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shorkbrian · 3 years

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I swear I ain’t in it for the money, but I can’t stop thinking about sugar daddy shoto. Maybe he sweeps a cute little college kid or barista of their feet, just something fun and casual. But this man starts falling harder, needing a way to lock them down to him. Money isn’t quite cutting it anymore, so he decides fucking a baby into her would do the trick. Shoto would push her down into the mattress, large frame twisting her into a sweet mating press. This way they could stay together forever and Shoto would have absolutely no problem providing for his sweet family <3

but fr tho I feel like Shouto is NOT the type for kids.

Mans will tolerate them when they babble or wave at him, but he very actively Does Not Want them.

Always uses condoms, and even though he’ll threaten not to, it’s never a legit thought in his mind to cum inside. Shouto doesn’t want to be a dad.

-----

You’ll be sittin on a park bench, fading sunset dark and pretty in front of you yet all you can do is cry. There’s not really any people around so it’s not like you’re bothering anyone - you hadn’t wanted to cry in your shabby apartment (half the cause of your worries) just in case you received a noise complaint.

“Are you alright?”

A somber, smooth voice is heard. You’re swiping at your tears quickly as you look up, trying to laugh off your state of distress. “Oh, haha, yeah I’m fine. Thanks for asking.” It’s hard to smile with your puffy cheeks and red-rimmed eyes.

The man in front of you frowns, hands in his coat pockets, scarf draped around his neck. “You don’t look fine. Mind if I sit?”

He’s already claiming the spot next to you on the bench before you can say a word, turning to you with a passive expression. “Why are you crying?”

And that’s all it takes to have you breaking down all over again, tears streaming down your face. Just one person offering to listen to the heavy burden you have to bear.

‘’M sor-sorry...” You sob, wiping at your eyes with frigid fingers, successful in doing nothing more but smearing tears around your face.

“Here.” The man’s taking off his scarf, gloved hands offering it you.

“I ca-can’t use your sc-scarf sir.” But he’s insistent, pressing it into your hands up by your face.

“I’ll just get another one. Keep it, you’re in need of it more than I am.”

The kindness makes another fresh bout of tears roll down your cheeks, but this time you're able to dab them away with soft fabric as you sniffle.

It takes a moment for you to calm yourself. When you do, you can finally engage in conversation with the man.

You tell him about your job hours getting cut, how you’ve been turned down or ignored by every single place you’ve applied at for a second job. How you’re barely affording to wash your clothes - you have to hang them or drape them across things in your apartment because you don’t have the money to pay for a dryer cycle.

And to top it all off, you’re still short on rent, despite how you scrimped and saved and even forced yourself not to buy groceries this week - you’ve gone hungry for the past three days.

“You haven’t eaten?”

You glance up at the man and his incredulous expression, shaking your head. “I’ve been trying to save money, I thought I could afford my rent if-”

“What kind of food do you like?” The man is pulling out his phone, swiping and tapping immediately.

“Thank you, but I’m not-” looking for charity is what you want to say. Plus, you shouldn’t accept favors from strange men.

But the handsome man is waving you silent. “I’m cold, plus I’d like to grab a bite to eat before I head home. I don’t like eating alone though, you’d honestly be doing me a favor.”

You take a moment to process. Is he telling the truth? He sounds like an honest guy.

“Seems like the only place open around here is “Joe’s 24 hour Diner”.... You mind burgers?”

So that's how you end up in a booth opposite the man (”Shouto” he had told you as you both headed to the diner), munching away at warm food. It tastes so good, you hardly have time to worry about the man watching you as he eats.

You’d been shocked at his looks the moment you’d seen him in the light of the diner. Pretty two-toned hair, different colored eyes, perfect skin, expensive clothes. Why was he even talking to you? It’s obvious the two of you led very different lives.

“How does everything taste?”

“Delicious.” Is your response, and Shouto seems pleased, nodding before taking another bite of his meal.

Maybe it’s stupid... but you feel weirdly safe with this man. He doesn’t seem to bear any ill-intent towards you, nor has he made any comments about your body or let his hands or eyes stray. He seems like a gentleman.

Conversation flows easily between the two of you, even sharing a few chuckles at times. He’s some fancy rich businessman, you learn, and you share about your own life, laughing at the comparisons. Shouto can’t fathom growing up in a house with less than five bedrooms and a personal servant.

He asks for your number, and you’re hesitant in giving it - he surely can’t be interested in you? But he seems so sincere, it’s hard to say no.

When the two of you part ways, Shouto gives you a wave, “Hope to see you again soon, and under better circumstances.”

“You too! And sorry for being such a mess and stopping your walk-”

Shouto shrugs, cheeks beginning to pink from the cold air as you two stand outside the diner. “You needed help. I like to assist.”

-----

The next morning you wake to find an atrociously large sum deposited in your Venmo account by none other than a Shouto Todoroki.

Immediately, you’re calling him. “It’s too much, we just met. How can you give away that much money to some low-life?”

You hear him sigh on the other end of the phone. “You’re obviously struggling. I was wondering what your hours are this week, perhaps we could talk about this over dinner? Or lunch, if that fits better with your schedule. I’m flexible.”

It’s a few days later, days spent questioning yourself, questioning his intentions, before you see him again, both of you deciding to meet for lunch to further discuss... whatever had just happened.

“Was what I gave you adequate to cover your rent?” Are the first words out of Shouto’s mouth after you greet each other.

“Yeah, more than enough-” You squirm. “But I need to ask.... why?”

“Why?”

“Why me.”

“Oh.” Shouto’s expression clears. “That’s easy. I told you a few days ago - I like to assist. I’m quite lonely, and it feels nice to use my money on someone other than myself. I think providing for someone brings me... I wouldn’t quite say joy, but... contentment.”

You contemplate his answer for a moment.

“Well... you saved me with my rent, I don’t really know how to thank you.”

The man leans forward. “Well.... I know it might be a bit sudden, but how would you feel accepting me as a.... benefactor of sorts?”

“You mean like a sugar daddy?” Is your immediate, blurted response. You want to slap yourself for speaking before you have the chance to think about your words, but luckily Shouto just lets out a light laugh.

“If you’d like to call it that. I’m willing to provide financial assistance for you, in exchange for companionship, if you’re willing to give it.”

Your face heats up as you drop your eyes, fidgeting nervously in your seat. “I don’t feel comfortable with a... a sexual relationshi-”

“That’s perfectly acceptable.” Shouto cuts you off before you can continue. “I wasn’t trying to insinuate a contract of that nature. I’m thinking more along the lines of accompanying me at meals, sharing experiences with me, providing company and friendship to a lonely man. If it seems that we’d like to progress further than that after we get to know each other, well, that will be addressed then. For now-” Shouto meets your eye, dipping his head a smidgeon so he can look at you directly. “All I ask for is a simple, non-intimate bond between two people.”

This is crazy.

And yet you accept.

The situation may be wild, and completely absurd, but you’d be a fool not to say yes.

Shouto is charming and handsome, respectful, courteous - you could go on and on about his positive qualities. He just seems like a sad, lonesome man swallowed by work and responsibilities, too stressed and busy to put the effort into making friends the conventional way.

-----

Months pass by.

You’re eating at every meal, sated and never going hungry. You’re able to move into a new place, one that doesn’t smell like cigarettes and sits right next to a railroad.

Clothes aren’t a worry anymore, you have your own washer and dryer in your new apartment (Shouto offered to buy you a house, or a penthouse at the least, but you couldn’t justify it to yourself). You’re able to afford new things, and pretty dresses, shoes that are comfortable and fashionable and that fit.

You no longer have to wear clothes down until they have holes in them. You’re able to go to the doctor’s when you feel sick, able to pay for health insurance.

Life is good.

Shouto is a personable man, serious, but he can be rather funny and even crude at times.

The doubt and thoughts of “Why is he doing this for me?” and “I’m not good enough for this.” plague you, but Shouto always seems to catch on, reassuring you that you’re exactly what he needs - a friend.

And you’re more than happy to be that.

You think sometimes, that even if he wasn’t paying you, you’d still like to be friends with Shouto Todoroki.

Until he starts acting weird.

“You should just stay at my place. I have more than enough room,, it’d be easier for both our schedules. We’d get to see each other more often.”

“Uhm...” You don’t really know what to say. You like your freedom, and having your own place where you can walk around in your (expensive) underwear without being bothered.

“I think it’d be nice, don’t you? We could have breakfast every morning, you wouldn’t have to worry about traveling to and fro, we could spend more time together. We don’t see each other nearly enough.”

He’s pushing, insistent. How are you supposed to tell him no? He’s paying for your entire life. Plus, it wouldn’t be that bad to actually live with him. Shouto’s an amicable man.

So you move in.

“I bought you a few things, they’re on your bed.”

Shouto’s striding into the kitchen where you’re making coffee, buttoning up his shirt as he comes closer. You’ve found that the man likes to sleep in nothing but boxers, shrieking and flushing an embarrassing shade the first time he’d come to wake you up with a sweet “welcome” breakfast in bed.

It’s taken a while to adjust, but you finally feel that you’re fully settled in.

“Oh, you really don’t ha-”

“I wanted to. I went through your closet - your clothes are nice, but your underwear seemed to be lacking.” He’s so matter-of-fact.

All you can do is stare at the back of his head.

“Could you pass me a spoon please?”

-----

Shouto had splurged on expensive, fancy lingerie.

At least eight different sets were laid out on your bed. It was overwhelming. It also felt.... a bit intrusive? They were all in your size, in a complementary color for your skin tone.

Weird.

Not as weird as the onset of Shouto’s casual touches.

You’d be reading, or drinking tea and watching cars race by on the street so far below, and Shouto would come up behind you, caress your sides before intertwining his fingers with yours on one hand. He did it as if it was a normal thing, but it felt anything but normal.

Or you’d be on the couch together, and Shouto would shuffle closer until his large body was pressed to yours, almost curled around you. The faux-cuddling was a bit more off putting. How do you tell him no?

The touches became more and more intimate, Shouto’s gifts more and more frequent until you weren’t even spending a penny, the man taking care of everything.

The arrangement was beginning to make you uncomfortable.

Shouto’s bi-colored eyes seemed to always be on you, tracing the shape of your body, watching you move, or breath, or sit. It was distracting, and you felt bad for feeling this way towards the man who’d pulled you out of poverty, but it was so unnerving.

He seemed to notice.

“You’ve been so stressed these past few days. Is something wrong?” Shouto’s rubbing a hand into your shoulder, hovering over you at the dinner table.

“No?” Is all you can manage, wiping your hands on your napkin as you finish your food.

Shouto frowns. With a sigh, his hand drops from your shoulder and the man leaves your side, heads toward the kitchen.

You clear your plate from the table, following after him so you can wash it and put it in the dishwasher before you head off to get ready for bed.

But Shouto is rummaging in a cupboard, pulling down two wine glasses to accompany the bottle of wine that’s standing proud on the island. It’s your favorite, a sweet wine that Shouto knows you like, always brings it out when he decides to drink whisky or bourbon after dinner.

He pops the cork and pours you a glass while you finish with your dishes, handing you the glass when you turn away from the sink, pressing it into your hands. “Let’s relax a little bit, it’ll be good for both of us.”

You’re fine with that, knowing that a little wine won’t hurt you, especially when it’s of such fine quality. You’d never dreamed that you’d be able to taste such richness in your lifetime, spend frivolous amounts of money on wine and fine eateries. Yet here you are.

Shouto pours himself a glass, barely a sip filling the bottom. The man raises it to his lips and takes a swig, grimacing a bit in his flat, unexpressive way. You giggle a little.

“Too sweet?’

The man nods, setting the glass back down. “I’m not entirely sure how you can stand to stomach it. But if it makes you happy-” He shrugs, before pulling on of the bar-stools out from under the island so he can sit facing you, long legs stretching out before him.

You look at him, and he looks at you, and then you take another sip of wine to avoid the awkwardness.

“You’re distancing yourself from me.”

The accusation is quiet, Shouto’s eyes focused on your fingers wrapped around the stem of the glass.

He’s always been straightforward with his words. “Is there a reason you keep drawing away?”

The wine disappears from your glass, sliding down your throat and settling in your stomach. You fill your glass again before speaking, struggling to find the right words without upsetting your... benefactor.

“Well, Shouto... I don’t really know how to...” You trail off, hoping Shouto will say something, change the subject, say it’s alright and move on to something else.

But the man stays silent, eyes appraising you.

Taking a deep breath, and another gulp of sweetness, you try again.

“Sometimes the closeness... like, physical closeness? Makes me, well, uncomfortable.”

Hopefully, that would satisfy his curiosity for now. That wasn’t the only reason you’d been avoiding Shouto seeming distant, but you didn’t think sharing the others would result in anything good.

Said man accepted your response, dropping his eyes to his lap as he mulled it over. More wine was consumed, glass re-filled. You felt nervous.

“You’re saying that my touch isn’t something you’d prefer.”

Biting your lip, you soften at his confused expression, at the hint of sadness swimming behind his eyes. “Kind of. I don’t mind you Shouto, you’re really kind, and you’re good company, and a wonderful friend. I just don’t think the.... the intimacy is for me.”

Shouto raises his head, stares at you with those pretty eyes, lips parted as he comes to terms with your words.

“It sounds like you don’t trust me. I would never hurt you, you know this.”

You scramble to assure him. “I do! I do trust you, and I know you wouldn’t.” (at least you hoped) “But I guess I just... Coming into this agreement I wasn’t ready for that type of... thing. I don’t know if I ever will be.”

The man rises, shakes his head as he steps closer to you. “Don’t worry, I remember our first conversation about that aspect. I see that for you, that type of relationship would only begin after you really cared for the other person, trusted and wanted to see them happy, am I correct?”

“Oh, Shouto-” You rush. “No, I care for you, and I trust you, and of course I want to see you happy. I think it’s just, y’know, my last relationship like that went really bad, and it sucked. I don’t want to go through that again.”

Shouto nods, understanding. “I see. You don’t have to worry about any of that with me then.”

A smile crosses your face, and you feel relived that he accepted your rejection with grace and understanding instead of violence or anger. “Thank you, it means a lot to me.”

The mood of the room shifted, from tense and uncomfortable, to easy and light, and you poured another glass of wine, laughing a little at how worried you were about the conversation with Shouto, only for it all to turn out fine.

“I’m going to go drink some of the liquor that’s kept in my room. I could mix a few drinks for you to try, you might like how sweet they are. I know hard alcohol isn’t quite your thing.”

You beam a smile, nodding your head eagerly. Before, you’d feel apprehensive about going into his room with him to drink alcohol. But with the conversation the two of you just had, you knew - things would be fine.

-----

The room was spinning and you felt giddy and light. You were definitely tipsy.

“You can lay down on my bed, you’re getting wobbly on your feet.” Shouto had offered, and you’d gladly accepted, flopping down onto his comfy bedspread with a laugh at how the motion made butterflies rise in your tummy.

Shouto leaned against his dresser, swirling whiskey in his glass as he watched you, a half-smile across his face. You smiled back, before closing your eyes, a little bit tired as you realized that you might be a bit more than just tipsy.

Shouto had mixed quite a few drinks for you, and you’d drank each one eagerly, impressed with how little alcohol you could taste in each one. You don’t remember how many you had, but it didn’t really matter.

The next thing you know, hands are on your waist, scooting you further up the bed so your legs no longer hang off the edge. Cracking open an eye, you’re met with the visage of red-and-white, eyes soft and warm as they regard you, Shouto’s face tinged a bit pink from the few drinks he had consumed. The man had never been too good at holding his alcohol.

When those hands started to slip beneath your shirt, you wiggled like a little worm, not really comprehending the situation. Maybe it was a dream.

Your shirt was discarded, then your pants. It felt much more comfortable now, and you mumbled a “thanks” to the man helping you settle for bed. He was so nice, Shouto took such good care of you. You still kind of couldn’t believe the turn your life had taken with him, the good luck pushed into your path.

Someone was kissing you.

With a grunt of surprise, you kissed them back, meeting their feverish pace and trying to keep up, soft lips puckering and pushing against your own with intent. Kissing felt good. You liked kissing.

Then a hand was cupping your face, stroking tenderly over your cheek before it began sliding down, down your neck, into the valley between your breasts, trailing over your bra. It felt funny.

Pushing back for air, you gasped when the hand on your chest started squeezing at you, eyes flying open with the startling, sudden sensation.

Shouto was hovering over you, lips puffy, panting as he stared at you with lusty eyes, an uncharacteristic look on his face. This... this wasn’t supposed to be like this. You knew. Hadn’t the two of you just talked about something... important? Was it important?

You didn’t feel panic until a hand cupped your sex, feeling your skin through your panties.

This wasn’t right.

Alarm bells were ringing, dull and far away, but you didn’t think that Shouto should be touching you in such a way. you should be going to bed.

“Mm, Sho, can you stop?” But your words felt funny on your tongue, and Shouto didn’t stop. Maybe he didn’t hear you.

His hair tickled your chin as the man bent to mouth at your tits, pulling the cups of your bra underneath them so he could feel your hot skin, let his saliva drag slick and wet against your chest.

Your hands instinctively rooted themselves in his hair as you gasped again, not expecting such a move, tugging lightly at his head to pull him up. Shouto just groaned, teething gently at your breasts and not moving an inch. His hips were grinding against the bed though, as he stood between your spread legs.

Before you knew it, your panties were gone, bra clumsily unclasped and discarded, and you were completely bare. Shouto was undressing before you, struggling with the buttons on his shirt before giving up, easily ripping the fabric of his body with one tug, grumbling.

You didn’t feel so tipsy anymore.

“Shouto, what’re we doing? We shouldn’t be doing this, we need to stop-”

“Stay down.” Was his firm command, a hand splayed across your naked chest and pushing you back into the mattress as you tried to sit up. It made you breathless, the growl in his voice, the dominance emanating from the man. You stayed still.

“This’s gonna make us a stronger couple.” The man slurred, eyes dark and hands wandering, effortlessly keeping you pinned against the bed as he ground his hips forward against the edge. You were getting scared.

“Wait-”

You fell silent as one hand pushed down his pants, his underwear going with them, pink cock bobbing free. He was so pretty down there, and it made sense, all of him was pretty, but you suddenly realized the weight of the situation, what was happening.

“Shouto, no, oh my god. We gotta stop right now, we’re drunk, we’re-we’re-”

“Don’t care. Not gonna let you hide away from me this time.” Shouto shook his head, taking his cock in one hand and giving it a long, slow pump, flushed tip weeping precum and wetting his hand.

“No, no, this is wrong. I don’t want this, I could get pregnant!” You cried, beginning to panic for real, pushing against the one strong hand anchoring you to the bed.

Shouto just chuckled, letting go of his cock to crowd against you, getting up in your face to press a wet finger to your lips, the salty taste of his precum threatening to slip into your mouth unless you kept it shut. “Shhh, shh. If you stay nice and still, if you do what I say, I’ll use a condom.”

You couldn’t believe your ears.

“You’re gonna listen to me, you always do.” The man nodded to himself, once again dragging his cock against the bed between your legs, as if he couldn’t stop himself. “Or else I’ll fuck you raw.” The finger was pulled from your lips, only to be wagged teasingly in your face.

You couldn’t believe how he was acting.

“Be nice.”

Shouto tapped your nose with a neatly manicured finger, before groaning as he heaved himself upright, red cock bobbing against his stomach, desperate for attention. The man gave you a look, as if to say “don’t move” before he took his hands off you, heading for his dresser.

Once you saw him pulling out a strip of condoms, you were on your feet, stumbling toward the door.

Although panic had sobered you somewhat, you were still struggling with the effects of the alcohol, so your reaction time was maddeningly slow. Slow enough that you weren’t able to truly fight against Shouto when he grabbed you from behind toned arms wrapping around your middle and heaving you into the air, only to throw you back on his bed.

You were almost sick on the bedspread, world spinning and stomach protesting, but you were able to calm yourself.

But then Shouto was on you, flipping you onto your back, a soft hand pressing against your throat threateningly.

“You want to have a baby? Want me to cum in you so you’ll get all fat with kids? Hm?” He was so intense, almost choking you, straddling your waist and keeping you pinned. It was too much

You were able to manage a tearful, desperate “No!” despite the hand around your throat, and Shouto backed off, releasing the pressure to instead stroke his hand against the sides of your neck.

“Stop acting like this, it’s the next logical step for us. You said you cared for me, wanna make me happy. This’ll make me happy. I won’t be like the last guy.”

His cock was pressed against your stomach, and you could feel it twitching. Shouto clambered off of you, letting go of your neck so he could grab the condoms he’d tossed on the bed before snatching you up.

“Do what I say and I use these.” He waved them in your face before tearing one off, beginning to open it.

You stayed still, gazing at him blearily, limbs feeling fuzzy, mind feeling the same.

The condom was rolled onto Shouto’s cock, the man spitting into his palm and giving the latex a few rubs to make it slick before reaching for you.

He dragged you to the edge of the bed - the perfect height for him to fuck you - and you didn’t fight, terrified of his threat. You couldn’t stand the thought of a baby.

(You didn’t know, but neither could he)

“Wanted to do this since I met you.” Shouto mumbled, pushing your panties to the side with a few fingers so he could guide his tip to your hole. “Want you so bad.”

You didn’t know what to think of this side of Shouto. This unreserved, uncareful, slurring mess of a man that loomed before you, gaze dark and wild, limbs everywhere as he groped and squeezed and appreciate the shape of your body.

But he must’ve gotten impatient, because then he was pushing inside.

It hurt, stinging pain rippling up your back and you keened, causing Shouto to pause. One of his hands darted down to wrap around your calf, hauling it up on the bed so he could lean forward and press it to you chest, sinking his cock a few inches deeper.

“You’re gonna take it.” He hissed before messily kissing you, pressed so close together that it was hard to breathe. “I’ll make it feel good after you do.”

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triptuckers · 3 years

Text

Jealousy, Jealousy - Kaz Brekker

Request: yes! ‘Can I request Kaz/reader where one of them is jealous, maybe an argument occurs but with a happy ending. If you’re okay with that. If not I understand. I love your fics though! You’re an incredible writer’ Pairing: Kaz Brekker x reader Summary: You got a member of the Dime Lions talking, and got some valuable information. But Kaz isn’t happy with the method you used to get the information Warnings: mild angst, mentions of alcohol, jealous kaz Word count: 1.9K A/N: me using an olivia rodrigo song as a title? yea. enjoy reading! :)

On one of her nightly journeys through the city, Inej had found out the Dime Lions were planning on stealing an expensive necklace. It so turned out that Kaz also had his eyes on said necklace. And he didn’t like the thought of it slipping through his fingers.

He figured out which member knew the most about the job, and needed to get him talking. Kaz only knew the week in which the necklace would arrive, not the exact date, or how heavily it would be guarded.

Kaz had sent Inej to figure it out, but even she came back empty handed. Luckily, you knew the club the Dime Lion member liked to go to. It had gotten you to where you are now.

You, Jesper and Kaz are currently looking at him sitting at the bar in the club. You’d been looking at him for a while, keeping a sharp eye on him. It was already clear Kaz wouldn’t be the one to go up to him. Anyone would recognise that cane, or his limp if he decided to go in without it.

Jesper wants to go inside and get the Dime Lion talking, but you’re quicker, placing a hand on his arm and pushing him back.

‘This is a job for a lady, Jesper.’ you say.

You reach up and pull the ribbon out of your hair, letting it fall down your back. You then take off you coat and hand it to Kaz. Lastly, you unbutton a few buttons of your shirt and run a hand through your hair.

Before either of them can argue, you’ve waved at them, told them ‘wish me luck!’, and are headed into the club.

You walk up to the bar and take place next to the Dime Lion, careful to keep one seat empty between the two of you. You signal for the barkeeper and order your favorite drink.

Just as you’re about to reach into your pocket to get some money, your target next to you hands the barkeeper some money.

‘On me.’ he says.

You flash him a warm smile. ‘Why, thank you!’ you say. Sometimes they made it almost too easy for you.

The Dime Lion smiles at you and lets his eyes wander over your face. You have to physically hold yourself back not to punch him in the jaw. But you’re on a job. All you have to do is get him talking. And if he’s so willing to buy you drinks, it shouldn’t be hard.

‘What’s a pretty girl like you doing out all by herself?’ he says.

‘Just going for a drink.’ you say.

‘Care for some company?’ he says, pulling the chair next to him back.

‘Don’t mind if I do.’ you say, and you slide off of your chair to sit down next to him. He smells like alcohol and you guess he’s had a lot of drinks already, celebrating his success too early.

He takes a sip of his drink and you notice the tattoo on his wrist. You plaster a shocked look upon your face and reach out to pull his arm toward you.

‘Are you part of one of those dangerous gangs?’ you say.

‘Dime Lions, yeah.’ he says, signalling to the barkeeper for another drink.

‘You must be very brave.’ you say, looking up and smiling at him again.

‘I don’t like to brag, but yes, I am.’ he says. ‘Can’t be in a gang if you’re afraid of a little action.’

You fake a look of admiration on your face as you lean your chin on your hand, looking at him. ‘That sound really impressive.’ you say.

‘It’s not without danger, but it pays good money.’ he says, taking a sip of his drink.

‘Really?’ you say.

‘We got an important job coming up. It should make us rich.’ he says.

‘Wow.’ you say. ‘Like, really rich?’

‘You could say that, yes.’ he says. ‘But I’m not supposed to talk to anyone about it.’

‘Oh.’ you say, letting your chin drop slightly. ‘I see.’

You move to get up, but he lays a hand on your arm to stop you. ‘Hey, don’t go.’ he says. ‘I suppose I could tell you a little bit about it, just not the details.’

You smile and sit back down. ‘Well, in that case. Let me order you another drink, and tell me a story.’ you say, signalling to the barkeeper.

‘So, a promising job?’ you say as the barkeeper sets another drink down in front of him.

‘Very. It’s an expensive necklace. Worth millions of kruge.’ he says. He reaches out and places his hand on your hip. He’s really testing your patience. You try not to show your annoyance.

You let your jaw drop slightly and lean in closer. ‘Millions?’ you whisper eagerly.

He nods. ‘That’s right. We’re winning big with this one. They’re shipping it all the way from Ravka, and it’s arriving on one of the docks on Wednesday night. That part of the docks belongs to the Dregs, but we have a plan on feeding them the wrong information. That necklace is as good as ours.’ he says.

‘You’re really smart.’ you say. ‘How come you’re not running your own gang?’

He laughs at your words and you giggle a bit.

‘It’s not as easy as it looks.’ he says. ‘It takes skill, and practice, and you have to deal with a whole lot of planning. Not my speciality. But I am climbing up the ranks within the Dime Lions, I have to give you that.’

‘Well if you’re climbing the ranks as fast as you’re ordering drinks, it shouldn’t be a problem.’ you laugh, putting your hand on his arm.

He laughs as well, then smiles at you. You finish your drink and get up.

‘Well, you have been lovely company.’ you say. ‘Do you come here often?’

‘I do.’ he says. ‘This is my favorite place.’

‘Then I might stumble in here a bit more. Maybe I’ll see a certain Dime Lion.’ you say with a wink. ‘Thanks for the drink.’

‘Thank you for the company.’ he says. ‘And I hope to see you again.’

‘I hope not.’ you mutter under your breath as you head out the bar, back to Kaz and Jesper.

When you reach them, they look like the exact opposites of each other. Jesper looks delighted and proud as you walk toward them.

Kaz, on the other hand, has his lips pressed together so tightly they almost disappear into a thin line. And he looks ready to hit someone in the head with his cane.

‘Alright.’ you say, ignoring the look on Kaz’ face. ‘The necklace arrives on Wednesday night, on our docks. They’re going to plant wrong information to throw us off, but it’s going to be Wednesday night, that’s for sure. I don’t know how many people they’re going to send though, but it should be an easy job.’

Jesper lets out a low whistle. ‘Way to go, Y/N.’ he says.

‘Like I said, a job for a lady. Tipsy men are willing to tell women everything if they think it’ll make them look impressive.’ you say, taking your coat from Kaz’ arm and putting it on.

‘I think you deserve another drink back at the Slat.’ says Jesper. ‘After you.’

You smile at him and start to walk back to the Slat. You spend almost half of the journey talking and laughing with Jesper, just messing around a bit. You notice Kaz hasn’t said a word, not even telling you good job for gathering the information.

You hang back and fall into step next to Kaz.

‘You okay?’ you ask him. Kaz gives a quick nod. You know he’s not much of a talker, but you expected a thank you for getting the job done.

You try to get him to talk, but his answers are short, if he even answers at all.

‘Come on, Kaz, we got what we came for, didn’t we? Why are you upset?’ you say, looking at him.

‘I'm not upset that we got the information.’ he says, finally giving you a proper answer. ‘I don’t like the way we got it, though.’ he adds to it.

His answer puts a mischievous smile on your face.

‘Aw, is Kaz Brekker, jealous?’ you say teasingly, but Kaz doesn’t tease you back. He merely keeps on walking, not answering you.

‘Kaz, come on, I just did my job.’ you say.

‘Was it your job to practically sit in his lap?’ snaps Kaz. ‘To lay your hand on his arm, to allow him to put his hand on your hip?’

‘I only let him get close so I could get the information out of him. You know I wouldn’t do something like that, I'm yours, Kaz.’ you say, frowning that he could take it so personally.

‘Well you sure as hell made it look convincing you are his.’ grumbles Kaz.

You hold a hand up and get in front of him to stop him. Jesper curiously looks your way but you motion for him to keep walking. He continues walking, but does look over his shoulder every once in a while. You wait for Jesper to be out of reach when you start talking again.

‘I did my job, Kaz. Nothing more than that. There’s absolutely no reason for you to be jealous.’ you say.

‘I’m not jealous.’ says Kaz.

You raise your eyebrows at him. ‘Really?’ you say. ‘Then what’s all this? Because it looks a lot like jealousy to me.’

‘Did you see the way he looked at you?’ says Kaz.

‘Yes I did, but it’s nothing. He was drunk. He’s probably not gonna remember anything of it in the morning.’ you say.

‘What if he does remember it?’ says Kaz, looking at you.

You plant your hands on your hips. ‘Then I'll show him I'm yours.’ you say. ‘And he’ll think twice before even looking my way next time he sees me.’

You look at Kaz, but he still looks restless. You sigh and step closer to him. You reach out and take his gloved hand in his.

‘Look, Kaz, I need you to know I was friendly to him for the sake of the job. I have been and always will be yours.’ you say.

Kaz looks from his hand in your to your face.

‘I’m yours.’ you say. ‘No need to be jealous.’

‘I wasn’t jealous.’ he mumbles, making you laugh.

‘Oh, my dear, you definitely were. You should have seen your face. You looked like all you wanted to do was whack that Dime Lion over the head with your cane.’ you say.

‘I did want to do that.’ he admits, making you laugh again.

‘No need to worry, Kaz.’ you say. ‘Though I would do it again for a job though, or maybe just for the sake of seeing you jealous.’

His head snaps up at your words. You bite your lip to hold your laughter.

‘You look really hot when you’re jealous.’ you say. You see him relaxing again, softly shaking his head at your words, but with a faint smile on his face.

‘You’re one of a kind, Y/N.’ he says as the two of you continue your way back to the Slat.

‘One of a kind, and all yours.’ you say.

A/N: If you want to request something, make sure to read my house rules Here’s the list of characters I write for. Everything that I have written can be found on my masterlist. Please don’t repost my work, as I spend much time and effort on it!! Thank you for reading! Much love, Marit

#kaz brekker #shadow and bone #grishaverse #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker x you #Kaz Brekker fanfiction #Kaz Brekker fanfic #kaz brekker fic #kaz brekker fics #kaz brekker fanfics #kaz brekker oneshot #kaz brekker oneshots #shadow and bone fanfiction #shadow and bone fanfic #shadow and bone fanfics #shadow and bone fic #shadow and bone fics #shadow and bone oneshot #shadow and bone oneshots

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 3 years

Text

LO$ER=?, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: Life is just a path and you walk it. Until Jeon Jungkook. He made you run, sprinting through winding side roads and alleys, fighting, bleeding, losing. Your paths split, but life is made of orbits. Now that they have overlapped once more, his hand is fiercely holding yours and he won't let go again. Nothing matters if he's with you. Thus, you run once more, laughing like you've gone mad.

continuation of 0X1=?, m | jjk – click here to read

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; mentions of sexual assault (not heavily described, however, please note reader is the victim of said assault); actually predominantly fluff; mentions of previous angst; mentions of physical fighting; smut (fem reader, fingering, cowgirl, scratching / marking, penetrative sex); non-idol!BTS - tattooed, previously rich!Jungkook x rebellious!reader (mostly reader's POV, a tiny bit of JK's POV), ft cameo of Kim Taehyung as JK’s best friend and crossover with 'bao, t/m | myg' au

yes, I waited until the TXT's 'LO$ER=LO♡ER' was released to write this XD there's a ton of TXT references as well, enjoy!

now playing – LO$ER=LO♡ER by txt

"Jeon Jungkook! Yah! Jeon Jungkook! Come out of that whore's home!"

You were about to remove the groceries from your front seat, but then you stopped at the shouting, peering up at the second story of the apartment complex to see… ah, yes, a young woman yelling at your front doorstep. One look at the imported, Western, black car with heavily tinted windows and you were well aware that the woman in a matching designer two-piece – a ruffled pink suit jacket and flared skirt – complete with immaculately pulled back hair in a half-ponytail must be...

She turned around, fuming, pretty features twisted in rage, and screamed in frustration.

You quickly jerked your head back out of her line of sight and clicked your tongue.

Your boyfriend's ex-fiancé had some lungs on her.

You waited until she finished shrieking like a banshee and peered out to see her spin on her heel and return to pounding on your apartment door with her small, manicured fists. You spotted her beige, black cap-toed slender heels.

Chanel.

Huh.

You stayed in your car.

Reached over to your bag and pulled out the single ice cream you bought to share with Jungkook but, at this rate, you would have to buy another. You pulled off the cap and folded it in half, curving it like a spoon, and began to eat the mango sorbet. Hm, well, it was better this way. Jungkook would probably prefer chocolate or straight up diabetes over mango sorbet.

He would eat pretty much anything though.

You scooped up some of the frigid, melting sweet into your mouth and watched his ex-fiancé shout at no one.

True, you could go up there and throw her down the stairs. But there was something hilarious about this, her beating and howling at your apartment door, completely ignoring the fact that no one was answering it and that she was very clearly causing a public disturbance, all because of her own personal problem.

You glanced up to watch her slide down the door, openly crying now. You pressed the button of your car window to roll it down a crack to listen to her sobbing above you.

"–can't believe you would do this to me... you know I need this marriage... my family's company depends on it..."

You slowed, licking off your makeshift spoon.

"I'll be left with nothing... nothing unless I get married..."

Crocodile tears or not, the woes of the rich did not earn much sympathy with you.

You rolled your window back up, leaving your car on idle for the air conditioning.

It was a mix of previously being constantly berated by Jungkook's wealthy parents that now exiled him over a fucking eyebrow piercing and being a member of the working, lower middle class. For some reason, that latter fact was also offensive to Jungkook’s parents. Everyone was accepting until money got involved. You hummed, eating another scoop. You didn’t like it, but you understood that his parents wouldn’t believe that you have no interest in their money. What you didn't understand was why his ex-fiancé was so hellbent on yelling at your door. From what you could tell, she wasn't ugly. Couldn't she find someone else?

You scraped the last of your small ice cream out and ate it up.

You checked your phone.

Jungkook wouldn't be out of work for at least another three hours. You had found him a job at the local bao shop through your own job as an accountant. You assisted the family in sorting the finances for their small business and personal tax forms. The owner had back surgery and so the daughter had been working there by herself with one other employee that delivered the orders. They wanted to hire another to help with cooking and cleaning, perhaps even open up the front counter again to accept pick-up orders instead of only delivery. However, it was hard to find someone trustworthy and reliable. The best way was through word of mouth.

They won't mind my tattoos?

Whenever I drop by, the delivery guy is wearing a leather jacket, ripped jeans, and has a resting bitch face. You'll be fine. Also, I think the daughter and him are dating.

Jungkook had blinked at you.

You know. In case they disappear for ten minutes, unexplained.

You loved Jungkook's laugh.

He didn't complain or whine for some other job. He only asked when he started and how to get there. You bought him a secondhand bicycle and he was off to work, five to six days a week. Sometimes you would drop him off with your car if was too rainy. Occasionally, when he had to stay late for a large order, the delivery guy would drive Jungkook and his bike back home.

That's how it was here, in the world of everyone else, minus the rich.

The fuck is all this?

Manager gave me a bunch of leftovers. She said I'm a fast learner. Did you know Taehyung stops by there? He's never said shit! He said it was his little secret, that ass–

You smiled as you remembered Jungkook's animated face and annoyance at his best friend for not sharing what he thought was crucial information. Jungkook would speak excitedly, hauling a bag of buns and spilling them over your clean kitchen counter, scrambling to catch them as he explained the different ones to you and how they were made, telling you all the things he was learning and funny stories about customers.

You almost forgot this Jungkook.

It was strange, feeling something after such a long time of feeling nothing, strange to find your time occupied once again by him, when at many times you vowed not to get involved with Jungkook anymore, only for him to show up and make you throw your promises to yourself to the wind, recklessly chasing the anger, wondering, hating, loathing how much you still loved him after he left, recalling him standing there, stone silent as his parents' verbal lashes ripped you to shreds.

You turned the car off, pulling the keys out and pocketing them, not wanting to the drain the battery.

Maybe.

Maybe you were stupid for loving him so much.

Maybe you were as pathetic as the woman up there in some ways.

Then again.

Maybe that was just how everyone lived.

You heard a soft tap by your car window.

You jerked your head to see Jeon Jungkook, in the flesh, peering at you through the glass, clutching his bike. You could see half of his head, short black hair and large, curious brown eyes, nose pressed up to the bottom of your car window. He was wearing his work clothes, light wash jeans and an aqua blue t-shirt, lightly dusted in flour. He pointed up and you noticed his ex-fiancé had switched back to yelling at the door, no longer facing the street.

You shooed him back and opened the car door, eyes wide.

"Why are you home?" you whispered, crouching down to speak to him.

He grabbed your hand, gasping as he gripped it. You shivered at the coldness of his fingers, but there was a warmth in between your and his frozen palms, melting each other.

"Oh, shit, your hand is so cold!"

"So is yours!"

"I was biking! My hands get cold from the wind. What's your excuse?"

You held up the empty mango sorbet container in your other hand, shifting your eyes guiltily.

"And you didn't share?!" Jungkook hissed, his windswept hair giving him a fierce appearance, dismay clear in his glistening dark brown orbs despite trying to sound angry.

You spied his other hand on his bike. There was a large, wrapped bandage on his left forearm. You ticked your chin towards it, furrowing your brows. "What happened?"

"Ack, I burned myself and manager-nim told me to go home early. I told her I could still work, but there were only a few hours left and it seemed like she wanted to be alone with Yoongi-hyung..."

You raised your eyebrows.

"What are they gonna do, bonk in the kitchen?"

"You wouldn't want to bonk me in the kitchen?"

You grinned at him and Jungkook grinned back, eyebrow piercing flashing in the sun.

"JEON JUNGKOOK!"

"Oh shit–"

You scrambled out of your car, locking it, slamming the door as the young woman wailed his name and pointed at you and him, furiously wiping her tears.

"You bitch! How dare you take him from me! He was mine! I had him wrapped around my finger!" She hiked up her skirt and swiftly power-walked to the stairs, looking back to yell more at you as Jungkook placed his bicycle down. "He would do anything for me!"

You raised your eyebrows, again.

Jungkook yanked on your t-shirt sleeve, ushering you to get on the bike with him.

"Doesn't seem like it!" you called back casually, chucking your trash at her, causing the empty ice cream container to smack her in the shoulder and roll across the sidewalk.

"You–"

You cackled and got on the bike, hooking your arms around Jungkook's shoulders and adjusting your feet as she stomped up to you two, conventionally attractive features contorted in rage.

"He was my dog!"

Your eye twitched.

"You were gonna marry a freak who was into bestiality? No wonder you left," you remarked, patting him on the chest as Jungkook burst out laughing, loud and rich, shaking his head.

"You can't do this to me, Jungkook! You can't leave me with that other guy!"

You felt it.

Pause.

You felt Jungkook stiffen under your hands and you turned yourself, hearing the helpless plea in her voice now, throwing herself to the ground, designer knees in common dirt, anguish on her face, tears streaming down her made-up cheeks, sniffling hard, and, with your breath lodged in your throat, you realized she was restraining her pained sobs, so trained in maintaining appearances that it seemed like she couldn’t even cry properly in front of others.

"You can't... you know how they are... I can't marry him, you saw what kind of man he is... that's the whole reason I tried to find another husband..."

There was no more anger in her voice, only fear and dread, and you didn't understand, and yet you could for some reason, for some reason you could see it as if it was tangible, the realness in her enigmatic words. Jungkook's hands tightened on the handlebars of the bicycle, his knuckles turning white, tense shoulders under your arms, and for a second, a moment, an instant...

You thought he might go back.

"You should run."

The crying woman on the ground lifted her head, hiccupping, cheeks blotchy pink, still somehow beautiful.

"W-What?"

Jungkook turned his head and looked down at her. "You should run away, like I did. Find someone who actually loves you. Getting married to me will only make both of us miserable, even if it saves you from that other guy."

She looked from you to him, and you recognized that look in her eyes, jealousy and envy, but not directed at you. It was directed at the warmth between the coldness of his hands and yours, directed at the orbits of his and yours finally overlapping, meeting in the vastness of space once more, his zero and your zero becoming one, not you, but his ability to throw everything away, his wealth, his comfort, the world he knew, all for a feeling she had yet to feel.

"What... what if I can't?" she asked weakly. "What if I can't find what you have?"

Jungkook lifted his foot off the asphalt and placed it on the pedal. He raised his head, and you found his eyes on yours for a brief moment before casting them back down to his ex-fiancé.

"Then keep running. It's better than being married to him, right?"

He began to turn the handles, about to pedal away.

She screamed after him, words choked with agony.

"Love won't solve our problems, Jungkook!"

You held on tight, chest to his back, fingers clutching in Jungkook's shirt, nose in his hair, his warmth under your cold hands.

"It won't!" he yelled over his shoulder, gaining speed with a grin. "But it sure as hell makes the problems worth shouldering!"

“Hey! Get back here!”

You snickered and chucked the plastic bag into the basket connected to the bicycle, jumping on quickly, pedaling away as Jungkook ran after you at top speed, breathless and laughing, his black hair flying back, aqua shirt molding to his muscular chest, long legs sprinting after you and the bike, your grinning face looking back periodically to catch his smile, going not too fast, but still fast enough so he couldn’t quite catch up. Golden hour brought out the tan on his skin and his high cheekbones, both of you tearing out of the gas station at high speed, drawing stares and shaking heads, but neither of you noticed or cared, his booming voice calling your name and you sticking your tongue out at him childishly.

“Watch out!”

You jerked aside and sped past a group of five young men with skateboards, two with shorter black hair, one with long black hair and white highlights, one with ash gray hair, and one platinum blond, all very tall, but you didn’t have time to stop and stare at the impressive height of them, turning into a side alley towards to the creek nearby, avoiding pedestrians, Jungkook following close behind until you got to your destination, grabbing the plastic bag in the basket and throwing the bike down, cackling as Jungkook snatched you from the air, his heart racing against your back as you kicked the air, him still somehow effortlessly carrying you despite sprinting so hard, panting into your hair.

“Get off!”

But instead of letting you go, Jungkook held on tighter, fierce kisses into your neck, wiping his sweat all over you and making you cringe amidst your laughter. It was already late, the sun dipping into the horizon, slowly taking its warmth with it. Water trickled meekly down the creek, barely coating the rock bottom due to the hot summer.

“Stop, stop, the ice cream is melting,” you finally gasped out, shoving Jungkook aside, wiping your neck with the back of your hand, pretending to be disgusted, but Jungkook just grinned and seized your cheeks, pressing his lips against yours.

“I love you,” he breathed.

“Ack, I love you too, fuck, get off–”

You two sat on the swings of the empty playground, watching the sun disappear, eating ice cream with the lids of the containers. As predicted, Jungkook got the chocolate that seemed to have everything in it but the kitchen sink. You, on the other hand, got red bean this time.

“Hey, Jungkook.”

“Hm?”

He looked up from his ice cream, shoving a large lidful into his mouth.

It was strange how beautiful he looked, even with his black hair sticking up every which way, his cheeks filled with the frozen sweet, the faint rays of sunlight catching the silver of his jewelry – eyebrow piercing, earrings, silver chain around his neck with the compass star pendant – all paired with his oversized aqua blue t-shirt and baggy jeans, still with bits of flour on his thighs from work.

“What did that man do to her?”

A darkness clouded his features even though he tried to hide it from you with a neutral expression.

“Ah… He just… Just wasn’t really the kind of guy who thought of women as people,” Jungkook finally got out, looking away from you. “You know, the kind of guy you really hate.”

“That’s you,” you joked.

“I know I can’t do anything,” Jungkook continued, ignoring your quip and you suddenly regretted it, seeing the way he lowered his hands, exhaling slowly. “I am not responsible for anyone else’s behavior but my own.”

Come crawling back to me on your knees when she reaffirms to you that I'll be the best fuck you'll ever have.

She'll never make you feel as good as I can make you feel.

Enjoy your piranha.

“I’m sorry.”

Jungkook looked up at your sudden declaration.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated, coughing awkwardly. “I’m sorry for saying the things I said about her.”

He snorted, shaking his head. “Don’t be. Just because she was in a shit situation doesn’t excuse her for being a shit person.” He shoved the lid into the empty ice cream container and rubbed the back of his neck, pushing his hair back with a sigh. “Just like how it doesn’t excuse me from being a shit person for what I did to you.”

His eyes shifted away.

“You don’t have to–”

“Yeah, I do,” he muttered, cutting you off. “I’m a fucking loser.”

The streetlights began to turn on, but no one was in a place like this, two adults in a place for kids, stuck wondering what adulthood was supposed to feel like because it still felt like an endless cycle of forever learning and forever running, wandering to find out what the finish line meant.

“I wasted time you can’t get back and I will spend the rest of my life chasing the time I wasted.”

Jungkook sucked in a shuddering breath, hand falling from his hair, rueful smile on his face.

“I can only hope you can put up with me for so long.”

You blinked slowly.

He turned his head, brown eyes finding yours, those irises catching the streetlights like how his jewelry had caught the sun, proving that Jeon Jungkook was, indeed, already adorned with nature’s very own jewelry.

You scooped out the last of your red bean ice cream and ate it, looking away from him.

“Sounds like forever,” you remarked, feeling the chilled sweet cool your heated cheeks, swallowing slowly, savoring the way the cold warmed you in its own way.

“Hm?”

“Sounds like I’m stuck with you forever then,” you said, turning back to him with a smirk. “Kinda sucks.”

He smirked back, cocking an eyebrow. “Yeah. Major suck. Speaking of my dick–”

“Oh, shut up.”

But you said it with a smile and he knew you didn’t mean it.

“Why the fuck do you have that?”

“It’s from work. Gimmie your arm.”

“Why?”

You extended your arm, frowning, stopping under the streetlight, one hand on the bike as Jungkook held the black permanent marker with his right hand. He used two fingers to uncap it and tucked the lid neatly into his palm, spinning the marker with the adjacent two fingers to readjust it so that he could write on your arm.

“Do you wanna get a tattoo with me?”

“Of what?”

You looked down to him scribbling on your skin, his own black tattoos standing out, covering his entire right arm and up to his shoulder. You wondered if he would end up tattooing his back and maybe his other arm – but, then again, he kind of needed money to have pay for such large pieces.

“Couples tattoo.”

You looked down when he drew back, grinning, reading the word upside down.

LO♡ER

You raised an eyebrow.

“You want to get ‘lover’ tattooed?” you asked, skeptical, turning your arm this way and that, unsure if you liked the placement on your forearm, near your wrist. “You don’t have any space on your right arm anyway.”

“That’s why I would get it on my left.”

And he curved his wrist to write on the bandage on his left forearm, messily writing on top of it.

LO$ER

Now you raised both eyebrows.

“You want to get… ‘loser’ tattooed onto your body?” you snorted disbelievingly.

Jungkook grinned, recapping the black marker with one hand, tapping the dollar sign on the bandage with the marker lid. “Doesn’t it describe me? ‘Cause I had money, and now I don’t.” He pointed to the heart on your skin. “You love me. I love you. A lover with a dollar sign is a loser, right?”

Laughter and skateboards sped past, five blurs of black along the street, spinning around the parked cars, people yelling after them to stop being so reckless, but you were too busy staring at Jungkook to notice the ruckus, too busy staring at that smile and those brown orbs lit up by streetlights.

“Are you stupid?”

Jungkook’s grin widened, mole underneath clearly visible. “Yeah, kind of. Stupidly in love with you.”

You both instantly pretended to gag, trying to mask your smiles, you shoving him and him shoving back, playful and laughing like mad, falling into him, dropping the bike with a loud clang, swept up in his arms and his kiss, your hands hooking behind his neck, love you, love you, love you, not sure about this whole tattoo idea, but, hell, maybe, just maybe if he annoyed you enough about it.

Shit, the groceries...

Are they still good?

The green onions look kind of wilted, but so do you and you're still good... I think.

Shut up.

You didn't need him, but being without him was like being frozen in time.

Not that you had any big dreams or aspirations anyone could be envious about. It always been like that, casually cruising through life, existing for the sake of existing, no real reason needed. It just was, and there was no reason to stop, so you kept going. The path was there, so you kept walking.

But, then.

Jeon Jungkook.

Jungkook made you run.

It's not washing off.

Tragic.

Easy for you to say, you wrote yours on your bandage, 'loser'.

So terrible that you have 'lover' written in you by your lover - hey, pfft, stop! Put the showerhead down!

It was truly by chance to meet him, a moment of terror and then he was there, yelling, get off her, don't fucking touch her, and you didn't understand, didn't understand why some random guy would suddenly intervene between an interaction of two strangers, how could he sense your discomfort and fear, and now he was throwing fists, brawling with not one but three guys, friends of the one who slipped his phone and his hands under your skirt, the stranger smashing the phone with venomous rage, fighting in a dress shirt, slacks, leather loafers, and expensive-looking rings, giving you a chance to escape.

A winner at life.

Not like you, you who let something happen because you froze up in that second, disbelieving that such a thing could happen to you, a nobody, a loser.

He kicked one of them in the knee, growling, a howl followed by the sharp crack during the fight.

You could turn and escape.

Or?

You heard sirens.

You grabbed your protector's flying fist and clenched into it tightly, panicking.

Run!

This was before the tattoos.

This was before the pain.

This was before the piercing.

Jeon Jungkook had whipped his head around at the foreign touch, in this mess because he had witnessed something disgusting and because he simply wanted to fight, just wanted to beat someone up, wanted to cause real pain to someone because he couldn't control his own life, wanted to fight something.

Needed to fight.

A hand around his hand.

Run!

Never once had Jungkook thought about escape.

Not until he saw that face, fear and panic and rage and determination, stunningly beautiful, hand around his hand, not letting go, pulling, sirens screaming in the distance, his legs already moving, following, running, running, running, into the sea of the unknown.

Sinking into it.

Lungs screaming, clumsily flying through alleys, on wings of adrenaline, running after the girl in the white hoodie and red plaid skirt holding his hand, falling, falling, falling, skidding across the concrete, her arms around his, her head buried into his chest, his hands around her head to protect it, hitting a dumpster with a pained wheeze.

The sirens sped past.

He was holding her and she was holding him.

It was chance.

Just chance.

His hands were scraped up, bleeding from the trip and tumble, her white hoodie dirtied and ripped from the fall, scrapes on her legs and knees.

I'm sorry...

It was ridiculous chance.

Just ridiculous.

You clung to this stranger and laughed, laughed like a maniac, laughed like you had gone mad, crying into his dirty navy dress shirt, thank you, thank you, thank you, not knowing you were holding the one who would make you run, not knowing who or how affluent he was, now knowing of how it felt to hold his hand and kiss his lips and hear his laugh, not knowing how you would introduce him to a friend who was a tattoo artist and start his interest in them, not knowing you would sit by him for long hours and watch the art grow on his skin...

Holding him, crying, thank you, thank you, thank you for saving me, leaning against a dumpster as the stranger hugged you tightly, I got you, it's okay, don't cry, don't cry, don’t cry please, rubbing your back.

Not knowing.

Not knowing he would make you zero, not knowing you would be standing there, time and time again, verbally beaten by his own parents as he looked away, unable to fight.

And you would escape.

You would run.

He would come back.

An endless cycle until you broke it.

Then he started the endless cycle again, broken as it was, his whispers to your cheeks, I love you, cheeks that were dried of tears because you were cried out and left with a mechanical heart, I love you, heart to heartless because of wasted time, I love you, time wasted but you still loved him, no matter what you did.

Did that make you pathetic?

Did that make you stupid?

Did that make you the loser?

I love you.

Why did it matter?

Even winners die.

I love you too, Jungkook.

"Get your hands off my tits."

"Why?"

You glared at him. Jungkook grinned and spun you around, hair still a little damp, kisses on your face that made you cringe as your naked bodies tumbled on the bed, him doing it on purpose, your grumble against his kisses, should have known, his smirk against your scowl, thought you knew me well by now, capturing his lips to shut him up, sinking into his arms and the ocean that was Jeon Jungkook, the one who made you want to run through the maze of life instead of aimlessly walk down the path.

His hands on your face, staring into your eyes.

You looked back, into those eyes that once had everything, but you.

And yet, he chose to lose it all and have nothing, but you.

It didn't really make sense, being in love.

You searched for regret, but there was none to be found.

"Am I forever your waste of time?" Jungkook whispered, breath drifting over your lips.

You smirked.

"Always was and always will be."

I know you said I was a waste of time. But I was your waste of time and that was all I ever wanted to be.

"Let me at least..."

"Ah, f-fuck, Jungkook!"

Your hands faltered a little, rolling the condom down while biting your lip, gasping as his two fingers plunged into you, him moaning at the wetness, thrusting slowly and deeply.

"What, you think I can't feel good with only your dick?"

"No," Jungkook snickered, pulling his slick fingers out of your pussy and bringing them to his face, cocking an eyebrow. "Just want a taste."

You rolled your eyes as he shoved his fingers into his mouth, sucking them off, eyelids fluttering.

"You're so annoying."

He grinned around his fingers, slowly pulling them out and tracing his wet lips.

You narrowed your eyes.

You don't have to take me back. I understand now, you know... I get it. Everyone... everyone will tell you you're crazy and to not to take me back.

I'm not taking you anywhere.

I... I wouldn't blame you. I promise.

Jungkook, please, shut the fuck up.

Your hands on his chest, smacking your hips down, his head thrown back on the pillows, breathless moan at your tightness, matching his sound with your own, stretching yourself out and feeling him swell even more at the pulse of your walls wrapped around him, rolling your hips into his, wet, intense smacks, his right hand flying up and wrapping around your left wrist, watching you through his lashes with effort, losing himself in your pace, no need to ask because you could see it in his face, his open mouth and glazed over eyes, fingers slipping down, curling your nails into his skin.

“P… Please…”

Raking your nails down his chest, his back arching and eyes closing, groaning in pleasure and pain, fucking him into your mattress so hard that the bedframe squealed, setting your jaw and closing your eyes too, savoring his fullness and thickness, sinking into the ocean of pleasure that was Jeon Jungkook, the one who made you feel like no one else, the one who could make and unmake your mechanical heart, funny how that worked, your nails in his skin creating crescents of lust, your eyes snapping open as you felt his chest rise, his back arching, his hands flat on the bed and thrusting his hips up into you, one eye partly open, black hair pushed back, open-mouthed smirk on his lips.

That dark brown orb partly obscured by his lashes, but revealing all to you.

You ticked your chin at him.

“Look at me.”

His eyes fully opening, pupils dilated, hazed over with lust and stubborn love.

“Nothing is more important to me than loving you,” he panted before sinking his teeth into his lower lip, mole underneath flashing, smacking his hips up into yours hard and fast, and it took no time at all, staring at his face and the way the moonlight cradled his strong jaw and toned muscle, catching the low light and bringing out the fervor in his gaze, filling you just right, pleasure blossoming from your core and yet concentrated tightly at the same time, moan of his name falling from your lips, spilling out from your lips and in between your legs, covering him with the sweet scent and harsh squeezes of orgasm, even wetter now, his eyes rolling back, cock twitching, satisfied hiss of your name spilling out with spurts of cum filling the condom, his length shivering inside you, your thighs closing in and holding him in the air so you could feel it all.

His pleasure and him.

I won’t make it to heaven. I don’t belong there.

It’s not like I belong there either, Jungkook.

Are you sure? Only an angel would take me back.

I didn’t take you back. Only your body walked away. Your heart never left me, did it?

“You sure you don’t want to get a couples tattoo with me?”

“I’m still trying to wrap my head around how your dumb ass wants to get ‘loser’ tattooed and how you think that’s romantic.”

He pressed his right forearm against your left and grinned, watching you suck in a breath as he pushed into you again, other condom already in the trash, new one on, your right leg against his chest, sandwiched between your bodies.

“But yeah, if you want, I’ll get a ‘lover’ tattoo.”

He paused, blinking rapidly. “Really?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? Why not?”

“You never wanted a tattoo before.”

Now you raised both eyebrows. “Did you ever ask me before?”

Jungkook looked down at you, hair a mess, smile blossoming on his face, somewhere between giddiness and mania, diving down and showering you with kisses, you smacking his arms and telling him, you’re bending me in half, the fuck are you doing, and he laughed, lifting both your legs now, I’ll show you bent in half, placing them between his arms, leaning down, sinking in as deep as possible, your moan and his moan mixing together.

You’re still here.

Of course, I am, this is my fucking apartment. Ugh, your black eye looks even uglier than before.

You don’t… you don’t want me to leave?

Did I say that? Uh… why are you crying?

F… Forget I said a-anything…

Hey, stop. Don’t cry. Don’t cry, Jungkook, please…

“Fuck, you feel so good, fuck…!”

Your hands in his hair, teasing grin on your face, and he was looking down at you, I love your smug smile, fuck, your fingers combing through his hair, pushing it back and away from his face, letting him see your smug smile without any obstructions, you always fuck me so well, Jungkook, the smile breaking out over his handsome features, breathing erratic and labored, hard and rough and deep, you rising your hips to meet him for every loud smack, exhales and moans blending together, tight, wet, full, your grip on his hair tightening, closer, closer, racing to the edge of the cliff and the edge of the world, Jungkook in your hands, taking him with you, or was he the one who was leading you?

“Jungkook…”

Breathless as if you were running, winded from the pleasure, tightening around him, his head lowering, your name washing over your cheeks in a hot gasp, putting more weight on you, nearly folded in half but it felt better this way, gratifying in how hard he could fuck you in this position, staring into those dark brown orbs, his body on yours, knowing he was yours, always was, always will be, and you were his, always was, always will be.

Head pressing into the pillows, moaning his name again, loud and unashamed, the overwhelming feeling taking over, muscles tense and nerves on fire, pouring it all into the pleasure, pulsing around his jerking length, his moan of your name on your skin, shooting shivering strings of cum into the condom, massaged and milked by the strength of your orgasm, locking him in your embrace and his arms closing in, lips on lips, a fierce kiss dominated by shuddering aftershocks, trembling in each other’s hold and taking the other’s breath away, blazing hot all over even though this frozen world cared about no one.

The kiss lasted a long, long time.

It fell apart slowly, leaving you both lightheaded from the intensity.

“You’re a waste of time, Jungkook,” you whispered, heated. “But you’re my time.”

The side of his lips quirked upward, sweaty, panting, chuckling.

“That’s all I ever wanted to be.”

masterpost

#jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #bts smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you

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its-deputy-caleb · 3 years

Note

does the vdl gang include sadie because 😢😢😢😢😢 my lesbian meow meow SKLSKDKSJS but if u do!!! i was wondering if you could write a post-game sadie (bounty hunting, gun-slinging, gaslight gatekeep girlboss)/female reader where sadie is being paid to bodyguard rich/high-profile reader thank u so much 😭

hell yess it does, now warning i've never written for sadie so this might be terrible but i gave it a go! i hope you enjoy this!! :))

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Gosh you absolutely hated your father sometimes. Not only had he ruined your plan for a relaxing weekend but he had dragged you off to one of his business parties again.

You had all these plans to get new dresses fitted at the tailor in Blackwater before heading home for a warm bath on your families Estate. You were so excited too, since the entire property would be yours for three days. Granted that didn’t include the array of maids, bodyguards and groundkeepers that worked on the Estate but for three peaceful days both your parents and siblings would be out of your hair.

That was until you received a letter from you father requesting you be dressed in your finest gown and make your way to Saint Denis immediately in order to arrive by sundown. Your family had been in the oil industry for many generations now and were extremely wealthy, even more so with the downfall of Leviticus Cornwall and these business parties were just one of the many responsibilities you had to attend to.

The whole point of the party is to make polite pleasantries with potential business partners and establish connections on to where your family’s company could grow. And it was so, so boring.

As you walk down the steps you see a young woman leaning against the carriage with a shotgun in hand. She’s dressed in slacks and a red waistcoat and a large leather jacket draped over her shoulders. Her beautiful golden hair is just peaking out from underneath her hat and her soft amber eyes match it perfectly. Wait a minute…beautiful??

“Who the hell are you?”

You hear her scoff before she rolls her eyes at your bluntness, some may call it rude but you’ve always preferred blunt or honest. Your father always told you that was more lady-like.

“Don’t get so upset Missy, I’m Sadie, your bodyguard until the regular guy comes back. I’m only here to take you to Saint Denis and I’ll be long gone.”

You huff angrily as you hold your hand out to her waiting for her to help you onto the carriage but she never does. Fine, you’ll do it yourself.

“It’s Madam to you and his name is Hamish.”

You hear her mumble a ‘whatever’ under your breath and get comfortable in the carriage. You signal to the driver up front to get the carriage moving as you watch Sadie mount her horse and ride up front. It was going to be a long ride to Saint Denis.

To say the ride was long was an understatement. You spent the first two hours staring at the seconds go by on your platinum gold pocket watch and twiddling with the ends of the ribbon in your hair. It was all rather boring until there was yelling from outside.

Fear wells in your stomach at the riders approaching, all heavily armed and with a murderous look in their eye. You anxiously grip the side of the carriage, looking out the window as Sadie and the two other guards aim their weapons high.

When the shooting starts, you hide between the lush velvet seats of the carriage, doing your best to avoid the gunfire. You’d never been one to defend yourself, its why your father had guards do it for you. You could’ve never matched to a woman like Sadie. So you’re complimenting her now? You’re in the middle of being shot at!

All your thoughts are interrupted by a scream, one you’ve now realised is your own as the carriage is flipped and sent you flying. Your back hits the door which barges open under the force of your body hitting it, leaving you lying in a puddle of mud.

You’re frozen for a moment, your body still trying to catch up with your adrenaline riddled mind. What the hell just happened?

Eventually the shooting stops and Sadie is running over to you in a panic to see if you’re okay. Her hair has fallen from her pony tail and strands of her blond hair blow over red cheeks from running.

“Are you alright?!”

“You ruined my dress, look at it! I can’t go to the party like this— and my hair! Oh my god my hair!”

Sadie stops dead in her tracks. Here she was worrying over your safety after not only saving your life but putting her own at risk and you’re more worried about your hair.

“Now listen here Missy, I did not put my ass on the line to save you just so you could whine about your— Oh jeez you’re bleeding.”

She rips her leather glove off with her teeth before bringing her surprisingly soft hand to your face. Its then you realise the cut on your cheek bone that must have come from the shattered glass of the window when you fell out.

You’re lost for words, mumbling incoherently under her touch as she takes the ribbon from your hair and begins to use it to stop the small trickle of blood there. She’s so concentrated and focused on your wound that you can’t help but blush under her intense gaze, feeling like the fool for speaking out.

“I’m sorry…”

She sighs, dropping the bloodied ribbon and puts her gloves back on.

“Ain’t nothing to be sorry for Missy, common now, let’s get you to the party.”

She takes your hand and leads you to her horse which is huge up close. Much larger than when you saw it back at the Estate. Her arm comes to wrap around your waist so she can hoist you up and sit you side saddle on her horse before hopping on herself.

When she starts riding you nearly fall of the large creature and wrap your arms around her waist out of fear of slipping. Sadie voiced that she didn’t mind you holding on and the rest of the ride was spent making pleasant small talk.

You learnt that Sadie’s horse was called Hera and that she was her pride and joy. She worked in all sorts of jobs as a gun for hire, working as a bounty hunter and personal body guard most of the time, she even told you of her most recent bounty of Shane Finley.

You were amazed at how brave and wild Sadie was. How she didn’t fear working on a job that could get her killed at any moment, no she didn’t shy away from it— instead she ran straight towards danger.

“I feel like such a bore compared to you, all I do is attend parties and lounge around the Estate all day. When I’m feeling extra adventurous its a trip to the store for some cakes and maybe a new dress not hunting and killing.”

You can hear her smile in front of you, a little laugh coming from under her nose.

“I’ve met plenty’a boring rich folk Missy, you are not one of them. For starters most of them don’t find themselves falling out of carriage windows on their way to dinner parties.”

The playful tone is enjoyable for you both and it continues through the rest of the ride. It seems like ‘Missy’ is a nickname that’ll be sticking with you for the meantime but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like the way it made you smile and your heart skip a beat.

It was dark by the time Sadie pulled up to the party, hitching Hera and this time, taking your hand to help you down. Her hand didn’t leave yours until you were standing out the front gates where she dusted as much of the mud off your dress as she could muster. Her hand came to her neckerchief and untied it before ripping it in half.

You gasp at what she was doing to the fine fabric before she was tying it in your hair where the ribbon had sat, tucking the loose strand behind your ear.

“Now you’re looking like a real lady.”

She gives you a gentle nod before making her way back over to her horse.

“Wait! You’re not coming in? I thought you were gonna protect me?”

Sadie gives you a soft but broken smile, one that says she’s trying not to hurt your feelings.

“I handle outlaws and thieves not parties for the rich, you’ll handle yourself just fine Missy. Ain’t no more for me to do I’m afraid.”

You take her hand in yours squeezing it in a silent plea for her to stay. Despite the rough beginnings, you’re actually enjoying her company and would hate to see her leave.

“Will you wait for me…please?”

When the party ends you sigh defeatedly. You’re tired and worn out from today’s attempted robbery and excruciating party. You’re expecting to do home in one of your father’s carriages when you spot Sadie leaning against wall with a cigarette in her hand.

“Common Missy, It’s my job to see you home safe.”

That night as Sadie led you home on the back of Hera, your arms came to wrap around her as they had before. You cuddled up to her as you let out a soft yawn and slowly began to drift off to sleep. Your head rested on her shoulder as you slowly let sleep consume you, a large smile on your face.

Needless to say you now have a new personal body guard.

#thank u anon i love sadie sm #me being bi i loved this #i might even do a part 2 if i can figure out writing for her more #sadie adler #sadie adler x reader #sadie adler x fem!reader #rdr2 #rdr2 writing #rdr2 headcanons #red dead redemption 2

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amorgansgal · 3 years

Text

Summary: You've just finished robbing a house in Saint Denis, when who should you bump into but our favourite outlaw? You plan on making your way home, but Mr Morgan wants to treat you first!

Warnings: Flirting, little bit of sexual tension, ice cream drippage, but mostly still fluff. Maybe more steamy fluff.

Pairing(s): Arthur Morgan x Reader, Arthur Morgan x You, Arthur Morgan x Y/N Can be read on AO3 too.

It sometimes took you by surprise how easy it was to sneak into these parties and events. But then you knew from experience how easy it was to practically disappear into the wallpaper, when it came to these wealthy families and their never-ending calendar of social events. Saint Denis was no different. With a mop cap to hide your face, a plain grey skirt, clean blouse and the apron tucked around your waist, none of the rich party guests gave you a second look.

A couple of the servants threw odd looks your way, perhaps trying to figure out who you were and why they had never seen you before, but none of them questioned it. Even when you left the garden party, pockets loaded with valuables, your strong, quick pace meant no one questioned where you were going.

Finally, after getting away from the tall red brick building and it’s sprawling gardens, you removed the mop cap and untied the apron. You slipped both into your pockets and began the long walk back to your pony, Pepper.

The hot sun baked the street, but with the marshy swamp around the area it wasn’t a pleasant warmth. The air was humid and heavy, and you felt a trickle of sweat run down your back. You wished you had brought a fan with you, but there hadn’t been any room for it. You decided to cut through one of the city’s parks, so you could splash your face with the water from the fountain there.

The leafy, green trees in the park gave some much needed shade, and you approached the large, marble fountain at the centre with it’s gawkish looking fish spewing water from their mouths. A couple of people were dotted about the park, some sat on the edge of the fountain itself, a few on the benches. You got a few disapproving looks when you splashed the cold water on the back of your neck and then pressed your now cooler hands against your face.

Satisfied that you could at least make it across the city without getting too sweaty during the journey, you wiped your hands on your skirt and began to walk to the other side of the park. Around the pathways and stone wall that marked the outer edge of the public garden, a cluster of shops and businesses lined the street.

You briefly glanced at the tailors, debating whether you could afford a new dress, considering your current one was a little worse for wear. A pretty light blue, summer dress caught your attention in the window. It had three quarter length sleeves, with white lace around the neckline and waist, and tiny daisies dotted the amongst the blue fabric. You pursed your lips on seeing the price. Sure, it wasn’t made of silk, satin or velvet, so you could probably scrape together enough for it, but then doubtless in the weeks that followed it would only get crumpled and dirty.

You sighed and were about to turn around to continue your walk, when a voice behind you made you jump, ‘Would look good on yer.’

Arthur chuckled when he saw your expression change rapidly from one of surprise to fear then to annoyance.

‘You’ve got to stop doing that, Arthur!’ You muttered.

‘You’ve got to stop being so god damn jumpy all the time.’

‘I’ll have you know-’ and you quickly looked around, checking to make sure Arthur was the only one who could hear you. ‘I’ve just robbed a house, so yes, I’m a little jumpy.’

‘Whatcha get?’

You grinned, ‘None of your damn business.’

He smiled and rubbed a hand against his chin, ‘Aw, and there was me going to treat ya, but if you got a good enough prize, guess you can treat yourself.’

‘Treat me? What do you mean?’

‘Oh, yer still interested?’

You rolled your eyes, ‘Well if you’re just going to play games with me, Mr Morgan, I best be on my way. Pepper is waiting for me and he’d probably be better company.’

You moved away from the shop and began walking down the street, but Arthur still fell in step beside you, ‘Don’ know why you like that pony so much, he’s a stubborn, scruffy thing.’

You smiled and arched your eyebrows, ‘Guess you would know a lot about that, Arthur!’

Arthur tried to bite back his smile, and looked down at his boots, ‘I ain’t too scruffy.’

‘He’s a sweetheart really, deep down,’ You replied, then quickly glanced away, warmth rushing to your cheeks when you realised that you very much felt the same way about the man next to you.

After a short walk Arthur came to a sudden halt and gestured to a small shop tucked underneath an archway, ‘Anyway, we’re here now.’

‘Where?’ You asked, looking up at the sign over the business. La Glace Parlour. You frowned, unable to gather why you were here and what Arthur had in mind. He sighed, shook his head, then pressed a hand to the small of your back and guided you to a small sign they had in the window. Though the feeling of his warm palm against the thin material of your dress, meant your mind could barely focus on the words in front of you.

‘Ice cream, pastries and light refreshments,’ you finally read, hoping that Arthur could not feel the slight shake that ran through you as he pulled his hand away from your back. You looked up at him.

He seemed to give up on your cluelessness, and went to open the door, the quiet afternoon interrupted by the bright ring of the bell over the door. ‘You still want raspberry?’

‘Um… Raspberry ice cream?’

‘Sure.’

‘I guess, but wait-’

He didn’t and walked quickly into the shop, leaving you alone on the street and fiddling with the frayed material of your sleeve. He wasn’t long though, soon returning holding a cone topped with a reddish pink swirl of ice cream and offered it to you.

‘Oh, thank you, Arthur.’ You took the cone from him, and licked the edge of the ice cream to stop it dribbling down. You relished the sharp, zingy flavour of the raspberries and the contrast between the cold sweet treat and the warmth of the afternoon sun. You mm-ed softly and smiled at Arthur, who quickly looked away, his cheeks reddening a little.

He shrugged, ‘S’alright, saw it when I was last here, remembered what you said. Figured I’d invite you into town at some point, but as you were already here…’

‘You ain’t getting one?’ you asked.

‘Nah.’

‘Well, you should try some of mine then, it’s really good,’ you offered the cone to him.

‘Nah, that’s all yours.’

‘Feel kind of bad that you’re not having any.’ You took another lick, before glancing at the man beside you. ‘This isn’t just because you’re a big gruff outlaw who can’t have ice cream, is it?’

He choked out a laugh then. ‘What?’

‘Don’t want to ruin your fearsome reputation by enjoying something sweet!’

Arthur managed to force out a strained sounding laugh, then rubbed the back of his head and scratched under the brim of his hat. ‘No, I… no, that’s not… I can enjoy...’ he tailed off, suddenly staring at the road, as though the dust of Saint Denis and the passing coaches were the most interesting things in the world.

Perhaps it was seeing him as equally flustered and speechless, as you were normally, that left you feeling a little bolder. You dipped your thumb into the ice cream and then brushed it over his cheek. You would have almost felt bad, but his startled expression only left you in a fit of giggles.

He tried to look annoyed, but failed miserably. He lifted up his bandana. ‘I could just wipe that off with this.’

‘Oh, but then you’d ruin my fun and my devious plan, Arthur Morgan!’

He smiled, wiped his thumb against the light red stain on his cheek and popped into this mouth. You immediately remembered why you were often speechless and flustered around Arthur. His sharp blue eyes stared into your own, and you knew you were biting your lower lip while a warm flush crept up your cheeks.

He pulled his thumb from his mouth with a pop and you felt your mouth drop open, before you managed to slam it shut. Arthur gave you a slight smirk, but his eyes dropped to your hand and he quickly reached out.

‘Careful, you’ll drop it!’ His hand grabbed your own and pulled it up, so you wouldn’t drop the cone in the dirt of the path. Little dribbles of red ice cream ran down your hand, and you unthinkingly darted your tongue out to lick up the melted cream.

‘Thank you for-’ You looked up at Arthur who was staring at you so fiercely, it almost made you forget the ice cream in your hand again. Even under the shadow of his hat, his eyes were dark and stormy, pupils blown wide. You weren’t sure if you were imagining it or if you had really seen his eyes drop to your pink stained lips.

He cleared his throat, then put his hand on your back once more, and forced you to walk ahead of him, ‘Come on, can’t be late back.’

Tilly let out a small ‘hm’ when you unwrapped the brown paper parcel you had found on your bedroll a few days later, and found the blue dress dotted with daisies therein.

‘Wonder who got you that!’ she said sarcastically.

You revelled in the warm feeling that entered the pit of your stomach and pulled the dress up to look at it properly. You’d have to think of a seriously good way of thanking Arthur Morgan for his kindness.

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan x y/n #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan fanfiction #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption #rdr2 #rdr #think it's the hot weather making me want ice cream #share a cone with your favourite outlaw #think this is vaguely high honour arthur morgan

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seijorhi · 4 years

Note

Can I request for Corrupt CEO Oikawa and female assistant? She finds out he’s involved in shady underground business and tries to quit. Non-con smut, pretty please 🥺 I love your fics! I enjoy reading dark content. Your smut is amazing I’m addicted💖

Let me preface this by saying there will probably be a part 2 to this fic

Oikawa Tooru x female reader

TW implied non-con, blood, violence (nothing too graphic I don’t think?)

The Lion’s Den

The invitation to dinner should have been the first red flag.

You’d left the letter on his desk next to his morning coffee, stacked neatly on top of the reports and documents he’d asked you to prepare the night before. Impossible to miss.

You weren’t exactly sure what kind of a response you were expecting - a call into his office, cool indifference, security guards showing up at your desk to promptly escort you out - but the innocuous calendar invite that flashes across your screen twenty minutes after he arrived wasn’t it.

8:30pm, Da Graziella. Don’t be late x

The name was familiar - upscale, Italian and one of Oikawa’s favourites. He knew the owner, or so he’d told you, always got treated like royalty whenever he set foot inside. You used to wonder about that, why certain people seemed to bow and simper and scrape whenever he was around. Initially, you’d assumed it was because he had money and with money came perceptions of power. Of course, now you know better. It’s the reason why you wrote that letter - the reason why you should decline the invitation as politely as you can.

But you don’t.

Not because you’re scared of him - you’re terrified - but you want this to go as smoothly as possible, and there is absolutely no reason for you to be scared of Oikawa Tooru.

Not unless you knew the truth, and knowing the truth would put you in a very precarious position.

The cursor hovers over the invite for a long moment when you feel a prickle at the back of your neck. Sure enough, when you glance up, there’s a pair of dark brown eyes staring at you from behind the glass wall that separates his office and yours.

Swallowing tightly, you click accept.

Oikawa smiles.

***

It’s a prestigious role, being the personal assistant for the CEO of Seijoh Industries, but it wasn’t the one you’d signed onto the company to do. You were an intern, fresh out of university, eager to put the last four years of your education to good use.

They’d put you in the marketing department with six other grads and told you that at the end of the year there would be one permanent position on the team you’d all get to compete for. The first three months had consisted of coffee runs, minute taking at meetings (so many meetings), excel spreadsheets and grunt work the actual team couldn’t be bothered with, and you were almost positive that things were going to continue that way until your team was picked to lead the campaign for the new launch. For a while it did - meetings, minutes and coffee, rinse and repeat. Except now your meetings included the senior VP’s and him - the CEO. Oikawa Tooru.

Of course nobody joined Seijoh without knowing about its charismatic founder. He was filthy rich, naturally, but he’d built this company from the ground up with his own two hands, made it into the powerhouse that it is. The media adored him, not just for his devastatingly handsome looks, but because he gave back to the community - a philanthropist at heart. He was the perfect poster boy for success in business.

(If only they knew how their poster boy really made his money.)

And he smiled so warmly and thanked you when you passed him his coffee. It wasn’t long until you felt those dark brown eyes seeking you out when the meetings dragged on, the playful glimmer and subtle twitching of his lips saying more than he could get away with - even as the CEO.

Still, you hadn’t expected it when he called you up to his office only a few weeks later to offer you the role of his personal assistant. You can’t quite remember the exact reasons he gave as to why; something about dedication and the diligence you’d shown. You’d caught his attention, and he needed somebody like you since he’d unfortunately had to let his last assistant go.

It was flattering, but being a PA wasn’t the career path you’d wanted at Seijoh. When you’d bashfully tried explaining as much, Oikawa had just waved away your concerns with a pretty smile and a laugh. In marketing, you were a glorified worker drone, one of six. Even if you did get the coveted promotion at the end of it all, you’d still be at the very bottom of the food chain, working yourself to the bone trying to make a mark on a company far bigger than yourself. With him, yes you would still be doing coffee runs and scheduling meetings and all of those mundane tasks, but you’d be working with one of the most powerful men in the country. Oikawa could open doors for you, and he could do it while making sure you received a generous salary for your efforts.

Your parents told you once never to look a gift horse in the mouth.

How could you possibly say no?

***

After handing in your letter of resignation, the rest of your day goes reasonably smoothly. Oikawa’s gone for most of it. His calendar says he’s in back to back meetings all day, meetings which for once you were exempt from attending. It might have been a cause for concern if it hadn’t been on the agenda for days - some disgruntled shareholder that needed to be pacified, or so he’d told you.

You’re secretly glad for the reprieve; you have four weeks left at Seijoh and you’re still not entirely sure how you’re supposed to meet your boss’s eye without quaking - and the last thing you want is for him to become suspicious. But without him hovering, interrupting your work every five minutes as he usually does, you’re left alone with your thoughts.

Why dinner?

Why tonight?

You’re a good personal assistant, at least you think you are - Oikawa’s certainly never complained - but it’s not like you’re irreplaceable. You’ve heard of companies trying to negotiate with higher salaries and benefits to keep good employees, but even an excellent PA is just a PA, and the pay Oikawa has you on is more than generous. You’re good at handling his moods and eccentricities, you don’t mind that he gets irritable and petulant when he’s stressed and you know how his coffee order changes depending on what time of day it is, but that hardly makes you anything spectacular.

If it’s an impromptu thank you for the last year and a half or a farewell from your boss, why not wait until you’re actually finishing up? You’ve given him four weeks notice, even offered to train up your replacement if they manage to find somebody beforehand.

Which leaves you with the possibility that he knows the real reasons behind your sudden resignation - a thought that fills you with a biting unease.

But he has no reason to even suspect such a notion.

He couldn’t have known you’d come back to his house that night, or what you’d overheard - what you’d seen. One week later and you still can’t close your eyes without visions of blood and brain matter splattering across the walls, but-

It’s a popular restaurant. Respectable. You’re reading too much into it, Oikawa’s probably just curious about why you’re suddenly moving on from Seijoh. He’s always been a little blurry on the lines between personal and professional - at least where you’re concerned. And it’s not like the two of you haven’t gone out for meals together before, he’s often dragging out of the office for ‘work lunches’ or a celebratory dinner when a project goes well.

People quit their jobs every day. You have absolutely nothing to worry about.

Except when you arrive at Da Graziella and the maître d' takes your coat and leads you inside, you realise that the assumption you’d been clinging to was very, very wrong.

There’s not a soul inside of the restaurant save for Oikawa, watching you from the lone table set up in the centre of the room. Bathed in the warm, flickering light of the nearby candles, Oikawa smiles as you falter, your wide eyes darting around the empty restaurant before settling back on him.

There’s a pit in your stomach, an icy tendril of fear that creeps up your spine. It’s a familiar sensation - you’d felt it back at the mansion too, the moment you’d glanced through the crack in his office door and saw him eyeing the handguns in the open briefcase on his desk. You should have left then, before you’d seen anything incriminating, and you should definitely leave now - but it’s too late for that.

It was too late the moment you set foot inside.

You’ve walked willingly into the lion’s den, all you can do now is smile and pray that it’s not in the mood to play with its food.

“Ah, wonderful, you’re early. Would you like some wine to start off with, darling?” Oikawa asks. “You look beautiful, by the way.”

The endearment is new, but you can’t seem to focus on that when your heart is hammering against your chest. Easing yourself into the seat pulled for you, you wet your lips, but even then you can’t quite seem to make the words come out.

No matter, Oikawa chooses for you, murmuring the name of an italian vintage to the maître d' who nods approvingly and disappears, leaving the two of you alone.

“S-sir?” you finally manage to utter, though it comes out as more of a question than a greeting, “I- why is everyone…”

“Gone?” he supplies for you, taking a sip from his own glass. He shrugs leisurely, “I figured that it would be nicer if it were just us two, don’t you agree?”

No.

“Oh, um, yeah… I guess.”

He laughs, the sound like chiming bells and you know that he doesn’t believe you. It doesn’t matter, you’re here and alone and there is very little you can do to change either of those things. “So tense, Y/N. Really, you should relax. I would have thought after almost two years together, you’d know that I don’t bite.”

More images flash to the forefront of your mind; the sneer curling at his lips as he yanks out his pocket squares and uses it to wipe the splatter of blood from his face. One body on the floor, the other squirming away from his outstretched hand. The crunch of bones breaking, pleading whimpers and then-

No, Oikawa might not bite, but that doesn’t set you at ease.

But even now, doubt flickers. He can’t have known you were there, that you’d overheard the talk of shipments and bribes, a deal gone wrong. Nobody saw you come, you have your own set of keys. He can’t know.

He can’t know.

He can’t…

Oikawa’s grin widens, twisting into a smirk. “Well, that, and I suppose that I don’t particularly think what’s about to be said makes for polite dinnertime conversation. At least not where most people are concerned.”

Fear strikes at your heart, constricting until it hurts to breathe, but you will your tense muscles to relax, force what you hope - pray - is a convincing expression of mild confusion and absolutely nothing else onto your face.

“I’m sorry, sir?”

It’s a wonder that he can’t hear the frantic pounding of your chest as he leans closer, dropping his chin onto a propped up arm, “Tell me something, darling. If I’d invited you back to my humble abode instead of this restaurant, would you have come?”

You swallow tightly, the tiny hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. There’s a look in those pretty brown eyes, a glint of something darker, something amused - it reminds you of a cat toying with a mouse and it sets you on edge. “You did leave so quickly the last time you dropped by. You didn’t even stop to say hello.”

Ice douses your system as sheer panic spikes. You’re out of your seat before your brain even registers you’ve moved, knocking it clear from the table in your stumbling haste - but Oikawa’s faster. Long, pale fingers seize your wrist, keeping you in place with a deceptively strong grip.

Those fingers, trailing softly along the barrel of the gun. It’s more than cursory, there’s something almost loving and tender in the way he traces the smooth ridges of the weapon before he picks it up, testing its weight in his hand. Oikawa hums thoughtfully, eyeing the crying man kneeling before him. “Beautiful, don’t you think?”

“Sit back down.” His voice is pleasant, but even as adrenaline pumps through your veins urging you to run, to fight - you know better than to believe it’s anything less than an order. “Good girl,” he purrs as you fumble for your chair.

Back at the mansion, you’d been scared. Horrified at the cold brutality of what you’d witnessed, your entire world seemingly falling out from beneath you. But even with your thoughts a hysterical tangle and nausea threatening to overtake you, your only focus had been on getting out unseen.

This, sitting face to face with a mobster - a man you thought you knew - with all the cards laid bare before you… it’s a whole new kind of terror. He could kill you, with his hands wrapped around your throat or the gun he’s undoubtedly carrying, it doesn’t make a difference. You’re not strong enough to fight him off and the only other person you’ve seen since arriving is the maître d' - you might have wilfully walked into this trap, but you’re not so naive as to believe Oikawa doesn’t have him and any other employees working tonight firmly in his pockets. They won’t come if you scream.

Tears prick at your eyes.

You are utterly alone and entirely at his mercy, and all that you can do is beg.

“Please, please, sir, I… I swear I-I didn’t see anyth-”

A single raised finger stops you. Oikawa tuts, shaking his head. “I don’t appreciate being lied to, Y/N. I know exactly what you saw, and I can guess well enough what you overheard. Certainly enough for those irritating little cops to start sticking their noses where they don’t belong if you decided to talk. Do you really think I’d leave my home open for just anybody to waltz in without my knowledge? Please, darling. What kind of a man do you take me for?” he laughs, and you fight back a broken plea, desperately biting down on your lip in an effort to stop yourself from crying.

“But,” he continues, reaching across the table to take your hand once more, “I don’t want you to worry about that, sweetheart. It’s in the past - and not why I asked you here.”

His thumb strokes the back of your palm causing goosebumps to prickle along your arms. Your heart is sitting in your throat, your stomach twisting in knots at the casual, innocent touch. You’re trembling in your seat, on the verge of ears and it feels like he’s testing you, except you don’t have a clue what you’re supposed to say, and you’re terrified that if you get it wrong, he’ll hurt you. “… I-it isn’t?”

Oikawa smiles, “No. I suppose in a way, it’s a blessing in disguise that you saw me for all that I am. It’s forced me to do something I should have done a long time ago.”

After a beat of silence and a gentle squeeze of your cold, rigid hand, you realise that he’s waiting for you to play along. “O-oh, um. What’s that?” your voice shakes, betraying the rapidly rising fear and panic eating away at you, but Oikawa pays it no mind.

“I understand why you resigned after witnessing what you did… it scared you, didn’t it? I scare you.”

There’s no point in lying, not when the evidence is right in front of him, so you nod.

He sighs heavily, but the amused glint in his eyes doesn’t shift. Even now, he’s still toying with you. “You’re a terrible actress,” he declares absentmindedly before his gaze sharpens. “There was always going to be an expiration date on our little arrangement, as much as I might have wished it otherwise.”

There’s something strangely wistful in his expression as he toys with your fingers, but the words, the gilded implications woven between them, fly right over your head. All you can focus on is the pounding of your heart and the sharp drag of every breath filling your lungs as you wait for the penny to drop. “We can’t go back to what we had before, but you understand, don’t you, darling, that I can’t just have you wandering around knowing what you do.”

Your stomach drops, eyes widening in abject horror, “Please - please, Oikawa sir-”

He continues as if you hadn’t spoken. “If I offered you a choice; come willingly with me back home without making a fuss or I blow your pretty brains across the restaurant here and now, which would you pick?” he muses.

Fear is a funny thing. It makes the logical illogical, turns rational thought to mush, pushes you into a state of instinct that overrides everything else. Common sense would tell you that the threat of torture and whatever other nastiness that might await you back at Oikawa’s mansion was still the preferable option to the certainty of death at his hands should you refuse, but common sense had long since abandoned you.

As a fresh wave of adrenaline surges through your veins, you rip your hand from his and leap to your feet. This time you don’t give him a moment, kicking off your heels to sprint for the door. Distantly you register the hissed curse behind you. All you can think of is escape, running until Oikawa and the restaurant and everything you’d seen and learned was left in the dirt behind you. You don’t want to die, but you can’t bear the thought of what he’ll do to you if you submit. Will he drag it out, make your death slow and painful? Let you rot in the basement, forgotten by everyone? Will he make you beg and plead for mercy before he ends it?

Fear makes you clumsy - it slows you down.

You make it five steps before a pair of arms constrict around you, one around your waist, hauling you up from the floor, the other around your mouth, muffling the hysterical scream that rips from your throat. Legs flailing, kicking uselessly at nothing, you’re wrestled back inside. Oikawa’s lips are at your ear, growling something but you can’t make sense of the words over your harsh, panicked sobs, the sound of your frenzied pulse pounding in your ears.

It’s only when you’re tossed like a sack of potatoes back onto the table, knocking the air from your lungs that time seems to slow and clarity returns. Oikawa’s looming over you, panting, dark pupils swallowing the iris, yet instead of the fury you expect to see written across his face, Oikawa is grinning - wide and delighted.

“Wrong choice, baby,” he sings, quickly shucking off his jacket before grabbing the top of your dress and ripping.

Your eyes zero in on the handgun strapped to his chest, just within arms reach.

“But it’s okay,” he kisses you, moaning as he forces your mouth open, nipping harshly at your lips when you try to squirm away. “I forgive you, always sweetheart, you just have to make it up to me.”

#yandere haikyuu #yandere oikawa x female reader #yandere oikawa #yandere oikawa tooru #yandere oikawa tooru x reader #tw implied noncon #tw blood #tw violence #my writing #yandere fic #female reader #I lied about the smut ok but there’ll probably be a part 2

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whaleofatjme1920 · 3 years

Note

Hello! I’m not sure if you write for these characters but could you do a scenario of Puppeteer and Bloody painter having the same crush on Reader? Maybeee a friendly clash between besties ‼️

- 🕴🏼

Little Snapshots (Bloody Painter X GN!Reader X Puppeteer)

[Warnings: like, none?]

[AN: Something really short because I'm still getting to know both of these characters,,,,,, honestly just let me know what you think about this one and feel free to message me if it's not up to par]

Helen looks at you like you are a work of art, something beautiful, the lines of a drawing come to motion. Everything about you is breathtaking - the curve of your body, the shine in your eyes and the smile on your lips. He looks at you like you own the moon.

Every day he finds himself falling deeper and deeper in love with you.

Unfortunately for Helen, he realizes his best friend is just as in love with you as he is.

Jonathan looks at you like poetry in motion. Your voice is music to his ears and your mind is a beautiful thing. The golden eyed man could watch you and see nothing but sonnets, poetry, and he swears he hears a symphony.

It’s a disgrace they both fancy the same person. They both feel they can provide for you in different ways.

And you? You are quite literally unaware of the two best friends who are locked in a cold war

“Excellent shading,” Helen compliments as he leans over to look at your brushstrokes. “Good use of light-”

You cut him off by giggling and shaking your head. “You are being far too kind!”

He shakes his head, smiling softly in response. “To you? Never.”

You roll your eyes and lightly before turning back to the Youtube video the two of you have on. It’s a Bob Ross painting party - with just the two of you. You’re so oblivious to the way that Helen looks at you, his gentle sighs, the soft smile and fleeting touches… You’re honestly focused on your masterpiece!

Drives him up a wall.

“And you’re sure you’ve never written anything like this before?” Jonathan asks, a brow raised as he reads over your newest work.

You nod and smile at him from where the two of you sit in the coffee shop. “Nope! First time writing poetry of that caliber,” you grin.

Jonathan’s eyes widened. “No way,” he murmurs before his face blooms into a smile. “Goodness, Reader, you have a natural talent!” He compliments, his voice rich and smooth like honey.

You giggle. “Stop stroking my ego,” you report playfully, pushing away his praise. “You’re just saying that.”

“I would never,” he defends, that smile never leaving his face.

You fail to notice how he looks at you with such admiration, such pure love. His touches are so gentle and soft when he hands you your notebook back. All you are focused on is your writing and the grade you might get from your professor as a result.

He knows how Helen is feeling.

Deciding he needs some air from the party, Jonathan steps onto the balcony of the apartment they're all holed in and is surprised to see Helen already there, cigarette in his fingertip, blowing rings of smoke. "Fancy seeing you out here."

Helen glances over his shoulder and hums, a slight nod. "You look nice."

"And you do as well."

Helen chuckles. "Why are you out here?" He asks in a tone much too prickly to ever be considered sweet.

The tall, black haired man shrugs. "Needed some air. Felt kinda stuffy in there," he attempts to explain, crossing the short balcony to its rail. He props his forearms on it.

"You want a cigarette?" Helen asks.

"Sure." He takes the white stick handed to him, holds it in his lips and pulls a lighter from his back pocket. Deeply, Jonathan inhales the smoke and allows it to cloud in his lungs. "Thanks," he says after puffing it back out, watching as the white smoke wisps, and twirls, then disappears into the night.

Every now and then, they glance at each other, chuckle, maybe smile, maybe even make a noise of 'look over there!' but no words are actually said.

It's only when a silence crosses between them and becomes much too uncomfortable does one of them finally say something. Prior to this, the sounds of the party and your laughter, had been the only thing keeping them audible company.

“You are terrible,” Helen finally says, his words cutting through the budding uncomfortable silence like a knife as they both overlook the city at night.

It’s not often that they’re in the same area together anymore, but when they do, they’re still peas in a pod. However, there’s a rift in between them, and unfortunately, that rift is you.

“Am I now?” Jonathan replies, voice smooth as silk. “You’re the one trying to take them to gallery shows and the like-”

“Am I not allowed to take friends out on dates?” Helen defends

Jonathan snorts. “Is that what you call outings between friends? Dates? Freudian slip if I ever saw one,” the dark haired man chuckles coldly.

Helen crosses his arms. “You know what I meant.”

A pregnant pause passes between them. Down below, the sounds of the city continue on, horns, tires on asphalt, the smell of their exhaust, all of it. Passing conversation and the hiss of busses as they pull into their stops.

“You aren't good enough for them,” the two men admit at the exact same time, thoroughly surprising the other.

Helen takes in a deep, shaky breath and focuses on the world down below.

Jonathan crosses his arms over his own chest and minds himself of his breathing, wondering why he'd say something like that to his best friend.

Both men feel far too cold to say anything, caged in blocks of ice, preventing them from being close like they used to be.

The air grows awkward, and it’s only broken by you calling for them.

#helen otis #bloody painter #bloody painter x reader #puppeteer #creepypasta puppeteer #creepypasta bloody painter #puppeteer x reader #creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta headcanon #bloody painter headcanon #puppeteer headcanon #x reader #reader insert

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forever-rogue · 3 years

Note

hey, lovely, can you do #135 from the 390 prompt list for Agent Whiskey, if it sparks anything please

Prompt Used: “I think I’m in love with you and that scares me to death.”

Pairing: Jack Daniels x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: language

Pedro Character Masterlist

»»————-　♡　————-««

A small huff left your lips as you tried to open the front door, shifting the bags of take out to one shoulder. After a few moments of struggle, you finally managed to open the door to your apartment but found it surprisingly dark and empty. Odd. Jack should have been home by now; he’d said he was going to leave the office early today to be home in time for dinner.

“Jack?” you decided to and see if he was home - maybe he’d just forgotten to turn the lights or had just gotten home himself. Shuffling into the kitchen, you flicked on the light and set the bags on the counter. Taking out the containers one by one, you hummed under your breath and tired to decide what drink would go best with the Chinese. Perhaps it didn’t need to be anything fancy, so you grabbed a couple of bottles of beer and set them on the counter, “Jack? Baby? Are you home?”

When you still didn’t hear a response, you trapezed to the bedroom, turning on the hall light, stopping short of the bedroom when you realized it was all dark. He wasn’t home after all. Very odd. Fishing your phone out of your pocket, you scrolled through your notifications to make sure you hadn’t missed anything from Jack. But there was nothing. Zero, zilch, nada.

Pulling up his contact information, you quickly dialed his number and impatiently waited while it rang. And it rang, and rang, and rang, before going to voicemail.

“Hey, Jack,” you tried to keep your voice as pointedly neutral as possible, “it’s just me. I thought you were going to be home early tonight? I-I got...all of our favorites for dinner. Maybe I...maybe I had the wrong day? Anyways, it’s been a bit since I’ve heard from you, so just let me know you’re okay or when you’re coming home. I love you.”

Ending the call, you frowned before heading back into the kitchen. You’d wait for him for now. Hopefully he was coming home soon and this was all some sort of misunderstanding. Grabbing your beer, you headed into the living room and pulled up Netflix, deciding to watch something while you waited.

And you waited. And waited. And waited.

»»————-　♡　————-««

But he never came. And he never called. And he never texted. He had gone radio silent.

At first you had been frustrated. Annoyed and upset, but then you became worried. It wasn’t like him to just disappear. Never.

So you kept trying to contact him to no avail. You’d called and gone to Statesmen headquarters to try and get some answers but no one was willing to give you any information. It seemed like they were all clamming up and refusing to help you. It was so odd...you’d never once experienced any sort of push back from them. None of his other friends or any of your friends had any information to provide either. It seems like a weird fever dream, but the fact that you continually woke up to an empty bed reminded you that it was all very well.

After a few days of the odd silence, you’d exhausted every resource you could think of. There was nothing else you could think of doing and it was driving you crazy. It was like Jack Daniels had just up and disappeared. But you knew he wasn’t dead - you knew that for a fact because you’d kept checking the news for any deaths and online obituaries. He was gone without a trace.

But why was the real question. Why? Why? Why?

You hadn’t had any sort of fight or argument or anything of the sort, there was nothing to suggest why he would suddenly leave. The only other tangible thought you had was that for some reason it was for your safety...but even that seemed like a stretch. He wasn’t taking on any work that proved extremely dangerous anymore, and things had been quiet. None of it made a lick of sense.

After almost two weeks, you weren’t sure if you were angry behind measure or desperately worried. At this point you just wanted answers, some sort of sign that Jack was alright.

»»————-　♡　————-««

You were sitting in the kitchen, in the very early morning hours when you should have been asleep, drinking coffee that was too dark and strong to be good. But it was the only thing keeping you company besides the agony of your loneliness. You picked up your phone and started scrolling through your social media aimlessly, but for whatever reason, you decided to try and call Jack one more time. You were positive that it was just going to go to voicemail, but you knew that you had nothing to lose at this point.

So you listened to it ring and ring but then to your surprise and shock...the call was answered.

“Hello?” he sounded tired, like you’d woken him up and he hadn’t even checked the caller ID. Your breath hitched in your throat as you realized that this was the first time you’d heard his voice in weeks; this was your sign that he was alive. Your surprise left you in stunned silence for a few moments too long, “hello? Who’s there?”

“J-Jack,” his name was but a mere whisper off of your lips as you tried to keep it together. You didn’t want to scare him and have him end the call then and there, but you needed to talk to him, “i-it’s me!”

"Oh," it was a sudden realization on his end as the line went silent for a few moments...clearly he hadn't meant to pick up this call. Your heart plummeted into your stomach as your brain tried to rationalize what was happening...normally he would have been overjoyed and excited to hear your voice, "hi."

"Jack," you let out a sigh of relief just knowing he was alive, "i-its been two weeks. I was worried sick, baby. You're alive, I'm so glad to your hear your voice."

"I'm fine," you could hear him rustling around before letting out a long sigh, "I'm...yeah."

"What the fuck happened?" there was a note of irritation in your voice as you realized that he didn't seem to want to explain his sudden absence, "I was waiting for you, that night we were going to get Chinese, and you...you never came home. I called and called and I searched everywhere for you. Where the hell have you been? I-is it work? Will you be home soon?"

There was nothing but jilted, stoic silence on the other end of the line. It was cold, hurtful, and every moment felt like it was a knife twisting in your heart.

"Jack?" you felt like banging your head on the table as you willed him to say something...anything, "Jack, please say something. I think you owe me at least an apology for up and leaving! I was worried sick, day and night!"

"Its not work," his voice was cold and steeled, "I'm...I'm not coming back, I'm sorry. You're right - I should at least have told you I was leaving so you wouldn't worry."

"What do you mean you're not coming back?" your throat constricted and suddenly your heart was pounding loudly in your ears. You couldn't have heard him right...right?

"I am...I'm not coming home," he repeated and this time it resonated in your soul, "I'm sorry...I can't come back."

"What the fuck?" your eyes stung with tears as you blinked back stinging, "you're just gone, no note, nothing. I felt like I've been losing my mind for the past two weeks and all you're telling me is that you're not coming back? What happened - what changed? Did I do something?"

"I know you're angry and you have every right to be. I should have...I should have said something and not just left you in the dark," he admitted with a heavy sigh as you scoffed, "but I'm sorry...I just can't come back. I don't expect you to forgive me or for you to understand."

"We've together for two years, Jack! Two years!"

"I know that," tears spilled down your cheeks as you tried to keep your lips from trembling, "and I'm sorry it ended this way."

"What ended? Why? How...it was just a normal day and then...you never came back," you didn't bother to hide your tears as your hands shook, "you just never came home. You left me...you left me do easily, without a word or anything."

"I'm sorry-"

"You're sorry?" your hurt and upset had quickly turned to anger and irritation, "you're sorry!? I came home and expected to find my boyfriend and instead I got nothing! Absolutely nothing for two weeks and now you're sorry? That's rich, Jack. Why?"

"Please don't be upset..."

"I think I have every right to be upset," you whispered gently, "you just left me. I love you, we've been together for two years and you don't want me to be upset? I have every right to be upset! You owe me an explanation!"

"I left," he stated as you snorted, "and I didn't do it in the best way at all. For that I am sorry. But you have to understand I have my reasons."

"What reason could you possibly have for just leaving me?" you wanted to scream and cry, buy the worst of all was that you still just wanted...him, "why would you just leave me? Am I not enough?"

"No," he stated firmly, "no, you are more than enough. It's...me. I think...I know I'm in love with you and that scares me to death."

"You...love me but you left," you repeated back to him, "you love me but you're scared. So instead of talking to me about it...you just left."

"You know what happened to the last person I loved," he reminded you of the young wife and unborn child he'd lost. But that had been a long time ago and while you knew that the wound would never fully heal, you'd expected a little more faith in your relationship by now, "she was taken from me - everything was. I can't let that happen again."

"Jack, I know that was a lot to deal with," your voice lowered and softened as you ran a hand over your tired face, "but that was years ago and it's going to happen again. You can't just shut everyone you love or might love out. It's not fair to them or you."

"I would never forgive myself if something happened to you on account of me," that night of defiant determination crept back into his voice, "the only way to fully ensure your safety is to leave. I didn't do it in the best way, but it is the only. For what it's worth, I am sorry."

"Me too," you agreed, "I'm sorry you didn't feel like you could talk to me about all of this and tell me what you were feeling. I love you, Jack and nothing is going to change that. I wish you'd trust enough in your heart to come back to me."

"I'm sorry," for the first time it sounded genuine and like he actually meant it, "I do love you. But I don't trust myself...or anyone else not to prey on that fear. This is what's best. I'm sorry but I can't come back."

"Jack," you grew panicked, "please don't do this, please don't go. We can make make work-"

"I'm sorry," he insisted but you were still left incredulous, "but this is goodbye."

"Jack, don't..." the called ended and left you with silence. You stared at your phone before slowly setting it down and burying your face in your arms. Jack was a stubborn man and you knew that there was no changing his mind. Your whole life had just been changed and determined by one simple, horrible decision. Maybe...maybe one day he'd come to his senses...maybe.

"Goodbye, Jack."

»»————-　♡　————-««

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#agent whiskey #agent Whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #jack daniels #jack daniels x reader

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enjennie · 3 years

Text

In The Limelight [chenle x reader]

Summary: Tutoring the CEO’s son, when you’re barely interested in business. And falling for him, when you knew nothing about love.

Genre: Fluff. Rich kid!Chenle Tutor!Reader

Warnings: None

a/n: not proofread! I’ve been in a slump lately ☹ my works haven’t been satisfying me but I hope you enjoy this! btw omg this is a reupload bc the first time... somehow, the paragraphs were jumbled up?

“Y/N, there are flowers on your desk,” your classmate gestures behind them to the classroom you were headed to before quickly passing by. You could only nod, a little taken aback by the sudden information you received. Flowers? As far as you know, Valentine’s had passed, so has white day and it’s definitely not your birthday.

But as you enter your classroom, the bundle of flowers catching your eyes, you knew one thing for sure was from who it was. As you approach your desk, you lift the thoughtful gift and inspect the small card attached to the string that tied it beautifully together. ZCH, it read in cursive.

“How was your day?” Chenle’s voice can be heard from the other line, the smile on his face almost something you can hear along with it.

“It was great! Thank you for the flowers, by the way. They’re delightful,” you beamed, eyes landing at the arrangement that now sat on your vanity. Chenle chuckles, his laughter sending serotonin to run through your body.

“Not a problem, I’m glad you like them,”

“Though I’d appreciate if you gave them to me yourself,” you cheekily continued. Chenle could only smile, his face softening at your request. It was a simple request. Yet, he couldn’t do it.

When you notice the silence that follow, you immediately regret what you said. You desperately try to backtrack, sputtering out words. “Well- I mean-, It’s fine- Thank you, still! I love them,”

Chenle hums, “I know. Don’t worry. You’ll wait though… right? It won’t be long,”

You plant your feet to your carpeted floor and nod, even if he can’t see you. “Of course, Lele,”

Zhong Chenle is the son of the most respected CEO of one of the biggest corporations in Shanghai the entire world. Chenle was the next in line to the company. After his brother had expressed how the business world didn’t interest him, the responsibility immediately fell into Chenle’s hands. And even if music was his love and calling, he had to let it go as to not disappoint his father.

Chenle had accepted it some time ago, going to school only for the degree so he could be eligible to own the business. He accepted the fact that he was going to be living the life his father made for him, not one he made for himself and it was the hardest pill to swallow. But things changed when he met you. There was more purpose to the things he does, it wasn’t just for nothing. Life had gone from monochromatic to colorful.

“Miss, Y/N. Mr. Zhong just moved and he has to take this class to pass the semester. I trust you can fill him in with our module? Mr. Zhong, this is Miss. Y/N, she scored the highest during midterms,” your world economics professor had marched towards you after class, a tall boy following behind her. He looked just as oblivious as she did, to the sudden weight and pressure being put on you.

You merely nod and say a simple hello, not being able to say anything else. It wasn’t a question, this was a demand. Jeez if I was gonna teach your student I should get a portion of your pay. You thought bitterly. At the time, you were struggling to juggle a part-time job at a café while also maintaining your grades to keep your scholarship.

When your professor left you two, the boy kept his hands buried in his pockets. His clothes were semi-casual and his hair was styled nicely. Who the hell moves halfway through the year?

“So, Mr. Zhong-“ you take your books into your arms and lazily sling your bag over your shoulder, heading towards the door with him trailing behind you.

“Chenle-, You can call me Chenle,” he finally spoke, startling you a little with how cool and soft his voice is as opposed to his striking visual that intimidated you at first.

“Nice to meet you, Chenle,” you give him a smile.

You were gonna be around this guy for who knows how long, might as well try to be his friend. Maybe it’ll make the teaching less of a chore.

“Wrong,” you huffed, marking his essay and adding in annotations. “Chenle, remember there is a specific way to start these essays and that’s by defining the terms you’re using,”

The boy sat opposite of you, arms crossed and back against the couch comfortably. You were in a café. The café you worked in, to be precise. Your schedule today overlapped with Chenle’s and as much as you didn’t want him to see you slaving around, you also couldn’t miss this paycheck at the café. You gave him an essay to write just to check on his phrasing and structure and left to buss some tables and serve orders. But when you came back, Chenle barely wrote anything and could care less about it.

“Can we not study today?” he whined.

You and Chenle have been meeting each other for a month now, and you’d soon learned about the type of boy he is, the life he led. In ways you didn’t expect to.

The first time you found out about Chenle’s reputation was through the newspaper. No, not the school newspaper. Not even the local newspaper. But on the Wallstreet Journal, when you had to grab material from any recent article for a class. Chenle’s name floated along with the words ‘Young entrepreneur’ and their company’s name. You gasped so loud you had to excuse yourself from the library and leave in a hurry. That afternoon you smacked him on the shoulder with your thick world econ textbook.

“You’re from a family of business corporates and you’re learning world economics from someone who crammed the exam?” you exclaimed. He stared at you blankly, book in hand and pen in the other.

“And you don’t pay me!” you added. The fact that you’ve been tutoring someone as rich as Chenle just didn’t make sense to you. Why not go to a professional? Instead, he was here with a sleep deprived college student who sometimes mixes up business terms just because she couldn’t care any less. World Economics was a mandatory for you. You studied to pass, sadly.

“I could start paying you, name the price,” he said easily. But you shook your head.

“I didn’t mean it that way, sorry. I actually don’t care about the money,” You led him to the picnic bench with the table outside school grounds and propped your book on it along with your bag before taking out your bento box. “Just blows my mind how you won’t just pay for the classes. I don’t teach that well-” you continue.

“I like you, though,” Chenle calmly interjects. You look up at the boy, movements being halted by his bold statement.

“Pardon?” you felt the need to have him clarify what he said. The boy leaned across the table, over your textbooks and notes. “I like you,” Chenle repeated himself, but the impact it had on you was just as powerful and hit you hard. Your heart was doing somersaults.

Chenle’s eyes grew thin as he smiled, backing away from you and sitting back down.

“So, chapter 12,” he starts flipping his book nonchalantly, leaving you out of breath with a heart hammering in your chest.

“What do you mean not study today? You have an upcoming quiz with Mr. Byun this Friday and mind you, that man searches for wrongs, not rights,” you raised a finger at him, shaking it matter-of-factly.

“No, let me help you. Do you usually run the café on your own?” he closes the book and takes his essay from your hand. You’re left slack jawed.

“No. I- Johnny couldn’t come in today,” you explained. Suddenly, you were stammering as if explaining to your boss. At first, you were doubting if it was the same Chenle you were reading about in the articles. The boy you were tutoring didn’t come off as someone who would be running corporates and buying stocks or whatever. He was more laid back and relaxed. Aside from the way he dressed, nothing gave it away that he was indeed the CEO’s son. But there were times where you got a dominant feel from him. Times when he stood with much authority and didn’t accept no for an answer. In those moments, you realize how Chenle’s presence alone demanded respect.

Soon enough, you found yourself behind the counter with Chenle beside you tying the apron to himself. He looked cute, somehow. The way he smiled at customers and tried giving them their recommendations set butterflies run free in your stomach, you almost swooned. He didn’t get much studying done that day, but you surely did. You learned the fact that you falling slowly but surely with Zhong Chenle.

There were two chapters you’re left to cover. In the short month and a half, you managed to teach Chenle six month’s worth of topics. Seeing him every other day made Chenle a familiar face to see around. Of course, you never actually got to see him around campus when you weren’t tutoring him. It left you wondering if you were actually teaching a ghost. But all doubts went away when the girls in your class started whispering about the cute boy waiting outside class. You quickly found out it was Chenle who they were talking about, and he was there for you. It was safe to say he wasn’t a ghost and is in fact real.

Carrying his book bag, he was stood against the wall with reading material under his arm.

“Chenle, we don’t have a schedule today,” you walk up to him, trying to avoid the dozen pairs of eyes that watched you. Chenle nodded, “Sorry, I won’t be here tomorrow. My father is bringing me on a business trip,” he states.

It wasn’t new for you to hear this coming from Chenle. Just the other week, his father brought him along to Japan for a company deal and Chenle came back with a little keychain souvenir for you. The same keychain dangled from your bag now as you both walked to the exit of the building. “Are you free?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t bring my book with me tod-“ you begin searching in your bag, even if you knew it wasn’t there. You were just trying to ignore the way his question made your heart jump.

“I mean… for dinner. Are you free for dinner?” he places a gentle hand on yours, stopping you from looking further in your bag. Chenle’s bold movements sometimes took him by surprise as well. He quickly retracts his hand, shoving it in his pockets. You let go of your bag, placing your hands on either side of you.

“Why?” you squinted at him suspiciously.

Chenle’s smile is small, but doesn’t go unnoticed by you as he turns his head towards his car then back down at you. “Listen, you don’t have to overanalyze this. I just want to treat you,”

Chenle had thought about it a hundred times or more, before finally making a decision. Although you’ve been seeing each other in cafes and libraries for some time now, he didn’t want to consider those as dates. Sure, it gave him time to admire you up close and get to know you but he wanted you to know his true intentions. The only problem was boy, was he a wuss. And were you oh so dense!

Despite the subtle and not so subtle hints he’s given you, you remained clueless about his feelings. Unsure, confused and just downright oblivious. From the way he looked at you to how he vocally told you he liked you. You shoved everything under the rug, afraid that this boy was just toying around with you and having a laugh. He found it cute.

It didn’t matter that you were in your school clothes, carrying about three thick books in your shoulder bag. He thought you looked stunning. You ate at a pizzeria just in town and he expressed how it tasted just like pizza from Italy. You said you wouldn’t know the difference since you’ve never been, and had a laugh about it.

The walk from his car to your apartment wasn’t that far, it’s just that he had to park a little further since there was no more space left in front. As you walked together, you noticed how the vibe and atmosphere between you two that developed as the night deepened, was different. More lax, comfortable. Like friends? You were both silent, until Chenle piped up.

“I lied, I didn’t just want to treat you,” he muttered, looking into the distance of your quiet street.

You turn your face towards him and you catch a glimpse of his face in the moonlight before looking away. He’d taken your bag from you and had it around his shoulder now. Him in his white polo shirt and brown suit jacket. He was always dressed like he was attending some kind of formal event. That’s Chenle for you. Mr. CEO’s son.

“Then?” you prompted him to continue.

Chenle averts his attention towards you as you finally reached the front of your apartment. You both stop walking, facing each other with the moon as your spotlight. You look at him from the light of the moon, it illuminated Chenle’s features perfectly. You would be able to inspect him when he studied, but each look at him made you breathless every time you had to look away. Much like right now.

“I wanted to take you out. Like, on a date,” Chenle confesses.

You could never wrap your head around how bold Chenle could be. Always leaving you flustered after saying such things, this boy was your weakness. But you didn’t give in. At least, you tried not to.

“Oh,” was your only response as you put your hands together, looking up at the tall boy. You hoped it wasn’t obvious that heat was rushing to your cheeks and ears by now. You could practically feel your blood flowing through your body, making you feel warm all over. “It was fun, I enjoyed it,” you shyly admit.

Chenle takes a step forward, raising his hand to palm your cheek gently. It’s the first time he’s ever gotten this close. “But I’m not sure you’re ready for my world yet,” his voice is lower, cool. Like wind.

You part your lips slightly, willing yourself to breathe. Your breath is unstable, shaky. This time, you take a step forward. “Are you underestimating me?” You don’t know where the surge of confidence came from, but you were thankful for it. The look of surprise is quickly melted into amusement as this was definitely the first time you ever made the second move to the dozens of times he’d left you flustered.

Chenle dips his head down close to your face. Eyes trained on each other, you tried to get yourself to breathe. He looked alluring, and you watch his eyes drop to your lips. Your head had become blank, nothing in mind. Just him. Chenle, and nothing else. His calm eyes, button nose and plump lips that you so very badly wanted to press against yours. “Are you sure?” he whispers.

You close the space between you and Chenle, lining your lips with his and connecting them together. The sensation almost sending you on your knees, you grab onto his shoulder for support and he holds you up by the waist, swiftly wrapping his strong arms around you. It felt like such a big relief, you almost sighed.

When you pulled away, Chenle’s smile comes into view as you fluttered your eyes open. He places his hand at the back of his head and scratches, suddenly becoming shy. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.

“You’re something else,” you giggle, smacking his arm before snatching your bag from his shoulder and turning on your heel to leave. You feel his hand against yours, forcing you to stop. “I’ll see you after my trip?” he asks.

“Same time… for class,” you reply, looking back at him with a cheeky smile. Chenle lets your hand go, a smitten smile on his face and a warm feeling in his chest. Zhong Chenle wished things were simpler. He wanted to give you the world.

“It’s just a black tie party and my dad’s forcing me to come with a date,” he fixes himself in the mirror. He looked handsome, as always. In an all-black suit that fit him perfectly. Dressed like he had someplace to be, people to meet.

You sat on your bed behind him, arms folded and face scrunched up into a frown. A date. Probably someone from a rich family, better than you, his future spouse. They’d have perfect little babies together. All these bitter thoughts were flooding in your brain. When he notices your unusual quietness, Chenle turns to face you and gives you a goofy smile.

“What’s on your mind?” he approaches the bed, placing either hands on the side of you and leaning in close. Chenle could tell when you lied and knew exactly how to make you crack. You pull your knees to yourself and don’t bother hiding the scowl forming on your face. You couldn’t do anything about it. After several talks with Chenle, he explained how much pressure he gets from the media and his family. How dating even became a hassle because of how the pressure would then be shared with his partner.

For years, it wasn’t a problem. He didn’t find anyone that sparked his interest, and only had meaningless one night stands. He was fine with it, really. But all of that changed when he met you. For once, he wanted to go after something he loved. Not let it go, unlike what he did with his own passion for the sake of his father’s dream and business.

You shook your head, ridding the thoughts in your head and throwing them out. “Nothing. I know it’s just business. Message me when you get home?” you didn’t need to ask, but you still do. Chenle always kept you updated, whether if it was how the party he’s in has a chocolate fountain or if the bathrooms have automatic toilets. It was always bizarre hearing about his stories and taking a peek of what his world is like. The world of corporates. You weren’t ready for it, and Chenle knew.

The secrecy of your relationship didn’t last very long, soon enough it’s got media questioning who Chenle was seeing and your status. After a few run-ins with the paparazzi, you both decided it would be best if your meetups were more discreet. Luckily, the cameras hadn’t captured your face yet, but it was only a matter of time until they did.

To top it all off, the news had spread across campus. Girls left and right claiming they were the one dating Chenle, it didn’t bother you too much. You had a scholarship to keep and a job to go to. Sometimes, you’d find a single rose and a letter waiting for you in class, or at the café. Of course, you and Chenle had wrapped up the tutorial classes and he was able to pass the exam. He was one step closer to his degree, but happy wasn’t the word to describe him.

He yearned to be with you, have you in his arms and spend hours together just like you used to before things got complicated. Chenle grew lonely without your presence as months passed. Nonetheless, you hung onto the string of hope that maybe one day people wouldn’t care so much. That you could take all the criticism, the heat.

It was around 2am when your phone rang, disturbing your slumber. It was a Friday night and you took it upon yourself to catch up on some sleep after the horrendous exam week you just faced. Chenle had said goodnight hours ago. You wondered who could be calling at such an ungodly hour.

You pick up without checking the caller ID.

“Hello?”

“Y/N,” Chenle’s voice filled your ear. Your eyes snap open and you shot up from your bed, pulling the phone away from your ear. Sure enough, it was him. Lele, with a little heart beside the name.

“Hey, are you alright?” You ask worriedly. His voice sounded slow and there was rustling behind him.

Chenle lets out a groan, and your heartbeat picks up its pace. You knew better than to think Chenle would cheat, but it was definitely worrying hearing this without any idea what was going on. “I miss you,” he breathed, voice raspy and low. You couldn’t keep the smile from appearing on your face. In the darkness of your room, your heart swelled with joy. “I miss you too, Chenle,” you whispered back.

Distinct voices come through the line, and you make it out to be Jeno and Jaemin. They’re bickering and you hear a guitar in the mix. “We’ll leave you here, Chenle,” Jaemin calls to his friend before you hear a door close.

“Why did you call?” you ask but you were happy that he did.

“Because I can’t be there with you. Even if it’s all I want right now,” he confessed. Your smile faltered and a hint of sadness falls upon your face as he continues. He was obviously drunk, but Chenle has always been really honest because he couldn’t lie. These days however, you haven’t had the time to talk much and you knew there was a lot on his mind. It hurt to know that it’s been this, and you couldn’t do much about it. “I just want to tell everyone about us. Screw what they think, YN. You’re perfect to me,”

Hearing his words gave you a glimmer of hope. You wished he was right, you wished you could believe it.

“Chenle-“ you sighed. “I want that too,”

There was a moment of silence before his voice came through again and you thought he’d passed out drunk already. “I love you, Y/N. I’ve sacrificed so much for my father, but you’re not going to be one of them,”

His words brought the smile back to your face, tears welling up in your eyes from how happy you were to hear them. It seemed at this moment that you could battle anything, because you were with Chenle. Everything would be alright. He was here and you are too, it’s the two of you against the world.

“Tomorrow, let’s make it official,” Chenle proposed.

You bring your hand up to your lips and bite on your nails, now fully awake more than ever. “Okay,” you agreed. Chenle grins, getting up from his bed. “I’m coming over,” you can hear him walking around now, keys jangling and shoes on his wooden floor.

“You can’t drive-“ you hurriedly try to stop him, keeping in mind his state.

“I don’t drive a Tesla for nothing,” he chuckles. “I’ll be there soon,” The outgoing beeping of the call followed afterwards as he ended the call. The realization hit you a moment later.

The next day, you and Chenle arrived in school together. He stayed the night, carrying a change of clothes in his bag. For someone who was smack drunk, he sure did pack well.

From the moment you stepped out of his car, many students were around to watch. Exchanging whispers and staring, your cheeks set aflame when Chenle pulls you by the arm, your hands connecting between you and threading together naturally. It drew the attention of many onlookers and you chewed on your bottom lip, not used to the attention.

“They’re staring,” you whisper close to him.

“Let them,” He responds. Chenle tilts your head up to meet his gaze before planting a lingering kiss on your lips, confirming people’s already forming suspicions. “You’re my girl, aren’t you?”

#zhong chenle #chenle #chenle fluff #nct chenle #nct dream #nct dream fluff #nct dream scenarios #nct fluff #chenle au #nct dream au

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deannaroxannewrites · 3 years

Text

Tropetember Day 4 - Rockstar / Actor / Model / Famous AU

The future is unwritten

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x GN!Reader

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Rating: General Audiences

TW: Drinking/alcohol

AN: Day 4 of @tropetember. This has potential to be the start of a short series. Would anyone be interested in this playing out? (first date, meeting Jack, properly meeting the team, media finding out etc etc)

Life as an famous author can be lonely, but maybe a handsome stranger can turn your day around.

Find this story on Ao3 here.

Word Count: 1.5k

Staring into a glass of whisky never solved any problems, but at least it passed the time.

When you’d started writing your first book, you never could have imagined how exhausting a promotional tour was. You very rarely had time to yourself, spent weeks at a time on the road and constantly had to be on your best behaviour. Not that you were exactly badly behaved but anything more than a glass of wine or two with dinner had your publicist cutting you off to “protect you image”. No matter how many times you assured her that your audience of young adults would likely not be surprised by an author having a couple of drinks at the bar, until the end of the tour, you were cut off.

You really missed having total control of your life.

And so, like a teenager sneaking out past curfew, you had waited for Denise to go back to her room to bed, before slipping out of your hotel room and down to the bar.

When booking your hotel, the publishing company had been all set to book you into opulent rooms around the country but you had convinced them that that would make you easier to find. Instead, you were booked in a nice hotel with good facilities, the sort of place businessmen would be happy to stay and meet clients for a drink downstairs. Lots of dark wood and leather chairs and large glass windows.

You’d stationed yourself on a comfy stool at the end of the bar, taking advantage of the window to watch the rainy New York street outside. It also allowed you a convenient view of the lobby. The good people watching spot allowed you to notice when a group of well dressed, if slightly rumpled, people wandering in, exhaustion pulling at their features.

One of the men, a tall handsome individual with dark hair and a stern expression, broke off from the group after a quick discussion and headed in your direction. He quickly gained the attention of the server and ran off his order - lots of alcohol and one coffee - before propping himself against the bar next to you.

You took a moment to study him. Up close, you could see the laughter lines in his face and warmth of his chocolate brown eyes. You also clocked the gun on his hip under the very nice suit jacket he was wearing.

“I can hear you thinking” he says, the smooth deep baritone jolting you from you staring. Rather than being ashamed you just smile. Who are you to turn down a chance to chat with a good-looking stranger? It's nice to act like a normal person for a change.

“That coffee you ordered is definitely for you then” you state. That surprises a laugh out of him. It’s a rich, warm sound and you savour it. He doesn’t look like a man who laughs often.

“You would be correct,” he agrees. ”Do you often spend your time staring at strangers?”

You smile at that and concede “only the handsome ones”.

The tips of his ears redden slightly but he manages to control the rest of his micro expressions. In the meantime, you sip at your whiskey.

Desperate to continue the conversation, you observe "I'd normally ask if you were on a trip for business or leisure but I think we've covered that."

He hums in agreement, taking your invitation to continue. "How about you?"

You wave the whisky glass at him. “The trip is for business, this however, is for pleasure.” You give him a cheeky grin and then sigh. “I’m just looking forward to being back home in DC next week. I hate being this close and yet not able to sleep in my own bed.”

“I’m the same. DC seems to be one of those places everyone complains about living there when they’re there, but loves when they can’t make it.”

Working under your assumption that he’s FBI, you presume he must work out of Quantico. What a stroke of luck chatting to someone who won’t be far away when you return home? You take a moment to assess your options and take a leap of faith. He doesn’t seem to know who you are and you’re enjoying the attention.

“Anyone waiting for you back home?”

He smirks at your extremely unsubtle comment, before allowing “just my little boy. He stays with his Aunt when I’m gone.”

Sadly, the bartender has managed to finally round up all of the drinks for his team. He pays quickly and then gives you a contemplative look. He seems to decide you're not a creep or serial killer or whatever else, and reaches into his pocket, withdrawing his card.

“If you’re around tomorrow and want to get a drink? Work permitting obviously.”

You feel a smile break out on your face.

“I’d love to.” You pocket the card before reaching out your hand. ”I’m Y/N.”

“Aaron” he responds with a quick grin, taking your hand and shaking firmly. “Hopefully, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Have a good evening. Don’t work too hard.”

And with that, he collects his drinks tray which is fully loaded and heads back to his group. You catch a couple of surprised expressions out of the corner of your eye and, as you stand up to head back up to your room, you notice the older gentleman pat him on the back before they all settle into looking through files.

Huh, apparently picking up strangers in bars was a rare occurrence for him. You wouldn't have guessed. He seemed pretty in practice from how he was talking to you.

Now, best sneak back upstairs and get some sleep.

------

It was nearly 3pm, meaning you only had an hour left of book signing. Sadly there had been some sort of arrest made across the street though which had put a bit of a damper on the event, reducing the amount of foot traffic into the store.

From your vantage point, you could see FBI and police personnel wandering around and looking busy and had been reduced to people watching to pass the time. You were startled out of your daze by a familiar voice.

"When our tech analyst demanded I stop by to get a copy of your book autographed for her, I had assumed the name was a coincidence."

You cringe. Oops. Busted.

"Hi Aaron," you say meekly. It's only as you glance up that you see he's smiling that you relax a little.

"Aren't you supposed to be outside tidying up your mess?" You question, taking the book off him with one hand and waving your other at the street.

"I've done most of my work for now. As we're consulting, we are not responsible for tidying up."

You hum in acknowledgement before asking who the book is for and signing the copy with a personalised message. You've never been one to just sign and hand back. These people are supporting you, it's the least you can do.

"No drink tonight then? I assume you'll be back to DC?"

"Sadly."

You both glance at each other, trying to gauge what to do next. You're grateful he takes the plunge.

"We could do something when you're back in DC? I can be pretty busy with work and Jack, my son, is my priority but I can try to fit something in? If you want?"

It's an interesting thing, seeing a calm and confident man like Aaron turn into a rambling mess. You take it as a compliment.

"Of course. I understand having a busy life. One of the benefits to being a writer is setting my own schedule.” You glance around the shop. “When I'm not doing promotion obviously. We can make something work."

You're rewarded with a grin and it makes your heart flutter.

"The main question is, are you sure you want to? I'm not, like, mega famous, but it can be a lot sometimes."

He doesn't even stop to think before he answers.

"I'd regret it if I didn't. And if it doesn't work, it doesn't work. We take a step back. At the very least, I'd like to get know you"

That sentence settles your nerves. You're sure you look like a maniac with the smile that's currently plastered across your phase.

"Can I call you tonight? Since I can't make drinks?"

You nod, but notice there are a few people waiting to meet you. Sigh, best wrap it up for now.

"Of course, I'll text you and we can sort out a time."

He nods, also noticing your fans and, before he can lose his nerve, leans down to press a gentle kiss to your cheek.

You say your goodbyes and he heads back outside with book in hand, apparently impervious to the whispers.

And if your publicist comments that you don't stop smiling for the rest of the day? That's not really any of her business, is it?

#tropetember #fanfiction #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #meet cute #famous AU #Author AU #criminal minds

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sirthisisa-wendys · 3 years

Text

The Regular (part 3): Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader

synopsis: for Geto, there’s no one but you. And he wants that to be the same for you, too. Why would you even want anyone else?

wc: 2.4K

tw: nsfw, nsfw, nsfw, please for the love of god dni if you’re minor. smut and more smut follows

a/n: There will be one last part for. wrap-up, but I literally have not written a single thing since before yesterday, so I’m writing today! Hope you all enjoy!

part 1 part 1.5 part 2

Your finger fidgeted with the edge of your skirt as you sat in Mrs. Lampton’s office, waiting for her freckled face to appear in your line of vision. The office is a direct reflection of who Mrs. Lampton is: dimly lit with orange lighting and vintage movie posters hang on the right side of the wall above a mini zen garden; on the left side, there are various pictures of her as a dancer, the newspaper headline announcing that she had bought the club, and then a picture that featured her and all of the dancers from years ago. On her desk, the club manager had collected various crystals, each one a different color than the rest, and finally, on the wall behind her desk, a sign that read “Complaints will be heard from the hours of 6 am to 3 pm”, which, coincidentally, were hours when the club wasn’t open.

She had called you in early to discuss something with you, but hadn’t shown her face at all since you walked in and plopped down on the cheap, orange vinyl seat. A moment later, the door to the office creaks open and Mrs. Lampton shuffles in, pushing her short red bangs away from her face. “Hey, y/n, thanks for coming in early for me. Just wanted to speak to you face to face before tonight.” She sounded exhausted, as if she had been dealing with other problems before she got to you.

“Am I in trouble?” you ask, lacing your fingers together nervously.

“Huh?” The woman looks over at you as she slides the chair out from behind her desk. She shrugs her denim jacket off, revealing the multi colored striped shirt beneath paired with light wash mom jeans. “Why would you think you’re in trouble? Have you done anything to be in trouble for?” She leans forward, placing her pale elbows on the desk and looking into your eyes.

“No, I--”

“Good. You’ve made yourself practically invaluable here and I wanted to make sure everything was going okay with you and Mr. Geto.” You think about the morning you spent with Suguru and the subsequent night you danced for him in the VIP room, which ended up being a makeout session towards the end.

“E-everything’s fine.”

“He’s treating you fairly?”

“Yes.”

“Not getting too ahead of himself is he?”

“Ahead of himself?”

“You know, trying to play savior or--”

“No, not at all.” In fact, he had insisted that you go back to the club that night and dance, even if it meant it was just you and him. He knew you liked the club; he was just there to make your experience happier.

“Great! Oh, also --” A drawer opens and Mrs. Lampton rummages around in it for a moment before pulling out a magazine. “Thought you would like to see this.” She slaps it down on the desk before turning to her computer and clicking around on it while you pick up the magazine. And there Suguru was, on page twenty-six, strolling alongside his blue-eyed friend - what was his name? Godo? Todo? Gego? Oh, Gogo. Right.

The headline reads: “Their Companies are Merging, but They’re Total Opposites”. Suguru is dressed for a business meeting in a pair of black slacks and black shirt, complimented by a silver tie. Gogo, on the other hand, is wearing a grey turtleneck sweater and black skinny jeans, also in mid-conversation about something. The caption reads: Geto Suguru and Gojo Satoru have a lot in common: they’re handsome, inherited their wealth, and are very eligible bachelors. But what you don’t know is that they couldn’t be more -

“Why are you showing me this?” The magazine plops down on the desk again and Mrs. Lampton looks over from her screen.

“You need to know exactly who you’re entertaining. Geto’s family owns an international medical equipment giant, and his friend is literally the heir to the technology company Gautama.”

You bite your lip at this news, suddenly remembering the magnitude of the situation at hand. Again, Suguru wasn’t just rich, and people didn’t just get into his personal business because he was handsome. One day, he would be the heir to a massive fortune and a company that relied on the public’s approval to maintain its efficacy. One wrong move, and Suguru could lose it all. You need to handle this predicament with care, not with some kind of illusionary idea that he could be--

“I see. Thank you, Mrs. Lampton.” The club manager shifts in her seat, giving you a tender smile before sliding an envelope your way.

“And this came for you yesterday after you left.” Curious, you open the envelope, and look back up at Mrs. Lampton warily. “Do with it what you will.”

“I can’t accept this; this is-”

“Not my problem anymore. I’ll see you later, y/n.”

_______________________________________________________________________

“I can’t accept this.” You hand the envelope and it’s contents back to Suguru, and he frowns deeply, hand slowly reaching out to take the paper.

“What’s this?” He opens the envelope and takes out the check nestled inside, examining it carefully. “Oh, no.”

“I can’t accept money from your friend.”

“No, this isn’t right. Satoru would never…” Suguru shifts forward, trying to examine the check under the dim lighting of the room. “He would never do something like this. He’s an idiot, but he’s not a dumbass.”

“Why would he send me a check for twenty thousand dollars?”

“He wouldn’t.” Suguru folds the envelope in half, placing it in his pocket with finality. “I’ll deal with this, princess, don’t worry.” He places a tender kiss to your forehead, peppering your face with pecks until his lips reach yours. You moan into his mouth and slide your hands up to his, which are holding your face, and open your mouth to deepen the kiss automatically. Your tongues tangle between each other, dancing in the space made by your interlocked lips. When Suguru pulls away, you groan, leaning your head back with displeasure.

“I want you tonight,” you whisper, and Suguru laughs, nipping at your lower lip.

“You needn’t say another word.”

_______________________________________________________________________

A long-sleeved kimono.

A pair of men’s pants.

A silk camisole and matching shorts.

A grey shirt.

All of them have been scattered across the room leading up to the four poster bed you’ve been politely deposited on. And the man between your legs is starving.

He’s putting his hair up in a bun with a hair band, shirtless, while his muscles move methodically. And you’re lying before him, a spread of deliciousness waiting to be devoured by someone who has been deprived of your taste for too long.

Once Suguru’s hair is no longer an issue, he slides his fingers between your legs, catching the slim digits on your core. You suck in a sharp breath as he begins rubbing your clit, relishing in the gentle touches he lavishes upon you. “Talk to me.”

“That feels good,” you immediately respond to his command, fluttering your eyes closed. Suguru hums, the answer satisfying him enough that he slips a finger inside of you. You arch your back, pushing your cunt into his palm eagerly and mewling just a little.

“That’s it…” His free hand comes up to snake around the back of your neck and his lips come down to latch onto your right nipple. The hand on your neck slides down to tweak your other nipple as he pulls and sucks with his mouth eagerly, and you buck into his hand again as he tucks another finger inside of you, fully tethering you to his movements.

“S-Suguru,” you breathe, and his eyes lift to meet yours, focusing on your blissed-out expression. The wine you tossed back before you both began your little tryst wasn’t doing you any favors, and your head swam at the lust-filled expression Suguru wore. Your nipple pops free from his lips and he blinks slowly, tilting his head like he always does when he’s about to ask you a question.

“Has anyone else made you feel like this?” he wonders above you, and you look up to him, eyes half-lidded.

“No.”

“Can anyone else make you feel like this?”

“No… no one else can.” Your response to his stance of absolute ownership obviously pleases him as he snakes kisses down your stomach and flicks your clit with his tongue, fingers still nestled deep inside of you. “Su!” Instinctively you grab his hair, lacing your fingers through the strands as you push his face closer to your core. Suguru grains with pleasure, removing his fingers and diving head first into you without another word; his slick-covered hand pushes your right leg up, and the other hand rests on your hip lazily.

But his tongue is anything but lazy as he eagerly attacks your slit, reminding you just how hungry he really is. When his other hand moves off of your hip and to the outline of his cock in his boxers, you want to help him palm his erection, wind your fingers around his length and tug, but you’re too far away. The solution comes moments later.

“Su,” you begin, huffing as he continues to eat you out, but looks up to meet your eyes. “I want… I want to sit on your face.” His eyebrows shoot up at the request, and the black haired man pulls away from your core and kisses up your right leg before sitting up on his knees.

“Then switch with me.”

The command is yet again met with no resistance, and once Suguru settles in on his back, you carefully swing your leg over his shoulders, lowering yourself onto his face. Large hands rest on your ass cheeks as he resumes his feast, and your tiny hands find his cock, snaking beneath the waistband of his boxers with ease.

When you first touch his member, he jolts a little then moans directly into your pussy. You never really noticed just how thick he was until that moment, sliding the offending fabric down until his cock is right in front of your face. You stroke it - fingers not even close to meeting around his thickness - and lick the tip with care then lower your whole mouth down his length.

“Oh, my god,” Suguru moans, the sound muffled by your thighs so it sounds more like a breathy “uhhmahgah” than anything else. You begin to bob your head and build a rhythm to your sucking, rarely stopping for air. You know you’re doing a good job when Suguru’s fingers on your ass tighten and his tongue stutters as you slowly build his orgasm. In the dim lighting of your usual, beautiful hotel room, you hope that no one can see you or Suguru pleasuring each other with abandon. That would make a very interesting headline.

“Ah!” Suguru flips you over with a push which lands you on your back, head facing the footboard. He climbs over top of you, eyes still focused on your face, and lifts your legs back up, pushing your knees to your chest.

“You were doing your job a little too well down there,” he hisses, lining himself up with your dripping core. You laugh for a second before he anchors himself with the backs of your knees and slowly sinks into you, hissing as he sheaths himself completely within your walls. Missionary… he loves it, and you do too, especially when he leans forward and presses his chest against your weak thighs. He can watch your face as he moves within you, and it’s the very fact that he’s the cause of your immense pleasure that spurs him on to a mind-bending orgasm. But you want something different… something new.

“Wait,” you breathe, and Suguru looks up at you with curiosity. “We should… try something new.” Your mind flips through the endless pages of the Cosmopolitan rags in the dressing room, and you settle on something you’d seen just before your second day at the club. You lift one leg up precariously, and Suguru instantly catches on to your imagined position, turning you on your side. While snatching a pillow from behind him, he tucks your lifted leg over his shoulder and places the pillow under your back, where it supports you from falling over.

“Fuck yes, that’s amazing,” you whine. He slides back into you with ease, holding your leg as he fucks you senseless.

“Oh, yeah…” His groans mixed with your mewls of ecstasy fill the room, making a sweet symphony of noise for the neighbors (or someone above you) to hear. Skin slapping, grunts, rough touches and tender caresses - everything you’ve grown to anticipate and desire from this man who has absolutely bewitched and been bewitched by you - are present right now. Nothing could take you out of this dream turned reality. “Y/n… this is heaven.”

The admission from the man is accompanied by a stare that reaches down to your soul, and your hand flies to your clit. You want to make yourself cum and fast. He’s saying all the right things… doing all of the right moves, and you --

“I can’t let anyone else have you.”

“Su--” you choke out, hoping that he would hear your pleas beyond his pleasure. “Su, I--”

“Don’t need… t’say... a word,” he grunts. “I already... know.” He gets faster and deeper, stretching you past what you thought you could take and bringing you even closer to orgasm than you thought possible. “Just cum... Cum for me... That’s all I want.”

Your fingers are working just like Suguru is, not pausing for even a second to give you any sense of reprieve. He litters kisses along your ankle and down your calf, all the while fucking your brains out. His hands knock your fingers away and do what only he can do, rubbing your clit better and faster than you can.

“Please… cum for me, princess.” Hot air drags into your throat and you exhale in what sounds like a dying woman’s groan, clutching at the sheets with all of your strength. Your walls spasm around his cock, and a wetness drenches your lower legs, sliding down onto the red fabric beneath you.

“You’re so perfect,” Suguru whispers, closing his eyes. “You’re such a good girl… cumming all over me like that; god, I’m gonna--” His breath hitches in his throat as he unloads in you, his cock throbbing angrily as it deposits loads of cum inside of you. He shudders long and hard, practically hunched over your figure while you recover, panting deeply.

A haze settles nicely over you while Suguru adjusts himself carefully and softly smooths a hand over your sweaty face.

“Do you want to go again or should we call for new sheets?”

“Again,” you answer definitively, and he smiles down at you before pressing a kiss to your cheek and murmuring,

“I love it when you say that.”

#geto x reader #jjk geto #geto suguru #jujutsu kaisen getou #getou x reader #getou suguru #getou smut #jjk smut #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #yes #gojo is being messy #but you'll see why at the end #i swear i won't leave y'all hanging #im doing too much #doing too much

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coldmorte · 3 years

Link

MY FIRST RDR FIC IS OFFICIALLY HERE!!

Check it out through the Ao3 link or below the cut!

Title: “More Than Family”

Ship: Dutch van der Linde/Arthur Morgan (VanderMorgan, Circa 1895)

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 4.3k

Overview: Arthur writes in his journal to remember the past, but Dutch is determined to give him a memory too potent for words.

(DISCLAIMER: The intention of this work is to highlight the fact that Dutch and Arthur do not see themselves as being true “family.” It’s something else, something more intimate. My work does NOT support or endorse "incest" in any way, shape, or form. That is not the goal or purpose whatsoever.)

(Visit the Ao3 link for more tags/notes!)

Letting out a deep sigh, Arthur perched himself on a log by the fire at the end of camp. It was their first night in the new settlement, a quiet place at the foot of the mountains. A safe place. On one side stood a vertical wall of stone, blocking outsiders from easy access. On the other was the rushing water of the legendary Fleur River. The only way in or out was from the sides, which required taking a long route from either direction. Hosea had helped him to scout the place out a few days back, and Dutch agreed it felt like a suitable area to turn into their new home.

The gang was steadily growing. It wasn’t just the three of them anymore, like the old days. There were more men now. John, Bill, and Javier were a few of the recruits to join them over the years. There were even women in their company - like Susan and Abigail, who was with child. After all this time, they had grown together in ways Arthur had never imagined.

Arthur stared out across the camp as he brought his satchel to his lap and retrieved the journal inside. He balanced it on his knee, fingers tapping the outer cover as he thought about how to depict the layout of the tents bathed in the soft glow of the fire. It was silent now, most of the others having already turned in for the night. Glancing down, Arthur’s fingers curled around the outer edge of the journal. Just as he was starting to open it, a voice made him freeze.

“Do you record everything in that journal of yours?”

Dutch.

Turning his head slightly, Arthur could see the silhouette of his body leaned against a tall oak tree just beyond the reaches of the firelight. Dutch pushed himself away and began to come closer as Arthur replied, “No, not really. Just when I feel like it, I guess.”

Continuing to draw closer, Dutch wrapped a warm hand around his shoulder, grip firm as it slid down to his bicep. Arthur leaned into the touch, head gently nestling against Dutch’s hip. Drawing in a deep breath, Dutch spoke again, “You know, it is okay to have some secrets, Arthur. You don’t have to write it all down.”

“I know. It’s just…” his voice trailed off as he stared into the fire. He bit his lip, his eyes narrowing slightly.

It was silent for a few moments, and Arthur made no attempt to pick up where he left off. Realizing this, Dutch prodded him on. “Just, what?”

Arthur sucked in a deep breath through his nose and let his eyes flutter shut, heightening his other senses. He could feel the mellow warmth of the fire upon his exposed skin and the sound of the waters flowing calm and steady behind him. The scent of Dutch’s cigars and stolen cologne were rich on his waistcoat as Arthur pressed his cheek tighter against him. “I don’t want to forget, in case anything ever happens.”

Blinking his eyes back open at the sensation of Dutch releasing a sigh, Arthur glanced up at him. He was staring down at Arthur, brows knitted into a tight expression and lips slightly pursed. He leaned closer, moving his hand to Arthur’s lap. Grabbing a hold of the journal, Dutch tugged it from his grasp.

Setting the journal down on the log beside Arthur, Dutch then offered his hand. “Come on, walk with me.”

Wordlessly accepting the outstretched hand, Arthur allowed Dutch to pull him to his feet. He let go to walk around the log and join him on the other side, tucking his hands deep in the pockets of his tan gunslinger jacket as he did so. Dutch stared off towards the river, avoiding his gaze. Arthur fell in line with him, shoulder-to-shoulder, as they trudged over the fine pebbles at the water’s edge and ducked under the occasional branches of the trees lining the shore.

They passed by Javier at the edge of camp. He was reclined against a tree, rifle folded across his lap as he took his turn on guard duty. Arthur looked over to him as they passed and gave a nod. Wordlessly returning it, he watched as the two of them retreated beyond the camp’s boundaries. They walked on in silence for a few minutes, before Dutch finally spoke up.

“There’s something on your mind, son.”

It wasn’t a question, but it wasn’t necessarily a command to speak either. Arthur absentmindedly kicked at a large stone in his path, watching it hop across the ground and splash under the water’s surface. Dutch remained quiet, still staring out across the river.

“I don’t know…” Arthur glanced up through the trees overhead, to the full moon and stars shining between the branches, “… we don’t get much time no more. Us, I mean. You and me.”

Dutch cocked his head towards him, Arthur glanced over to catch his eye for a moment. Frowning, Dutch slowed his pace as he looked back towards the river. “What are you trying to say?”

“Things have changed, Dutch.” Arthur sighed, abating his own speed to keep in line with the other man. “They ain’t what they used to be.”

“No, they ain’t. But look at all the bullets we’ve dodged, all we’ve been through together. I’m still breathing, and you… my boy, it doesn’t matter how many people come and go. Where would we be without you?” Dutch paused then, stopping altogether. He turned his face slightly, glancing to the ground below and avoiding Arthur’s gaze. His voice dropped to just above a whisper, deep and low. “Where would I be without you?”

Arthur came to a halt alongside Dutch as he let out a soft chuckle, tense and hesitant. “Ah, I didn’t mean nothin’ like that. The gang is growin’, that’s all. You have more responsibilities now, more people to look after. B’sides, what about Hosea? Susan? John and Abigail?”

Dutch’s face snapped up towards Arthur, his whole body rounding on him. His eyes were steady and unwavering as he shook his head. “You ain’t like them. Sure, they’re all like a family to me, but you’re different. You’re…” he took a step closer, “…you’re something more than family.”

Suddenly feeling uneasy, Arthur took a step back to put more distance between them. He glanced in the direction of the camp, now just a faint speck of light in the distance. They were truly alone. Dutch crept closer still, his intense gaze never looking away. Arthur tried to laugh again, but it came out more like a strained choke this time as his face twisted into a grimace. He averted his eyes downward and watched as the heels of his boots tapped against the base of a tree. Dutch kept advancing, but Arthur had run out of moves.

It was his turn to shake his head as he squeezed his eyes shut. He could feel the warmth of Dutch’s body pressing closer, nearly touching him. “But family… what’s more than family?”

A long pause. So long, Arthur almost opened his eyes to check if Dutch had left. But he knew.

The warmth was still there, radiating between them. Arthur nearly flinched as fingertips glided over his temple, brushing away the stray hair there. He allowed his eyes to open with caution. Dutch continued to stare at him, his eyes set and lips parted. His face dropped slightly as Arthur finally looked back at him. “Oh, Arthur…”

Arthur could say nothing, but he could not look away either. The heat of Dutch’s breath was so close, Arthur could feel the tingling sensation of each exhale as it met the moisture of his own lips. His eyes widened as Dutch’s thumb brushed more hair from his face, his hand wrapping lower to cup Arthur’s cheek in his palm as he continued, “… You don’t see it, do you?”

Mouth suddenly going dry, Arthur tried to swallow. His throat felt coarse, and his eyes narrowed as he shifted the weight on his feet. “See, what?”

The corners of Dutch’s lips twitched upwards into an amused smile as he gripped Arthur’s cheek with more force. The other hand snaked its way around his hip, fingers brushing along the top of his waistband. Bringing his face closer still, Dutch pressed their foreheads together. Arthur let his eyes flutter shut, feeling the tickle of Dutch’s own eyelashes on his face as he did the same.

Dutch drew in a sharp inhale, letting his next words fall from his lips as he breathed out. “I need you.”

With that, Dutch closed the space between them, their lips meeting in a chaste kiss as their chests became flush with each other. Arthur shivered as Dutch pulled back, just enough to continue speaking. His breath traced over Arthur’s jaw and the exposed flesh at his neck. “And you think I don’t miss this?”

Leaning in again, Dutch brought their lips back together. He tilted his head, nose brushing gently against Arthur’s cheek as he did so. Arthur felt his lips part, so he opened his own mouth in reciprocation. Dutch ran his tongue along the inside of Arthur’s lower lip, before pulling back away to speak. “You think I don’t miss when these stolen moments weren’t just exceptions…..”

Dutch met him this time with lips already parted. Arthur felt himself release a moan, somewhere from deep in his throat, as Dutch slipped his tongue further inside. Wrapping his hands below Dutch’s arms and around his upper back, he pulled the man even closer. Still, Dutch drew his mouth away as he continued, “…but instead, they were expectations?”

Not getting the chance to say anything in response, Arthur merely hummed into Dutch’s mouth as he resumed the kiss. Dutch rocked his hips forward, smiling at the feel of the growing bulge in the front of Arthur’s trousers. “In dark alleyways and alongside glowing campfires…”

Bringing both hands to rest on Arthur’s waist, Dutch held him steady as he rocked into him a second time. Arthur slid his hands lower on Dutch’s back, tightening his embrace. He could feel the pressure of Dutch’s own hardening cock on his thigh as he did so. “… you were always too... shy…”

Dutch’s voice cracked slightly on the last word. He cleared his throat with a faint grunt, but Arthur could tell he was merely trying to keep his growing arousal in check. Smiling to himself, Arthur began to snake his hands closer to Dutch’s front as he kept talking, “… too afraid to go any further.”

Just as his hands were nearing Dutch’s belt buckle, he felt them being snatched up and pinned over his head. Arthur let out a terse cry at the sudden display of dominance. His legs squirmed and his heels dug deeper into the soft ground below as Dutch leaned his chest harder into him. Turning his head, Dutch nestled his nose in Arthur's hair as he pressed their cheeks together. Arthur shuddered as he felt Dutch’s chest rumble with a deep chuckle to accompany his next words. “It was always you who would swat my hands away... and I would let you...”

Teeth nipping gently at Arthur’s earlobe, Dutch let out a low grumble as he rocked his hips into Arthur again, hands still keeping Arthur’s wrists in a bind overhead. Arthur writhed under his grasp, unable to overcome the strength. He canted his groin outwards instead, trying to increase the friction between them. Obliging his yearning, Dutch ground back into him. He used the full weight of his body to push Arthur harder into the tree, the grooves of the bark digging into his back. A moan caught in Arthur’s throat as Dutch murmured in his ear. “Anything for you.”

Rubbing his cheek along Arthur’s, Dutch turned his head and brought their faces together again. Their lips met once more. It was messier this time, teeth banging into each other as they both breathed heavily through their noses. Dutch shifted his legs slightly as he slipped one against Arthur’s inner thigh and urged him to widen his stance. “Until that one night…? The one when… you finally worked up the courage…?”

Dutch’s words became more strained and cracked as his breathing continued to come in unsteady gasps. He pushed Arthur’s legs farther apart still, and settling between them, he thrust his hips even harder against Arthur’s groin. He tipped his head down and buried it in Arthur’s neck as he let out a lusty moan. “Things became insatiable, then.”

The grip around Arthur’s wrists was beginning to make them tingle from a loss of circulation. He wriggled them with agitation, and Dutch eased up slightly. Still keeping his hold on them, however, he began to lower them onto his shoulders as he pulled his head back from Arthur’s neck. Face flushed and lips parted, Dutch stared at Arthur through half-lidded eyes. “But I still had a fondness those early nights… still longed for them…”

Keeping his eyes fixed on Arthur’s, Dutch slowly released his grasp from the hands now resting on his shoulders. Arthur kept them there as Dutch let his own hands return to Arthur’s hips. Using the forward momentum of his next thrust to reconnect their lips, Dutch’s fingers curled around to Arthur’s ass. They squeezed gently, fingertips digging into the clothed flesh. “…such sinful acts… but covered in a shroud of innocence… so… alluring…”

Dutch’s voice was barely a whisper, the stress from his jagged breathing and heightened arousal overwhelming him. He slid his hands lower underneath Arthur’s ass and dug his fingers into the skin harder as he tugged Arthur’s legs up. Catching on, Arthur helped to lift his legs and wrap his thighs around Dutch’s hips. His arms enveloped Dutch in an even tighter embrace as he supported himself. Grinding his hips upwards as Arthur rocked his hips in time with the movement, Dutch bumped their foreheads together. Both of them let out simultaneous gasps of pleasure at the intense friction, beads of sweat beginning to mingle on their brows. “If only… I could have that again…”

Taking a deep gasp in an attempt to steady the shaking in his arms and legs, Dutch paused his thrusting to mutter, “… if only… you would let me…”

Feeling just as breathless as Dutch, Arthur didn’t bother with a verbal response. Instead, he slid one hand up to clutch the dark curls at the nape of Dutch’s neck as he forced their mouths together. He prodded Dutch to keep moving by digging his heels into his back.

At that response, Dutch slammed into him. The force of the motion jostled their mouths apart as Arthur turned his head to let out a choked sob. Dutch took the opportunity to press his face back into Arthur’s neck, teeth biting at the flesh. Arthur tried to keep a rhythm with the motion of his own hips, but Dutch was starting to act beyond his control. Erratic.

A bead of Dutch’s drool rolled down Arthur’s neck, disappearing below the collar of his shirt. Combined with Dutch’s rumbling pants, Arthur couldn’t help but shudder and release another strangled cry. His back was stinging and numb from being shoved into the tree trunk, but he grit his teeth and tried not to be too loud. The rough friction and restraint on his cock was staggering. His body was practically demanding release from the tight trousers.

And yet, the knowledge that it would not come only aroused Arthur even more. His fingers entangled themselves tighter into Dutch’s hair as he held on, his other hand digging marks into Dutch’s shoulder. Arthur could feel his toes curling and uncurling themselves in his boots and he desperately jabbed his heels into Dutch’s back. With each thrust, his feet slipped lower. Having to keep bringing them up to hang on, Arthur could feel his throat becoming parched as he panted from the exertion.

But Dutch’s grip never wavered. His fingers clutched at the fabric of Arthur’s trousers and the plump skin at the back of his thighs as he held him in place. Arthur could feel the pressure of Dutch’s cock, hard and constricted, as it prodded against his own. The burning so dreadful, the arousal so pleasing. The sensation was simply too much to bear.

A giant ball of flame felt like it was engulfing him from the inside out. Arthur’s vision was starting to blur, sparks flying across his hazy eyes each time Dutch canted his hips inward. He furrowed his brow as a trickle of sweat glided down his temple.

Arthur bit his bottom lip so hard, he was surprised he did not draw blood. He tried to take a breath between one of Dutch’s thrusts, barely mustering up the strength to call Dutch’s name as he turned his face back towards him.

“D-Dutch…”

He didn’t expect a spoken reply, and he didn’t get one. Dutch could merely lift his head away from Arthur’s neck and press their faces together, too out-of-breath to even grant another kiss. Not that Arthur had the resolve to care anymore. He felt like he was suffocating, each breath coming too short and fast as it was.

Screwing his eyes shut, Arthur sensed the muscles in his arms and legs tensing. He felt restless, stimulated and pained to the point of near-breakdown. His fingers clutched at Dutch’s body as his heels kept nudging Dutch’s hips impossibly closer to his own with each thrust.

Wanting to scream, Arthur shoved his head backwards into the tree’s bark. He could feel its rugged surface dig into his scalp. Dutch promptly loosened his grip to lower Arthur’s body, giving him more room to force their mouths together, despite their mutual lack of air.

It was too much. Dutch’s clothed cock continued to rub against his own as he slipped further down the tree. The pressure of his fingertips still dug into his legs… the heat of his mouth still set his lips aflame …

Arthur could feel a lone tear leaking out the corner of one eye as he came, a suppressed shout fading into Dutch’s open mouth. His vision was a mix of red and white bursts behind his closed eyelids. All his limbs tingled from the exertion, and if he hadn’t already been seeing stars, he most certainly would have the way Dutch slammed his back into the tree with such brute force as he also came.

Still gripping below Arthur’s ass and holding him upright, Dutch leaned his full weight into Arthur’s body. They remained like that - Arthur suspended in Dutch’s grasp, both trembling - as their chests continued to rise and fall against each other. Their foreheads pressed together, breaths intermingling. Neither said a word.

Eventually, Arthur could feel his sense of touch returning. His back ached, and his legs felt heavy as they still hung over Dutch’s hips. He moved his hand out of Dutch’s hair and cupped it against his cheek to gently push his face back.

Looking into his eyes, Arthur could see they were moist. From what, he could not say. He ran his thumb over Dutch’s flushed cheek, pushing a stray curl of raven hair away. Dutch smiled against his lips as he leaned in for a kiss. “Will you be able to stand, if I let you down?”

“I’ll manage,” Arthur assured. He eased the muscles in his legs as Dutch guided them back towards the ground. Keeping one hand on Dutch’s cheek, he used the other to hold onto Dutch’s shoulder and steady himself. His cock throbbed from the loss of pressure against it, and he bit his tongue as the inside of his trousers brushed along its sensitive skin.

Dutch kept his hands on Arthur’s hips for a moment as they silently stared at each other. Then, he slowly brought a hand up to grip at Arthur’s wrist once more. He slid the hand on his face around to his mouth, pressing Arthur’s palm to his lips. Dutch’s eyes never left Arthur’s.

As he continued to look at Arthur like that, his other hand slipped away from Arthur’s hip. Dutch began to pry at his own belt buckle, and once it was undone, he quickly popped open the buttons beneath using a single hand. Arthur narrowed his eyes and stayed still, uncertain of what Dutch was planning.

Grasping the hand on his cheek tighter, Dutch moved it downwards, never breaking eye-contact as he did so. Arthur’s fingers quivered as he felt them brush against the waistband of Dutch’s trousers. With Dutch’s encouragement, he slipped them beneath, feeling his flaccid cock twitch at the touch. Dutch winced and hissed an intake of air as Arthur moved lower. He could feel Dutch’s seed on his fingertips, warm and sticky. Tugging at his wrist again, Dutch made Arthur retract his hand. Yet, he did not surrender his grip. Instead, he helped Arthur lift his hand back up, guiding it to Arthur’s own mouth.

Arthur hesitated, but he parted his lips, pushing two of his own fingers inside. He hummed as he sealed his lips around the digits, a saline taste spreading across his tongue. Dutch gave a devious smirk as his hand crept up from Arthur’s wrist, forefinger tracing along his upper lip. Opening his mouth further, Arthur allowed Dutch to slip two of his fingers inside. He encircled them with his tongue, his cheeks hollowing as much as space would allow as he sucked gently.

Hooking his fingers inside Arthur’s mouth, Dutch dragged them out and pulled Arthur’s hand away in the process. He leaned in and replaced the fingers with his mouth, tongue pushing inside. A husky moan escaped from deep within Dutch’s throat as he twisted their tongues together and tasted himself. He prodded at Arthur’s jaw with his hand to get him to tip his head back and open his mouth wider. Complying with the command, Arthur hummed in response as he felt the muscles in Dutch’s cheeks tighten into a restrained smile.

Dutch pulled away, then. A string of saliva still connected their mouths for a moment as they broke apart, and Dutch smiled wider as he wiped it from his own lips. Taking a step back, he never broke eye-contact with Arthur. He continued to grin as he ran his fingers through his sweat-streaked curls and buttoned his trousers back up. Once the belt was buckled and his clothes were smoothed down, Dutch reached forward and grabbed at the front of Arthur’s coat. He pulled it back into place and brushed debris from the tree trunk off Arthur’s shoulders. Urging Arthur to step away from the tree, he also helped him wipe the dirt from his back.

Looking down at himself, Arthur did his best to get his clothes back in place and flatten the wrinkles out of them. His hands were clammy, and his knees became weak as he felt the mess in his trousers run down the inside of his leg. His cock felt so sensitive and so raw as he took another step forward. He could feel his cheeks redden as the reality of what just transpired weighed on him.

“Do I look… decent?” Arthur inquired, throat burning with dryness as he spoke.

Dutch turned his attention to Arthur’s face as he helped to rub the sweat off his brow and sweep his hair back into place. Leaning in, he pressed an earnest kiss to his forehead. “Oh, Arthur. If only you could see the state of yourself… I don’t know if you’ve ever looked more breathtaking than you do now.”

“That ain’t exactly what I meant...” Arthur’s blush deepened. “I meant, what if we run into somebody on the way back? Will they suspect…?”

Patting him on the shoulder tenderly, Dutch let out a low laugh - a genuine laugh, one that accentuated the plumpness of his cheeks and brought out a twinkle in his eyes. His face was still flushed, his hair was a mess, and his clothes were disheveled. Arthur couldn’t help but allow his own lips to twist into a thin smile as his eyes wandered over the disorderly appearance of the man before him. It had been a long time since he last saw Dutch so unraveled.

A rare sight, indeed.

“Why should you care what others think?” Dutch pulled at his shoulder, pointing him back in the direction of the camp. “We’re outlaws, Arthur. We make a point of living against what others consider acceptable.”

Arthur nodded his head, knowing he had a point. But when he turned to look at Dutch, he could still feel the blush burning at his cheeks.

Dutch smirked at him as he released a sigh. He used the hand on Arthur’s shoulder to push him forward. “But if that’s how you feel, head on back to camp without me. I could use a smoke, anyway.”

After taking several steps, Arthur stalled and glanced behind himself. He frowned slightly as he dug his fists back into his pockets and hunched his shoulders inwards. “You sure?”

“Yes, go on,” Dutch reassured as he retrieved a cigarette and match from his breast pocket. As he lit it up, the flame briefly illuminated his face. Arthur did as he was told. He bowed his head as he began to make his way towards the glow of the camp in the distance, but just as he took another few steps, Dutch called out, “Wait, there is something else...”

Arthur stopped. He felt his chest tighten as he lifted his head and looked back again. “Yeah?”

“How about you leave this one out of your journal?”

The orange glow from the end of Dutch’s cigarette was just enough to light up the mischievous grin playing out across his lips. Arthur let out a deep exhale as he felt the knot in his chest loosen. He shook his head and grinned. “You know, I think this one can stay between just us.”

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lysmune · 3 years

Text

Aquarium Date

Levi spends a day in the human realm with you.

(Leviathan/MC) For Levi’s birthday

Akihabara is the obvious answer behind the portal you’ve dragged him through, but he’s taken aback when that’s not where both of you end up in.

Nope.

Instead, he finds himself surrounded by a throng of normies, loud, clamoring groups of them that huddle in a line that moves as quickly as it’s replaced, an endless conveyor belt of people.

“This isn’t Akihabara,” he weakly manages and you shake your head.

“Nope, it’s the aquarium,” you answer and he’s not quite sure if he likes the sound of that, but he’s a little less jittery when you squeeze his hand. “You okay, Levi?”

“Just,” he starts, eyes darting between you and the landscape of faces; “a lot of normies.”

He flushes red when your fingers lace his. “Hey,” you call out, his gaze averting to meet yours. “We can always go to Akihabara if you’re more comfortable with that.”

He warms at your gesture, the consideration in your invitation, and he’s more than tempted to take you up on your offer. Akihabara would be a dream for him, rows and rows of his favourite manga on display, so many figurines and anime, and Ruri-chan merch. That’d be perfect, yep!

“No, let’s go in,” he asserts and your lips curl, soft in the morning sunlight as you tug him towards the line.

Akihabara would be perfect, no doubt, but it’d be perfect just for him, and that’s not the birthday he wants. No, he wants a day that’s perfect for the both of you, a birthday where you’re enjoying yourself, too.

You’d never say it, but he knows you’re not a massive otaku like he is, so he takes it upon himself today. It’s the least he can do after you’ve gone out of your way to surprise him.

Besides, an aquarium would be fun (sans the normies).

Amongst the aquamarine haze, the undulating blues bobbing across the floor, Levi finds himself at peace, more so than he’d ever thought he would be. Hand in hand, you walk with him through the various tanks, stopping every so often to admire the undersea creatures.

“Look, Levi,” and he follows the line of your sight towards the cylindrical tank, to the gliding bioluminescence inside the waters.

“Moon jellyfish,” he identifies, pressing his palm to the cold glass. They coalesce around him in response, glowing in the darkness, and he hears you let out a breath of wonder; he smiles.

They follow the tip of his finger as he leads them in circles, straight lines and patterns, their tendrils a flickering, remnant trail. When he stops, they do too, resting, pulsing with light. He stays like that for a moment before he pulls away and they scatter into the confines of their home.

“They seem to really like you,” you muse, and he shrugs, slightly embarrassed when he’s snapped out of the daze.

He scratches the back of his neck, awkward and sheepish. “I was an admiral.”

Not that he’s ever liked the title. Sure, it had given him power and respect, but all he can remember is the envy in their eyes, the contempt, the curling, forked ends of unspoken insults. He remembers the cold, ruthless isolation of being at the top and the way he clung to the only thing he knew how to do with desperation.

He dislikes it all.

“Levi?”

Your voice brings him back, concern pulling the corners of your lips into a frown and clouding your eyes.

“It’s nothing,” he replies, waving it off, though you’re not so convinced; you let it slide anyway.

Still, if being able to communicate with marine life could make you smile like that, maybe that past of his isn’t so unbearable after all.

The touch pools are an experience, Levi concludes. Like a swarm of overzealous otakus trying to get a limited edition merch of their favourite character, the critters come at him in troves and variable speeds. He thinks it’s cute, though the normies might say otherwise.

“He’s just like Aquaman!” he hears a boy squeal, and he hears you laugh beside him, though you’re trying to stifle it down.

“What’s it?” he asks.

“Aquaman’s a superhero,” you respond as you drag your hand through the water lazily, petting the nearby manta ray that’s busy trying to make its way to his hand.

Oh. He supposes it is ridiculous that he’d be viewed as a superhero, as a character of justice. He doesn’t really fit the image of it; aren’t they usually well-built and fit, and handsome, and charismatic? That’s more Lucifer than -

“I think it suits you,” comes your easy answer and he blushes red to the tip of his ears, muffling an embarrassed noise, and you’re chuckling again.

“W-what makes you s-say that?” he stutters out, lips pulling into a frown as he strokes the shell of hermit crab. You shrug.

“You’re always kind, for one,” you start. He leans in closer to listen while you continue. “You’re passionate about what you like, you’re reliable when you need to be, and I think, most importantly, you’re someone I can easily put my trust in.”

And he’s averting his eyes away, biting his bottom lip, his free hand coming up to cover his face as he mumble a muffled ‘thank you’. His heart’s going a mile a minute, but when he peeks at you between fingers and you look back, that smile of yours never once faltering, he can’t help but feel seen, appreciated, loved, even.

He doesn’t protest when your fingers curl around his, when you pull his hand down to reveal the blush of him and bump shoulders. This - being with you, liking you, having you return his affections - is something he’s never imagined happening, not just because he’s, well, him, but also because it’s just a feeling he’s never garnered from the people around him.

Yet here you are, admiring the very skills he’s been so hated for.

“I like you,” he mutters and you look up to him, eyes wide. Without hesitation, he repeats himself. “I like you.”

There’s a heartbeat of silence, then, a genuine, confident, “I like you, too.”

“No trip is complete without getting souvenirs,” you chirp as the exit comes to sight, and Levi nods in agreement. Merch is everything and he’d like to leave the aquarium with more than just memories, even if that’s greedy of him.

Ugh, I sound like Mammon now.

He digresses.

Passing by the shelves, all filled to the brim, he takes in the variety of options. From keychains, to notepads, to cute casings and fluffy plushies, and embroidered hats; the possibilities are truly endless.

It’s the graphic tees that catch his eye, though.

“Matching shirts?” comes your startling question.

He nods, then shrugs, then stuffs his free hand into his jacket’s pocket. “It’s fine if you don’t want to.”

“What makes you think I’m against the idea?” you retort with a grin and before he knows it, you’re tugging him along to the rack of clothes.

Both of you rummage through your options and you’re occasionally bringing one up to model over yourself, which makes it harder on him because he thinks you’d look good in all of them, and he makes it known. You roll your eyes, calling it banal flattery, but the glimmer in your gaze tells him otherwise.

“What about this one?” Levi asks as he pulls a light blue shirt with a picture of a content whale, tucked into the shirt pocket and the words BRB, I’m gonna whale underneath.

You can barely stop yourself from chuckling at the sight, wheezing out an, “Oh, that’s perfect,” when he brings it up over him.

It comes in two other colours, white and peach, and you settle on the blue while he grabs the pink one in his respective size. He wanders around with you through the entirety of the space in search of more things to take home, ending up with a jellyfish keychain and a clownfish decal while you pick up a seal plushie.

After a losing squabble, Levi lets you pay for the entirety. “Consider it a gift,” you smile, taking the paper bag with a tilt of your head before you make your way out of the shop.

Sunset streaks the sky in orange and purple, and he’s transfixed by the beauty of you when the colours paint you rich and honeyed. Both of you start to retrace your steps to the portal, blending in with the dispersing crowd and he feels comfortingly normal.

“Should I carry that?” he asks as you trudge back up a hill, tilting his head towards your bag.

You shrug and hand it over. “Sure, it’s all yours anyways.”

“Didn’t you buy a -“

“Seal plush?” you finish. He nods while your eyes crinkle in giddy. “It’s yours.”

“Hah?!”

You shrug. “I wanted you to have something to remember me by,” you reply and he stops dead in his tracks, blood running cold.

“Are you leaving?”

“No! God, no, Levi,” you answer, closing the minimal distance between the two of you. He’s close enough to smell your body wash now. “I just want you to never feel alone, Levi, and maybe I’m being selfish when I say I want you to think of me while you look at it, but I hope it gives you company if I can’t, at any point in time.”

And he’s pulling you to him before he knows it, lips pressing yours in a kiss that clings like salt to the ocean breeze. You sigh into it, pliant in his arms as his fingers flutter over your cheek, your hands resting around his waist.

He pulls away ever just and he sees that you’re the one flushed over now, and a sense of pride wells up in him when he finds his reflection in your eyes.

“Thank you,” he mumbles, cradling you as he rocks on the balls of his feet.

“For what?” you question, giggling.

“For today,” he answers, but that’s not quite it, that’s not quite enough. “For believing in me, for being you, for everything.”

“Always, Levi,” and he knows, with every inch of him, that you mean it.

#obey me #swd obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me leviathan #obey me levi #munewrites #f: obey me #ch: leviathan #an: wow more cute stuff #an: overdue as always #an: I have Thoughts™️ about Leviathan using anime as a sort of salve because of his past #an: AKA he was a talented admiral but his social skills were terrible and God exploited his lack of social skills #an: and further isolated him #an: Levi also probably attaches his identity really strongly to anime/manga/games/otaku #an: aNYWAY YEAH THAT SHOULD BE ENOUGH RAMBLING #an: here's to the birthday boi levi

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autumnleaves1991-blog · 4 years

Text

The Next One’s on You 4/5

This one is going to hurt. I’m sorry. Here is chapter four: Champagne. Thank you so much for your support. I love every reblog, comment, and like. Pairing: Maxwell Lord x F! Reader

Warning: 18 + for language, mentions of pregnancy, toxic relatives Taglist: @josepedropascal @mrschiltoncat @mrsparknuts @ghostwiththemostbitch @zannemes @oldstuffnewstuff @yespolkadotkitty @heythere-mel @justanotherblonde23 @artsymaddie @anetteaneta @maxlordsgf

My Masterlist

Chapter Four: Champagne

From the outside the coffee shop looks closed for the evening, the neon's are off, the chairs are up, and all is quiet. Except for the light bleeding from under the door that leads to the back room. There you sit, on the cold freshly mopped tile in the most expensive dress you could ever imagine. Heels kicked off, knees pulled up to your chest, and head down. You slowly raise your head and see your face reflected off the walk in across the room. A diamond headband in your hair, curls falling out of the once elegant up-do, and mascara running down your cheeks. This was supposed to be the happiest day of your life, but it’s quickly become the worst.

Becoming a figure in the public eye was never part of your ideal life plan. But, falling in love with Maxwell Lord IV and becoming his future wife, did not leave you with much of a choice. When he made the announcement at the next public event the press went crazy. Tearing apart every inch of your life with tweezers, paying old friends, roommates, people you had gone to school with for even a smidge of gossip. They were ruthless and hounded you all hours of the day from the moment you stepped outside your home and then all the way to work. At the coffee shop business was booming and every day you felt like the new animal at the zoo. Everyone coming to stick their ugly faces against the glass and ooh and ahh at the barista who had managed to ensnare Maxwell Lord.

They weren’t interested in who you were as a person or even how you had fallen in love. Because stuff like that, it doesn’t sell papers. Luckily, your fiancé had been navigating the press for years and knew how to keep them off your tail in your private life. Shielding you from them in the comfort of your own home and helping him plan the ‘wedding of the century.’ Maxwell hired a wedding planner that he thought would get along with you and thankfully Juliet was perfect. She was organized, professional, and knew exactly what you wanted.

Yes, it wasn’t the small intimate wedding you had always hoped for but at least it wasn’t gaudy. Invitations had been sent out, food ordered, floral arrangements chosen, cake sampled, everything was going according to plan. Even going dress shopping with your mother, and grandmother had been perfect. Finding an eggshell colored dress with no train and small puffs on the sleeves. The salesgirl had placed a diamond headband in your hair holding the veil in place and giggled telling you it was sent over by Mr. Lord as a wedding present. The headband was white gold and had leaves encrusted with diamonds that shimmered in the light.

The big day was fast approaching, and thankfully Mrs. Lord the former was nowhere in sight. Although it didn’t leave you with a good feeling in your stomach, she had been too quiet.

On your wedding day you woke up bright and early, Juliet bringing you breakfast in bed and going over the schedule for the day. You sipped a cup of coffee and smiled just letting her talk. When she was finished a team of stylists came in and got you ready. Manicure, pedicure, massage, makeup, and an elegant up-do, you glowed from the attention. When the dress was lifted over your head and cinched into place your breath caught in the mirror at your reflection. Fingers tracing over the fabric soft under your fingers and fitting just perfectly. They slid the diamond headband in place, and you wiped quickly at the tears streaming down your cheeks.

“Oh honey,” you turn and laugh as your father cries watching you, “you’re so beautiful.” You hold out your arms and hug him and he squeezes you tight. Juliet ushers the two of you down and to the limo to take you to the cathedral. The only church big enough for all the guests you had been forced to invite. When you step from the limo you feel like Princess Diana on the television and give a small wave to the growing crowds. Fingers digging into your fathers’ arm as he confidently leads you forward. Inside are your roommates and friends Michael and Robin acting as your bridesmaid/man. They are ushered down the aisle to the wedding march and your dad takes a deep breath leading you.

Your steps are slow and sure as you pass the elegant floral arrangements of white roses. The petals lining the aisle as you smile at some of the familiar faces. When you look up your breath is sucked out and you beam at your husband to be. Wearing a tuxedo and a hint of a familiar pocket square sticking out. He’s perfect, and smiling so brightly he rivals the sun, as he watches you glide toward him.

You reach out to grab his hand and feel it tighten around your own. His eyes glassy with unshed tears as he smiles at you. Not the fake one from the television but the one he reserves just for you, warm and so full of love. You beam right back at him and mouth I love you before turning to the officiant. You choose not to write your own vows instead following along with the usual lines. Saving your vows for when you’re alone later. When he comes to ask for objections your smile dims as the sound of heels clacking on the floor directs your attention to the aisle.

Mrs. Lord in a white chanel suit is stalking towards you with a sneer. Maxwell moves to stand in front of you when the doors at the back of the church open and in walks….Tom? Your sleazy date from the first night with Maxwell is strutting confidently up the aisle wearing a tuxedo and smiling broadly, coming to stand beside Maxwell’s mother.

“Hi baby,” he coos at you and you shudder.

“What is the meaning of this?” Maxwell hisses clearly angry.

“I have come to bring an end to this sorry excuse for a wedding. My son,” she turns to the crowd like the detective in the novels you read does before unraveling the great mystery, “has been tricked by this little harlot! She has been part of a plot to steal my son’s money and company from the beginning!” She turns to gesture at Tom. “Thomas here told me of her scheme. One year ago, she hired him to pretend to be her date and take advantage of her. She knew my son would be at the restaurant and wanted him to come to her aid.”

“That’s absolute bullsh-“ you're cut off as Michael steps forward.

“It’s true! She asked if I knew anyone she could use as a date to trap some rich guy, I never knew she meant Maxwell Lord,” he points at you and your heart beats loudly in your ears watching one of your oldest friends lie to your face.

“I was there that night, the night she needed to be ‘rescued’ she was all over my son and straddling him on the couch, sure didn’t look like someone who just needed comfort to me!” she shrieks, and several people scoff in outrage although at who it isn’t clear.

She continues on and on making more outlandish claims and each time you go to defend yourself another of your friends, coworkers, or even acquaintances would step forward and collaborate with her. Until you are in tears and Maxwell is withdrawing further and further away from you. The room goes silent as she makes the biggest claim of all, “AND I know she is pregnant! The little bitch is trying to claim my son is the father of her bastard child!”

Maxwell frozen turns to stare at you and your mouth drops open a hand coming to quickly cover it as the tears stream down your cheeks. From the back of the room another voice speaks out, “I can confirm it! She had the appointment two weeks ago, and I performed the ultrasound myself.” The technician from your doctor’s office steps forward holding out a black and white photograph.

Maxwell stares at it and then turns back to you, “Is it true?” he whispers voice cracking.

“Maxwell-“ you reach for him and he takes a step back.

“Is it mine?” he shouts, and you tremble, lip wobbling as you bite down hard enough to taste the tang of blood in your mouth.

“How can you even ask me that? Of course, it’s yours,” your voice quivers and he scoffs.

“Because it seems like everyone you know, is accusing you of sleeping around with fucking Tom!” he shouts, and you take a step back hand protectively covering your stomach.

He glares at you and you take a step back, “Were you going to tell me?” he begs, “That the baby isn’t mine?!”

Your voice cracks, “It is yours! I haven’t been with anyone else Maxwell, you know this!” you shout sobs swelling in your chest. All the guests watching the drama unfold.

“Another lie!” his mother shouts, stalking over to Maxwell and whispering in his ear like the snake that tempted Eve. “She only wants to take your money, everything that you have worked so hard to build. All of your success will be hers. She doesn’t love you.”

Your heart splinters as he nods and drops his head, she turns to you grinning. “I think it’s time for you to leave, you are not welcome here anymore.”

“Maxwell,” you cry reaching for him but he is far away from you now. You hold your head up high and glare at the people who stepped forward. “How fucking dare you,” you say low and threatengly, “some of them taking a step back at the venom in your voice. You walk down the steps slowly and hold up a hand as your family tries to rush you, walking towards a smirking Tom you rear your fist back. It makes a satisfying crunch as you break his nose.

Shaking your hand as it stings and he curses at you from the ground, “Fucking bitch!”

“Go to hell you lying son of a bitch! If you ever get near me or my child, I will have you arrested,” you storm out of the church blood boiling stomach sour. As you slam open the doors to the waiting area, a waiter for the cocktail hour passes and you crash into him. Coating you in champagne as he quickly apologizes begging for forgiveness. You're too upset to even notice and when you open the doors of the church the press go nuts. Cameras flashing, you race toward the limo. Jeeves the driver, holding the door open as you dive inside, slamming it closed behind you. He quickly climbs into the driver's seat, and the tires squeal as he drives away.

“Mrs. Lord, what happened?” You sob into your hands and try to catch your breath.

“I didn’t become Mrs. Lord,” you mumble and he stays silent just driving until you’ve calmed down enough to give him directions. The night is dark and you make your way across town. You have nowhere to go. You live with Maxwell and your former friends and roommate betrayed you. “Jeeves?” he looks into the rearview in sympathy, “take me to work please,” your voice is soft and he nods turning the limo toward the coffee shop. He pulls up out front and you quickly wave him off as you get out of the car and stumble towards the door. Giselle is locking up for the evening and freezes upon seeing you. Quickly rushing to the door and letting you inside. You collapse in her arms and she lets you spill everything, running her hand up and down your back.

The wedding, Maxwell’s mother, Tom, Michael, the baby...all of it comes pouring out. When you're spent and your eyes have no more tears you haul yourself off the floor and push into the backroom. Giselle follows and you ask for the keys, “I’ll lock the door when I leave just...please let me stay.” She nods and hugs you tightly again before grabbing her purse and sliding out the side door. You lock in behind you and lean against the door sliding to the floor.

From the outside the coffee shop looks closed for the evening, the neons are off, the chairs are up, and all is quiet. Except for the light bleeding from under the door that leads to the back room. There you sit, on the cold freshly mopped tile in the most expensive dress you could ever imagine. Heels kicked off, knees pulled up to your chest, and head down. You slowly raise your head and see your face reflected off the walk in across the room. A diamond headband in your hair, curls falling out of the once elegant up-do, and mascara running down your cheeks. This was supposed to be the happiest day of your life, but it quickly became the worst.

You place your hands protectively over your stomach, rubbing gently. Oh fuck...what have we gotten ourselves into now…

The rasp of knuckles sounds at the back door.

#maxwell lord #Maxwell Lord x reader #ww84 #Wonder Woman 1984 #Pedro Pascal #autumn writes

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