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smuttyaf · 3 months

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Jasper Gentlemen’s Club

𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰; 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭

wc: 9.3k | part two of the business

“Treat yourself to something nice.”

Smile shines genuinely at the stack of blue bills falling into your grip. The heart of your customer pounds against your ear from the generous tip being gifted as you swiftly lean in pressing a kiss against his stubble cheek.

“I’ll surprise you,” You tease. His grip growing tighter against your hip at the gesture. “But that will just be our little secret.”

Following your movements he heads with you out of the dim decorative room. You depart from his side once leaving the elevator with faint ‘goodbye’ and his lingering touch trailing away from your waist. White train flows down your sides as you venture to the back of the establishment.

Heels click against the chestnut floorboard, the sound of lockers closing and gentle laughter fill your ears.

“Speaking of the devil,” Grace grins. Fishnets and lace peek under the usual feather robe. Her ginger hair sits in voluminous curls while her eyes are painted in black shadow.

Jasper Gentlemen’s Club, your place of employment for three years now. It’s a private upscale strip club to say in short, however it was the popular type of establishment catered for specific people; the elites and socialites of society, ranging from celebrities to politicians.

Already being high maintenance from the clientele that it specifically caters for, there were codes set in place to appease them. For example, always having proper upkeep of your appearance. Nails, toes, hair, lashes; everything had to be perfect. You were meant to look like a doll for your customers, suppose to be their escape from reality so you had to play the part perfectly. The second, would be no photography or video recording. It’s a no brainer but it was hounded into your mind, the only type of film the customers will ever be on is the security cameras. The situation being so serious everyone in the building had to sign non-disclosure agreements. And the last and final major rule, always being dressed in the renowned long tulle robe. Each dancer had this garment in every colour and pattern you can imagine, fluffy soft material making all your coworkers look like fairies dancing under the inky light.

Sometimes you couldn’t believe that this was your job. Working at this elegant spot and always looking stunning with your weekly manicures, pilates classes, and lash appointments. It was all that consumed your life aside from work. Even though you never thought you would find yourself in this position you couldn’t help but be happy about it. You struggled a lot during your teenage years, getting kicked out of your home at a such a young age you had to turn into an adult quickly. So you accept this lifestyle of greedy men and lustful hands, you much prefer it over the life you had before.

“You look like a sexy dominatrix,” You say glancing over her attire for the night.

Peeling open your purse, you let your tip money fall amongst the pile built up from your shift.

“You know me, you really know me!” Grace giggles with hand lying on her heart. You laugh at her expression while sitting at your vanity next to hers. “So… Do you remember the club owner I’ve been telling you about?” She ask, one arm place on the back of her chair as she faces you. You hum at her words nodding your head slowly.

She was boasting about this man that has been her new favourite of the month. Ranting about how he tips her generously and was the most handsome out of all her regulars. You’ve never took much notice of her roaster though, too indulged with your own you couldn’t really care about what her clients look like.

“He’s here and brought a friend… I may or may not have put in good words about you that he wants to meet,” Grace remarks with plucked eyebrows wiggling. It results with you shaking your head in disagreement.

“No thank you, I would like to go home to Cleo,” You sigh giving her an annoyed look. The desire to kick off these heels and curl against his fur freckle coat was all you wanted to do at the moment.

“Oh come on! Just one more before you leave!”

You twist your head at her words again. The clock was ten minutes away from your shift ending and you couldn’t wait for those numbers to dial in. Biting your lip you look at her.

“At least talk to him, I’m sure he’ll tip you for that… you know, because you’re just the sweetest girl in this joint.” Grace mocks Jasper’s southern voice. You roll your eyes at the reminder of him drunkly calling you one of his most prized employees during one the work anniversary parties.

“Fine, but you owe me.” Huffing with fingers tapping annoyingly at the vanity.

“Of course baby doll.”

You both touch up your makeup before going to the floor once more. It was Saturday night which meant it was busy, there was men litter by the bar while many sit amongst the lounge chairs, eyes all set on your coworkers performing their own little show for them before paying for the real thing. Her black train leads you towards the elevator, security smiling as you two step into the machine.

“Three please.” Grace smiles. The guard swiftly presses the number that brings you to the floor reserved for the most confidential people.

This makes you confused. If her client is just a club owner he couldn’t possibly be on this status? That can only mean the guest he brought with him has to be the one filling the role. If you could do a little dance in the space you would. Happy in your head thanking Grace for making you tag along but also causing you to wonder who it could be.

The elevator halts as you reach the floor. Both of you stepping out of the machine with robe swishing against your skin. White fluffy material tugs along the carpet as your heels echo in the hallway, eyes meeting the number of the door 323. The golden knob turns, allowing you both to step into the dim room.

Plum curtains pressed in baroque prints drape amongst the wall with stockard candles laminating the room, it gives sight on the two men standing each with glass of dark bourbon held in their hands.

Grace’s annoying rant about her regular being remarkably handsome is something you totally understand now, both look as if they could easily get sign and put on a runaway at any moment. One man holds a golden hue to his skin, black shiny hair slick under the lights, while the other has fair skin and luscious curls.

They stand in black suits fitting seamlessly against their bodies. The brown eyes of one man holds hues of caramel looking towards Grace while the other has beautiful emerald orbs that makes your breath catch in your throat.

She makes her way to the bronze man, feathers of her robe flutter under the lights. “Angelo, Y/N. Y/N, Angelo.” She introduce. You roll your eyes at her playfulness.

“Nice to meet you Y/N,” Deep Italian voice fills your ears as you smile curtly before giving the brunette next to him your attention.

Eyes watch the contour of his cheeks sink from his jaw tensing. His hair was short with loose ringlets weaving through, nose broad and standing high amongst the features of his chiseled face. He was enchanting, especially with the way he’s towering over you in this dim light, your cheeks begin to swell with heat from this foreign feeling brewing in.

Yes, you had plenty of handsome clients but never once did it make your heart sing a different tune. Your canine tooth pierces the corner of your mouth. The focus he has on you was more then just admiring ones appearance, it was as if he was devouring you.

The only thought passing through your head is hoping he can’t see your blushing cheeks as you play along to his daring gaze and let your alluring persona kick in.

“And who must you be?” You question, lashes look up at the man who still overshadows you in these tall heels.

“I’m shock you don’t know my name love,” Deep voice matching the same tone as his friend. It causes waves of arousal to flow through you.

“Don’t mind her, she’s doesn’t involve herself in small talk here,” Grace interjects, her hand sliding on Angelo’s suited shoulder while stepping into his body.

“Oh? Just my kind of woman then.” The brunette smirks. Those words make your ears tingle and grow red.

Jesus Christ get it together! You think to yourself. This is your new client, not some cute guy at the club, reel in your feelings and do your job.

“Told you to trust me Harry… now have fun you two,” Grace sings, hand slipping and locking with Angelo as she tugs him out.

The sound of the door closing is met with the slow hum of The Weeknd that fills the atmosphere, your heart is pounding in your ears with smile shining on your lips. Timid palms glazed over with sweat run over the white train of your robe.

This was so unlike yourself to be shy around men, especially with your profession after these few years, but now it was as if you can’t even control your nerves. You want to jump his bones and study every inch of him.

“Harry?” You say, body leaning into him and immediately smelling his expensive cologne, Baccarat Rouge. Your favourite mens cologne. Yeah, this was going to be difficult.

“Harry Styles,” He clarifies, eyes drinking you in as you move closer.

Your hand leaves your robe and feels over his collar to roam down his chest to feel over the buttons there. Applying pressure you gently shove him back a few steps before he’s against the familiar sofa, his knees bend with back falling softly against the cushions, your body now towering over his seated position.

The way he’s staring at you made the blood running through your veins thump with urgency to regulate your heart. A closed off part of you is unravelling itself just from looking at this man.

“Let me help you relax, Mr. Styles.” Pushing his legs apart with your thigh, your hips begin to sway to the music in the air. Nails going to the ribbon and playing with the bow.

Teasingly letting the smooth material slide between your fingertips, you move to the soft voice of the artist through the space, head lolling back seductively as you begin to unravel the string, your white embellished lingerie set reveals itself when you let the garment slowly cascade down your arms to rest in the hollow of your elbows.

Intricate fabric displays your busty breasts smooth with light sparkles dazzling under the lights, the floral lace design sits tight against your hips as your thighs rub against each other from each swing. Besides your waist moving so confidently with each stride, you can’t get over the way you feel so timorous.

Harry gaze is practically looking through you, observing every alluring movement that you do. The gentle press of your hands run up his thighs, your hips twisting side by side as you make your way between his legs, nails dragging into the thick fabric of his suit while doe eyes look up at him with playful smirk on your glossy lips.

His chest inhales deeply, knuckles turning white as he strains his hands by his side. The look in your gaze makes him want to groan hungrily, especially due to the position you’re lingering in. Nails trail into his thighs dreadfully to the slow symphonies in the background. He bites down on his bottom lip, body shifting under your eyes as you begin to rise up, swaying your waist back to your original position.

You continue to be enticing, hands running up your body as you turn around let your robe venture further down your arms to rest by your wrists, plump backside set in the air as you continue provoking him.

These movements were nothing new, especially with the way you allow yourself to fall deeper into his body and begin to dance in his lap, hair falling across your face you when rub yourself slowly against his obvious erection. Although, performing this sequence over hundreds of times your heart was beating erratically in your chest with mind racing with millions of thoughts. Thoughts you never had before ever since you’ve started working here, this new found feeling as if discovering Pandora’s Box.

You try to ignore the glint in his eyes, the way they hungrily look over every inch of your body, staring as if knowing what’s brewing in your mind.

Harry’s hand peels away from the velvet seat going to your moving hips, pulling you deeper against his embrace with head lying in the crook your neck, breath warm against your ear as you continue your teasing.

“No touching… you know this,” You scold. But despite the taunt you don’t move his hands, instead you slide your fingers on his knees increasing your ruthless movements.

You hear the groan that erupts from him lowly, nails curling into your skin as you push further into him. Turning your head slightly you nearly brush your lips together, it leads you to stutter at the close encounter. The mistake in your movements so distinct that you know he felt it, and if the lights weren’t such a dim glow he would see the way your eyes flare up at the near moment of kissing him.

“But you like it? Don’t you?” Harry purrs in your ear, heart fluttering at the rasp in his voice.

Rather than burrowing deeper into his touch you draw away from his reciprocating moves, his hands falling to his sides as he smirks up at you, expression shining with amusement.

Smile toying on your lips you straddle his thigh, hands running up his arms to curl around his shoulders. Everything about him was driving you crazy; the colour of his eyes, the cologne drawing you in, the material of his suit that feels smooth under your touch. You want him on top of you in every way possible.

As if catching a glimpse into your mind his hands find themselves back on your hips, compelling you to halt your previous movements of swivelling circles to drag roughly down his thigh. Your clit pressing tightly between the material of your panties to his rough motions that it makes you moan surprisingly.

Immediately biting down on your lip you can’t help but lean forward towards his face, his hands still moving you along his body, inching you closer and closer towards him. Nose brush against each other in the rush exchange just as lips nearly touch. You quietly whimper at the feeling of his nails digging into your hips. His mouth parting slightly as if trying to breathe in the sound you release.

You want so badly to lean in and discover the way he tastes. Honestly, you would do anything to have him cocooned around you in this moment, but unfortunately those thoughts don’t overshadow the reality of why you’re both in this room right now.

Skimming your tongue over your bottom lip, your teeth bite deeply into the flesh continuing to let him control your movements, his eyes still staring at you as he watches you restrain yourself from showing pleasure.

“How much you charge for the night?”

The words hang in the air causing your face to draw away from his, mouth parting in surprise as your expression resembles disappointment. You should really laugh at yourself. Did you think he was different than the rest? That the possessive look he has on you meant something more? You barely even know the man and your heart jumps for joy just at the appearance. You’re so naive, so stupid to really think he would see you differently.

“I —I don’t do that.” You mumble, pulling further away from him as you divert your gaze.

The tension that was once a teasing attraction between the both of you now is strained, the hum of the song concluding in the background sounds in the atmosphere while Harry’s grip relaxes realizing your change of emotion.

“Oh? I just thought…”

“You thought wrong.”

Heels balance yourself back on your feet. Arms trailing down the expanse of his as you faintly smile at him, your hands gather the sleeves of your robe around your wrist and drape it back over your shoulders, fingers lacing the ribbon together as the speaker occupying the room begins to play another song.

“It was nice meeting you sir.” You hush, faint smile tugging amongst your lips even though your face reads as if someone stomped on your dreams.

“Hold on now, let me apologize. I didn’t mean to offend you in anyway.” Harry confesses, his hands that were once on your skin reach out to draw you into his touch, however you step back.

It didn’t matter how he was going to form his words to express his regret about the invasive question. Whether he tried to say it in the nicest way or simplest terms, you know how he sees you. Just like your other clients; their little play thing that they want to unwrap to see more skin under the fabric.

It’s why you care little about the words you hear regularly. It’s expected of you even if it wasn’t something you offer. Yet, even when hearing it so many times, it still hurt that you were always perceived that way.

“None taken, have a good night.” You conclude the conversation.

Swiftly turning around you ignore the irritated expression on his face from your words, as you exit the room you try not to think of Harry and the blooming feeling of his presence captivating you.

“You shouldn’t have such high expectations.”

Sparkling wine dazzles under the chandelier lights when Grace brings the glass to her lips. She rolls her eyes faintly as she drinks back the sweet liquid, all you can do is turn the noodles in your pasta out of boredom.

“You know that’s not it.” You sigh, fingers fiddling with the fork and slouching your head on your hand.

“Oh come on!” It’s her turn to exhale tirelessly with annoyed smile on her lips. “I say you let him have what he wants, see what you can get out of him.”

Of course she would say that because she provides that type service but, you on the other hand didn’t. You never look at Grace differently because of it but she would always comment on just letting certain clients pay for sex, little jabs about doing these favours especially since it charges more. Yes, it would be easy to receive such superficial things out of those gestures but you desire more than that, which she knew tremendously.

“You know that’s not my thing.” Letting your fork scrape against the red sauce in your plate.

“Yes that’s what you say but you’re so infatuated with him, just give it a chance you never know what you can get from Mr. Mafia himself?”

“Mr. What?”

Eyes nearly bulge out of your face as if you were a cartoon character. The metal instrument in your hand drops from your grasp with your head raising off your hold in complete shock. Harry was in the mafia? Now you’re just finding out about this?!

“Oops? I thought I told you,” Grace reveals as if it’s so normal to forget.

“Are you serious?” You remark, eyes stuck on the way she shrugs her shoulders nonchalantly.

“Yes very serious, now relax. Some of our clients don’t have the best professions either.” She points out raising her eyebrows, and to that you nod in agreement.

You breathe in deeply, hands reaching out to grab your drink and take generous sips from discovering this new found information. This beautiful man with sweet colour eyes and soft curls was part of something dangerous. You never thought about what he could possibly do for work but that was definitely not one of them.

“But yes, the man you’re so in love with is in fact part of the mafia.”

“How do you know this?”

“If you spend enough time around drunk Jasper you’ll find out anything babe.”

Laughing faintly you agree to that, he was always the most honest when intoxicated.

“He was telling me about Angelo as a new client, how he’s some club owner laundering money for someone related to Luciano, some mob boss? I don’t know, never heard of that guy, but! When I met Angelo the first time at work… and well after work too, he was always having someone call him under Styles, one time I caught him talking to him on the phone, something about money so I just put two and two together.”

You bite down on your lip, eyes falling away from her hazel ones and to your unattended bolognese. Money laundering? Hopefully that’s the worse he’s ever done, but the inkling feeling roaming in the back of your mind tells you it’s not. Why should you even care though? This false hope that he’ll actually want you is slim, so why even try to care about what he does.

“I’m telling you girl, with the amount of money he probably brings in you should give it some thought.” Grace sends you another look as she continues eating.

Rolling your eyes again you bring the wine glass back to your lips. This conversation was steering its usual direction and frankly you were over it, you need to shove your heart back in your chest and forget these ridiculous ideas.

“Well if this isn’t a coincidence.”

Both of your sights catch on the same men you saw last night, especially on the specific man who is the topic of the conversation. Harry is now standing right in front of you still looking remarkably handsome as ever. This time he was dressed in a navy blue suit that brought out a gentle tone in his eyes. If you weren’t in this restaurant you would probably take up Grace’s words and get on your knees in this moment.

It doesn’t take long for you to feel the heat rush to your cheeks, and unlike the gentlemen’s club the lights inside this restaurant are brightly lit around the room, only highlighting the flush to your skin. Diverting your gaze, you continue to tip the alcohol into your mouth as cheery laughter beams from Grace when she looks between Angelo and you.

“It’s good to know we all have taste,” She humours, while you decide to swallow back the sweet fluid and place your drink back in its previous place.

Your sight darts from your drink to the napkin with extra cutlery to avoid the unwanted attention burning on your face. You know it’s Harry practically boring holes into you, so heavy that you don’t even want to look up and see him. You just willow in Grace’s conversation doing everything to ignore contact.

That’s until weight presses on the back of your chair, the smell of him fills your nose as he practically buries his head into the side of your neck. You’re completely taken back at the gesture, head turning slightly to make distance.

“Are you going to hold onto my mistake forever?” Harry ask, voice low and assertive that you feel your cheeks grow even brighter.

Pulling away from his embrace you scan his face as he straightens his back peering down at you. He studies your appearance in reciprocation to your detecting gaze, as if wanting to know every dip and curve that roams the expanse.

“No.”

“Are you always this cold then?”

“Maybe.”

Finally breaking the stare down you turn towards Grace who smiles sheepishly Angelo way before looking towards you. Sight flickering between Harry retreating next to his friend.

“See you soon.” Grace shines watching the two step away and head to their table.

As soon as they’re out of sight you clench your teeth, fury completely combing through you at the sudden intrusion of the night.

“Ease up on him.” She laughs. It makes you sigh dramatically, reaching over and finishing your glass of wine.

“I want a shot,” You declare. It makes Grace erupt in even more laughter only making you join along. This night was full of surprises.

“For once would you take my advice?”

Monday evening is slow; music transitioning between easygoing temp to dreadful paste. You book a couple private rooms in the beginning of your shift, flirt with some men on the floor to find some entertainment throughout the night, till you’re now in the back room listening to Clarissa and Lucy rant about their evening.

“I told Simon to let Jasper know I’m not taking him anymore and he persists on me keeping him!” Clarissa groans in annoyance hand hitting the leather sofa with frustration. Her energy radiates annoyance.

“Simon probably didn’t even ask, he’s just saying that… you know how he is,” Lucy responds with an eye roll only making you laugh at the exchange.

“I heard that!” Simon strides into the room with clipboard in hand and sharing knowing glances between each girl.

“Lucy you have private room eighty-six, Y/N you have confidential in three-hundred and twenty-three, and Clarissa you’re on the floor in five! No one should be in the back room on slow nights, you ladies all know this.” The statement only causes the group to exchange displeased expressions.

Clarissa and Lucy stand from the couch and make their way towards their own respective vanities while you get out of your seat and move towards the club manager.

“Confidential?” You question, following him as he begins to walk out the room.

“Yes, same gentleman as your last shift so don’t keep him waiting, quickly now,” His voice rush as he takes your wrist softly in his hand and drags you to the elevator, he sends tight limp smile towards the security guard before nodding his head and stepping away.

Same gentleman as last time. Harry wants to see you again? Even yesterday after the attitude you put up? The thoughts erupt in your mind with each of ding of the elevator. Different emotions course through as you make steps towards the familiar door.

You know you shouldn’t get your hopes up. He’s just like all of your regulars who simply want to see you, another of your clients. Nothing he can say or do will make you change your mind.

Fingers curl around the door knob, you relax your shoulders and let an alluring smile spread on your strawberry colour lips. The bubbling anxiety rumbles in your stomach as you retrieve the door open and move deeper into the room.

He sat on the diamond encrusted sofa, white button up with few undone to reveal ink roaming amongst his collar bones. His back is against the seat with arms laid amongst the sculpted frame, one hand free while the other held a glass of dark liquor. Even though he was sluggishly sitting along the chair, the way his hair was in messy curls and gaze falling to every step you make towards him, you shiver in excitement.

“Mr. Styles.” You smirk, concealing the feelings that spark in you.

Harry’s eyes venture down the expanse of your appearance, lingering extremely long on the way your hips sway, to them eventually staring even longer at your lips while you look down on him. His tongue escapes his mouth to run over his flesh, the hand occupying his drink brings it to his lips.

You let your eyes reciprocate his actions, staring longingly at this disheveled appearance; you admire how charming he looks relax with his ruffled curls and roaming eyes. You want to reach out and brush your hand across his skin but instead you let them slide down your waist comfortably.

“You look good in red.” Harry comments locking sight and smirking at you. His hands twirl the ice cubes in his empty glass that echoes in the space.

Smiling faintly at the compliment, you bow your head at the acknowledgment. “Thank you sir.”

Harry draws his other hand off the frame, fingers reaching into his breast pocket feeling over the contents before pulling out two blue bills. The warmth of his palm melts against your skin as it slips through the space in your robe and slides it into the band of your panties.

“Fill up my glass.”

He’s pushing it into your hand, voice so demanding it makes you confuse at the change of tone. You welcome the cool feel of it before turning around and going to the serving bar located in the room.

With your movements unscrewing the bottle to pour the contents, you hear ruffling from behind. Your heart beats so intensely it begins to give you chest pains. Circling back on your heels and making your way towards Harry, you see another few bills between his fingers as you hold his drink in front of him.

“Sit down.”

You oblige taking the seat next to him, mind completely confused on the change of his behaviour. You know your attitude yesterday may have been uncalled for but this was a different type of treatment. His presence being so cold yet inviting, you can’t tell if you’re scared by him or not.

The hand resting along the couch occupied with papers between his fingers run along the strap of your bra, he tucks the bills there while his gaze goes back to admiring you.

“What are you doing?” You ask, welcoming the his palm going to your breast to feel up your neck and grip your jaw with dominance.

“Do you forgive me?”

Threaded brows press together completely dropping your suggestive demeanour, eyes going to his suited pants until his grip tightens and directs your attention back to his.

“Is that what this is?” You continue, gaze running over the way his jaw flexes. “This money for my forgiveness. I’ve heard worse things in my field of work sir but, I’m very appreciative of the gesture.”

Your hand trails away from your thigh and drags along his knee, body leaning into this scent as you completely fall into your thoughts of this handsome man before you.

“So you don’t forgive me.” Harry responds coolly, the pads of his fingers sink deeper into your skin.

“I don’t care.” You state. Clenching down on your teeth while he releases his hold on your jaw. He rolls his eyes at your words, bringing the glass to his lips.

“You’re so frustrating.”

The comment causes your expression to grow with annoyance.

“Do you want me to dance or not?” Attitude clear in your tone as the palm of your hand continues to glide down the expanse of his thighs.

“No. I just want you to sit there.”

“Why?”

“You’ve been running away from me. So, I’m paying you not to.”

Swallowing hesitantly the previous motions you draw on his skin pause. Sight tearing away from him and falling to your polish nails. Well, aren’t you stuck. Sitting against these velvet seats with erratic heart and sweaty palms. The light beat of the song playing through the space between you both only intensifies the atmosphere even more. The ice smashing against his glass every few moments as Harry brings the drink to his lips.

“What do you want?” You say after a few minutes, fingers fiddling together when you look up at him.

“Isn’t it obvious already?” His voice still lace with frustration as he turns his head.

“You.”

Cheeks burn bright with mouth parting, the emotions he makes you feel… he was also feeling them as well. You distract yourself urgently flickering your eyes between him, trying to collect your words wisely.

“You don’t even know me.” The sentence not causing his gaze to waver. He’s still looking at you with this stone glare.

“So… tell me about yourself.” Harry suppresses the irritation in his voice as he rises his brow.

“Are you serious?” Completely surprised at the change of events.

“Very, now do tell.” Drink in hand gesturing for you to begin.

Suddenly that’s how you spend the rest of your night, introducing yourself to Harry. It range from telling him how you begin working at Jasper’s to how you grew up, and when your mind would dwindle he would ask you his own questions.

“How do you take your coffee?”

“Two creams one sugar.”

“Favourite food?”

“I love Thai.”

And without the disturbance of Simon ushering you to another room after your extended stay with Harry, you grow comfortable. Relaxing in his embrace and answering anything that came to his mind.

This connection that was clouding your judgment is too good to be true, from the introduction of your meeting to the the way your head is nestle in the crook of his neck, you thrive in the affection. Not listening to your overthinking thoughts that stir you in the wrong direction.

Instead, you let him know everything he wants; you tell him your favourite colour and how you like your steak cooked, to even confiding to him about certain clients you weren’t exactly keen of. The fact that you’ve only known the man for three days and was telling him your whole life story was beyond what you could imagine at the moment, he makes you relax and feel acknowledged. It was nice to feel this way after three years.

Since that night Harry began to make his appearance throughout the week. The same room, for the same time, in the exact same position as last. With each meeting he never let you dance or even suggest it, instead he let you talk whether it was anything on your mind or his, that’s how you spent your evenings.

His presence was relief during your hectic week, depending on your availability between clients you spend as much time as possible in his touch and finding serenity in the way his voice soothes you.

It was now Sunday and you were off, deciding on staying in tonight and catching up on Real Housewives. You sat in your loft with Cleo tuck on your lap, fingers digging into the bag of popcorn while the other reaches towards your ringing phone.

“Hello!” You sing, eyes caught on the dinner scene happening before you.

“Not in today?” The voice on the other line making your body shiver with excitement.

“No sorry, I don’t work Sundays… I should’ve told you.” You confess, guilt brews of him going to the club and not finding you there.

“No worries, what are you doing now?”

Eyebrows rise up on your forehead with deep breath releasing, you flick your eyes around immediately taking your hand out of the popcorn bag to grab the remote and lower the volume, body straightening up as you sink your teeth into your lip.

“Miss me already?” Fingers falling to your plump flesh as smirk pulls on the skin. Harry’s laugh sounds through the speaker, the happy cheer making your heart leap.

“Yes. Yes I do, how can I not?” Lashes flutter with smile beaming shyly.

Maybe this was all too good to be true. Maybe this was just a fleeting moment that Harry is having; booking you six nights out of the week, paying you to refill his glass and converse with him. Maybe he was just going through phases, maybe he just thought of you as another one of his toys. But this attention was one you couldn’t pass up; the way he admires at you, the feel of his hands gracing your body for sheer moments, the reassurance of his words when speaking your thoughts. After years of petty affection and surface base material, this for once felt different. It felt genuine even if you’ve only known him within such short time.

“Are you home?” Are his next words to break the silence.

“Yes,” You answer, fingers trailing from your lips to run into your hair nervously.

“Can I come over?” Heart practically melting in your chest at the suggestion.

“Yes.” With blooming hues of pink roaming amongst your cheekbones.

Eager emotions flood your body as you voice your address to him before ending the call. Your hand drops the remote and gently moves Cleo off your lap as you escape towards your room.

What the hell did you get yourself into and what the hell are you even suppose to wear? Your outfit currently being an oversized t-shirt and gym shorts will certainly not do the job as you venture into your closet; skimming over hoodies and dresses. You end on grabbing your two piece yoga set hoping it will suffice compared to how you look throughout the week.

Sitting in front of your vanity you immediately comb through your hair and brush through your lashes. Nerves coursing through your body at Harry coming over. The unusual excitement of getting worked up for seeing someone revels in your mind, you skim over your features intricately to look for something off when you know that there wasn’t anything. There is this need to look your absolute best for him, even you know you already do.

Huffing slightly at the thoughts running through your mind you get up and make your way out of the room and head into the kitchen, fingers immediately lighting candles and then running quickly to the couch to begin folding the blanket you once laid on. If you were being recoded right now you would laugh at how you run across the spacious condo to make sure everything looks in place.

With ideas of the night ahead bombarding your mind the familiar sound of the buzzer quakes in the room making your heart drop. You step away from the couch and move towards the door, hand pressing the button to let him in.

This feeling was as if you were a teenager all over again. These dreamy aspect of emotions being as if you saw your high school crush passing in the hallway. It’s been three years without mental or physical affection, this new found treatment from someone was making you drunk off happiness.

With these nerves overcoming you, the urgency for alcohol to sooth your system lingers in your mind making you go over to your fridge and take out the chilling wine to soon tug your body over to your glass rack and pull two off, you’re setting them on the table when there’s knocking at the door.

Taking a deep breath you count to three, making your way over and unlocking it. Grin toying on your lips with Harry revealing himself adorn in his black suit.

Chest quakes with each pump of your heart as his lips mirror your happiness. Widening the door you let him step into your home, body turning to shut the door before letting your smile turn nervous.

“I know you drink whisky but I only have wine for tonight.” You stammer, body making your way over to the island and gesturing to the bottle of Prosecco.

Harry looks over the bottle, his eye soon falling on yours with smirk appearing. “I’ll have a glass.”

Control motions peel open the new bottle and fill each cup. He takes his drink in hand before humming at the taste.

“Enjoy reality tv?” The question only makes the warmth in your cheek spread further as you look at the television screen displaying women throwing drinks and overturning the table.

“Oh… um… yes,” You stumble over your words, avoiding Harry’s eyes as he chuckles next to you.

“Flustered are we?” He points out, body bumping into you teasingly.

“This is what you came over to do then, just make me a blabbering mess in my own home.” You pout, sight moving away from the granite counter as you lift the wine glass to your lips and look at him.

Amuse expression shines over his face while he shrugs his shoulders in response. “It does make things more interesting.”

“Interesting?” You recite in his own tone.

His hand that rest along the counter passes through the space between you both to let his palm venture down your waist.

“Yes… interesting how displeased with me you were at first yet having this look of want in your eyes.” Your gaze blares, confusion written all over your face while you relax deeper into his touch.

“I —I feel it too.” He’s hesitant before clearing his throat, lashes flutter against the hollows of his eyes as he collects himself. “This pull to be next to you… it’s unexplainable… ever since the first night.”

The words Harry formulates as if he’s just letting his heart expel everything he’s been building up over the week. It makes the one in your chest thunder with admiration.

“And I shouldn’t have said those things… it’s so stupid but my mind went blank and I just…” His brows push together trying to collect his thoughts properly. “The night I saw you at the restaurant it made me realize I really fuck up. I don’t want to do that with you ever again. I want you to trust me, I want you to love me, I want you to—“

But you immediately cut him off letting your emotions spring in and press your lips against his. Wine stain flesh burns on each other as gracious pecks transform into tongues joining together. The hand that trail down your hips run over your backside.

The heat that he expels when he steps deeper as if shielding you with protection has you moaning against him, head tilting slightly to invite the arousal blooming.

As his palm moves further the surprise of his grip tightening around your ass makes you jump, the hand that was wrapped around your glass bumping against the underside of it causing it to tip over.

“Fuck!” The crashing sound of it smacking against the counter makes you part away from him. “I’m so sorry.” You breathe out. Leaving his embrace to go to the paper towel dispenser and beginning to clean the mess. Cheeks burning even brighter from knocking over your wine.

“Relax baby,” Harry coos, hands falling on your nervous ones as you clean up the puddle.

Laughing shyly you shake your head embarrassed by your behaviour.

“You make me anxious,” The confession falling out of your mouth effortlessly as you collect the drench paper.

His palms grip your fingers tightly causing your gaze to catch with his. Instead of an irritated expression he shares one of amusement and adoration.

“Likewise.”

And ever since that night the connection between you both grows stronger; Harry visits during your shifts to meeting you right afterwards. Coming home to bouquet of roses and designer bags, sending you black trucks to take you out to dinner or meeting with you at Bottega Veneta to piece together an outfit for him.

Two weeks of knowing Harry and he was already dazzling you with the most extravagant gifts but still remaining respectful and never letting you dance when he visit the club. You’re absolutely head over heels. He’s always kind and gentle with you, never pushing your boundaries and soothing you with his words. This affection was a breath of fresh air and you’re undoubtedly happy about it.

Although the regard to respect you was admirable, you were beginning to crave more than cherish kisses and subtle touches. A plan brewed in your mine once your eyes peeled open this morning and you decided to put it in motion tonight. So, as you sit in front of your vanity of the club you fix the straps of your embroidered charcoal bra and look over yourself in the mirror.

“Who might you be expecting?” Clarissa calls from across the room. Your glossy lips don’t hesitate to smile as you look towards her.

“I told you about Harry, right?” You remark, letting your fingers run under the band of the bra to fit more comfortable against your skin.

“Oh! That’s who has you in a good mood lately,” Lucy joins in, jet black hair framing her face in layers with smirk written all over her features.

“If you say so,” You sing, turning around in your chair to look over yourself again.

“Don’t think we haven’t been seeing your post lately,” Clarissa marvels while drumming her fingers against the table.

“So generous with his gift-giving,” Lucy continues in her playful tone, only making you giggle.

The heavy steps of Simon thunder against the oak flooring as he makes his way into the room. Head set intact with clip board in hand, he begins to give everyone knowing looks assuring everyone of their duties tonight.

“And Y/N, you have your regular in confidential.” He finishes at the end of his list before turning to usher the ladies onto the floor from the back room.

“Have fun babe, be safe.” Clarissa whispers when passing you with gentle hug.

You smile at her while nodding with assurance. Looking over yourself, you tie your robe together, lips running over one another before stepping out of your chair and making your way towards the familiar room.

Even with spending so many days with Harry, these emotions that quake whenever he’s mention or to soon bare his presence always resonate these deep feelings; this need to feel his touch rougher on your skin or feel him in the sweet places that you think of him most. You knew this was beyond the earlier arrangements of your first initial meeting, this meant more.

Cigarette smoke roams the air as you make your way towards him. He’s in his usual spot, tailor suit gracing his appearance beautifully as you smile at him. Manicure nails drag against the material while his hands feel over your covered hips.

“Hi angel.” Harry says while feeling over your body.

“Baby,” You purr, moving deeper into his touch. “I have a question for you.”

His features raise in question but doesn’t stop his wondering hands from pulling the ribbon of your robe apart and revealing your body to him.

He hums attentively, looking over your face as he continues to roam over your skin. You’re so enthralled by his touch that you nearly forget your plan.

“Tell me how I make you feel.” Statement leaving your mouth with fingers roaming up his neck and playing with the hair there.

Forest eyes flash with worship as his grip tightens against your waist.

“I feel like you’re made for me.” Knees push his apart as you step between his legs.

“I swear you just take my breath away.” Head craning down for your lips to trail kisses along his cheeks to his jaw.

“You’ve imprint my heart so deeply.” Your hands find themselves running over his chest while his roam over your backside.

“That your love feels undeserving for someone like me.” Those words making you swell with sympathy as kisses continue down the curve of his neck.

“It’s so intense I just have to be near you.” Fingers undoing the few buttons of his shirt as you begin to sink to your knees. His eyes lock on you while his hands link together in your hair, the smooth symphony in the air only escalates the tension.

“Feel you.” He continues, eyes fluttering as your hands move away from his chest to feel over his thighs.

“Hear you.” Your fingers glaze over his erection as you both look at each other with lust.

“Be inside you.” Nails dragging roughly over the print with mascara coated lashes batting up at him.

“Tonight’s your lucky night.” You cut him off. Smirk smoothing over your lips as you begin to undo his belt buckle. “Let me help you relax, Mr. Styles.”

Shifting under your hold he watches you retrieve him out of his boxers. Tongue immediately escapes your mouth looking at how thick and heavy he sits in your hand. It makes pure arousal quake between your thighs as you tug him gently, eyes catching with his.

“Been holding out on me.” It’s his turn to send you a smirk. The look alone makes you want to skip foreplay and take him right there.

You lean in with tongue running from the base to the tip. Pressing flat against the underside it leaves trail of saliva in its wake, your mouth enveloping the crown of his cock while his chest raises with pure satisfaction. His hands continuing to run through your hair.

Pleasant moan vibrates through your throat as your mouth ventures down the expanse of him, tastebuds savouring the salty flavour with each descend of your mouth as you find your paste.

Both of you are still set in this hyper-focus trance looking at each other with the pleasing gestures you assert over him. Spit coating his member as you glide down his cock, plump lips wrapping around his girth as you swallow him down.

“S’good,” Harry slurs, one hand leaving your hair to drag along your neck.

Lashes flutter up at him, relishing in the blissful look crossing his face. He slides down your throat effortlessly with your head bobbing swiftly, his cock wrapped in the slick space of your mouth.

Your clit throbs between your legs, the need to have attention there stirs your next movements as you let your hands glide across his thighs and gather his twin globes into your palm and begin massaging them.

The gesture has Harry groaning, nails gliding down your skin in the change in motions. Eye contact breaking as his head falls against the couch with chest rising in urgency. The site alone makes you want to come, but instead you suffice for the whimper that leaves your mouth when letting yourself glide back up his cock.

“Such a good fuckin’ girl,” Harry moans, fingers trailing away from your neck to collect your hair in his palm.

The comment makes your stomach tremble, his hands following your gracious movements, with sweat beginning to shine from his temples as he chews away on his lip.

“Look at me baby,” He coos, his hold tugging your mouth away from him. Diverting your attention you look up at him; red eyes with saliva glistening across your lips as shaky breath escapes.

“So pretty for me,” Harry utters, thumb running across your bottom lip as his green eyes search your face. “Stand up, get this off.” He reaches over to tug on your robe.

You raise off your knees letting the garment trail off your shoulders as you stand. You’re immediately letting your feet kick off your tall heels, pleasantly sighing at the relaxing comfort at having them off.

The next motions are your hands teasingly pulling your panties down, Harry’s eyes watching every movement as he watches you unclasp your bra next.

His hands reach out for you, feeling over your soft skin as pulls you into him. Straddling his thighs your fingers go to his chest to pull his blazer off, he quickly follows your lead to take it off the rest of the way while you decide to continue undoing the buttons of his dress shirt.

“I want to feel you.” You breathe against his skin.

Gripping his cock in your hand, you gently let him glide between your folds. Harry nods earnestly against your chest, his hold moving from your waist to your breasts, his lips pressing against your fever skin as you let yourself sink down on him. High pitch whimper drawing from your throat as he stretches you out.

“You drive me crazy,” Harry utters with grip tightening as your hips meet each other.

A soft cry releases from your lips as you find the strength to raise back up on your knees and grind yourself into his lap. The thick strain of his dick against your walls has your head falling into his face.

Erotic moans fill the room when your hips discover the perfect rhythm that has him dragging down your folds in the most beautiful way with the combination of him reaching depths of pure bliss.

Harry hand trail away from your breasts and wrap around your throat, rough grasp taking ahold of you as he brings you deeper into his face. From the grip he has to the haunting look in his eyes you are completely devoid of every sense in your body.

“Good girl.” He continues, his thighs positioning himself better on the couch as he begins to thrust and meet your hips in perfect unison.

The name makes your frantic heart gush with devotion, eyes fluttering at the air shortening in your lungs while your nails curl around his shoulders digging into his skin.

“So good for me.” Harry rasps, his merciless strides into your pussy halting your previous movements.

The sweet nectar you produce between your legs sound with each thrust from the satisfying pleasure coursing through you. The static of your climax catches in the pit of your stomach, your eyes rolling from how deep he’s in you that you can’t help but lunge forward.

Lips connecting fiercely with the taste of him making you hum as your tongue explores him. The rough grip he holds around your neck relaxes as he continues his frantic thrusts.

The spark of your release climbs up your spine with fury; head tilting back, eyes fluttering in the thrill of falling apart around him. Your walls quiver in irritated satisfaction as your climax barrels over in passionate rage.

“Tell me…” Harry breathes when pulling away from your face, his eyes watching your dazed out state. Your fingers go numb against his shoulders, with your head completely being propped up by the hold he still has over your throat. “Tell me how I make you feel.”

Completely intoxicated with satisfaction of your release you let your lips begin to pepper kisses along his jaw. The urge to prove to him how much he means to you in this moment has your pussy meeting his rhythmic thrusts.

“Like I’m on fire,” You moan, nails digging into the material of his soaked button up.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been wanting to feel you inside me,” Urging him with the seductive tone in your voice. The hands he has wrapped around your neck tenses as he looks at you completely intrigued.

“I —It feels so good,” You whimper as you slowly rock yourself down his length. “You feel so good baby.”

Deep throaty growl shivers over your embrace as his head relaxes deeper into the frame of the couch.

“I want you like this forever.”

The flex of your slick walls around him earns a delicious moan from him. His seed painting your walls effortlessly as you continue to work yourself through his climax. Your fingers travel to his hair and bring your lips back together.

Harry releases his hold from your throat, his palms venturing down your sides and massaging the skin as you lazily ride him. Body relaxing against his comfort as you welcome his kisses.

“Do you even know how weak you make me feel.” Harry breathes against your lips, hands gripping your ass roughly to push you deeper into his chest.

“No… but I like when you tell me.”

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piichuu · 7 months

Text

♡ BACK IN HIS ARMS - CHUUYA NAKAHARA

WARNINGS: spoilers if you haven’t watched episode 61 of bsd. fluff, gn!reader

WORD COUNT: 573

NOTES: i wrote this when the last episode of s5 dropped like a month ago

the sound of the front door opening is what causes you to open your eyes after a few hours of much needed sleep. it’s been a struggle to not stay awake since your boyfriend disappeared without a word. none of his co-workers have answered their phones either nor his friends, so the fact that you for once got some sleep was a first.

as the door creaks open, you sit up in bed and slowly make your way out of the bedroom, trying to stay quiet as the one walking inside your apartment could be anyone. there is a key in your hand as that is the only thing you could find as a weapon and your heart is about to beat out of your chest.

“darling?” that’s his voice. you immediately drop the keys and with quick steps make your way into the hallway were chuuya is standing with his long ginger hair that is no longer hidden by the hat that he has now put away. “chuuya?” you run into his embrace and wrap your arms around his neck, not being able to stop the tears that begin to stream down your cheeks.

he stumbles backwards but is quick to stabilize himself as he puts his arms around your waist. “i’m sorry for just leaving like that, i had to help dazai with something,” chuuya mumbles as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck. “that idiot keeps getting himself into these stupid situations.”

you can’t help but relax in his warm embrace. the amounts of sleepless nights you’ve had have all been worth it now when he’s back here and holds you close. “i couldn’t tell you anything even if i trust you more than anyone else, it was a life or death situation for dazai and i had to help him, i’m sorry for worrying you,” he whispers while slightly pulling away so he can cup your face.

his lips curl up into a slight smile as his thumbs rubs against your cheeks to wipe the tears away. “are you mad?” chuuya asks, his own eyes watering as he watches the tears continue to fall from yours while you shake your head. “no, you’ll have to explain more though, i’ve been really worried about you. i wish you could’ve told me something at least so i’d know you’d be away for a while.”

“i know, i’m so sorry darling. i’ll explain everything to you, i promise,” he presses a kiss to your forehead before fully pulling away to untie his shoes and take them off. “did i wake you up?”

you shrug your shoulders and reach for his hand, needing to be close in some way now that he’s finally back home. “i don’t really care, i’m just happy that you’re home. i’ll be able to fall back asleep now when you’re here,” you smile softly and he chuckles, intertwining his fingers with yours.

“okay, that’s good,” he places a kiss to your cheek and allows you to lead him into the bedroom where the two of you lay down in bed, crawling under the covers. “i’ve missed you a lot, my love.”

his arms once again wrap around your waist as you lay your head on his clothed chest. “i won’t ever leave like that again, i promise. i will tell you everything that’s happened tomorrow, but let’s just sleep now that we’re finally together again.”

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fuckyeahdindjarin · 1 year

Text

Letterman Jacket

Javier Peña x F!Reader oneshot

{ Main Masterlist }

Rating: E (18+ only)

Summary: Tensions come to a head between you and Javier on the private jet back to Bogotá after a long, frustrating day. Or rather - after six long, frustrating years of bad blood.

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: My first PW(much)P, enemies to lovers, arguing, swearing, drinking, dirty talk, oral sex (F receiving), fingering, thigh riding, no use of Y/N, soft!Javier

Notes: After obsessing over this damn jacket forever, I finally pulled the trigger. This is my first ever Javier, and I know he’s not perfect, but my 2023 resolution is to not overthink things, and I had a blast writing this in a couple of days since the idea came to me. I’m so nervous posting this, but excited to have finally made a start with Javier. Please be gentle with me ❤️

P.S. I’m going on my honeymoon the next 2 weeks. I’m sure I’ll be lurking around, and I also have new content all queued up for @fuckyeahpedropascal! See you!

I’m still finding Javier’s voice, but my understanding and interpretation of this man so far is definitely shaped by @the-ginger-hedge-witch character analyses and The Crush (which I’m still catching up on). Thank you Professor Ren for sharing your insight into our favourite DEA agent 🥰

It’s cold.

Why is it cold in fucking Miami?

If only you’d checked the weather report beforehand - oh wait, that’s right. You weren’t exactly given much notice, even less detail, when the phone call came this morning. Not that 4am should count as "morning" in your books.

We found him.

Who?

Jurado. Take the first flight out to Curacao this morning, it’s in two hours. We’re taking him in and flying straight to Miami. Get the papers ready, he’ll be testifying tomorrow.

What the actual fuck, Peña -

You can’t even remember what you stuffed into your weekender bag after he hung up without another word. Mostly legal papers and pens and a change of clothes - all of which are now redundant. The bag hangs heavy in your grip, the taste of failure bitter in your mouth.

Something warm descends onto your shoulders, and you almost jump out of your skin, eyes wide as they snap up. Javier isn’t looking at you though, his unseeing gaze trained on the tips of his brown leather boots, hands in the pockets of his dark blue jeans. He trudges across the tarmac, the bravado that is usually so loud in his walk conspicuously absent.

Reaching up, you pull his jacket tighter with your free hand, the stretch of the fabric distorting the bold letters DEA emblazoned on the left lapel. He doesn’t wear it often - he’s in suits mostly these days, which you can tell pisses him off to no end. He almost never does his tie up properly, a subtle middle finger to the establishment, perhaps.

Your lips twitch despite yourself. Peña’s always been happier going on literal wild goose chases.

The jacket easily engulfs you, blocking out the unwelcome evening chill. You breathe in the faint but unmistakable scent of cigarettes and you can feel the weight of a full box swing against your side. He keeps insisting he’s trying to quit, but obviously not very hard.

Somehow, it doesn’t feel any warmer in the plane cabin, and you put your arms through the sleeves of the jacket properly before sinking heavily into one of the plush leather seats with a sigh, relieved to get off your sore feet.

You don’t notice the small plane taking off with just the two of you, sitting silently opposite each other until the flight path levels, at which point Javier promptly heads to the small bar at the end of the cabin and comes back with two generous glasses of whiskey.

Sipping in silence, you let your gaze settle on him, no subtlety left in the tank after your shitty day at twenty hours and counting. Javier, in turn, stares listlessly out of the window, uninterested in your scrutiny. Strands of mussed hair fall over his tired eyes, the dark circles underneath shadowing his entire countenance.

His pink shirt, which was drenched in sweat when he’d finally, finally caught up to Jurado in that square in Curacao, has long dried in the cool Miami air. And of course it’s tight and the neckline unbuttoned halfway down his chest, the poor fabric stretched to an inch of its life by his obnoxiously wide shoulders. It’s tucked into even tighter jeans that seem to struggle to contain all of him.

Honestly, it’s a damn miracle he could do any running at all in this ensemble.

You stare at the little fold-up table between the two of you. It had been covered in papers en route to Miami just hours ago, the Cali moneyman sitting exactly where you are now. Jurado agreed to the lesser charges of money laundering and racketeering in exchange for testifying for the DEA. You had him. He was in that interview room. The lawyers from the Miami county court were ready to take over.

But somehow, that smarmy, rotund excuse of a cartel lawyer got there first.

A heavy sigh catches your ear over the whir of the plane engines, and you watch as Javier drags one heavy hand over his face, the tips of his thick fingers resting above his pursed lips, before he shakes his head.

The words are out of your mouth before your head catches up. ‘Stop it.’

Dark eyes flicker your way, brows drawing into a frown. ‘What?’

Your empty glass clunks loudly when it hits the table. ‘Stop beating yourself up. We both know this is out of our hands. Quit the self-martyrdom bullshit.’

The grin comes quickly and sarcastically. You hate it. He’s never been big on smiles, but you’ve seen how his face can light up with a laugh over a drink, or at a good joke. From a distance, of course, and never in your direction. You’ve only ever had scowls and glares thrown your way.

You’re not alone though - these days, that’s all anyone ever gets from him.

Leaning back in his chair, one big palm cradling the bottom of the crystal tumbler that looks much smaller than it should, and the other resting on his thigh, Javier huffs a sardonic laugh. ‘Is that what you think of me?’

‘I don’t think it. I know it.’

‘You don’t know me,’ he answers coolly.

You roll your eyes. ‘Don’t flatter yourself, Peña. You’re not some pouty, brooding mystery to me. I’ve been cleaning up after your mess for six fucking years.’ Shaking your head, you can’t help adding, ‘Not that you’ve ever appreciated any of it.’

He gives you a derisive snort. ‘I wasn’t aware that I should be thanking you for getting in my way at every turn.’

‘Getting in your way?’ you chuckle mirthlessly. ‘I’ve been trying to keep you out of jail, asshole.’

‘Maybe you shouldn’t be.’

‘Is this what all this is about? Some survivor’s guilt bullshit?’ Unperturbed by his silence, you press on. ‘Well guess what, I don’t work for you. Having the attaché in jail isn’t really a good look for our employer, so bad news, you’re a free man as long as I’m legal counsel for the DEA.’

‘It would make my life a lot fucking easier if you weren’t.’

The words are so quiet, so matter-of-fact, they have no right to hit you as hard as they do. You’re horrified to feel the sting of tears on the seam of your eyelashes, and your lips part wordlessly before you regain your voice. ‘Fuck you, Peña.’

He winces and sits up, setting his glass next to yours on the table. ‘Shit. That came out wrong -’

Nails dig into your palms as hurt threatens to claw its out of the carefully locked compartment where you keep it. ‘No, I think it came out exactly as you meant it. You’ve hated me since day one.’

‘I don’t hate you -’

You glare at him. ‘You think I don’t know what people say behind my back over drinks at the embassy bar, when I’m stuck in the office dealing with whatever legal bullshit you’ve dug yourself into? I bet you like a good laugh at my expense.’

Shifting forward in his seat, Javier reaches out and grabs your left wrist. ‘Stop it. I don’t. You know I wouldn’t.’

You try to pull back but he doesn’t budge, easily holding you in place. You bite out, ‘I’ll quit if that’s what you want. Might as well make both of our lives easier with one resignation letter.’

Javier’s hold on you tightens, and he bares his teeth in frustration. ‘That’s not what I want.’

‘That’s exactly what you said you wanted just now. Why don’t you make up your fucking mind, Peña?’ you snap back.

‘I can’t,’ he snarls, his other hand finding your free wrist, almost jolting you out of your seat. He’s so close you can smell the whiskey on his breath. ‘I’ve never been able to with you.’

You go as still as the air around you, the mixed signals scrambling the wires in your already exhausted head. You narrow your eyes and him and hiss, ‘What?’

Javier heaves a sigh, breathing out the words through gritted teeth and eyes screwed shut. ‘You drive me up a fucking wall, woman.’

Anger surges in you, and you manage to yank both of your wrists free. Pushing him away, you spit at him with all the venom you can muster. ‘Fuck you, too!’

He growls, raking one hand through his hair before slamming it onto the fold-up table, making the glasses clink when they knock together from the force. ‘Goddamnit, won’t you just hear me? I can’t decide if I want you to shut the fuck up or if I just - want you.’

You watch his broad chest rise and fall in quick succession as he slumps in his chair, as if the last two words that are still ringing in your ears knocked the wind out of him.

Want you.

His eyes follow from under thick lashes when you reach out for the glasses, relocating them to the carpeted floor on the other side of your chair, before finding the lever underneath the table and folding it down. And you don’t miss the way his stare falls to your legs as you cross them deliberately, skirt hitching higher up, his Adam’s apple bobbing thickly in the column of his neck.

You tilt your head to one side in a challenge. ‘Well? What are you going to do about it, then?’

He’s out of his chair and on you in a beat, his arms caging you in as you pull him close by the collar of his shirt. You murmur against his lips, ‘You’re a fucking asshole, Peña.’

‘I know. Let me make it up to you -’ The words barely make it out of his mouth before he kisses you, lips warm and wet and pressing into yours insistently.

You let out a surprised yelp when Javier tugs you onto your feet, hot hands pushing his jacket off your shoulders but leaving it hanging from the crook of your arms. Goosebumps bloom where his fingers brush your sternum as he unbuttons your sleeveless shirt underneath, tugging it free from where it’s neatly tucked into your skirt.

You retort, ‘You’re going to make up for six years of bad blood on a three-hour flight?’

‘Well, what are you doing tomorrow?’ he asks almost conversationally, and with a casual flick, he undoes the front clasp of your bra. He breathes a raspy fuck as he palms your tits reverently, the contact making you shudder.

‘Actually, I was going to have a sit down with you. A little birdy told me some outrageous story about the DEA attaché endorsing wiretapping,’ you reply teasingly, wrestling with the small buttons on his shirt.

Javier chuckles, clever fingers sliding down your back and undoing the zipper on your pencil skirt, which pools about your now bare feet after kicking off your sensible low heels. ‘Fucking Stoddard. I knew he'd tattle on me.’

‘You better come prepared with a good defence, Peña,’ you quip, letting him spin you around and ease you into his seat, the leather still warm under your bare thighs. His pink shirt hangs open as he looms over you, so broad that he’s the only thing you see.

He hums and kisses down the side of your neck, stopping to suck on your pulse point. ‘How about a bit of incentive to go easy on me instead, hmm?’

You arch an eyebrow while he gets on one knee, then the other, but there’s no denying the wild rabbiting of your pulse despite your banter. ‘Bribery? Just one of the dirty tricks up your sleeves, Agent Peña?’

He peels your panties down the length of your thighs unhurriedly, smirking at the way you bite into your bottom lip as the scrap of fabric makes its descent. He hooks your right leg on his shoulder, then the left one, opening you up to his dark gaze as he smirks, ‘You ain’t seen nothing yet, cariño.’

It’s been too long. Too fucking long since you’ve been with anyone. Your hips arch clean off the leather seat at the first broad stroke of his tongue, confidently charting its way all the way up your folds. His weathered palms hold your thighs firmly apart as you writhe in his grip because it’s too much.

‘Javier,’ you breathe, meeting his almost cocky gaze as he stares up at you. He suckles wetly at your clit, lips puckering, and you buck hard into his mouth.

Granting you a brief reprieve, he moves off you with a wet smack of his lips and teases, ‘Am I making a good case for myself?’

‘Clearly not good enough if I’m still speaking in complete sentences,’ you somehow manage to counter.

He grins at you - a real one that lifts both corners of his mouth and chases away the shadows of his demons, and it has absolutely no business making your heart lurch the way that it does. ‘Touché, cariño.’

There’s no polite way of putting this. Javier eats you, meticulous and sloppy in turn, until your slick and his spit trail down the inside of your legs, and you feel the leather growing slippery underneath your bare ass. You can hear yourself over the roar of the plane engines, and you babble incoherently when he pushes his tongue into your pussy. ‘Javier, Javi -’

‘Gonna cum for me, cariño?’ He slurs as he sinks one, and then two fingers into you, biting out a filthy groan at how wet you are.

You nod desperately, finding purchase on his broad shoulders. ‘I’m so close, please -’

Pumping his fingers inside you until you squelch around them, he ducks down and laves your clit in earnest, pushing you until there’s nothing left - no air, no sound, no time and space - all the oxygen is sucked out of your lungs and your ears pop, and you cum so fucking hard with your hands tangled in his curls and his name on your lips.

‘Fuck, you’re so beautiful,’ he murmurs almost absent-mindedly, chasing your skin when you try to push him away. His moustache scrapes your thighs and sends a shudder running through you as you catch your breath. ‘I’m an idiot for waiting this long.’

Gently setting your legs down - not that you can feel them anyway - Javier turns his face to his right shoulder, and you watch in rapture as he smears the slick coating his mouth and chin onto his pink shirt, the wet spot staining the fabric.

Your lip curls in giddy amusement as you think to yourself - you look good on him.

Then he leans up to kiss you, and your head spins at the taste of yourself on his tongue and your scent on his moustache.

Pushing back the loose locks that now curl against his forehead, you sass, ‘That’s one trick. Are you going to show me another, Agent Peña?’

Without warning, his hands slide under your bare buttocks and he lifts you clean off the seat. You laugh and close your grip around his upper arms, feeling his muscles flex under your palms. You know without looking how his biceps must be straining against the short sleeves of his shirt.

He falls heavily into the chair with you straddling him, and you protest, ‘Stop, Javi, I’m going to make a mess of your jeans.’

‘I want you to make a mess,’ he declares in his rich baritone. ‘Want your pussy to soak my jeans, cariño.’

Desire flashes hot and fast up and down your spine. ‘But Javi, I just came -’ you break off as he grasps your hips and settles you onto his right thigh.

‘You can cum again,’ he shrugs with a cocksure definitiveness, coaxing a moan from you when he shifts and your folds drag along the denim. ‘Ride me, cariño.’

‘But what about you?’ You trace one palm down his bare chest and soft stomach to rest on the prominent bulge straining against the front of his tight jeans. He chokes when you give his erection a bold squeeze through the denim, which has you grinning smugly.

Covering your hand with his, he brings it up to kiss it softly. ‘Another time, it’s been a long day. Now - can I get back to making it up to you?’

Winding your arms around his neck, you rock against his thigh, feeling the wet imprint of the slick you leave behind on the coarse fabric as you move back and forth. His palms squeeze the swell of your ass reassuringly but loose enough so that you can find your own rhythm.

Javier patiently mouths his way down your neck and further, sucking hard on one nipple and then the other, making you throw your head back in a gasp.

‘You look so good wearing my jacket with your gorgeous tits out,’ he praises you, letting go of your hips to push your breasts together and laps at the soft flesh with his tongue.

‘Javier,’ you whine, tipping forward to bury your face in the long line of his neck.

The same neck you’ve sometimes wanted to wring in the heat of the moment, but also caught yourself staring at when he cradles the office phone in the crook of his shoulder. You can taste the salt on his skin - sweat and sea breeze and sunshine - and when the breath catches in his throat, your hips stutter, your orgasm so close to the surface.

As if sensing you need a bit of help, he whispers into your ear. ‘I can feel you so wet for me through my jeans, cariño. You’re doing so good for me.’

Feeling his nails dig into you as he guides you over his thigh, you whimper needily, ‘I’m so close.’

‘I know you are. You can do it - cum on my thigh.’

‘Oh fuck,’ you choke, pressing your forehead into his as you begin to shake, and he brushes his nose soothingly against yours. The impending vertigo sends you crashing into him, hands trembling on his shoulders, torn between clinging on and letting go. ‘Javi - I’m cumming, oh my god -’

And then he’s lunging towards you in a deep kiss, tongues tangling as you break again, a moan in his windpipe when he feels your pussy leak into his jeans as it clenches and clenches around nothing. Needing air, you pull back to slump bonelessly against him, panting hard into his neck, his palms drawing circles over your back.

You only realise you’ve drifted off when a sudden drop in altitude wakes you, and the PA system cackles to life with the captain’s ten-minute warning to landing. From the corner of your eye, you catch Javier watching you with a lopsided smile.

You duck your head sheepishly. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.’

‘Well, you did have a 4am wakeup call,’ he quips.

Sitting back on your haunches, you do up your bra and then the buttons on your now very crumpled shirt. Easing off him on wobbly legs, you pick up your panties and skirt from the floor and dress yourself quickly, smoothing out the wrinkles as best as you can. You smile at Javier, watching him he button up his pink shirt, stopping at the fourth one as always.

Stepping in between his spread legs, hands on his upper thighs, you press a soft kiss to his lips. You smile and drag a finger over the wet spot you left on his jeans. ‘That was fun.’

The corners of his eyes crinkle and he swipes his thumb across your bottom lip. ‘That might be an understatement of criminal proportions.’

You make to take off his jacket, but Javier shakes his head, tugging on the collar so it sits squarely on your shoulders. ‘Keep it. It looks better on you anyway.’

You can’t tell if it’s actually warmer when you step off the plane or if it’s the afterglow, but you keep the jacket on. Your respective cars are waiting on the airstrip next to each other, and Javier loads your weekender bag into the backseat before opening the door on the driver’s side, shutting it after you climb in.

You palm the steering wheel self-consciously as you stare at each other in a slightly awkward lull, before clearing your throat. ‘So, 9am sharp tomorrow at the 3rd floor conference room, Agent Peña?’

Javier smirks, but his eyes are warm as he shifts on his feet, leaning one elbow on the open window and cocks his head to one side. ‘Depends. Will you be wearing my letterman jacket?’

A bark of laughter escapes you. ‘Your letterman jacket? Should I pick up matching friendship bracelets for us before our meeting?’

With a lighthearted shake of his head, Javier half-turns to leave before stopping abruptly. Tapping two fingers on the window frame, he hesitates briefly, before looking up at you with earnest eyes, his voice quiet and almost solemn in its sincerity. ‘Thank you.’

Watching him go, your chest blooms with warmth at the eight letters and two little words you’ve waited six years to hear.

At twenty-seven minutes to nine the next morning, you’re flinging open the front door of your apartment, car keys jingling and thermos balanced precariously in one hand, when a flash of white on navy catches your attention.

For a long moment, you stand off dramatically with the jacket draped across the back of a kitchen chair, the letters DEA staring back at you - before you reach for it and shrug it on with a silly grin.

What can you say? You’ve always had a thing for letterman jackets.

More notes: Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed this little oneshot! Comments and reblogs are always encouraged and so appreciated ❤️

Dividers by the wonderful @firefly-graphics as always 💕

#javier peña #javier peña fanfiction #javi peña x you #javi peña x reader #Javi Peña x fem!reader #Javi Peña x f!reader #javier peña smut #javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javier peña x female reader #narcos fanfiction #queue

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frannyzooey · 1 year

Text

Short Days, Long Nights: 7

Joel Miller x f!reader

Rating: Explicit

Series Masterlist

a/n: Thank you endlessly, as always, to @mourningbirds1 for being so patient and kind with me, and for guiding me in the right directions when I'm stuck. And to @the-ginger-hedge-witch for reading this through and reassuring me it's not the 9 page garbage that I wanted to delete. Enjoy! ❤

“Just let me –” he starts, frowning in frustration when you jerk your hand away, reflexively tightening your fist into a ball to cradle it against your chest.

“It’s just –” He sighs, a long tired thing that only older men have mastered. “I’ll be fast. You won’t even feel it.”

“I’ve heard that before, Miller,” you say without thinking, and his head jerks up, his eyes narrowing.

“Bullshit, honey,” he replies, reaching for your hand again. You give it to him, making him tug a little to unfurl it into the palm of his hand. “Wasn’t me you heard that from.”

“No, you’re right,” you agree, giving him a small, knowing smile. “Not you.”

He winks, pressing his thumb into the base of the sliver to see if it will present itself and you hiss in pain, letting out a whimper.

You know you’re being absurd, but you can’t help it.

It’s just a sliver, and in the grand scheme of things, you have been subjected to much worse. Much worse. But it was huge and unexpected and buried itself in your palm so deep that it brought instant tears to your eyes and that – those tears – were what made you feel the most fragile.

When was the last time something that happened to you made you cry?

Once you started, you couldn’t stop.

His eyes flick up to your face, his brow knit with gentle concern and his thumb strokes the heel of your hand, making it blossom open for him. You keep your eyes fixed on the movement, willing the tears that blur your vision to stop – but they won’t. A hot trail slips down over your cheek, another one following it and you feel so foolish and embarrassed you tilt your head to the side, trying to hide your face.

“Hey.”

His hand comes up, gently nudging your face back to him and he wipes the small drop resting on the curve of your cheek away. “I promise I’ll be gentle. We can’t let it sit in there, okay? Don’t want to get it infected.”

You nod, taking a breath.

Steeling yourself, you let your hand relax in his and shift your eyes to focus on anything but the sight of your palm: the leaves on the trees, dappled with sunlight. The winding vines in the garden, reaching their way towards the sky. The weather worn deck, with its dried out planks and its rickety stairs and then you’re looking at the railing, the source of the sliver, with a shudder.

“Stay still,” he murmurs, low and focused.

His hands are so big in comparison to yours, and his fingers brush the surface of your palm with more delicacy than they look capable of. He presses again into the skin at the base of the sliver with his thumb, his eyes flicking up to your face for a moment before dropping back down to the task at hand and when he digs the tip of his knife into your skin, you clench your eyes shut.

“Breathe, honey,” he rumbles.

You do, a deep inhale as he works quickly to peel the skin back just enough to grab the wood and then he’s sliding it out; his knife tossed onto the ground next to him.

Blood seeps slick into the cracks of your hand, a small pool gathering in the center of it and he’s ready for it with a clean piece of cloth, pressing it into place.

“You seem like you’ve done this before,” you say, balling your hand up around the fabric.

He works a spool of gauze open, motioning with a jerk of his chin for you to give back your hand.

“Taken a sliver out?” he asks, eyebrows raised. “I don’t think I even feel them anymore. My hands are pretty rough, always have been. I used to have to do it all the time for –,” he pauses, his expression falling into something more solemn and you wait for him to continue the sentence, but he doesn’t. Instead, he stays quiet for a moment, his jaw shifting subtly under the scruff of his beard. “I’ve had plenty of em’ before. You get used to it.”

Working quickly to wind the gauze around the width of your hand a couple times, he secures it in place and before you can take your hand back, he’s bending to press his lips over the top.

This – this is what you were talking about. Not the deft competency in which he removed the sliver, but the care infused in the action. Like he had practice soothing frayed nerves and touching with gentle hands, had practice in the softness it required. This life wouldn’t have taught him those skills.

The heat of his mouth is a fleeting thing against your skin, his whiskers brushing the cup of your palm and he pulls back, giving you a smile.

“You okay to keep going?”

You test your hand, flexing your fingers a couple of times and nod, standing up. “Yea, I’m good. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he replies easily, sliding his knife back into the holster.

Making your way over to the garden, you kneel beside it and start on the task you were headed for before you got the sliver. Weeds have snuck in, worming their way between the plants and you work diligently, ignoring the catch of your bandage on the stalks. The pain radiating from your palm throbs, a pulse beating in time with your heart and you frown, frustrated.

You should be used to pain by now, you scold yourself.

Joel’s gone back to what he was doing when he heard your yelp of pain and you glance over at where he squats next to the base of the deck, checking for rotted wood with an obviously trained eye. His movements are precise, his hands feeling along the splintered wood with a practiced, deft touch and the comment he made about slivers comes back to you.

In comparison to yours, you can’t imagine everything that his hands have been through and done, but you do know some of the things they have and thinking about it, you feel another hot wash of embarrassment at your previous tears.

You think about all the infected Joel has killed without a thought, all the people he’s probably done the same to just to survive. He’s told you about some of them with zero regret in his voice and you know it to be true, because what was there to regret? They would have done the same to him. You don’t begrudge him of his choices, but rather admire him for them. That same ruthlessness is responsible for keeping you alive for this long, and you wish you only had a fraction of it.

The pile of limp, broken foliage grows beside you, dirt crammed under your fingernails as you keep going and the ground is cool and crumbly, letting the weeds slip through easily.

The tears came instantly when that wood pierced and embedded itself in your skin, and the shock of them startled you just as much as the pain did. When was the last time you allowed yourself the luxury of crying? No point in it because it wouldn’t help your situation; no one around to soothe and reassure you but the damp cover of your pillow in your old, shitty QZ apartment; no use in letting the pain seep into your chest deep enough to seep out through your eyes because it did nothing for you.

You used to think that leaving yourself soft was a strength — a sort of quiet, delicate resilience in the face of harsh realities — and while you still think there was something admirable in it once, you know it’s more foolish than anything now. Softness is seen as a weakness in this world, and you tried for so long to bury your vulnerabilities and your hurt but the last couple months have unearthed those dormant feelings. You wonder if it bothers him.

The act of him pressing his lips to your palm takes on a new meaning: how long until he gets tired of having to care for you like a child? How long until he decides that he’d be better off with a partner of equal footing?

He hasn’t said anything to make you think that, but self doubt always wins over logic, and your anxiety easily dismisses the ways in which he has only indulged you. While you’ve been here: allowing you to pick and choose the chores you can stomach, tucking your face into the crook of his shoulder to help you sleep, working out that sliver without so much as a disappointed frown. The way he’s always done it: shielded you from violence as much as possible while on the road together, never making you be the one to kill unless you had to.

The sun shines bright above you, sweat damping the roots of your hair and you get to the edges of the weeds; the bandage already blackened with dirt, the edges of it slightly frayed. Pulling the rest, you gather the pile in your hands and walk them over to the edge of the woods, dumping them there.

You can feel his eyes tracking you, and afraid that if you look up and see pity in them that you’ll start crying again, you avoid looking back as you pass him, heading back inside.

—

You had been in a bad mood since he patched your hand up and unable to figure out why, it bothers him. Worry pulls at the edges of his thoughts, nags and picks at him as he works, and he skates carefully around the edge, giving you your space.

Several sections of the deck have rotted, and while he didn’t have the lumber needed for repairs, he took what he could from where he could spare. Busying himself with the task, he is surprised at how much of his skill comes back to him. His hands move of their own accord; the familiar actions of ripping out nails to pull up boards, sawing them to fit the sections he needs, hammering them back into place. Much more pleasant than anything he had ever done on work duty in the QZ, his hands knew this and it was nice to do something that he hadn’t taught them how to do out of desperation.

He grips the source of your sliver, the warped, dry railing to the side of the deck stairs and tugs it off with more force than needed. Even as rotted as it is, waste isn’t a concept and he mentally saves it for tinder, tossing it into the grass.

You had been off since you woke up this morning; images of you cycling quickly through his mind: the solemness to your expression, your unusual quietness. It got worse after the sliver, your back to him as you worked in the garden and then avoiding his gaze before wordlessly passing him to head inside the cabin. He doesn’t think you were crying, but he frowns, unsure.

Picking up one of the large tree branches that fell in the storm, he measures it along the section where he needs it and then cuts it to fit. A tricky job to nail it into place by himself, he gives it a tug when he’s done to test its strength, and deciding it needs a few more nails to hold it in place, he goes in search of more.

He looks for you on the couch when he walks inside, hesitating for a second when you’re not there. Coming to find you, he peers into your doorway to see you curled up on your bed asleep, your bandaged hand resting in a loose curl under your chin and his expression softens as he lingers in the doorway for a moment before letting you be.

Rummaging through the drawers in the kitchen, he finds a small box of nails and pulls it out; a silent longing for deck screws and the wide aisles of a hardware store on a weekend morning. Sunlight streams through the open window, the beam catching on the amber liquid in the whiskey bottle and it glows, inviting and warm.

Looking at it for a moment, he gets an idea and snatching it off the counter, he goes back outside.

–

It’s late afternoon when you wake up from your nap, Joel lightly shaking your shoulder.

“Hey,” he says, his voice husky and low. “I wanna show you something.”

The dense fog of disorientation that comes with every midday nap makes you slow moving, his hand finding yours to lead you outside to the deck, and when you see what he’s set up, your first true smile of the day curls along the edges of your mouth.

“What’s this?”

“You seemed like you weren’t having the best day, so I…..well, I did what I could.” His hand scrubs the back of his neck, his eyes on your face and in another first for the day, his expression looks unsure. “It’s not a lot, but I thought it would be nice?”

He’s brought the blankets from the couch outside, draping them over the wooden bench on the deck, along with a couple of ratty throw pillows for cushioning and a table is set up next to it, with canned fruit from the pantry next to some meat that he’s cooked. To the side of the plates rest two small glasses.

“Hungry?” he asks, motioning for you to sit.

Eating together in companionable silence, the meat is flavored with herbs that you had grown, a small delicacy compared to the bland, unseasoned flavor that you had been tasting for months now and you tell him so, smiling inward at the obvious pride on his face. He takes the dishes when you’re done, setting them to the side and you watch as he walks down the stairs, taking in the new railing that he installed this afternoon. Touched, your eyes follow him down to the bank, where he kneels by the water and wondering what he’s doing, you smile when he turns around with the bottle of whiskey in his hands, coming back to join you.

Pouring two drinks, he then sits down, handing the bottle to you.

“Here,” he says, curving the grip of your injured hand over the ice cold glass. It soothes the dull, throbbing ache instantly and your body relaxes against the bench, your cheek coming to rest on his shoulder. Handing you your glass, the two of you watch as the sun sets.

Color streaks across the horizon, sunlight barely hanging on in the glimmers of white that touch the ripples in the water and you take a swallow of your drink, savoring the cold, thick slide of it down your throat.

“Your hand feel better?” he asks, lifting his arm for you, tucking you into his side.

You nod, grateful for him and everything he’s done and guilt for the way you’ve been acting today creeps up into your chest. “Thank you. For all of this. I’m sorry I haven’t been very –”

He shakes his head, silently cutting you off. “Hey, no. Don’t gotta be sorry. We all have bad days.”

You fit yourself closer to him, taking another drink and when your glasses are empty, he refills them.

“I’m glad the sky cooperated,” he says idly, tucking you into his side. The whiskey has made you loose and pliant, content. You hum in agreement, the drink softening the edges of your mood, but it doesn’t make it disappear entirely. The worry that’s sat inside you all day is still there, and before you know it, you’re voicing it aloud.

“Am I too soft?”

Your lips brush against his flannel, the words so quiet that if it was his right ear that was facing you, he wouldn’t have been able to hear them.

“What?” he asks, looking down at you.

“Today, when I got that sliver.” You pull your bottom lip into your mouth, squeezing the cold bottle in your hand and you keep your gaze down, ashamed. “When I cried about it.” Your eyes come up to meet his, searching. “That was crazy, right? I mean, who does that? Over a sliver.”

He shrugs, setting his glass down before reaching out to touch you. His hand curves over your cheek, his thumb following the line of your cheekbone and then it drifts down, squeezing your shoulder in affirmation. “I don’t know. It was deep, I bet it fuckin’ hurt.”

You laugh at his blunt response, placing your drink between your knees to take his hand in yours. Pulling it close, you brush your lips across his knuckles, giving them a kiss.

“Why are you worried about bein’ too soft?” he asks, and then it’s your turn to shrug.

“I just….I can’t stop thinking about it. About being a burden to you, and I don’t ever want that, you know? I want to be useful and strong, and I feel like –”

His frown deepens, his expression turning serious as he shifts to face you. “Hey. You could never be a burden, okay? Look at everything you’ve done.” He motions towards the garden. “I couldn’t have done that. I didn’t even think it was possible to do that, it never even crossed my mind as something we could do and then you did it.”

He pulls you closer to him, his mouth dropping down next to your ear.

‘Look at it, honey,” he murmurs, making sure you’re looking at the garden. “You did that.”

Your vision swims with tears, his words soothing the restless waters of your worries just like he soothed your hand today.

“Maybe before you had to be tough, but not here. Not with me. I got you.”

You look up at him and he kisses you; tears sliding down your cheeks when you shut your eyes. His tongue slides against yours, his thumb streaking damp over your cheek where he’s wiped the tear away and you deepen it, pouring your gratefulness directly into him. Dusk settles around the two of you, the world a wash of muted darks and the familiar chirp of crickets is a background to your shadowed figures; pressed together, before pulling apart.

“Is this how you used to court ladies before everything happened?”

“Court?” he asks, offended. “How old do you think I am?”

You laugh over the end of his question, setting your glass to the side. “Oh stop. You know what I mean.”

The edge of his mouth lifts as he looks out at the water. “I mean, it’s nice isn’t it? Romantic?”

“Joel Miller,” you sigh with a smile, shaking your head. “A born again romantic.”

“Now hang on, honey,” he stops you, and you laugh again, the sound floating into the darkness. Taking a quick sip from the now warming bottle in your hand, you pretend to hold it out for him before you pull it away and then you’re scrambling to set it down on the boards by your feet while he leans into you with a grin, pushing you down onto the bench beneath him. You fight against his strong grip, the weight of his body pinning you down and his mouth finds the crook of your neck, burying his face there as you laugh underneath him.

He peppers kisses along your skin, your laugh slowing as it slips into something softer and lower and when he looks up at the change of sound, you lift your head for a kiss.

–

Clothing peeled off and tossed onto the floor, he guides you down onto his bed and chases the soft embrace of your body as it curls around him. His mouth tastes everything it can reach: the round of your shoulder, the delicate skin over your ribs, the crease of your thigh. His knees ache as he kneels on the worn carpet beside the bed, dragging your body closer to the edge and then he’s tasting the very heart of you; slick and salt weeping on his tongue.

His hooded eyes watch from between your thighs as you arch, his hand mapping the curve of your hip before sliding over your belly and up, his palm seeking out the weight of your breast. The skin there is petal soft, molding to his greedy touch and his mouth matches the need in his hands, his tongue delving deeper as his hand squeezes. Your gasps sound so pretty in the dark, so sweet yet filthy and he forces your legs open wider with his shoulders, pressing his face tighter against you.

“Fuck,” you whine, your fingers threading into his hair and when you start to rock your hips against his mouth, a low, insistent heat gathers at the base of his spine. His cock throbs against his thigh, two thick fingers slipping inside you to stroke with a crook and when you come with a wordless cry, he ignores the protest of his knees and quickly crawls back up onto the bed.

Caging you in, he settles on top of your body and for a moment, relishes the way you feel beneath him.

Dazed and pliant, warmth held in your hooded eyes, a smile curled at the edge of your mouth - you look so soft underneath him. It makes him want to protect you, shield your body with his and ward off everything that seeks to hurt you – but it also makes him hard, knowing the softness is just for him.

His, and his alone.

He kisses you breathless, waiting until you’re restlessly grinding against each other with need and when he pulls back to guide you onto your stomach, you automatically try to rise to your hands and knees, but he splays his hand over your back, pushing you back down. You stretch out on the bed, the strong inside of his thighs pressing along the outside of yours when he straddles you from behind and the stiff weight of his cock drags along the curve of your ass, his hands reaching beneath you to tug your hips up.

Leaning forward, his mouth follows the dip of your spine, his teeth catching on your shoulder blade before he soothes it with a kiss and his hand works itself between you and the mattress, seeking out your clit. He grins against your skin when he finds it, the weight of his body draped over your back and then he’s notching himself against your entrance, groaning when he feels how wet you are.

“You take me so fucking well, honey,” he says, his lips dragging over your shoulder blade as he presses inside with a relieved groan that sounds loud over your whine when your back arches to allow him deeper. You take him down to the base, the squeeze of your cunt unbearably tight in this position and he already knows he isn’t going to last long. The plush give of your ass fits the hollow of his hips, his fingers working your clit in firm, competent swirls and when you clench around him, he shoves in deeper; the weight of his body a rhythmic grind on top of yours, his torso flush with your back as he strokes, strokes, strokes.

“Harder,” you moan, turning your head as far as you can underneath him and he nods, widening his knees for purchase. His hand drifts down to grip your hip, and he obeys, forcing the air from your lungs with each push inside.

Your strength arouses him; your blatant need. You’re soft hearted – so soft, softer than he could have ever imagined – and somehow the contrast of that paired with the way you’re arching beneath him and begging for more makes him almost lightheaded with lust.

He loves that way you’re both.

Innocence preserved, while begging to be filled.

Tender and sweet, while begging for it harder.

He can give you both – protection and his body. Take care of every need you have.

“Like this?” he says, taking pride in your inability to answer him. “See honey, you’re not too soft. Someone so soft couldn’t take it this hard.” His words are punctuated with a grunt, as fucks into you harder. “Wouldn’t let me fuck ‘em all the ways I want like you do.”

His praise makes your eyes slip shut, a shiver rolling through your body as it goes straight to your core and you arch your back to take him deeper.

“That’s my good fuckin’ girl,” he groans, breathless above you. “You’re so fuckin’ good for me. So good.”

Your hands fist the sheet, your mouth open in a pant and slick pools between his fingers underneath you, your thighs tensing between his. He keeps going, burying his face into the nape of your neck to whisper endless praises and the grind of his hips slows down, but he forces himself deeper, stretching you around him. He can’t stop his hips from seeking out the tight fist of your slick cunt, his nose filled with your scent and when he feels you come underneath him, his stomach tenses with his own impending release.

He wants nothing more than to bury himself deep and come inside you, his hips automatically following the urge of his cock but he knows he can’t. Christ, he can’t.

“Where do you want it?” he asks, his hips grinding, grinding, grinding.

“Oh god –” you cry, your voice hoarse. “In my mouth, please, in my mouth.”

He’s quick to pull out, his strong hand guiding you onto your back and you’ve barely slid into place with your face beneath his cock before he’s coming with a groan, one hand braced on the wall as the other works with a slick, rapid pump.

Moonlight floods into his bedroom, shadows pooling in the dips and valleys of the bed and his spend glimmers milky white on your skin, pooling in streaks. When you lift your hand to push it into your mouth, the edge of your bandage gets in the way and he watches as you tug it gently off your hand, tossing it onto the floor.

The skin underneath is raw and exposed, the wound still fresh and watching as you use your other hand to clean your face with lingering sucks, he bends to press a kiss to the spot he carved out earlier; your palm fitting his mouth just right.

#joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller/you #joel miller/reader #tlou fanfic #tlou fanfiction

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 6 months

Text

Like Real People Do

Pairing: Abraham (Grantchester) x f!reader Warnings: Allusions to smut, mild angst, mentions of pregnancy. Word count: ~2.5k

Summary: Her and Abraham have been seeing each other on the sly for the last six months. Some unexpected news makes her worry she's ruined everything between them. Based on this request.

Author's note: For @bbyaemond. No tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

She gasps as she feels Cora’s hands gently squeeze her breasts through her blouse.

“Sorry, love,” the dark haired, older woman smiles at her apologetically, “it’s one of the only ways I can know for certain. Might be worth you seeing a doctor though, just to be sure.”

“No!” She shakes her head vehemently. “No doctors. If mum finds out she’ll kill me.”

“Seems to me you’re not far along, but give it another month or two and you’re gonna start to show. You can’t hide it forever,” Cora tells her softly. “Does Abraham know?”

Feeling tears prickle at her eyes, she lowers her head, inhaling shakily. “N-no,” she replies, her voice wobbling. “God, Cora, what am I gonna do? Please don’t say anything.”

Cora sighs, stepping forward and pulling her into a tight hug. “I’ll pop some water on to boil and we’ll have a nice cup of tea. That always makes everything better.”

The Romani people had arrived into Grantchester six months ago, setting up camp on Mr. Ruskin’s land. They’d kept to themselves and caused no trouble, so there had been no rush from the farmer to move them on, especially when they were paying him good money to make use of his stables for their horses.

She had been enamoured with Abraham from the moment she’d laid eyes upon him. His intense blue stare and the way it had dragged slowly down her form from top to bottom then back up again had made her skin feel hot.

He felt impossibly tell as he’d approached her and introduced himself, a lopsided smirk upon his sharp, handsome features. From the way her heart raced as she’d told him her name she’d known instantly she was in trouble. She was going to fall hard for this man, and she had.

It was a warm summer’s evening, the sun hanging low and vibrantly orange on the horizon as they’d walked to the top of the grassy hill that overlooked the village, settling down onto its grassy bank.

“I like it up here,” she’d told him, “I come here when I’m feeling sad or worried. Nice to pull my head out of the clouds by being close to ‘em, y’know?”

He’d raised an eyebrow at her, that trademark smirk reappearing and she’d felt for certain he was going to make fun of her, until she’d felt the weight of his arm around her shoulder. It had made excitement flutter in her stomach.

“Pretty girl like you shouldn’t ever feel sad or worried,” he’d told her, pulling a brown glass bottle from his inner jacket pocket and holding it up to her, “Pal’s ginger wine, fancy a swig?”

She’d giggled, accepting the bottle from him and uncorking it before taking a drink. It had burned the back of her throat as she’d swallowed, making her eyes go wide as she’d covered her mouth with the back of her hand, coughing and spluttering.

Abraham had laughed, taking the bottle back off of her and rubbing her back. “Yeah, it’s a bit on the strong side. Go easy with it.”

They had shared their first kiss that evening, and the ginger wine tasted so much sweeter upon his lips than it had from the bottle. His lips pressed against hers firmly, yet felt soft against her own as he’d threaded his fingers into her hair, their breaths heavy as his tongue had slipped against her own.

Every night after that had been filled with his presence, his large hands wandering over her curves as their mouths had moved together.

When he’d pressed inside of her for the first time, as they’d laid against a blanket on the hay, she’d winced slightly, tensing up at the uncomfortable sting. He moved with such self assuredness that she couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy, acrid and bitter in her chest. How many girls had there been before her?

Her worries were immediately pacified the moment he’d sensed her discomfort and pulled back slightly to look her in the eye, his palm cupping her cheek. “Is this your first time?” He’d asked quietly.

She nodded, embarrassment heating her skin, and averted her gaze with shame.

Abraham had grasped her chin between thumb and forefinger, brushing the tip of her nose with his. “Good,” he’d whispered, “that means you’re mine.”

He had kissed her passionately, his movements inside of her slow and gentle.

God, I love you, she’d thought, and every day since then the feeling had intensified.

It had been half a year of bliss, and she had been too wrapped up in her whirlwind romance with her handsome traveller to take any notice when she’d missed her monthly bleed the first time. However, when a second month had passed without any sign of it she had noticed and grown worried. Her breasts felt tender and she was more tired than usual.

The thought of telling her parents she might be pregnant had terrified her, she was sure they’d disown her. Cora was a kind, motherly figure of the Romani people’s camp and had always been welcoming to her, she had felt like the safest option.

Now as she sits opposite her, her hands cradling the comforting warmth of a cup of tea, she knows she’s made the right choice.

“I can’t tell Abe,” says quietly, figures stroking against the delicate china of her tea cup. “We’ve never even said I love you. He won’t want a baby with me, I was just a bit of fun until you all move on again.”

Cora tuts, pushing a plate of biscuits towards her. “You do both of you a disservice. That boy loves the bones of you, anyone can see that. Tell him.”

“What if he finishes with me?” She asks worriedly, her eyes big as she stares across the table at her.

“Then I’ll give him a bloody good clip round the ear,” Cora quips, snatching up a custard cream from the plate.

She feels lighter as she steps out of the caravan, more prepared to deal with the burden she has to bear. Filled with courage from Cora’s words, she makes her way towards the stables, knowing that’s where she’s most likely to find Abraham at this time of day.

Hearing voices as she gets closer, she pauses, listening intently to the conversation, keeping herself out of sight.

“So you’ll be ready for us to make a move once this thoroughbred’s sold then?” She hears Pal ask.

“Yeah,” comes Abraham’s response, “she’s fast, so she’ll sell quick.”

“And what about your missus, is she alright with all of this?”

“She’s a good girl,” Abraham says, “easy going, she’ll give us no trouble.”

Her heart lurches in her chest, her throat feeling tight and she turns and walks quickly away in the direction of home.

She’s a good girl, easy going, she’ll give us no trouble.

The words play on a loop in her mind. Abraham’s easy summer fling, one that will give him no hassle when it comes time for him to abandon her and move on to the next town, the next girl. Is that really all she is to him?

Hot, fat tears roll down her cheeks as she bows her head, wrapping her arms around herself, willing her feet to move faster, so she can fall apart in private. The thought that she is carrying the child of the man who plans to leave her is more than she can handle.

She shuts herself away in her bedroom for the next couple of days, feigning illness to her parents. It’s not a complete lie, the morning sickness has begun in earnest, though she is displeased to find it doesn’t have the courtesy to restrict itself simply to that time of day, and waves of nausea have her crouching over the porcelain at all hours.

This is the longest she has gone without seeing Abraham since they met, and in spite of the fact she knows their relationship is doomed to fail, she can’t help but miss him. When she’s not vomiting up the tea and toast she’s fought to keep down, she’s curled beneath her duvet, fear and sadness gnawing at her. What will she do without him? What will she do with a baby?

It’s early afternoon, and her dad is at work, her mum out running errands, when she sees the small pebble sail towards her bedroom window, dinging loudly off of the glass as it makes contact before falling away again.

She feels a rush of excitement as she looks out to see Abraham standing on the path below, looking up at her. Despite everything she cannot help what she feels for him, can’t deny the effect he has on her. He gestures for her to come down, brow furrowed slightly in concern.

Dread forms a hollow pit in her belly. Has he come to tell her he’s moving on, to end things? She is not sure her heart can take hearing him say the words to her, yet she slips on her shoes and goes outside anyway.

Abraham moves to embrace her, but pauses, stepping back as she hovers by the front door. “Your mum and dad in?”

She shakes her head and he visibly relaxes, posture becoming less rigid as he reaches out and takes her hand.

“Not seen you for a few days,” he tells her, “everything alright?”

She stares at where their hands join together, then up at his face and suddenly it feels as though she can’t breathe. She doesn’t want this to be her final memory of his touch, the clasp of his hand in hers as he breaks her heart.

Snatching her arm back, she swallows thickly, ignoring the way his eyes widen and his lips part slightly in apparent shock. “No. No, I’m not alright,” she says, voice wobbling.

Tell him.

She can’t. She doesn’t want the reason he stays to be because she has trapped him by falling pregnant. She wants to be enough for him, but the fact that he has her and wants to leave anyway tells all she needs to know; she isn’t.

She presses on, not giving him the chance to interrupt her. “I heard you and Pal in the stables the other day. I know you’re leaving, I just wish you’d had the decency to tell me sooner. So, if you’ve come here to finish with me, I don’t wanna hear it. I know. Spare me.”

Her breathing is laboured by the time she finishes speaking and she’s crying once more.

Abraham steps forward, his own eyes watery as he reaches for her. “Please, I–”

“Don’t,” she chokes out, before spotting her mum coming from the end of the lane.

Abraham follows her line of sight and stuffs his hands into his pockets, walking quickly away in the opposite direction, as she steps back into the house. She slams the front door and runs up the stairs to muffle her tears into her pillow. She doesn’t emerge for the rest of the day, falling into an uneasy sleep.

It has been four days since she overheard Abraham and Pal’s conversation, three days since she left the house, and the walls are beginning to feel as though they’re closing in on her. She is desperate to get outside, to breathe in fresh air and clear her mind and body of the heartache that plagues her.

She heads for her favourite hill. The climb feeling more tiring than it usually does, a side effect of her being pregnant she supposes. She wonders if she will have to stop coming here altogether as she gets bigger. The thought makes her sad. She is losing everything she loves.

The tickle of the grass against the backs of her legs as she sits down, coupled with the gentle breeze on her skin, has her closing her eyes, turning her face up towards the sun, enjoying its gentle warmth.

Staying like that for a few moments, she smiles to herself, savouring the first time her mind has been quiet since Cora confirmed her suspicions about her current condition.

She senses the sunlight darken through her eyelids and slowly opens them to see Abraham standing over her.

Her mouth turns downwards, her heart sinking.

He’s come to finish what he started.

“Alright?” He says, long limbs folding as he settles beside her on the grass.

She sighs. “Why’d you follow me here? I’ve said all I’ve gotta say.”

“Good for you,” he says, narrowing his eyes, “but I haven’t, so you’ll listen for once. I’m not leaving you. What you overheard the other day was Pal asking about me planning to bring you with us, you misunderstood.”

Tell him.

“I’m pregnant,” she blurts, acting on Cora’s advice before she has the chance to talk herself out of it.

Abraham’s eyebrows raise, his baby blues widening as he stares at her wordlessly for a moment. Time feels as though it stretches for an eternity, and she worries he’ll simply get up and walk away, but then he smiles, a wide grin that crinkles the corners of his eyes and makes them twinkle.

“Just as well I’m taking you with me when we go then,” he says, placing a hand on her knee and squeezing gently.

She sighs, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms around her middle. “You aren’t obligated to me just because you got me up the duff.”

“I know that,” he says, his hand never leaving her thigh, “but I meant what I said, I won’t leave you, baby or no baby. Look–”

He reaches into his jacket pocket, pulling out a delicate gold wedding band, and she gasps.

“This was me nanna’s. Mam held onto it, wanted to give it to her daughter. Unlucky for her, she had all boys, so she said whichever of us got married first could have it. Been carrying it round since we first kissed, I’ve always known I wanted to ask you.”

“You were gonna ask me to marry you?” She asks in disbelief.

Abraham nods. “I still am. Figured you wouldn’t wanna come with me if I didn’t make an honest woman outta you, and well…I love you.”

She sniffles, resting her head against his shoulder and he wraps his arm around her, pulling her close. “You’re not angry that I’m pregnant?” She wonders aloud.

“Not at all. It’s not happened in the order I thought it would, but that’s life, I s’pose. Just means you might look a bit fat in your wedding dress.”

She huffs a laugh, swatting at him playfully and he grins.

“So, we’re doing this then?” He asks.

“Yeah, looks like we are,” she smiles up at him.

“Good, ‘cause I wouldn’t leave without you.”

#abraham x reader #abraham x y/n #abraham x you #abraham imagine #abraham smut #abraham angst #abraham grantchester #ewan mitchell #abraham fan fiction #abraham fanfiction #abraham fan fic #abraham fanfic #grantchester #grantchester abraham #grantchester fan fiction #grantchester fanfiction #grantchester fan fic #grantchester fanfic

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strawberrywinter4 · 5 days

Text

May 9 | Prompt: Intimidation

Warning: Depictions of violence and drug use.

“You’re just too much sometimes, that’s all I’m saying,” his mother comments as she troubles herself with the dishes.

Mycroft rolls his eyes. He knew it would be a poor idea to come visit. He should have just settled for a call.

“You almost scared John away,” she says, scrubbing a class clean. “Your comments and glares at dinner are not helpful, you know. Sherlock almost had your head.”

“John is anything but frightened by me, Mummy. He made that perfectly clear when we first met.”

“Sherlock told me about that first meeting.” She sighs, turning toward him with a scolding expression. “Mycroft, why did you do that?”

Mycroft wills his cheeks not to flush crimson in embarrassment. “It was merely for precaution.”

“Sherlock is a grown man. He can take care of himself.”

Mycroft’s hands clench the kitchen counter. She doesn’t know. She hasn’t seen the extent of Sherlock’s pain like Mycroft has.

“All I’m saying is that I think you should be more considerate to the people who seem to actually want to be around him,” she says. “And John…well, he’s a very polite man. I think he’s good for Sherlock. Very good.”

Mycroft doesn’t answer her. Realizing she’s not going to get a response out of Mycroft, she leaves the kitchen with a tut under her breath.

Mycroft’s eyes are trained to the sink.

——

The front door opens and shuts loudly, Mycroft wondering if the force of it broke any vases. Ignoring his brother in the lounge, Sherlock runs up the steps, his little feet going as fast as they can. Mycroft hears his bedroom door shut.

Mycroft sighs, getting up and leaving his science project. Heading upstairs, he turns the corner and knocks on Sherlock’s door.

“Go away, Mycroft!”

Mycroft is silent for a moment, then tries for the door handle lightly. Locked, of course. He rests his head on the door.

“If you open the door, I’ll make Ginger Nuts.”

A few seconds pass and the lock clicks, the door creaking open. One of Sherlock’s blue eyes peak through the crack. “Do you promise?”

“Yes.”

Satisfied with the reply, the door fully opens. Mycroft holds his grimace successfully, but it isn’t a simple task.

Sherlock’s eye that wasn’t peaking through the door is a mixture of purple and black, a few bruises gracing his jaw. His lip is cracked and blood is oozing down his chin.

Mycroft attempts to keep his voice leveled. “Sit on the bed, I’ll grab the first aid kit.”

Returning with the kit, Mycroft is pleased to see Sherlock took his advice for once, sitting on the sheets, eyes focused on his legs as they swing back and forth over the edge.

Without comment, Mycroft sits beside him. “Up,” he instructs, tilting Sherlock’s face to the correct position. He applies alcohol to a cotton and begins dabbing the application to his brother’s lip.

They sit in silence, Sherlock hiding his winces and Mycroft cleaning the blood and bruises.

“When are they coming back?” asks Sherlock.

“I’m not sure. Probably not for another few days.” Mycroft is used to their parents being gone for business trips, but Sherlock is still wrapping his mind around it.

Silence falls again. Then Sherlock speaks up:

“Are you really making Ginger Nuts?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t believe you.”

It takes everything in Mycroft not to crack a smile. “Why is that?”

“You don’t like Ginger Nuts and you only do things that benefit yourself,” he says bluntly.

Mycroft hums. “You really think so little of me?”

“Yes.”

They both share a grin.

Mycroft’s face hardens as he wipes another trail of blood on Sherlock’s cheek. “Did you decide to make another quip?”

Something changes in Sherlock’s expression. Something akin to…embarrassment? Shame? Mycroft’s not sure, but he’s never seen his brother acquire such a look.

“I didn’t,” Sherlock replies.

“Then what happened?” Mycroft demands, though his voice is quiet.

Sherlock shrugs. “I don’t know.”

And it truly seems like he doesn’t know. “Then tell me what could have possible occurred.”

Sherlock looks down, his finger trailing the design of the solar system on his bed sheet. “I thought I made a friend.”

Mycroft blinks. “A friend?”

Sherlock nods. “He said he wanted to be my friend. At break, he offered me to join him at the back of the building to play, and I said yes because…well, I told you about the pond that’s back there.”

Sherlock enjoys observing the frogs that live around there.

“I thought I’d show him the pond,” Sherlock says, this time more quietly. “But then we got there and he pushed me in the mud. His apparent friends came around the corner and…”

“Did that,” Mycroft finishes, nodding to Sherlock’s face.

Sherlock nods in answer.

Mycroft will never understand it. Out of all things, he will never understand this. Yes, Sherlock is odd. He has required rudeness over the past year, but Mycroft fully believes that Sherlock has just been taking after him.

Then there are the admittedly good things about him. Sherlock enjoys rambling about scientific discoveries, he likes to play in ponds and rain, he likes to help Mummy bake, he likes to play Pirates (which is actually quite fun), and he is a swift and independent learner. Mycroft admires these qualities. And though he’s never been good at showing his affection (and possibly never will be), he and Sherlock know how to make their relationship work.

“I will take care of them,” Mycroft says as Sherlock wipes tears from his eyes.

“They’re big,” Sherlock says. “And scary.”

Mycroft snorts. “Bigger than you. Not me.”

Hesitantly, he puts a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder. This seems to give a sign to Sherlock that he’s been waiting for, and he hugs Mycroft tightly. Stunned, Mycroft settles for patting his curls awkwardly, but this doesn’t will Sherlock away. Sherlock continues to hug him and cry, and Mycroft wants to make it all go away.

After a while, Sherlock releases him and sniffles stubbornly, wiping more tears. “Can I have Ginger Nuts now?”

Mycroft stands, nodding to signal Sherlock to come along. “You’re assisting me. I know you know how to make these in your sleep.”

——

In a random building, in a random place. That’s usually where he is.

Mycroft hears either miserable sounds or nothing at all. He sees stranger’s eyes rolling to the back of their head while taking sedatives or pills.

The curls are unmistakable. Sherlock is huddled up in a corner, a blue hoodie wrapped around him loosely. Mycroft nudges him. He then turns him and is not startled to see his pale skin, his unhealthily sharpened cheekbones or his dull eyes.

Mycroft sighs.

He helps Sherlock up and practically drags him to the vehicle parked thankfully close outside.

Carefully putting him in the passenger’s seat, Mycroft gets behind the steering wheel.

Mycroft glances at him, and is overcome with what his brother has turned into.

“Brother mine. Why do you hurt yourself so?”

He knows Sherlock doesn’t hear him, doesn’t understand his whispers.

Maybe that’s for the best.

——

“I worry about him…constantly.”

John stares at him. “That’s nice of you,” he murmurs.

“But I would prefer for various reasons that my concern go unmentioned. We have what you call a difficult relationship.” Mycroft keeps his voice impassive. His heart aches.

John’s phone pings. It’s obviously from Sherlock.

They continue with comments back and forth. Mycroft feigns an impression that he’s only wanting Sherlock’s whereabouts for personal gain. John seems to believe it wholeheartedly.

Mycroft can’t decide if John is worth Sherlock’s time.

Probably not.

Mycroft analyzes him to get a rise out of him.

“Are we done?” John asks, attempting to keep his frustration to a minimum.

Anger issues. Of course.

The rest of the meeting goes not so smoothly. John leaves obviously bothered and Mycroft doesn’t know, he doesn’t know if he can trust this man to even come close to deserving Sherlock’s friendship.

No one does. It’s the truth.

Mycroft has been called overprotective. He’s been called annoying. Unfair. Unethical.

Mostly by Sherlock.

But what are big brothers for?

——

You can read it here on ao3 as well.

I hope you all enjoyed! Love me some Sherlock and Mycroft lore.

Prompt by @calaisreno Thank you!

Tags: @a-victorian-girl @whatnext2020 @totallysilvergirl @ninasnakie @thegildedbee @whodwantmeasaflatmate @with-a-ghost-mr-holmes @sherlocknjohn221b @jawnn-watson @blogstandbygo @lisbeth-kk @holmesianlove @7-percent @itsonlytext @chinike @peanitbear @bakerstreetbe @curlyjohnlock @helloliriels @keirgreeneyes @ceceliajupe @ghostofnuggetspast @dw91165 @jolieblack @gwendelaneyisjohnlocked @cortinita @kettykika78

(Please let me know if you do or don’t wish to be tagged)

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gtgbabie0 · 11 months

Note

Hello! ~~ so since i saw this cute video i cant get this idea out of my head ( the video was basically a cat laying on a girl stomach and it was not getting up cause she senced her owner beinv pregnant and that video was jus adorable 🥺) but what if the group( Jill, Chris, Claire, Rebecca) is hanging out at someone place and ofc Leon and the reader is there as well and as the reader sit down the cat instantly gose to her does the same, plus the cat doesn't leaves her side? I just genuinely find this idea adorable soo m8ch 🥺🥺🥺

- Leon Kennedy x reader

{Claire’s cat doesn’t once leave your side, and Leon finds it adorable}

Ack! This is too cute!! Thank you for requesting as always lovely! Enjoy💕

CW// reader is pregnant

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“Do want anything to drink, sweetheart?” Leon asks, turning to you as Claire and Chris walk into the kitchen, his thumb smoothing over your knuckles. He wouldn’t let you do anything with you being heavily pregnant, he even barred you from cooking. You learned rather quickly that it was useless to fight him on it, no instead, you took great advantage of it.

His hand soothed over the curve of your stomach with a bright smile, “Something sweet would be nice, if Claire has anything sweet” you say, and Leon nods pressing a kiss to your forehead, he lets his lips linger there for a moment.

“I’m sure she’s got something,” he tells you before getting up and joining the siblings in the kitchen.

You glance down at Claire's big tabby cat that was sat by your feet, she hadn’t moved an inch since you sat down, that was until now. You watch as she jumps up beside you curling up on your lap with her head resting against the bump of your tummy.

You smile scratching behind her ear as she purrs, rubbing her head against your tummy. “Aww! Leon look!” Claire beams as she carries a bowl of sweets into the living room.

You watch as Leon’s eyes light up. He chuckles. walking over to you with a glass of cold apple juice, “Here you go angel” he says handing you the glass as you thank him softly, he takes a seat next to you.

The ginger cat doesn’t move an inch, not even when Claire sits down, instead she only nuzzles herself further into your side.

Claire watches and she swears her heart might just melt at the sweet interaction. She can’t help but let out a loud chuckle as the tabby cat shoots Leon a mean-looking glare causing him to retreat his hand.

“She’s protecting you,” Chris says to you, sitting down as he shovels some gummies into his mouth.

“From what?” Leon asks, sending a glare back at the cat, you giggle as you reach for his hand, your thumb soothing over the bump of his knuckles.

“No it’s because she knows you’re pregnant that’s why, she’s a smart cat” Claire adds, taking your now empty glass from your hand before you even have time to lean over and set it down on the coffee table.

The tabby cat doesn’t once move, not an inch not even when your baby kicks and as time goes on she reluctantly lets Leon sit closer to you, his hand holding yours in hopes the kitty might just get the hint that Leon isn’t a threat.

The sun starts to set and you can’t even get near Claire’s door as the cat doesn’t leave your side, walking beside you as you collect your things, she lets out an almost worried ‘meow’ as Claire picks her up.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of her” Leon smiles at the tabby, stroking behind her ear. "She's in good hands"

You smile as Leon’s hand rests on the small of your back. Claire walks over to you with her cat in her arms, “Don’t worry I’ll be fine” You smile down at the furry friend petting her gently, you sniffle trying to hold back the tears as you make your way to Leon’s car before saying your final goodbyes.

It’s only when Leon starts the car do the tears finally start to fall, “Whoa, hey- baby what’s going on? Are you okay?” Leon worries, his hand going to hold yours.

You nod your head wiping your tears, “No- yeah, I’m fine it’s just Claire’s cat, is she going to be worrying about me all night?” You ask sniffling and Leon tries so hard to bite back the laugh that wedges in the back of his throat.

“Oh baby- she’ll be fine I promise, Claire will take good care of her” he promises, taking your hand gently as he presses kisses to your knuckles, smiling against the back of your hand.

“Don’t laugh at me Leon, I’m emotional,” you tell him, and he glances over at you as he stops at a red light.

“M’not” he mumbles and you both break out in giggles, his hand resting against your thigh as he drives you both home.

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2d-reality · 6 months

Text

Little Things (The Gluttonous Sixthborn)

characters: Beelzebub, GN!MC navigation: Lucifer | Mammon | Levi | Satan | Asmo | Beel | Belphie content/warnings: little things you do for the brothers, out of love. fluff. established relationship (implied you are dating all seven brothers equally with the exception of mammon whom i love more) word count: 877 notes: Each brother has their own part, linked above. I am still my own editor and I loathe editing, so please forgive any mistakes!

The chatter in one of RAD’s hallways is stunned into near silence by a deafening growl. Demons of all shapes and sizes glance around themselves, cautious of whatever horrific creature could have made the noise that rattled their very bones.

And amongst it all, there is a happy laugh. A lone human, appearing to be entirely unfazed.

It’s followed, shortly, by a curt, “sorry.”

“Don’t be, Beel! That was the best one I’ve heard so far! That was a movie quality sound effect!”

Sound filters back in as students realize the rumbling roar was only the unnaturally powerful appetite of the Avatar of Gluttony, letting it be known it needs whetting.

Beel is bashful as you pause momentarily, reach into the bookbag on your shoulder, and produce a protein bar. “No worries, Beel. You know I’ve always got you.”

The ginger takes your offering gratefully as he falls back into step beside you, but his gaze is still crestfallen. “Thanks, MC, but... I think I’ll need more than this. I missed my snack after second block. They moved the vending machines there, and I was meeting up with you for third block.”

You had also provided him a snack when he indeed met up with you earlier, as was your habit, but you know he could completely empty at least one of the machines that resided at the end of the hallway where his second block class was held. Your paltry little chip bag was like giving a single drop of water to a man dying of thirst. You frown.

“Moved them? To where?”

Beel looks genuinely distressed at the loss of his easy-access food. “I don’t know.”

You purse your lips into a tight line and study his face for a moment longer, then take a fistful of his uniform jacket. With a sharp tug, you redirect him to the hallway to your left. He allows you to pull him with you, momentarily eased by the protein bar he was currently inhaling, wrapper and all.

“Where are we going?” he asks, cheeks full. You tug him to a particular row of lockers, and stop at your own.

“I was going to restock my stashes,” you offered by way of explanation as you turned the combination lock to open your locker, “but you must be miserable if you didn’t eat after second block.” His view of you is blocked momentarily as you swing the door open, and then you return, holding a large canvas grocery bag stuffed to the brim with snacks. As you hand it over, he realizes they’re all his favorites. “It’ll be of better use right now.”

“I can eat all of this?” Beel’s voice is cautious as he clutches the handle of the bag in his big hands, and you beam at him in response.

“Of course, bug. It was all for you at some point, anyways. Now, you can make up for your missed snacks earlier, and I can use it as an excuse to take you on a restock run after classes are over. Not to mention...” Your eyes twinkle with mischief as you pound a fist into your palm, “I can also chew out that custodian who complains about having to empty the trash more often next to your vending machines. I bet that little sucker was just being lazy, and I’m not letting him get away with messing with your schedule.”

Beel eagerly tucks in, charmed as always by your favorite nickname for him, and you shut the door to your locker. “Thank you, MC,” he says between bags of kettle-cooked Devildom snapping peas.

Your returning grin is positively sinister, veiled only barely by a charming sheen. You squeeze his bicep. “I’ll meet you after last block, and we’ll head to Hell Supermarket together, okay?”

Beel frowns, and swallows a piece of shadow hog jerky whole. “Don’t we have the same fourth block class today?”

You nod. “Yeah, but I have an exchange student meeting with DIavolo and Purgatory Hall today instead. I’ll make sure your vending machines get put back, and they add an extra one for good measure. There’s another protein bar taped under my usual desk in case you run out.”

Beel takes a pause from his snacks to lean down and kiss you, tasting of a strange combination of sweet and spicy, and leaving crumbs tumbling over your cheeks. “Thank you, MC,” he says again. “I love you.” You steal another peck to his cheek before he can rise back up to his full height and out of your reach.

“I love you too, bug. I’ll get today’s notes from Satan, so don’t worry about it. I’ll see you later.” He simply nods at you, and you part ways.

In the time he was in his fourth block Magical Potions class, you got his vending machines returned. True to your word, there was a third one at the end of the line when he stopped at them by force of habit after class. You brushed it off when he asked how you did it, but did mention how you noticed some demons seemed to have a very acute sense of self-preservation as you took his hand and started off in the direction of the supermarket.

#obey me #beel #obey me beel #obey me beelzebub #beelzebub #beel x reader #beelzebub x reader #beel x mc #obey me beel x reader #obey me beel x mc #om! beelzebub #obey me x reader

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atlasnessie · 2 months

Text

WHAT A WASTE OF A LOVELY NIGHT !! — series masterlist

SYNOPSIS — an aspiring actress finds a struggling jazz pianist. together, they fall in love while pursuing their dreams.

all chapters coming soon. comment to be tagged

tag list: @little-miss-chaoss @atzuhi @tsuunara @mxtcha26 @silverbladexyz @lovayle @juice1231 @cheriiyaya @daza-ii @yaekko

0.1 — THAT SOMEONE IN THE CROWD !! after a failed audition, your roommates invite you to a few parties to ease up your mind. with a towed car, you start to walk home, only to stop and a hear piano. a melody. captivated, you walk into a bar and, oh god, it’s the guy you flipped off earlier ..!!

0.2 — “GUESS ILL SEE YOU IN THE MOVIES.” your friend invites you to a pool party to lighten up the mood after, yet another, failed audition. how strange ! it’s the guy from the other day on the keys ! rescuing you from a overly talkative man, he walks you to your car. there’s not a spark in sight !!

0.3 — “‘M GONNA HAVE MY OWN CLUB.” the ginger visits your workplace, taking you to a stroll during your break. getting closer, you gotta clear the air. you hate jazz. chuuya won’t take this, no. he takes you to a jazz bar, to show it to you up close. but, hey now, don’t go making movie references without watching it. chuuya’ll take you out to watch a movie. for research, of course.

0.4 — “I HAVE AN IDEA ..” what number of failed auditions is this ..? no matter, the movie night with chuuya is tonight. wait, your boyfriend has dinner with his brother that had been planned a while ago. but you can’t sit there. excusing yourself, you run to the theater, the melody of pervious nights ago playing in the back of your mind.

more chaps will be added soon …

CAST INTRODUCTION !!

CHUUYA NAKAHARA “you can’t just request ‘i ran’ to a serious fuckin’ musician..!” a struggling jazz pianist. despite his charming looks, he wishes to spread his wings and keep the life of jazz alive.

[NAME] “i’ll say it now. i hate jazz.” a barista with dreams to end up on the big screen. until a call back, they’ll remain in the same routine.

#bungo stray dogs #bsd #bungo stray dogs x reader #bsd x reader #bungo stray dogs chuuya #bsd chuuya #chuuya nakahara #chuuya x reader #chuuya nakahara x reader #chuuya x you #atlas writes !

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daisies-daydreams · 11 months

Note

Heyyyyyyy, how are you?! Hope your doing great... LOVING YOUR WORK ❤️ Can you write 141+könig+alejandro+Keegan were they fight with the reader and she leaves the house, (just because she don't want to say things that she doesn't mean and break up any relationship with them, so she just go out to get fresh air and relax a bit) and meanwhile they get panic since been 2hr and your not home yet, sooo you know...... Please can you write, no hurry take your time 🥺❤️

Pairing: Multiple x F!Reader Category: Angst & Fluff (16+) Warnings: Swearing, Discussions of Sex (No Smut), Couples Fighting, Pregnancy, Discussions of Weight Gain Word Count: 2.7k+

A/N: Hello! I’m doing okay. I had some health issues recently, but I’m feeling a little better today. Thank you so much for your sweet comment and for your request! 🫶 (Believe it or not, I actually had to step away from a few conversation to avoid saying certain things, so I can definitely relate to this). I hope you enjoy!

MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DNI

König

“Hase, please! It was an honest mistake, I didn’t-“

“Oh, so you just ‘forgot’ that today was our anniversary?!” you shouted. Your makeup was trickling down your face as you bunched your dress in your hands. König sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.

“I’m sorry, I just-“

You suddenly sprang up from the couch and strode towards the front door. König was stunned as he watched you grab your car keys. You slammed the door shut and promptly drove away in your car. You drove around for quite some time, listening to music with the windows rolled down. Driving while you were flustered probably wasn’t the best idea, but you needed to get out of the house to clear your head.

After pulling into the driveway, you found all the lights in the house were turned off. Your brows knitted together as you stepped inside and set the keys on the table. You called out König’s name, only to find him sitting on the couch with his hands grabbing at his ginger locks. He looked up, tears running down his cheeks as you stood in front of him.

“Maus,” he breathed as his face softened. You shuffled in place awkwardly.

“I’m sorry, I just needed some space,” you explained. König sighed, his shoulders slumping in relief.

“I understand,” he replied. Your boyfriend patted the cushion next to him. You slowly came over and sat down. “Hase…I am so, so sorry I forgot our special day,” he apologized with a wavering voice. You remained still as silent tears streaked down his face. “There’s no excuse for it,” he sighed. You patted his back.

“I forgive you, großer Bär,” you said, your own tears now falling into your lap. König puffed out a breath of air as you rested your head against his shoulder.

“I want to take you out this weekend,” König suddenly said as he took your hand. You looked up at him as he gently smiled down at you. “We can do whatever you want-just name it and I’ll do whatever you'd like,” he said. You smiled and kissed him gently.

“Danke,” you replied.

Alejandro Vargas

“Mi amor, please! All I’m asking is for a little more time to be intimate,” Alejandro exasperated as you rubbed your temples.

“How can you ask me to be intimate with you when you’re always out there?!” you motion towards the bustling city. Alejandro took a deep breath.

“Cariño, I know you’re upset…but-“ you saw his fists clench and teeth grit. You raised a brow, hoping to every power that he wouldn’t say it. “But…I just feel like my needs aren’t being met,” Alejandro confessed. You felt your eyes become glossy and your face searing with frustration. You suddenly stepped out of the door, walking around the trails that twisted and turned near your house.

By the time you returned, it was almost dusk. The second you walked inside Alejandro rushed over and wrapped you in a tight hug.

“¡Mi vida! ¡Pensé que habías desaparecido!” Alejandro spoke frantically as he pulled you close to him. You blinked, overwhelmed with the sudden gesture before he pulled back from the bone-crushing hug.

“Lo siento, Ale. I just needed a little bit of time to clear my head,” you apologized while wringing your hands. Alejandro gave a tired smile.

“It’s okay. I was worried that you had gotten lost…or worse,” he confessed as his face lost some color. You shook your head.

“You can’t get rid of me that easily,” you joked. Alejandro gave a silent chuckle, his hands rubbing your sides gingerly.

“I’m sorry, cariño. I shouldn’t have just mentioned my own needs. You have your own as well, and I didn’t respect that. ¿Me perdonarás?” he asked as he gently caressed your waist. You smiled and nodded.

“Sí,” you replied. Alejandro’s grin grew wider before he pulled you into another hug. “How much more often did you want to have sex anyway?” you asked curiously.

“Oh, just three times a week rather than two,” he said. “Though it could be more if you’d like,” you felt him smirk against your shoulder as he pinched your butt. You pinched his arm in return.

“Well, we aren’t doing anything now…” you insinuated before biting your bottom lip and wiggling your hips. Alejandro smirked as he squeezed your waist tenderly.

“Traviesa,” he chuckled lowly into your ear.

Keegan P. Russ

“Keegan, you need to be here for us! I've done everything while you’re gone, and all you do nowadays is spend time in your office! You're never around for the boys and I!” you exclaim. Keegan didn’t remove his hand from his mouth as he took a deep breath.

“You’re just overreacting,” he suddenly muttered as he averted your gaze. Your eyes widened as your mouth snapped shut. You felt your fists tremble as you turned around. The door slammed behind you as you walked over to the lake near your house. You spent some time there, watching the small waves crest and geese fly over the water. Once your anger was quelled, you stood up and walked back to the house.

When you entered, you found Keegan playing Legos with your two young boys. He looked up and gave a tired grin.

“Mama!” your youngest son beamed as you walked to the table. You came over and kissed the top of your sons’ heads. “Mama, look! Daddy and I made a shark!” he said giddily as he held up a hodgepodge of blocks.

“That looks great, honey,” you smiled. Your eyes wandered over to your husband. He nodded before telling the boys to keep playing while the two of you had a talk. Both of you walked to your room. Your eyes widened when your husband pulled you into a spine-crushing embrace.

“Where the hell did you go?” he asked.

“Down to the lake. I just needed to take a break so I wouldn't say something I'd regret,” you admitted. He squeezed you tightly.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been spending as much time with you and the boys. This last mission…it fucked with my head more than I thought it would,” he said as his face grew pale. You cooed and cupped his cheek. “I-I can’t tell you what happened. I can’t tell anyone,” his voice broke as his body became heavy. You pulled him in close, whispering into his ear.

“It’s okay, hun. It’ll be okay,” you soothed as you rubbed his back while he silently cried on your shoulder.

John Price

“I don’t see why it’s such a big deal! He wasn’t touching me or anything,” you raised your hands in defense. John’s bushy brows punched together as his face turned red.

“You still didn’t reject his advances,” your husband scoffed, his voice low and gruff. You sighed and ran your hands through your hair. A man had tried to pick you up at the pub. While you were flattered, he was still persistent enough that you had to pause so you wouldn’t punch the man’s face. John happened to be watching this whole ordeal unfold, having arrived late due to a briefing that ran over.

You could feel the anger rising off of John like steam.

“If you were tired of being married to me then you should’ve just said so,” he snapped. You gasped at his words and stepped back. His facial expression loosened once he realized the words that came out of his mouth.

“(Y/N), I-"

Before he could finish, you were already out the door. You paced towards the local park, walking several laps around the trail before eventually taking a break on the bench. John’s words continued to sting at you, though you knew you couldn't avoid him forever. You sighed before rising off of the bench and walking home.

When you returned, you found the house completely empty. You started to panic at the thought of your husband leaving you when you saw his truck pull into the driveway. The front door swung open as John stood at the threshold. He wore a tired, solemn look as you rushed over to him.

“Where were you?” you asked. He sighed.

“Looking for you,” John replied. Regret instantly shot through your heart as your bottom lip shook. John hushed you as he closed the door and wrapped his arms around your trembling form.

“I’m so sorry,” you sniffed.

“No, I’m sorry, love. I let my jealousy blind me and I took it out on you,” he sighed. “Would you please forgive me?” he asked. You nodded. John sighed as he drew you into a tight hug.

“I love you, (Y/N),” he said as he kissed your forehead.

“I love you, too," you replied softly.

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

You hummed as you folded the last few towels from the clean laundry. Your boyfriend, Kyle, walked into your room after a meeting with the task force.

“Evening, love,” the man said as he pecked your cheek. He suddenly tossed his duffel bag onto the bed, spilling his dirty laundry over the clean set you just folded as he went to take a shower. Your smile quickly turned into a scowl. Kyle walked back in to grab a clean towel and saw your expression.

“Something wrong?” he asked. You gripped the towel in your hands as you tried to maintain your composure. Kyle looked you up and down. “Did I mess up your towels?” he continued. Your jaw clicked.

“It’s not about the towels, Kyle! It’s about you not always picking up after yourself!” you scoffed. Kyle's fists clenched.

“I've gotten better, haven't I?" he tried to reason. You sighed.

"Still, I feel like I do everything to clean up, only to find it messy the next day. It’s like you expect me to do everything around here!” you said. There was a brief pause.

"You’re worse than my mum. Why can’t you just get off my back?” he snapped. Your eyes widened and your nostrils flared. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes before you stomped out of the house without saying another word.

A few hours later, you returned home with a fresh mind. It felt good to get out and walk around to organize your thoughts. The second you walked inside, though, all you could hear silence. You rushed back into your room to find Kyle slumped over on the bed. His head perked up when you cautiously came towards him.

“Hey,” you simply said. His eyes looked a little red and glossed over. You sighed before taking a seat next to him.

“I thought you left,” Kyle said, his voice weak and strained. “I tried to call you a dozen times,” he frowned.

“I’m sorry, I just…I just didn’t want to say anything that would make you upset,” you told him. His eyes remained on his hands folded in his lap. You gasped as he suddenly pulled you into a tight hug.

“I’m sorry I’ve been such a lazy arsehole,” he murmured. You patted his back.

“It’s okay. I shouldn’t have blown up on you like that. It wasn’t fair that I put all of my frustration on you,” you replied. He pulled back to look into your eyes.

“I forgive you, hun,” he said. "I promise I’ll try to get better at cleaning. I’m in the bloody military-would’ve thought that’d translate into other areas of my life,” Gaz laughed quietly. You chuckled. The rest of the night was spent with the two of you finishing chores together.

Simon “Ghost” Riley

You clutched the pregnancy test in your hand. Two pink lines stared up at you. You swallowed a lump in your throat and turned, only to find your boyfriend standing in the doorway with wide eyes.

“Si,” you gasped. His gaze was locked on the test in your hand. You backed up slightly as he approached, his silence overwhelming.

“Were you going to tell me?” he asked. You tilted your head down to look at your feet.

“I-I don’t know,” you confess. Simon remained still as a statue. The two of you have discussed having children multiple times, and his answer was always the same. You knew his reasoning behind it, but you’d be lying if you said that every “no” broke your heart a little more.

“Simon, I know what you’ve said…but you also know I’ve been wanting kids for a long time,” your voice quivered.

“Well, I don’t,” he snapped back. A deep, caustic feeling began to rise within you as you gritted your teeth. You slammed the test onto the floor before brushing past him.

“(Y/N)!” he called, though not in an aggressive way. Tears streamed down your cheeks as you marched out the back door. You walked around the city for quite some time. Your hands were shoved in your pockets as you rounded each corner until eventually you came to a coffee shop. You drank some tea for a bit, the warm drink soothing you enough to collect your thoughts.

When you eventually made your way home and stepped back into your bedroom, you found Simon cradling the cracked test in his large, calloused hands. He looked over his shoulder, then back at his palms.

Despite his stoic face, you noticed how much his hands were shaking.

“I’m sorry I left. I just…I didn’t want to snap at you,” you explained. You gasped when he wrapped his arms around you.

“Don’t you ever scare me like that again,” Simon chastised. “I thought you left me,” his gruff voice cracked. You pulled back, keeping your hands on his shoulders.

“Never,” you said. His dark brown eyes were glossy as the test shook in his hands. You rubbed his back. “Simon, I know it’s scary, but I think you’d make a wonderful dad,” you smiled reassuringly. He swallowed thickly.

“How will I know that I won’t fuck it up like he did?” his hand gripped over test. You patted his upper back and kissed his cheek.

“You won’t because you’re not your father, Simon. You’re an incredible, strong and loving man. And I know you’re going to be a wonderful dad,” you replied with a subtle strength in your voice. A faint smile appeared on his weary face.

“Thank you, love,” he said.

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish

“I was just answering your question honestly!” Johnny guffawed. Your eyebrow twitched as you pinched the bridge of your nose.

“You’re not supposed to tell a woman she looks fat when she tries on a dress, Johnny!” you exasperated. His lips fell into a straight line. Bless his soul-Johnny was honest, but sometimes it went a little too far.

“So what if you’ve put on a little weight since I’ve gotten back?” he said dismissively. The chair suddenly slid out from underneath you as you made your way to the door.

“(Y/N), wait, I didn’t-“

You didn’t stay to let him finish. You stomped out into the hallway and walked down the stairs, crossing your arms as you strolled around the apartment and onto the street. Hot tears pricked at your eyes as you paced around the small town. Johnny wasn’t wrong: you had gained some weight while he was deployed for a few months. It was something you felt pretty insecure about, something you hoped he wouldn’t notice. So much for that expectation.

A scowl stretched across your face when a sudden downpour soaked you to the bone. You sighed as you trudged back to your apartment, your body feeling achy as you opened the door.

“Bonnie!” Johnny exclaimed as he rushed over to you. You stepped back and avoided his gaze. His frown deepened when he saw how red your eyes were. “(Y/N), I’m so sorry. I was being a daft prick and wasn’t thinking about what I was saying,” he apologized. You wrung your hands together as you slowly looked up. “Come on, let’s get you dried off,” he motioned inside and opened the door wider.

You sniffed as you walked in. Johnny rushed over to the linen closet and grabbed a towel. He smiled warmly as he wrapped the fabric around you, patting your arms once he was done. You suddenly broke down in tears and nuzzled your face into his shoulder. Your boyfriend pulled you into a tight embrace.

“Johnny, do you still think I’m beautiful?” you sniffed.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Johnny cooed as he rubbed your back. He kissed you on your lips and rested his forehead against yours. “You know the answer to that: I think you're drop-dead gorgeous,” he beamed. You cried even harder.

“I-It’s just, I was so afraid you wouldn’t love me the same since I’ve gained some weight,” you hiccupped. Johnny’s expression softened as he pulled back.

“(Y/N), I’ll always love you, no matter what shape or size you are,” he said as he tucked some wet hair behind your ear. Your heart warmed at his words. You suddenly leaned forward and kissed him sweetly. You squeaked when you felt him suddenly pick you up by your bum, carrying you towards the bedroom.

“What are you doing?” you gasped.

“Gonna prove my point to you,” he replied with a wink.

___

Thank you for reading! ❤️

Translations:

German

Hase - Bunny

Maus - Mouse

Großer Bär - Big Bear

Danke - Thank you

Spanish

Mi amor - My love

Cariño - Honey

¡Mi vida! ¡Pensé que habías desaparecido! - My life! I thought I lost you!

Lo siento - I'm sorry

¿Me perdonarás? - Will you forgive me?

Sí - Yes

Traviesa - Naughty

Tags: @notthatfanfictionwriter @mrswhitethornbelikov

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sw-33-ts-stuff · 1 year

Text

Mine

3rd Person POV (Camila Montes X Reader)

“Future wife 3 ‘o clock” your head snapped to the cafeteria doors the short girl with pink highlights dressed in her usual baggy pants and tight shirt. You felt your mouth begin to salivate the longer you stared.

Fingers snapped in front of your face as you were brought back to reality.

Your best friend laughing at you.

“Dude she’s way out of your league.”

You sucked your teeth pushing the boy away from you.

Camila Montes had been your friend since middle school, you weren’t exactly close but you lived two blocks away and she never seemed to mind your company whenever you were paired for projects.

“You’re just mad Megan rejected yo’ ole ugly ass…AGAIN!” JP shoved you this time making you fall out the seat. His cackling catching the attention from everyone near by including the girl you were just drooling over.

His sister Lily coming over to the two of you.

“Y’all are losers.” JP narrowed his eyes at his sister.

“Y tu eres mi hermana. Making you a loser too. Te quiero mucho.” He puckered his lips pressing a juicy kiss to her cheek making her groan in disgust. Hands wiping the excess saliva off aggressively.

“Hey Lil’.” The girl gave you a small smile and a wave.

“You guys going to Micah’s party tonight?” Your eyebrows furrowed as well as JP’s. Micah was a mutual friend but after she got

into cheerleading you guys had seen less and less of her.

“Wasn’t invited.” You shrugged as you looked down at the lunch tray.

Big Mac, the wide receiver for your schools football team, ran up to you grabbing you in a hug.

“What up Y/N? JP? Lily?” He winked at the girl in glasses making you and JP glance to each other in amusement. She scoffed walking away as Mac watched her ass.

“I hate to watch her leave but I love to see her go.” He whistled.

“Bro!” JP hit his chest making the boy rub himself in attempt to soothe the sting,

“Sorry man but your sister is fine and thick. And you know those are two things Big Mac loves.” You laughed lightly.

“Anyway y’all coming to the party tonight?” You threw your hands up in exasperation.

“Who doesn’t know about this fucking party?!” Chris popped up behind you and just as he did your hand smacked his face.

“Fuck! What did you do that for?” He whined as he bought his shirt to his nose as if he were bleeding.

You rolled your eyes. Big Mac just clapped his heavy hand on your shoulder.

“I’ll grab you first at 8 then we’ll grab some food while JPs working when he gets off we’ll head out together.” You nod as he heads back over to his team.

Loud music, heavy smoke and the smell of liquor invading your senses the minute you stepped foot in Micah’s house. The familiar structure feeling foreign as you’d realized just how long it had been since you’d been over.

A small hand clamped on your shoulder breaking you from your thoughts.

“Hey,” the house owner spoke in your ear. “You made it.”

You looked at her confused and somewhat irritated. “Wasn’t aware you were expecting me when you didn’t even invite me.”

She looked to the ground biting her lip in guilt.

From the top of the stairs brown eyes watched curiously at the exchange. You weren’t happy with the red haired girl in front of you, it was obvious however the ginger bitch kept trying to get your attention by touching. With a quick tilt of her head the girl drank the rest of her Hunch Punch and slid down the post landing next to you,

“Hey Y/N/N.” You turned starstruck at seeing Camila not only was she beautiful but she looked happy to see you. You gave her a small smirk.

“Hey Mimi.” Her eyes narrowed annoyed that you said that nickname in front of the ginger bitch.

“Wanna go smoke?” The both of you dismissing Micah as you went out back by the pool.

You both sat by the pool passing the joint back and forth.

“Didn’t take you for the partying type.” She broke the silence.

You shrug. “JP’s trynna get laid and Big Mac doesn’t like me being home alone.”

She hummed eyeing you for a second. “So what’s going on between you and the cheerleader?”

“Micah?” You scoffed. “Beats me she’s the one who decided she was too cool to hang out with us.”

The shorter girl laughed. “Wow. You really don’t see it.”

You glance at her taking a hit a harsh cough following. “See what?” You choked out.

Camila took another hit holding the smoke in as she grabbed your cheeks turning your face to her and blowing it out.

“Ginger bitch wants you.” You got lost in the smoke before you realized what she said.

“Nah her and JP were a thing up until two months ago.”

“What if she didn’t want JP?”

You grew quiet as Camila started kicking her shoes off, jeans following after. You kept watching until she was in nothing but her bra and panties. She looked over her shoulder smirking.

“You coming?” You stripped quickly almost falling over. The smaller girl giggled before she ran, curling into a ball and jumping in the water. Her hair sticking to her as she came back up.

You tried taking a more cautious approach dipping a foot in to test the temperature but Camila grabbed your leg dragging you in.

You came up sputtering and cold as she laughed at you.

You splashed water at her.

“Fuck you.”

“Right now?” Your head whipped towards her at her suggestive tone. You stared as she swam closer to you, her usual smirk gone as her small hands went to grasp your shoulders. Your head leaned down a bit to meet her lips halfway.

“Mind if we join?” Camila turned to glare at the audience as you both found JP, Micah, and Big Mac watching the two of you.

Camila and Micah kept staring at each other as the boys went to get in the pool. Big Mac pulling you to the side whispering.

“You and Camila?” He hit you. “My dawg got game.” You looked over to see her eyes still locked in with Micah’s. You placed your hands on her waist breaking her trance. She looked to you brown eyes shining in the moonlight. The usually hard exterior nonexistent the longer you stared.

A shaky breath left her as your thumb started stroking her hip bone. Micah glared over your shoulder as Camila put one hand on the nape of your neck. Her eyes staring into yours before moving to your lips.

Soft, full lips pressed into yours gentle at first but quickly becoming more passionate and hungry.

You vaguely remember hearing hollering from your friends but your focus was on the small girl in front of you.

The faint taste of cherries on her lips making you groan. Her legs wrapped around your waist as her arms snaked around your neck. She pulled away for a moment taking you in your dazed state. Lips still slightly puckered, eyes dropping half open, it made her smile. Not her usual smirk but a genuine grin.

She’d glanced over your shoulder to see a seething red head watching intently. Her middle finger sticking up at the popular girl. She leaned in again grabbing your neck and making sure her eyes were looking at the girl as she kissed you. This time her lips were possessive, harsh, yet you found yourself unable to get enough.

Mine.

Taglist: @alexkolax

#jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #wlw post #camila montes #camila montes x reader #camila montes imagine #american carnage

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quibbs126 · 1 month

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So I made more Cookie Run human designs, featuring the Cookies of Darkness

I originally started doing this months ago with White Lily, but I never got around to doing more until this week. I had drawn Pure Vanilla and Golden Cheese, but then I got really worried that my designs were wrong and I had taken too many liberties, so I shelved them for now and did these guys instead. In which I took far less liberties I think

Honestly I feel like Licorice was my best one. He was also the first I did, which might not bode well. I guess I ran out of juice too quickly

I’d argue that Matcha’s my worst, I really didn’t know what to do with her. Tragic since she’s like my favorite of the characters

I also don’t entirely know how her hair works, so I wasn’t sure how to draw it. In my head she has a really loose bun, and the bottom parts are her hair falling out of it. I also wasn’t sure what color to make her hair. Originally it was ginger, but then I considered changing it to dirty blonde, and after asking this was the result I got. Also her horns are supposed to be hair clips, not real

Red Velvet’s weird eye is supposed to be a glass eye. I couldn’t decide between bloodshot or glass eye, and when I asked I was told that the red could still work as a glass eye, so I reworked it to look “glassy”

I feel like I could have given Poison Mushroom at least some sort of hat. And as I’m typing, freckles. Maybe I’ll add those in later

Edit: I added the freckles

Also side note but it was frustrating not giving anyone something on their face, like a mole or beauty mark or just freckles. And it’s more frustrating because most characters don’t have freckles or anything like that. Might be an opportunity for liberties

I also really only wanted to draw the first 5, but I had another row left, so I filled it with Butter Roll, Affogato and Choco Werehound Brute. Dark Enchantress was going to be drawn but I couldn’t figure out her eyes

With Butter Roll I tried to convey that he has darker roots. Don’t know how good it looks though

Affogato’s white streaks are just supposed to be dye. He seems like the type to dye his hair, though I’m not sure if he’d dye it white. Purple maybe

Choco Werehound Brute I feel like I didn’t give enough facial hair. Also I swear I’ve seen a character who looks like him before. Like in some show or just a character someone made, he looks so familiar to me

But yeah, I think that’s about it for them. Don’t know who to draw next, the other Ancients and such are for another time, so just random characters. I actually think before I started drawing these guys I was considering the Juice Bar Regulars? And company, aka Alchemist and Cocoa. Maybe I’ll draw them next, who knows

#cookie run #cookie run kingdom #licorice cookie #poison mushroom cookie #pomegrante cookie #red velvet cookie #matcha cookie #butter roll cookie #affogato cookie #choco werehound brute #cookies of darkness #my art #human cookies

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lavbloom · 1 month

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spilled ink

sakusa kiyoomi x reader

you've spent the past few months mentally preparing to get the tattoo that means so much to you, conquering your intense fear of needles, and thankfully it'll be your bubbly bestie shouyo giving you this tattoo . . . right?

18+ (seriously please), banter city, grumpy-but-blushing kiyoomi & disaster-sunshine reader, fluff and semi hurt/comfort, mentions of needles/fear of them, allusions to sex (smut in later chapters)

a/n: so that sakusa x reader post i made over a year ago . . . not 3.5k. more than that. definitely more. anyway, here is chapter one of three ish??? much love, lav 💜💜

You catch the slight tremor in your hand once it’s on the door handle and give it a firm shake, as though you can wiggle the nerves right out of your body. This is fine, you force yourself to think as you push open the shop door. Everything is going exactly as planned. You’re on time for the appointment, Alisa is going to pick you up afterwards to get takeout and fall asleep watching movies on her couch, and Shouyo is going to be as kind and supportive as ever.

You can do this.

Inside, Black Jackal Tattoo & Piercing is quieter than the busy street outside, and the bustle of the sidewalk is swept away as the door closes behind you. The only sound is the click of a keyboard, the squeak of your shoes on the tiled floor, and a distant shrill sound that comes and goes as you make your way to the desk.

A head of ginger hair shoots up from behind the desk, fluffy like a dandelion head, and you manage some small relief when Shouyo grins at you from where he’s abandoned whatever paperwork he was typing up on the shop’s computer.

“You’re here!” He comes rushing out from behind the desk to hug you - Shouyo Hinata has always been, for better or worse, a hugger - and you let him bounce around you for a moment while he does his eager-puppy routine. “Alisa said you were so nervous you almost puked last night, so I didn’t know if you’d show!”

“Of course I was gonna show,” you say with a wobbly laugh, fighting down the urge to actually puke all over Shouyo’s shoes. “You went through all the trouble of getting me a slot between your appointments, it’s the least I could do.”

“Yeah,” Shouyo says, bright smile suddenly dimming and hand scratching the back of his neck. “For sure.” There’s a long pause while he watches you watch him, and you can already feel that bile rising -

“I can’t, um, actually do your appointment.”

“What the hell, dude?!”

“Ow!” Shouyo grimaces, rubbing his shoulder, but you think he’s just being dramatic - you didn’t whack him that hard. “Rude! It wasn’t my idea, okay, but Atsumu called in sick -”

“Naturally.”

“- and I’m the only one whose slots will cover his afternoon appointment. It’s, like, this super big addition to some guy’s sleeve, and everyone else has appointments by four. It’s an emergency!”

You sigh through your nose, arms crossed tight over your chest as Shouyo pleads for you to understand. The tremble has returned to your hands, you notice, and you hope keeping them pressed under your arms hides the worst of it.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N, I really thought I could help -”

“Sho, it’s fine, I’ll just - I’ll come back another day.”

“I mean, you can still do it. I actually, um, wouldn’t recommend skipping the appointment now,” he adds, mouth twisting in thought, “Sakusa would be pissed. He kinda hates having people make last minute cancellations like that.”

The name has you grimacing, and Shouyo definitely catches the recognition in your eyes, if his wince is anything to go by. A mental image of dark, piercing eyes and a permanent scowl flash through your head, and you let out a quiet sigh.

Shouyo continues, “He’s, like, a total stickler for a schedule - not like Kita, but also not somebody you wanna piss off.”

“So . . . you’re saying I still have an appointment?”

“Yeah!”

“With a total stranger? Who’s an asshole?”

“Well, I mean . . . kind of?” Shouyo scrunches his face up, considering, and then nods again. “Yeah, pretty much.”

“And why would I want to not only not have my friend with me,” you say, making Shouyo whine another apology, “but switch to having some random asshole coworker of his stab tiny needles into me instead?”

“Y/N -”

“Because,” a low voice from the corner of the room says, “he isn’t some random asshole coworker of Hinata’s, but a competent and professional asshole coworker?”

The voice sends a chill down your spine that has nothing to do with the shop’s impressively strong air conditioning. You know you’re going to have to turn around now, but your feet seem to move in slow motion, heart hammering as your eyes meet a dark glare from across the room.

Sakusa, a.k.a. Shouyo’s competent and professional asshole coworker, is immediately too tall and too grouchy to be anything but intimidating. You can’t even gauge how tall he might be from across the room because you’re too busy trying not to stare directly into that deeply-etched frown, his brow furrowed so intently that you think the muscles might just freeze in that spot forever. He’s got his arms crossed, too, but you’re not sure what reason he has to be that guarded; after all, you’ll be the one being stabbed.

You’ve at least confirmed why the name Sakusa sounded so familiar: this is the same Sakusa you met when Shouyo was first brought on at Black Jackal, stiff and frowning back then, too. You remember the glare he sent you and Shouyo from above his black face mask, hovering by the door of his little studio room, itching to dart back inside and close the door behind him.

You also remember the delicate curl of the ivy on his shoulder, revealed by his sleeveless black shirt, trailing down the lightly freckled skin of his bicep. You remember the tilt of his head as he studied you up and down, the slight pinch of his brow as he crossed his arms, the feeling of his stare on the back of your head as you said hello to Atsumu and Bokuto. You remember the lingering coldness as he closed his studio door, like a chill wind sweeping through the hallway in his wake, something elemental about his presence.

Shit.

“I take it this is your friend,” Sakusa says, nodding in your direction as he turns back to Shouyo, like you’re not even in the room anymore - this just gets better and better. The idea of putting yourself in this guy’s hands for the next forty five minutes is making your insides twist around on themselves, and you can’t tell if it’s from anxiety or the prospect of being alone in his studio, as Alisa would probably say with a silly wink. “I thought you meant Yachi.”

“No, Yachi’s not - I mean, she wouldn’t really get a tattoo. This is Y/N.” Shouyo explains, although Sakusa’s face remains impassive. “I mean, I know this is last minute -”

“It’s fine.”

Clearly, it’s not. He’s glowering as though you’ve done him a personal slight by scheduling yourself on the day that Miya got sick; he’s got his hands shoved into the pockets of his black cargo pants now as he shifts off of the wall, but you’re sure they’re clenched.

“Seriously, Hinata,” Sakusa continues, lifting one shoulder in a deeply disgruntled shrug. “I don’t care. Just wish Miya had thought to get his fucking flu shot when I told him to, idiot.”

“Yeah,” Shouyo tries for a laugh, but he’s never been much of a liar. “Anyway, Y/N’s pretty nervous, so maybe they can just come back another day? I thought -”

“I looked at your design,” Sakusa interrupts, gaze locking with yours again. It’s intense, holding you in place while he speaks. “It’ll only take about thirty minutes, if that. Do you seriously need Hinata to do it? Because if you’re just going to cancel, I could’ve come in when I was supposed to.”

You press your lips together, trying to fish for a way to get out of this appointment - and trying to figure out if you even want to. Your stomach is still churning with nerves, that’s for sure, but the way Sakusa is watching you, pinning you in place with just his gaze as you scramble for an answer, is something you had only let yourself think about the night after you’d met him, assuming you’d hardly see Shouyo’s distant and rude coworker again.

“I . . .”

“Y/N, you can cancel.” Shouyo is also a bad whisperer - subtlety in general was never his strong suit. But he’s giving you a way out, probably having to deal with Sakusa after your hasty retreat, so you only feel a rush of gratitude as he offers you a smile. “It’s no big deal, no matter what this grinch has to say about it.” He hooks a thumb in his coworker’s direction, still giving you that knowing smile.

Sakusa sputters for a moment, the most human thing you’ve ever seen him do. “I’m not - Hinata, shut up.”

You can’t help it - you snort. There’s something about indignance on Sakusa’s face that is too funny not to get to you, and you only laugh more when he shoots you a sharp glare. He’s intimidating, sure, but if Shouyo can get under his skin, then he’s more than fallible.

You take a deep breath, sighing through your nose as you shrug. “It’s fine. I wouldn’t want to have wasted anyone’s time.”

Your gaze tilts to Sakusa, whose frown has finally smoothed into something resembling cordiality. “Is now okay to start? I wanna get this over with.”

Black Jackal is an odd maze of little hallways and dead ends, and you shuffle just behind Sakusa, trailing after him like a kid scared of getting lost in a mall.

“You know,” he says over his shoulder once you reach the back of the shop. “Tattoos are usually optional.”

“Yeah? And?”

“Well, you keep talking about this one like you don’t have a choice in the matter.”

The door of his studio is plain, save for a small sign that reads his name - Sakusa Kiyoomi, you read - and a little frowny face etched into the wood.

“Is that the kind of artistry I should be expecting?” You ask, reaching past him to tap on the carving, and Sakusa rolls his eyes.

“Fuckin’ Miya,” he mutters, and you nod in understanding.

“Ruffians,” you say, nodding sagely. “They’ll graffiti anything nowadays, nothing is safe.”

You think you see the ghost of a smile on his mouth as Sakusa lets you inside, following and closing the door behind both of you.

The inside isn’t nearly as plain as you’d suspected. The walls, a cool dove gray, are papered over with designs and photos, magazine spreads carefully tacked up alongside rough sketches and inked canvas, everything with its own place in the sprawling inspiration board that seems to be Sakusa’s studio. His supply cart is neat but plentiful, coloured ink shining under soft lights in a rainbow of options, and there’s a half finished takeout coffee and bagel on the small desk in the corner, clearly his effort at breakfast while he set up for the day.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Sakusa says from behind you, and you turn on your heel to face him. He’s got his arms crossed - again, oh my god - and even through his dark green pullover, his shoulders look ridiculously touchable. Meant to be grabbed, really, used as an anchor to pull yourself up and -

“Why are you acting like you’re being forced to get this tattoo?” His face scrunches slightly in displeasure. “You didn’t lose a bet or anything like that, right?”

“No!” You feel your face heat up, thinking about the insinuations, and remembering that he’s seen the design. You can’t help but let your gaze lower, dropping to rest on his shiny black docs. “It’s not like that at all. I just . . . I’ve been thinking about doing this for a long time, and Shoyou went through all the trouble to help me design it, but I . . .”

And here it comes, the lamest, most pathetic part of this whole ordeal. You swallow the nerves bundled in the back of your throat, clearing the way for your confession. It comes out quiet and sharp.

“I’m just really fucking scared of needles, alright? They freak me out, and this is a thousand of them going into me over a long period of time, and - and it’s freaky and fucked up, okay?”

You’re expecting Sakusa’s coldness, a scoff or an eye roll - hell, given his attitude so far, even a request not to waste his time. What you aren’t expecting is the undignified snort he lets out.

His mouth is pressed tight when your eyes dart back up to his face, like he’s holding in another little laugh, and his brows are raised, a little disbelieving.

“Don’t laugh at me, god!”

“I’m not.” Sakusa’s frown is morphing slowly into something resembling a smile, which rests in the apples of his cheeks more than his mouth, lifting his face until the gloom that hovered over him is evaporating. “It’s just that that’s so normal, and you’re so embarrassed . . . you really don’t have to be.” He snorts again, and you scowl. “No wonder you’re friends with Hinata, you’re just as fuckin’ dramatic.”

“Shut up,” you snap, but Sakusa’s halfway-smile is warming the chill in the studio too well for you to be annoyed. You find your shoulders relaxing a bit as he moves to his desk, taking a sip of his coffee while he rifles through some papers stacked neatly between binders. You take a seat on the rolling stool he nods to, waiting next to the desk for him to find what he needs; you try not to notice how he looms above you, but it’s difficult when you have a front-row seat to his broad hands shuffling around his papers.

“A lot of people get scared, especially once they actually get here and see the machine and everything,” he shrugs, handing you a few of the papers. Consent forms and the like, you realize as you scan the top one. Sakusa has a pen held out for you before you can even ask. “It’s not weird. I mean, you’re letting some random asshole stab tiny needles into you, right?”

You can’t help the cringe that passes over your face, and though he doesn’t laugh again, you can see the teasing glimmering in his eyes. “Sorry about . . . that.”

“It’s fine, I’ve been called worse.” He drums his fingertips on the desk, and the nervousness of the gesture warms you even further. The studio is thawing like a fresh spring day after a storm, and you find yourself breathing a bit deeper as you slowly fill out the paperwork. “Meian sometimes warns people ahead of time that I’m a bit blunt.”

“Blunt?” You echo him without meaning to, distracted by the process of the paperwork and easing ever so slightly under his teasing.

“Okay, he warns people that I’m a dick,” Sakusa says, and the rueful note in his voice catches your attention and draws you away from the form in your hand. “No filter, or whatever.”

“Oh, come on,” you say, tapping the pen on your thigh, squinting at him in your own turn of disbelief. “You’ve gotta know how scary you are when you walk around all mean and grouchy like that. You’re, like, seven foot fourteen and dressed like a bouncer at a goth rave, you can’t also be an asshole, you’re intimidating enough as it is!”

You really need to learn when to keep your mouth shut, you think, because Sakusa’s face drops, brow suddenly knitted tight again as he stares you down, and you’re reminded of how right you are about how intimidating he is when he glares like that.

“Do I really dress like I’m at a goth rave?”

“. . . what?”

“Do I,” he repeats slowly, “dress like I’m at a goth rave?”

And then you see it: the smallest twitch of his cheek, and your horror turns to annoyance in two seconds flat. “Maybe you do.”

“Hm. Seems a bit uncalled for.”

“Seems like you just proved my point exactly, actually,” you shoot back, holding out the paperwork for him to take. “And I didn’t say you were at a goth rave, I said you dress like a bouncer at one. You know, like you’re there to be all serious and break up fights and shit.”

“You’ve got a lot of experience with goth raves?” Sakusa asks as he files the paperwork away in a drawer and reaches across the desk to get a pump of hand sanitizer. The sterile smell permeates the small space, and you feel your insides twist, hands clutching the seat of the stool tight.

“No, I just -” you pause, searching for the words while trying not to throw up in Sakusa’s studio. He might be warming up now, but you doubt he’d love that. “I don’t know.” You made me nervous doesn’t feel like a great explanation, not with the next thirty minutes of being in his personal space about to begin.

He studies you for a long moment before jerking his chin, motioning for you to stand. “First, you’re going to sit there -” he points to the soft, leather chair that takes up so much space in the little studio, “and you’re also going to calm down for a minute, because I will cancel this appointment for you if you get sick in here.”

“Knew it,” you mumble, mostly to yourself, as you pull yourself up onto the table, the material soft and smooth beneath your bare thighs. Your legs swing off of it and you feel so exposed, though you haven’t changed your position much; you press your thighs together anyway, keeping your hands in your lap as though to cover up.

“Knew what?” Sakusa is rummaging around in his desk drawer again, and you move your gaze to the designs on the far wall. It’s a delicate series of ocean waves and marine life, and the broad expanse of coral reef you’re looking at is a bit better than looking at any of the equipment.

“Knew you’d hate puke,” you say lightly, trying for nonchalance and managing only to sound like you’re being strangled from the inside out. “You have the vibe.”

“Are there people who like it?”

“I mean, everyone’s got their own thing -”

“No, stop. No talking about that in here.”

You clamp your mouth shut, and don’t move a muscle until you feel something fuzzy on the back of your hand. When you look down, startled, a palm-sized ferret plush is sitting next to your hand on the table.

“What the fuck is that?”

Sakusa is glaring when you look back up at him, but there’s no real venom to it, so you only notice how the scowl makes his eyelashes stand out more, soft and shadowed beneath his pinched brow. Well, fuck.

“I’m not the best at - at being . . .”

“Nice?” You supply helpfully.

“. . . Comforting.” He purses his lips, and you try not to pay too much attention to them. “Bokuto got him for me to use when I started, so that he can make people feel better when I . . . don’t.”

“A ferret?” You ask, prying your fingers from the hem of your skirt to pick the critter up, holding him carefully in your lap.

“A weasel, actually,” Sakusa says, still scowling. “His name is Itachi.”

“Why does his tag say Omi-Omi, then?” You ask, pinching the fabric between your fingers and squinting at the messy handwriting.

“Because Atsumu fucking sucks.”

It surprises a laugh out of you, though a bit shaky, and Sakusa’s scowl eases back into that glimmering, knowing look, not quite a smile but on its way there. You press the weasel against your stomach, hoping to relax the knots it’s tied itself into, and look to Sakusa for direction.

“So, before we do anything - you’re absolutely sure you aren’t gonna throw up?”

“Promise.”

“Good,” and you try so hard not to notice how nice that sounds in Sakusa’s low, quiet voice. God, what is wrong with you? At this point you’re sure Alisa will see right through you when she comes to pick you up and finds you this . . . unsettled. You squish Itachi a bit tighter to ground yourself. “Then I’m going to ask you where you want this thing.” He holds up a piece of paper, Shoyou’s design splashed across it.

You tap your inner bicep, just above your elbow, and this time Sakusa manages a lopsided smile.

“Did you do your research for the least intense places to get one?”

Face burning, you give him an embarrassed nod, though you can’t tell if the problem is him catching you out so easily or the appearance of the very first smile you’ve ever seen Sakusa Kiyoomi wear.

“I like to be prepared,” you add with a huff, and he only seems to fight off another smile while tugging on a pair of black nitrile gloves.

“I’m sure you do.” And why the fuck does that line make your face even warmer? “Here - is it alright if I touch you?”

The gloves are smooth and impersonal as he guides your arm out, positioning it at a good clear angle to work on, and the disinfectant he sprays on the spot is cold enough to make you jump.

“Sorry,” he mutters, and you try to shrug it off without moving your arm too much. Your stomach is starting to feel wobbly again, and it gives a sudden lurch when Sakusa tugs his work trolley closer to him and pins Shoyou’s design to the side of it for reference, his fingertips starting to skim over the spread of inks available.

“You’re shaking, by the way,” he says, selecting a jet black ink that you can’t tell the difference from the others, rolling the glass between his fingers as he looks up at you from his seat. “You promised you wouldn’t throw up.”

“And I’m keeping my promise,” you grit out, nearly strangling Itachi in your iron grasp. “I’m not gonna throw up.”

“Even if I believed that - which I don’t know that I do,” you manage a scowl, though it’s aimed at the floor, “- I can’t exactly do my job on someone who’s shaking like a leaf.”

“I’m not,” you argue.

Sakusa slowly lifts your hand, and you both watch a shiver run through it. His hand is warm even through the glove, his grip soft on your inner wrist. Your face pinches in defeat and Sakusa just lets out a small sigh through his nose.

“Look, I don’t really do these kinds of appointments.”

“These kinds?” You echo, tilting your head in confusion, before you slowly nod. “Right, you’re part of the back of house escort service, I forgot. Would it be better if I undressed a little? Make you more comfortable?”

The baby pink flush this gives Sakusa is so stark of a change that it startles you, and you think the joke was worth your own burning embarrassment at making it. He clears his throat, brow furrowed, but you can clearly see the blush that warms his cheeks, and the uncertain twitch of his mouth, like his brain can’t decide whether to smile or frown.

“If you’re done interrupting me,” he says, “I meant nervous clients. Meian knows not to bother booking them with me, because it’s - well, it hasn’t gone that well in the past.”

And you already know this. Shouyo has explained his coworker’s early mishaps while starting at Black Jackal, including the delightful incident where someone did puke in Sakusa’s studio and he had to send them off to Bokuto while he cleaned it top to bottom. His reputation is exactly why Shouyo’s news sent you into a panic: his image in your mind was a looming, scowling asshole who barely spoke two words to you at every visit you’d ever paid your best friend at work (which was too many to count, thanks to Shouyo’s insistence on forgetting things at home.)

“I’ve heard,” is all you say, and Sakusa’s lips purse. He probably knows exactly what you’ve heard.

“I don’t know how to . . . make people calm down.” He releases your hand and it drops back down to the worn leather; the absence of his touch is cold, and you miss it immediately. “And I’m guessing me just telling you not to freak out hasn’t been helping?”

“How did you know?” You ask, voice flattened by the weight of your sarcasm. Sakusa manages another of his ghost smiles, but it fades from his eyes as he takes you in again. From the way he’s watching you, you must look as terrible as you feel right now.

“Look,” you start, steadying yourself with a small, uneven breath. “I want this tattoo, you don’t want to cancel this appointment, so it seems like the best thing is for us to just - just commit to the bit, you know? So just distract me and it’ll be fine.”

“Distract you?” This suggestion seems to strike Sakusa like an electric charge, jolting him into another startling blush, brow furrowed in frustration. “With what?”

You swallow a nervous laugh, eyeing his panic like a house cat eyes their pretend prey, and say, “You could take your shirt off or something,” because you’ve completely lost your mind and you want to draw that blush out of him as much as you can. It might be the only distraction you need.

Sakusa’s face goes bubblegum pink, from his forehead to his - remarkably sharp and pretty - jawline, and something about it makes his eyes even more piercing. He just stares at you as you cackle, your nerves making the laughter bubble up in your stomach like a shaken bottle of sparkling wine.

“I’m kidding, I swear,” you laugh, face warm and insides fizzing with a wild cocktail of anxiety and helpless endearment. “You can just, you know, talk at me or something. That’s usually how I get through shots and stuff.”

“Oh? This is a recurring issue?” Sakusa is still a little pink as he reaches for his supplies, but reaches out a gloved hand and gently turns your head to face the opposite wall when you look over. “Don’t look, idiot, just stare at the art or something.”

“Okay,” you nod, a bit breathless even when he finally releases your jaw. You train your gaze on the wave designs you noticed earlier, the detailed strokes a good visual distraction. “Yeah, I don’t like needles, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Sakusa echoes, voice flat. You’re trying to picture his expression, and when you chance a glance you see you nailed it: the scowl and single quirked eyebrow combo he’s used three different times on you today.

“Yeah, obviously. I know it’s not uncommon, but it’s still, like, embarrassing, you know?” Your fingers twist into Itachi the Weasel’s soft fur. “It’s like a little kid phobia.”

Sakusa just hums, barely audible, as he wipes a cold towelette across your inner arm, and you suppress a shiver.

“It’s not that embarrassing,” he says finally, though his words are a bit distant, out of focus, as he concentrates on whatever he’s rifling around with on his cart of supplies. They clink gently as he works, the only sound in the room aside from his quiet murmurs. “You’re doing pretty well. I appreciate that you still haven’t puked.”

“And I’m not going to,” you insist, pulling a quiet laugh from him.

“I would hope not.” His gloved hands are back on your arm, repositioning you slightly and then tracing something cool and soft along the skin. When you look down, he’s outlining the design; his movements are so delicate it’s as if he’s pushed all the concentration in his body to his hand. “Not when I’m being so nice, anyway. Now,” he reaches up with his free hand, tilts your chin up and guides your gaze back to the wall of art, “stop looking.”

You laugh, your stomach fluttering. “But what if you do it bad? I need to see the tracing!”

When Sakusa’s hand stills for a long moment and he goes quiet, you risk a look back down and see him glaring up at you, though his mouth is twisting away from a smile.

“I don’t know if you’ve heard,” he says quietly, leaning ever so slightly closer to you, coaxing you to lean forward and meet him, “but I’m really fucking good at what I do.”

And you don’t mean to say it, you really don’t, but the muttered, “Oh, I bet you are,” just slips out. Sakusa really walked into it, if you think about it.

And he responds with another deep pink blush, giving a slight cough as he leans back, eyes now glued to your arm as he reaches to continue the design. He nudges your chin up again with his knuckles before he gets back to work.

The studio is quiet after that, the pair of you letting the tension brew as Sakusa finishes the small tracing and starts sifting through his supplies again.

“Okay,” he breaks the silence, and there’s a note of concern that wasn’t in his voice before. “I’m going to get started now, but I think you should take a second to breathe. If you start hyperventilating,” he adds sternly, “I will not do this tattoo.”

“I won’t hyperventilate,” you assure him, sounding much more confident than your shaky lungs feel.

“You’ll be fine,” Sakusa concludes, and he seems to realize how much of a non-comfort this is, because he knocks his elbow against Itachi, where he’s pressed to your stomach. “Remember to squeeze the living shit out of him, alright? He won’t mind - I think.”

It’s only when that gets a smile out of you that Sakusa continues, and your head turns instinctively when he lifts something from the cart.

“Eyes on the wall,” he says without even looking up at you, fiddling with the tattoo gun in his hands. You obey, eyes shooting back to the wave designs, trying to trace the patterns instead of thinking about any impending stabbing. “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” and it comes out as more exhale than speech, but you are managing to get your breathing under control.

“I’m going to turn it on now, but -”

The moment the mechanism buzzes to life, you flinch so hard that you almost drop Itachi, and Sakusa gives a little sigh through his nose.

“- I won’t use it yet, because I figured you’d do that.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” you mutter, struggling to put up a teasing glare so he knows you’re joking. Sakusa’s dark eyes are narrowed in thought when you look over at him, averting your eyes from the tattoo gun in his hands.

“Are you done shaking now?” His fingertips graze your inner wrist, glancing down to study your arm like he’s looking for more tremors. “Because I genuinely can’t do this if you’re moving around, you know.”

“I know,” you say, a bit breathless at the contact as Sakusa’s hand travels up to rest on the crook of your elbow, steadying your arm. He’s still not looking at you, but you think he can probably feel your eyes on him. “. . . It’s fine. I’ll be fine.”

“The design is small, so it won’t take too long.” He presses on the skin of your inner bicep, shoulders hunching as he moves to get started. “Just say something if you need to take a break.”

You let out a shaky laugh. “And you say you’re bad with nervous clients.”

A beat of silence, broken by Sakusa clearing his throat. “Just repeating the stuff Bokuto always says.”

You give a sharp gasp when the needle finally touches your skin, the sting sudden and swift, and Sakusa doesn’t look up from where he’s carefully inking your skin when he says, “Yeah, it’s not pleasant.”

“I mean, I figured, but what the hell!” You hiss, face scrunching in displeasure. You suppress a shudder that tries to run through your body as he lifts the needle and then returns it to your skin.

“Eyes on the wall, Y/N,” he says, and your gaze moves before you realize you’re following his direction. When had you looked back down at him? “You don’t wanna watch me stab you.”

“I said I was sorry about that,” you mutter, and Sakusa just exhales the ghost of a laugh as he continues.

It’s not unbearable, the pain small but constant, and you focus on the feeling of Sakusa’s hands on you to distract yourself - whether this is really a good plan has yet to be decided. At least it steadies you, his grip sure as he works, and you wonder for a split second how this would be going with someone like Shouyo. You’ve seen your best friend give tattoos before, but the feeling of his distractible, fluttering hands on your arm seems like miles away from the solid reassurance in Sakusa’s hands. There’s something about his concentration, the small pinch returning to his brow whenever you flicker your gaze to him, and the warmth of his broad hands that has your stomach fluttering while your pounding heart eases slightly.

Maybe this mishap wasn’t the worst possible outcome.

“Nearly halfway,” Sakusa murmurs, and you catch it in surprise just over the buzz of the machine.

“Already?” You’re so focused on the feeling of Sakusa holding you that you didn’t even notice ten minutes flick by.

“Yeah, I told you, a design like this won’t take long.” His hand slides down your arm a bit, holding your inner forearm in place, and his fingers curl around you almost reflexively. You resist the urge to look down as hard as you can, and find yourself outright glaring at the ocean scenes on the opposite wall. “You’re doing really well.”

And now you’re glaring and flushing, the praise going straight to your hammering heart while you fight the warmth in your face and the twist and turn of your insides as you study his work. The brushstrokes of that middle scene, a huge tidal wave in a myriad of blues and grays and teals, are so delicate that it’s hard for you to pick them apart from across the tiny studio, and you think you want to see Sakusa’s hands do something that delicate. It’s only fair, if you can’t look at him as he so carefully and gently marks your arm when you want to chance a glance so badly.

“Nearly there,” he says, unreadable as he lifts the needle from your skin, adjusting your arm’s position slightly. “Need a moment?”

“I -“ You’re not sure if the break is really what you want: your plan was to just get the whole thing over with as quickly as possible, and now your torment is drawing to an end. But your brain is going hazy with Sakusa’s hands on you, and you want to ease into that feeling for a little longer. “. . . Sure, just for a second.”

“How about ten?” You hear him laugh, the sound low and warm. “And you know you can look wherever you want now, right?”

Your gaze darts down to meet his, and you catch the tail end of his smile before it sinks below the surface again, just the remnants of it left glimmering in his eyes.

“You wanna look, or wait until I’m finished?”

And Sakusa huffs out a laugh because he sees that you’re already sneaking a peek at your half-finished tattoo, the skin around it irritated but the inked lines and curls so entrancing that you want to touch them. Sakusa holds your hand back, placing it over Itachi where you had sat him down next to you on the table.

“You like it?” The permanent intensity of his gaze makes the question feel like you’re being interrogated, but you just smile.

“Yeah.” You glance back at the design, studying the parts of it that still need to be filled in. “How much longer, do you think?”

“If we keep going right now, I can probably get you out of here by three,” and you swallow your disappointment. Twenty minutes did not give you a lot of time to crack open more of Sakusa’s shell.

“Alright.”

He gets back to work and the studio falls quiet, save for the steady buzz of the gun and the creak of the table each time you shift your legs around. Sakusa’s silence is so complete that you find your gaze wandering down to him, despite your promises to keep your eyes away from the procedure at hand, and you study the crinkle in his forehead as he focuses, the curl that strays between his eyes. He pauses to brush that curl back into place, and the movement is hypnotizing; you can’t stop watching how smooth his motions are, every one deliberate and careful. When he does so his eyes slide over to meet yours, and you sink so deep into his gaze that you can’t even try and pretend like you weren’t staring.

“Almost done,” he says; his thumb traces the edges of the design, and the smallest sting is left behind on the irritated skin, a mark of his touch. You just nod, your brain moving honey-slow as you watch him.

“You’re doing fine,” he remarks, head cast down as he finishes his work. “Not nervous anymore?”

“No, I am,” you reply, a bit breathless, “but I’m - you’re - it’s not that bad.” The words clatter their way out of you, awkward and uncertain in your mesmerized haze. His hair catches the studio lights and the curls remind you of the brushstrokes in his art, each rivulet of the tidal wave rendered with individual care, smooth and inviting. You clench Itachi a bit tighter, keeping your hand where it is.

Sakusa breathes something like a laugh and a sigh, lifting the needle from your skin for the last time. “Well, good, because you’re done. Told you it wouldn’t take too long.”

He putters about his equipment for a moment, putting things back in their places, and you study his movements as your hand frees Itachi (much to his relief, you’re sure) and reaches for the stinging patch of skin on your inner arm.

“Don’t touch it,” Sakusa warns, barely glancing at you from where he’s slathering on another round of hand sanitizer. “Unless you want it to get infected.”

“No, I’m okay, actually.” Your hand drops into your lap as you wait for him to return, legs swinging with your nerves as he finally meets your eyes.

“You didn’t puke.” Sakusa is giving you that barely-there smile again, and you swear you see the beginnings of a dimple on his right cheek. The urge to run your hands through his curls only grows with this observation, which you really wish it wouldn’t, because talking to him is only getting harder.

“I didn’t.”

“Thank you for that,” he says, pulling on a fresh pair of gloves and motioning for your arm. “Hold your arm out straight for me.”

Warmth creeps up your throat as you do as asked, and Sakusa’s hands are warmer this time when he uses a cotton round to spread a thick layer of ointment onto the design. It shimmers in the light, and you turn your arm slightly to examine his work.

“I’d ask if it looks okay, but it’s a little late for that.”

“Maybe you should’ve let me look, then,” you try to glare up at him as he crowds into your space a bit, gently laying plastic wrap over the area. You can feel the warmth of him this close, and catch a note of his clean, summery scent, like one of those sweet-scented dryer sheets. “So I could tell you before it’s too late.”

“You would’ve freaked out. Besides, it definitely looks okay. I told you, I’m pretty good at this.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” you manage to roll your eyes, despite the flips your stomach is doing even as he backs away. He retreats to his desk to shuffle through the contents of a cramped drawer, and you watch the broad line of his shoulders stoop as he bends over the drawer. You feel the need to get ahold of yourself, but it’s a distant concern when your head is this floaty.

“Alright,” and when Sakusa turns back around, folded papers in hand and firm expression fixed on you, you let that concern fizz out entirely, “you’re finished. These are aftercare instructions.” He passes you the papers and waits for you to carefully tuck them into your purse. “Follow them - don’t skip steps or rush the healing process. Understand?”

“Got it,” you salute, warmth fluttering through you at his low tone. “I can follow instructions.”

Sakusa just nods, mouth flattened as you gently slide off the leather seat. “I’m sure you can, so I expect you to. I want to see that healed properly the next time you come to see Hinata.”

“So you’ll actually come say hi, instead of hiding back here?”

He quirks a brow and you squirm under his questioning gaze, embarrassment flooding you. Was that too obvious?

“. . . We’ll see. Depends on if you still want to see me after this.” Usually people don’t. The implication hangs between you both, and you yank it aside like you’re letting in fresh air.

“Well, maybe I do. Is that a problem? Gonna ruin your street cred?”

“I think you’re going to obliterate it, honestly.”

“You don’t sound opposed.” And that’s as much a question as it is a jibe; you stand prone in his little studio, waiting for Sakusa to stack up his many walls once more, back where they stood before you followed him into his sanctuary.

But he just stares back at you, the corner of his lips twitching as his gaze moves from your face to your new tattoo and back again. “Maybe I’m not.”

A knock at the door startles you out of the fuzzy, warm headspace you’ve sunk so deep into, and both of your heads whip to look at Shouyo, whose fluff of ginger hair is peering around the open door as he looks back at you both.

“Are you done already? My client’s just taking a break now, and I wanted to come check in . . .”

Taking a step away from Sakusa - when had you drifted so close to him? - you flash Shouyo a thumbs up and a wane smile. “Totally done! Completely finished!”

“Awesome!”

It’s quiet as you all head back to the front desk so you can pay, Shouyo seemingly oblivious to the tension brewing between every word you direct at him instead of Sakusa. You leave Black Jackal with a new tattoo and the feeling of Sakusa Kiyoomi’s eyes on your back as you step out the door, finding Alisa already waiting for you, leaning against the passenger door of her parked car.

“Hey! Lemme see, I bet it’s so cute . . . what’s wrong with you?” She squints at you, hands still on your arm to see the tattoo, and you shrug.

“Nothing, I’m all good.”

“So you didn’t freak out?” Alisa asks, pulling you along to the car. “No hyperventilating?”

“No,” you shake your head, sliding into the passenger seat. “I . . . I might go back, get another one. I’m not sure yet.”

“Wow.” Alisa gives you a once-over when she gets into the driver’s seat, turning on the ignition but not taking her eyes off of you. You don’t look over to see if she’s suspicious - you already know her too well for that. “It must’ve gone really well.”

“Yeah.” You nod slowly, fingers twisting in your lap. “It did.”

“So Hinata’s actually good at his job?”

“I, um - actually -” You fumble with your words, the last hour crashing through your brain at hyperspeed; there’s no turn of phrase that feels appropriate, not with the bright, too-hot feeling bubbling up inside of you, coaxing a wavering little smile out of you. “Shouyo couldn’t, um, actually he didn’t do it.”

“Oh?” Alisa pauses before pulling onto the road, her acrylics tapping thoughtfully on the steering wheel before she lets out an obnoxious, dramatic gasp. “Oh! Oh my god, wait, who?”

“Shut up,” you say instead of answering, burying your warm face in your hands.

“No way,” she argues, and you feel the car start moving, thank god. Soon you can be embarrassed in peace. “No way, you - it wasn’t Miya, was it? Please tell me it wasn’t.”

“No! No, it wasn’t - it actually was Miya’s fault that Shouyo couldn’t do it, so - I mean, um - it was . . . you know Sakusa?” His name trips off of your tongue, pretty and hushed, and the phantom feel of his hands on your skin makes you shiver.

When you finally look up at Alisa, she’s staring at you in mingled disbelief and delight. “No fucking way.”

“I’ll literally hop out of this moving car, right fucking now.”

“I didn’t say anything! I just - no way. No fucking way.”

“Yeah.” You murmur, head tipped back against the headrest, trying not to picture that almost-smile glimmering in his sharp gaze. “No way.”

#sakusa kiyoomi x reader #sakusa kiyoomi #kiyoomi sakusa #kiyoomi sakusa x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu

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