred different circumstances, and you’ve learned to recognize a lost cause when you’re staring it square in the face.

“Not at all.” You shoot him a fake smile. “I’m just the neighbour.”

“Right.” His lips twitch. He steps back, rolling his shoulders and lifting his chin in the direction of the house. “Well, I should probably get to work. It was nice meeting you, babe.”

Your nose wrinkles as the pet name sinks in.

When you turn back around to resume your conversation with Mindy and Gerald, they’re gone. Your eyes bounce to the right, where you find them guiding Harry up the porch steps. Mindy has one hand on his bicep whilst gesturing animatedly with the other. Gerald opens the front door and holds out his arm, welcoming Harry inside.

You scoff, shaking your head in disdain.

“Ghosts aren’t real,” you mumble as you make your way back across the lawn. The trunk of your car squeaks when you pull it open, and plastic bags rustle as you gather your groceries into your arms.

Ghosts aren’t real. And Harry is obviously a scammer, based on…well, based on everything. The tacky design on his truck. The unprofessional wardrobe. The self-assuredness emanating from every cell in his body. Babe.

But Mindy and Gerald truly believe that their home is haunted. Trying to change their minds without a shred of physical proof is pointless. You blow out a soft sigh, accepting the grim reality of your situation.

Your neighbours are gullible, trusting people. And for the next few days—whether you like it or not—Harry is here to stay.

October 5th, 2021

You’re approximately two seconds away from chucking your textbook against the far wall.

You’ve been trying to finish this chapter for the past hour. And though you pride yourself on being tolerant when it comes to petty annoyances, your patience is wearing thin. A quick glance out of your bedroom window reveals Harry’s hideous pickup truck parked—yet again—in Mindy and Gerald’s driveway.

You roll your eyes. Of course.

The piercing, raucous whirring starts up again; you release a frustrated yell, slamming your book shut and leaping off your bed. You’re muttering obscenities under your breath as you stalk down the hall, stopping briefly to slide on a pair of fuzzy slippers. When you yank your front door open, the chilly autumn air settles into your bones.

The clamour grows louder as you stomp across your shared lawn. When you knock on Mindy and Gerald’s door, the commotion is nearly unbearable. A few seconds go by, during which your presence remains unacknowledged; you rap once again on the wood, hoping that the sound will be conspicuous enough amidst all of the background noise.

Sure enough, everything goes quiet. Your shoulders slump with relief just as the door opens. Mindy greets you with a friendly smile.

“Hi, dear,” she says kindly. “What can I do for you?”

“Hi.” You force yourself to mirror her affable expression, hoping that she can’t see the pained exhaustion brewing in your eyes. “Could I just—could I speak with Harry, please? It won’t take long.”

“Of course.” She nods before peering at you anxiously. “Don’t tell me that you’ve got ghosts, too.”

“No.” You shake your head. Ghosts aren’t real, you want to say, but you hold your tongue. “No, I just—I just need to have a quick word with him, that’s all.”

“Alright. I’ll go fetch him.” She turns around and totters away.

You hear her call his name, followed by the telltale sound of shuffling. After a few long moments, he’s there, leaning against the doorway with a bemused look on his face.

“Evening, babe,” he says coolly. “What’s up?”

“Don’t call me that,” you snap, folding your arms over your chest.

Harry’s eyebrows shoot upward. He hadn’t expected you to greet him with such animosity, you suppose. His outfit is nearly identical to that of the other day, save for the red bandana perched atop his head. He buries his fingers into the pockets of his jeans, shrugging nonchalantly and pinning you with a blasé, unimpressed gaze.

“Noted,” he says. The corners of his lips curl up into a crooked smirk as he repeats, “What’s up?”

“You need to keep it down,” you say flatly. “I don’t know what kind of fake ‘exorcism’ bullshit you’re trying to pull off, but the noise is driving me insane. I need to study.”

“‘Fake’?” Harry parrots. “You don’t believe in spirits?”

“No,” you deadpan. “I don’t.” You narrow your eyes, studying the subtle movements of his face. “And if I had to take a wild guess, neither do you.”

“Really,” he says, chuckling softly. It isn’t a question.

“Really.”

Harry watches you, tickled by your obvious exasperation. “I get the feeling that you don’t like me very much.”

“Look at that,” you say, rolling your eyes. “He does have a brain.”

“You’re so judgmental.” He laughs, shaking his head. “How can you dislike me when you barely even know me?”

“I know enough,” you reply, scowling. “I know that you’re a fraud who takes advantage of people and their fears. And for what? Just so that you can take home a paycheque at the end of the day?”

“Ouch.” Harry feigns injury, placing a large hand over his heart. “That hurts, babe.”

There it is again. Babe.

“You know what?” Your nostrils flare. “Forget this—it’s like trying to explain rocket science to a toddler.”

He grins. “Yeah, I suppose. I’m much cuter, though, don’t you think?”

You scoff, pedalling backward. “In your dreams.”

His delight only seems to grow when your retort sinks in. You whip around, descending the porch steps and storming back toward your house. When you chance a glance over your shoulder, Harry is still standing in the doorway, a shit-eating smile stretched wide across his cheeks.

“Just keep it down, okay?” you call irritably.

He raises two fingers to his temple in a mock-salute, and you march away without another word.

October 8th, 2021

“You’re sure?”

You laugh. “Yes, Mindy, I’m sure. I promise.”

“Alright,” she assents, blowing out a quiet sigh through the phone. “I went grocery shopping today, so our cupboards are fully stocked—help yourself to anything you’d like. Also, when you flush the downstairs toilet, the water may look like it’s rising, but it goes down after a second or two.”

“Noted.” You snicker. “Anything else?”

“That’s it,” she says. “Thank you so much.”

“No problem,” you reply. “Tell Joseph and Amy that I said congratulations, yeah?”

“We will! See you later, dear.”

“See you later.”

October 9th, 2021

When Mindy and Gerald get back tomorrow afternoon, you’re going to wring their necks.

Agreeing to housesit whilst they celebrated their son’s wedding a few cities away? Sure. Fine. You had a long night full of nothing planned—sitting in front of the television, munching on some snacks, relaxing for the evening and trying to forget about all of the schoolwork waiting for you at home. You were in the middle of watching a Golden Girls rerun when, suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

“Coming!” You stood, setting your bowl of popcorn aside. The knocking continued as you made your way to the front entrance, wiping your buttery fingers against the dark leggings covering your thighs.

“I’m coming,” you said exasperatedly. You opened the door, ready to shoo away whoever it was—a salesperson, probably.

Instead, you came face-to-face with Harry.

And now, you’re here—slumped on the couch, angrily shovelling popcorn into your mouth. You keep your gaze trained on the television, trying your hardest to avoid the man who is setting up his “equipment” in the middle of the room.

“Can’t you do this in the kitchen?” you deadpan.

He flicks a switch on his machine—it looks an awful lot like a standard centrifuge. What a fraud.

“Spirit energy’s strongest in here,” he grunts. His knees scuff against the carpeted floor.

A derisive laugh falls from your lips. “Mindy and Gerald aren’t here—you can drop the act.”

Harry glances up at you, his pretty green irises glimmering. “What act?”

You roll your eyes and look away, fixing your attention back on the grainy screen.

Neither of you say anything for the next few minutes; tension builds, saturating the air and making it hard for you to breathe. Eventually, Harry breaks through the awkward silence. You want to scream.

“Er—” he starts, expectant. “Do you mind stepping out for a second? I need the room.”

Your nostrils flare. “Excuse me?”

“I need the—”

“I heard you,” you say, sitting up straight. “You don’t need anything. What the hell are you playing at?”

“I’m not quite sure what you mean, babe.” His tone is genuine, but you can sense the mirth simmering just beneath the surface. His lips twitch, and your frustration boils like water over a stove.

“Stop calling me that,” you snap, folding your arms across your chest. “And stop playing dumb. Other people might put up with your pseudo-spooky bullshit, but I won’t. Ghosts aren’t real!”

The lights go out.

You gasp, straining your eyes in an attempt to regain your bearings. Slowly, blurry shapes and shadows materialise in front of you. You fumble around for your phone, picking it up and tapping the screen. A moment later, the device’s flash lights up the room. You shine it from side to side, eventually settling on Harry, who is looking up at the ceiling in complete and utter bewilderment.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath. “Now you’ve done it.”

“Done what?” you squawk, glaring at him. “The power went out. Big deal.”

The lights flicker fleetingly, and then the room is dark again. Your eyes drift over to Harry; he’s smirking.

“This isn’t a ghost,” you say stubbornly, waving your phone around. The bright light bounces across the walls before you steady yourself, positioning the beam back on him. He stands, sinking his hands into the deep pockets of his sweatpants.

“And how would you know?” he teases, cocking one eyebrow challengingly.

“Because,” you scoff. “Ghosts aren’t real.”

Something crashes to the floor. You yelp in surprise, your head snapping to the right. When you shine your light in the direction of the noise, you find a shattered picture frame lying on the ground.

“What the fuck?” Harry murmurs, advancing toward the mess.

“Careful!” you say, holding up your hand. He stops in his tracks, peering over at you in confusion. “There’s glass, idiot,” you explain, climbing to your feet. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

He shoots you a crooked smile. “You do care.”

“I don’t.” Your response is curt. “I just don’t feel like driving you to the hospital so that they can remove fragments from your foot.”

Harry chuckles.

You sigh, squinting at the fallen frame. “We can clean it up when the lights come back on,” you say, mostly to yourself. “I don’t want to risk anything.”

He nods and yawns, stretching his arms out above his head. “Suit yourself, babe.”

“The next time you call me that, I’m going to—”

“What?” he asks, padding over to the sofa. You watch him approach with a deep scowl on your face. He collapses onto the couch, slouching and spreading his legs obnoxiously wide. “You gonna beat me up or something?”

You shake your head in disbelief, stepping away from him. “You’re a piece of shit.”

“So you say,” he replies, unbothered.

“You’re so—”

You break off, producing an angry noise in the back of your throat. Harry winks at you; in response, you whip around and storm away, carving out a path from the living room to the kitchen.

You shine the light from your phone across the cupboards, making a beeline for the fridge. When you pull it open, the cold compartment is dark. Squinting, you reach for one of the many water bottles stacked on the top shelf.

Stupid Harry, with his stupid smile and his stupid eyes and his stupid attitude and his stupid bogus business. You can’t believe that Mindy and Gerald were naïve enough to fall for his bullshit. You need to have a long talk with them when they get back, you think—to ensure that they never swallow a pill this big ever again.

“Thirsty?”

You nearly jump out of your skin, pointing your phone toward the kitchen’s exit. Harry is standing there, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his broad chest. You bring one hand up to your sternum, trying to calm your racing heart.

“Jesus Christ,” you hiss, shaking your head. “You scared the shit out of me!”

He snickers lowly. You turn your attention back to the fridge, grabbing a water bottle and uncapping it quickly. Through the darkness, Harry watches you gulp down the cool liquid; you pretend not to notice.

“Can I help you?” you finally ask, wiping your mouth with the heel of your palm.

“No.” He shrugs. “Just…looking, I guess.”

“That’s creepy,” you reply flatly. He laughs.

“May I steal a bottle?” he says, padding across the tiles. “I’m parched.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek. “I—sure. Whatever.”

And though you try, you can’t seem to tear your gaze away from him. He hums as he opens up the fridge, leaning forward to get a better look inside. You play with the hem of your sweater, standing behind him awkwardly. When he peers over his shoulder, you quickly look away, feigning interest in the marble countertop next to the sink.

“Er—” he starts. He fixes you with an inquisitive look, glancing down at the device in your hand. “Would you mind? I can’t see anything.”

“Don’t you have your own?” you ask.

“Yeah, but you’re already holding yours. Come on.”

You roll your eyes. “Fine.”

You draw nearer, lifting your phone and shining its flash into the fridge. Harry hums, plucking a water bottle off the top shelf with a satisfied smile. When he turns to face you, a puff of air catches in your throat; he’s awfully close, his torso brushing almost imperceptibly against yours.

You stare up at him, stunned. There’s a small mole beneath the left corner of his mouth. Part of you—an insignificant, microscopic part—fights the urge to reach out and run your thumb over the mark.

“I’m sorry for calling you a piece of shit,” you blurt.

He inhales deeply, chest expanding and fitting a bit more firmly against your own.

The contact snaps you out of your trance. You retreat, backing up against the counter to maintain your balance. Harry clears his throat and glances away.

“Thanks,” he says, his voice hoarse.

Unable to find the right words, you simply nod.

The two of you stand there for a long moment, sinking into a pool of uncomfortable silence. Just when you think that you’re going to choke on the invisible tension, a faint buzz resonates through the air. Less than a second later, the power returns, illuminating the kitchen in a wash of warm, brilliant light.

“Thank God,” you mutter. You shut the flash on your phone, sliding the device beneath the waistband of your leggings.

Harry blinks rapidly, disoriented. “Shit.”

“What’s wrong?” you ask, tilting your head to the side.

He waves your question away. “No, it’s—it’s nothing.”

And you don’t really feel like pressing the subject, so you let it go. A tired sigh falls from your mouth as you scan your surroundings.

“Help me find a broom,” you tell him. “We need to sweep up the glass in the other room.”

His lips twitch. “What’s the magic word?”

There he is. The same insufferable man who has been pushing your buttons all week. You scowl, shooting him a displeased glare.

“Forget it.” You drag your fingers down the left side of your face. “I’ll do it myself.”

~*~

“You sure you don’t want my help?” Harry calls, kicking his feet up onto the sofa.

You grunt, crouching next to the shattered glass on the floor. “Positive.”

The broom and dustpan that you’ve acquired from the laundry room are old and frail, but you suppose that they’ll get the job done. You set the dustpan down on the ground, wrapping your fingers around the broom’s handle and trying to maneuver it in an efficient way. It’s no easy feat, but eventually, you manage to create a small, compact pile of shards. Gingerly, you reach for the picture frame, plucking it up from the ground and setting it off to the side. Next, you take your time sweeping all of the fragments into the dustpan, inspecting the floor for any lingering bits.

“Struggling over there?” Harry asks.

You grit your teeth.

“No,” you counter in a matter-of-fact tone. “I think I got it all, actually. No thanks to you.”

You throw the last part over your shoulder, coupling it with an accusatory frown. Harry holds up his hands in surrender, suppressing his amusement.

“Shouldn’t you be exorcising spirits?” you ask. Sarcasm drips from your words.

He chuckles. The couch squeaks as he shuffles around; a moment later, the sound of approaching footsteps reaches your ears. You stiffen when he stops next to your squatted form.

“To be quite honest,” he begins, and you can practically hear the smirk in his voice, “I’m having a much better time watching you.”

“Creepy,” you say. “Again.”

He laughs, lowering himself to his knees. In the periphery of your vision, you watch him pick up the abandoned picture frame, turning it around and studying the photograph inside. His cheeks lift with the slope of a familiar smile, but somehow, this one is different from the others that you’ve witnessed.

It’s real. Sincere.

“Nice, don’t you think?” Harry asks, pulling you from your thoughts.

He extends his arm, revealing the photograph. Mindy and Gerald’s beaming faces stare up at you, a balance of bright grins and crinkled eyes. Subconsciously, your lips curl upward, and you take the frame from Harry’s hands.

“Yeah,” you murmur, running your fingertips over the photo. “They look happy.”

“How long have you known them?” he asks. There’s no malice behind the question.

“Since I moved in,” you say absentmindedly, admiring the ornate frame around the picture. “A few years, now.”

He hums in response. “They talk about you a lot.”

“All good things, I hope.” You cast a wry look in his direction.

He chuckles and nods. “Yeah. They look out for you, it seems.”

“I try to look out for them, too.” You sit back on your haunches, groaning quietly. “Which is why I was surprised that they didn’t come to me when they first thought their house was ‘haunted’.”

Your intonation changes on the last word; you still don’t believe that your neighbours are being plagued by spirits, despite the plethora of peculiarity that you’ve witnessed tonight.

“Maybe they didn’t want to worry you,” Harry suggests.

You roll your eyes. Even now, he refuses to drop the act.

“Sure,” you say. “So, hiring a spirit exterminator—or whatever you pretend to be—was a better move?” You snort softly, climbing to your feet. “How much are they paying you, anyway?”

He purses his lips. “They’re not.”

You freeze.

A beat of silence drags out, during which you swallow your shock. You clear your throat and lift your chin, staring down at Harry banally.

“You’re lying.”

“Nope.”

“You are!” you insist. A short, incredulous laugh tumbles off your tongue. “You are one hundred percent fucking with me.”

“I’m afraid not,” he says.

“Your truck, though...” you say. “‘Lasting results, or your money back’?”

“I’ve got to make it look legitimate, don’t I?” He smirks. “But it’s cute that you remembered.”

Your eyes lock with his, and suddenly, it’s almost impossible to breathe. His gaze is deep, open, and honest. Your lips part, but no sound comes out. Instinctively, your legs carry you a few paces back, veering toward the sofa. You plop down onto the plush cushions, clutching the picture frame tightly between your fingers.

“Then, why—?” you break off, shaking your head. “Why would you—?”

“Peace of mind,” Harry shrugs, still rooted to his spot on the floor. “Ever heard of the placebo effect?”

“You admit it, then,” you say, sitting up straight. “There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

He nods, blinking languidly. “There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

“So,” you start, trying to make sense of the situation, “you let them believe that you’re actually cleansing the house—for free, too—just to—?” You glance around the room, searching for the right words. “—just to put them at ease?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s…”

Sweet. Thoughtful.

“…ridiculous.”

Harry chuckles. “Thanks.”

“I—” You hesitate, depositing the photograph next to you on the couch. “This whole time, I thought you were just…”

“A con?”

You bring your fingers up to your mouth, nodding silently and studying him with big, rounded eyes.

He shrugs.

“I mean, I never really got the chance to explain myself. You’d already made up your mind about me, hadn’t you? So, I thought I’d just let you stick with your assumptions—it didn’t bother me much.”

“I’m a horrible person,” you say, mostly to yourself.

Harry laughs, shaking his head. “No, you’re not. You’re just a bit judgmental, that’s all.”

“You’re right.” You nod again, bowing your head in shame. “I am. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, babe, really.”

You stand abruptly, abandoning your spot on the sofa.

“I should finish up,” you state, embarrassed beyond belief. Harry watches you closely as you approach. You crouch down next to him, reaching for the dustpan with shaky hands. A few small shards of glass are littered at the brink of the collector; you nudge them away from the edge, trying to be as careful as possible.

“Ow!” you suddenly hiss, retracting your arm quickly. You twist your wrist, fixing your attention on a thin cut engraved into the pad of your index finger.

“What happened?” Harry asks, leaning forward.

You shake your head, waving away his worries. “I’m fine, I’m fine. Just got nicked, that’s all.”

“Let me see,” he requests, holding out his own hand.

You pause, taking your bottom lip between your teeth and stealing a quick glance at his face. His expression is concerned, but neutral. Your hesitation is silly, you think—he may be a bit of a jackass, but he’s not going to hurt you. You’ve already condemned him once before, and you were wrong.

You don’t want to make that mistake again.

After a brief moment, you give in, sliding your knuckles into his open palm.

“It’s alright, really,” you say, speaking around the lump in your throat. “The piece was tiny—it hardly broke the surface.”

Harry inspects the laceration closely, and you fight the urge to roll your eyes.

It’s not that serious, you want to tell him, but you refrain from letting the words escape. Part of you is enjoying the way your hands fit together so perfectly. You don’t want it to end—not yet.

“You’re bleeding a bit, babe,” he announces faintly, brows cinched in concentration.

“I am?” You try to tug your arm back, but he keeps a firm grip on your wrist. A low, confused noise echoes in the back of your throat; Harry peers up at you, his features unreadable.

“It’s just a spot,” he murmurs. “Let me.”

And before you can say or do anything else, he’s taking your finger past his lips and giving an easy, gentle suck.

You squeak.

The sound snaps Harry out of his trance; he releases your hand and recoils hastily. You exhale, driving out the stale air gathered in your lungs. When you peek up at him from beneath your lashes, he’s already watching you, shoulders taut with anxiety.

“Sorry,” he stammers. His nostrils flare. “That was weird—sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say, shaking your head. “Er…thanks.”

“No worries.” He swallows.

“Alright.”

Awkwardly, you wipe your clammy palms against your thighs. Harry seems to be looking at everything except for you; his gaze flits to the ceiling, then to the couch, then to the floor. You gnaw on the inside of your cheek and push yourself up off the ground. The room is painfully quiet as you slowly slink back toward to the sofa.

“I should probably put this somewhere safe,” you mumble, picking up the forgotten picture frame.

Warm air floats over the nape of your neck. You gasp and spin around, nearly toppling over in your haste. Harry’s hands find your shoulders, steadying you and crowding you closer to his chest. You glance up at him; your shallow breaths mingle together in the narrow space, noses only inches apart.

“Is this okay?” he asks, his voice no higher than a gruff whisper. “Tell me. Please.”

In response, you fumble for one of his hands, grappling at his wrist; he loosens his hold on your arms, confused but willing. He’s motionless as you lift his knuckles up to your mouth. You glance down, tilting your head to the side and studying them carefully. Harry says nothing when you press a soft, feathery kiss to the pad of his index finger.

But then you’re dipping the tip of the digit between your lips, and suddenly, he’s undone.

“Fucking—”

He grabs your face in his palms and seals his mouth to yours.

The two of you stagger backward, tumbling onto the couch. Mindy and Gerald’s picture frame slips from your grasp, landing on a neighbouring cushion with a faint thud. Reflexively, your legs part; Harry takes his rightful place between them, slanting his body accordingly. When he applies the faintest hint of pressure, you moan.

“Fuck.” He draws back, his warm breath wafting over your chin. “Don’t.”

“‘Don’t’ what?” you ask, puzzled.

He shakes his head. “Don’t make those noises. It’s—you’re—I’m—”

He curses quietly and reaches for one of your hands. You allow him to guide your palm lower, inhaling sharply when you feel the slight bulge protruding from his trousers. Instinctively, your fingers close over the subtle ridge of his cock. His shoulders stiffen, and his eyes squeeze shut.

“You’re hard,” you murmur, as though it’s the most fascinating thing in the world.

“Not fully.” He swallows. “But I’m getting there.”

“Because of me?” you ask, peering up at him innocently.

“Yeah.” Harry expels a wobbly, disbelieving laugh. “Yeah, babe—because of you.”

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip as the familiar moniker falls from his mouth. He notices your unusual reaction, mouth curling into teasing smirk.

“What?” he says, lifting one eyebrow. “No nagging, this time? I thought you hated that nickname.”

You grip the collar of his sweater and give a gentle tug, guiding him down for another kiss. When the two of you finally break apart, you shrug. “It’s growing on me.”

He smiles.

“Do you—?” you pause, pursing your lips. The question sounds silly—presumptuous, even. Rather than finishing your sentence, you lift your chin, gazing up evenly into Harry’s green eyes and declaring, “I think I want to sleep with you.”

His cheeks dimple with a wide grin. “Is that so?”

You nod.

“Right, then.” He kisses your nose and pulls away. “There’s a condom in my wallet, but…I may or may not have left it in my truck.”

You groan, allowing your head to fall back against the sofa with a heavy thump. Harry chuckles at your theatrics. After a brief moment of contemplation, you compose yourself and sit up quickly.

“That works, actually,” you say, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “Grab your wallet, and then we can go to my place. I don’t think my neighbours would be very happy if we fucked on their couch.”

He laughs, climbing eagerly to his feet and shooting you a smug wink. “You got it, babe.”

October 10th, 2021

It’s nearly half past noon when you step out onto the porch the next day. You yawn, squinting up at the sun shining brightly in the sky. There are no clouds in sight; the slight chill of the autumn air tickles your exposed arms. You tug on the waistband of your sweatpants, keeping the material seated firmly on your hips.

“Good morning, dear!”

You jump, head snapping in the direction of a familiar voice. Mindy and Gerald are sitting on their veranda, nursing twin cups of coffee and looking awfully cozy. Gerald smiles at you, folding up his newspaper and setting it on his lap.

“Good morning!” You wave before re-evaluating your words. “Well, it’s technically past twelve, so good afternoon.”

Mindy laughs.

“How was the wedding?” you ask, approaching the side of your deck. You lean against the thin metal railing, combing your fingers through your messy hair. “I wasn’t expecting you to be back this soon.”

“We woke up early,” Mindy explains. “And the wedding was fabulous. Amy wore the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen.”

“Really?” You grin. “Do you have any pictures?”

“Of course! Just let me run inside and grab my phone—”

“Mornin’,” a gruff voice says from behind you.

You gasp and spin around, bringing a hand to your chest. The sight laid out before you has your heart speeding up, galloping wildly and battering against the confines of your ribs.

Harry’s wearing that same hoodie from last night. Your gaze trails lower—he’s also sporting a pair of grey boxers and white socks. There’s a mug nestled in each of his large hands, his spindly fingers wrapped around the handles comfortably. Your eyes lock with his sleepy ones, and your breathing hitches in your throat.

“Morning,” you whisper, unable to muster up anything louder.

“I—” Harry clears his throat, stepping closer and extending his left arm. “I, er, took the liberty of making us some tea. Hope you don’t mind.”

“No, it’s—” You swallow as you accept one of the mugs, suppressing a giddy smile. “It’s completely fine. Thank you.”

“Of course.” He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. “Sleep well?”

“Mhm.” You nod shyly.

He chuckles. “Good.”

His gaze wanders over your shoulder, and it’s then that he notices Mindy and Gerald sat on the neighbouring porch. Without even batting an eye, he lifts his hand in a friendly wave. “Morning, you two. How was the wedding?”

You turn back toward the couple, a sheepish look on your face. Mindy is beaming, and Gerald is trying to hold back a laugh. Heat creeps up your neck; you wish that the ground would just open up and swallow you whole.

“It was wonderful!” Mindy trills. Her enthusiasm has skyrocketed. You pinch the bridge of your nose, utterly mortified.

“Yes.” Gerald finally pipes up, smirking knowingly. “It was great. What about you, though? How was your night?”

“Fine,” you blurt before Harry can respond. “It was fine.”

The duo share a look, and then Mindy giggles girlishly. You bring your mug up to your mouth, taking a long sip and groaning into the cup. Harry’s arm snakes around your waist, making you jump. You steal a glance at him out of the corner of your eye; he’s fighting a smile.

“Well—” Gerald clears his throat, plucking his folded newspaper from his lap and rising to his feet. “I think I’ll be going, now. Need to catch up on those few extra hours of sleep.”

“Me too,” Mindy says, nodding fervently. She directs her next words at you. “If you pop by later, I’ll show you those photos, okay?”

“Okay,” you croak.

She shoots you one last grin before disappearing inside.

“God,” you say immediately, hanging your head. “That was torture.”

Next to you, Harry laughs. You aim a weak swat at his chest. He snickers, catching your palm and ducking down to drop a gentle kiss against your knuckles. You exhale shakily, twisting your body around so that you can face him.

“Your hair’s a mess,” you murmur, running your free hand through his dishevelled curls.

He cocks one eyebrow. “And whose fault is that?”

You scoff. “Shut up.”

He chuckles quietly and steps closer to you, holding out his mug. You smile in assent, mirroring his movements and clinking your cups together.

“So,” Harry starts, sipping his tea casually, “you gonna let me take you out on a proper date, sometime?”

“That depends,” you say, trying to ignore the flurry of butterflies flapping around in your stomach. “I’ll go—but only if we take my car. I refuse to drive around town in your tacky truck.”

“It’s not that bad!” he protests.

“It’s awful,” you tell him, shaking your head. “It looks it was decorated by a preschooler during arts and crafts.”

“Fine.” He rolls his eyes playfully, giving in. “Any other requests?”

You pause, lost in thought.

“One more, actually,” you say, fixing him with a challenging stare. “You need to come clean to Mindy and Gerald.”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Alright.”

“Really?” You balk, taken aback by his compliance. “That’s it? But I—I had a whole speech prepared.”

Harry laughs softly, cradling your face with his free hand and kissing you slowly. Your fingers tighten around your mug. When the two of you break apart for air, he shrugs.

“I started considering it after everything that happened last night. Keep your speech, though.” His lips twitch. “You’ll be needing to scold me again in no time, I’m sure.”

Your shoulders shake with a silent giggle. “You’re probably right.”

“Also—” Harry clears his throat, soothing the ache with another sip of tea. “You may want to suggest that they hire an exterminator.”

“An exterminator?” you repeat, blinking in surprise. “But…they don’t have rats. Gerald said that the traps hadn’t been touched.”

“Not rats,” he hums. “Squirrels, I believe. Living in the walls.”

“And how did you reach that conclusion?”

“I’ve been doing this for a while, babe—I’ve seen my fair share of pests. Plus,” he clucks his tongue, “they like to chew on wires.”

“Really?” You sigh distantly, pinching your bottom lip. “God, that sucks.”

“It does.” He nods, wrapping his fingers around your forearm. “But you can tell them later.”

“Later?” you say, brows knitting together. “Why not right now?”

“Because,” Harry grunts. You squeal when he crowds you up against your front door. He cups your jaw and tilts your chin up with his thumb, handsome face splitting into an easy, salacious grin.

“Right now, I’m taking you back to bed.”

~*~

thanks for reading! if you enjoyed this piece, please consider donating to my ko-fi! and as always, don’t forget to share your thoughts. thank you bunches <3

#harry styles smut #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #spookrry #harry writing #ok here it is 🙃 i lowkey feel like its gonna flop but w/e

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f33itan · 3 years

Note

Well, For my first request, I wanted to see if you could do a headcanon with the main four and the adult trio with a black!reader s/o who is the same age as Gon and Killua but with a stronger nen and has the power of Emotion Empowerment and Spritiual Gateways/Tears(she can open portals to different places) with glowing stars/ balls of light (which can channel their emotions into powers) and a variety of magical powers such as Flight, Telekinesis, Force fields, Teleporting, and Telepathy.

Hey Lele! Unfortunately I can only write for the main for in this request, stated in my rules ((which you can find in my masterlist)) I will only write up to 4 people with headcanons at a time. Feel free to request again with the adult trio though and I'll happily do the request!

Also, a little heads up : For Gon and Killua I can do a s/o their same age but s/o here means a light boyfriend / girlfriend / partner because of the fact that they're minors. Light meaning no more than quick pecks, cheek kisses, hugging and going about doing silly things teens would do. For Kurapika and Leorio their s/o will have to be 18+ and NOT Gon and Killua's age since Pika and Leorio are adults. Same thing applies to the adult trio.

on a side note those powers and nen ability sounds really cool but a bit too complicated to write for, I'm sorry about that :((

Main Four with a Black! s/o!

Gon:

Having a black partner wouldn't change anything at all.

Seriously, you could have rainbow skin and the only difference would be Gon asking how you got it.

What matters to him is your personality and how you treat others and yourself, not your appearance. So with this, he loves you the same even if you looked any different!

Anybody who DOES act racist or offensive in any way though will get a main character lecture that will leave them shivering. Gon does not mess around when it comes to his amazing s/o.

He's always hugging you and telling you you're awesome because you are! Just because some people aren't as opened minded as they should be doesn't mean their negativity should affect you. He wants you AND him to be happy, regardless on appearances. He cares about you more than you could imagine and only wants the best for you, nothing short of it.

Gon is a really affectionate person so he's always going to be making physical contact with you, somehow. Wether it be him laying his head on your shoulder, holding your hand, hugging you, anything.

Killua:

Just like Gon, it doesn't affect him.

Now he might not be as supportive as Gon is, but he sure cares.

He's not as kind as Gon either. Anybody who DARES to act negative on your behalf is dying then and there. Nobody is allowed to shame you like that, let alone judge you solely because of the way you look.

He's 1000% a tsundere, so you're going to have to initiate any physical affection you want besides hand holding. Even then he'll say "Oh I only did it because you would cry if I didn't" trying to weasel his way out of the fact that he chose to hold your hand

Stubborn little shit

His family is in the middle about him having a relationship this early, or it may be because of how Illumi described you. Let's just say it wasn't in the most respectful manner, and so the Zoldyck family doesn't think to great of you. Killua will make them believe otherwise one way or another though.

And with this he's probably not going t introduce you to his family. For a while he'll make excuses like "they're always busy" or "we don't talk much" but then after being with you for a while he'll tell you the truth. He's gotta make sure he can trust you, yk?

Lots of trips with Gon. You, Killua, and Gon. Getting ice cream? Yes. Going to the movies? Absolutely. Hunting the Phantom Troupe? Probably not you but only because Killua wants you to be safe.

Kurapika: @hunterxfics

It's basically the same thing over and over again.

They don't care about your skin color!! You're valid in every way you can be and nothing will change any of the main four's minds!

If anything Kurapika is happy that he has a partner who genuinely cares for him. You showing him affection means the world to him, even if he doesn't say it out loud.

He's extra careful with you because he doesn't want the Spiders to find you and let alone learn that you're his weak spot. He wants to keep you safe and sound as far away from the Spiders as possible.

Pika doesn't always take the best care of himself but you're there to help him, and he really appreciates that. Knowing that he has a shoulder to lean on gives him motivation to complete his work and to keep pushing through to rid the world of the Phantom Troupe.

Pika loves to spend quality time with you. Whether it be you running your fingers through his hair while his head rests in your lap or just sitting in the same room together, he loves it all. These moments where he's not fighting, not miserable, not upset or not angered, just relaxing in peace with you, it's the one thing he won't let the Spiders take away from him no matter what.

Leorio:

Babe I'm sorry but Leorio has probably said some questionable things about you at least once.

But seriously he loves you to bits, I can promise you that.

Once he gets his plentiful doctor money, he's treating you like the queen you are. Whether you ask him to or not, he's always going to be taking you both out to fancy restaurants, buying expensive clothes, catering to your every need, he's kind of a simp honestly.

He'll threaten to bite and sue anybody who acts unprofessional around you. I'm serious. He will bite.

PDA? Obviously. Oreo always has some sort of contact with you. Is it holding your hand? Maybe! Hand around your waist? Perhaps! Arm resting on your head around your shoulder? Possibly! He loves physical affection and especially in public so he can show everybody that you're HIS partner and you're amazing.

Majority speaking he loves you a lot lot lot and will protect you as long as he can <3

#Gon #Gon Freecss #Killua #Killua Zoldyck #Kurapika #Kurapika Kurta #Leorio #leorio paladiknight #Leorio Paradinight #Kurapika x Reader #Leorio x Reader #hxh #Hunter x Hunter

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7wanderingpaws · 4 years

Text

Simply, yours (12)

Pairing: Baekhyun x reader

Genre: family AU, hapkido teacher AU, PhD AU

Word count: 3.5K

Warnings: mentions of death, cursing

A/N: a moodboard! Yay! Finally some face to the story ^^ in my head baek looks like on the pics in this one hihi. Couple of more interesting things will happen! Aaaand this series will finish by 15th chapter. Or less. I will see how much time I will have. :( Anyway, thank you all sososososooo much for the support and comments, it means THE WORLD! ❤

tags: @milky-baek @itsbaekhyunsbutt @luvhtears @shesdreaminginoverdose @cynthbee @jummyjammy @junmyeonnoona @littleflowercrown13 @sebootyforlife (if you want to be tagged/untagged please let me know!)

MASTERLIST

1 . 2 . 3 . 4 . 5 . 6 . 7 . 8 . 9 . 10 . 11 . 12

Baekhyun was stressed. That much you could tell.

The competition between the universities was in couple of days and he-

“Chanyeol, I can't hang out! I still didn't hand in my paper on the sports psychology thing and I have to head to uni in a couple for the training!”

You were in the kitchen, trying to bake some muffins since you were craving like a mad man, and you could hear him pacing around the bedroom where he bunked the whole day to finish off the mentioned paper. He had been a bit distant since the past three-four days, and you gave him his space, knowing he wasn't taking any silly things from anyone right now. He was full on focused and, well, quite biting to whomever tried to help.

He sighed again. “Listen, I know we still have time to hand it in, but I am so busy with the university team that I need to finish it earlier. Fuck, the assistant master is also breathing on my neck. You need to understa-”

He went quiet when Chanyeol interrupted him, and you silently continued separating the dough to the empty holes on the baking pan.

It had now been two weeks since the Korean New Year and another check-up at the clinic, after which you started to attend pilates classes for the expecting women. You had classes two times per week in the evening hours and one of them clashed with Baekhyun's hapkido class at the university, so you weren't accompanying him that often anymore, which was also a small relief for you. As much as your presence there didn't change matters, you felt like a bothersome girlfriend that needed to keep an eye on him, which was not true. Let alone Jiyoung, although had not necessarily done anything, still made you uneasy with her straight-forward behaviour with Baekhyun. You trusted him, though. After the Korean New Year, you got rid of the whole jealousy nonsense and focused solely on yourself and your own peace of mind. After all, it was literally a matter of a few months and your life would become loud, tiring and just overall turnt upside down.

“And you know I've got other stuff to get taken care of.” Silence. “You know what I'm talking about.” You giggled to yourself, liking how Baekhyun was losing his cool with his best friend, not paying attention to the meaning of his words.

You placed the baking pan in the oven and set up the temperature and timer, finally standing up properly, and hissing at the pain in your lower back.

These days, whenever you looked in the mirror at your tummy and the dark stretch marks, you couldn't help but wonder how was this humanly possible; to bear three kids in your own body, in that little place under your heart. It blew your mind, and usually you would end up talking about this with Baekhyun just before sleeping when the lights were out and you were curled up at his side.

“Just proves how fucking amazing you are, my love,” he would murmur in your ear.

You smiled to yourself, your heart fluttering at the recollection and you sat down, checking your phone. A new customer who was buying your knitted clothings, was supposed to come by any minute now, so you might as well rest till she arrived, and let Baekhyun deal with his own issues.

You found a message from the lady waiting for you, so you opened it quickly, thinking she might have cancelled on you.

Hello! I was supposed to pick up the ordered knits today, but I can't make it unfortunately, so my husband will come at the promised time instead! Thank you!

Okay, at least she didn't cancel. You didn't care who would come for them as long as they were taken and paid for.

“Okay, Chanyeol, I will meet you tomorrow,” Baekhyun finally ended the call after more discussion and then you heard another heavy sigh. It caused pain for you too, knowing you couldn't help and you also didn't have a constant, stable pay so that you could ease it up for him just a little bit. Great at uselessne- no. You wouldn't allow yourself those thoughts anymore.

“Babe, you good?” you shouted.

“Yeah.”

“Doesn't sound very convincing,” you muttered to yourself, just when the doorbell rang. You struggled up to your feet and headed for the intercom, letting the person in.

“That's the customer, right?” asked Baekhyun from the bedroom.

You made your way to the door, the little bag with necessary clothes prepared, as you shouted back a yes before sliding the door open and waiting for the person to leave the elevator.

You were excited to earn money like this, even if it was just a little bit. You could shop groceries with it and Korea did have expensive fruit and veggies, unfortunately, so this came extremely handy to you.

Quickly shooting a look behind you, you double-checked if everything looked decent and clean in the apartment before turning back just to get the biggest shock.

Without even thinking, you had the urge to slam the door shut in his face before he could properly orient himself on the new floor of apartments, but you didn't do it. Instead, you ran your tongue over your teeth, preparing for a painful smile.

He turned and he spotted you - he just looked at your stomach - standing in the doorway, ready to walk to you resolutely before he actually brought his eyes up to yours. And he momentarily froze, stopping on the spot.

Silence overtook the cold corridor, and you felt the stress creeping up in your stomach, except you had nothing to fear this time. It was him who wanted something. And Baekhyun was right in the apartment in case anything happened.

“I believe you came to pick up the knits?” Your voice was almost foreign to you, it was strained so much.

His eyes fell lower, seeing just how pregnant you were; your body a far cry from when he last saw you. Clearing his throat, he replied: “Yes, I am.”

Slowly, he walked over and you pushed your hand with the bag out for him to take, wanting him to just leave. “Here. That will be 120.000 won, please.”

Your ex-boss stared at you, not taking the bag for a couple of heartbeats. He monitored your face before his eyes looked behind you at the humble apartment. Only after that, he took it while with his other hand he reached behind taking out his wallet probably from the pockets of his trousers. “Yes, I have the exact amount.”

“Good.”

He snapped his eyes back to you, as he took out the necessary cash before handing it to you. “How are you?”

Oh, dear lord. Not the small talk, please.

“I mean, are you doing well and healthy?”

You stared at him, hoping the negative emotions didn't mirror in your eyes too much, as you didnt want to become someone like him. “I'm fine and healthy, thank you for asking.”

“That's a relief.”

Suppressing a scoff, you were about to put an end to this fruitless conversation when you heard shuffling from behind, and Baekhyun's voice. “Is everything alright?” And he appeared.

He walked to your side, shock evident on his face. “You?”

You felt a protective hand around your waist, your boyfriend pushing you further inside the house, not liking an inch your evil boss being near your vicinity.

Your boss, Mr Kim, gave him a tight lipped smile. “Hello, Mr Byun. My wife is the one buying the knits from your wif- girlfriend.”

“Really?”

You nodded. “She wrote me just a couple of minutes ago that her husband would pick them up instead of her,” you explained to Baekhyun, who didn't even look at you, his strict gaze focused on your boss, “and it turns out to be Mr Kim. There are too many Kims in this country, for sure.”

“Well, we hope your wife will enjoy them,” said Baekhyun coldly. “Have a good evening.”

He was about to push both of you back inside to close the door, but your boss surprised you. Again. “I just wanted to… wish you all the best. I hope you will continue having a safe pregnancy and birth.”

You frowned, but nodded nonetheless. “Thank you.”

“And… I apologise.”

Baekhyun's grip on you tightened. “For what exactly?”

Mr Kim looked in your eyes as he seemed to think over his words. “I was acting unprofessional and it was not acceptable. Me sacking you due to your state was not justifiable, and I realize that I probably created even bigger financial difficulties for you. You always mentioned how money comes in handy and yet…” he shook his head, scrunching his eyebrows, “it was all a terrible mistake. I was insensitive. I apologise.”

You took in a shaky breath, your palms sweaty with anxiety as you let his words properly sink in. He actually uttered those words. Those apologetic words. The words you never imagined he would say, because you believed he was incapable of feeling anything close to regret and sorrow.

Sensing your hesitation, Baekhyun spoke up. “I think it's too late for that. But thank you. I bet my girlfriend appreciates your realizations.”

“Why suddenly?” You asked before Baekhyun could push you further inside the apartment. “I worked so hard for you. I always tried to please you yet I received hate.”

Something flashed in his eyes, something you couldn’t quite name. Was it hurt? Was it sorrow? Pain? “I don’t expect you to forgive me. I was ruthless, but just know that I am sorry.” He looked at Baekhyun now. “I deserved the punch.” With a sad smile, he raised and dangled the bag in front of him as he took a step back. “I’m sure my grandchildren will love this. And my wife too. All the best,” he said and turned around, not letting you and Baekhyun speak.

And you wouldn’t even be able to, because Baekhyun closed the door right after muttering: “Get home safely.”

“What was that?” You asked, shell-shocked at the sudden turn of events. “Did this really happen?”

You were still squeezing the bank notes in your sweaty palms and you moved to put them on the dining table, Baekhyun hot on your heels. “He is crazy. One moment he is shouting at you, calling you all kinds of things and the next he is sorry and acts like…whatever” he trailed off, in the heat of a moment unable to think of a proper word.

You shot him a look, amused. “I know. But at least he realized his mistake.”

Baekhyun pursed his lips, not fully convinced with your words but eventually he murmured: “At least if some other employee gets pregnant he won’t throw her out.”

You smiled, satisfied with his way of thinking. “Exactly.”

“And you earned yourself some money,” he reciprocated the smile and he came to you to give you a kiss on the cheek. “Well done.”

“I’ve been earning money through this for some time now,” you reminded him.

“I know but it’s his money.”

“Oh.”

“Exactly.”

Once the muffins were out of the oven, you decided to call Sukyeong. Baekhyun retrieved to your shared bedroom to continue his studying. He needed the peace anyway, and you really wanted to chat to your good friend because you had way too many thoughts and questions about your ex-boss’s well being. The way he acted was so unlike him.

Sukyeong thankfully picked up after the third ring and she squealed into the phone upon seeing your name. “Finally! I thought you would never call! We saw each other two weeks ago, don't tell me you got suddenly busy!”

You let out a breathy laugh. “No, I became lazy and almost immobile by now, thank you for the concerns.”

“I think I will have to drop by more often,” she thought out loud. “Besides, I also want to talk about something!”

“Eh? What is it?”

“Nah, this needs to be told face to face.”

Since your topic seemed to be just a little bit more intriguing than Sukyeong’s secretiveness, you decided to go with it and spill the beans. You quickly explained to her what just happened, feeling more encouraged by her gasps.

“Well, there is something that happened actually,” she said after a bit of silence. After you left your job, you and Sukyeong rarely ever talked about the workplace, Sukyeong only complaining about the workload and whatnot. She was such a kind-hearted, considerate friend to you; she knew by default the last person you want to talk about was your screwed up boss. “I just didn't know if I should tell you or not, since it doesn't really include you anymore and also…” she trailed off, “it might scare you.”

You frowned, fingering the little whole in the pillow you were hugging to yourself. “Scare me? What are you talking about?” you let out a doubtful laugh.

Sukyeon sighed and you imagined her playing with her fringe to ease up the nerves. “You know his son is married, right?”

“Mhm.” You rarely paid attention to your boss's private life but you were aware of that fact.

“So, anyway, Mr Kim's daughter-in-law was pregnant and she was supposed to give birth just one month after you left,” she continued on, her words still not bearing an ounce of confidence.

You interrupted her, though. “Oh, really? So why didn't he fire his daughter-in-law, huh?! How dare she be pregnant?! God, that man is ridiculous, I swear. Poor daughter-in-law! How difficult it must be for her to live with him!”

“Erm,” Sukyeong gently called out your name, trying to get your attention, which she did but you wished she didn't as her next words gave you the nausea you had been dreading to have your entire pregnancy. “She died giving birth.”

You went completely silent at that, your mind empty and busy all at the same time. His daughter-in-law died giving birth to his grandchild. She died. Giving birth. “How did that happen?” you breathed out.

“Complications during birth. Unexpected high blood pressure, high sugar levels and many other factors,” she replied, her voice sad.

“Jesus,” you breathed out again, “I had no clue.”

“You couldn't have known, dear.”

Tears burned in your eyes at the thought of how tragic the whole story is. So this was why he was apologetic. “But still… I'm so sorry. To her, and even to him - Mr Kim.”

Sukyeong heaved out a heavy sigh. “Don't cry, I cannot comfort you over the phone like this. You wouldn't know!”

“What if I will die?”

“You won't,” she snapped right away. “You are a healthy woman.”

“You know my blood-pressure is also dangerously high at times.”

“But that doesn't change the fact that you are healthy. You don't have problems with your sugar levels, nor is your entire pregnancy problematic.” She paused, before she continued. “Listen, this is why I was reluctant to tell you. I didn't want to trigger any fear in you. Just don't think about it.”

You felt your chin quiver, but you pushed it down. Sukyeong was right. Plus, Baekhyun really didn't need this kind of stress when he already had too much on his plate right now. Having to suck it up and be brave for your own self for once was something you should have started doing a while ago. You always knew pregnancy was a risk. But you wanted to show everyone that not having enough money and still bearing three healthy babies and eventually giving them birth was something more valuable than any monetary aspect of this world.

“You are right, Sukyeonga. I won't. But you owe me a hot chocolate.”

It was around 1am. You were lying on your side, naked back facing Baekhyun as he absentmindedly traced his fingertips over the imprints on your back, left there by your bra. He was shuffling around more, until he resolved to skinship in hopes to ease his mind.

“What's on your mind?” you asked quietly out of nowhere, startling him for a second. He thought you would be asleep by now.

You turned around to your other side, curling up against his chest and he gladly opened his arms for you, missing your presence. It was common that you two would naturally shift apart during the night, both of you deep in sleep, but because of your pregnancy you also felt many times boiling hot which resulted in you scooting as far away from his body heat as the mattress allowed. This time though, the night was exceptionally cold and you knew he needed you.

“Baby, you should be resting,” he rasped quietly.

You held his cheek gently, looking up at him, although he couldn't see you properly in the darkness. “There is something bothering my man,” you whispered, “and I can't sleep when I know you are this troubled.”

He sighed, and you could feel the heaviness of it, the worries somehow too difficult to bear. “It's just a lot on my plate,” he admitted, though very reluctantly. “I want our team to win or at least make it very far but I'm worried I am asking for too much.” His hand was caressing your back, enjoying the hot skin covering it.

“What makes you think that?”

He went silent, contemplating your question and his answer to it. The truth was, Baekhyun's head was very chaotic which rarely happened. Him, who always had a goal clearly set in his mind, never got this worried. “I don't even know. It's the PhD stuff together with this Universiad competition… both require my full attention and even though I am doing my best, I feel like I could still do better.”

It meant a lot that he was this outspoken. He shared his daily issues with you, however only the heavy ones he would let pile up and mull over them until he couldn't bear it anymore.

“My perfectionist boy,” you cooed. “Everything is created in your mind, darling. Everything is still the same as before - you are a student and as your side job you teach kids. Your team was always doing well and that's why you got this opportunity. In fact, you don't need to change anything. You have addition of Jiyoung and her team, that's true, but that still doesn't change the fact that what you did until now is enough. It is all valuable. You're not asking for too much, Baekhyun.”

A couple of heartbeats later you heard him sigh again as he squeezed your body to his, your tummy pressing to his side. “Thank you,” he murmured into your hair.

“Don't keep it in. I know it's difficult. I know, honey.”

“I just want to do well, you know? Do well in my professional life. And I want to do everything in my power to make you and our kids live comfortably.”

You felt stinging behind your eyes, touched and overwhelmed with emotions. “You are doing more than enough, Baekhyun. I'm comfortable and happy because I have you. Out of our entire village, you are the superstar. You are the one who made it. Don't doubt yourself for one second, because I will love you no matter what. You are doing already more than enough, so relax.”

He chuckled lowly. “What would I do without you, hm?” he whispered and he moved to bury his face in your neck, slowly kissing down to your chest where he rested his head under your collarbones. His arm around you was now caressing the bump, his thumb running over the stretched out belly. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

“Don't thank me.That's what I'm here for. For you. In good and in bad,” you replied as you played with his messy hair.

“Already doing the wedding vows?”

You grew hot, the sudden images of a wedding ceremony with Baekhyun warming your heart. “Not yet.”

He hummed. “But soon.”

“After the kids are born.”

“Where do you want to leave them for our honeymoon? They would be always tied to your boobs. That way I can't have them just for myself.”

That made you laugh out loud, and you pulled on his hair gently, making him chuckle. He raised his head and you felt his breath on your smiling lips. “Then you better enjoy them until you can.”

He kissed you slowly, languidly, humming in the process while dragging his hand over your bump and chest until he was cupping your cheek. “I should, huh,” he murmured into your open mouth. “Though I beg for priority. I was the first to claim them.”

You laughed again and Baekhyun felt extremely satisfied, his worries settled for now. He brought you in for another sensual kiss until both of your eyes were droopy enough to pull to sleep.

#baekhyun fanfiction #baekhyun fluff #baekhyun au #baekhyun scenario #exo fanfiction #exo fluff #exo smut #mywritings

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ill-skillsgard · 4 years

Text

Texts From Henry 2 - Henry Deaver x Mistress

Warning: 18+ smut/sexting/forced masturbation/teasing/mentions of cheating/mature themes. Please read at your own discretion.

Note: Hello, loves. I’ll just leave this here. Let me know your thoughts and all that jazz. I don’t have much to say except enjoy! Comments, reblogs and likes are appreciated! Many kisses.

Read more Henry x Mistress imagines here > Masterpost

Henry was breaking the rules all day long. Rules he set out when you first started working for him. From the moment he strutted into the office, to the last minute on the clock, he toyed with you. You weren't sure why Henry was in this peculiar mood, but you had a feeling it had something to do with the holidays being everything he wanted and more.

They were long gone—the holidays—and everyone was back to the regular grind. No more Christmas music played over the radio, no more decorations around the office, but still, a hellish amount of tinsel remained ingrained into the carpets. As Mr. Deaver's assistant, your winter holidays stretched just as long as his, and you came in refreshed and ready to work.

Henry had other plans, which started during his first meeting of the new year.

You sat at your desk, changing your planner and sending out confirmation calls to clients. With your phone pressed against the side of your face, all notifications went unchecked until you finished.

I'm so bored... and horny.

Aren't you in a meeting right now?

Yes.

You're horny sitting around a table of older men talking about how much money they made over the holidays?

Hey! I'm one of those old men!

Mr. Deaver, it's 10 in the morning. Maybe you need some coffee?

I need my tongue on your pussy.

Your face scorched, and you sucked your cheeks in to keep a sly smile from creeping along. Henry told you before that you often looked at your phone like there was porn playing and how it might alert others to your inherent deviousness, but it was always his bold little messages making you grin. Another text came in not five minutes later.

Is that a no? Or can I eat you for lunch?

Are you dissatisfied with the blowjob I gave you this morning?

Lol, not a chance. I just can't stop thinking about you. I can't get up from this table because I'm so hard thinking about ripping open that nice new blouse I bought you and cramming my face between your beautiful tits.

You're being wildly unprofessional today, Mr. Deaver. I'm going back to work now!

Can you do me one favour?

Yes?

Go to the bathroom and send me a naughty pic?

I can't! I have real WORK to do, unlike you, Mr. Big Shot.

I'll give you a big shot, alright.

You set your phone down and pictured your boyfriend in the conference room seated around a board of men with his head full of nasty thoughts. It seemed like a week had passed since he was a stranger in a café, ordering coffee in the morning and whiskeys at night. When he was a mysterious businessman writing in his planner with a silver pen, you never once pinned him to fantasize. It was a silly assumption, everyone had dirty thoughts, but his quiet demeanour and big duo-toned eyes skittered across the walls in deep thought reserved for important things. He was, after all, your good Christian boy.

Henry hinted all morning about going out for lunch. You suspected it meant he wanted to get into his car for a quickie, but you had other plans. He was easy to tease and easier to frustrate. You required payback for the distractions and to remind him that, when it came to naughtiness, you'd always have him beat.

You received a lucky hand when Henry got roped into another long meeting. He had settled down somewhat into the early evening, texting you to head home without him. You did not argue and set your plan in motion as soon as you returned to the condo and got undressed in the master bedroom. Henry would receive those naughty pictures he requested.

You snapped the first one, a playful pose with your hand and forearm covering only nipples. It took a bare minute for Henry to respond.

Omg now you decide to be a dirty girl? When you're not even here? Evil.

How much longer is your meeting?

Not sure. Hopefully over soon so I can come home and devour those beautiful tits. 😝

Too bad. I'm already in bed playing with myself.

He received another picture of your hand between your legs against the backdrop of his bedspread. It was for show, but the image of him getting aroused and squirming in front of his coworkers excited you. You needed a moment to work yourself up, planning what you would do the moment Henry charged through the doors with high expectations.

Sure enough, he raced home. By a quarter to seven, Henry was up the stairs, shed of his jacket and already loosening his tie. When you saw him come through the bedroom door with an outline pressed on the front of his trousers, wildness sparked in his eyes.

"Okay, no more teasing, understand?" He crawled onto the bed, stilled by the sole of your foot pressing against his chest.

"Not so fast."

"What is it?" He giggled.

"Take your clothes off for me," you demanded.

Henry paused, let out a small, exasperated chuckle and sprung off the mattress. He unravelled his tie, hanging it over the foot bench, and then worked the buttons of his dress shirt open. His long, graceful hands made short work of his belt, and when every zip, button and lace came undone, he peeled his clothes off, tossing you knowing looks like once he was naked, the game would be on. But you had plenty more in store for him as your legs parted, and your hand snuck down.

Angling your gaze at his boxers, you nodded. "Your underwear, sir."

He hooked his thumbs under the waist and pushed them down around his ankles. When he stood stark naked beside the bed, you hummed and let your fingers do a bit of wandering. Gaze fixed, he barely noticed your devious smirk.

"Mm, Daddy wants," Henry purred.

"No."

The word struck him like a soft slap, not enough to sting but quick to make him flutter his lashes. "What do you mean?"

"You were so very bad today. I think a bit of punishment is in order... Sitting in your meetings, texting me all those naughty things, being unprofessional at work. That's not how big boys act."

"Oh, come on," he laughed. "You do the same."

"You just get to stand there and watch me play with myself," you informed him.

Henry had much to say in protest, but you closed your eyes and circled two fingers around your clit, awakening your own arousal with the sound of him whining next to you.

"Babe, come on. Wanna play, too," Henry prodded.

"Mm, feels so good, just doing it myself."

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Henry's arousal grow. His cock filled with blood, curving up and standing resolute. He gave himself two long strokes, but he longed for more than his palm. He wanted to plunge himself deep inside your warm wetness and feel his balls slapping against your soft, damp skin. The way you massaged yourself and spread your legs made him itch.

"Oh, don't do that. That's mine," Henry said with a pout.

He watched your middle finger disappear, slick noises and little moans driving him mad with desire. Saliva flooded his cheeks when he imagined dragging his tongue up and down your pussy lips, enclosing your clit with his mouth to give you just enough gentle suction to have your back arching.

"Baby, please," Henry begged. "Let me do it."

"Touch yourself," you replied.

His hand wrapped around the base of his cock, and he stroked himself at the same pace. You turned up the heat until he couldn't take it anymore. It amused you to watch such an important man struggling and lustful.

"Yes, stroke that big dick for me. Get yourself nice and hard. Oh, you've been fending off hard-ons all day, haven't you, Mr. Deaver?"

"Yeah," he panted.

"Been wanting to fuck my pussy while you were busy in all your meetings, huh? Thinking about how good it would feel to stuff your cock inside me?"

"Oh, fuck, babe."

You lifted your hand to your mouth, and Henry's jaw dropped. One wet finger disappeared between your lips, and he groaned as though he were in pain from watching you taste your juices. He wanted that sweetness on his tongue and took more steps until he could walk no further.

"Come on, let me taste that pussy."

"I might just make you jerk off for me while I get myself off. Perhaps that would be adequate discipline for distracting me with your nastiness."

"No," he shook his head. "Nuh-uh. I'll never get off."

"Is that a challenge?" Your eyes popped wide.

"No! Please, baby. Please don't torture me like this. I can't see you fingering that pussy right in my face. I need some. Please? Let me have my pussy. I promise I'll be a good boy from now on."

"Promises, promises," you teased.

"I do! I promise. Don't make me play by myself."

The tension building in your tummy lifted the base of your spine as your gentle flickers picked up speed. The glossiness in his eyes made it difficult to contain your amusement. Teasing him was too easy.

"Oh, it's so good. I might come soon, Mr. Deaver. Just like this."

Henry's shoulders slumped as he gave up stroking himself. "Baaaabe," he whined again. "Please, please, please. I'll be good. I'll be good, just please let me touch you."

Before he clambered onto the bed, you shot him a warning glare. "No, you don't have permission to touch my body right now."

"W-what? No! Come on. I've been waiting all day."

"That's not what you should do with your time, is it? You should have focused and did your work instead of getting yourself all hard daydreaming about dirty things. And begging for pictures. Such bad behaviour deserves punishment."

Instead of griping for permission, Henry rose his leg and planted his foot on the bed while he gripped his shaft and began pumping away. "Fine, you want me to jerk it for you? I'll give you anything you want."

His eyes closed as he worked himself into a passion, pleasured breaths filling the room. After a couple longer, slower strokes of his head, he settled at a quick pace, grinding his teeth together, trying to forget he wasn't allowed near you.

"I'll come like this. Thinking about that sweet pussy juice getting all over my cock."

"You wanna taste it, don't you?"

Henry shook his head, never opening his eyes. "No, this is fine. Plus, I can smell how wet you are and hear you fucking that soaked little hole. That's all I need."

He assumed he had bested you until you scooted closer to him, tilting your pelvis so he could see every naked inch of you and what your slick fingers were playing with. For a moment, you expected he might groan and beg again, but he drew in a deep breath, hand pumping away while he enjoyed you touching yourself.

"How badly do you want my cock?" He asked.

"I don't need it," you grinned.

"No? You don't need to feel me inside, your fingers doing it for you? You don't want to feel my hot tongue licking that little clit? You're okay with rubbing one out on your own?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Because all I have to do is remember how your face looked when I fucked your throat this morning. I don't need your pussy. I got it all up here, baby."

A shudder of air left him as he came closer to the edge. It was clear when he was getting close, as he liked to concentrate all stimulation at the tip where he was most sensitive. But he groaned in frustration, gripping the hilt of his shaft before trailing the same hand down to cup his balls—a move he had grown used to by your introduction.

"I bet you wish I were sucking on those balls right about now, huh?"

Henry pouted, eyebrows arching with desperation. A muffled groan rumbled in his throat, and he nodded his head yes. "Want you so bad."

"What will you do next time I'm busy at work?"

"I'll be a good boy."

"And?"

"I'll wait, and I won't bug you."

Your heat began to boil from the fake innocence on his sulking face. Henry was no angel, but when he brooded and whimpered like that, your heart faltered.

"No more naughtiness at work?" You asked.

"Only if you say I'm allowed."

A shiver skittered over your shoulders, and you stopped toying with your clit. "Promise?"

He dropped his foot back on the carpet and lowered to his knees, clutching at the blankets in hopes you would finally allow him to at least stroke your legs. "I promise."

"Come here, then."

Henry climbed onto the bed, shuffling himself between your thighs so quickly you had no time to blink before he pushed down on his throbbing erection. easing into your tightness. Once inside, he spasmed, pulled out and slipped back in fast. A large hand coasted down your leg and lifted your calf over his shoulder. Eyes screwed shut, Henry gripped your thigh, pulling it up to use it as a support for his battering.

With one arm clutching your leg in place, his free hand spread your lips for a better view. "Yes, oh, Christ, that pussy's so wet. So warm. Aw, fuck. I'm gonna come!"

"So soon?" You asked, but Henry had already slipped out and shot his cum down the back of your leg and opening. "Uh-oh. Sorry, sorry, sorry. Jesus fuck."

"Just a desperate boy, aren't you?"

"Told you, I needed you."

"I don't think I've ever seen you come so fast."

Henry tried to laugh at himself, a hint of shame tainting his post-orgasm expression. He laid down next to you, chest heaving until his breath levelled.

"Would you like to sit on my face?" He asked.

"I'm covered in cum."

"I don't care," he whispered. "Hop on, baby."

#henry deaver x mistress #bill skarsgard imagine #bill skarsgard fanfiction #bill skarsgard smut #castle rock fanfiction

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tbehartoo · 5 years

Text

Fading Ink

A late entry for Lukanette September. This was due last week. Not beta’d but spellcheck didn’t have anything bad to say about it so??? Please enjoy.

Luka hadn’t expected the phone call from Maria or her request, but he got why she’d asked him to do it. He’d seen a local tattoo parlor that specialized in this kind of thing on his news feed a couple of days before, so he called for an appointment and was surprised when the owner herself offered to move some things around to accommodate his need. He was standing in front of the shop looking at the “Closed” sign and wondering if he’d gotten the time for the appointment wrong when a woman ran up to the door.

“Hey there,” she said as she moved the large paper bag in her hand to her opposite arm so that she could rummage in her purse. “Are you Luka? I’m Marinette. I think we spoke on the phone yesterday?”

Luka nodded as he watched her juggling coffee cup, paper bag and her purse. “Uh, can I help you with something?”

“Yes, thank you!” the coffee cup and paper bag were thrust into his open hands so that she had both of hers available to finally find her keys. “I keep meaning to put them on a hook or something so I can find them easier, but I tend to forget that until I’m standing in front of a customer being very unprofessional and making us even later than I was already running.”

She said all of this while unlocking the security grate and rolling it up, opening the front door and flipping on the lights. Luka chuckled and followed her into the shop. He watched as she locked the door behind him a little wary.

“I hope you don’t mind,” she said nodding at the door and ushered him past the front desk into the office. “Since it’s just the two of us here I don’t want anyone wandering in, not until I have Ivan at the front desk in any case.” She chuckled, “Something about seeing a highly tattooed rugby player wearing a death metal shirt just sort of discourages wanderers.”

He snickered at her statement but realized he needed to answer her question, “Uh, yeah. It’s fine.” Luka started looking around at the art on display on the walls and all over the office. “Wow, this is amazing,” he said pointing to a particularly intricate design at the front of a look book as he took a seat at the round table in the middle of the room.

The woman smiled and nodded. “You wouldn’t believe how much I had to practice that one before Tikki said I could put it out on display.”

“Who’s Tikki?” he asked, confused when the woman put the coffee cup and a napkin in front of him.

“My mentor and the former owner of the Lucky Ladybug,” she answered as she picked up a tea kettle and disappeared from the room.

Luka took the time she was gone to look through the design book. She was back after just a moment and had switched the kettle on.

“My staff prefers a variety of warm drinks,” she said as she waved toward a small area stocked with sugar, creamer, hot cocoa packets, stir sticks, and various brands of tea. “Not too many of us drink coffee so I brought that for you, but if you want sugar or cream you’ll have to add it yourself.” She got out her own mug and nabbed two tea packets before sitting at the desk in the corner. “Please feel free to ask if there’s something you might need. Or if you’d prefer tea, that’s also available.”

“What?” it took less than a second for his brain to realize what she’d said. “Oh, thanks.” He took the cup over to the counter and began mixing things to suit his taste. The lever on the kettle switched off while he was on his way back. By the time he sat down, Marinette had poured out her hot water and pulled out her sketchbook.

“As our special guest you get the first choice of the pastries,” she said as she pointed toward the plate she’d filled with a variety of morning breads.

“Oh that’s not necessary,” he said with a small smile.

“Oh, but it is,” she said as she continued to get out pencils and erasers and wake up the computer. “When I told maman and papa that I had a client dropping by my shop in the morning, it became very necessary for you to have a plethora to choose from. Please, grab one.” She looked at him archly. “You don’t want to break mama’s heart, do you? Make sure you pick a couple to take home with you, too.”

“This seems a little excessive,” he said as he put a warm cheese danish and a flaky croissant on the napkin in front of him.

Marinette chuckled. “It is a lot excessive, but Papa lives to feed people and Maman does what she can to help support our mission. So tell me Mr. Couffaine-”

“Luka, please.”

“Okay,” she smiled warmly at him. “So tell me Luka, what are you hoping to achieve here? Do you want to just modify or completely disguise the design? Did you want to connect it with others you have? Or do you want to have it covered with color that basically matches your own skin tones?”

“I hadn’t thought about it too much,” Luka said unable to look up at the artist. “Maria asked me to get rid of it because she didn’t want to have anything connecting me to her, but- I didn’t really think of the how.”

Marinette reached out and put a comforting hand on his forearm.

“That sounds like a really painful conversation to have.” He nodded and she continued, “Tell me Luka what does that tat mean to you?”

Luka took a deep breath. “Maria was my first real, my first serious relationship,” he confessed. “We were both young and we both knew that there was a chance that it wouldn’t last, but-” he broke off. He looked up into her eyes begging her to understand.

“But you wanted it work?” she asked quietly. "And you wanted something that would last as long as your love for her?"

He nodded.

“Do you regret getting that ink?”

He shook his head. “I don’t regret any of my ink, maybe some of my placement decisions,” he smiled as he tapped the side of his neck that had a small snake nestled there, “but not one drop of ink.” Took a deep breath and released it. “I learned a lot from Maria. I learned how nice it is to have a hand to hold, a heart beat to fall asleep to that isn’t your own, what love is and even what it isn’t. There was a lot I learned about the importance of actually communicating with each other openly and honestly. I learned what betrayal and heartbreak feel like. And I learned that I could survive all of that, even when I didn’t think I could.” He paused, “I don’t want to forget that even if she wants,” he took a deep steadying breath, “wants to forget me.”

“Those are all admirable lessons, no wonder you’d want to preserve them,” Marinette said quietly. “I’d suggest that we find something that has the same meaning for you, while erasing the design that stands for her.” She patted his arm and then sat back and picked up a pencil. “I’m very sure that we can help you through this.”

Luka took another deep breath and a small smile found a way to his lips. “Thank you.”

They spent the rest of the morning discussing possible images that had special meanings to Luka, his favorite designs among the various look books they had, and other choices that he would have to make. He showed her some of his other tattoos that were in the same area as Maria’s design, and Marinette took the time to note them and their placement on his arm and shoulder. The last thing that Marinette did before Luka had to leave was to trace the design to have the actual size and outlines to know how to design the covering tattoo as well as taking a couple of pictures to get a good idea of the colors involved.

They set up another morning meeting for him to go over potential designs and Luka hurried home clutching a few of the remaining pastries with a lighter heart then he’d had since he answered Maria’s call.

After the second meeting, they spent the next two weeks texting back and forth as Marinette asked clarification about symbols and pictures Luka had chosen as meaningful and how he might want them combined. She also asked about his surrounding tattoos and their backstories. Luka asked about how she got into her profession and why her shop was so adamant about removing tattoos that people wanted erased. Once they had exhausted the topic of skin art they moved on to Luka’s music (he sent her a few links so she could listen) and Marinette’s role as permanent taste tester for her parent’s baking experiments (she promised him an opportunity to have the full Tom et Sabine guinea pig experience once he was back in town). They discovered that they had quite a few places around town that they both enjoyed going to and Luka was surprised that they hadn’t run into each other before this. Marinette listened as Luka told her everything about his time with Maria and she reciprocated with stories of her past partners. They talked about their heartbreaks and laughed over silly moments and clever memes.

Luka was surprised how quickly it felt like he’d met up with his best friend after a long separation, instead of someone who was practically a stranger. There were people he’d known for years that he didn’t feel as comfortable to be himself around as he did with Marinette.

By the end of the second week, she sent three possible designs for him to choose from. Luka was floored by what he saw. Each design was so different from the other, and yet he could tell that Maria’s tattoo would be well and truly erased, while the meaning would not. When he was still trying to choose over a week later, Marinette invited Luka to another early morning appointment to see if she could help him eliminate at least one of the designs.

Luka showed up carrying coffee for himself and tea for Marinette as well as a bag with breakfast sandwiches from his favorite bagelry. Marinette was frantically searching her bag for keys and Luka couldn’t help but laugh.

“I told you I’d pick up breakfast so you’d have time to beat me here,” he said when she whirled to look at him. He noticed the pink growing in her cheeks, but didn’t remark on it. “What happened?”

Marinette yawned before replying, “We had a group walk in about an hour before closing wanting to get matching tattoos. They were suspiciously sober and totally sincere.” She looked up with what looked like tears in the corners of her eyes. “One of their rugby teammates was in the last stages of an aggressive cancer. He’d been worried about his little girl growing up and not knowing who he was and what was important to him.” She stopped for a moment to collect herself. “One of them recorded the conversation and he’d listed several things,” she smiled weakly up at Luka as she pulled out keys and turned back to the security gate while continuing her story. “Later they realized his list contained as many items as there were teammates. The four who had visited him sent the video out to the rest of their team and asked for suggestions to put the guy’s fears to rest.” She got choked up as she flipped on lights and locked the door behind them. “They all decided to get a tattoo together. We came up with a very simple design: a rugby ball, one word from the list, and an infinity sign under it.” She grabbed a tissue to dab at her eyes, but continued to usher Luka into the office. “We only had two people that could do the actual inking.” She chuckled, “Ivan was so busy trying to get everyone prepped that I think he might actually skip his next practice because he can’t stand to see that ball again so soon.” Luka offered a smile as she continued to talk. “We just had to disinfect and reset because they’d already discussed placement and everything. They got all the guys from the team down here, too- including their coaches. They wanted to go by his house this morning to show off their idea.” She’d just switched in the computer when she looked at the table to see that Luka had set up a place for her to eat, she joined him at the table. “While they were getting their tats they talked about the guy. They talked about what he’d brought to their team, and what he’d taught them, and how much they were going to miss him.” She took a sip of her tea and sighed. “It was pretty emotional and it lasted long past closing time. But they were good guys. They ordered in pizza and we even found some cardstock so they made him a card to take by today, too.”

“It sounds exhausting,” Luka replied as he unwrapped his sandwich.

“It was.” Marinette reached for her sandwich, but decided to put her arms on the table and rest on them instead.

“We could’ve rescheduled,” Luka said. “I’m not an unreasonable ogre about this.”

“You’ve been a peach,” Marinette said through another yawn. “But I know that Maria has hounded you about not getting that taken care of yet.”

“You do?” Luka was surprised. He hadn’t mentioned it to anyone.

“Did you forget I follow your band on Insta?” she muttered. “There was some girl going off about you not doing the simplest thing she asked and then telling you you couldn’t have her design on your body for like-” she stopped to think “-twenty lines in all caps. I don’t know her personally, but I was pretty sure that was her.” She made herself more comfortable on her pillow of arms. “You deserve better treatment than that from someone you love.”

“Oh, you saw that?” Luka had blocked her and removed the comment as soon as he saw it pop up.

“Well, seeing as how she did it at least four times in thirty minutes that I know of,” she smiled through closed eyes at him, “Yeah. I saw it. It made me want to do two conflicting things.”

“Which were?”

“Redo the design bigger and better, but add neon and blacklight inks so that it shows up under any, and all, lighting conditions.”

Luka was sniggering at the suggestion. “And the other?”

“Put such a kickass design over her ink that she can’t ever claim to have that connection to you again.”

She said it with such warmth that Luka couldn’t help feeling a spark of happiness at her words. For the first time he was actually eager to have Maria’s tattoo paved over.

“I think we should go with that second idea,” he replied.

She sighed dramatically. “Well, you are the client so you do get to make that choice. But if you want to go the first route, I have some really excellent neons I’ve been dying to try out.”

They both chuckled, but were interrupted by the computer signaling it had finally booted up.

Marinette raised her head from the table, but hadn’t opened her eyes when Luka put a hand on her shoulder.

“You said you’d put the designs in an animation to show me what they’d actually look like on my arm, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Would it be okay for me to watch it while you grab a quick cat nap?”

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” Marinette said as she got up. “But I’ll show you how to switch between the three designs and you can take your time looking.” She sat at the computer and pulled up a couple of programs, then motioned for Luka to come over to the desk.

“This is the file where your designs are stored. You just have to open it up and click on either the LC 1, LC 2, or LC5 to get the designs I showed you. This program,” she pointed to the one showing what looked like a generic 3D model of a human with a photograph of his arm superimposed on it in the display, “knows how to take the design from the file and put it in the right place and orientation. We can manipulate it later to get it just right, but you can turn the model and the arm to get a better idea of how it will look to you and to the people around you.”

She quickly demonstrated by clicking on LC 1 and the first design was up and covering Maria’s tattoo.

“That’s pretty cool,” Luka remarked watching intently.

“This layer isn’t opaque, so you actually get a pretty good idea of what this will look like in real life. I know you were worried about how bright that green was but if you look at it now-”

“It’s exactly the shade I was describing to you,” Luka said with a little awe.

“See? I told you I knew what I was doing.”

“I never doubted for a minute.”

“You doubted the green for two days,” she reminded him.

“Well that’s not exactly a minute,” he said in his defense.

“True.” She couldn’t help another yawn. “I’m going to go drink my tea and eat the lovely breakfast someone so thoughtfully brought to see if I can wake up some. You can join me or play with this-”

The words had barely left her lips and Luka was reaching out to grab the mouse to click on the next design.

“Well that answers that question,” she said with a smile and exchanged places with him.

She showed him how to turn the arm and the model then sat at the table with her tea. She tried not to stare while he clicked and hummed at the different designs. But she stole a glance as often as she could.

She thought over what her job meant to people as she ate. Those guys last night were memorializing a fallen comrade. Luka was removing the last piece of a hurtful relationship. So many others had come to redeem painful mistakes from their past, or embed lost children forever into their hearts. Countless women had received freedom from abusive spouses or pimps through her work, those ones were always done for free. Good times, heartbreaks, family and friends lost and often ones found were all etched into the people that came through her doors. It was a privilege to be a part of so many people’s stories.

She became aware that Luka had stopped clicking and stood up to see what he’d chosen.

“I want this one,” he said as she drew nearer.

Marinette stopped in her tracks. “But that’s not even- I mean it’s not a final- How did you even get to that?”

Luka pointed to the file where his designs were stored. “I wanted to see what these LCS designs were.” He grinned at her. “Imagine my delight when I saw that you’d done sleeves to incorporate my new design with my old ink, too.”

“I was just doodling that stuff.” Marinette was still recovering from seeing his delight at the warm up practices she did. “It was like doing random drawing prompts or those cooking shows where you get five ingredients and have to make a meal. It wasn’t like a serious design choice.”

“Why not? This one is perfect! I has my music, my family, some of my other art interests and even a really rad snake that looks like it should be on my next record album. This is so my life tied together in a beautiful picture” He looked up at her. “This is totally what I’d want to see every day when I wake up. Please, tell me we can do it.”

Marinette nodded. “It will take several visits just for the line work,” she pointed out.

“I can make time for that,” he said with a grin.

“Only the part that covers the old tat will be at the low price I told you. Some of this will be a lot more expensive.”

“Okay. That’s fine by me but I only want you to do it. No one else from the shop.”

“But my apprentices can do the fill for so much cheaper-” she began.

“No, Marinette. I only want Maria’s tattoo covered by ink from the hands that took the time to find out who I am and what I need to be happy. I want it not only covered but I want the area around it filled with the music and love that you bring out of me.” He reached up and took her hand. “We can do that, can’t we?”

She stared deeply into his eyes and found nothing but love and admiration in them.

“When do you want to start?” she asked.

He broke into a grin. “How about now?”

“We have to wait for Ivan to get here, and I have to look at my schedule, but I think I can work you in.”

Luka let out a whoop and sprang up to be pulled into a tight embrace. He was leaning down to give her a kiss when she put a finger across his lips, halting him.

“No dating till after it’s finished,” she said. “Nothing good ever comes from kissing your clients.”

He laughed and pulled her in for another hug.

“Okay, but when it’s done I’m taking you out. Okay?”

She nodded. “Okay.” She took a step back from his arms and waved at the table where their half finished breakfast waited. “I can zap these for a minute and we can finish our food while we wait.”

In a couple of minutes they were sitting at the table and Marinette looked at Luka.

“I still say the expense is going to be pretty high for a struggling musician.”

Luka smirked at her. “M I regularly tour with Jagged Stone. I can afford to have you on retainer for the rest of our lives. I’m only struggling because I’m fronting my own band, with Jagged’s backing, and I’m not used to being the one everyone knows.”

The amazed look on the woman’s face made Luka laugh. Luka’s laugh made Marinette laugh. Marinette’s laugh made Luka laugh harder.

Ivan was greeted by the sound of laughter when he turned the key in the front door’s lock. He smiled to himself. It was going to be a great day.

#lukanetteseptember2019 #marinette dupain-cheng #luka couffaine #fading ink #my writing

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randombtsprincessa · 5 years

Text

Asylum || 3

Author: Randombtsprincessa

Characters: Kim Namjoon x Reader

Chapter: 01 02

Warning in-Chapter: Therapy, Flashback, Physical injuries, depression.

Three weeks passed.

In those three weeks, changes took place, a few of them, some of them almost nondescript that the staff taking care of me tried to make sure I wouldn’t notice but I did. The changes that I could see were the physical ones. My body healed under the watchful eye of the Head Matron, most of my wounds faded into scars and I felt more balanced than I’d been on that hospital bed.

I finally got out of the wheelchair and moved on to crutches. It was a bit more uncomfortable because I had to learn to maneuver my body with them but I soon managed. My diet, free time and therapy sessions were already closely monitored and I soon figured out why…which bled into the subtle details.

Seokjin had a lot of pull in the facility apparently.

He was also hell bent on getting me better as fast as possible. Maybe it had something to do with his medical credibility or maybe it was because my parents were putting him under a lot of pressure. It could’ve been both and it would’ve been plausible.

I was looked after by the two elderly nurses who had greeted us on my first day and they took care of my food and getting me ready for the day. My therapy sessions were conducted by Dr. Sihyuk who was a mild mannered man but had an intense way of questioning and persuasion. If we’d met under different circumstances, I was sure Jungkook and I would’ve liked him a lot. He was a fan of writing; suggesting I begin keeping a journal, put anything I wanted in there, be it my thoughts, the events of the day, drawings, even song lyrics…it hadn’t worked. The book he’d given me, a pretty little thing of teal blue stayed blank on top of my desk. I’d found it silly, not the idea of keeping a diary but of how it was going to help me. It wasn’t going to bring Jungkook back.

Jungkook…

I blinked my eyes open, looking up at the ceiling as I heard the small chatter of the day beginning stirring outside my door. I was sure soon the Sisters would come in to help me and I sighed, reaching up to scratch my neck, feeling the abraded skin from lacerations caused from the glass of the car windows. I began picking at it, feeling tiny pin pricks of pain as I removed the skin from my neck.

With the precision of clockwork, the usual knock came on the door and I called out a small assent as the nurse came in with a smile on her face.

“Hello, Y/N; how are we today?” she asked, handing me a white cup of my daily medicine and a glass of water. I downed it as she moved the curtains aside, letting in sunlight before grabbing the set of clothes that had been put out the night before.

She helped me walk into the small bathroom and I limped to sit on the small stool while she cleaned me up…or gave me a ‘bath’ since I couldn’t take a proper one by myself. My legs were still wrapped in hard casts and wouldn’t come off for a few more days. Once I was done she slid on the baggy sweatpants over the casts while I pulled on the matching grey sweatshirt, the uniform of the Institution.

She brought back the crutches and I slipped them on, grabbing the handles and pushing my weight up so I could stand as she slowly led me out of the room, letting the door shut after me.

“You know,” she said lightly as we walked down the hall, “You should take Dr. Sihyuk’s advice with that diary.”

I turned my head to her. “Were you going through my things?” I asked.

“No, that would be unprofessional, but I can tell when a book hasn’t even been opened once, Y/N. It’s none of my business how you cope, but it is my business to see that you do cope.” She said firmly.

“Why; because Jin said so?” I asked, harshly.

“Dr. Jin is a fantastic doctor and one of our finest patrons but no, it’s because that is what your friend would want. How do you think he’d feel if he saw you refused to move on? Place yourself in his shoes, what do you think he’d have done?” she asked gently.

Jungkook wouldn’t have moved on from you…

I knew it in my bones, in my soul. After all, it had been one our many unbroken promises.

He was drunk.

I unlocked the door to his apartment with one hand, my hand unsuccessful in jamming the key in its proper place with Jungkook’s full weight on me but I finally managed to slide it in, twisting it to open his door and pushing us both in. I fumbled our way in the dark to his couch and dropped him before closing the door, shaking my limbs to regain the flow of blood.

The ‘small’ party with a ‘few’ of our friends had become a huge bash, most of them inviting more of their friends till there was a crowd at the club and drinks were made to flow like a river. Being the designated driver for the day, I had to make sure Jungkook made it back to his apartment with his pants on. Mentally brushing my hands, I commended myself on a job well done.

Now to take care of the fool…

I looked down at where my best friend laid flopped, his legs and arms spread out, taking up all the space with his body as his head rolled comically on the armrest, his mouth slightly open.

I giggled to myself at the sight before fetching his blanket and some pain killers and a glass of water. I tucked him in and placed the water and medicine on his coffee table before pulling on my shoes again, cursing at the heels. I was going to have extremely sore legs tomorrow.

Even as I retrieved my bag from the floor, Jungkook turned on his side, his hand poking out of the blanket before wrapping around my wrist, holding tight.

“Where you going?” he mumbled, eyes still shut.

“I have class tomorrow, Kook, I need to get home.” I said.

He made a noise, tugging on my wrist. “This is your home, stay.” He said. I rolled my eyes, trying to pull my hand away. It only made his grip tighter. “Stop it, come sleep next to me,” he shifted over to provide space for me to lie down and I would be lying if I said that thought didn’t make me smile, warmth blooming in my chest.

I knelt down next to him, brushing his hair back, running a finger over his scrunched eyebrows, smoothing them.

“How about we have sleepover tomorrow, Bunny?” I asked softly, knowing he could hear me.

Jungkook finally cracked a bleary eye open, trying to give me the puppy dog eyes with one eye and it just made me laugh. “You wouldn’t leave your best friend alone and cold in the night would you?” he whispered, physically pulling me up and onto the wide sofa, turning us both so that he was spooning me.

I huffed in defeat as he wrapped us in the blanket, his breaths ruffling my hair as he nuzzled into the crook of my neck. “I swear you’re such a baby sometimes Jeon.”

He hummed. “Yet you still love me,” he murmured.

“I wonder,” I sassed.

His grip tightened a little on me. “Hey, promise you’ll stay,” he said, his voice fading with sleep.

“Yeah, Yeah, I’ll stay.”

“No, like forever, promise you’ll always stay with me. Promise me you’ll never forget about me,” he said. He suddenly sounded more awake and deathly serious. I turned to face him. His eyes were still closed, the light from his window half illuminating his handsome face.

“How could I forget such a cute little muscle pig like you?” I said.

“I’m serious, Y/N,”

I shook my head, knowing he was just delirious from the alcohol as I wrapped my arms around his torso. “Of course I would never leave you or forget you, Kook. We’ll get married if you want; since you can’t keep a girl and none of the guys I meet, feel good enough.” I whispered. I was teasing about the marriage but he giggled. “You’re right. I don’t want any other girl. I’ll marry you one day, Y/N.” he said.

I groaned at his lameness but he shushed me.

“I mean it. I won’t forget about you, Y/N, ever.” He said, brushing a light kiss on my forehead.

By the time I looked up at his face, he was already asleep, mouth open again as he snored gently against my skin. It took me some time but eventually I fell asleep as well, our half sober promise sealing itself in the night.

I was silent the rest of the walk, thinking of that night.

Memories of Jungkook didn’t make me seize up anymore, the swirl of guilt in my stomach was as heavy as ever, but it didn’t make my breathing difficult and vision blurry as I struggled to catch hold of reality. It was as if my mind was getting better, even if the deep slashes across my heart were still raw and exposed. Part of me was angry at myself for healing so fast. It didn’t feel right. The physical pain had been a punishment, a purging practice. Without it, I could pretend to be normal, not a killer.

I remembered Jungkook’s funeral, nearly a month ago now.

I had still been too injured to actually attend and Jin downright refused to let me go, saying that it would just make me worse but I was adamant. No one was going to bury my Jungkook without me being there.

When we got there, my wheelchair having to be maneuvered, there was so much sympathy; I felt that I might just drown in it. Jungkook’s mother hadn’t looked up from the seat in front of her; neither did she move during the entire service. His father was handling most of the service.

He gravely let me know his family didn’t blame me and they were happy I was alive but I couldn’t bring myself to believe it. Still, I tried to put on a brave face…

That was until they brought his casket out.

For a few moments there, I thought I could pretend that it wasn’t him. I closed my eyes and told myself that Jungkook was still alive and he was sitting right next to me, holding on tightly to my hand, fingers entwined whenever he thought I was going through something unpleasant.

That had all crashed and burned right there.

Without warning, I began to hyperventilate, my eyes fixed on the mahogany coffin.

I couldn’t do it…

I couldn’t sit there and pretend that I wasn’t being buried with my best friend too…

I was quickly rushed back to the hospital where I threw up everything; food, heart, feelings, and any sort of pretension that it would be easy to just imagine Jungkook around me.

No imagination would ever compare to the real thing.

Maybe that’s when Jin started to build his case on my PTSD.

I thought about the night when we promised we’d never let go of each other and that maybe one day…if what Jungkook had said that night and on our last night together, we’d have gotten married.

Those were my present and my future all flying in the winds as ashes.

The nurse must’ve felt something in the atmosphere because she quickly knocked on Dr. Sihyuk’s door and led me in, placing me gently on the soft couch in front of his armchair as he nodded thanks at the woman, smiling as she left us to another session.

As usual, Dr. Sihyuk was dressed in an impeccable crisp shirt and slacks, body poised on his armchair, a clipboard on his knee and a perpetual benign expression on his face.

I sat in front of him on the couch, my attention deliberately out the window while he kept staring at my face. It was a silent battle. I always waited for him to say something first but it wasn’t because I liked wasting his time. It was more like I never had a clue as to how to begin talking in our sessions. I always needed a nudge. He understood; never showing any signs of being annoyed by my silence or my scrambled notions in terms of therapy.

“You know, if this was a chargeable session, you would have to pay hundreds of dollars for me to just sit here and watch you watch the birds,” he said, smiling slightly, the curves of his lips turned up.

“This is chargeable. It all culminates in my final bill.” I said.

“Exactly.”

I looked down at my feet.

“Have you been writing anything in your diary? If you want you can tell me some of the entries, we could discuss that.” He said.

I nodded absently, biting my lips. I had two choices; I could either lie, tell him some general stuff or I could admit I hadn’t written a damn thing. Fortunately, I had to do neither.

“Or if you want, you could tell me how you’re getting on with the others,” he said gently.

I grasped at that. The others in my group, being treated by the same people were five boys. I’d seen Yoongi, Hoseok, Jimin and Taehyung that day. I hadn’t met the last one. I was the only girl in their group and they’d all treated me nicely. More nicely than I deserved, I thought. But maybe being cooped up with each other for so long had something to do with it.

“Isn’t it wrong though, speaking about others?” I asked, twisting my fingers around the hem of my over large top.

“It is if I do it. I would be breaking professional ethics by discussing their problems with you. We’re not doing that. We’re just discussing you and how you’re doing with this place and its occupants. We’re starting with those who’re closest to you right now.” He said.

“Oh…well, everyone’s been really nice.” I said.

“Even Yoongi?” He asked, smiling.

I chuckled gently.

Min Yoongi was the mint green haired boy I had seen first. Grouchy and constantly sleepy he was the unofficial head of our group. His cat eyes always droopy from boredom and disdain whenever he had to participate in anything but he was also extra kind and sweet behind a touch exterior. He had a deep soft spot for Hoseok and Jimin and while he seemed to be always annoyed by the overzealous Taehyung, I’d seen him threaten a kid from another group that if he commented on the younger boy, he’d break all his belongings.

However, no matter how sweet he was, he was burdened just like us. His work of music making, which he was brilliant at, had made him break down from stress, pressure and he was plagued with severe anxiety and depression. It was heart breaking when he talked about his work because he sounded so passionate and yet his eyes reflected so much sorrow that that passion had brought him.

It had taken him a week to warm up to me, seemingly distrustful of the reason I was here. I understood, who’d want to be friends with the girl who got her best friend killed but later, Taehyung gently explained that he was like that with everyone; I just had to give it time. So, with time, Yoongi did become one of my friends, talking about various different things that we both surprisingly shared a liking for.

“Yes, even Yoongi,” I said.

He hummed, nodding, making a note in the clipboard.

“The rest,” he continued and I nodded. “They are much friendlier, I mean, Taehyung and Hoseok were friendly from day one.” I said.

“Jimin seems to have taken a liking to you too?” he questioned.

“I hope so; I try not to look at…”

I trailed off.

Poor Jimin, I thought. The small, frail looking cute boy was brought in here with deep slashes across his wrists, a clear case of attempted suicide. No one knew the reason, except maybe his doctors and family. He was kept under constant watch but they seemed to have eased up a bit now, as per what Taehyung had said.

“The scars,” Sihyuk said sadly and I nodded just as a small knock came on the door.

“Come in,” he called.

A nurse opened the door, throwing me a smile before turning to the doctor. “Namjoon’s time,” she said.

“Ah, yes, I didn’t realize the hour ended, forgive me,” he made a hurried motion for the nurse to bring the person in as he turned to me with an apologetic grin. “We’ll continue next time, Y/N.” he promised before helping me get my crutches on as the door opened again.

It was the blond boy who was reading on the floor I realized. He bowed politely when he saw us. I turned a curious eye on him as Dr. Sihyuk nodded in acknowledgement but it was noticed.

“Haven’t you met Namjoon?” he asked and I shook my head.

He hummed as the nurse who came to announce the end of my shift, thanked the therapist and began to lead me to the common room.

The common room was a large white room where I’d first seen the boys. It was here where we sat around doing nothing or something to preoccupy ourselves. Once inside the glass doors, I made my way to the usual corner, seeing Yoongi on a chair, his head thrown back staring at the ceiling while Jimin was curled up on the couch next to him, eye outside the window again.

“Hey,” I said, sitting gingerly down beside Jimin. Yoongi grunted in acknowledgment and Jimin turned to smile at me, “How’re the crutches treating you?” he asked.

I laughed.

“Better every day, at least I don’t get stuck in the poles anymore.”

Yoongi narrowed his eyes at me. “Don’t laugh about that. The head nurse made me walk with you everywhere for days because you might’ve broken your bones or something.”

“Gee, Yoongi, don’t make me think you care.”

He snorted, going back to staring at the ceiling.

“Where are Tae and Hobi?” I asked.

“Oh,” Jimin said, giving Yoongi a look before smiling sadly, “Hoseok is in his rehab session, Taehyung has his visitation day.” He said.

“Oh,” I imitated Jimin, knowing these days were hardest on the two otherwise happy boys. Hoseok always returned from physical therapy a little less sunny until he smiled again and it was common knowledge that Taehyung’s visitation day was due to legal matters. What exactly happened in either of those, they didn’t discuss and no one dared to pry in case Yoongi broke their stuff.

“How was your therapy?” Jimin asked, changing the subject.

“Fine, Sihyuk asked how I was doing with you all before Namjoon came in.” I said.

“Ugh, tell me you said we’re being good to you because I don’t want another lecture.” Yoongi said.

“You’re fine,” I said, waving a hand at him in a shooing motion. “So, who’s Namjoon anyway?” I asked.

“Kim Namjoon,” Jimin said heart eyes evident in his tone as he smirked at Yoongi. Yoongi in return muttered a low ‘fuck off’ to the blond boy. Jimin giggled.

“Namjoon was the first one in this group. He’s the apple of everyone’s eye here. He’s very smart; basically a genius, I hear. Though I don’t know why he’s in here,” he said.

Yoongi muttered something again. “What?” Jimin asked.

“He ran away from home…five times. They brought him back every time. He just used to get on random busses and took off.” He said.

“Doesn’t explain why he’s here?” I asked.

“His family is one of those business type people. Wanted him to become one of them and he wants to go to song making, so they thought he was a hippie. Maybe they thought being here was going to cure him of that but he’s still writing. He shows me his stuff some times, he’s good. If I was still…” Yoongi gulped, eyes closing. “If I was still working, I’d have launched him.” He said softly.

Jimin and I quickly left him alone after that.

Three hours later, we were bored out of our minds.

Lunch had come and gone, nothing spectacular as usual, and Jimin and I’d sat at our table, as I watched him try to solve a Rubik’s cube for the better part of an hour before he gave up in a huff.

“Do you want to solve one of the crosswords?” I offered.

I’d normally offer to go take a walk but Taehyung and Hoseok usually came with us and if they went, Yoongi definitely came. It seemed weird to go without them. I knew they wouldn’t be coming here until tomorrow.

“Nah, I’m just going to go take nap.” Jimin said, getting up and going back to the couch where Yoongi was already curled up on.

I flopped back on the chair before tilting my head back to look at the bookshelf on the side of the wall.

It had been ages since I’d read an actual book, not just a quick story or fan fiction on my phone. I used a single crutch to haul myself out of the chair, limping towards the shelf before running my free hand over the fingers.

To my delight, I saw a copy of Lord of the Rings but the catch was that it was on the higher shelves. There was no way I could reach it and climbing on a chair was out of the question. I didn’t want to wake up Jimin or Yoongi or ask the nurse to get me the book. Damn it…

I pursed my lip, trying to look at the other titles but nothing seemed good enough anymore until I felt someone come to stand behind me. A large shadow fell over the books I’d been looking at and I flinched involuntarily.

“Hey, do you need some help?”

I paused. I was expecting one of the nurses but this voice was unfamiliar. It was deep, as deep as Taehyung’s and a little raspy. I turned and looked up to see the same tall, blond boy; Namjoon.

I studied him curiously. His blond hair was flumped up on his head, his glasses resting low on the bridge of his nose. He was wearing the same uniform as the rest of us but unlike some of us, his fitted him nicely. He wasn’t as slight as he seemed at first glance, muscles showing in his arms.

Namjoon smiled at my blatant scrutiny and I looked down, flushing.

“Sorry, I was just looking for a book.” I said.

He nodded, tilting his head as I turned back again, my eyes now desperate to just find a book and run. “Might I suggest one?” he asked softly, still standing behind me.

“Hmm, I guess,” I said, confused, backing away as he reached up and carefully pulled out the Lord of the Rings and handed it to me. I looked at him curiously. Had he seen me struggling with it?

He laughed when he saw my face. “I saw you looking at it when I came in. you have good taste in books.” He said. I shrugged, taking the book from him and hugging it one handed to my chest.

“So, you must be Y/N,” he said, smiling again.

He had dimples, I realized, deep endearing indents in both his cheeks.

“Yeah,” I said, nodding my head.

He stretched out a hand, fingers open. I looked down at his hand before slowly reaching out, placing my own hand in his, letting his fingers encase my much smaller hand. “Hi, I’m Namjoon.” He said.

#namjoon angst #namjoon fanfic #bts angst #bts fanfic #bts smut #namjoon smut #namjoon #bts #bts rm #asylum

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dearlazerbunny · 6 years

Text

Business Deals

Pairings: Kylo x Reader

Genre/Rating: CEO!AU, Rated M for smut

Words: 5000

Summary: for the lovely @mauvemountains, who requested some CEO smut! It went on a little longer than I planned, but I loved this idea. I hope you enjoy, and happy birthday sweetie!!

“Oh goddamnit.” Kylo is at the hotel bar with a bourbon on the rocks when he spots trouble at the other end of the room. “Of course she’d be here.”

Armitage doesn’t even have to look up from his drink to know who he’s talking about. “I thought they were slated to speak at another conference.”

“They were, I double checked- I can’t have anything distracting me.” Despite his statement, his eyes wander over to you nevertheless. He takes in your tight black pencil skirt and grey blazer that hugs you in all the right places; how your hair falls over the side of your shoulder as you pull it free from its bun-

“Kylo! Get ahold of yourself!” Armitage hisses from across the table. “What would the investors think if they knew you were mooning over a rival company’s CEO?”

Kylo’s eyes snap back to his business partner. “You’re right, you’re right. As always.”

The redhead sighs. “You need to get a handle on this infatuation, Kylo. It’s beginning to run on the edge of childish.”

“What, and become a stone-hearted bastard like you?”

The other man takes a sip of his drink then bares his teeth in a grin. “Exactly. Much more efficient that way.”

Kylo wants to groan in annoyance but takes another pull from his glass to cover it up. He knows it’s childish, and ridiculous, and dangerous, and all sorts of other adjectives that should turn his heart away from you in an instant. But he can’t seem to get you out of his head. Ever since he’d seen you speak at an innovators conference- oh god, what was it, two years ago? Three?- he’s been completely taken in with your voice, the way you articulate your ideas, the cleverness with which you maneuver through the corporate world. He’d been a nobody then, just a hopeful wanting to make it big like those he idolized on stage. But since then, his own company has taken off- in direct competition with your company, of course. That pretty much crushed his dreams of ever getting anywhere near you for good.

“Go over the list of investors with me again.” He nods at Armitage’s black briefcase sitting beside him. This is the most important conference of the year, with hundreds of potential new clients and investors swarming the hotel- he can’t afford to lose his focus. Not now. Not when so much potential is at stake.

As much as he might want to.

“Glad to see you’ve come to your senses.” Armitage gives him a professional, approving tilt of the chin. “So the first and most promising group is Organa Tech…”

“Oh goddamnit.” You walk into the hotel bar pulling the pins out of your hair, wanting nothing more than a relaxing evening before your keynote speech to kick off the weeklong conference tomorrow. So much for that. “Of course he’d be here.”

Poe doesn’t even look up from the email he’s sending to ask who you’re talking about. “I saw they were on the roster.”

You stare at him. “And you didn’t tell me?!”

He sighs. “I was hoping you wouldn’t see him until after your speech tomorrow, so your head wouldn’t fly off your shoulders. You need to stay focused.”

He’s right, of course. But as you’re walking up to get the bartender’s attention, you can’t help but sneak a glance at the tall, suited, handsome man sitting in the booth across the room. Despite his size, his suits always fit him immaculately, and those curls are just begging you to run your hands through them-

Your train of thought is thankfully cut off by Poe pressing an ice cold glass into your hand. The cold shocks you back into reality, much to his amusement. “Are you going to be okay? I feel like this is getting out of hand.”

You glare at him. “Nothing shakes me Poe, remember? I’m a stone giant. I’m infallible.”

“Until he walks into the room.”

You resist the urge to smack him very unprofessionally on the arm. You hate it when he makes a jab at your silly crush on the other CEO. And believe me, you know it’s silly- and ridiculous, and dangerous- but you just can’t seem to avoid the overwhelming feelings that crash over you whenever you see him. Kylo Ren is the enemy, for god’s sake. When his business took off two years ago, your bottom line took a substantial hit. But when you first met him, he wasn’t any of that- just a newbie entrepreneur with big dreams and a cheap suit. Kind of like you, when you started out almost a decade ago. Maybe that’s why you were initially drawn to him. That, and his gorgeous brown eyes, and they way he’s incapable of keeping his feelings from running across his face despite his intimidating nature. So when you see him, he’s never a rival, never the competition. Just a hopeful who wants it all. That’s probably your problem. But you can’t get that image of him out of your head.

“Earth to Y/N.” Poe waves a hand in front of your face. He leads you to a seat on the exact opposite end of the room than the guy you’re mooning over, which probably isn’t a coincidence. “Seriously, you��ve got to stop this. If anyone ever finds out you’ve got the hots for this guy…”

“I know, I know. The gossip mongers would be all over it.” You sigh. “I just… can’t seem to help myself.”

“Ah, love that will never be.” He takes a long pull of his drink. “So sad, so tragic.”

“I hired you to be my assistant, not a damn poet.”

Poe grins. “Poe, poet. It does have a nice ring to it.”

“Shut the hell up.”

…

You breathe a sigh of relief as you walk off the stage to resounding applause. Your speech had gone off without a hitch, which almost surprised you given your extreme nerves about this being televised all over the globe. Luckily, your fears were unfounded. Poe claps you on the shoulder backstage with a winning smile on his face. “You did amazing!”

“Thanks.” You smile at him exhaustedly. After an hour of all eyes on you, your nice, quiet hotel room is sounding really good. “I’m just going to head back to my room for a bit…”

“Oh no you don’t.” He glances at his watch tucked into his sleeve. “You’ve got a reception to go to. Everyone is waiting to congratulate you.”

Damn. You try to put a little more energy into your step as you follow him down the corridor. “Sounds good.”

He glances at you. “I know it’s not what you want right now, but the exposure will be good for us.”

“You’re right, as always.” You straighten your suit jacket. “Let’s do this.”

The reception is being held in the same bar you had a drink in last night, but this time with nicely dressed waiters and waitresses circling around with trays full of decadent looking food and glasses full of bubbling champagne. A low murmur fills the room, no doubt talking of business deals and who’s outdoing who.

“I’m going to get a drink.” You nod to the bar as Poe snags a glass off a passing tray. “Try not to seduce as many girls as last time, hm?”

“Y/N, I’m shocked.” He holds a hand to his chest in mock hurt. “I am always the epitome of professional.”

You snort. “”Yeah, right. That’s why you slipped your business card onto that waitress’ tray.”

“Guilty.” He looks off in the direction of said waitress. “I’ll meet up with you tomorrow?”

“Eight o’clock sharp.” You nod. “Don’t have too much fun.”

“The same to you.”

“Please, I’m making the requisite rounds and going straight to bed.”

“All work and no play,” he says in a singsong voice.

You roll your eyes. “Goodbye, Poe.”

He salutes and heads off in the direction of the blonde. You sigh and take a sip of your drink. You knew these things were always full of scandalous hookups- seriously, it’s like nobody grew up past the tenth grade- but you’d never partaken in any of the, ahem, festivities. You’re above that- you have a job to do and that’s it.

“Ms. Y/L/N.” Someone speaks behind you in a low voice. “I just wanted to congratulate you on your speech.”

You put on your best polite smile and turn to face the speaker… only to come face to face with none other than Kylo Ren. You immediately falter. Come on, Y/N. Get ahold of yourself. “Th-thank you.” You take a drink to hopefully settle your nerves. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.” Then, because you apparently have no chill whatsoever, you quirk an eyebrow and add, “learn anything?”

He grins at you. “A thing or two, as always. I never fail to learn something from you.”

You blush at the complement, hoping he doesn’t notice. “And I look forward to your talk as well.” He’s slated to speak tomorrow at around noon. “Perhaps you’ll teach me a thing or two.”

“Doubtful.” He tosses a piece of black hair out of his eyes. “But thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Anytime.” You nod at his noticeably empty side. “Where’s the red-headed ghoul who’s always strapped to your side?”

He raises an eyebrow and surveys the bar. “Probably off schmoozing with a waiter somewhere.”

You’re surprised when a laugh bubbles out of your mouth- and at Ren’s reaction, who smiles at the sound. “Now why is it both our partners are always having more fun than we are?”

“Hm. Because we’re supposed to be the uptight, professional CEOs?”

“Makes you want to say fuck it all and move into a shack somewhere.”

Now it’s his turn to laugh. “I’ve had the same thought once or twice.”

“After only two years? And you’re already a burnout?” You tease. “I expected more from you, Ren.”

He looks a little surprised. “Wow, you know my name. Color me shocked.”

You blink. “You stole nearly a fifth of my sales in the first month you opened up shop. Of course I know your name.”

“Ah. And here I was hoping it would be for more amicable reasons.”

Now what in the world does he mean by that? He couldn’t… could he? No. that’s insane.

Unless…

“It was a pleasure talking to you.” You hold out your hand and he takes it, shaking it firmly. “I look forward to seeing you again.”

“Likewise.” He nods pleasantly at you and wanders off. You have half a mind to stop him, turn him around, and yank back that hotel room number you had probably not-so-subtly slipped into his palm. You tip your head back and swallow the rest of your glass in one swoop. He’ll probably think your crazy. Maybe laugh at you, probably most definitely laugh about it with Armitage. God, what if he tells someone else? You look around the bar, which sometimes feels like it’s full of people just waiting to take you down. What you did was beyond risky, and probably wouldn’t pay off in any sense of the word.

But if it did… a small shiver rolls down your spine. A girl can dream.

…

It isn’t until he gets back to his own room that Kylo finds a wadded up piece of paper in his pocket, with the name of a nearby hotel and room number written on it. Someone must’ve passed it off to him and he’d stuck it in his pocket unconsciously. But who? He thinks back over the evening. His hand was usually glued to a glass of champagne, which was giving him a lovely haze right about now.

The only person he’d shook hands with was you.

Wait… what?

Had you slipped him this? Was this your room? Was this an invitation?

It was probably just a mistake. He’s about to throw it in the wastebasket when he glances at it again. What if it wasn’t? It’d be pretty difficult to absentmindedly lose your reminder of what hotel you were in in someone else’s palm.

Did you… You couldn’t possibly think of him like he thinks about you. That’d be impossible. That’d be… absolutely unbelievable.

But what if-

Okay. Think of the pros and cons here. Cons: if he shows up at your door, it could have been a mistake. He’d probably look desperate, and she’d probably laugh at him. His dreams would probably be crushed once again.

Pros… well. They speak for themselves. A small shiver runs its way down his spine just thinking of the possibilities.

That’s it. Decision made.

“This is room 405. I need a taxi as quickly as possible.”

…

You’ve been pacing frantically in your room mulling over your decision for the better part of the night, stealing sips from the hotel minibar, when there’s a knock on the door.

Had you ordered room service? You didn’t think so. You uncover the peephole in the door and almost choke on your own breath when you see Ren standing there, hair mussed and wet and with a raincoat thrown over his shoulders like he left in a haste. Quickly, you unlatch the door and pull it open.

The two of you stand there blinking at each other for a minute. And then, stupidly, all you can think to say is, “you’re wet.”

A little half grin appears on his face. “That tends to happen when it’s raining outside.”

“Oh.” You hadn’t even noticed.

“So…” he shifts awkwardly, then pulls out what looks to be your note from his front pocket. “I need to know if this was a mistake or not.”

This is it. This is your chance to say oh, sorry, I must’ve lost it, so sorry you came all the way over here, say goodnight and shut the door in his face.

But hell, you’re tired of being responsible. And if he came all the way over here in a rainstorm, he must’ve had a damn good reason. So you look him square in the eye and say, “do you want to come in?”

He runs a hand through his wet hair, spraying droplets everywhere, and for one terrifying heartbeat you think he’s going to say no. But instead, you stand aside and he walks in, and you shut the door behind him.

Once he’s inside, some sense works its way into your brain and you toss him a clean towel from the bathroom. “Thanks.” He runs it over his hair in typical messy boy fashion and goddamn why is this man so attractive. He notices you staring. “Thinking about something?”

“Um.” Now’s your chance. Say something witty and sexy that’ll make him putty in your hands. Or something like that. “I think the wet hair works on you.”

Slowly, he raises an eyebrow. “Really.”

“Mhm.”

He takes off his coat, revealing the same suit he was wearing earlier. You hadn’t changed either, so you were still in your business dress. “So…”

All at once, you laugh, and cover your hands with your face. “I’m sorry. I have no idea what I’m doing here.”

Luckily, by the smile on his face, he seems to think your admission is cute. “Let’s start with, why am I here?”

“To… talk business deals?” You say weakly, not wanting to play the cards you’ve been holding close to your chest for three years now.

Then, wonder of wonders, he walks over to you and leans over so close you can smell the cologne on his neck and the bourbon on his breath. “I sincerely hope that’s a lie.”

“Yes,” you breathe, the combination of alcohol and closeness making for a heady combination.

“Excellent.” Giving you plenty of time to pull away, he slowly raises a hand to the back of your neck, sliding his hand under your hair. It’s… god, it’s good, and you haven’t even done anything yet. When you don’t back away, angles his head and puts his lips on yours in the gentlest of barely-there kisses.

That’s enough to strike a hunger in your belly. You kiss him back, but definitely not as softly as he kissed you. Grunting in surprise, he pulls you closer while you throw your arms around his neck, pushing yourself into him for all you’re worth. He feels strong, and angular, and exactly like someone you want all over you right this second.

He pulls away after a minute, breathing hard, and you run a hand through your hair, pushing it out of your face. “Sorry. Too much?”

“God, no. I’m just wondering why we haven’t done this sooner. How long have you…?”

You slide your hands down to his very well defined waist, tugging up at his shirt so your fingers can slip under the hem and dance their way across his skin. “For a very long time.”

“Damn,” he breathes, and you pull him down to kiss him again.

This time the both of you are rough and heedless, caution thrown to the wind. His teeth graze your bottom lip and when a whimper escapes your throat, he gently sucks it into his mouth and bites lightly, ratcheting your want up to 11. You return the favor by sliding your tongue into his mouth, which he gladly accepts. He tastes like bourbon and champagne, and the promise of something really, really excellent.

His hands have been wandering everywhere, but not quite where you want them. He hesitates at your breasts and your butt, not sure how far you want to take this. So you take his hands and place them firmly on your ass, giving it a squeeze, and break away just long enough to say, “Listen up, Ren, I did not invite you here to be cautious or to think of the consequences. Now, do you want me or not?”

“Fucking hell.” At first you think you’ve gone too far, but then he practically throws you onto the bed in the center of the room, climbing up on top of you and pressing long, wet kisses to the side of your neck. You tilt your head to allow easier access and wrap a hand around his head, finally giving in to the urge to play with it. Experimentally, you tug a bit on the ends, making him moan.

He sits up, straddling you at the hips, and pauses there just to look at you. You look so beautiful splayed out across the bed, face flushed, want clearly in your eyes. And of course, his vantage point couldn’t be better. He’s already hard, and he rolls his hips a little against yours while he works on the buttons of your blazer, then tugs the shirt you have on over your head.

He’s rewarded with the most gorgeous bra he’s ever seen, mauve and lacy and lookin sinful against your chest. “Fuck,” he mutters, and you smile.

“Like what you see?”

“I’ll like it better when it’s on the floor.”

Holding his gaze, you reach around the back and undo the clasp, casting it off to the side of the bed.

Your breasts are spectacular. Round and perky but with enough weight to them to make you want to feel them for all they’re worth. Without thinking, Kylo puts his mouth down on your left breast and swirls his tongue around the nipple, making you gasp and arch your back, hands squeezing his shoulders for all you’re worth as sparks of pleasure shoot down to exactly where you want them. He continues for a few minutes, sucking and tonguing one nipple and rolling the other between his fingertips, and good god you think you’re going to come right then and there-

Swiftly, he gets off the bed and begins tugging at your skirt, which you happily unzip from the side and let him pull down and off of you. Matching lacy panties are revealed against your creamy skin, and you can practically see the lust dripping off of him as he hooks a finger around the waistband and pulls them down towards your feet.

You should be anxious, or self conscious, being laid out bare like this, but he’s looking at you with such a worshipful gaze you can’t help but stretch a little bit, letting him see all your curves and what you have to offer. It feels good, to be wanted this much. His hands caress your stomach, running over your hips and back again, counting each rib that sticks out of your skin with his fingertips. You’re squirming desperately, trying to get some friction to offset the growing heat between your thighs, but it would seem Ren has a plan for that.

Slowly, his hands make their way down to your thighs, scratching at your ass lightly and he squeezes. “Spread those legs for me.” His voice is husky and low, and it sends a shiver right through you. Obediently, you do so, revealing your sex to him, already glistening with the thought of him touching you exactly how you like it.

He runs a finger from the top of your slit to just above your hole, and when you gasp he adds another, running them through your slick folds. “You’re so wet for me.”

“God, yes, Kylo-”

Abruptly, he kisses you long and hard. “Say my name again.”

“Kylo,” you breathe, and that seems to be his cue, because he pushes off of you, slides your hips down to the edge of the bed, and begins kissing the inside of your thighs, leaving little love bites here and there. “Oh, stars,” you groan, spreading your knees a little wider. He takes that as an invitation to begin swirling his tongue around your clit, which makes you buck your hips in surprise. “Fuck!”

He holds down your hips with both hands, tonguing your clit lightly, then harder and with more pressure, alternating patterns and pressure until you’re not sure which way is up anymore. Then, as if that weren’t enough, he slides one finger into you, then another. You’re so wet it doesn’t even hurt, and you instinctively clench around his fingers, trying to get more sensation out of the deal.

You can feel his grin as he continues sucking on your clit, fingers working in and out of you, slick with your wet. “Jesus, Kylo, I’m- I’m not going to last like this-!”

“Good.” He blows a small stream of air onto your clit, cold and good, before once more giving it a kiss. “It’s okay. You can let go.”

That does it. As his fingers curl to hit just the right spot, you rocket up to orgasm, putting your hands in his hair and tugging for all you’re worth. Stars explode behind your eyes and your breathing is erratic and heavy as he lightly gives you a few more kisses around your sex and on your thighs.

“Fuck.” You can’t do much more than lay on the bed and breathe, letting the sensations wash through you in waves. “I want you so bad.”

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this,” he murmurs, looking at your body loosely splayed on the bed like you haven’t a care in the world.

“Oh really?”

“Since the moment I met you.”

“Well, at lest we’re in agreement then.”

That stops him for a second and you whine at the loss of heat. “You’ve… wanted me?”

“Is that not obvious?” You sit up and begin tugging at his belt, letting it fall to the floor, and pop his button and fly until you can see the head of hip peeking out through his boxers. “What else do I need to do to prove it?”

He seems to be at a loss for words, which you have to admit, you very much enjoy. Grinning, you tug down his trousers and underwear in one swoop until his cock is free, already hard and waiting for you. “All this for me? I’m flattered.”

“God- can you just- please-” You hum as your take the head of his cock into your mouth, sucking lightly on the tip. “Ohhhh, fuck, fuck me.” His voice is practically guttural.

“All in good time, love.” You start at the base of his shaft and lick upwards, curling your tongue around his dick until it’s slick and you can use your hand as well as your mouth. Your tongue works the underside of him while your hand strokes him, head bobbing up and down as you take him into your mouth again and again. Your free hand wanders to his balls and gently plays with them until his knees are practically shaking.

“Stop, stop.” You pop off of him with a sinfully wet noise, and he groans. “I can’t last much longer.”

You lay back on the bed, back flat, knees in the air as you spread your legs once again. “Then come have me.”

He stares at you for just a moment before crawling up to meet you, slowly, like he doesn’t want to muss the sheets. You’re both breathing hard, and the air is thick and smells like sex. He pumps his hand around his cock once, twice, before lining up at your entrance and smoothly pushing into you.

You hiss, feeling him stretch you out so good. He’s hovering over you, like he doesn’t want to hurt you, but you pull him down until your stomachs are touching skin-to-skin. “I want all of you,” you whisper, and he groans before dragging himself back out of you and plunging back in.

It’s simultaneously sweet and rough. One moment he’ll be pounding in and out of you, the next he’ll be rocking his hips back and forth to where he’s fully inside you, filling you up so deep you can feel his entire length inside you. There’s lots of kisses, and some laughter, and a lot of noises that escape both of your mouths. You’ve never been super vocal, but with every thrust another noise of pleasure falls from your lips, and Kylo is eating it up, using your noises to guide himself on the best way of pleasuring you.

Simply put, it’s heaven, the two of you pressed to get her so sinfully perfect it’s like you were made to be there. You can feel his abs curling as he thrusts in and out of you, and your hands scramble for purchase on his back, trying to find some grip against this onslaught of sensation.

Your name falls off his lips like a symphony, so sweetly you wonder where he’s been all your life. Then with one final thrust, he’s coming apart inside you, shaking as he fills you with himself. After a few more minutes of him teasing your clit with his fingers, you fall over the edge once again, this time in his arms. He holds you as the stars return and then settle, leaving you humming with an energy you haven’t felt in years.

“Holy fuck,” he says softly, and your only response is to curl into him, head resting on his shoulder, lips pressed into his neck. He wraps his arm tighter around you protectively.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Good,” you whisper.

He hums. “Can I… can I stay here?”

You smile against his skin. “I’d be offended if you didn’t.”

He sinks back into the bed like he’s been waiting to hear those words. “Good, because I’m not done with you yet.”

You press further into his side, soaking up his body heat. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” When you kiss again, it’s like a piece you didn’t know was missing is suddenly there right in front of you.

…

He does his speech in the same suit he wore yesterday, but no one seems to notice. Clapping loudly as he walks off the stage, you make a beeline for backstage, wanting nothing more than to just see him again. The events of last night keep playing through your mind, a mixture of sweetness and desperation that could only be categorized as love.

“Congratulations.” He smiles as he sees you, a technician taking the mic off his collar.

“Learn anything?”

“Maybe a thing or two.” You grin at him, going up to give him a kiss, which he eagerly returns.

“Oh, shit.” Another voice speaks from behind you and you both break away, only to find Poe and Armitage side by side looking at the two of you with a combination of pity and relief.

“Ha!” Poe pokes the redhead in the arm. “Told you it would happen here.”

Armitage sighs and pulls out his wallet, handing a crisp twenty dollar bill over to the beaming assistant. “I really needed you to hold out a little longer, Y/N,” he says dryly, which brings flames to your cheeks in a level of embarrassment you didn’t think was possible.

But Kylo wraps his arm around your shoulder and gives you a peck on your cheek, effectively calming your nerves. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. We all know you wanted to see this happen.”

“Guilty.” Armitage, the more reserved of the two, has a small smile on his face, while Poe looks like he’s about to break out into song and dance. “I happened to see that the both of you are free for several hours before your next event. Do with the time what you please.”

As the assistants wander away, an unlikely duo united in their bosses’ hopeless crushes, the two of you begin to giggle as you fall into his arms. You’ve never been happier in your life.

“My place or yours?”

You kiss him on the corner of his mouth. “Wherever you are, I’m there.”

#star wars #Star Wars fanfic #star wars request #requests #kylo ren #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren x you #reader insert

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plainsimplevic · 5 years

Text

Well - That’s One Way To Come Out At Work

That was surprising. At work, as I've been vehemently talking about on twitter, there's been a lot of homophobic slurs being thrown around. Just as importantly, it was communicated to me that I basically needed to step up or I'd be fired. That I was “making excuses” for not doubling my output and occasionally coming in later (sometimes too late) in the day. This is when I've done nothing but excel at this job. In fact I've been given additional responsibility and praised by those who are hardest to please! I’ve pushed through illness after illness the past 6 months. Fought through infections so painful I could feel them through the haze caused by an entire bottle of whiskey. I’ve been here in the middle of the night vibrating because my cold is that bad. I’ve gotten SURGERY because I realized a condition was affecting my work - prioritizing that over other procedures I need done because I believe in fulfilling my commitments. Period. Whatever it takes. Be they professional, personal, or in support of my loved ones. And now my dedication, competency, and integrity are being questioned and I’m being threatened on top of all the bigotry? Those are NOT things you question about me. I’m not perfect and I fuck up but those base values are what makes me, me. Hell, my motto is Honour, Courage, Integrity!

It had gotten to the point that I've been very close to exploding, quitting, calling them the bigots they were, and storming out. I nearly did so this week after one boss was subtly (though I believe ignorantly) racist and the other was using gay slurs within half an hour.

After calming myself down, my plan was to consult with some friends this week, calm down further, get some sleep, and be professional. To put in my 2 weeks, tell them why, and use the last pitiful paycheck to put myself in a position to make money by other means.

Now, as I continued to calm down, I realized that immediately pulling the trigger on quitting was an immature way to handle the situation. As much as I wanted to, the enlightened thing to do would be to open a dialogue with my bosses and trying to resolve the situation rather than treat them as hostile. Despite the evidence, there may be more going on that I’m unaware of and they may be receptive to what I have to say. What can I say? I’m a Trekkie who grew up in the TNG era. Exhaust all opportunities for discussion before taking any action that could be taken as hostile. It may sound silly, but that show was very formative for me and the principles I learned from it have helped me well in life. #IAmStarfleet

But, after FINALLY getting some sleep last night and with one of the bosses gone on a business trip, something felt right about doing this today. I’d had some sleep so I knew my emotional control would be there and I wasn’t going to act unprofessionally. The boss had just come back from a “liquid lunch” so he was relaxed but not drunk. Having come out the day before to my straight-ally coworker had heartened me. And I was not so overloaded that I couldn’t take some time and write the 3-4 pages of talking points I needed to write before hand to keep me on track if I got flustered. So, I positioned myself so that my boss couldn’t avoid me (not that he was trying - just so he knew I needed to talk to him) and asked for a half hour one on one before he left. He agreed. It was no big issue.

Now, I’ve dealt with similar situations before. When I worked political campaigns, I was not only in a much more demanding and labor intensive positions (20+ hour days for months with no ability to take weekends off) but that boss was a total, self absorbed, jackass that continued tearing me down despite all I was doing. Nothing was good enough. So I called him and demanded a meeting. He asked when I could come in. I demanded he come to me (I was an hour and a half away). I sat him down and did then what I did today. I explained the situation and told him why there was an issue. At the next team meeting he promised to do better and afterwards gave me a big hug and thanked me. He didn’t change and was eventually replaced, but the point is that I knew that this is something I could do. But that doesn’t make it less scary. Especially since this involved something so personal that I’ve had so many issues dealing with over my life. Especially since I’ve only in the past few weeks felt comfortable enough with my sexuality to begin to talk about it with straights who are my long term friends. It surprised the heck out of me when I came out to my co-worker yesterday. #Scary.

I also had several people cautioning me not to do this. My mother was the most adamant. But also a friend who was concerned that this place was so hostile that I might just face further discrimination. For insight into my mindset, and really, just who I am, I want to quote an excerpt from my response to that.

“The bigotry, lack of respect, and lack of compensation is whats bugging me. If this convo fixes that... Long hours I'm meh about and I enjoy the work. And that’s not judging others. That’s just who I am. I'm the guy who has the guts to face things head on. Stare the darkness in the face and dare it to extinguish my light. If I lose that, I lose everything. I cant have that with every other aspect of my life and not this now that I've accepted it.”

And for those who are going to criticize me and say that my lack of self acceptance of my sexual identity disproves that statement let me point a couple things out. 1) Bandwidth. Without going into too much detail, my life, especially the past 10 years, has been ROUGH. It’s hard to do things like process your sexuality issues when you’re doing things like working 16 hour days while a tooth rots in your head because you can’t afford to get the root canal you need because all you’re money’s going into making the choice between food and bills. Or when everyone around you, with the exception of your mother, does not seem to be, but is actually dying or abandoning you. 2) Lack of community. I’m just a man and I have my limits - sometimes I need help. By reaching out for that help, I’m proving my statements about myself true. I haven’t had anyone I could turn to and ask, “what was it like for you?”. No-one to relate to. No-one to tell me that there’s nothing wrong with me. I didn’t even have support outside the queer community dealing with every other aspect life - much less in it to deal with this. Every time I reached out the past 5 or 6 years to try to get that support, I was shut down in some way. I’ve had community members shrug and be dismissive, not understanding the traumas involved with growing up Catholic and in a homophobic setting. I’ve had people point to some reading material, pat me on the head, and send me on my merry - not truly understanding the damage 25+ years of internalized homophobia can cause. I’ve had one gal talk about bi-erasure in one breath, insist I’m straight in the other, declare how lesbians are superior to all others, and then try to get me to apologize for being a cishet man. Which, growing up primarily raised by women, having strong memories of sitting around the table as they talk about how horrible men are, being told “but you’re different” and “one of the good ones” and left feeling othered and wondering how much I should hate myself for my gender did NOT go over well. But that’s an entire blog post in it of itself and I digress.

So the time for the meeting came and I told my boss everything. I told him that he needed to quit the gay slurs. That I was bi. That I had met and was falling for the most amazing guy which had inspired me to make another attempt at confronting these issues. That the past couple months have been awesome and positive but extremely intense. That there’s been many times where I’ve held it together during the day and then just stared into my monitor for hours unable to do anything but have tears in my eyes once everyone left. That I’ve been on my laptop so much because I’m getting (and giving) support. That I’m afraid that some of my friends may end themselves and not be there tomorrow. Of all the illness I’ve been pushing through. And how, through it all, I still got the job DONE.

And the response was shocking. He was completely taken aback. He asked, “what slurs?” I gave him an example and, being total white straight male, he hadn’t even realized what he was doing. He asked if I was gay. I told him bi and he laughed and exclaimed how insensitive he’s been and immediately apologized. He lit up and exclaimed how awesome it was when I said I was falling for (again) the most amazing man (hard). He said how he has no issues with queer folk and told me of his gay friend with a similar background to me. He told me how, when he grew up, they used those terms all the time to effectively mean asshole but had no clue what they meant and that they had just become reflex - but that that was no excuse. That he had no problem not outing me to anyone else, though I’m close to being completely out. I was valued and appreciated.

And then, no joke, he asked me what I needed on my projects and the entire thing became, among other things, a pitch session and him putting many of his resources at my disposal.

Also, it turns out that the “firing” thing was because the other boss was freaking out about how a couple of business partners who were funding my salary simply didn’t like having to pay me and, for that reason alone which nothing to do with me, were looking for any excuse to “cut costs.” From my own deductions, I now realize that it’s mostly that I haven’t been putting up enough of a “show” of working on the rare occasion they’ve been around which is probably making it harder for that boss to defend me. Also, I’m 90% sure this is that guy’s first time managing someone and I know for a fact that this is his first time working in this industry and dealing with certain types of personalities - like said business partners. These are things that I have decades of experience with in one form or another so, now that I know that I know what his issues largely are, I plan on having a similar talk with him and offering my advice and support. I’ve been in that position before and watched it blow up in my face. Honestly, he’s fucking lucky it’s me and not someone else - they would have stormed out. I know. I’ve been the one stormed out on.

His main fault was not properly communicating to me how much of an issue these asshole business partners have been. I’ve been in his position many a time and now exactly how to compensate for that kind of bullshit. And because of his lack of communication, I haven’t been able to make his job easier by doing so.

I think there might be a couple of translation-to-this-industry issues as well so I’ll talk to him about that too. And, apparently, the boss I talked to has had to pull that boss aside a few times recently. Somethings going on with his personal life I feel.

So, yeah. That was probably the best coming-out-at-work experience I could have had. We’ll see if the boss I spoke to lives up to his promises but, as of now, things are looking up. I’m so glad that I haven’t been too traumatized in life that I can still hope. Maybe I’m just too stubborn an asshole to let it go. But it’s that hope that led me to try the diplomatic path. That allowed me to adhere to my values and belief that dialogue and understanding can solve nearly all situations so long as both sides listen.

And yes, those are Starfleet values. And if that’s too corny for you I have 2 things to say. 1) Read the above book-of-a-blog again and tell me how I’m wrong when EVERYONE else (except Mom) was telling me that the only solution was to quit in a righteous rage. 2) Fuck off you ignorant, pessimistic, little shit. #IAmStarfleet #FirstDutyToTheTruth #TrekTillIDie

I may still leave here soon for various other reasons, but now, rather than making enemies here I’ll leave with (assuming words meet deeds - which evidence so far here as indicated these are the kind of people where that’ll be the case) A) the use of these facilities for my own projects, B) plenty of time to prepare, and C) a financial cushion to aid in the transition.

Thanks to Danni, Alex, and Kaeden who’s support and affections have been crucial in helping me get to the point where I’m secure enough in my identity that I can tackle issues like this. Thank you for being my community.

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realrhythmskrp · 7 years

Photo

DISPATCH, (04/12/17): Mirage Media has officially released information about trainee, Lin Zhilong, as known as Jiyong, on Mirage Media’s Trainee’s official website! Jiyong here is a ‘93 liner and has been beloved by fans since he became a trainee under the company. Find out more about Jiyong below!

I, LIN ZHILONG, have read and understand the terms and conditions as my position of A TRAINEE and agree to honor the standards that are to be expected of me as an employee of MIRAGE MEDIA.

OOC INFORMATION

Preferred name: rei.

Pronouns: she/her.

Timezone: est.

Other muses: n/a.

IC INFORMATION

Faceclaim: lee taeyong (nct).

Name: lin zhilong.

Stage name (if applicable): jiyong.

Idol concept: he hasn’t quite figured out what may be suited for him, or rather, what type of concept he’d be well invested with. being given a chance to be dynamic, he believes that concepts where he can be able to wear different hats would be best suitable. per say, having to jump from sharp, mysterious ones to having an occasional fresh and upbeat performance. regardless of how he feels, it’s his duty as an entertainer to wear the shoes of any image he is given.

Birth date and age: july 12, 1993 & twenty-three.

Company name: mirage media.

Group Position (if applicable): trainee.

Strengths: selflessness. he’s far more concerned about the demands of others. naturally, zhilong puts his own needs last before those whom he may be working with. valuing their opinions and objectives, he wants to be able to create harmony with those alike and establish a respectful, common ground. it’s a trait that can’t be helped, from time to time. might there be somebody to remind him to think about himself once in awhile.

learning orientated. if he would like to be known for a core strength, one of them would be his ability to learn quickly. although entailed to be a dance trainee, his brain works like a sponge for things outside of choreography. zhilong’s memory is very proficient: he memorizes details and important aspects mentally, as well as his muscles do when it comes to dance routines.

variety. although not having much exposure to the korean industry yet, zhilong’s noted to have a rather peculiar personality. he’s a quick thinker who says what’s on his mind. despite the fact that he doesn’t look like a person to be overflowing with extrovertedness, he’s relatively upbeat and friendly. humor comes naturally as it is candid and entertaining.

rapping. it was a natural born curiosity turned hobby, turned future occupational position. he enjoys rhyming and playing with lingual devices of all sorts. his wittiness makes up for his punchlines and rhythm through free-styling. he still has a long road to go to change the stigma with idol rappers amongst his seniors.

Weaknesses:

physical health. diagnosed with anemia from an early age on, it’s overlooked as an disadvantage. through physical turmoil, zhilong can become quickly overworked and his condition may decline. even without busy schedules, he may suffer with irregular breathing, headaches, lightheartedness, and so forth.

lack of dance background. in result of familiarizing himself with only one genre of dance, primarily hip hop, zhilong doesn’t have a concrete background in dance and choreography. he’s relatively comfortable in his knowledge of hip hop. knowing that it’s one of his strengths, he doesn’t feel the need to grow outside of his comfort zone to discover new skills.

linguistics. he knows mandarin chinese as his mother tongue, but still struggles every now and then with korean. zhilong’s biggest weakness in korean would be conjugating verbs, as well as forming syllables without sounding out the words and mixing them up to get a different term. because of his lack of near-fluent korean that becomes a hindrance, he fears that he’ll present himself either ‘unprofessional’ or ‘ineloquent’ to the general public.

mannerisms/family background. still adjusting to living in south korea, and gaining insight to his ethnic culture, zhilong wishes to adapt comfortably. he’s concerned with appearing as though he isn’t respectful in a land that is of his blood, more than his birthplace in china.

vocals. simply said, his voice wasn’t designed to be a vocalist. his best bet is holding a note comfortable within his range, though he knows his capabilities of that of a singer isn’t impressive. aspiring to strengthen himself in this particular area, he understands that the core of his talent isn’t with being a vocalist.

Positive traits: compassionate, straightforward, disciplined.

Negative traits: irrational, regretful, calculating.

PERSONAL HISTORY

life begins southwest of china’s sichuan province, a capital city named chengdu. most notable for its epicenter of the shu kingdom dating back to the 4th century, marks the city’s historical significance. chengdu hosts itself as your warmest form of experience; it’s all that you know and everything you wish to give back to. familiarity awaits you on its soil, your second home resides in the heart of the province amongst your family and friends. though there’s a blunt awareness that something doesn’t quite hold together. it’s not the people with nameless faces, or the foreigners spotted on their treks while you transport on the busー the matter begins with yourself. it’s not no silly-sorry occurrence where you begin to contemplate on life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.

you’re not a dweller as much as you thought you’d be.

like most infants, your brain hasn’t developed much to recall your earliest memories. you try to reminisce, but nothing is discovered. instead, your memories have taken shape as federal, documented papers. much of your days were spent in an orphanage sanctioned in seoul, south korea. you’ve never seen the face of your biological parents, though you know that you were born im jiyong in july. quickly, you are swept into a neighboring country where your memories can properly manifest. your parents bring you up on chinese conduct and mannerisms. in a household founded by an upper, middle class, white collar-working couple in their late thirties, was soon dubbed as your home. there is no questioning their motives, their goals, but understand that you are their pride after much difficulty to conceive a baby. despite all the repose that financial stability brings, good health isn’t measured by one’s income.

your only responsibilities are that of schoolwork. occasionally you are branded with the burden of chores, which you find yourself procrastinating no matter the day and time. school tends to wrap up at two in the afternoon, you catch a snack on the train ride home, relax for an hour (perhaps study while you can), then prepare for your piano lessons. your parents were advocates for building a child’s worth of discipline from an early age, hence the ritualistic-like lessons. amid the routinely schedules, you began to consider the purpose of your identity, rather, than taking a spoonful of what you were fed with. many unanswered questions lead to a provoked bit of curiosity.

life continues on. the seasons change and there is no determining how might fate unfold for the better, or for the worse. to pursue living in korea to retrace back your cultural identity, sacrifices such as dropping your chinese nationality must be made. the country that nurtured you doesn’t recognize dual citizenships, nor do they see purpose in bearing a foreign passport. thankfully, mother supports the notion of acknowledging a child’s background, though she cannot watch over you as her profession is far too stubborn. father settles for the worst, he sits in his cubicle chair and in the bank of his mind, he’s analyzing the absurdity of the situation.

he knows you well, very well. one morning you wake up with the dreams of becoming an astronomer, an author, or an inventor who discovered a method to saving lives from an unfathomable disease. although you were a child with unimaginable feats and ambition, you couldn’t pinpoint what you wanted the most. therefore, change starts with coming in contact with who you are as a person. it starts in the most truest of your beginnings, your origins. even before all you had recalled from chengdu.

south korea is but an inch of an ocean away, so you turn to your grandparents in efforts of providing parental care. abandoning all that was built in chengdu, friendships and academic work, you arrive with a spilling suitcase and with a grandmother who can barely follow up. nothing is promised at the moment.

you don’t know if this unanimous decision will pay off.

it was a big leap towards the unknown, though you don’t feel an ounce of remorse, nor regret.

#ryt:accepted #ryt:mirage #ryt:trainee #rytzhilong

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plainsimplevic · 5 years

Text

Well - That’s One Way To Come Out At Work...

And for those who are going to criticize me and say that my lack of self acceptance of my sexual identity disproves that statement let me point a couple things out. 1) Bandwidth. Without going into too much detail, my life, especially the past 10 years, has been ROUGH. It’s hard to do things like process your sexuality issues when you’re doing things like working 16 hour days while a tooth rots in your head because you can’t afford to get the root canal you need because all you’re money’s going into making the choice between food and bills. Or when everyone around you, with the exception of your mother, does not seems to be but is actually dying or abandoning you. 2) Lack of community. I’m just a man and I have my limits - sometimes I need help. By reaching out for that help, I’m proving my statements about myself true. I haven’t had anyone I could turn to and ask, “what was it like for you?”. No-one to relate to. No-one to tell me that there’s nothing wrong with me. I didn’t even have support outside the queer community - much less in it. Every time I reached out the past 5 or 6 years to try to get that support, I was shut down in some way. I community members shrug and be dismissive, not understand the traumas involved with growing up Catholic and in a homophobic setting. I had people point to some reading material, pat me on the head, and send me on my merry - not truly understanding the damage 25+ years of internalized homophobia can cause. I had one gal talk about bi-erasure in one breath, insist I’m straight in the other, declare how lesbians are superior to all others, and then try to get my to apologize for being a cishet man. Which, growing up primarily raised by women, having strong memories of sitting around the table as they talk about how horrible men are, and wondering how much I should hate myself for my gender did NOT go over well. But I digress.

So the time for the meeting came and I told my boss everything. I told him that he needed to quit the gay slurs. That I was bi. That I had met and was falling for the most amazing guy which had inspired me to make another attempt at confronting these issues. That the past couple months have been awesome and positive but extremely intense. That there’s been many times where I’ve held it together and then just stared into my monitor for hours unable to do anything but have tears in my eyes. That I’ve been on my laptop so much because I’m getting (and giving) support. That I’m afraid that some of my friends may end themselves and not be there tomorrow. Of all the illness I’ve been pushing through. And how, through it all, I still got the job DONE.

And the response was shocking. He was completely taken aback. He asked, “what slurs?” I gave him an example and he asked if I was gay. I told him bi and he laughed and exclaimed how insensitive he’s been and immediately apologized. He lit up and exclaimed how awesome it was when I said I was falling for (again) the most amazing man (hard). He said how he has no issues with queer folk and told me of his gay friend with a similar background to me. He told me how, when he grew up, they used those terms all the time to effectively mean asshole but had no clue what they meant and that they had just become reflex - but that was no excuse. That I was valued and appreciated.

And then, no joke, he asked me what I needed on my projects and the entire thing became, among other things a pitch session and him putting many of his resources at my disposal.

Also, it turns out that the “firing” thing was because the other boss was freaking out about how a couple of business partners who were funding my salary simply didn’t like having to pay me and, for that reason alone which nothing to do with me, were looking for any excuse to “cut costs.” From my own deductions, I now realize that it’s mostly that I haven’t been putting up enough of a “show” of working on the rare occasion they’ve been around which is probably making it harder for that boss to defend me. Also, I’m 90% sure this is that guy’s first time managing someone and I know for a fact that this is his first time working in this industry and dealing with certain types of personalities - like said business partners. These are things that I have decades of experience with in one for or another so, now that I know that I know what his issues largely are, I plan on having a similar talk with him and advise/support him. I’ve been in that position before and watched it blow up in my face. Honestly, he’s fucking lucky it’s me and not someone else - they would have stormed out. I know. I’ve been the one stormed out on.

I may still leave here soon for various other reasons, but now, rather than making enemies here I’ll leave with (assuming words meet deeds - which evidence so far here as indicated) A) the use of these facilities for my own projects, B) plenty of time to prepare, and C) A financial cushion to aid in the transition.

0 notes