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shadowkoo · 2 months ago

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Very Bad Behavior

→ Summary: Tall, dark, and dangerous. Sex, drugs, and rock and roll. They say bad things come in threes, and you’ve spent your entire life steering clear of every troublesome temptation. But when a familiar stranger catches your eye one night at work, resisting suddenly feels impossible. You might just start to wonder how bad can indulging in a little bad behavior really be? Especially when it feels so good…

↠ seokjin x f.reader | 6.9k words | 18+ ↠ genre: rockstar au, one night stand, famous guitarist!seokjin x oblivious/non-fan bartender!reader, smut, strangers to lovers

→ Warnings: explicit sex, protected sex, rough sex, strong language, drug usage, alcohol consumption, praise kink, hair pulling, biting, mutual masturbation, manhandling, nipple play, breast play, begging, dirty talk, heavy teasing, spanking, multiple orgasms, grinding, exhibitionism, doggy, deep dicking, size kink, Seokjin is (rightfully) cocky about his huge dong, belly bulge, getting off from the vibrations created by jin’s motorcycle 👀, cocky dom!seokjin, oh and i almost forgot… jin’s got a magic cross dick piercing 😈

→ Networks: @ksmutsociety @k-vanity @keopihaus @lapydiaries @bangtanwritershq

→ Author Note: This is long overdue (me and collab deadlines don’t have the best relationship lol), here’s my part of the Can’t Be Tamed collab hosted by Sav @jeonjcngkook. Also a big thank you to Ley @pars-ley for beta reading this for me, I adore you!!!! As always, all likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated <3 divider credit

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˙⟡˙ the new insane — counterfeit ˙⟡˙ what do you want from me? — bad omens ˙⟡˙ antimatter — silent planet ˙⟡˙ (pls) set me on fire — enter shikari ˙⟡˙ code mistake — corpse x bring me the horizon ˙⟡˙ bang bang — revnoir ˙⟡˙ instead — xdinary heroes, yoon do hyun ˙⟡˙ apathy — windwaker ˙⟡˙ die mf die — dope ˙⟡˙ self sacrifice — wage war ˙⟡˙

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“What can I get you?” you holler over your shoulder to the new body sitting on an open stool. Quickly stuffing the cash into the register, you turn around with your usual customer-service smile and hand the remaining change to the couple as they gather their things, preparing to leave.

It’s been busy all day, with waves of customers coming and going, but now you’re in that brief lull after the dinner rush, just before the night crowd starts to fill the room. With the peak of the summer season in full swing, business has been non-stop. And tonight should be even more hectic as it’s Friday night.

Walking toward the new guy waiting, you look him over while trying to get a good read. You first notice his glazed-over and slightly red eyes, a trait you easily recognize as a bartender at a popular downtown dive bar. He has a half-smoked blunt hanging between his fingers, somehow making himself look even more attractive.

Next, your vision trails along the black ink covering his tanned skin; a lightning bolt at the corner of his right eye, Fearless scribbled below his left, and a large piece with skulls and roses took up most of the space on his neck. And even though he’s wearing a leather jacket, it’s not hard to guess that his arms and other places are most likely covered by tattoos too.

“Surprise me, gorgeous,” he says, leaning forward with a dangerous smile.

Rolling your eyes at the overused line, you reach for the ingredients you need to mix something this pretentious guy would never order for himself. You do your best to hide your smirk as you grab the bottle of peach schnapps from the sea of other liquors and the orange juice from the cooler near your waist.

His gaze wanders from your curvaceous backside to what you’re making. “Ah, Sex on a Beach,” he notes, as you hand over the cherry-colored drink, with the umbrella and all. “My favorite.” His sparkling eyes lock with yours when your hands touch during the exchange.

“Really? Somehow, I doubt that.”

“Well, that’s fair. Would it be more believable if I said I’m usually more of a Jack and Coke guy?”

“Oh wow, now that is surprising,” you tease. “Who would’ve guessed?”

“Alright, what’s your go-to then? What do you recommend?”

You lean against the counter, pretending to ponder deeply, “I would have to say peanut butter flavored whiskey has my attention at the moment.”

“Fuck that,” he says with another grin that shows off his perfectly white teeth.

Who is this man, and why is he such a stunner?!

“You can’t be serious?”

A smirk grows on your lips as you grab two shot glasses and the bottle of Skrewball. You fill them without looking, a fun bartender trick of yours, keeping your eyes locked onto his. You pass one to him, keeping the other for yourself and lifting it to cheers, “Bottoms up.”

He lets out a sigh, “Here goes nothin’...” His face immediately twists up in disgust, and he sputters after swallowing. “Oh my god,” he clears his throat. “That has to be the worst thing I’ve ever put in my mouth.”

“Oh come on, I’m sure nastier things have found their way between your lips,” you joke, laughing while he finishes the glass of water you also set out for him.

“You have no idea…” he says, playing along.

“So, what brings you to town?” And more importantly, how long are you here for?

“Ah, I’m just here for the weekend with my buddies,” he smiles, before taking a sip of his sex on the beach.

The front door opening interrupts your conversation, and a group of college-aged guys walk in, who immediately wave you down to get their drinks.

“Hold that thought,” you say, eyes drifting back to the door as it opens again for the next group that struts in and joins the guys who are now whistling for your attention. “I’ll be right back, gotta take care of these assholes.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it. When I need another I’ll just whistle for ya.” He smirks, and your insides heat up while you walk away. You don’t know him, but you like him.

Unfortunately, that lovely group kept you busier than you would have liked. By the time you can satisfy them and the girls whose drinks they also bought, the handsome stranger is long gone.

All that remains is an empty glass sitting on top of a napkin with the words, “Thanks for the chat and the amazing sex (on the beach), See you around!” scribbled along with a crisp hundred-dollar bill.

You wonder if you'll ever see him again. The odds are slim, and you try not to let that sting.

The rest of the night flies by, and before you know it, it’s approaching 3 a.m. Much to no one's surprise, you’ve made your entire month’s rent in tips tonight, which is why you love working closing shifts when everyone else would prefer to already be home and in bed.

Bartending is typically an easy job if you like being social. Drunk men are easy to flirt with and the money flows if you can bullshit with them for long enough.

“Have a good night, guys,” you say, waving goodbye to Jenny, the other bartender working with you tonight, and her boyfriend Dino, who also happens to be the bar’s bouncer.

They wave back and say goodnight before turning to walk home together, leaving you to finish locking up.

Your loud yawn is hidden by the low rumbles of a nearby motorcycle, and the exhaustion of the busy night finally hits you. Dropping your keys into your purse, you turn in the opposite direction to head home.

“Calling it a night this early?” a familiar voice says from the darkness surrounding you. You freeze in place, trying to make out the shadowed figure.

“Oh,” you say in relief, after taking a couple of steps closer and seeing the hot guy from earlier. “It's you.”

“I was wondering when you’d get off,” he says, his smooth voice making your skin shiver.

“Aww, have you been waiting this whole time?” you ask, a slight tease in your tone.

He leans casually against his bike, the city lights flickering in his eyes. “Nah, I met up with my friends for a bit. Then realized I forgot to give you something.”

You tilt your head, with a playful smirk on your lips. “Let me guess, your number? Or your name?” Heat curls in your stomach; either one would be a win.

“Maybe,” he murmurs, stepping closer, his gaze trailing over you like a slow caress. “But you gotta work for it.” He swings a leg over his motorcycle and taps the empty space in front of him. “Sit.”

You raise a brow but obey, straddling the bike backward so you're facing him. It’s not like you’re going for a ride, so what does it matter? He doesn’t complain about your positioning. His hands quickly find your thighs, his thumbs tracing slow, intoxicating circles into your skin.

“So…” you exhale, pulse quickening under his touch. “What did you forget?”

His smile turns cocky, and without warning he leans in, his lips a breath away from yours.

“This,” he whispers before kissing you. He claims your mouth with a hunger that leaves no room for doubt and certainly no space for air. His hands tighten on your thighs, pulling you closer until there’s nothing between you.

You can’t believe this is happening, you’re practically straddling a hot stranger’s lap, tangled in a very heated kiss. Even the cool night air does nothing to tame the fire licking at your skin.

Threading your fingers through his thick hair, you tug just enough to draw a low groan from him. Your hips shift instinctively, and the moment you do, a gasp slips from your lips. The deep purr of the motorcycle beneath you vibrates through every inch of your body, teasing that sensitive bundle of nerves through your jean shorts.

He pulls back just enough to smirk, his breath hot against your lips. “Does that feel good, gorgeous?” His voice is low, dripping with sin. “Are you a needy little whore who just has to get off?”

Before you can respond, his strong hand presses against your lower back, guiding you down against the hard metal of his bike. The vibrations intensify, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Grind those hips, baby,” he purrs, his other hand still gripping your thigh. “Show me how needy you are.”

A whimper escapes you as your hips obey, moving with desperate friction, chasing that delicious edge. He leans in, his lips grazing your ear as he whispers filth that only makes the ache worse.

“You’re such a pretty little whore,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. “But I think you need to show a little more skin for me.”

He tugs down the scoop neckline of your shirt, exposing the delicate lace of your bra. His eyes darken, admiration flickering in them as he takes in the sight of you.

He leans in, his warm breath ghosting over the fabric before he presses his mouth against it. Leaving a teasing kiss, then another. His tongue traces over the lace, dampening it, before he tugs it down, both layers of fabric pushing your breasts up enticingly. His gaze flickers up to meet yours, and he grins devilishly as he watches them bounce in time with your desperate movements.

Without warning, his lips latch onto the soft peak of your flesh, sucking greedily before biting down just enough to make you gasp. The sharp pleasure sends another jolt of heat pooling low in your stomach. He moves to the other nipple, his tongue teasing you and savoring this moment.

He doesn’t need to hear you say that you’re close; he can feel it in the way your hips stutter against his bike. Your movements growing erratic, more desperate.

He groans against your skin, voice thick with satisfaction. “Come undone for me,” he commands, his grip tightening. His voice is possessive and downright dangerous. “Right now.”

Your body shatters, pleasure ripping through you in the form of an uncontrollable moan spilling from your lips. He holds you close, his lips brushing against your temple as he chuckles, satisfied.

“Good girl,” he murmurs smugly, his voice laced with approval. “That’s it.” He pulls your bra and shirt back up, covering your exposed skin just before a car drives by.

You’re still catching your breath, pulse hammering, when reality crashes back in. “Oh my god,” you whisper, pressing a hand to your face. “I cannot believe that just happened.”

He grins, tilting his head. “Oh, you better believe it, sweetheart.” He lets his fingers trail over your thigh before reaching into his leather jacket, pulling out a small envelope.

“Here.” He holds it out to you, his smirk sinful. “Save a little of that bad behavior for me tomorrow.”

You take the envelope, raising an eyebrow. “What is this?”

He laughs, shaking his head. “Open it later and find out.”

You roll your eyes, but the teasing glint in your gaze betrays your curiosity. “Mysterious and cocky. Dangerous combo.”

“You’re into it,” he counters smoothly, reaching around your body and revving the engine beneath you. The vibrations send a wicked aftershock through your overstimulated body, making you shiver. His pleased smirk deepens. “Time to hop off, baby.”

You bite your lip, still breathless. “All that, and you’re still not going to tell me your name?”

He shakes his head, amusement dancing in his dark eyes. “Show up tomorrow, and maybe I will.”

With one last lingering glance, you slide off his bike, your legs still unsteady as you head back to your car.

He watches you with that devilish smirk, like he already knows you’ll meet him damn near anywhere tomorrow. Just for a repeat of something similar to tonight.

And dammit, he’s probably right.

Everyone told Seokjin that bringing his motorcycle on tour was a bad idea.

It’ll take up too much space. It might get damaged. Some unhinged fan could steal it and sell it for a million dollars.

But none of those reasons had been enough to stop him. Especially when the pro list included making you come undone last night, riding the vibrations of his engine like a damn symphony.

That memory alone? Worth every logistical nightmare.

He smirks to himself, leaning against a wall backstage, eyes scanning the slowly filling venue. Doors had opened thirty minutes ago, and the first opener is about to hit the stage.

But so far…there’s no sign of the pretty brunette that he’s been unable to stop thinking about.

“There you are,” a deep voice says from behind.

Startled, Seokjin turns slightly to find Yoongi, one of the band’s other guitarists, watching him with mild amusement.

“Didn’t think you were the crowd-watching type,” Yoongi adds with a raised eyebrow, stepping beside him.

Seokjin shrugs, trying to play it cool. “Just scoping the energy.”

“Uh-huh. Seems like you’re looking for someone?”

Jin manages to dodge the question when Taehyung, their lead singer, bursts out of the dressing room with a parade of barely-dressed women behind him.

“Dude,” Taehyung groans dramatically, “Where’s the fucking booze? The dressing room’s already dry. Can you believe that shit?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Yoongi deadpans.

The two immediately fall into their usual back-and-forth, trading sarcastic barbs and wild theories about who drank the last bottle of whiskey. But Seokjin tunes them out.

His gaze is still locked on the crowd, his fingers tapping nervously against his thigh. You’d never confirmed that you were coming tonight, despite him counting on it.

Did you look up the band after opening that envelope? The one he slipped into your hands right before you walked away, while you were still flushed and a little breathless after your little exhibitionist act? The one containing a ticket to tonight’s sold out show, with an all-access pass that gets you the best view inside the barricade, plus allows you backstage.

He wonders if you pieced it together, if you made the connection about who he was.

You two hit it off instantly. It was far more than he ever expected when he stopped by that bar for a quick drink, barely an hour after their tour bus pulled into the venue lot. He’d debated it. Going out without security wasn’t exactly recommended, not with how massive their fanbase is. But it was still early enough in the night before it would be too busy, and surprisingly, no one recognized him.

Not even you. That was the most refreshing part.

You didn’t look at him like he was Seokjin, popular rhythm guitarist of Dark & Wild, the notoriously reckless band that had carved its name into rock history with more scandals than awards. You weren’t starry-eyed over the media headlines, the platinum records, or the chaos they left behind in every city.

You looked at him like he was just a man.

Not a musician, not a rockstar. Just a stranger with a sharp jaw, a dirty mouth, and a bike that made you blush.

You didn’t know he was in the middle of the Can’t Be Tamed world tour, one of the most anticipated events in music, already dubbed by critics as legendary, unfiltered, and unforgettable.

And that’s what made last night feel so real. It was raw and unscripted. Something he hasn’t had the pleasure of enjoying in quite some time.

Now, with adrenaline in the air and the crowd getting louder, he’s wondering if you'll stand out from the sea of faces. Or if you’ll remain hidden at the back of the crowd. He hopes you’ll use your advantage and be right up front. Right below his spot on stage, so he can tower over your pretty frame and show off.

God, he really hopes that’s the case.

As the bass echoes off the walls and stage lights flash when the first band takes the stage, Seokjin can’t help but wonder if last night was the last time he’ll ever see you?

With a quiet sigh, he turns away from the crowd and heads back to the dressing room to finish putting on his makeup and stage outfit. Still, his mind keeps drifting back to you.

His lips curl into a smirk at the memory of your face last night. How gorgeous you looked as you came undone in front of him, bold and unfiltered, grinding against the vibrations of his bike like you had nothing to prove. Damn, you were daring. Something refreshing that he found sexy as hell.

Jin chuckles under his breath, the memory fading as another wave of uninteresting women spills into the room with the company of his other bandmates.

A concert ticket… and an all-access pass? Is this what he’s in town for?

You turn the items over in your hands, reading the details printed in bold ink. Dark & Wild – Can’t Be Tamed World Tour. Your eyes widen slightly. That’s tonight.

You bite your lip, thinking it over.

Dark & Wild. Is that his favorite band? It would make sense, he definitely looks like the type who enjoys heavy guitar riffs and screaming fans. And he did mention he was only in town for the weekend.

But how the hell did he manage to score tickets? You remember hearing on the radio at work that the concert had completely sold out weeks ago.

Maybe he works for the band? A roadie, perhaps? He did have that confident, edgy energy. Like someone who thrives in the chaos of tour life, all the late nights and loud music.

Whatever his connection is, it doesn’t really matter. You’re just excited to see him again for your date tonight. Sure, it was technically just an invitation…but in your head, it counts as a date. And the butterflies in your stomach haven’t stopped fluttering since you opened the envelope earlier.

You can’t even remember the last time you were this excited for something. It’s been forever since a guy made your heart race. And, if you’re being honest, even longer since someone made you come like that.

So yeah, you’re definitely going.

You even decide to dress up more than you normally would for a concert. Not that you like to try hard, but hey, you’ve got someone to impress. Slipping into a black mini skirt that hugs your hips just right, you pair it with a black and white leopard print corset that cinches your waist and shows just enough cleavage to tempt. Then come the knee-high red leather boots that make your legs look a mile long and are impossible to ignore.

You twist your dark hair up into a messy-but-intentional style, securing it with a sharp chrome hair clip that glints under the light. With a swipe of eyeliner and a touch of red lipstick, you take one last glance in the mirror. Perfect timing, because your phone buzzes soon after.

Grabbing your purse, you sigh in an attempt to calm the nerves glittering beneath the surface as your Uber pulls up. The ride is short, or perhaps your mind is just preoccupied with the possibilities of tonight.

After getting dropped off, your heart flutters with each step you make toward the venue doors. The closer you get, the more real it feels.

Once the staff member waves you through after scanning your ticket, your pulse quickens. You’re about to see him again. The mysterious stranger who took one ordinary night and turned it into something wild. You wonder if he’s already arrived, if he’s waiting for you. If his face will light up when you walk toward him.

An hour later, your excitement slowly starts to unravel. The second act is about to finish their set, and there’s still no sign of him. You’ve been scanning the crowd nonstop, but the faces blur together under pulsing lights and stage fog. Though you know you’d be able to sense him.

But he’s not here.

Your stomach knots a little tighter with each passing minute. Maybe he got caught up. Maybe he’s still on the way. Maybe he’s at the bar. Maybe–

You chew your bottom lip, clutching your purse a little tighter.

Maybe he changed his mind.

As a last resort, you make your way toward the security guards stationed at the far left side of the barricade, right by the emergency exit doors.

You’ve been quietly watching from afar as a couple of crew members flash their passes before slipping past security like it’s no big deal. You hadn’t wanted to go that route unless you had to. But now, with no sign of him in the crowd and your hope thinning by the minute, it feels like your only shot.

You hesitate; the idea of being so close to the stage makes you uneasy. Especially when you barely know anything about the headliners who are about to run out. You don’t want to look out of place, like someone who doesn’t belong.

Still, you have to do it. You internally groan as you approach the guards, trying to look casual as you hold out your pass. They barely glance at it before nodding and letting you through. You step past the barricade and find a spot that hugs the left side of the stage, doing your best to stay out of the spotlight.

This side of the barrier is mostly empty. A few photographers are positioned with heavy cameras and media badges dangling from their necks. Past them and off to the right, you spot a small group of women. Probably girlfriends, or maybe groupies, laughing amongst themselves, already at ease.

He’s not here either.

You scan again, just to be sure.

Still, there’s no sign of the handsome stranger.

You’re about to give up and leave, heavy disappointment beginning to settle in. Of all the people to get stood up by, it had to be someone who was really nice, actually funny, and insanely attractive.

Boy, do you know how to pick them.

Just when you’re ready to call it a night, you catch yourself and halt your mood from worsening. Fuck it. Why should you miss out on the show? It’s free, after all. Now that the popular band is about to take the stage, you might as well stay and enjoy the music. It sure as hell beats going home to another lonely evening.

Suddenly, the stage lights dim, and the crowd roars as members start stepping into their places. As the intro of their first song begins, the lights flash back on and the screaming intensifies. That’s when your heart does a little flip, as your eyes fall on him.

Wait.

Holy shit.

It takes a moment for it to sink in, but when it does, you inhale rapidly. Your stranger isn’t a fan or roadie…he’s in the band.

His eyes lock onto yours across the stage, and you freeze, completely stunned by this new information. He smiles, pleased to see you, and then bam. That familiar smirk spreads across his face. He winks next, which makes your stomach flip as the barricade of fangirls behind you scream even louder.

What a fucking tease.

The roar of the crowd, the pounding beat of the drums, and the electrifying guitar riffs all hit you at once. You feel the vibrations from the amps in your chest. As they dive further into their set, something clicks, you actually know some of these songs; sometimes they’d play over the radio at the bar during your shifts. Catchy enough to hum along to, sure, but never quite playlist-worthy. At least, not until now.

Because hearing them live? It’s something else entirely. The sound wraps around you, enveloping you in heat and haze, and you don’t even try to fight it as the music pulls you under its spell.

Your motorcycle-riding, guitar-playing, dangerously handsome stranger moves across the stage like he owns it. Every step, every strum, is perfectly in sync with the rhythm. There’s a swagger to the way he plays, like he knows exactly how good he is. And how good he looks doing it.

Seokjin knows you’re watching him. He loves that your eyes trail him no matter where he moves on stage. He’s an entertainer, after all. He’s used to having thousands of women’s eyes on him. But tonight he only cares about yours.

He sneaks another glance at you.

You’ve let go completely, swaying your hips and dancing without a care. He smiles, he’s maybe even a little awestruck, as he takes in how much fun you’re having. He can’t help but stare like you’re the only person in the room.

And every time your gaze flicks back up to him, he’s already looking.

You lock eyes again and again, holding each other’s stare until he breaks it to look out over the crowd or exchange a nod with another band member. The smoldering glances you share make your stomach do flips and your knees feel a little weaker than you'd like to admit.

You came to this show expecting just to see him. Now you’re not sure how the hell you’re supposed to walk away without wanting more. Without needing to know what it would be like to have one night with him.

Last night was just the preview.

He and another member run off stage, prob to get a water or something, you don’t think anything of it because not even a minute later they're back on stage and starting the next song.

It’s a ballad, and you sway along to the romantic lyrics, when someone suddenly taps on your shoulder.

“Hey, Seokjin sent me down here. Do you have the pass he gave you?”

Seokjin. That’s his name.

You nod and lift it off your neck.

"Perfect. Once the band comes back out for their two encore songs, head over there,” he points toward the other end of the stage, “And show your pass to the security by the stairs. They’ll let you through so you can watch from side stage until the set's over."

Jin can’t help the satisfied grin that spreads across his face the moment he spots you standing side stage, tucked behind a couple of crew members. The lighting casts a soft glow on your face, and for a second, the chaos of the show fades into the background.

He still can’t believe that you’re here.

The band powers through the final encore, leaving the crowd screaming for more as they belt out the last note. After one final strum, Jin tosses a few guitar picks into the sea of fans, flashing a wink to the front row before stepping off stage, adrenaline still buzzing through his veins.

He heads toward you, running a hand through his sweat-damp hair, only stopping when the rest of the guys crowd around him. Peering over their shoulders, he catches your eye and waves you over.

"Come here, I want you to meet everyone," he says, without any hesitation. He gestures to the group of men, each in various states of post-show chaos, shirtless, sweaty, all grinning. “This is Yoongi and Jimin, our other guitarists. Joon plays bass. Hobi and Tae are our lead vocalists—”

“And that,” a new, cockier voice says, cuting off Jin, “Leaves the best for last.”

A tall, inked-up guy with loose dark curls and a smirk that screams trouble steps forward. He extends a hand toward you, “I’m Jungkook. I slam the shit out of the drums…among other things.” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

Jin rolls his eyes so hard it’s almost audible. Jungkook enjoys riling him up, especially in front of a gorgeous girl. His grin only widens when Seokjin shoots him a warning look.

“Don’t mind him,” Jin mutters under his breath, his hand grazing your lower back possessively. “He’s still trying to figure out how to flirt without being a menace.”

You laugh when Jungkook winks at you. “What can I say? I’m a crowd favorite.”

Jin snorts. “Sure, dude.”

The guys chuckle before greeting the other women who walk up to the group. But Jin lingers beside you, eyes never quite leaving your face.

“You looked good out there,” you say, still buzzing from the show.

He smirks. “You looked better.”

“You guys ready to party?” Jimin hollers, already halfway toward the exit with a couple of girls on his arms.

Jin doesn’t answer right away. His hand slides lower, fingers brushing over the bare sliver of skin between your corset top and your skirt. The light touch sends a trail of goosebumps up your spine.

“We’ll meet you there,” he finally says, not breaking eye contact with you.

He hadn’t fully registered what you were wearing earlier. He’d been so caught up in the fact that you were here, he missed the finer details. Now he’s taking in every inch of you; the curve of your hips, the way your corset hugs your curves, especially the flash of thigh above those red boots.

And all he can think about is how badly he wants enjoy you.

Jimin catches the look on Jin’s face and raises an eyebrow knowingly, but he doesn’t say a word. Just smirks, wraps his arms around two women like the rockstar he is, and calls out, “Alright ladies, let’s get the fuck outta here.”

He disappears, leaving you and Jin in your little bubble while the crew begins to pack up around you.

“Come on,” Jin murmurs, leaning closer to your ear, his hand still on your back, “I want you all to myself for just a little longer.”

He pulls you into the dressing room, the door slamming shut behind you before he swiftly locks it. In the next second, your back hits the door with a soft thud, his body pressed against yours.

“So…Seokjin,” you tease, lips curling into a wicked little smile. “Any other secrets you’re keeping from me?”

He chuckles low in his throat, the sound vibrating against your skin as he leans in. “Mmm, no secrets,” he murmurs, eyes dark with need. “But say my name again.”

You obey, your voice dropping to a sultry whisper. “Seokjin.”

He groans softly, like the sound of his name on your lips is something filthy and divine all at once. “Shit, baby. It sounds so good coming from you.”

His hands roam your waist, gripping the curve of your hips like he’s already imagining what they’ll feel like wrapped around him.

“Now that you know who I am,” he breathes, brushing his lips along your jaw, “You understand this can only be a one-time thing.”

You meet his eyes, unbothered by that fact, and your breath hitches as his fingers play with the hemline of your miniskirt.

“So fucking worth it,” you whisper, before crashing your mouth against his, your hands tangling in his hair.

It’s all heat and hunger, there’s no hesitation between either of you.

He presses you harder into the door, pinning you between the solid wood and his firm body. Without warning, he lifts you, and your legs instinctively wrap around his waist.

Jin’s mouth is everywhere; your neck, your collarbone, the soft swell of your chest. His hands slide over the curve of your ass, kneading possessively, before one dips lower. His fingers curl inward, teasing your aching core through the thin fabric of your panties.

You gasp against his lips, moaning softly as his fingers graze right where you need him the most. But just as you start to roll your hips into his hand, he pulls away.

The sound of your whimper is swallowed by his deep groan as he grinds his hips into you. The thick, hard length of him presses right against your center, and you swear your body trembles at the contact.

“Oh my god,” you mewl, head falling back as you feel just how big he is, even through layers of clothing. Your body clenches in anticipation.

“I can’t wait to sink into you,” he growls against your throat, his voice deliciously rough. “You ready for me, baby? Think you can handle all of me?”

He thrusts his hips again, making your breath hitch.

“I bet you can’t wait for me to split you open,” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear. “Stretch you so fucking wide, you’ll feel me for days. Is that what you want?”

“Yes, Seokjin, please,” you beg shamelessly.

That’s all he needs to hear.

He turns, carrying you across the room like you weigh nothing, and tosses you down onto the leather sofa. You land with a bounce, your heart pounding and thighs clenching.

He stands over you for a second, his dark eyes raking over your body below, savoring the way you look spread out and desperate for him.

“Take off your panties,” he commands, “I want to watch.”

You don’t hesitate. Slipping your fingers beneath the fabric, you begin to slide the soaked lace down your thighs. They snag slightly on your boots, but he’s already kneeling to help, tugging them the rest of the way off with a growl of frustration and want.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, eyes darkening as he takes in the slick glistening between your thighs. “You’re already dripping for me.”

He rises and takes a few steps away, grabbing a condom from a torn-open box on the counter, clearly left out by someone else’s pre-show indulgences. But when he turns back around, what he sees nearly sends him to his knees.

You’ve leaned back into the couch, one arm propped behind you, the other between your thighs. Your legs are spread wide, shameless, your skirt hiked up around your waist as your fingers slowly circle your clit before slipping lower, dipping into your soaked entrance.

“Holy fuck,” he breathes, hand moving to palm himself as you moan and bite your lip, teasing him with a second finger. Your eyes meet his, heavy with lust, and the raw hunger between you thickens.

He pulls his cock free from his pants, and your gaze drops instantly—only to widen at the shimmer of something silver catching the overhead light.

He strokes himself with the same speed as your fingers, letting you see every inch of what you’re about to take. The thick, veined length of him is beautiful, but it’s the four tiny silver beads at the crown of his cockhead, encircling his tip in a perfect ring of piercings, that leave you breathless.

Your core clenches around your fingers at the sight.

He sees your reaction and smirks, lazily making his way back toward you with that same infuriating, devastating confidence, and still pumping his cock as if he has all the time in the world.

“Curious?” he rasps, towering over you.

You nod, lips parted, breath shallow with anticipation.

He strokes the head of his cock once, collecting the bead of precum glistening at the tip. Without taking his eyes off yours, he brings his thumb down to your mouth.

“You’ll find out what they do soon enough,” he murmurs.

Your lips close around his thumb without hesitation, sucking softly. Tasting him, teasing him.

That last thread of Seokjin’s composure snaps. He swears under his breath, the muscle in his jaw flexing as he tears open the condom with his teeth before swiftly rolling it on over his thick, pierced length.

Then, without warning, he grabs your hips and slams into you in one devastating thrust.

The force rocks you back into the cushions, a sharp cry escaping your lips. If it weren’t for the vice grip he had on you, you might’ve been launched right off the damn couch.

“Fuck,” he growls, head falling forward for a moment as he adjusts to your tight, wet heat. “You feel better than I imagined.”

You’re breathless, body arching to take him deeper as the metal beads drag against your inner walls with every slow pull back, sending sparks shooting through your entire core.

Your hands clutch at the edge of the sofa, eyes rolling back as he thrusts hard again.

And just like that, you're ruined.

“You love how I split your pretty little pussy open, don’t you?” he growls against your neck, voice dark and possessive. “No one else is ever gonna compare to me. No one else is gonna fuck you like this. This deep, this hard.”

You let out a broken moan, your entire body trembling beneath him. Words are useless now, your brain is too foggy, too overloaded with pleasure to even form a sentence. All you can do is gasp and cling to him like your life depends on it.

“Look at how much of me you take,” he grunts, pulling back just enough to force your gaze downward.

The sight between your thighs is obscene. His thick, pierced cock driving into you over and over, glistening with your slick. You can see the slight swell in your lower belly every time he bottoms out, a bulge pressing up under your skin.

“Oh my god,” you whimper.

“I don’t even know how I fit,” he teases, panting now, a wild smirk tugging at his lips. “It’s like a goddamn magic trick, huh?”

Then he shifts, just a slight change in angle, but the second those cool metal beads drag across your sweet spot, everything inside you unravels.

Your body arches, a sharp cry tearing from your throat as your orgasm crashes through you like a tidal wave. You clamp down around him, shaking, gasping, crying out his name as he fucks you through it.

“That’s it,” he growls, losing his rhythm just a little as you tighten around him. “That’s my good fucking girl.”

Before your body even has a chance to recover, he flips you over onto your hands and knees, your limbs still trembling from your last orgasm.

His grip is firm, one hand wrapped around your waist to steady your quivering body. You barely have time to brace yourself before you feel the sharp sting of his teeth sinking into the plush of your ass, followed by the loud crack of his palm slapping the other cheek.

“Fuck, look at that,” he groans, admiring the fresh red print blooming beneath his hand and the indents of his teeth on your skin. “You wear me so well.”

And then he’s sliding back in, fucking you from behind with bruising force. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes off the walls, mingling with your breathless moans and desperate cries of his name.

“Seokjin!” you scream, back arching as overwhelming pleasure rips through you.

He fists a handful of your hair and yanks your head back, hard. Your mouth falls open in a silent gasp.

“Take it,” he snarls, his hips slamming into yours with punishing rhythm. “You love it rough like this, don’t you? Getting ruined like a fucking cock whore. Getting treated like the nasty girl you are.”

The pain and pleasure blur into one intoxicating haze as he brings his hand down on your ass again, another sharp spank that makes your legs shake and your core leak.

Just when you think you can't take any more, you feel his thumb press against your tightest hole, teasing as his cock drives into your soaked center. You whimper, your head dropping forward.

“Gonna fall apart for me again?” he pants behind you, voice strained with the effort of holding back.

You nod frantically, unable to speak, your walls already fluttering around him.

Then it hits you, your second orgasm tearing through your body, wave after wave of overwhelming ecstasy leaving you breathless and undone. Your vision goes hazy, your mouth falls open in a silent scream, and your entire body quakes under the weight of it.

You collapse forward, barely holding yourself up as your slick walls flutter wildly around him, clenching down like a vice.

“Jesus,” he grits out, his control unraveling in the heat of your orgasm. The way your body grips him, so fucking wet and perfect, drives him straight to the edge.

With a deep growl, he slams into you one final time, hips flush against your ass as he spills into the condom. Pulse after pulse of release torn from his body, as he holds you there, buried deep, his head thrown back as you milk every last drop from him with your trembling cunt.

You’re both breathless, your bodies slick with sweat and every nerve on fire from the intensity of it all.

For a moment, neither of you move, slowly coming down from something so fucking feral it barely feels real.

“So,” he says with a lazy grin, still catching his breath, “If I leave tickets for you next time we’re in town…you want a repeat?”

You stretch out beneath him, lips curling into a playful smirk. “Only if you promise to bring your motorcycle again.”

His eyes darken instantly, with a wicked glint. “Mmm, that’s a damn good idea.” He leans in close, his breath warm against your ear. “Next time, I’m making you come twice before we even think about getting off that bike.”

You bite your lip, pulse quickening. “Sounds like a plan.”

He grins smugly. “Nah, baby…that sounds like a date.”

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artsninspo · 9 months ago

Text

FORGIVELESS - I - NOT IN THE DARK ANYMORE 🌒

➨ rio's library - good girl nbc

「 ✦ full library & archive ✦ 」

I - Not in the dark anymore

Author's Note: Record scratch … I was working through some writer's block when this concept came to me. Instead of letting it pass here it is. I can promise part two because it’s already outlined.

Pairing: Rio X Reader

Word Count: 2K

Warning: Mature themes and mentions of cheating.

Summary: What is supposed to be a romantic date night with your husband quickly descends to a night of nightmares after meeting a charismatic entrepreneur named Rio with what you perceive to be an uncanny insight on your current situation.

Rio scans the floor of his newest business endeavour. He’s been successful at counterfeiting but now he needs new ways to wash his money. His bars had been doing so good he decided to move into the restaurant business. While notoriously fickle he didn't have the same financial restraints as other new owners. It only took him six months to find his foothold in the industry and now he had one of the city's most in demand establishments for special occasions. Looking around he spots a gentleman who was in the last time he’s stopped by to check on things. Looking across from the man he sees you sitting all done up. He needed strong attention to detail in his line of work. It was a safety precaution but your body language brings the situation into full view. Sitting back he looks under the table only to have his suspicions confirmed. The other woman had her foot up halfway to your dates crotch under the table.

“Table twelve seems familiar” he mutters to his general manager.

“Ahh, he was with a different girl. Excellent tip” His GM responds and Rio takes another look locating the ring set on your left hand. You were the wife.

“Decline all his reservations moving forward. I don’t care how well he tips. Only friends should be here that often.” Rio says watching closely. He had his principles in business and in life. There were simply some things men didn't do. Bringing their girlfriends to the city's best restaurants before their wives was top of mind.

“Done” the GM says as Rio makes his way into the back to look at the accounting. Everything needed to be in perfect working order for things to work. The restaurant would be a stepping stone to more. Food had never been a passion of his but he could sell an experience to people who wanted to pretend for a few hours. Besides, it had cost him virtually nothing and turned a huge profit every week. He steps out tucking his weekly take home pay behind the bar, walking around it to be served a drink. You're in his perfect line of sight. He watches you reach for your husband as he gets up, throwing cash down onto the table and kissing you goodbye. He watches you sigh and watch as he leaves. Shaking his head he turns back to his glass.

“Hey can you give the waiter this. I was sitting over there” Rio hears turning to you.

Fuck, shes bad.

His thoughts run the gamut as he looks you over. Thinking back to the other woman he rakes through his memory for her. She had nothing on you besides maybe being slightly younger.

“Thank you” hears cluing back into the conversation you're having with his bartender.

“I’ll have the third course brought to the bar” the bartender says with a smile.

“Perfect” you nod, sending him a smile.

“Can I buy you a drink?” Rio asks, looking you over. Turning, you are startled by a second by the handsome stranger wildly underdressed for the establishment.

“My husband took care of it thanks” you smile, making him do the same. He’s handsome.

“My husband took care of it” He mocks, chuckling to himself more amused than anything else. “Where is he?” Rio says bringing a glass to his lips.

“Something came up at work” you respond.

She believes the lie too. Rio smiles to himself looking up at the clock, “What, does he deliver babies? Is the hospital short staffed?”

“No, he’s a consultant with a global clientele. You know time zones” you explain.

“Time Zones couldn't keep me off my wife on a Friday night if she looked like you.” Rio comments. Your cheeks burn at the forward implications just as the third course is placed in front of you.

“Compliments of the chef,” the server smiles.

“Thanks” you smile. It looks great.

“Is it good?” Rio asks after a few minutes.

“Mhm” you nod weary of the flirtatious stranger.

“Which time zone clients do I have to thank for this?” Rio asks, pointing between the two of you.

“Japan” you respond.

“To Japan” Rio raises a glass. “Rio, by the way,” he says, holding out a hand.

“Y/N” you respond, shaking his hand.

“Y/N you’re too trusting” Rio says stirring the pot.

“If you want to keep this pleasant please don't disrespect my marriage” you respond and Rio raises his hands.

“Boss, can I get you anything?” the GM says as he sees Rio at the bar.

“Good thanks,” Rio nods.

Looking at him suddenly his simple attire makes sense. Simple and all black was classic and understated in spite of the black tie dress code. Clearly no one was sending him home and the restaurant's food was never on delivery menus. Owner. Not a service professional. You nod to yourself impressed with his accomplishment.

“You own this place?” you ask and he nods reluctantly.

“A few more lowkey spots around the city as well”

You offer cordial conversation.“Congrats, the food is good and it was hell to get reservations”

“Not for Y/N, not anymore.” he smirks and you shake your head. Rio laughs a little, he can't remember the last time he had to try so hard. Clearly you’d signed up for a lifetime of attention and here he was taking up for your husband's shortcomings.

“How kind” your tone is laced with sarcasm.

“I’m not kind, when you realise your man ain't shit you should eat good and stay fine. Do it here where I can see it. If you need to hire someone to beat his ass on your behalf come see me and I got you. I know people.” he says so cavalier it's off putting. There’s no more smirk and you feel slightly queasy in your stomach.

“That’s not funny” you frown.

“I don’t think so either but there’s a very short list of things that could make me leave you at the table. Work isn't one of them, Love” he mutters. Deep down you know he’s right. Something isn't right with your husband James. Recently work has taken precedent. His promotion has been taking all of his attention leaving very little to you. To make matters worse you moved here away from your family, friends and support system to be his. He’d been reluctant to have you move and has put very little time into helping you adjust to the move along with spending quality time. Work has affected all facets of your life including his libido. It was why Rio was practically foaming at the mouth with dilated pupils at the sight of you. It was a three hour process and special creation to set the mood for the night but James hadn’t reacted how you wanted him to. Japan had been at the forefront of his mind. He’d checked his phone more times than you found necessary before getting a call. He spent five minutes in the washroom before coming back and telling you he needed to rush to the office. Reaching forward you wave for the bartender.

“I've lost my appetite. Please thank the waiter” you smile standing from the bar stool. He nods and Rio rises at the same time. His hands go into his pockets following you out as all the staff bid the ‘boss’ goodbye. You hand the valet your ticket first and yet somehow Rio’s G-Wagon appears before your car. He smirks, having made an impression. When your car rolls around Rio gets the door after the valet gets out.

“I’m at the Clique most weekends. Sevens bar during the week, in case you need a man handled. Drive safe, Love” he says once you're in the driver's seat and buckled in. You wonder why you havent told him to fuck off yet until you see an eerie honesty in his eyes.

Your drive home is in complete silence with the exception of your signals and the natural sounds of the road. You feel too unsettled to relax. Once in your house you have to stop yourself from walking a track across your living room rug. You take a bath which does not work to settle your nerves. You brew valerian root tea when all else fails and there is still no peace. You lay in your marital bed tossing and turning until you hear the garage. It’s after three in the morning. You contemplate your options and hear James coming up the stairs ten minutes later. You slow your breath and close your eyes pretending to be asleep. The door opens and he enters walking straight into the ensuite bathroom. Silent tears roll down your eyes. He gets in bed without giving you any affection allowing your mind to run wild. Your alarm wakes you at 7am and you head downstairs to prepare his breakfast for his day ahead. Saturday mornings and afternoons are for golf and client relations. You throw something together quickly and head upstairs to find him in the shower. You spot his phones on the nightstand and grab his personal device.

You try a few passcodes when his work phone starts buzzing. Forfeiting his personal device something drives you to check his work phone. You unlock the phone from memory and scroll through his messages. There are client names you recognize, all with flags attached to them. A message from Japan comes in and you open it only for your stomach to fall.

You scroll for what feels like forever screen recording quickly as you make it up to three weeks. Heartbroken you airdrop yourself the evidence before breaking into his personal phone with new conviction. You nearly drop it when you see nudes and explicit messages. Your hand is trembling as you hear the water stop. You delete your screen recordings from the work phone, locking both devices and laying them as they were. Your hearts in your ass, your eyes stinging as tears threaten to fall. You walk into your office screaming into a pillow. Unable to act like all is well you stay put in there. James shouts you a goodbye before leaving. You pull up the security footage and scroll as far back as you can see. Your only consolation is he hasnt brought the whore back to your home. Still, it doesn't erase the intimacy of the messages. It doesn't erase the deceit and callousness of his lies and actions. It doesn't erase your heartache or the fact that he’s been lying heartlessly for months. Doesn’t negate the truth of his libido being well and intact, not for you but for her.

You sit for hours in a daze ignoring your daily routine before deciding to head to the spa. Heading upstairs you take off your rings, unable to wear the gifts from such a low down asshole. A manicure, pedicure, sauna and a full body massage doesnt bring you any reprieve. You still feel terrible as clarity dawns. You get the full picture of his betrayal. The pain is too much. Eight years together, five married and this is what it's come to. The visual of his mistress pleasuring herself is etched into your mind, along with the messages between them. Worst of all was the most recent. The mistress thanking your husband for blowing you off to care for her needs. Sitting in the lot of the spa after hours you punch the steering wheel before leaning into it and honking until you’ve stopped screaming.

Anger wins. Visualising James in the hospital brings you more peace than everything else you've tried. Looking in his eyes pretending to be shocked and concerned while being the root of his current predicament is the kind of sweet karma that allows you to exhale for the first time in hours. Hospital visits because you got him fucked up for his indiscretion. After years of being whatever he wanted whenever. Without even a heads up or him expressing any discontent. Blindly trusting him when he’s been in another relationship. Bystanders look in shock as you pull out of the lot burning rubber with one destination in mind.

Club Clique, to see a man named Rio.

Author's Note: thanks for reading, this one will be a little fast paced and unhinged. Very toxic because from what I can see that's what you all enjoy most. Rio being messy was my favourite part! Like, Comment, Reblog and interact with the poll.

» next part

All my love,

xoxo

#masterlist #rio x reader #rio x you #rio good girls #good girls rio #manny montana x reader #rio imagine #manny montana fanfiction #rio good girls fanfiction #rio good girls imagine

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whizzing-fizzbee · 3 months ago

Text

Some Protector

Sebastian Sallow x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit/MDNI; all characters are adults Words: ~4,800 Tags: MDNI, smut, breakup and makeup, makeup sex, romance, light angst, angst with a happy ending

Summary: It's been six months since Sebastian Sallow ended your relationship, citing fear that your association to him could send you to Azkaban. When you're forced to reunite at your friends' wedding, you make it clear you need Sebastian more than you need his protection.

Notes: Just a little one-shot inspired by the song "Some Protector" by Role Model because the bridge has been stuck in my head for weeks. Split this into two parts, with the second part being a quick little dose of smut. Skip it if you want. All characters are adults.

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

“She isn’t coming.”

Sebastian Sallow squinted at Ominis Gaunt in counterfeit confusion. And though Ominis couldn’t physically see his best friend’s expression, he scowled with irritation.

“Don’t be daft, Sebastian,” Ominis chided. “I know you’re looking for her. But she isn't coming. She’s got work tonight.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Sebastian was a good liar, but Ominis was far too perceptive to be fooled by his oldest friend. After all, Ominis had heard the worst of Sebastian’s lies throughout the course of their friendship, and he always discovered the truth.

“Even if she did show up, it’s not like you’d gather the stones to talk to her anyway,” Ominis noted. Sebastian sucked his top row of teeth.

“I don’t have anything to say to her,” Sebastian said simply. It was a frail, meek attempt at another lie, too farfetched for him to speak with his entire chest. Sebastian knew it, and Ominis snorted right through it.

“Sebastian.” It was Ominis’ turn to sigh. “If you’re going to spew nonsense, at least put some effort into it. And stop insulting my intelligence.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes in defeat. “She hates me,” he noted. “She wouldn’t want to hear what I have to say.”

“Another lie. She loves you. She always has, Merlin help her.”

“It doesn’t matter, Ominis,” Sebastian pressed, his tone sharpening with more irritation. “It’s over between us and it’s better off this way.”

“Tell that to Natsai,” Ominis muttered. “She’s still fuming at the two of you. Mostly you.”

Sebastian’s lips thinned. There was no use searching for you at Garreth Weasley’s 21st birthday party that night when Sebastian would be seeing you at Garreth and Natsai’s wedding in a few short weeks.

You were both in the wedding party, regardless of the breakup that threatened to splinter your entire friend group. But you, ever the selfless one, remained determined to make Natsai’s wedding day as perfect as she deserved, so you promised her that the presence of your ex-boyfriend would make no difference. You were fine, you swore, despite the way you’d sobbed in her arms the September evening Sebastian declared your relationship over.

Of course, Natsai knew better. She saw the way you picked at your food, your frame shrinking in size within weeks. She watched the way your shoulders slumped at the mention of marriage and romance. She noticed the way your chest caved whenever an unknowing mutual friend asked about Sebastian, the way the dim light in your eyes darkened when you were forced to spend a single thought on him.

She offered to kick him out of the wedding party, regardless of Garreth’s protests, but you scolded her for even considering a change of plans. You were tough, a hero who received respect wherever you went. You swore you could handle the presence of the man who broke your heart. Your friends deserved to have you both at their wedding and you’d be damned if you let your personal problems dampen their day.

Besides, even Garreth pulled you aside after your breakup to scold Sebastian behind his back – his own good friend – for hurting you. Something along the lines of, “A downright git who needs his head kicked in.” You smiled graciously and told Garreth you were fine. Then you went home and cried so hard, you threw up your dinner.

But now, months later, you were surviving. Maybe even fine. Not great, not even good, but you no longer pictured yourself freefalling from the tallest building in London, so surely progress was made. And you’d also met someone new.

Felix Hawthorne was handsome and refined, a man who carried himself with confidence and poise. He was a gentleman who opened doors for you and bought you flowers. He didn’t curse and he was always on time. You’d only been seeing him for four weeks, but you were hopeful for a future with him.

You didn’t have the emotional intelligence to acknowledge the way you averted your eyes when he praised you, or the way you didn’t think about him as you fell asleep at night. You didn’t dare address the fact you didn’t know the color of his eyes. All you knew was he had smooth, ivory skin, free of any freckles.

He wasn’t the person to consume your most intimate and maddening thoughts, but you told yourself he could be. And at this point, you were merely clinging to the hope of it all.

When Sebastian heard you were dating someone new, Merlin help the poor potted plants that lined the windowsill of his office. They were blasted to bits until flecks of terracotta littered the floor.

Sure, he’d been the one to end your relationship. It had been under the guise that you deserved someone who wouldn’t risk your future with a dark and reckless past, but something inside Sebastian also clung to the hope that someday he could have you again. Optimism had always been his Achilles.

But the Ministry of Magic’s inquiries hadn’t stopped. In fact, their investigation into Solomon Sallow’s death had intensified after they discovered someone had sealed up the catacomb in Feldcroft with mysterious ancient magic. Despite Anne Sallow’s insistence that Solomon had died from a heart issue, it was Ministry protocol to investigate every Auror’s death, past and present. You, Sebastian, Anne and Ominis were questioned on multiple occasions about that day, and when the Ministry Aurors detected inconsistencies in your stories, suspicion spiked surrounding Solomon’s demise.

The sealed catacomb had been your doing, part of your determination to prevent Sebastian from ever entering such a sinister place again. But selfishly, it was also your attempt at concealing any potential evidence of your duel with Solomon from that fateful day. You were protecting Sebastian, and he hated it.

That’s why your relationship started to strain until its final fibers became too frayed for any more fissure. Sebastian shoved you away in fear your connection to him could get you into trouble. You’d done enough to protect him, and he’d be damned if you became complicit in his chaos. He hated himself for dragging you into his darkness, and decided he was far too deep inside his demons to be touched by light. Even though you were that light.

It all made sense in Sebastian’s mind. He wanted to protect you for once. But in your eyes, he’d cast you aside and deemed you incapable of loving him properly. Despite being a Healer, you had never tried to fix Sebastian. You had only wanted to support him.

Your friends all told you it was beyond your control, that Sebastian was the one who wasn’t deserving of your devotion. Even Ominis admitted that Sebastian simply may be too damaged for you.

But you had always seen beneath the ripped edges of the masterpiece that was Sebastian Sallow. In fact, the more imperfect he became, the more you loved him.

Sebastian didn’t understand, which was why he found himself sulking in the corner of the bar during Garreth’s birthday celebration. Your mutual friends didn’t dare broach the topic of you. Some of them pitied Sebastian. Some knew you were seeing someone new. Some still blamed Sebastian for your falling out. Poor Amit Thakkar had spent the evening fighting to keep Poppy Sweeting too distracted to throw her drink at Sebastian, and Arthur Plummly called Sebastian a “pigeon-livered ratbag” straight to his face.

Still, most of your friends harbored a secret hope you and Sebastian would sort everything out and find your way back together – even Imelda Reyes, though she couldn’t help but stoke the flames a little.

“Oi, you look worse for wear,” she said when she spotted Sebastian at Garreth’s party. Sebastian sighed. He had been trying to sneak out unnoticed.

Sebastian and Imelda always got along for the most part. But you and Imelda had been close friends and roommates since your fifth year at Hogwarts, so you won her loyalty during the breakup. Not that you wanted any of your friends to choose sides.

“She isn’t here,” Imelda said, much to Sebastian’s chagrin. He was getting sick of everyone assuming he was looking for you. Even if their assumptions were correct.

“I know that,” Sebastian snapped. “I wasn’t looking for her. I was heading home.”

“She’s got a new boyfriend, you know. I hear he’s already been shopping for an engagement ring.” Imelda spoke with a serious tone and Sebastian couldn’t pinpoint her intentions. She was either trying to imply he should stay away from you, or she was sending him a warning to hurry up and win you back. Either way, Sebastian’s resentment surged. He swallowed his aggravation before he could lash out and sever another friendship.

He left the birthday party but didn’t head home. Instead, he’d drown his sorrows at the bottom of a whiskey glass until he found some maiden to take home for the night. He wouldn’t learn her name, nor would he ever see her again.

Sebastian Sallow was good at many things, but he was a master at turning his fuck-ups into something far more fallacious.

—

The wedding was just the right amount of nauseating. That is, if one asked Sebastian. The last place he wanted to be was surrounded by most everyone he knew while they pretended to be moved by the notion that two people could meet and fall in love forever. Especially when you were going to be standing opposite of him, clad in an elegant gown with your hair pinned up while your new beau sat in the crowd.

The sight of you sucked the air from Sebastian’s lungs, leaving him void of all thought as he watched you laugh at something Poppy had said. The other bridesmaids chatted animatedly as they stood in a group around you, almost as if they were shielding you. And when you finally caught Sebastian’s eye, you did a double-take, your own breath vacating your body as you fought to control your emotions.

His hair was shorter and held into place for once. You decided he looked as handsome as ever, though you’d always been fond of the tousled mop for hair he used to have. You didn’t know his hair had grown wild and unruly, a sign of his disheveled state, until he had a haircut just three days before the wedding.

You looked away, determined to appear positively fascinated by Nellie Oggspire’s story while you waited for the ceremony to start.

But then Sebastian had to watch you saunter down that stupid aisle that seemed to stretch for miles. You were Natsai’s matron of honor, meaning you went last. So Sebastian waited. He stood there among the groomsmen while four of your friends smiled and walked ahead of you, and when you finally emerged through the double doors, Sebastian’s surroundings vanished and he forgot why he was standing there to begin with. The music faded and the pews melted into the floor. You may as well have burned that church to the ground. Sebastian wouldn’t have noticed.

Seeing you made Sebastian homesick. The ache in his chest bloomed into a rose bush, its thorns pressing puncture wounds through his heart with each step you made toward the altar. He hated how beautiful you looked, not that he expected anything less. He’d stare at you even if it killed him. It probably would, he thought.

But you remained hell-bent on staring at everyone – everything – except Sebastian. You forced a happy smile at Garreth, who was beaming with a giddy grin. You nodded at Professor Weasley, who sat in the second row of pews. And then you offered a soft, shy smile at Felix, who was only in attendance for you.

As you neared the end of the aisle and flashed a grin at Leander Prewett, who stood next to Garreth as his best man, you turned and waited for Natsai. You were certainly not thinking about Sebastian. Doing so would probably kill you, you thought.

The ceremony was easy – or as easy as one could hope for when their former significant other was standing mere feet away. But the reception was another story.

It was held in the garden at Garreth’s family home, filled with twinkling fairies and boisterous guests. When they weren’t on the bride and groom, all eyes were on you. Your friends watched you curiously, wondering if you and Sebastian would speak. Would you continue to pretend he doesn’t exist? Would you bury the hatchet and let bygones be bygones? Would you scream and shout, or worse, hex him into the next century? Knowing you, all three were valid possibilities.

But you were committed to being the spitting image of composure – for Garreth and Natsai, and for your own dignity. So you avoided Sebastian like the Doxy Flu… until it came time to dance.

You were both expected to participate, though you both would have preferred to hurl yourself into the sea. But you silently thanked the higher powers for Felix, who danced with you as a welcome distraction from Sebastian’s brooding stare.

You could feel Sebastian’s eyes searing into the side of your head, unwavering in their assault on your inner peace. They clung to you like wet clothing, uncomfortable and heavy.

Felix’s eyes did the same. He smiled as he kept his gaze on you, oblivious to the suffocation occurring inside you. It was too much attention from the worst imaginable two people – the man you wanted to love and the man you couldn’t help but love.

“You look breathtaking tonight,” Felix offered. “It’s an honor to be your date.”

You should have melted at his flattery; instead, you bit back a laugh. It was far too formal for your liking. You were used to Sebastian, who was blunt and brash, brutally honest in all the best and worst ways. He would have told you how irresistible you looked and found some way to convince you to sneak off somewhere to do something spectacularly sinful.

While you’d agreed to go out with Felix because of his polite and proper decorum, it quickly became clear you were trying far too hard to fall in love with the opposite version of your desires. Felix stood quietly, hand lifting yours while he maintained impeccable posture. You wanted nothing more than to sprint from the garden, hair wild and shoes in hand.

As you spun mid-dance, you snuck another discreet glance at Sebastian. He was still watching you, still judging you in silence.

Annoyed and exasperated by Sebastian’s behavior, you finally crafted the courage to look him dead in the eye. He straightened as you did so, but didn’t look away or offer you any sort of expression. He didn’t need to.

Your ire flared and you excused yourself from Felix. You weren’t sure where you’d go, but you needed a secluded spot free from nosy onlookers. They couldn’t see you cry. He couldn’t see you cry.

You could hear Felix call after you, but you flashed him an assuring smile as you scurried away. Bodies brushed past you as you scrambled toward the house, stumbled up the staircase and found an empty bedroom. As soon as the door snapped shut behind you, you exhaled a shaky breath, your eyes finally leaking tears.

You swore at the sharp, sudden knock at the door.

“Be out in a minute,” you called cheerily.

“It’s me.”

Your eyes scanned the room for a window to jump from. A knife to plunge into your own chest. Maybe a vial of poison to ingest. Anything to prolong the inevitable.

But before you could concoct a plan, the door creaked open.

“Hey.”

Your anger surged into full-fledged rage. This man dared to break your heart, stare at you like a jealous caged tiger all night, only to greet you as casually as a cup of morning coffee.

“Go away, Sebastian.”

“Can we talk?”

“No.” You rounded on him, praying your eyes weren’t red and puffy as you narrowed them. “We’ve nothing to talk about.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is for me.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Why do you care?” you snapped.

“Don’t be like that,” Sebastian begged.

“Sebastian, get out.”

“No. Not until you talk to me.”

You were starting to regret your decision to leave your wand at home.

“Sebastian,” you said with a forced tone of finality. “I don’t want to talk.”

“I just need five minutes,” Sebastian insisted. You blinked at him.

“If everything you need to get off your chest can be said in five minutes, I think I’d be better off not giving you the time,” you noted dryly.

“That’s not what I meant-”

“I don’t care, Sebastian. Now let me out.”

“No.”

The ringing in your ears spiked to a deafening pitch. Panic swelled in your chest. You moved to push past him but he caught you by the shoulders. You squawked in protest and spun from his grip.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?!” you cried.

“Just hear me out! If you don’t want to discuss us, at least hear me out about the investigation.”

You stilled, your bottom lip disappearing behind your top row of teeth. “Fine. What about it?”

“I think it’s almost over,” Sebastian said.

“Brilliant.”

“And whatever happens… I’m sorry.”

You weren’t looking at him. You wouldn’t. You couldn’t. Your eyes searched for something, anything to hold your attention. They fell on the bedroom dresser and its ornate gold knobs, slightly weathered from years of use.

“Bit late for apologies, Seb.”

“I know. But… whatever happens, I just want you to know I never wanted things to end up like this. And whatever happens, I still love you.”

The knobs on the dresser doubled as your vision blurred and your breath caught in your throat. You swallowed it back down and silently prayed your brain and mouth wouldn’t betray you. Instead of giving them the opportunity, you pursed your lips.

“That all?” you finally asked, your arms folded across your chest.

“No. Who is he?”

“Who?”

“The bloke you brought today. Your date.”

“His name’s Felix.”

“Felix who?”

“Hawthorne.”

“What’s his deal?”

“There is no deal, Sebastian,” you said sharply. “He’s just the man I’ve been seeing.”

“Are you in love with him?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“What do you see in him?”

“Also none of your business.”

"Is it true he's going to ask you to marry him?"

"What?! Who told you that nonsense? Sebastian, you're off your rocker. Go seek help."

“Please don’t do this,” Sebastian pleaded.

“Do what?” you deadpanned. “Sebastian, this is what you wanted.”

“The hell it is,” Sebastian snapped. He softened in an attempt to ease the tension. “You know I didn’t want this.”

“Then what do you want, Seb? Because if I recall correctly, you were the one who broke things off with me.”

“I only did it to protect you.”

“Protect me,” you repeated blankly. “Sebastian, when have I ever needed protecting?”

“This is different,” he insisted. “This isn’t a camp of Ashwinders or some duel. You can’t ancient magic your way out of Azkaban.”

“No one’s going to Azkaban,” you snapped. “Sebastian, they’ve got no proof. All they have is the word of Anne, Ominis and me. And we’ve all stood by you.”

“And that’s exactly why I did what I had to. I’m not letting any of you take the fall with me. I don’t want you lying on my behalf anymore.”

“Sebastian, that’s not your choice to make,” you noted. “I know you think you’re being selfless, but you’re not. Think of what losing you would do to Anne. Think of what it would do to me.”

You didn’t want to admit that. You didn’t want to make this about you. But it was. Maybe it was selfish, surely it was foolish, but it was the stark and honest truth. The truth, which was supposed to set you free. In reality, it merely shackled you to Sebastian.

Your words seemed to settle within him, seeping slowly into his conscience.

“I’m not going to let you make any more sacrifices for me,” he said quietly.

“And what about the sacrifice I’ve made trying to let you go?” you responded, your tone matching his. It was less forceful, less angry, but it carried more weight. “What about the misery I’ve lived through every day, all because you think you know what’s best for me? All because you don’t love me the same way.”

“That’s not true,” Sebastian interjected quickly. “It had nothing to do with how much I love you. I’ve always loved you.”

“And yet you pushed me away and claimed it was for the best.”

“I was only trying to-”

“To protect me,” you deadpanned with heavy bitterness. “Yeah, I know.”

“Why don’t you believe me?”

“I do believe you, Sebastian. But it wasn’t up to you. You made the decision for me.”

“Because I can’t let anything happen to you! I love you too damn much to allow you to end up in prison because of me.”

“These past six months have been a prison anyway,” you shot back.

Your escalating words had peaked, plunging you both into a tired silence. You leaned backward against the dresser, arms still folded as Sebastian rubbed a palm against his cheek.

The wedding reception rumbled outside, its chorus of jubilant cheers and laughter contrasting the thick tension inside the bedroom.

“I’m sorry,” Sebastian said softly. “I’m sorry about everything. I shouldn’t have made assumptions. I shouldn’t have ended things between us. I just… I thought I could protect you and I thought if the Aurors dropped the investigation, I could make it up to you and win you back. And now you’re here with that other bloke and I can’t stand it and I feel like I’m losing my fucking mind.”

“Then why don’t you fix it?”

Sebastian’s brow furrowed in confusion. “How?”

“Do you want to be with me or not?”

“Of course, I do! I’ve hated every minute of life since we broke up. But-”

“But what? You don’t want me to end up behind bars? For fuck’s sake, Seb, that investigation is meaningless. The Ministry will drop it as soon as the final review’s in,” you said. “It’s been six years since Solomon died. They have no proof. And even if they did, everyone who knows you would testify that he was an abusive drunk bastard who attacked us. We were fifteen.”

“But what if they do put me away?” Sebastian asked. “Then what?”

“Then nothing. I’d still love you.”

“And if they put you away too, for lying?”

“Then I’ll accept my fate. It’s out of our hands, Sebastian, so we might as well control what we can. I’d rather spend six weeks with you and end up in Azkaban than walk free without you.”

You were tired of talking, running short on any more vulnerable admissions; done with fighting, done pretending you cared about anyone other than Sebastian. You just wanted him back.

Sebastian was done, too. The mere sight of you standing in someone else’s arms had drained his final bit of resolve. But knowing you still wanted him – and only him – replaced his defeatist demeanor with something restless. He felt much more territorial, more entitled to you, and insulted that any other man assumed he could have you.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, stepping toward you. Your spine straightened as he reached for you, his hands finding their familiar favorite place at the contour of your waist. “I don’t want to lose you again.”

“You won’t, as long as you promise to stop making decisions for me.”

“I promise.” Sebastian kissed you gently and rested his forehead against yours. Your shoulders relaxed and his chest swelled with relief. You were both home again. “But what about that beau of yours?”

You heaved a sigh, your eyes falling shut as you realized you now had another dilemma on your hands.

“I suppose I’ll have to let him down easy.”

“Why, what for? Just tell him to get lost.”

“Sebastian, that’s not nice. He’s a perfectly decent bloke.”

“Perfectly decent bloke. How… unimpressive,” Sebastian mused against your ear. He pressed a kiss just below your earlobe and dipped his head to explore your neck.

“Maybe I’ll just tell him my real boyfriend’s a murderer," you teased.

You could feel Sebastian smirk against your neck before he pulled away to meet your gaze with a sly stare.

“Darling, you have no proof, remember?”

Part II (Smut warning)

By the time the bride and groom were cutting the cake, your gown was in a crumpled heap on the bedroom floor and Sebastian had you pinned against that old dresser. You always preferred pudding anyway.

A whine scratched within your throat as you felt his hand creep between your thighs as he stood behind you.

“You missed me, didn’t you?” Sebastian purred against the nape of your neck, his fingers nudging your slick entrance. His erection pressed into your lower back while the edge of the dresser begged you to bend over it.

Six months since you’d felt the warmth of Sebastian’s breath against your skin. Six cruel, agonizing months since his fingertips had had any contact with your flesh. Six sadistic, barren months since you’d felt the real meaning of love.

You couldn’t make up for lost time. But you’d sure as hell try.

Sebastian’s cock sank inside your cunt until it reached the hilt. You held your breath as your walls became reaccustomed to the intrusion of his size. Another weak whimper exposed your submissive state.

“Fucking hell,” Sebastian groaned against your shoulder. He bucked his hips and you snapped forward at the waist with a cry, your fingers gripping the edge of the dresser for support.

The trinkets atop the dresser clinked and clattered as Sebastian’s hips set a steady pace. You choked down a moan as his cock drove through your walls, rocking you forward against the dresser. A trio of books toppled over.

“Merlin, I missed you,” Sebastian panted. His hands gripped your hips like they were afraid to let go. You clenched yourself around him, pleading with his cock to present you with your favorite privilege. Not that you needed to beg. Sebastian always swore his favorite sight was when you crumbled around his cock.

The reception roared below, its jovial music and guests unaware of the debauchery happening above them. The only sounds you could hear were Sebastian’s words of appraisal in your ear. He told you how much he loved you, how good you were and how he’d be damned if he ever let another man near you ever again.

You whimpered over every syllable.

When Sebastian fell quiet, you knew it was a sign he was fighting for control. You didn’t expect this tryst to last long. You didn’t need it to. What you needed in this moment was for Sebastian to stake his claim on you again, forever, for life.

You weren’t sure what was stealing your breath more – the angle that made your passage feel particularly tight, or the edge of the dresser that threatened to leave rich, plum bruises where your thighs met your waistline.

The wood floorboards creaked beneath you, exposing your indiscretions. Sebastian thrusted harder, savoring the sensation of your slick, velvety walls as he silently prayed they’d spasm with your release soon. He always ensured you had your fill before he left you with his, but his selfish instincts were starting to stake their claim.

And when he reached upward to give your hair a sharp tug, threatening to free the strands from the army of bobby pins fighting to hold it in place, you yelped in approval. Your back arched and Sebastian grazed his teeth against your neck.

Finally, your walls seized and you let out a gutteral gasp, your knees threatening to buckle as Sebastian rendered you witless. Fire blazed through your core in the form of your pulsing finish until you slumped over the dresser, eyes still rolled back, while Sebastian’s composure snapped.

He groaned and held his hips flush against the backs of your thighs so tightly you could feel him twitching against you, fastening you up against the dresser while he emptied himself inside you. When he was done, he breathed a string of obscenities and stepped backward to free you from your union with the dresser.

“Alright?” he asked with a gentle hand to the small of your back. You nodded and gathered your bridesmaid gown.

Once you were resheathed in the dress, Sebastian quietly helped you with the trail of buttons down the back. It wasn’t the first time he’d helped you into a dress and you felt nostalgic for your past. When you returned to the reception, clutching Sebastian’s hand as you descended the stairs, you clenched your jaw to suppress a smile as Natsai shot you a knowing stare.

But this felt different now. The insecurities were gone and the future’s uncertainty no longer felt like a blade threatening to slice your relationship apart. You were confident and more determined than ever to protect Sebastian. Even if that meant protecting him from his own doubt.

#mdni #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x you #sebastian sallow x mc #hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #hogwarts legacy fanfic #sebastian sallow fanfiction #sebastian sallow fanfic #sebastian sallow smut #whizzing fizzbee fanfic

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peachylynnie · 6 months ago

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blackjack

word count: 1.5k synopsis: in which you pique sylus' interest with a game of blackjack. contains: sylus x fem!reader (not mc, first time meeting), sylus is lowkey messed up, alcohol consumption, cursing, violence, and gambling (know the rules of blackjack). a/n: yes, this will be a series. it's not obvious in this part but this story was inspired by the cover art of the ml and fl from tears on a withered flower, an adult webtoon. do not copy or translate my work, sylus does not endorse plagiarism. reblogs and comments are appreciated. next chapter | lads masterlist

sylus is bored. inconceivably fucking bored.

on his right is sherman, a greedy, corrupt imbecile who thinks he can get away with promising counterfeit protocores. on his left is sherman's lackey, a two-faced, ambitious moron who thinks he can improve his boss' hideous image by claiming the so-called protocores were "hard to find." and in front of him is a pitiful dealer who not only fumbles the cards every time he tries to shuffle for a new game of blackjack but also loses every single round to the point no one is afraid to hit more than once.

unfortunately for sylus, dealing with people like sherman and his minion is a daily occurrence. after all, he runs the n109 zone, a wasteland filled with scums of the planet who are not only shallow to the point a fucking newborn can tread the depths of their hearts but also manipulative of the lives of the weak solely for the sake of monetary growth.

exhaling an irritated sigh, he reaches for his glass of gin fizz, causing a series of flinches from the men at the table. normally, sylus would revel in the effect he has on people. he never would have gotten this far if it hadn't been for his steel-like business ethic and unwavering confidence. but again, he's bored, severely bored of the constant mingling with shitty people at shitty lounges. though he supposes this lounge isn't bad, considering how pleasant the fizz tastes on his tongue. at least the alcohol will help him get through another dull round of blackjack.

"ha!" sherman laughs as he collects more chips. "this table is quite lucky. i have never played against a dealer with such buttery fingers."

the dealer winces before apologizing meekly. sylus makes a note to tip him later.

"agreed," the lackey continues his ass-kissing. "i feel bad for the table next to us, though. that lady dealer has been ruthless all night."

sylus doesn't think much as he brings his cup to his mouth and averts his attention to the table beside him. however, his tongue never makes contact with the fizz. it lingers on the rim of the cup instead. furrowing his brows, the silver-haired man takes a closer look at you, the supposed ruthless lady dealer.

there you were, clad in a crisp dress shirt with a tight button-up vest on top and a pair of sleek trousers. but never mind what you're wearing (it's what all the employees of this lounge have to wear, but you looked good); you're new. sylus has never seen you before, and that astounds him because this is the n109 zone, the very domain he is in charge of. even if he has never met every single person in this place, he sure as hell has seen them through records. it's his job as the head of onychinus. but you, you're new, a fresh new face he has never seen on any digital or physical records.

but what astonishes the man even more is your winning streak. in the last three minutes sylus has been staring at you, you haven't lost a single game of blackjack. moreover, your hands have been impressively consistent, only flipping twenties or immediate blackjacks.

however, what catches sylus' eye the most is your face. not because of your undeniable beauty (he can think about this later) but because of your expression. in the last four minutes sylus has been staring at you, you never showed an ounce of emotion. your lips never quirked when you won. your eyes never flared when the men at your table accused you of cheating. heck, you didn't even react when one of them dared to grab you by the collar of your shirt and shake you violently with demands to give him back what he lost.

taking a quick sip of his fizz, sylus stands up and strides over to your table. firmly gripping the outstretched arm of your aggressor, he gives him a subtle yet threatening smile. "is there a problem here, sir?"

"s-sylus?!" the man immediately lets go of you, trying to release his poor arm from sylus' unrelenting grip. "i didn't realize you were here."

sylus tilts his head, recognizing the man's face. "mason? the last time i saw you was when you tried to strike me a deal with fake protocores."

gulps can be heard around the room.

"i must say," he continues, tightening his grip. "it's one thing to try and deceive me, but it's another to harm an innocent person just because you're losing sorely."

"s-she's not innocent," mason squawks. "she's cheating! she has to be! she hasn't lost once tonight. besides, she's the dealer. she must have been tampering with the cards!"

sylus faces you, still not letting go of mason. "miss dealer. you have been allowing these men," he nudges his head towards the pigs at your table, "to shuffle the cards before each round, correct?"

"yes," you answer calmly, not a single quiver or tremor to be heard. "each person at this table has shuffled before a round. it is protocol to allow customers to shuffle." smoothening your collar and vest, you gesture to the table with a hand. "also, i have been using two separate decks of cards, which not only ensures a faster game but also prevents cheating from both the dealer and the customers."

sylus frowns. you didn't even look at him while answering his question. not a single look of acknowledgment was spared. your eyes never left the poker table, and that bothered sylus greatly. he doesn't know why. but what he knows for sure is that he wants your eyes on him. he wants to break your focus so fucking badly. he wants to see what kind of face you would make when he beats you in a game. it's only fair. after all, you satiated his boredom the moment he laid eyes on you.

"you heard her." he says as he thrusts mason to the ground. "i'm afraid you are simply terrible at cards. now, i suggest you leave before i break your arm."

"what?! but she's-" sylus stomps on the man's arm, eliciting a terrifying scream. cradling his now-shattered arm, mason hunches over in agony, his wails of pain never ending.

sylus rolls his eyes as he pulls a seat to your table. "any time now, mason," he snaps.

glancing up at you, the silver-haired man can't help but tut. still no reaction from you. just a formal pose of a hand folded over the other and resting on the stomach. seriously? he just crushed a man's arm in front of you, not to mention a man who's been troubling you nonstop, and you don't even blink? by no means does he expect gratitude. it's the n109 zone, after all. but given the indisputable fact that you're new here, surely you must be unaccustomed to spontaneous violence. but no, you just reach for a deck of cards and start shuffling, never acknowledging the man, the fucking head of onychinus, sitting in front of you.

"excellent display, sylus!" sherman chirps, pulling a seat next to him as mason and his men scamper away. "mason, that moron. never able to accept a loss."

"indeed," his lackey joins as well, causing sylus to sigh in frustration. oh right, the imbecile and his ass-kisser were still here. "accepting losses is vital to surviving in the n109 zone. wouldn't you agree, miss?"

no answer. you just keep shuffling the cards. first a riffle shuffle, then an overhand shuffle. sylus quirks a brow, mildly impressed by how fast your fingers move. finally, you speak.

"your bets, gentlemen?"

sylus blinks. you looked at him. you finally looked at him. and it wasn’t with any flaming desire to win big against the one and only head of onychinus. no, it was with sheer boredom, as if he was just another one of those insignificant nobodies in the n109 zone. he can't help but chuckle. he can feel the excitement coursing through his veins. oh, he can't wait to see your reaction when he bests you. it’s only fair he returns the favor, right? he’ll gladly satiate your boredom as you did for him. and he is dying to see what kind of face will make. will your unmoving, bewitching eyes flicker? will your smooth, crystalline voice falter? will your expressionless, winsome face finally contort? oh, the man is raring to find out.

it seems sylus, the man who was bored to tears less than ten minutes ago, is confident tonight will be the most entertaining night of his life.

next chapter

#i'm not a gambler i swear #i am up in blackjack and poker against all my friends though #sylus x reader #sylus x you #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #lnds sylus #love and deepspace fic #love and deepspace

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irisintheafterglow · 2 years ago

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blood moonlit, must be counterfeit

summary: a guy at a party has a really good dynamight costume, and you two get to talking about your favorite heroes. (pro!bakugo x you)

wc: 1.68k

cw/tags: swearing ofc cuz it's bakugo, mentions of drinking and alcohol, halloween party, first meeting, emotionally constipated katsuki and reader is kinda oblivious lol

note: NEW HALLOWEEN HEADER BABY also this idea had me by the throat so i needed to write it down before it consumed my entire psyche. i'm back to writing for bakugo again because iykyk and halloween fics are giving me a lot of motivation right now. hope you enjoy!

likes, reblogs, and replies are always appreciated <3

“I have to admit–your costume is pretty damn good.”

“Yeah? Just ‘pretty good?’”

“Mhmm. Almost looks like the real thing,” you remark, taking another sip of the dangerously sweet jungle juice in your cup. It's an unreadable mix of bad ideas and bold flirtation, perfect for a Halloween party of barely 21 adults. The blonde guy beside you on the worn leather couch tilts his head slightly like he's re-affirming what you just said in his mind. “I think the real Dynamight would be impressed.”

“Would he, now,” he huffs under his breath, mouth curling into an unreadable smirk. He exhales a quick breath of what you think is amusement through his nose, eyes flicking over your body for the umpteenth time since he sat down with you. It makes your face heat up and you casually avert your gaze downward, catching more details of his costume that you didn’t notice before.

The gauntlets were obviously the star of the arrangement, covered in numerous scratches, burns, and dents that attested to their “battle” usage. The boots were impressive, too, and you wondered how long it took to place every individual orange eyelet over the front of each calf. The cinder block rectangles sitting on his broad shoulders truly looked like real stone, solid like the toned muscle holding them up. It was the domino mask that threw you off the most, though. The guy must have been wearing bright red contacts, or something, because to look so similar to the actual Pro should have been considered a crime.

“Who’d you come to the party with?”

“Just some friends,” he replies, shrugging an infuriatingly sexy shoulder. His entire look was putting the real Dynamight to shame, in your opinion. He nods upward in the direction of a guy in an equally accurate Deku costume standing with a very convincing Shoto lookalike. “They dared me to wear this and I lost the bet.”

“Must have been some bet, if you’re moping over here like a toddler.” The shrewdness of your words escapes you until they’re already past your lips; thankfully, he just smirks again and leans his head back, resting an arm on the back of the sofa.

“I’ll ignore that you said that, 'cause you're clearly intoxicated” he mutters, shooting you a brutal side-eye. Thanks to the alcohol, though, you’re far from deterred.

“How gracious,” you chuckle and his smirk gets a little more arrogant. “What was the bet?”

“Some dumb drinking contest. That asswipe in the green can put down more shots than he looks.” He scowls and you fight down the urge to giggle at his bitter expression. He was the only guy you’ve ever seen that could make a grumpy face look hot. The only guy besides Bakugo himself, of course. “I wouldn’t have worn this shit to a party to save my life.”

“What, Dynamight isn’t your favorite Pro?”

“I’m more of an All Might guy,” he replies nonchalantly. He appreciates the classic heroes. Good sign. “If I had to choose a different one, I’d probably say Jeanist.”

“Jeanist is pretty cool. My best friend had a cardboard cutout of Eraserhead in her closet growing up.” He barks out a laugh and it startles you, but a mysterious feeling in your stomach wants to make him do it again. “What do you think of the current gen of heroes?” He hums thoughtfully, running his tongue over his top lip and you swallow back your drool.

“Red Riot’s a good guy. Deku pisses me the fuck off, but he’s got a good head on his shoulders. Same thing with Pinky and that Half-and-Half asshat. Chargebolt…” His expression turns into a frown so deep you’re worried that Chargebolt killed his family or something heinous like that.

“What about him?”

“He’s just dumb. If given the choice between his life and a grain of sand, I’d take the sand,” he deadpans and you choke unexpectedly, wincing as your drink travels up the wrong tube and into your nose. His eyes widened in concern, reaching out to pat your back but deciding against it at the last moment. His glove-covered hands hover around you like you’re radioactive matter, carefully watching as you regain your composure. “You good, nerd?” Uses the same vocabulary as the real guy, too. Kind of weird, but I guess we all have our idols.

“Yeah, I’m good. I just didn’t expect you to badmouth him like you two were friends from high school or something,” you joke lightheartedly and the guy blinks at you twice before computing what you said.

“It’s whatever. They’re super fuckin’ easy to read, in any case,” he states with an air of finality and you down the rest of your drink, the dim lighting starting to blur everything around you into a single greenish-orange blob. “What about you? What are your thoughts on the new gen?”

“I can’t make such bold judgments as you, but I do think Dynamight is pretty cool,” you admit, suddenly feeling a little bashful when having the same question turned on you. The truth was, you followed the lives of the heroes a bit too closely than the average person should. It fascinated you so much that you were majoring in Quirk-specific journalism, studying the social and economic consequences of being a Pro. “I think his public persona is an interesting case when compared to other heroes.”

“How so?”

“Well, I’d like to imagine that he’s not always the loud, arrogant, obnoxious piece of shit that the press shows,” you start and narrow your eyes in confusion when he flinches at your description. You continue anyway but choose your words a little more carefully. Probably isn’t good to upset the guy who might have fashioned functioning gauntlets, if the costume truly is accurate. “There’s a side to him that I think the public doesn’t know about and doesn’t care to know about, since it’s easier to understand him as a loudmouth with no sense of manners. I just wonder who that guy is under all the yelling and testosterone.” His silence is deafening and you worry that you somehow offended him, but his tone is so gentle that your assumption becomes an impossibility.

“Seems like you’ve given this guy a great deal of thought,” he says lowly, voice barely audible over the sound of the blaring house music.

“Well, he is my favorite,” you add quietly, not expecting him to catch what you said. He does, though, and that mischievous smirk returns to his face. Somehow, you two had inched closer together over the course of your conversation, and you were now close enough to smell his cologne. It was something deep and smoky, with a surprise note of sweetness, like caramel. “I’ve been following his hero career since I was in high school.”

“I didn’t take you for a superfan, but I do appreciate your support,” he chuckles and your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “You seriously haven’t figured it out?”

“Figured what out?”

“That I’m Dynamight, stupid. This is my actual costume and those are my actual friends. Hell, I'm paying for this whole shitty party,” he says incredulously, genuinely shocked that you didn’t come to that conclusion already. Your skepticism, however, rears its head and you burst out into rude laughter.

Dynamight? Yeah, right. More like Dyna-maybe.

“Excuse me?” He stares at you like you’d grown three heads and your heart drops into your stomach. You must have said your thoughts out loud. Fuck! “You’ve got some nerve, testing the patience of a Pro.” His words, under any other circumstances, would have cut down your pride like a knife. However, his eyes were conveying a different story, one of lust and want and holyshityouwantedhim. “Got anything to say, sweetheart? Or are you gonna just keep gaping like a fuckin’ goldfish?” You abruptly snap your jaw back into place, leaning your head into your hand and smiling in triumph when his gaze again uncontrollably rakes over your body.

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“See what, gorgeous?”

“That a Pro kisses better than a normal person,” you murmur and his pupils blow to the size of pool balls. He wastes no time, gently but firmly grabbing your chin with two fingers and pulling your mouth onto his. His lips are ridiculously soft and you muster up the courage to bite him softly, heartbeat racing when he groans into your mouth. One arm drapes itself over the back of the couch, the other pulling you as close to him as humanly possible without practically sitting on him. Your hand combs through his hair and the other keeps him on you by the back of his neck.

Right when you run out of breath, he pulls away and swears colorfully at the phone buzzing in his pocket, answering it with one hand while his forearm is still pressed against your lower back. You absentmindedly trace his jawline with a finger while he curses out the person on the other line, eventually chucking the device over his shoulder like it was the last thing he was thinking about. “You need to go somewhere, sweetheart?” He lightly pinches your side at your mockery and you jump, flicking his forehead in defiance.

“Nah, that was a job for Dynamight. Right now, I guess I’m still fuckin' Dyna-maybe,” he rasps and leans back in to kiss you again but you push his face away, giving him as sober of a look as possible. “What?”

“If you need to go kick ass, then go kick ass. I’m just some random makeout at a party,” you remind him, painfully aware of the sting if he was to leave you alone. His expression contorts into indignancy again but you still try to convince him to alleviate whatever situation he was called in for. “Your job is more important than a hookup.”

“I don’t do hookups, dumbass. I’m interested in you,” he states plainly and your face is set on fire. The Pro, who you just insulted to his face, was interested in you? “So, let’s get out of here, yeah? I can make you dinner that isn’t shitty pizza.” His mouth breaks into a devilish grin and you’re already grabbing onto his hand like your life depended on it.

“If someone messes with us?”

“It’s a good thing I’m already in costume.”

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

#mha x reader #bnha x reader #mha x y/n #bnha x you #bakugo katsuki #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugo x you #bakugo x y/n

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eternal-evergreens · 9 months ago

Note

Hello! I stumbled across your post “jjk men as yandere” and I really enjoy both your thoughts and writing style.

I would truly appreciate if you wrote any scenario involving yandere Geto with reader (sorcerer).

Thank you if you even consider writing it<3

A/N Thanks so much!!

｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+*⁠.⁠✧"Meet Cute" ｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+*⁠.⁠✧

Post format: Drabble

Pairing: Yandere!Suguru Geto x GN!Curse user!Reader

Word count: 1.3k

Warnings: Reader is morally bankrupt, mentions of eugenics/genocide, reader is a little too into WWII, minor age gap, super greedy reader

"You're like a modern-day Hitler, huh?"

"...What?" Geto looked at you with wide eyes, putting down his to-go cup to better gape at you.

"Well, you are advocating for mass genocide and literal eugenics," you say, taking an unbothered sip of your own coffee. (Geto recommended the place. Apparently, his kids like the hot chocolate there. You'll have to ask him for the name of the place later.) "So, yeah, you're like Hitler."

Geto appears to be having a crisis of some sort. Just sort of staring down at his lap with an unreadable look on his face. You watch with amusement. This kid must be a newbie, you think—not that you're much older than him, but you at least have seniority on this.

"What, are you getting cold feet? You've already killed people, you know. If you want to make it in this career, you're gonna have to get real comfortable being compared to some pretty terrible things."

"I'm used to being called terrible things, it's just—"

"Oh, what? Like monster?" Geto says nothing, and you sigh, reclining back in your chair. (Damn, this cult has some nice shit. You wonder if you can sneak the couch out without anyone noticing?) "So unoriginal. Anyway keep your chin up. It's actually a good thing. Hitler already exists, so you can steal his ideas."

"Weren't you just complaining about something being unoriginal?" You wave your hand dismissively.

"That was then, this is now. Anyway what do you think? Hitler industrialized murder. You can do the same—if you can get the right ingredients."

"You're talking about power, right?"

"Pretty much. You'll need hands and money. And a lot of both. With that in mind, this cult is actually a perfect setup. But putting that aside," you take another sip of your drink. Empty. Damn it. "You didn't call me here just so I could give you my professional opinion, did you?"

Geto smiles. "I hear you'll do anything for money."

"I don't come cheap, you know."

"That's not a problem," he snaps his fingers, and someone, a "monkey" from the looks of it, walks in, clearly struggling with the weight of whatever's in that giant briefcase. You suppress a smile as it's placed on the table and opened. Hundreds, no, thousands of ¥10,000 notes line the briefcase from top to bottom. You nearly salivate from just looking at it. Quickly, you check for any signs of deceit, of counterfeits, empty space, or otherwise. You can't find anything.

"You'll find this briefcase contains over one billion yen." Geto says, gesturing for his...indentured servant to close the case. How many bills is that? It's gotta be over a million. You're half tempted to take the money and run, but years of experience have taught you not to underestimate guys carrying this much cash. "I trust this is sufficient?"

"That depends on the job," you say, crossing your arms. "If you want me to take out Satoru Gojo, you'll need to multiply it a hundredfold before I even consider it."

"It's nothing that severe," he says, wearing the smile of a polished businessman. You sit up a little straighter. Maybe you were wrong about this guy being an amateur. Whatever he wants you to do, it's bad news. You feel excitement tingling in your veins. Will he ask you to take out a city? A country? Considering the scale of his plans, you wouldn't be surprised if he wanted you to take out a continent... you'd need a bit more to do something like that, though.

"I want you to marry me."

You snort, then laugh. You laugh for a very long time, even holding your stomach as you bend over in your seat. If this was a ploy to make you let your guard down long enough to kill you, it was smart. Still, you wouldn't go down that easily. You're more than confident enough in your ability to defend yourself, even in such a hilarious encounter.

Finally, the laughter dies down, and you wipe a tear from your eye. You look up at Geto's face, only for him to look back at you oddly serious. "No way..." you murmur, "are you for real?"

"I'm afraid I am," he says. Your smile drops. How annoying. What's this guy even want from you, huh?

"So, what, that money's a dowry?"

"More like a bribe."

"Uh-uh. No way. Not happening. I can't take a job like that."

"You're not even going to ask what's in it for me?"

"Not interested," you say, grabbing your bag and standing.

"I think I ought to tell you anyway," he says, throwing a sack onto the table. A stack of yen falls out, and you eye it with a raised eyebrow. "That's my payment for listening," he says. "¥200,000."

You inspect the fallen stack. Once again, it's real. He's either crazy or plotting something, and you have a hunch it's the latter. You sit back down. Whatever he's thinking, it's definitely bad news. Even so, you need more information to properly deal with it.

"I've heard you're the sole caretaker of four siblings." He shouldn't know that, but you decide not to derail the conversation by asking. "As you know, I've got two little girls of my own."

"So, what? You need a babysitter?"

"Precisely."

"Okay, but why marriage? Surely you could just hire me as a nanny and be done with it?"

"The girls don't trust strangers easily. I already told them that I had a Fiance out of town who'd be coming back soon. Just play along with it and you'll be compensated accordingly." "For how long?"

"Just until they turn eighteen."

"You'll have to pay me more." "What I showed you earlier was just a down payment; you'll also get an annual salary of fifteen million."

"Make it twenty."

"How's forty?" he says. You ponder over it for a moment. Judging from how you saw things earlier, it seems like he does genuinely love those kids. He's young and not afraid of spending, which would make you worry about the sustainability of the job, but cults are famous for making tons of cash.

"How old are they?"

"Six." So, twelve years. Counting the initial (over) one billion, the listening fee of two hundred thousand, and the annual salary times twelve, you'll be paid over ¥1,480,200,000. That's more than enough to send your siblings to college, as well as set them up for life.

"Deal," you say, reaching your hand out to shake. You'd ask why he doesn't just hire someone more qualified, but you think that speech on 'monkeys' he gave you answers the question.

"It's getting late," he says, shaking your hand. "How about I take you to dinner?"

"Why?"

"My girls are smart. They'll realize something's up if we don't know anything about each other," he says, standing.

"This isn't coming out of my salary, right?" Geto, or, you suppose you should be calling him Suguru, now, chuckles.

"I'm not nearly that stingy," he says. He holds out his arm to escort you, and you take it. "I'll need your ring size, too."

Of course, he already knows it. That, and so much more. After all, this may be your first time meeting him, but he's already met you plenty of times.

"Sure, but I'm not paying. Also, if you get me an ugly one I'm selling it."

"We'll go together, then." For some reason, the smile on his face seems a little too genuine to be meant for someone he's only just met, but you pay it no mind. Money is money, after all.

"Oh, what about living arrangements?"

"You and your siblings will live here," he says. "You'll have to sleep in the same bed as me, I'm afraid. Just to keep up the illusion."

"Do I get a bonus for that?"

"You're hurting my feelings," he says.

#yandere jjk #yandere x reader #yandere jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #yandere jjk x reader #yandere geto suguru #yandere geto #yandere suguru geto #geto suguru #getou suguru x reader #geto x reader

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crushmeeren · 2 months ago

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Hi crush!! Happy 5k and I’m SO excited for this 💜

I would love a kireibaku blurb & moodboard :)) the song is glitch by taylor swift and the lyric “it must be counterfeit, i think there’s been a glitch” reminds me of how confusing and disbelieving the relationship was to start.

Love you!! Can’t wait to see what you come up with 💕

rei!!! thank you so much for the kind words and your request. i’m sorry it took me so long to get it done, i wanted it to be done well. ily!!

i know the drabble doesn’t necessarily fit the song lyric but the idea popped into my head and then just started flowing out of me.

anywho, i hope you love it because i loved making it. c:

⋆ ⋆˙⟡ it must be counterfeit, i think there’s been a glitch..

| glitch ; taylor swift |

Katsuki wakes up at the crack of dawn.

You don’t mind. Eijirou doesn’t mind. You both know that’s what he enjoys. Waking up early to set himself up for success — and to go on ridiculously long runs. He’s an early bird who likes to watch the sunrise.

And, for the most part, he’s quiet. Shuffling around the kitchen, cooking, starting a pot of coffee. He never forgets to leave extra for you and Eijirou if he’s got somewhere to be by the time the two of you rise from the dead. He leaves notes on the fridge along the lines of “don’t forget to eat, idiots.”

This Sunday differs from the rest. The loud crash of something ceramic splintering on the kitchen floor jolts you awake. You sit straight up, heart in your throat, listening to Katsuki curse. When no other noise is made your shoulders relax, realizing this is not a life or death situation.

You glance at the knocked out red head beside you, snoring softly, and laugh. He didn’t even wake up.

“Ei,” you whisper, shaking his shoulder.

He groans and bats your hand. “Rei, baby, shhh, m’sleeping.” Eijirou flips away from you after that.

Shaking your head, you smile. Looks like you’re checking on Katsuki alone.

The blonde is sitting at the dinning room table, frowning at his cup of coffee.

“Kat, you okay?” You lean your shoulder against the door frame, shielding your eyes from the bright kitchen lighting.

He glances at you and huffs. “Broke my favorite fuckin’ mug,” he explains, brows pinching further.

“The one Ei and I got you for your birthday?”

He wilts. “That’s the one.”

Your chest squeezes and you step up beside his chair, running a hand through soft blonde hair. “We can always get you another one. You know that, right?”

“S’not the same, peaches.” He presses his head into your touch, sighing.

You peak out the window, darkness staring back. “Come back to bed with us? Ei will be happy and so will I.”

Katsuki raises an eyebrow at the sudden change of subject but doesn’t protest. He must be really upset about the mug.

You flip off the kitchen light, shuffling down the hall with a yawn, and shove Katsuki towards the bed. He mumbles under his breath but crawls in, getting ready to lay under the blankets on his side of the bed.

“No, get in the middle Kat,” you demand, pointing at the space next to Eijirou.

“Fine.”

Eijirou, barely awake, slips an arm around his waist and pulls him to his chest, nosing at the nape of his neck. “You smell good, Kat,” he murmurs.

“Don’t steal all the fuckin’ blankets, Ei,” he bites, but his voice takes on that embarrassed edge you love.

Face to face with Katsuki is how you end up, leg shoved between his thighs. You kiss him sweetly, lips lingering before pulling away to curl into his chest. He drapes an arm over your shoulders and squeezes.

“We’ll get you a new mug, I promise. It’ll be even better than the last.”

⋆ ⋆˙⟡ 5k event

kiribaku art credit to @katseneiji on insta

#✿ ꒰ˆ. . ˆ ྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀིྀི꒱੭ — 5k event #kireibaku #bakugou x reader #mha x reader #Kirishima x reader #kiribaku x reader #kiribaku fluff #kiribaku x you

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cherryblossomcowgirl · 1 month ago

Text

loml

*Taylor Swift inspired*

Glen Powell x popstar!ex!reader

WC: 1.8k

WARNINGS: breakup; angst; swearing; jealousy

The Awards Show crowd is buzzing. I take a deep breath backstage and stare at the lone piano sitting before me. Would Glen be in the crowd? Would he realize I didn’t write this song for the movie? It’s about him, but it just so happened to fit perfectly with the biggest movie released this year. So here I am, getting ready to perform it live in front of a room full of Hollywood’s greatest. The lights begin to rise and the announcers voice booms over the speakers, “Ladies and gentlemen please welcome Y/n Y/l/n to the stage. She will be singing her hit song ‘loml’ from the movie ‘Fragments of Us’.” I steady my breathing while I walk to the piano, smiling out at the crowd. I am careful to not look closely, too afraid I will find his green eyes. Adjusting my dress, I sit down at the grand piano. My nerves settle as soon as my fingers graze the keys. I close my eyes for a moment, then I begin.

“Who's gonna stop us from waltzing

Back into rekindled flames?

If we know the steps anyway

We embroidered the memories

Of the time I was away

Stitching, "We were just kids, babe"

I said, "I don't mind, it takes time"

I thought I was better safe than starry-eyed

I felt aglow like this

Never before and never since”

The crowd is locked in to every word falling from my lips.

“If you know it in one glimpse, it's legendary

You and I go from one kiss to gettin married

Still alive, killing time at the cemetery

Never quite buried

In your suit and tie, in the nick of time

You lowdown boy, you stand up guy

Holy Ghost, you told me I'm

The love of your life

You said I'm the love of your life

About a million times”

There are teary eyes throughout the room. I quickly turn my gaze back to the piano, fear bubbling up inside of me.

“Who's gonna tell me the truth

When you blew in with the winds of fate

And told me I reformed you

When your impressionist paintings of Heaven

Turned out to be fakes

Well, you took me to hell, too

And all at once, the ink bleeds

A con man sells a fool a get-love-quick scheme

But I felt a hole like this

Never before, and ever since

If you know it in one glimpse

It's legendary

What we thought was for all time

Was momentary

Still alive, killing time at the cemetery

Never quite buried”

As the song progresses, I play with more intensity than before. My voice follows suit. Every emotion I felt while writing this song is hitting me 10x harder in this moment.

“You cinephile in black and white

All those plot twists and dynamite

Mr. Steal Your Girl, then make her cry

You said I'm the love of your life

You shit talked me under the table

Talking rings and talking cradles

I wish I could un-recall

How we almost had it all

Dancing phantoms on the terrace

Are they second-hand embarrassed

That I can't get out of bed?

Cause something counterfeit's dead”

I look out at the crowd during the piano part. My eyes meet the green ones I have been trying to avoid. I thought they’d be clouded with a look of anger or resentment, but instead I see genuine worry and sadness. Tears well up in mine, filled with the pain of seeing him. He looks polished. Perfect. Hollywood’s favorite movie star. The cracks that formed in my heart months ago spread rapidly. I sniffle and stare down at my hands playing the keys subconsciously. A single tear spills over and runs down my cheek.

“It was legendary

It was momentary

It was unnecessary

Should've let it stay buried

Oh, what a valiant roar

What a bland goodbye

The coward claimed he was a lion

I'm combing through the braids of lies

"I'll never leave" ...

"Never mind"

Our field of dreams, engulfed in fire

Your arson's match your somber eyes

And I'll still see it until I die

You're the loss of my life”

The final note simmers and the crowd erupts. Everyone is out of their seats, applauding and wiping tears. I stand up and bow. A quick glance at Glen tells me he is standing as well, applauding. His eyes are usually so bright and happy, but there is a cloud threatening to turn into a storm at any moment. I turn around quickly, heading back to the green room. Seeing him hurt isn’t easy. I want to comfort him, but I can’t. He left. He left me and maybe my song was a bit harsh, but it was the truth. Maybe I am overthinking it all and he thinks it is just for the movie. I sigh and throw myself onto the couch. My brother/head of security, Scott, opens the door, “Y/n, that was great. Have you decided which after party you want to go to?” I shake my head and wipe a tear that fell before he sees it, “I’d like to just go home, please.” He nods and steps into the hallway.

Glen rushes up to find Scott texting the driver to bring the car around. “No.” Glen sighs, “Please Scott. I need to see her.” Scott shakes his head, “Not a chance.” My brother hears my voice from inside the room, “Scott, I’m ready to go.” He turns towards Glen, “You need to let her move on. She’s been coming back piece by piece. I can’t see her broken again.” Glen is speechless, walking back to the main room. He continues about his night. All of the schmoozing and smiling for photos doesn’t distract him from the feeling in his stomach. He needed to see her. Glen calls his driver, praying that old apartment is still her hideout.

Scott kisses my head, “Call me if you need me, okay?” I nod, “Be safe. I love you.” He smiles as he shuts the door, “Love you more.” I look around my apartment. It’s nothing crazy, just a studio with the same furniture from when I first moved here. I’ve kept it all these years because it reminds me of… me. I doze off on the couch surrounded by my favorite candles and cuddled under a cozy blanket. A knock on the door makes me jump up, rubbing my eyes before looking through the peephole. I sigh. Glen clears his throat, “Please Y/n, I just want to talk.” Opening the door, I motion for him to come in. He follows me to the couch. I yawn, “Do you want tea or something?” Glen shakes his head. There’s a stretch of silence. I look at his green eyes, “You wanted to talk?” He stares down at his hands in his lap, “Is that really what you think of me?” His voice is barely above a whisper. I nod, “Yes, Glen. It is.” Tears flood his emerald eyes. He turns to me, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” A dry chuckle escapes my lips. A wave of hurt crashes over me again and I can’t hold it in any longer, “You said I was the love of your life. You showed me a kind of love that I wasn’t sure even existed. You promised me a lifetime. You told me you would never leave and then you left. Don’t sit here and tell me that you didn’t mean to hurt me, because you did. You hurt me, Glen.” He is silent as tears run down his cheeks.

In the stretch of silence my mind races. I need to know why he did it, it’s haunted me for months. I muster up the courage, “Tell me why. I deserve to know.” Glen’s eyes meet mine, “You wanted a husband. Kids. The house in the suburbs. After each big premiere I thought okay this is the time, but then another movie would come along. How can I be the husband you deserve when I am never home? I wanted you to be happy, even if that meant it wasn’t with me.” I bury my face in my hands and he leans in, rubbing my back. His touch is comforting, but I wish it wasn’t. My voice cracks through my sobs, “I don’t just want a husband and kids. I want you to be my husband. I want to have our kids. I don’t care if we are all around the world working, I just want to know you’ll always come home to me. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.” He gently pulls me into his chest. His scent surrounds me, warm and inviting. We sit in the silence for a few moments. “Y/n, do you believe me when I say that I never stopped loving you?” I take a minute to think. In the past few months, I haven’t seen any photos of Glen out. That was one of my biggest fears after the breakup, seeing him with someone new. I look up at him, “I believe you.” He takes my hand in his, “Did you stop loving me?” I shake my head, “No. I wrote that song the night you left. I was so angry and confused.” His look of understanding starts to melt the ice that has accumulated around my heart. He runs his hand through his hair and chuckles, “I can’t lie, when I saw you doing the press tour for the film… I got jealous.” I giggle, “Of Chris? Or Pedro?” Glen sighs, “Both. But mainly Pedro.” We both double over laughing. Once I catch my breath I look down at my hands, “He was actually a really good friend to me. I cried on his shoulder… a lot.” A wave of sadness washes over Glen’s eyes. He gently grabs my chin, pulling my face up to him. His voice is soft, “Will you give me one more chance to be the man you deserve?” I take a deep breath, “You have to promise me something.” “Anything.” I search his green eyes for insincerity, but I can’t find any. My voice is shaky, “You have to promise me forever. No running away. Just you and me.” His smile lights up his entire face, “Deal.” “Just like that?” He nods, “Y/n, I have been lost without you. Seeing you up there tonight… hearing how you felt about us… it broke my heart. I tried to find you right after, but Scott wouldn’t let me.” A chuckle escapes my lips, “I spent a lot of time crying on his shoulder too.” Glen pulls me in close and his arms feel like home. I listen to his heartbeat, strong and steady. He takes a deep breath, “I know I’ve said it a million times, but you are the love of my life.”

#glen powell x reader #glen powell imagine #glen powell fanfic #glen powell

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cordycepsbian · 2 years ago

Text

bugblr

🐜 antism

me and the mutuals

4 notes

🦋 testmothsterone

im literally obsessed with those videos of the bee sculpting stuff out of spicy candy

#how does she resist the urge to bite it #i definitely would if i were her

0 notes

🪲 beetlegirlhorn

hey spyblr does anyone know where to get a genuine peacock spider card? im trying to build a spider deck and cant find a boss

#spy cards #spyblr

12 notes

🏳️‍🌈 bluegreens 🔄 buzzin

🏳️‍🌈 bluegreens

why do the new bug rangers issues suck so bad i havent seen this poor quality writing since issue 12

🐝 buzzin Follow

dont quote me on this but i heard they fired the last writer so they went back to the bug who wrote issue 12

🏳️‍🌈 bluegreens

oh that explains a lot

#when will they go back to whoever wrote issue 35 that was peak

3 notes

🪲 beetlegirlhorn 🔄 spyersupreme

🌸 mothivasneckfluff Follow

i love the princesschomper blog as much as the next bug but i think it's hilarious how y'all just ignore that the "bug" who runs it is a zombie...

🕷 spiderenjoyer Follow

op do you seriously genuinely believe the leif cordyceps theory. thats the dumbest thing since bugs were saying elizant the first is still alive

#op is a mothiva fan of course theyd say this

229 notes

🐜 antism 🔄 istheseedlingvideocute

🌱 istheseedlingvideocute Follow

Hey guys, not a Seedling post but a PSA here. Recently, a batch of counterfeit medals have started circulating on the market, and wearing them causes terrible health complications. Four bugs have already been hospitalized from this. So just a reminder: ONLY buy medals from verifiable, reputable sources, for your own sake. Stay safe out there everyone.

#signal boost

1,798 notes

😎 Anonymous asked:

i saw you reblogged some art from transyellowranger so jsyk they support the ladybug ban

🏳️‍🌈 bluegreens replied:

oh yikes ill go delete my rb right away

#how are you gonna be a bug rangers fan AND support the ladybug ban #make it make sense

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🦋 testmothsterone 🔄 mantisbite

🌷 princesschomper Follow

Too bright outside... Chompy will just stay in bed... Zzz...

#venus what a mood

8,540 notes

#bug fables #bug fables spoilers #this is our official happy anniversary post

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fanaticsnail · 2 years ago

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You Kissed the Clown? Part 3

So this story in my mind is getting slightly out of hand. I didn't mean for it to get this long, but it seriously hit me like a leaf blower full of refined glitter.

Part 2 is located back here.

Upon setting sail to embark on the journeying voyage to obtain a figure-headed boat, you and your three travelling companions found yourself in ‘Syrup-Village’, a relatively small town with a large port filled with beautifully crafted vessels.

You held a certain apprehension of commencing your combat training under the instruction of a swordsman, as you yourself had no desire to educate yourself on the many ways of ending another life. Zoro originally began your training with relentless administrations, instructing you to train your body to instinctively reach for a weapon and attack an opponent. It was only when Nami interrupted one of your sessions to interject, suggesting defensive maneuvers be on the agenda primarily and anything else was to be an afterthought.

At this suggestion, you released a sigh of relief you didn’t know you were withholding. You had only ever wanted to use your hands to hone your craft as a jeweller – never to cause great violence, only repair what's broken, appraise what's worth appraising and create crafts of fine make using delicate and hard to obtain metals and gemstones. Although, as a part of a newly formed pirate crew, you understood the many dangers you would come to face at the hands of marines, enemy pirates and bounty hunters.

Your defensive training was far easier to manage; Nami taking over a few of your sessions on the way to syrup village in exchange for you appraising the vast number of treasures she had acquired on her journeys. Your eyes widened slightly and your brow quirked at the sheer number of gemstones, gold and silver. You noticed several items were in need of repair, which you offered to undertake for her to increase its value in trade for her combat training.

As you docked your small vessel into port, you met with a man who introduced himself as Usopp. Immediately your hair stood on edge as he began to relay tall tales of his undertakings as a pirate captain. This response was affectionately dubbed by your siblings as your “bullshit radar”, which came in useful when a merchant you were dealing with would attempt to sell to you any counterfeit goods.

It was only when he exclaimed he could set up a meeting with the owner of the docks that you sensed truth in his statements.

“I think that was the only amount of honesty he had spoken all day,” you said, turning your head to your orange-haired navigator. She chuckled slightly at your comment before you all began your journey following Usopp to meet with ‘his boss’.

"Here, my dear tinkerer and creator of fine trinkets," Nami said suddenly, handing you a small trinket from the palm of her hand to yours, "do you think you could fix this for me?"

You looked at the small mechanical wonderment in your hands, noting several pieces were dislodged, the silver had began to tarnish and some pieces were missing. The affectionate words and titles you shared between your fellow comrade was nothing unfamiliar to you, as you were the one to begin doting on your crew with these types of names. You were, however, surprised when they started throwing affectionate titles your way in response.

"I will give it my best, my darling navigator," you said in response, your brows creasing together as you began to truly assess the damage to this particular item. Zoro snickered at the banter between you two, as the now five of you commenced on your merry way under the guidance of your newest found friend.

You decided to walk in the middle of your troop, Usopp leading your captain who was following quickly behind him; you walking alone in the middle of the group, leaving Nami and Zoro at the rear to continue to banter with one another. You barely paid attention to your surroundings, choosing to fix your gaze on one small trinket Nami had given you to repair. Ever so often, you would feel a hand belonging to Nami clasp your shoulder and navigate you back onto the path following behind Usopp and Luffy.

You felt Nami’s firm hand gripping your shoulder to hold you in place, as two figures came into view. You chose to focus entirely on the task, noting the small cogs within this piece you were repairing were becoming more difficult to work with. This piece was a particularly ornate compass with a decorative clock-face with small cogs, springs and intricate leavers within. You had worked with pieces similar in the make as this one, but never on the road without your full arsenal of equipment at your beck and call. You were forcing a small cog into its place interconnecting to a lever when you felt your hand slip slightly, the piece falling to the gravel floor littering the ground with silver, bronze and gold cogs.

“Blast!” you exclaimed in frustration as the pieces slipped beneath your fingers. You dropped yourself to your knees the gravel road beneath you and began picking at the many cogs, springs and leavers on the ground – struggling to find the hands of the clock and compass.

“Nami, my absolute beautiful and cherished darling,” you suddenly exclaimed in annoyance, “this particular piece, as stunning as it is, is in a state that is completely beyond my abilities. I’m going to need a work bench, some oil, some better tweezers, screws, nuts, bolts, a red hot poker, soldering metal, a blackened glass visor, a large magnifying glass, all of the pieces I dropped and a bloody stiff drink to get all of this done.”

You heard a small giggle from directly ahead, bringing your attention to the two figures ahead for the first time since you stopped.

“Klahadore, can you please help her find the cogs. I will be fine here for a moment,” the small, white-blonde haired woman asked the dark-haired man next to her. He adjusted his glasses with the palm of his hand, reluctantly released her from interlacing her hand within his inner arm and prowled over to the place you were kneeling on the ground.

“Thank you, miss,” you deeply bowed to the lady, before offering a sincere smile to the man before you.

“How many pieces are we searching for, my lady?” the man almost purred at you. Taken slightly aback by his tone, you creased your brows together and slightly cringed your lips.

“Thirty-seven cogs, three needlepoint clock arms and four small springs. I’ve managed to collect the bulk of the clock, but the smaller items seem to escape me,” you responded sheepishly. He shut his eyes in response and sharply inhaled through his nose before reopening his eyes and used his gloved fingertips to search through the rubble to find the pieces you needed.

“After you collect your pieces, Klahadore will bring you to rejoin your crew in the guest quarters,” the woman said with a warm smile.

“Miss Kaya,” the man in front of you turned slightly to face his mistress, “I will escort you back to the castle and rejoin our tinkering guest once you are settled inside,” you noticed the way he addressed you had you set a little on edge, hair pricking up slightly on the back of your neck.

“Please,” you interrupted, pulling his gaze back to you, “I truly have no need for assistance. I’ll locate the pieces I dropped, and I am more than capable of locating you or another attending member of the household staff once I’ve found them all.” You smiled at the man you knew as Klahadore, which he gave a slight smirk and curt nod in response before standing to his feet and extending his gloved hand towards you; which contained thirty-six cogs, all clock arms and three small springs.

“Thank you, Mister Klahadore,” you nodded, accepting the pieces from him and placing them into a small satchel you attached to your hip. You then turned your gaze to locate the two remaining pieces of the item, which was a task you appeared to not be up to undertaking with much success.

As your crew, Kaya, Klahadore and the two other members of staff retreated to the main building; you released a hiss from between your teeth in frustration.

For another hour, you remained on your knees searching for a single small spring and the one remaining cog before you felt something watching you. You turned your head to search for the source of the uncomfortable gaze, finding nothing in your field of vision. You felt slightly unnerved by the feeling, choosing to crease your brows and abandon any hope of maintaining your dignity as you lay face down on the gravel road. You brought your eyes within an inch of the road beneath you, rolling up your sleeves and collecting your skirts beneath you to enable free your movement as you searched.

You heard a small, curt cough from behind you; forcing your whole body to jolt upwards in response and turn to face the source of the noise. Your eyes met with Klahadore’s dark ones, while you stood to your feet and dusted your skirts off.

“Forgive me, lady tinkerer,” he said with a small smile, adjusting his glasses with the ball of his palm, “it appears two pieces from the floor found their way onto the soles of my shoes. I was only just now alerted to their presence and thought to return them to you.”

He extended his hand towards you, and sure enough with the two pieces you spent the past hour on your hands, knees and face searching for on the dusty road below you. You sharply breathed in through your nose in an attempt to mask your frustration before smiling and extending your hand towards the butler to collect the missing pieces.

“Thank you, Mister Klahadore,” you managed to say with no amount of malice present, although you absolutely felt the rage slightly bubble in your chest. You collected the pieces from his outstretched hand once more and placed them into the pouch at your belt hilt. He then turned his back to you and extended his elbow out to you as an indication for you to take it. You creased your brows in thought momentarily before apprehensively reaching your arm out to take it.

“How long have you been in the antiquity restoration business?” he asked you as he led you towards the large mansion. You smiled at his question before responding.

“Longer than many would give me credit for,” you replied with a small smile toying at the corner of your lips, “although that particular piece is proving to be more difficult to repair on the seas than the workshop I am accustomed to working in.”

He hummed slightly, arching his eyebrow at your response. A small silence fell between you before he again spoke.

“And if I was to have a heavily lit workspace made for you within these walls, would you be so kind as to accept repairing something for me if I was to ask it of you?” he quirked towards you, “discretely, of course.”

You furrowed your brows at the question, noting a small amount of malice behind his enquiry. You held your tongue, searching for the kindest way to phrase your next few words.

“I take your silence as a declination of undertaking such a task,” he sighed slightly, reaching his palm up to readjust his glasses once more.

“Not necessarily,” you quirked in response, “I would be interested in providing my skills for you and the lady of the house, sure enough. I am just a little apprehensive as to what type of discretion I am to provide alongside my services.”

You craned our head up to look at the man at your side, prompting him to look down to you slyly out of the corner of his eye.

“It is a sentimental piece from my past,” he responded, leading you up the external stairs of the mansion slowly, “and I would not like to disclose my past to my current employer.”

You nodded your head and furrowed your brows, pursing your lips slightly at the question.

“A mechanical, retractable weapon then?” you uttered almost inaudibly to him, prompting him to halt in leading you further within the walls of the mansion and swiftly turning to face you with wide eyes.

“An excellent deduction, tinkerer,” he responded, “valuable only in sentimentality, of course. I would never intend to use it in my service to Miss Kaya.”

You hummed in response, holding the gaze of the man beside you. Every alarm in your body felt like it was blaring at the same time, screaming at the dangerous aura erupting from the man next to you. You felt the similar feeling of being watched once more, alerting you that the earlier feeling did not belong to this shifty individual in front of you.

You had dealt with many unnerving individuals in the past alongside your father, mother and siblings back at the shop, the latest under your belt being Captain "Axe-Hand" Morgan. Although they never threatened you with harm, nor those within your inner circle, you did feel a slight more lean towards lawful undertakings. Being so far from the comforts of home, you felt as if you had no choice but to accept this task.

"I accept the job, Mister Klahadore," you declared as he continued to lead you through the many halls of the wide mansion. You noticed him smirk slightly at your acceptance before clearing his throat with a small cough and readjusting himself as he led you to the correct wing.

“I will have a space made for you after you bathe and join my mistress for dinner,” he smirked at you before halting your journey in front of two wide double-doors you presumed were the guest quarters your companions were being housed in. You noticed your swordsman companion was walking in naught but a robe while carrying his three swords over his shoulders down the hall towards the door you found yourself and Klahadore standing in front of.

Releasing your hand from its spot on his inner elbow, he used his other gloved hand to claim your fingertips with his own, cradling them slightly with his thumb. He bowed his head slightly to you and brought your hand closer to his face.

“Until the later hours,” Klahadore murmured with a sly smirk, raising your hand to capture your knuckles in a brisk whisper of a kiss. You immediately felt an unnerving amount of alarm bells clatter throughout every fibre of your being at this gesture, but hoped your face did not relay any discomfort.

He brought your hand down from its place against his lips and released it from his grasp, turning on his way you assume to be directing the household to prepare the meals for you and your companions.

“My, my, my,” Zoro uttered from behind you, “ moving on to the Butler now?”

You tensed slightly at his comment, knowing exactly how this would look to your green-haired companion.

"It's not like that," you said through gritted teeth, bringing the hand that was once pressed against the lips of Klahadore and smudging your thumb over the place he pressed his lips onto.

"First the jester, now the butler. Moving up in the world, sweetheart. Proud of you," he taunted you in a monotonous tone.

“Not. A. Word,” you said, pausing between each syllable as you turned to face your companion.

He raised his hands in front of him defensively with a sly and mischievous smile. You hardened your expression and made to open the doors you assumed containing the remainder of your travelling companions. As you pushed on the door, you heard Zoro suck in a large breath from behind you. Before you could make to stop him, he began his loud declaration of what he thinks he just witnessed.

“She kissed the Butler!” he professed to your other two companions, prompting their heads to snap up and acknowledge your presence. You stopped in your movements, Zoro pushing past you and laughing with your captain and navigator.

“Seriously?” Luffy laughed and sprung to his feet, “you kissed him too?”

You felt heat radiating from your body in sheer embarrassment. You knew your face would be beet red at the comment.

“Absolutely not,” you responded, “I was merely accepting a job repairing a sentimental item that belongs to him.”

“Is that what we’re calling it now?” Zoro taunted with a small smirk adorning his face, "do you accept all jobs with a kiss, or is it just the unsettling weirdos?"

You groaned in response, turning to exit the room.

“I’m going to take a bath,” you declared, turning on your heel and sauntering off into the direction where Zoro was walking from.

“Try not to kiss anyone else on the way!” Zoro called out after you, teasing your prior interaction. You felt the flush of your cheeks linger upon your face, more so slightly agitated at the thought that Zoro could couple you so readily in his mind with someone as unnerving as Klahadore.

You had absolutely no feelings of flirtatious intent towards the Butler, Klahadore. In fact, the only feeling that came over you was complete and utter unease. There was something about him that set you off, and knowing you were to repair something potentially dangerous for him did not uproot the uneasy feeling.

Walking through the vast halls, you looked at the variety of antique ornaments littering the benchtops, noting some were in desperate need of repair. You inspected a small, intricate light fixture on the countertop noting that one of the small screws was slightly loose; you took out a small screwdriver from your pouch and began to work at the little metallic piece, tightening it in its place. As you repaired it, you turned your sights onto the next item, an unusual wind up children’s toy that resembled a small mouse. You reached for it slightly, before pushing home repairs to the back of your mind by shaking your head slightly, and making your way to the bathroom to get cleaned up before dinner.

And the bathroom was beautiful. Grand ornamental brass legs held a large bath, filled with slightly murky water you assume belonged to the swordsman. You snarled a little at his bad manners before pulling up the sleeves of your blouse and reaching an arm into the lukewarm bathing liquid. Being a large and deep bath, you felt your blouse begin to get soaked as you attempted to reach the chain attached to the end of the plug to release it from its hold on the drain. A typhoon was created, pooling the unclean bathwater above the drain and emptying the water from the porcelain container with an almost howl-like groan.

Entranced by the spinning liquid as it left the water, you began to think about the battle as it was described to you by your captain between himself, Zoro, Nami and Buggy. The chop-chop fruit apparently, from their description, allows him to carve off a piece of himself and reattach it at will with no harm coming to him.

The “chop-chop cannon” manoeuvre apparently resembled a cyclone of blades as he whirled his disassembled parts around in the air with blades protruding from every surface. You couldn’t quite picture the way it was described to you, as you had no prior experience with detached limbs and their wild movements but as the drain emptied the contents of the bath within, you felt immediately drawn to attempt to picture what that may have been like to combat against.

As this bath was filled to the brim with liquid, you noted it was taking quite a while to empty down the drain. To pass the time, you began readying yourself to undertake a proper wash, one you had not experienced since commencing your travelling with the mismatched troop you found yourself with.

You began humming to yourself as you located a hairbrush and raked it through to begin detangling through your locks. You started at the ends, forcing the strands to part from one another as you administered a small amount of force between strokes. You sauntered over to the sink to locate the problem you were not seeing in your hair, finding it in the mirror. As you brushed your hair, you noticed your skin had begun to tan slightly, as the exposure of the sun in your travels had darkened the pigment your skin under its rays. You leant forward in the mirror to look closely at your face, noticing a small speck of blue paint remained at the point between your jaw and your ear.

It occurred to you that not only had that speck of paint been there for several days now and not one of your companions cared to notify you of it, but the memory of the intimate connection you shared with the clown sprung back into your mind.

At that moment, five different stages of unfamiliar emotion crossed over into your mind.

“Get a hold of yourself, woman,” you said to your reflection, “it wasn’t even that good of a kiss anyhow.” You attempted to bargain with yourself, knowing full and well that this particular kiss you shared between the captain of the Buggy Pirates and yourself was one of the most true, honest and hungry embraces you had experienced with another person.

You started attacking your locks more vigorously with the brush, making your way upwards towards the roots on your scalp.

“And why would he even kiss me like that, anyway? How dare he lean in and actually lean in and enjoy it!” you angrily expressed, slamming the brush down onto the countertop beside the sink. You noticed the bath had completely emptied as you turned to rinse it with cool liquid before filling it again.

“He even had the absolute gall to moan into it, like some touch-starved animal,” you growled, looking at the variety of perfumed bottles surrounding the bathtub, uncorking them and lifting them to your nose to sample the scents before adding the desirable liquid to the bath.

“And I didn’t enjoy it that much. It’s not like I’d ever see him again,” you expressed, beginning to remove your various items of clothing and placing them to the side of the room in a folded, neat pile.

“Do I even want to see him again?” you questioned yourself, quirking your head to the side momentarily and allowing the aspect to mull over in your head for a moment, “absolutely not.”

A wave of sadness overcame you as you reflected on the expression he held in his eyes as he pulled away from your lips, still cradling you against himself and gazing almost lovingly but apprehensively into your half-lidded eyes.

You tested the water temperature with your forearm and adjusted the taps to better suit your liking. You removed the final piece of your attire and stepped into the clean, warm and lightly scented water. You relished in it engulfing your body as you held your nose and dipped yourself back into the liquid.

You removed your head from under the water as the need for air came to fruition in your chest.

“I do want to see him again,” you uttered to yourself, “I want nothing more than to see him again.”

You searched again through the vials beside you and found some cleansing foams and liquids beside you and you began to scrub at your hair, releasing the solidified particles of salt you had picked up from the seawater.

“I would do anything to have one conversation with him,” you uttered to yourself, “just to let him know that I’m not a coward at the very least.”

Again, the image of his body sauntering over to you as a predator would to their unwitting prey; hungry only for violence, death and a swift meal came before you. The shocked look in his eyes while you grasped his mustard-coloured cravat and brought him into yourself, joining your lips together in what was meant to be a swift kiss that turned into something desperate and needy at the hands of this completely unhinged man. The gentle caress, the feel of his desperate whimpers against your lips and the way your body felt ablaze under his careful administrations was so utterly foreign to you, and so completely unexpected.

Your eyes began to well up at the thought of how foreign this felt for not only you, but you could only assume the blue-haired captain. You blinked back slightly, refusing to let anything spill over and onto your cheeks as you dunked your hair again into the water.

“He could’ve been faking,” you whispered, “it could’ve all been an act, a trick to lull me into a false sense of security, only to kill me after he was done with whatever he was doing with Luffy.”

You brought your hand to the nozzle of a honey-sweet scented container and pooled some of the contents into your waiting palm. You rubbed your hands together and brought them up to your face, pressing the sticky substance into the pores of your nose, cheeks, forehead, chin, ears and finally over your eyes.

"But I know for a fact that what I was feeling was real," you exclaimed into your palms, "I could feel how much he wanted me from the way he was holding me against him."

As you closed your eyes and rubbed the foaming liquid into them, you felt the final wave of emotional apophony wash over you. You suddenly dunked your face into the pooling water below to rid your skin of the substance completely before re-emerging to the surface.

"And I want him," you whispered into the porcelain frame of the bath, "And I want him to know how much I want him."

You swiped your hand over your hair to rid it from your eyes and leant into the side of the bath as you came to terms with this new feeling arising in your chest.

“I think I’m in love with Buggy the Clown,” you confessed, unwittingly to the eyes you felt watching over you earlier. Or, more adequately framed, ear tucked cozily into one of the many unused pockets of your skirts belonging to the one and only blue-haired, painted clown captain aforementioned.

Part 4

#buggy the clown x reader #buggy x you #buggy #buggy fic #captain buggy #opla buggy #OPLA fic #one piece #x reader

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gas-leak-knight · 11 days ago

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Seven Nightlords for Seven Sins

(Pt. 2/2)

Sloth - Maris: Back to ones that feel a little on the nose. Other than literally applying the sleep status (and hey, I was stoked to see we finally had a sleep boss! I genuinely really liked this fight) Maris is described in the Night of the Fathom relic as living a “drifting… aimless life of floating, camouflaged within its surroundings.” The damn thing doesn’t even really attack you other than the dash, it sends jellyfish minions or water eel things to do that for it (even reflected in its relic, which confers item effects and flask healing to allies! It prioritizes the use of others in place of itself.)

Greed - Libra: Libra is especially interesting because, similarly to Mohg, Rykard, Messmer, and Miquella, it is very clearly a play on some classical depiction or aspect of the Devil. Where the former are that of the Winged Demon, the Tempter and all-Consuming, the Arbiter of God’s Will, and the Fallen Angel respectively, Libra is very obviously a Crossroads Demon. The Goat appearance, the dealmaking, the “Cross Legged” madness thing you get from his relic.

But I think it’s also interesting to note that the “balance” motif surrounding it is also one of corruption. Libra utilizes a “dubious form of alchemy,” using “counterfeit gold” and “beckoning madness.” It’s very telling that Libra goes ballistic and drops the act when you turn around and use madness against it or when you break the sigils it uses as buffs/protection. The “impartiality” facade is more of a “rules for thee, not for me” than anything. Hell, Libra can show up in the overworld, fuck up your stats, and demand you pay to get your health back. That doesn’t seem super fair.

Pride - Fulghor: Fulghor is different from the other Nightlords as his title is not “Champion of Night” but “Champion of Nightglow.” His left arm has been “severed from behind” (per the Night of the Champion relic) and when he grows the goop arm it’s a lot like Gundyr’s Pus of Man phase from Dark Souls 3. He “[falls] to despair” on looking back and seeing that “his companions… had now forsworn the very gods they once served.”

This makes me think Fulghor was actually fighting against the night or at least trying to escape it. If his arm was “severed from behind” and he saw his companion’s resignation when he “looked back,” I wonder if the night caught up to him. He was the last of his companions that the Night would reach, and still he tried to fight it until his second phase. This to me is why he’s described as the “Champion of Nightglow” and “[wields] a sacred form of the Night’s Power.” His “fervor” for his old gods still lingers, and he wishes to remain loyal to them, even as the night eats away at his soul. He’s too stubborn and too proud to give up. He is, like Lucifer, Prince of Pride, a fallen golden champion of the Gods. This can also help explain why his relic boosts guard counters and thrusting counterattacks. He’s retaliatory against the night, rather than originating from a place of service to it.

Envy - Caligo: Caligo’s lore is very similar to Maris’, only seemingly more an active observer than a passive, floating mass. While “envious” may not be the best adjective to describe Caligo, she certainly shares quite a bit with its respective Prince of Hell: Leviathan. Leviathan in Gnostic beliefs would envelop the material world like a sphere (sort of similar to the Norse World Serpent) and was famously used by Thomas Hobbes (in a book of the same name) as a grand metaphor for the omnipotence/all-encompassing nature of government: a beady, watchful eye that cares little for its citizens other than how it can corrupt them to view it in a positive light. This is analogous to Caligo “[peering] down into the world… her eye drawn to a certain cataclysm,” her “great shadowy pair of eyes… said to appear at history’s greatest junctures.”

Caligo’s title of “Miasma of the Night” is also striking, because Miasma stems from a theory of diseased air, also commonly called “Night Air” which is neat!

That’s all for the Nightlords for now until I inevitably think of something else to say for this. I really love each of these bosses and think this game excels at having different priorities for different bosses while still making them fun (again I really liked Maris but I know other people hate it and I can respect that.)

Please let me know if you have other theories or other things you noticed! Do you agree with me? Do you think I’m wrong and would rather reorder them? I’ve been on tumblr a long, long time but only made this blog now so I could have a space to talk about my favourite games with other people. Cheers!

#seven deadly sins #elden ring #elden ring nightreign #nightreign #night lords #Elden ring lore theory #elden ring lore #nightreign lore

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divinehedons · 2 years ago

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godless promethean, elektran rage.

navigation: masterlist

pairing: pirate!joel miller x siren!reader

word count: ~8.4k words (I KNOW I'M SO SORRY)

summary: when the wrath of poseidon brings in something not quite human, a hardened pirate with the harshness of a soldier at war faces a bright-eyed siren with the delusion of a dreamer.

warnings: this is a DARK, EXPLICIT fic. MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT or i will BLOCK you. so much plot, pirate!au, siren!au, joel is a violent motherfucker, reader is a metamorphic creature that turns human-like when not submerged in water, graphic depiction of violence and injury, mentions of abduction and implications of abuse, explicit p-in-v sex, oral (f!receiving), squirting, creampie, soooo much murder. it's like a greek tragedy without the incest.

note: THANK YOU FOR 600 FOLLOWERS!!! much of this work was inspired by me rereading the odyssey by homer, but the trope of joel x siren!reader is not of my own making! thank you so much for reading, and as always, comments and reblogs are much apprciated!

Be strong, saith my heart. A wave crests over the hull of the ship. Then another. And another. I have seen worse things than this. Synchronized hands haul the rope for the sails, a last attempt to regain control of their vessel. The Balkan sea stretches before weary sailors, endless and unforgiving, with one foot in their watery grave and the other clawing to live.

In the midst of this carnage is The Flounder, harbinger of chaos, populated by a crew of men who pillage, murder, and destroy anything that gets in their way. Joel once thought of him and his men as indestructible. The Wrath of Poseidon makes him reconsider otherwise.

“Goddamnit, Bonnie, we’re never gettin’ out of this mess!” Joel yells over the deluge of rain, tightening his grip and growling as the rope digs in to the skin of his palms. He sees another wave crest over them, sturdy as a wall, coming down upon their shivering backs, leaving them spluttering out seawater. He coughs momentarily, heaving in air as he digs his feet into the deck.

When he regains his breath, he hears his name being called. He looks, their Captain bellowing from where he steered. His new orders came through in the middle of the crack of thunder and the whistle of an unending storm. Check beneath the deck for damages. Fix anything that could sink them. He calls for someone to replace his hold and he runs for it.

In his head, he had begun to pen a letter back to his waiting daughter under the care of his brother. Dear Sarah, he thinks, climbing down the ladder and finding himself in knee-deep, ice-cold water. I promised you that this will be my last expedition. That after this, we shall live out however you want us to. I only hope that I can live up to that promise. He cusses under his breath when he finds a growing leak in the hull, crossing himself as he immediately went about to fix it temporarily with what materials he could find. You’re safer with your uncle Tommy than here in this misery. And should anything happen to me, know that I love you and I trust you to be good to him, too. He crosses the threshold to see if there was anything else, moving across floating bottles, bobbing up and down with remnants of booze. With a sigh, isolated from the chaos above deck, he leans against a column, grabbing a drifting bottle and swallowing down the booze to settle his nerves.

I grow old, I grow old. He mouths the words under his breath. I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

The muffled sounds of the world melts away as he tries to catch his breath, gritting his teeth from the ache in his hips. Getting too old for this. He tries to think of a way that rest can be comfortable in this mess. Sleep, he thinks, delicious and profound. The very counterfeit of death. It is only when his nerves settle that he hears it.

A splash in the common room. Too loud to be some drifting object. Something that continues to move against the motion of the ship between the waves. He stills himself, the empty bottle slipping between his fingers. Slowly, he moves closer to the source of the sound, like a predator stalking his prey in the darkness. He retrieves a drifting harpoon, peeking through the threshold of the room to inspect. In the semi-darkness, interrupted by the flickering of lanterns and dying candelight, he catches the shimmer of something alive. He raises his weapon, looks through his good eye, his brows crinkling at the effort to focus.

Too old and too goddamn blind for this shit.

He blinks a few times more before he finally sees. And what he sees is you.

Your lithe arms reaching against the walls of the ship, trying to find a weak link that could let you escape. Were you brought in by the waves? Were you the very thing responsible for the leak he just had to fix? Initially, Joel made the movement to speak, to ask how you had ended up here—the sea is no place for a maiden like you. But his breath hitches when he looks closer to see… well, you. The incandescent flickering of a scaled tail, blending with inhuman yet somewhat human skin around your hips, and your upper body, glorious, unmarked, and completely fucking naked.

Perhaps it was the months at sea, conversing with no one but the same crew of men who, despite their intelligentsia and capabilities, do not exactly have the looks capable of producing in him the flustering exhilaration of some teenager. But he, of all people, know of the stories, too. The whispers shared in the saloons in the darkness. The shared thrill and excitement of such beauty and danger lurking beneath the temptresses’ skins. He has heard of claws coming for his companions’ throats, have heard of the trickery they can cause with the power of the ocean entirely at their disposal. He thinks of Odysseus again— tethered to the mast of his ship, The only one of his men to hear the voice of the sirens and have survived. Odysseus, who would have laid his life down just to come close to the very presence of something so divine.

Another thing he knows is that the price of one siren is half the bounty they had planned for. Months of work cut out for himself. Months closer to seeing his daughter again. It’s enough to give him the taste of freedom. His own little piece of heaven that, ironically, is someone else’s hell. The funny thing was, he does not feel guilt about it.

Perhaps he was not Odysseus. He was not as noble. Nor did he ever want to be. A noble character would never provide a good life for his Sarah, waiting for him oceans away.

That was the decision that sealed the creature’s fate before him. Without a second thought, he fires his harpoon, the sharp head piercing through the creature’s shoulder as an angelic wail emanates from her precious throat. With her pinned down, he had begun yelling, calling for the presence of men to see what they’ve caught in their vessel. Their ticket to riches. The honeypot herself.

The blade itself incites to deeds of violence.

He swallows down the guilt as the thunder of heavy steps descend upon their victim, her screams only growing louder and louder amidst the exhilarated, disbelieving laughter of his companions. He does not dare to look. Does not dare to see those doe eyes of yours begging for respite, pulling him into your charms.

An eye of an eye. A good life for Sarah in exchange for hers.

Fair enough.

—-

When The Flounder has escaped the barrages of the storm, the sea is quiet. Some would even say peaceful. Joel wouldn't exactly use that word. Not when he hears your wails breaking the silence. That first night, no one understood what needed to be done. No one even bothered to try and treat your wound. The very wound he had caused. Everyone had something more important to do. Clear the seawater beneath the hull, secure the sails, have a quick meal, get a few winks of sleep. Naturally, the mythical being, as all other inconsequential things, were tucked away, you dealt with the usual brusque nature of men.

So when he had been called to watch you before dawn broke, that's what he set his mind to. Stepping down beneath the deck, with spare scraps of cloth and booze in hand. They've cleared out the flooding. But the wood hadn't dried completely. Mick, who he had passed beforehand, gave him a questioning look. "Aren't ya scared she'd rip your throat out?"

He scoffs, tilting his head to the side as he speaks. "I'm more scared of the stench she'll make if she starts dyin' on us, Micky."

What he did not expect when he opens the closet you've been locked in is the metamorphic cross between a tail and legs you kick out at him. What he hears next is the snarl, your body knocking him over, small, webbed hands slipping around his throat. “You asshole!” That same heavenly voice, filled with so much malice that does not fit with the angelic features towering over him. You speak in a language he does not understand, a torrent of words driven by so much emotion that he sees a glance of what Homer was so distasteful about. You could kill him, devour him bones and all and you wouldn’t even flinch.

However, he sees how your rage blinds you, too. Blinds you to his precise movements, making you think you’ve subdued him, only to suddenly flip your positions, pinning you down by your wrists, trying to look into your eyes.

What you see, staring up at him as your last yells escape you, is the strands of silver in his hair. What follows next is his tired eyes. A sea of stories that you feel as if you can almost hear them if the world is quiet enough. However, you cannot deny the warmth to them. The fire that you failed to see in the other men that shoved you in the closet you have been suffocating in. It’s what makes you stop in your struggle as you finally hear his voice.

“Damnit, let me help you, honey, c’mon…”

It’s then that Joel finally comprehends what he sees. You, a mythical being that shifts from merfolk in one instance, to a walking goddess in the next. Perhaps it was what helped your kind survive; camouflaging yourself and disappearing amidst throes of people. “You turn when ya… when…?”

You swallow, breathless and trembling as you grit your teeth. He sees the panic in your eyes, the idea that he can just betray you if he wanted to. If it would benefit him.

“Let me help you, darlin’.”

“W-when I’m…” You breathe in sharply. “When I’m not in water.”

He nods, slowly, watching the lithe legs and your bare body, spotless and perfect in every way. “I see.” He removes himself from you, moving away from your periphery. You gather your breath, turning over to see him, kneeling over an upturned washtub, somewhat filled with some form of water or another. “Those men up there? They can’t see you like this, otherwise…” he trails off, preferring not to picture what they’d do. What they’ve all once done before at sea. “Ya hear me?” He looks back at you, watching the way your hands gripped your bleeding shoulder wound, evidence of what he had already done to you. “You don’t know what else they can do to a pretty girl like ya.”

So, gently, he kneels beside you with a pained groan from the ache in his knees. You flinch under his touch and he gives you a stern look. “Why did you do this?”

He shakes his head, opening the bottle he brought down with him to pour it over the gaping flesh. Your soft fingers grip on to his arm, the softest whine escaping your lips as you squeeze your eyes shut. “You’re not the only one fightin’ to survive in this world, honey.” He shushes you gently, moving to wrap what pieces of cloth he could find, using them to bandage your wound as you finally soften in his hold. He helps you into the tub, and he tries not to look into your eyes again.

You spoke again when he turned away, giving you the privacy he assumed you needed. “Just because you need to survive doesn’t mean I need it any less.” He stops in his tracks, looking down for a moment before clearing his throat. “Are men always this wretched? That one must tear down the innocent to survive?” He moves to answer, turning back momentarily, before sighing, turning back to continue cleaning up the mess. “Thank you, though. For… this.”

You know exactly how to describe it. You just don’t want him to hear it. The gentleness that comes, not in the absence of violence, but despite the abundance of it.

Joel hears the noise in his head, clouding his thoughts and drowning them out as he moves from one place to another.as he tries not to think about you, quiet in a tub of water, pretending to ignore him. Men are so quick to blame the gods…

He hands you a plate of scraps. The trimmings from a loaf of bread. A slice of some meat, and the last pieces of cheese he could find. “Eat,” he orders gruffly, moving to sit by the side of your tub, while he seats himself with a slice of bread. “Can’t have ya dyin’ of starvation either.”

You obey, weakened by the struggles of the evening, disheartened by your imprisonment, so close to freedom and at the same time so far away from it. You eat slowly, as if considering each little fragment you were handed, as if the world is unfamiliar in the presence of someone else.

Joel couldn’t help it. Perhaps it was your charm. Whatever it was, he started to tell you things.

He tells you of his life, so far away from the ocean, landlocked. He tells you how they make a living with animals. But he also tells you about Sarah. Sarah who dreamt of the world. Sarah who he was doing all this for. Sarah who asked him as a child to read to her every night. Sarah who was growing more and more with each passing day, the gap between the two of them becoming wider than he could ever comprehend.

“My survival may not mean much,” he says, “but hers is the most vital thing in my life, doll.”

He feels your gaze on him, becoming easier and easier to see as the sun slowly grows higher in the sky. In thirty minutes, his watch will end, and you do not know how the next man will treat you next. Will he be kind? Will he have Joel’s eyes?

He turns to leave, taking the plates with him as he stands up with a pained groan. “Don’t cause too much trouble, girl.” He only stops when you say his name, his gaze catching the blurry image of you, your tail sinking beneath you in the tub. “Yeah?”

“Will you read to me when you return?” you whispered, afraid to show fragility in your own internment.

He nods after a moment of thought, clambering up on deck to report back to the Captain.

Men are so quick to blame the gods.

—

For a while, a week or so, you believed things could be nice with Joel somewhat in your corner. Everyone else seemed to care less or cower in fear of you. Maybe because you do try to scare them away. At least, if you were going to be betrayed, it was Joel doing the betraying.

He returned at the same time just as he did the night before. And slowly, a routine emerges. He cleans your wounds, he feeds you whatever he finds. Then he reads to you. His eyes are too weak to read without you holding the lantern. So you learned that second night to emerge from your tub and to hold the lantern for him. He reads to you with the skilled words of a bard. He reads to you as if he’d read this tale before. Perhaps to Sarah? Perhaps to someone else?

You feel your stomach curdle at the thought of there being someone else in his life. You swallow down the bile and listen more closely.

When he leaves at dawn, you lie in the tub, dreaming of the words he had read to you, turning your back to the man that comes next. They do not bother you. You do not bother them. You become a ghost until he brings you to life.

Sing to me, Muse, of the Man of many wiles.

By the third night, he brings with him a blanket for you to wrap yourself in as you sit closer beside him, trying to follow the words he read, only to surrender because the letters are too rigid, too unnatural. You began shutting your eyes as he reads to you, learning of Odysseus, a once too familiar name you have heard in others of your kind before…

Sing to me, Muse, of these matters. Daughter of Zeus,My starting point is any point you choose.

You begin to talk to him too by the fourth night, observing your transformed toes as he hammered little areas he figured needed repairs. You tell him of the world beneath the waves, the languid distances you’ve traveled, never truly feeling as if you have found a home. You tell him, too, of wonders big and small.

You spoke of all these things, pretending to be unaware of the way he listens with such interest. It’s like you wanted him to be interested. How could you not, when night by night his eyes become warmer and warmer whenever they fell upon you? How could you not when he’s the only one that cared?

You try to read his thoughts, sometimes, when it’s quiet and he prefers to sit by himself, finding a few winks of sleep while you ate your food. He’s rather good at hiding them. You wonder if it makes his life easier. You wonder if any of it is easy for him.

Then he asks you something on his fifth watch.

“Is the whole singin’ thing somethin’ you actually do?”

You turn your head over your shoulder, setting down the snowglobe you’ve taken an interest in the last couple of hours. You saw it on a shelf this afternoon. And you had been impatient for Joel to arrive ever since. You consider the question, Then you smile and nod meekly.

“Do…” you pause, moving to face him instead. “Do you want to hear?”

He smirks, moving the chair closer to your seated frame, seating with the backing pressed to his front, legs straddling the seat, arms atop, covering that sliver of chest you had been sneaking glances from all evening. He had that thin linen shirt on again— the one that swoops down his chest. The one you see in your dreams.

“Only if it won’t kill me, sweet cheeks.”

You like that. Sweet cheeks. You barely understand what it means. You nod slowly, moving to lay on your back as you stare at the ceiling, monotonous and unchanged since you last looked. As you sing, you try not to look him in the eye. As if you cannot bear the sight of him seeing your capabilities and forever changing his perception of you. The hymn is warm, almost homely. A relentless Odyssey that means to take you home. A song that’s said to bring forth memories of home. You know Joel does not understand the language. Nor do you want him to. You won’t admit it, but you’re still terrified of what he could do if you remind him of how much he misses his home.

But what is even more surprising is this: instead of reminiscing about the tropics from which you have loved so deeply, all you can think about is him. All you can picture is his face. All you can see is possibilities of how he’s looking at you now.

When you finish, dawn is already breaking over the horizon. He has to go.

Quietly, you rose and slowly return to the tub with your snowglobe, watching as your body metamorphosizes— your last line of defense for survival. The shine of your scales so familiar, but never this clear under the water. The light is always so diffused— as distant as a foreign planet. Joel, on the other hand, stays there for a few minutes more, looking at the spot where you just were—at the plank of wood bearing the wet shape of your body. You started to think maybe he won’t leave when he swallows, rising from where he sat, and approaching you to hand the cheese he couldn’t eat from his portion of the meal.

“I quite enjoyed that,” he confesses, tucking the food into your palm. Just then, he encloses your hand in both of his, taking a moment to savor the feeling of your cool, changed skin against his. He wonders momentarily if you’ll feel different without your tail. “Thank you.”

He leans down, bringing your hand up to his waiting mouth, his lips pressing a kiss to the back of your hand. A shiver runs down your spine as you comprehend the sensation. His lips. How warm he is… the scruff of his beard against smooth skin. You feel him smirk against your hand, pulling away as he makes his way above deck.

And on your hand is the reddened skin that evidenced the smidgen of affection you were giving. And for now, it’s enough.

You turn your back to the world once more and into your own dream world, staring at your hand as you dream of Joel all morning long.

—

You suppose everything that goes around does eventually come around. You wonder why you're so optimistic. But, you supposed, just as things were getting better, the fates had other plans in store for you.

The call came just as you were coming of the stupor of sleep. From what you can tell, it was barely midday, and someone was yelling above where you resided. All hands on deck.

The thunderous noise of heavy feet trundle above head. The man watching you grumbled, muttering something along the lines of, "don't you dare think about running, li'l bitch."

You watch him slam the door, and curiosity gets the better of you. You rise slowly from the tub, slinking along the floor, struggling to lift yourself enough to peer out from one of the windows. But when you do, you've come to realize the gravest sin of your naivety.

There is a ship to be plundered. Slowly, the masks worn by the men where you are melt away. You see familiar men with their swords drawn, laughing maniacally, screaming and terrifying the ship they've found to appease their hunger.

You feel your body changing, and you begin to turn away from the window when you catch sight of silver hair and scruff. A visage that you finally see in broad daylight.

Joel is one of the men who almost seem to dance to the song of violence. Perhaps the stories were true. Perhaps the secrets of the shadows are laid bare in the light. Even Joel's secrets cannot escape the midday sun. When you see him, he is in battle with some toughened fisherman, their duel witnessed by cowering passengers and well-dressed women. For a moment, you think Joel will come to his senses, see how senseless all this violence is.

But then he takes the man by his hair, holding his head and facing him to the sun. His sword arches across the expanse of his victim's neck, rivulets of blood bursting forth in gush, an unstoppable stream. A squeal escapes you, the violent image burnt into the recesses of your brain, forcing you away from the window.

You run on shaky legs, screaming and yelling, reaching the doorway and attempting to push the door open, only to find resistance. Your fists pound the hard wood, your body pushing and shoving, unable to accept the fact that you can't call to him— show him that you saw and you demand an answer why.

For the first time, ever since Joel shot you with a harpoon, you truly understood something you tried so hard to ignore.

You sleep under the shelter of murderers. You think you felt affection from the hands of a man who just as easily took someone's life away. You are only loved because you're something else. Something not human.

You are only loved because you'll ensure their survival.

—

The blade itself incites the deeds of violence.

When the carnage ended, Joel raised his head to see the sky beginning to paint itself in bolder strokes of colors. He stretches his arms, only to feel the sticky plasma of drying blood sticking to his arms, his torso, spotting the expanse of his face. He is the last to leave their conquered ship, and he takes his time. He walks along the scattered piles of bodies, putting whoever hasn't perished out of their misery with the very same blade he wielded in battle. He's alive. He can go home. He watches the revelry on their vessel: men roasting the spoils from the kitchen, barrels upon barrels of ale and mead slowly being chewed through.

The stage is set. All they need is a little shock of entertainment.

But what he worries about is you. You who probably cowered from fear at the sudden influx of noise. You who definitely saw the things they are capable of doing. You with the wound on your shoulder, healing at a snail's pace with your imprisonment. So, he takes the time to find supplies to help you. He finds antiseptic. He finds needle and thread. It will have to do.

When he returns to his ship, He has spread oil across the deck where the bodies lay. With one bloody hand, he strikes a match to burn away the evidence of their carnage. The burning ship drifts further and further into the horizon, drowned out by the sounds of cheering. Joel is handed a mug of better than average mead.

As he watches the lights flicker and consume the rest of the ship, one question remains at the forefront of his thoughts, echoed and repeated by every voice in his head.

Do I dare?

Clarity comes when he's two mugs in, everyone else fucking off to see how much treasure piled up. He looks at the door that leads directly where you are and the question becomes clearer. It is in the iambic beat of his heart. I am, I am, I am.

It's in the excitement at the thought of seeing you tonight and having a good meal to offer. He begins to smirk, taking two plates and finding food he thinks you'll like.

Do I dare disturb the universe?

—

You do not look at him when he enters. You cannot, knowing the things you’ve seen today. Especially when you hear he’s happy, humming as he sinks down the stairs from the deck. The jump on his step was not there before. And instead of finding that itching curiosity to see if he was smiling or if you were responsible for this joy, you feel your stomach sour at one thought.

Perhaps the slaughtering of others brought glee to his bones.

“You must be hungry,” he says softly, placing a hand on your shoulder. You feel a strange stickiness to his touch. So strange that you finally look, only to be horrified by the sight of his bloodsoaked hand. You yelp helplessly, shrinking away from his touch. You shed tears, luminescent in the semi-darkness, as precious as pearls that only he can see. “Darlin’...” His hand comes to cup your face gently, trying to make you look him in the eye. In this form, your skin is cold, the warmth of his hands turning your skin red.

“Y-you killed them,” you finally manage, the iron smell filling your senses. Seeing you panicked, Joel reaches down into the tub to slowly bring you out of your tub and into his willing arms, slow shushes escaping him. “Are you going to kill me, too?”

So that was what you were so scared of.

You bury your face into his chest, his shirt smelling of him— of sandalwood and musk, tobacco smoke, and underneath it all, a few specks of blood. Meanwhile, he lets you, cradling you in his arms as you continue to shed your tears. He lets you, knowing you wouldn’t listen to him with so much emotion in that pretty little head of yours.

But when you do eventually calm down, he doesn’t miss a moment. He couldn’t.

“I can never harm you, honey.” He breathes in through his nose, finally close enough to smell you. The sea air in your hair, sunshine and honeysuckles from lands he can only dream of. “I can’t even if I tried.”

Slowly, he lays you down where he had dropped his sheet—the sheet you’ve been wrapping yourself around. The sheet that smells like the both of you; that way he could imagine waking up to you the past few times he had gotten sleep. Slowly, he straddles your changed form, naked and so fucking divine it has his head spinning. “Can I take care of ya, darlin’?” He waits for you. Even when everything is pushing him to kiss you— he has to know you want this.

He has to know you’re not miserable.

Seeing this, you take a deep breath. You hold his face. Your skin, smooth and not exactly human, bright against his, earth-marred, bloody, and burnt from days in the sun. And yet, you do not see those flaws. All you see are his warm eyes, so desperate to tell you he wants you, and yet so willing to walk away if you asked. So you grip him by his shirt, pulling him against you in a wanton, desperate kiss.

It is the first kiss you share. The first of the hundreds you’ll share that night. But you will always remember that first.

Because it’s burning against your cool skin. Because the scratch of his scruff is a sensation you have not felt in the long life you have lived. He holds your face, bringing your head closer to him, pressing against the front of his skull, making you whine from want as he deepens the kiss. You’ll always remember it because you know this kiss.

You can already see the ending before the two of you ever began.

His hand slips into your hair, his mouth pulling away from yours, only to drift down your cheek, your jaw… He chuckles against your skin when you gasp so meekly, melting like butter in his arms.

“Let me take care of you, sweetheart,” he whispers, marking the crook of your neck with his mouth. “Let me show you how ya have me wrapped around your pretty li’l finger.”

Already, you can see him in your memories, tangled up in him. His kisses on your neck, his spit drying against your skin. His fingers reaching and tearing you apart. In the eternity you’ll be facing alone… he’s there. Just there, a willing invitation to a dream.

He’s pushing your legs up, now fully transformed, and he comprehends everything. Without words, it seems, things simply come naturally to him. He cups your cheek with one hand, folding your body in half as your legs drape over his broad shoulders. His thumb brushes your lips, and you part them for him. You let him fuck his thumb into your wet mouth, groaning at the way you suck on him. “Good girl…”

Just then, his other hand reaches down, a warm sensation cupping your cunt as you whine softly against him, looking him in the eye. “Good God, are you always this soakin’?”

You slowly pull back, shivering softly from the sensation of him parting your folds. Only you, Joel. No one else can do this to me. He comprehends, and he groans again, leaning down to kiss you. His cock aches in the confines of his pants. Just like that, everything dulls out and he can only comprehend this: to have you. You, you, and just you.

“Guess I have some makin’ up to do to ya, huh?”

Just then, his head disappears between the valley of your breasts, marking a trail of blood-red hickeys down to your stomach, one hand pinching a nipple harshly enough to make you squeal, to which he shushes you again. Gonna get us caught, doll. He continues his way, finally finding your sweet cunt. He shifts his hands so he can slowly part your folds. He kisses the inside of your thighs just as you clamp one hand over your whining mouth. And, with nothing left to do, he takes a deep breath, looking at your face as he sinks his tongue down between your folds, tasting you with a longing groan of delight.

Even his griefs are a joy long after to one that remembers all that he wrought and endured.

All you can feel is the flurry of rhythm Joel sets. His trembling jaw, as if whispering prayers to whatever powers may be. His tongue splitting you open and fucking you raw in a way so obscene, you think it’s unbecoming. Perhaps it is. Perhaps by letting him have you this way, you have turned your back on your world. But he fucks one finger into your surprisingly warm cunt and everything else fades away into the silence.

“Fuck, baby…” It’s so easy, you whining urging him on, calling for him and begging to just keep going, dear God. One finger becomes two, then three. Then he raises himself so he can see your face better. So he can see the way your features contort into a heavenly amalgamation of beauty and pleasure and wonder in one full spectrum. But there is nothing more beautiful when his fingers brush against something that made you keen closer to his touch, eyes wide open with your mouth trembling.

“That’s it, isn’t it, darlin’? It is, huh?” He chuckles, the rumble of it vibrating from his chest, echoing to the backs of your thighs, and finally, straight to your wanting cunt. He smirks, his upper body shifting so his arm was much more free— just so he can keep aiming for that one spot that made you keen so beautiful he gets a glance of your otherworldly beauty.

A long forgotten poem comes up from the back of his head, just as he was pulling your orgasm from your willing frame, his other hand covering your mouth before you get too loud just so you wouldn’t be interrupted, caught, and possibly separated.

I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each. “Good fuckin’ girl. Such a good girl, honey…” I did not think they’ll sing for me.

You shut your eyes, grinding your hips into his touch, chasing a sensation you can’t even dare put into words. You whine into the palm of his hand, feeling as if your skin, normally so cool, set on fire with the desire you have for Joel. You peer through your damp lashes, making out the silhouette of his smirk, his warm eyes somewhat swelling with pride.

“Joel… there’s… there–” you barely get the words out when you feel it. Your vision going white, the electricity flowing through your body, and coming out of you in warm bursts.

Heaven, you think, from how Joel so lovingly described it.

When you come to, he’s pulling his fingers away, and a spurt of fluids follow in the wake of his absence. He chuckles, the sound of it emanating the very depths of your consciousness. “Didn’t know ya could do that, pretty girl.”

It leaves you warm, slightly sleepy. Slightly drifting in and out—the way the ocean climbs and recedes from the shore.

You don’t notice the way Joel watches you. The way blood smeared your perfect face. You do not notice his hand tracing down your torso, coloring it a faded, rusty red. Marked by him, and for him.

And yet if some god shall wreck me in the wine-dark deep, even so will I endure. For already have I suffered so much, and much have I toiled in perils of waves and wars. Let she be added to the tales of those.

“Please eat,” he finally says as he kisses your forehead. “I saved a plate for you.”

So you do. You sit up, trembling, the cool porcelain pressed against your thigh as you feasted. Grapes, expensive nuts, and meats you could only dream of. You try not to think of the price he paid to lavish you with such an offering. Because now, instead of the guilt, you feel the rumblings of power in your veins. You have become his very god, the one he’d slay men for. The very god to which he offers a plate paid for by carnage. And if you’ve become god, what can you offer him?

Heaven was not fit to house a creature such as I.

—-

He makes love to you after dinner. Slow, careful. He doesn’t want to terrify you. He doesn’t want to get caught, either. He has you on his lap, your cool hands cupping his heated face, spineless from pleasure as he fucks up into you, giving you a moment to accommodate him and get used to the feeling of his cock stretching you wide open. Every vein, his very length, arching and filling you up in the best way there is to be filled.

“Tell me you want this,” he asks, and you oblige him. You whine for him, calling, biting your lip and throwing your head back. You lead his hand to your chest, heaving with slow, shaky breaths. He knows what you want without ever asking it of you. And that is why he squeezes the curve of your breast, sitting up to press his mouth to your collarbone. The kisses set your skin aflame, his fingers pinching and pulling the pleasure from your willing body.

So he gives you everything. You cum once again with you on top of him. You cum again after he bends you over the nearest table with his rough fingers rubbing circles on your needy clit. And on the third time, somewhere when it’s quiet, you both lie on the blanket, your back to his chest, his cock unmoving inside of you.

It’s a moment of respite. A lull. A moment to catch breaths.

“How much did you see earlier?”

His arm is around your waist, his mustache brushing against the back of your ear. It’s nice. It’s almost domestic, a word so foreign to you. Perhaps domesticity is something innately human. But he makes you have a taste of it. And it tastes so sweet. You hum softly, tilting your head so he can kiss more of your neck.

“I saw the first man you killed,” you tell him, to which he groans, pulling you closer. “I couldn’t watch any more after that. It was… too much.” You feel his teeth brushing against the curve of your ear. Then he bites gently just to hear you squirm.

“I don’t want you lookin’ anymore, sweetheart,” he whispers, “not if it’s going to upset you this much.” He leans up, peering over your peaceful face, with your eyes shut and your body languid. “But… I suppose I’ll try.” You open one eye, peering up at him. “Less murders, my queen, yes ma’am.”

You giggle, pressing your palm to his mouth as he continues to tease you with such pet names. He speaks behind your palm. Angel baby, cutie pie… Other pet names you don’t comprehend because the sounds disappear into your cool skin.

And then he’s fucking you again, with you on your side and him above you, caging you in his arms. You catch your lip between your teeth, gritting out half-choked moans. Already, the pleasure has begun to border the line between pleasure and pain. Already, you feel your legs quaking, but you feel the tremble in his spine as well.

He’s close. He’s so fucking close.

That’s when you notice how sporadic his bursts of movement are becoming. Fewer and shorter in between. So, you begin to give back, maneuvering your bodies so you’re laying on top of him once more, digging your blunt nails down against his biceps. You feel his hands on your waist. Bloody hands that have taken an infinite number of lives before you. Bloody hands that will take who knows how many lives after. Bloody hands, that, despite their track record, hold you as if you are so fragile in his grasp.

Gentleness incomprehensible. The best of the world in the palms of his hands.

The both of you, flying into deep, empty space. Alone with Joel in the aether.

Watching his orgasm wash over him just as yours does for the fourth and last time. He pulls you into his chest, letting you moan into his chest. The only thing that betrays his release is the stuttered breaths, the shaky fingers. That is all. And then you feel the warmth of his seed, buried deep within you, treasured and tucked away. It’s so much, you feel it reach places you didn’t expect it to be.

Even when he’s ending things, he’s giving you everything he’s got.

In the afterglow, he takes care of you. Already, the sun is rising Once again, you won’t see him until it’s dark again. You’ll be turning away from the world and dreaming of those eyes and his smile. But for now, he wipes you clean, kissing your forehead as he brings you back to your tub. For now, you hold his hand for another minute.

“Y’know… Sarah loved playing siren as a fuckin’ kid,” he finally says, cleaning up the plates in silence. “She loves the sea.”

You peer over the lip of the tub, smiling up at him dreamily. “She must be so beautiful. With your smile?” You sigh, leaning back as you look up at the ceiling. “You must miss her much.”

He brushes your cheek with a sigh, shrugging. “Every fuckin’ day, baby.”

He walks away from you, and you wait for him to look back. He does, with a shit-eating smirk at your dazed eyes, neck marked up by his own doing. “Don’t kill anybody today, Joel.”

He nods slowly. “Get some sleep, squirt.” As you turn away, the smile drops. He cannot show that vulnerability out there, amongst the men he’s shared blood, sweat, and tears with. Men he killed from and men he killed with. Men who’d want to tear you apart and swallow you whole. Men who’d kill him if they knew what the two of you did all night.

Then how should I begin to spit out the butt-ends of my days and ways? How should I presume?

He doesn’t have to presume for long. Not when he emerges on deck and he sees the dark shadow of land specking the endless sea of blue he had grown accustomed to. There stands the rise and fall of a mountain, a jagged line breaking the skyline.

The Captain speaks, and the shock burns through him so rapidly that he tries to hide it by leaning against the starboard side.

We hit land midday tomorrow. Our li’l baggage ‘bout to finally bring in some fuckin’ money.

The clock is ticking, what else can he do? Go, go, go.

—

When Joel returns, he’s waking you from a long, languid sleep. You turn to smile at him, but there’s a different look in his eyes. An urgency, a finger pressed to your lips to ensure silence. He carries you from the water and you’re brought up close to see the crease on his forehead. When he wraps you in the sheet, that’s when he speaks.

“Need t’get ya out of here, baby.”

The great escape. The prison break.

Now you feel the tension.

He waits for you to turn, to become inconspicuous. Meanwhile, he’s hot on his heels. He’s gripping a rucksack in his hands, heavy with some inconceivable baggage, muttering to himself. You start to understand the madness. You start to wonder if there’s two versions of Joel waiting behind every door. One of them is the lover— the man who’d kiss you as he introduces you to a world of pleasure. Then there was the monster— the man who sliced open the throat of the person he was robbing blind, the man who fired the harpoon that caused your imprisonment.

“So the monster has come to set me free of my bonds.”

You rise, shaky on your legs and clothed in that sheet that kept you modest. It’s when he stops in his tracks, looking you in the eye before sighing, tearing the cloth away from you to introduce a linen shirt of his. It smells of him; perhaps it even reeks of him.

“They’re going to butcher you if I don’t try, sweetheart.”

You do what you promised to yourself you’ll do when he asks you something. You put your blind faith into his hands and take a leap.

He leads you through a maze of rooms you cannot comprehend. You stop at the crosshairs. You duck under tables when he asks you to. And you know why. Because the men who thirst for your blood can be found on every corner. Because you’re running out of time. Because he’d rather lose you to the waves than those who shed blood like he does.

In a matter of minutes, you find yourselves in the cool evening air. It’s a blind spot, and it’s far enough that he helps you to the raft while it’s almost silent. The sounds of men beginning to have dinner so distant and far away, it’s like an entirely different world. Skillfully, Joel lowers you both into the ocean, the distant beating of the waves masking the sound of him cutting the rope that tethered you to the ship.

He keeps one hand on the behemoth you’ve escaped, and he audibly counts. Quiet enough for you to hear. Tens. Hundreds. Then, a thousand seconds passes.

He pauses, straining to hear. In the flickering light of the lanterns, you see the silver in his hair and his beard. You wonder, momentarily, if it’s the last you’ll see of him. That’s when you hear it.

Yells. But not of alarm. Not of you, their treasured prisoner, missing from her cage. It’s the yells of panic. Of suffering. Of pain.

Upon seeing your features, Joel finally reveals the hidden card up his sleeve.

“I poisoned them. I poisoned them and robbed them blind so they’ll never come after you.”

You look to him, waiting for another shoe to drop. But there is none. This is who he is, laid bare for you to see. Your devotee, giving you the ultimate sacrifice. This is not the monster nor the lover. This is Joel. All masks have fallen to their knees and prostrated themselves before you. Every post abandoned and conquered, only for you.

“Go.”

You blink, and his trembling fingers hold your cheeks, his shaky lips kissing the crown of our head.

“No one’s coming for you as long as I’m there to stop them.”

When you don’t move, he grits his teeth, as if caught between a rock and a hard place. A second passes, then his arms take you, throwing you overboard and into the familiar depths of an ocean below.

The waves welcome you with a surge of power, relentless and enduring. More immortal than you. More divine than you can ever hope to be. The moment you are released from Joel’s hold, the saltwater licks clean the wound on your shoulder. It washes away the scent of Joel’s shirt.

He’s already being erased from you.

From beneath the depths, everything comes back to you. The kiss on your hand, the scraps of food. His sticky, bloodmarked fingers marking you. All of it, slipping through your fingers like sand. In the cool darkness of the open sea, all you can see is a flame starting from the base where you last saw Joel. A fire spreading amongst the ship which you once hailed your prison.

You can see Joel’s boat, smaller in comparison, already racing away towards the shore.

All you can do now, with the power of Poseidon surging and bubbling beneath your veins, is to sing. To sing a hymn that begs before the very gods themselves. But it’s a song that begs Joel, too. Begs him to remember you.

Don’t forget me. You do not know if he hears you. Don’t forget me.

You attempt to follow him beneath the waves.

Don’t forget me.

—-

Against all odds, Joel Miller disembarks from the train to find himself in a farmland so familiar to him. Against all odds, it is three weeks later, and he’s followed all the roads and finds himself home.

He breathes in the smell of wheat under the scorching summer heat. He embraces it. He puts one foot ahead of the other, sea legs no longer present. The ground is too still that it still sometimes unnerves him.

A few meters away, he catches sight of the house. The windows wide open, the breeze making the curtains dance within. And on his porch is a familiar figure that had lowered her book and peered in his direction. He sees her face, and relief encompasses his bones. Sarah.

She’s running to him, yelling, loud and youthful and her face is like the sun. He feels himself smiling, too. The first time in weeks. Miles of walking and sleepless nights fade away with each step you take closer together. Then she’s running to his arms squealing as he embraces her.

Tell me. Is this really then Ithaca?

Finally, the years that separate the little family are slowly bridged. He rebuilds. He tells her stories. He tells her about you. When the sun sets, he tucks Sarah in and kisses her forehead.

Now, here he is. A couple of months that feels like decades have passed him by. He dreamt of you every night for the past three weeks. He sits in his bath, wondering if this was ever how you felt in those long, terrifying days. Did you feel peace, too?

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea, by sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown.

His eyes fall shut. His breath slows.

A moment of peace as he sees your face, smiling at him, languid hands reaching and asking him to follow you.

He hears your voice, singing into his ear as he chuckles.

Until human voices wake us, and we drown.

taglist: @tuquoquebrute @boofy1998 @persephone-girl @lunxramour @none-of-this-makes-any-sense

#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #pirate!joel miller x siren!reader #pirate!joel miller #pirate!au #siren!au #mermaid!au

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artsninspo · 5 months ago

Text

COUNTERFEIT - one

➨ rio's library - good girl nbc

「 ✦ full library & archive ✦ 」

🍒 author's Note: back with another story! this is a multipart story. formerly known as cherries. it's a mix of the drinks series and forgiveless. Rio's more 'gang-friend' in this one. Enjoy ♥️

🍒 pairing: Rio (Good Girls) X Faith (Original Character) All my characters are black women.

🍒 word count: ~1.7K

🍒 summary: bad days lead to bars, friends, drinks and strangers.

🍒 one ~ cherry margaritas

If one more person calls me ungrateful I don't think I'll ever stop screaming. I shoot my sister a glare and her voice catches in her throat leaving her mouth open with words that will be left unsaid. Traitor. My anger is clear as day, and Char knows better than anyone that I've reached my limit. Amber, our ‘friend’ stops too looking up at me as I stand. I didn't invite Amber over for an earful, I invited her over for support. For fucks sake. The stare down comes to an end when Char closes her big mouth, swallowing.

“Faith” her tone is what it should have been all along but its too little too late. The call comes again but I'm halfway down the hall and to my bedroom. I walk into my closet angry at myself for thinking my sister would back me. I grab a coat and slip into a pair of baggy jeans. I kick my pumps from this evening's date night aside and grab a monogrammed bumbag.

“Faith” Amber says, wearing on my thinning patience.

“What?” I respond, casting a look over my shoulder.

“It’s not that we don't think you're great - I mean of course we do your the life of the party, you're so smart and funny”

“I’m glad I provide entertainment for you Amber” I respond and she places a hand on her chest. I brace for the perpetual state of victimhood that follows nice-nasty and outright mean.

“I didn't mean it like that!” Amber says. Whether it's fact or fiction makes no difference to me - my goal was to shut her up and when her nostrils flare I know I've achieved my goal.

“Don't be like that Faith, Jason is – being bored isn’t a reason to leave him. He literally worships you” Char continues. I wish her position was disappointing or surprising but it’s what I expect from Char now that she's been fully indoctrinated by our mothers social climb. Years of private school, country clubs and tennis lessons have her disillusioned.

“It’s fine, I don't expect you to understand” I snap, pushing past the both of them.

“Where are you going, do you want me to come?” she asks, eyeing my casual attire.

“No, finish the wine and talk about how ungrateful I am” I respond slamming the front door to our condo. I rush to the elevator hoping they won't follow me and call a cab once I'm in the lobby. The wait is less than a minute. I turn off my location, blocking my sister, Amber and Jason for the night.

I’m too young to be so stressed, I've felt like I've been drowning for weeks as Jason turned the intensity up in our relationship in all the wrong ways. Trying to become bffs with my mother and Rick. Talking with the future, talking about expectations and children and houses. Why would anyone think I would sign up for a lifetime of the one I didn’t choose. The one Ma laid on her back and threw away everything she knew and held dear for. I’d never so eagerly trade my autonomy. I rate the driver five stars for the much appreciated silence and smile as my feet touch the pavement. I smell cigarettes and weed as patrons partake outside the bar. I can see it’s busy when I head in. Unlike anything in the heart of the city D’s place is truly one of one. Traditional wood counters, stools, a pool table, a jukebox, booth seating on one side, open space in the middle and a few table configurations for those who want to sit and talk. Everywhere is full tonight and it makes me happy for my friend as I head to the bar a man getting up to give me his stool. I look around for Diego smiling when I find him.

“Hey” I wave, and he comes over with top shelf tequila. Smiling at my presence he makes a show of making my favorite drink a cherry margarita and tops it with five cherries. “Thanks” I beam saluting him before my first sip. “Perfection” I wince and he laughs.

“What’s up?” He asks and I chew on one of the cherries pushing the rest of them into the liquid in the hopes they absorb some of the liquor.

“Nothing much, I can help you bartend if you drive me home…” I suggest.

Diego dries a glass. “I don’t get off until three”

“It’s fine” I shrug while having another swig.

“Doesn’t Jason usually get tickets to the big games? I was looking for you court side” He asks, looking up at the mounted TV in the bar.

“We broke up” I confess and he frowns, pausing his task.

“What’d he do? Do I need to fuck him up for you?” D asks, ready for war.

“Nothing, it just wasn’t going to work.” I admit taking another cherry. D gives me an unsure look before manning his bar. I watch the clock run out and drain the liquid from my glass, then I get behind the bar and get to work. Diego and I grew up together on the same block as kids. He spent a lot of time with me and my sister before the whispering started. People thought it was poor parenting to have him sleeping in a room with two girls. D would’ve never laid a finger on us. He moved away when I was ten and we reconnected after college. He became the big brother I never had. Now, he has his life together and I’m the wreck.

Time goes by when you’re having fun and D and I are an excellent team. Working, being busy, accomplishing something and being around D is grounding for me. There’s nothing we want from each other or hope to gain from our association and honestly it’s refreshing. D really has put everything into this place and it’s a pleasure to help him keep his patrons happy with good drinks and excellent customer service. It’s a sausage fest and the flirtation is harmless. Almost all of them are regulars and regular guys here to drink a few beers and watch the game. I make a show of eating the cherries from my glass gaining an audience, extra tips and looks of disapproving amusement from D. It's harmless rebellion, the kind of thing that Jason would spend hours scolding me for - not understanding I’m just joking around. Having a bit of fun. D’s bar is the kind of place that would make Jason itch. There’s no VIP seating, back room or slipping someone extra money to get better service. Honestly that behaviour may lead him to a black eye and pressing assault charges for his uppity ways. The thought makes me smile as the patrons file out, I have so many tips there's no more space in my pockets so D gets me a jar.

By the time it’s three AM I’ve forgotten all about my breakup. D and the security clean off the tables and put the chairs up. I get the mop ready and clean the floors to save them from sticky floors when they come in later on today. The bell rings and the door opens to three men walking in. I wait for someone to tell them we’re closed but no one does. The tall slim one in all black sits at the bar and the other two go into the back. My heart rate slows as I look around for D, when I don't see him I keep my head down mopping until D comes from in the back. He greets the man and pours him something top shelf.I continue mopping until I see Diego motioning for me to come over. I do and he looks nervous. He hands me his keys. “Go wait in the car” he says handing me his keys.

“My coat” I remind D, and he nods, getting it from behind the bar for me.

“I don’t remember hiring you,” the guy drinking at the bar says, stopping me in my tracks. His voice is smooth and his eyes are too easy for him to be anything but trouble. The tattoo on his neck tells me he’s bad news, as well as how rigid D’s posture is behind me.

“She’s a friend, came to help me out” Diego says, being oddly submissive. I look up at him confused. He has at least a hundred pounds of muscle on this guy and he’s afraid of no one. The guy turns to face us and his hands go in his pockets as he gives me a slow once over. He’s hard to read.

“I didn’t know we needed help and I don’t remember getting a text that you’d have someone else closing with you” he adds. His speech is slow and calm which adds to the sense of danger about him.

“I was headed home, came by for a drink and it was getting crazy in here. I just wanted to help out” I explain and the man gives a half smile but it only makes me more uneasy.

“There are health codes, forms, certifications and things we need in case something comes up or a by-law officer stops by. I need to know who’s behind my bar. Who’s serving my customers.” he doubles looking at D.

“I said she’s a friend,” Diego grits in response. The man’s jaw clenches but he turns around.

“Shit hits the fan, you’ll have to deal with it, not me” he says going back to his drink and I hurry out of the bar. I have a million questions but I don’t ask any the entire ride home. My mind goes to a hundred scenarios, landing on one every time if D needed money why didn't he ask me for some. If it was for protection didn’t he know better than to get mixed up with men like … whoever that was? The car slows to a stop in front of my condo and he puts it in park handing my tips.

“Take care, and if Jason needs a clue let me know” he says before kissing my cheek.

“Thanks” I smile and he hands me another jar. I smile when I realize they’re tequila soaked cherries. “Sorry for the trouble” I apologize.

“My cousin is OCD about people,” he shrugs.

“Ok” I nod wondering why I don't know this one of Diego’s cousins or that he was the bar owner. I don't push, instead I hug my friend and trust our bond before heading into the building, into the elevator and into the apartment I share with my sister.

authors note: well that's all for now folks. see you around for the next part. don't forget to ❣ Like, ❝ Comment, ↺ Reblog

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tags: @meadows5 @wnbweasley @becauseimher @ariiaeltheedonn @woahthatshitfat @miniaturehideoutmentality @kokobells @ffenthusiastt @sowhatariyana @1xtral1983 @theegoddessofmelanin @fictionalreads @roxytheimmortal @fairytale07 @rampsen

#rio good girls #rio x black!reader #rio x oc #good girls rio #rio good girls imagine #manny montana fanfiction #rio good girls fanfiction #masterlist #manny montana x original character #rio good girls x original character #rio x reader

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