#<- not by name for those last two but they are alluded too so
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if-loki-was-a-fox · 3 months ago
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I was watching a video earlier where someone was going though all the most popular fanfics on ao3 and like, this isn't a big deal or anything but it did stick out to me a bit the fact that every time they came across a dsmp fic, they weren't rude or anything and were actually pretty even and level about it all things considered, but they did go "I've heard this one is good, but with all the drama around the creators idk if I should check it out or not", and I would've been unphased by that. except like. a good chunk of the other fics were Harry freaking Potter and there was not a single passing comment about jkr being problematic and like...! why must the whole internet have such a double standard against mcyt stuff. like there's much worse issues out there to be frustrated by, but like. c'mon. how is a couple creators out of 30 something of them being bad worse than literally the sole writer of the whole thing being bad? if we're fine with death of the author for miss #1 transphobe who wrote every single character, plotline, and worldbuilding element, then why can't we handle the story where - what, less than 15%? - of the characters were written and acted by bad people
it's either a weird double standard, or the youtuber who made the video could just be on jkr's side I suppose. neither of those is a great thing (tho ngl I'd personally prefer to believe it's the former, 'cus as frustrating as that is, it's ultimately not evil or bigoted in the same way being a jkr apologist would be. just annoying)
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theereina · 16 days ago
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Big Mama Pt. 11 | You're Supposed To Know (2)
Pairing: Terry Richmond x Plus Size Fem Black!OC
Wordcount: +3.3K
Warnings: MDNI (18+) mature content, such as cursing, no smut (alluding to sexual situations), heavily dialogue-centered, angst, verbal argument, physical fighting, blood, law enforcement involvement, fatphobia, use of the n-word
Synopsis: What will happen when Havana comes face-to-face with Terry's spiteful ex? As tension and emotions build during a close encounter, Havana must battle to control herself and the situation. Things fall apart when Terry is hurt, causing all hell to break loose. As if things couldn't get worse for Havana, this creates a myriad of internal problems for her— guilt, shame, and regression.
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🦋Big Mama (series) => 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10
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“Okay, we have the chocolate brownie ice cream and the popcorn. What else?” Monnie asked me while I pushed the cart through the grocery store's aisles.
“Oouu, I want pickles!” I exclaimed a little too loudly.
“Pickles! ‘Vana, in a minute, I’m gone start to think your ass is pregnant. Do we need to get a test, girl?” Monnie said, standing in front of the cart.
“Shut up, please. The last thing I want to do is think about being pregnant for that man,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“Damn, he already got demoted. Just two days ago, he was bae and hubby, now he is that man. Baby, you don't play, huh?” Monnie said, laughing into her hand.
“I’m beyond pissed right now. Why the fuck wouldn't he just tell me?” I said as I released a deep breath.
“Well…” Monnie said as she paused in the aisle.
I turned to face her. “Well? What you mean by that?” I asked, crossing my arms across my chest.
“To be honest, Terry probably knew you would beat his ass and her’s, too. ‘Vana, you've changed a lot. But,… that southern girl who was whoopin’ grown ass men wit’ no problem is still there. You ain't to be played wit’, and I think Terry knows that,” Monnie said, raising her hands in defense.
“Okay. You act like I was walkin’ around beatin’ on men. They all had it comin’, Monnie. I was not the problem, but these hands were solvin’ them. How is that my fault?” I asked, tilting my head at her.
“Look, I never said you were the problem. Let’s be honest; you're the only reason, ol’ boy who shall not be named, left me alone. He even told me he was scared of you. Baby, I used that to my full advantage every chance I got!” Monnie replied.
“Wait a damn minute. So, you're tellin’ me that you were tellin’ niggas I was gonna whoop them for fuckin’ wit’ you?” I gasped.
“Hell, yeah. You see ain't nobody fuck wit’ me,” Monnie said, smacking her lips.
“Get the fuck outta here!” I laughed.
Monnie walked up to me and fell out laughing on my shoulder. This was the first I had heard this. I knew men back home were a little intimidated by me, but I didn't realize it was this bad.
I heard someone whispering behind us as we laughed in the middle of the aisle. Monnie’s laughter was cut short as her head shot up to look in that direction. I turned to look over my shoulder. I could see two women at the end of the aisle. They were whispering and giggling back and forth like schoolgirls.
Monnie raised from my shoulder and stood in front of me. She leaned in close before speaking. “Don't freak out, okay? Those two have been following us around. At first, I thought I was trippin’ out, but now, I'm sure. Shorty wit’ the braids also mean-mugged you earlier. You know them or something?” Monnie asked, scrunching her face in confusion.
“No. I’ve never seen either one of them before. I mean… I don't think I know them,” I mumbled lowly. I was overcome with confusion and anxiety. “Look, just don't worry about it. They’re gone,” I said, turning Monnie around to head down the aisle in the opposite direction. Truth be told, Monnie was just as much of a hothead as me.
We continued to walk down the freezer aisle. We were forced to walk around a little longer because I needed to look for my pickles, and then we could leave. At the end of the aisle, I looked both ways before pushing the cart around the corner. I could hear Monnie sigh as she looked behind us.
“If it’s them, ignore it. I don't have time for it,” I said, looping my arm around Monnie’s.
“Hoes better not start. I’m gonna behave for now,” Monnie said, scoffing.
“Monnie!” I laughed, pulling her down the aisle.
I scanned the aisle for my pickles. I was in the mood for kosher baby dill pickles. It’s a shame my childhood obsession never ended.
I spotted the pickles on the bottom shelf. I squatted down to reach for the pickles.
“Damn! Bigger in person aren’t we?” said a woman’s voice.
I turned to face the voice, and both women from before were standing there. They were once again laughing.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” I asked, standing up to put the pickles in the cart. I stood to my full height and moved towards the women.
“Nah, ignore it. Remember?” Monnie said, placing her hand on my chest. She turned me back around so I was no longer facing them. I grabbed the cart and began pushing it again.
“Monnie, if they keep following us, I'm going to lose my shit. What the fuck was that about?” I questioned. I couldn't wrap my brain around this whole situation.
That’s when it hit me— THE ONE WHO COMMENTED WAS TAYLOR! How the fuck did I miss that? I barely looked at her profile when she sent me the messages and screenshots about her and Terry.
“Monnie, that’s her. That was Taylor. I didn't notice at first. How the fuck didn't I catch that?” I said, face-palming myself.
“Wait which one?” she leaned in to whisper.
“The one who spoke,” I whispered.
“You know what? Let's just pay for our stuff and leave because I already don't like this bitch,” Monnie said, rolling her shoulders. “Havana?!” she blurted.
I looked at Monnie's face. I hadn't heard a word she said. I was dissociating because of my growing anger and agitation.
“Ah, shit. I know that look. ‘Vana, let's just go,” Monnie said, grabbing my arm.
“No, I want my damn pickles. Plus, if they know what's best for them, they'll leave me the hell alone. I'm already mad at the one person who could rel—!” I said before Monnie covered my mouth.
“Fine. Just shut up. I don't need to hear nothing else about what that man be doin' nasty to you,” she laughed.
Five minutes later
beep
beep
beep
“You're total is 13.87. Cash or card?” asked the cashier.
“Cash. Here you go,” I said, smiling at the middle-aged Hispanic woman.
“Out of 20. You're change is—,” she said.
“Now, we both know you don't need any more junk food,” said the one voice I didn't need to hear— Taylor's.
“Girl, don't start. ‘Vana stay focused,” Monnie said through gritted teeth. It was clear that she was becoming irritated with Taylor and her friend.
“Sorry, here's your change,” said the cashier.
“My bad. Have a good day,” I said back taking the change and placing it into my wallet.
Monnie grabbed the bag and pushed me in front of her. I was on high alert and so was she. She was either putting a barrier between me and Taylor or getting closer so she could go off.
As we headed towards the doors, I felt Monnie's grip tighten. I didn't like the fact that I wasn't watching her back. I tried to slow down, so we could walk side-by-side, but she pushed me to keep going.
Once we were at the doors, I felt something hit my shoulder. It was Taylor bumping into me.
“Oops. It was hard not to with you being so big and all,” Taylor said, waving her hands around.
“Aye, you betta chill. I'm holdin’ her off for now, but yo’ lil ass got one more comment before I—,” Monnie started.
“Before you what? She'll get tired before she even reaches me,” Taylor laughed.
“Oop!” said her friend giggling.
“You for sure betta shut the fuck up. Because I'll get on yo’ ass myself!” Monnie said, walking towards the other woman.
“Nope. They're not worth it. If they were gonna do something, they would've already. Let's go!” I called to Monnie while grabbing her arm and pulling her around Taylor and her friend.
“She thinks I'm scared of her. That's cute. Terry might be, but I ain't. Ain't shit about you frightenin’. Bigger they are, the harder they fall!” Taylor yelled as I was turning.
“Little girl, leave me the fuck alone before I snap yo’ ass in half. You know what? What the fuck am I talkin' for? Balls in your court, baby. Make a move,” I said as I eyed Taylor down.
Taylor and her friend just stood there.
“Exactly!” Monnie said.
“My point has been made. Scary asses!” I said, looking Taylor up and down as I walked out.
As I walked closer to the second set of automatic doors, I heard the rumble of an all too familiar truck.
“Uh oh, here comes that man,” Monnie said.
“I'm not in the mood for this,” I mumbled under my breath.
Before I could get through the doors, Terry came barreling in.
“You okay, mama? Look at me!” he said, holding my face.
“I'm fine. You need to check your lil friend. She fuckin’ with me on the wrong day,” I said, moving my head. Right now, I didn't want to be touched.
“I don't give a fuck about her. I love you, and you know that, ‘Vana. Please, can you just listen to me? Come home w—,” he said before being interrupted.
“Not you beggin’ this bitch. Really?” Taylor asked, crossing her arms.
“Shut the fuck up, please. Damn!” Terry barked. His voice was so intense it even scared me.
“Huh? Fuck you!” Taylor yelled at Terry as she walked closer.
I immediately stepped in front of him like a barrier, turning to face Taylor. “Terry, get in the truck. Now!” I yelled.
I turned to see Terry still standing behind me, looking down at me. Monnie was now standing near the door, eyeing Taylor's friend.
“Terence Richmond, get in the damn truck!” I spat.
Terry began to back up before finally turning to walk back out. I looked at Monnie, and she was in attack mode. I was trying my hardest to diffuse the situation.
“Monnie, go. I'm leaving with Terry,” I said, turning Monnie so she could walk out.
Monnie resisted gently not wanting to take her eyes off them. I nudged her a little harder.
“Okay!” Monnie said, throwing her hands up in defeat.
“Thank you,” I said. I walked out to see Terry's truck parked a few feet away from the entrance.
“I said in the truck not outside of it. Please, just—,” I said, closing my eyes and releasing a deep breath.
Before I could finish, I heard the automatic doors open again. I didn't even have to turn around I knew who it was.
“Aw, he don't listen, huh? You know Terry's always been stubborn,” she said. I could hear her walking closer.
I eyed Terry and motioned towards the truck. I wanted him in, now. I looked over to make sure Monnie was still heading towards her car. When I saw that she was, I moved closer to Terry.
“Havana, just get in. Please,” Terry pleaded.
“No, I need you to get in first. Please,” I said, sharpening my gaze. I saw Terry's eyes dart from me to Taylor. I was only doing this so she wouldn't bother him. Lord knows I would go to jail behind him.
Terry opened the door and got into the truck. I immediately felt Taylor's presence behind me. I turned around to see her close to Terry's truck. I took a deep breath and walked around the back of the truck to avoid her.
Terry started the truck as I came around the other side. I could see Taylor's eyes going back and forth between me and Terry. A smirk slowly spread across her face. I knew she was up to something, but I couldn't care. My main concern was getting me, Terry, and Monnie out of here quickly.
Monnie pulled up beside Terry's truck, facing the opposite direction. Before I could even reach the door, Taylor approached Terry's window. Unfortunately for him, he was too busy watching me. Swinging the grocery bag in her hand, she hit Terry's window. I see the glass break as Terry ducks away. Whatever was in the bag was glass as well. So when it broke open in the bag, it slipped out of a hole in the bottom, hitting Terry in the face.
Taylor turned away to run, but I was obviously quicker than she thought. Before Taylor could blink, I was on her ass. I snatched the back of her hooded jacket and yanked her backwards by her braids.
My hands went straight for her face, punch after punch landing without a problem. Her friend attempted to approach me, but Monnie wasn't having it.
I snatched Taylor by her hair, slinging her body into the front of Terry's truck. You could hear the impact as it collided with a thud. I saw red!
A bystander walked up to me, grabbing my hands. I pushed the man back, causing him to stumble.
“Nah, this is what she wanted! She should've left me alone!” I yelled as I continued to beat Taylor's ass. She was fighting for her fucking life. All she could do from this angle was scratch the hell out of my forearms.
“’Vana!” Terry yells. I had never heard him sound like this.
I look up to see a horrific sight. The left side of Terry's face is bloody. Now, I'm internally conflicted— do I continue to whoop her ass or check on Terry? I let Taylor go and push her head into the truck.
I run to the passenger side to open the door and climb in. I grab Terry and gently pull him towards me.
“Baby, look at me! Shit!” I yell, noticing the gash on his cheek.
“Havana, please!” Terry asked, holding his eye.
“I'm done. I'm done. I promise. Hey, let's go!” I said climbing over Terry.
I sat in the driver's seat.
I panicked when I remembered that Taylor was in front of the truck.
I leaned out the window and yelled at the crowd of people, “ Move her or else!”.
Unfortunately, no one was listening to me. Their only concern was me not leaving the scene. Fuck that!
I threw the truck in reverse and gassed it. I heard people begin to yell. I leaned over Terry to yell at Monnie.
“I'm taking him to the hospital! Follow me, please!” I yelled, shaking.
I whipped out of the parking lot and entered the somewhat busy street. Not caring, I drove down the turning lane. As I approached the stoplight it turned red.
“You better not! I'm not dyin', baby. I care about your life too. Relax, ‘Vana. I'm okay,” he said.
I slammed on the brakes at the stoplight. Glancing back and forth between Terry and the stoplight, I found myself growing more and more anxious.
“What's hurting?” I asked Terry as I softly caressed his cheek.
“My eye and my cheek. I feel like there's glass in it,” Terry groaned.
“I know it hurts, baby. We'll get there soon. Okay?” I said, stroking the back of Terry's neck.
Once the light turned green, I turned onto the next street. The hospital was less than a block away at this point. Before I could get there, I heard the wail of a police siren. I looked in the rearview mirror to see Monnie pulling over, but the police cruiser drove past her. I should've seen this coming.
I continue to drive, I don't pull over until I'm at the front entrance of the hospital. I quickly pull out my phone and text Monnie to come get Terry if they allow her. I quickly tell Terry the plan.
“I'm so sorry. I should've just left when we had the chance. I feel so stupid,” I said, feeling myself about to cry.
“Mama, calm down. I'm fine, and I'll be okay. Alright?” Terry said.
I shook my head yes. As I'm focused on Terry, there's tapping on my side of the truck. I turn to see the sheriff.
“Terry?! Hey, son! You good?” he asked leaning to get a closer look.
“He’s hurt!” I said frantically.
“I wasn't talkin’ to you, yet.” he spat, glaring over his sunglasses at me.
“Jim. She didn't do anything,” Terry said, leaning on the window.
“You stay here. Don't fucking move, girl! Terry, we're gonna get you out of there,” the sheriff said, walking to Terry's side of the truck.
He opened the door. I could hear footsteps behind the truck. It was Monnie.
“Listen, Jim. Can she take me in?” he asked, nodding towards Monnie.
The sheriff paused and gave Monnie a once-over. “Fine. Come get him, and be careful. That one is my only concern,” he said, pointing at me.
He helped Monnie lift Terry out of the truck. She pulled Terry's arm over her shoulder. I hated this.
I watched in shame as Monnie walked Terry towards the entrance of the hospital. The front doors opened and a man came out with a wheelchair.
As I watched them sit Terry in it, guilt washed over me. If I would have just left, none of this would have happened. This really was all my fault.
Tears were streaming down my face. As I watched the sheriff walk back to my side, I knew what was about to happen.
“Step out. Hands in the air. Now!” he yelled.
Female victim en route from Dixie's to McGraw General
“Fuck!” I said out loud. That had to be a radio transmission about Taylor.
“Just comply!” he said. His tone was laced with irritation.
I opened the door and stepped out of the truck. I immediately put my hands in the air.
“Do you have anything on you?” he asked.
“No, sir,” I said, calming myself down.
He proceeded to pat me down. “Do you know why I stopped you?” he asked, pulling my arms down.
“Yes, sir,” I sighed.
“Good. Then, you know why you're under arrest,” he said placing my hands behind my back.
Before I could even try to stop it, I broke down crying. Not because I was going to jail but because I was back in the same position I was back home. I had worked so hard to never let this happen again. Yet, here I was getting arrested for assault for the third time.
I felt like all of the progress I had made was in vain. If had let Taylor cause me to regress so easily, had I even changed at all? Or, was I pretending to be someone I'm not?
My mind began to cloud over with thoughts. I was once again the big, angry monster everyone painted me out to be— always angry, aggressive, and ready to attack. The girl everyone avoided and talked about.
As he walked me to his police cruiser, I felt a sense of dread and guilt arise. The thought of not being there for Terry hurt me more than any of the words Taylor said. This was all my fault, and I couldn't even be there for him. All I had to do was keep my hands to myself and walk away, but I didn't. Now, I have to live with that decision and its consequences. What the fuck is going to happen to me now?
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A/N: Remember, I'm open to critiques. I am a little 🤏🏽 sensitive about my writing. Please, don't be too harsh.🥺 Feel free to bring my attention to any typos. Divider by ME (theereina). Also, this work is not to be plagiarized or reposted (on any site other than here on Tumblr). I do NOT give consent for any form of republishing or rewriting.
Taglist: @brattyfics @persethegawd @avoidthings @5headsupremacist @jimmybutlrr @episodes-ff @kimuzostar @insidefeelingofanadult @kirayuki22 @nayaesworld @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @ariiijestertheklown @nayaxwrites @miyuhpapayuh @megamindsecretlair @pocketsizedpanther @gg-trini @vivaalenaa @slutsareteacherstoo @skyesthebomb @blowmymbackout @blackerthings @mymindisneverhere @androgynousgaz @becauseimswagman1 @gwenda-fav @poektiou624 @keyaho @sageispunk @charismablu @4ftwonder @4pfsukuna @writingsbytee @babybratzmaraj @pinkpantheris @honeytoffee @talkswithdesi @helloncrocs @lovey-3 @curvyambitions @iburias @geee3bayyybeee3 @ineedmyaccountback @rebelrel0987 @prettypink-princesss @teeresaresa @dxddykenn @simplyzeeka @theglamclosetsl @melaninadorned
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nanivinsmoke · 3 months ago
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❥ Paparazzi
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mma!fighter toji x fem!reader
‘ chase you down until you love me ‘
summary ❥ the story of how the paparazzi changed the life of the strongest mma fighter. heavily inspired by lady gaga’s song 
warnings: angst, TRIGGERING topics, friends with benefits, unfaithfulness, degradation, deteriorating mental health, nudes, stalking, oral sex, etc.
note: happy PYSKINKTOBER. m.list here
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the red button glowed red as the reporter set it on the table, before looking up at the scarred lip man.
“can we have your name please?”
“toji fushiguro, but please call me toji.” the reporter nodded and scribbled in her notebook before continuing with her next question.
“and how do you know know her?” she slid over a picture and he sighed. he looked over every detail of her pretty face. she was so happy then.
“she was one of my biggest fans. she was a reporter and journalist, just like you.” his voice was gruff and his face was plain, but behind those eyes held a story; a painful one.
“you talk about her like she is no longer with us,” the reporter chuckled at her own joke, but there was nothing to joke about. there was a brief silence before she cleared her throat to ask him another question.
“tell me all about her. how you met, her life, don’t spare any details…”
“alright. she was….”
“you’re fucking annoying.” he cursed, peering over his shoulder, watching the girl follow after him—note book in her smaller hands. she rolled her eyes and pushed some of her hair out of her face, still hot on his tail.
“same thing could be said about you, toji. now are you gonna let me ask my questions or are you going to keep dodging me?” she was used to his antics, wasn’t scared of him one bit. he was intimidating inside and outside of the ring, but not to her. she saw right past his demeanor and saw who he really was.
he sighed and grabbed his bottle from his manager and downed the cool liquid, before shoving it back into his hands. “three questions, only. no more. no less.” she smiled and watched as he shooed people out of his locker room, giving them some privacy.
she pressed the button on her tape recorder before beginning with their introductions and then moving onto her first question. “how does it feel it feel to be the undefeated heavyweight champ?”
“great. im untouchable, in and out of the ring.” he was cocky, but he had to be. in this industry, they eat the weak and worship the strong.
“i hear your next fight, you’re fighting your prodigy. think he can beat you?” she slid off her jacket and folded her glasses up, looking at him through her long lashes. “did you not hear me, woman? im untouchable. i trained him, but he can never beat me, no one can.” he responded, sitting down on the bench behind him, pulling the white towel from around his neck.
“last and final question,” she paused, turning off the table recorder and reaching for her matching white buttons to her crisp button up, “when are you going to finally kiss the cute reporter?”
by now, the locker room was cleared out, leaving the two of them alone. he sighed and ran a hand over his face, before standing up; his body towering over her. “didn’t i tell you, i don’t kiss? that’s how people get attached.”
the two had been in a mutual relationship for a while now. a friends with benefits relationship and from the moment it started, he made it very clear that there would be no affection between the two of them—no kissing, no holding hands; just straight fucking.
she understood that and in the beginning, she wasn’t looking for a relationship, but as time moved on; that changed. she wanted him, craved him even. the sex was so good between them too, she wanted more. she just wished he wanted more too.
“right of course….how could i forget?” she moved to re-button her top only to be stopped by his big hands. “take it off. need to see my pretty girls today,” he smirked, alluding to her breasts. it puzzled her, how he can call her body his, but wouldn’t make her his? however, she took it off—along with her black bra—and sat on his lap, watching as he sucked on those pretty lil nipples he loved so much.
“ tojiiii~” she whined as he teased them, swirling them on his tongue and not fully placing the mounds into his mouth. “quit yer’ whining,” he pinched them, making her squeal, until he finally gripped both of her breasts and placed them into his mouth.
he knew how to get her off easily. he knew all of the spots that had her creaming her panties instantly. it was like her body was made just for him.
the more he sucked the more she felt herself get wet and soon she could feel her panties starting to stick to her second set of lips. she rolled her hips over his crotch, feeling his boner rise and poke her core. he groaned when she tugged at his raven colored hair, mouth still attached to her little love buds. “need you so bad. please”
“not till i taste her,” he picked her up and placed on the work bench a few feet away, laying on her back before tugging her pants down, along with her panties. “shit, you’re soaked. so pretty and wet fa me,” he cooed, swiping his thumb over her slit, watching how webs of her essence stuck to him. he did this a few more times, eliciting a series of mewls from her before he finally attached his lips to her needy clit—making her back arch off the leather workbench.
he was like a dog licking up cold water on a hot day, feasting on her clit; slurping and sucking up all her fluids that pooled out of her. he knew exactly how to please her, slipping two fingers inside of her aching hole and curling it upwards—hitting her spot each time.
she was a mess. her sweet, sticky slick slid down from her cunt and onto the black leather underneath her—gushing each time she felt him. her hands were tangled in his hair and she brought her hips up, his nose pressing into her clit as she grinded against his face; speeding up the orgasm she desperately needed.
“gonna cum—oooh shhhitttt,” toji started to spell his name on her clit, sending jolts of electricity up her spine. and once he got to the ' r ’ in fushiguro, she was cumming all over his scarred lips. he wouldn’t let up on her clit either as she came, causing a gush of a water like fluid to splash against his face.
he quickly lapped up every droplet, sucking on her sensitive clit once more, before letting go— a ‘pop’ sound following afterwards. after taking a few minutes to calm down, she sat up on her elbows expecting him to have his dick out, only to be met with him pushing her panties back up her thighs.
“you’re not gonna fuck me?” he shook his head and chuckled, pulling her pants back up as well. “nah, got a press conference in a—“.
he was cut off as the door opened, entering his best friend and his trainer; shiu kong. she immediately sat up and buttoned up her pants, sliding off the piece of equipment—trying to fix herself.
shiu smirked, shooting a nod to his best friend before looking at the flustered woman. “y/n”
“kong,” she responded, clearing her hoarse throat, turning her attention elsewhere; eyes lingering on the puddle she made a few seconds ago. “you know, you were very loud. lucky it was just me out there,” her eyes widened and she tried to hide her face; too embarrassed to be seen. “bye toji! thanks for the interview!”
she ran off, running out of the gym and to her car—driving far away from the establishment.
“looks like you two had quite the relationship.” the reporter spoke, blushing herself, shifting in her seat after hearing the lewd story.
“that’s what you think. there’s more to it.”
the chime of her phone put her attention elsewhere. she stppped typing on her laptop and checked her phone; a message from her best friend, utahime, telling her to her asap.
she pressed her contact name and held the phone up to her ear, immediately hearing her voice. “turn on the news right now!”
she raised an eyebrow and stood up and got her tv’s remote, turning it on and turning it to the news. “hello to you too, utahim—WHAT THE FUCK?”
on the screen it was toji and some woman walking out of a restaurant, hand in hand, avoiding the paparazzi the best they could; that is until one of them finally stopped the new couple. “toji we wanna say congratulations on the fight earlier! you did amazing! and who is this lovely lady right next to you?”
“my fiancé,” everything seemed to fade into the background as her mind blurred. she couldn’t believe it. fiancé? ‘but he said—he just—‘ her mind was running rampant, trying to come to terms with what she just watched. utahime’s voice was like white noise in her ears, before the girl started to yell on the phone. “YOU THERE, Y/N?”
“gotta go hime’.” she hung up before she could even respond, eyes glued to the tv, watching as the couple got into the all black jeep; before she turned it off. she quickly grabbed an all black hoodie and a hat, switching into something comfortable; grabbing her car keys and headed out.
she appeared outside of his building in a heartbeat, slamming her car door before jogging into the building. there was no doormen at night so she was able to not be spotted, taking the elevator up to his penthouse suite. she was fuming, pounding on his door, teetering on the edge as each second passed. and when the door opened, she threw a punch to his jaw, causing his head to swivel. “fucking lying asshole!”
she tried to hit him once more, but he caught her fist and put her in a distressed hug, tearing cascading down her smooth face. “you’re a liar! get off of me!” she pushed away, staring at him with nothing but hurt and anger in her gaze.
“it’s not what you think,” he started, trying to keep calm—not wanting to upset her further. “then what is it? hm, toji? you don’t do relationships remember? yet you’re fucking engaged! since when?”
“like i said it’s not what you think. sit down.” he pointed to the couch, but she wasn’t budging. “SIT. DOWN.”
she huffed and sat down on his soft leather couch, watching through her red eyes as he walked over to his mini bar, pouring her a drink before following suit. he explained to her that this was just a publicity stunt. he was being sued by another pro mma fighter and in order to paint a good picture to the media that he’s not some hot head, his manager thought it was good for the world to see that he was a family man.
by now she was on her second glass of wine. her tears were dried up, yet she was still sniffling. her mind still on a hundred, trying to process everything. when she didn’t say anything, toji inched closer to her and cupped her face, his emerald eyes staring into her’s, before he closed them and pressed his scared lips against her plump one’s.
she was in shock. he was kissing her? yet, she quickly followed his movements and enjoyed the kiss. his tongue sweeping into her mouth, dominating her’s with ease, pulling the woman into his lap—big hands all over her ass. and when he pulled away, a string of spit followed, making her whine. “toji~”
“never wanted to hurt you. i hope you believe that. just let this case play out and end, then it will all be over.”
“why did you kiss her?” the reporter asked, only to be met with silence.
“alright then. continue.”
as the case against him progressed, so did the portrayal of his healthy relationship with his new fiancée. there was photoshoots, interviews and home visits. none done at his place, always at his fake house.
and she was always there. covering it or writing magazines on it. she hated it, it was like torture. but, she knew this was for the media. she knew how the paparazzi worked and how the world would take things. anything for a good story.
however, she was a little happier. every night she would be at his house. dressing up each time, putting on some sexy lingerie and covering it with a long black trench coat. toji loved it each time. they would fuck until the sun came up and usually he would kick her out, but now he enjoyed having her stay the night.
cuddle up against her underneath his thousand dollar sheets, sun peeking through the curtains—making her skin glisten. he loved watching her sleep. loved the way her nose would scrunch up when the sun hit her eyes and the way those same beautiful eyes would flutter open; greeting him. he would kiss her in the morning and watched her pretty lips curve into a smile. he didn’t want to admit it, but he had it bad for her. he was in love.
and the moment he finally said “i love you,” had her swooning for days. she had got what she finally wanted. him.
that is until the court day came and he delivered her terrible news. “pregnant? she’s having your fucking child?!” she was seething, pushing him further into the bathroom. why was this happening to her again.
“look it wasn’t sup—“
“save it, toji. just save it. i can’t believe it….again? what about me?” she paused and looked at him, waiting for the answer that never came. she chuckled and wiped away her tears, fixing her makeup and her blazer. “whatever. let’s go. your trial is about to start.
it looked good for toji. everything the prosecutors tried to throw at him was immediately turned down. he was gaining the jury’s trust, that is until the prosecution pulled out some evidence.
“this relationship he’s trying to paint? it’s a sham. this was found on his phone! i hope your fiancée knows about this, fushiguro.” higaruma, the lawyer for the guy suing toji announced, pushing the button to the projector—showing off a toji’s messages with a woman posing nude. however, it wasn’t just some random lady. it was her, y/n.
she gasped and screamed in horror. her face wasn’t blurred out either, so everyone knew who she was. the flashes of cameras blurred her eyes as she stood up, racing out of the court room; ignoring all media personnel. she ran, ran until her feet started to blister—her heels bullying into her skin. she hailed a cab once she was far away from the courthouse and went straight to her place; where she stayed for months.
her world was crumbling by the second and it was all because of him.
he had won the case, despite her nudes being leaked, however his fans still blamed her for what happened—blamed her for trying to ruin his career; even though she wasn’t suing him. their outrage and her face was plastered all over the media, shaming her, calling her all types of degrading names. she had to quit her job as a reporter and stayed in solitude.
the police came to her house and put her into protective custody, after seeing how many threats she was facing. utahime came and tried to console her but everything was a blur.
she sat in her new apartment, living in a shell of her old self. the bottles of alcohol started to pile up as she drank herself to death. she couldn’t take it, the more hate she received and the more she thought about him—killed her. he never called her since that day, it was like he never loved her.
she was over him, for good. that is until she received a text from an anonymous number. it was an address and a time, telling her to be there. she raised an eyebrow and put on something to keep her incognito, before getting into her truck and going to the address.
she parked across the street, hiding underneath a tree—staring at the big beautiful house. she was wondering what she was doing here or why she was sent here, until she saw him. his raven hair still looked soft as always, hanging in front of his face. his muscles looked even bigger, poking through the black sweater he wore. he looked good. however, she had to stay focused, to see what was going on.
she watched him climb the black steps, knocking on the front door; revealing a woman—and not the one he was engaged to either. ‘what the actual fuck?’ she thought, unbuckling her seatbelt and getting out her truck. the slam of her door caught his attention, his eyes widening when he saw her approaching.
she whipped her phone out in a flash, recording as she started yelling at him. “so much for not doing relationships right?! you said you fucking loved me! toji!”
the woman standing at the door came closer to the door, tugging on his sweater, “toji, who is this?”
“the woman who’s life he ruined.” there was silence between them, the crickets chirping filled the void, only their eyes were having a conversation—before she started up again.
“my nudes get leaked and my life gets ruined! but, yours? oh you get to live happily ever after! you got a baby and a side piece? oh oh and you still got a career! well what about me? hm!” she couldn’t cry, no matter how much she wanted to, she couldn’t. he wasn’t worthy of her tears anymore.
“got nothing to say? hm? cat got your tongue, toji?!”
“im sorry.” he huffed out and she laughed, flipping the camera to face her. “oh he’s sorry?! you aren’t, but you will be!” she stopped recording and stormed off his porch, before turning around to face him once more.
“im about to ruin your fucking life!”
“oh so that’s where that infamous video came from.” the reporter rose an eyebrow, swallowing down her warm cup of coffee, staring at the man sitting across from her.
“look, you got five minutes left. you gonna let me finish telling the story or what?” his voice and demeanor were cold, and she held her hands up in defense. “sorry. what happened next?”
she sent her video to the media which earned her a new job as a paparazzi. she also made articles and never stopped covering articles about him. each one was there to deface him. she was doing like she said she was, ruining his life. but, she was ruining her own as well.
she was drinking more and taking pills to escape her thoughts, sending her into a downward spiral. she was heavily depressed and on the brink of a mental breakdown, yet she still kept going. she was obsessed with him and she should’ve moved on, but how could she? how could she forget the past? when it hasn’t been a year yet?
the more time that passed, the more she wasn’t herself and when utahime came over and saw her in her wretched state—she did what any best friend would do and got her some help.
she was in a psych facility, being treated for chronic depression and memory loss; due to all the pills and alcohol she was consuming. her body couldn’t handle it. all she could remember was the good ole days she had with toji, before her life was ruined.
as for toji, his life was never the same either. he blamed himself for what happened to her, everyday for the rest of his life. he divorced his current wife and co-parented with his ex fiancée with their child that they shared, retiring as a pro mma fighter—passing the torch to his protege and running his own mma school. he was done with fame, he just wanted to go back to normal.
“alright. interviews over, no more questions.” toji got up from his spot and the reporter got up as well, trying to get him to stay. “where are you going?” the recorder was still on, catching his last words.
“going to see my wife.”
as he entered the psychiatric facility, he pushed his wedding band on and navigated his way towards her room, where he saw her waiting on her twin bed—a book in her hand. his eyes softened, she still looked pretty like always. he stepped in the room and she perked up.
“is this my husband?” she asked, trying to remember and he nodded, sitting down next to her on the bed. he pulled out the photo album and showed her pictures from before; her past life before everything changed.
“yeah baby, I’m here.”
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cursedwoman1859 · 1 year ago
Text
Arm Candy (Silco/F!Reader)
“I need someone who can look pretty on my arm and be trusted not to make off with the silverware from a topsider estate. That’s you.” Silco needs a plus-one for a fancy topsider party. You don't really have a choice but to agree.
AO3 Link
Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI)
Words: 5.8k
Content: Resolved sexual tension; semi-public sex; vaginal fingering; dirty talk; dubious business ethics
---
It wasn’t often you got called into Silco’s office first thing in the morning. You were a paper-pusher, not one of the battle-hardened henchmen who usually hung around the Last Drop, and your work mostly kept you at your desk. Calculations came as naturally to you as breathing, and you could crunch numbers faster even than Silco himself. In the few months you’d been working for the Eye of Zaun, you’d made yourself indispensable. You helped keep track of the Shimmer shipments going to and from Zaun, you effortlessly slipped the profits from the drugs business into the earnings from the various factories and bars and properties that Silco owned, and once a week you’d spend the evening alone in the office with your stern, exacting boss while you went over that week’s financial reports. Silco needed someone to cook his books, and you prided yourself on being the best damn chef in the undercity. You kept to yourself, you prayed he never noticed your furtive glances up at him when he was absorbed in his work, and you did not cause trouble.
So it was only natural that your stomach twisted itself into knots as you stepped into his office, and that those knots tightened when he looked up from the paper he was reading, his bicoloured stare pinning you and making your walk to stand in front of his desk feel like miles instead of metres.
“You wanted to see me, sir?” you said when you were near, and the way his eyes flicked over you, almost too quickly for you to notice, did nothing to calm you.
“I did,” he said, his chair creaking as he leaned back in it. You’d definitely never wondered if it could hold two people. “What are you doing tomorrow night?”
You could swear that sentence made your brain fritz like a faulty wire. “I, um—” Absolutely nothing was the real answer, but for some reason you didn’t want to admit that. “I made plans with…Ran and Dustin,” you said, saying the first names that came to your mind even though you’d never shared more than small talk with either of them.
Silco’s eyebrow raised as if he could see right through your lie. Which he probably could, because it was completely transparent. “Then cancel them. I need your help at an event.”
“What kind of…event?” you said, your mind reeling with all the things Silco could be alluding to. Shakedowns, back-alley deals, assassinations…
“Don’t look so frightened,” Silco said, taking a cigar from his ashtray and lighting it. He took a deep drag, letting the smoke billow around him as he spoke. “Are you familiar with Ko Shosu?”
It took you a moment to remember the name from some of the background research you’d carried out on Silco’s competitors. “Doesn’t he own that factory that makes gears or something?”
“The very same. He’s hosting a party at his residence topside tomorrow night and unfortunately, I’ll need to make an appearance. Shosu seems to think we’re acquaintances. And on top of that, I happen to know that one of his associates has run into some financial trouble as of late. His factory makes components that are essential to the Shimmer-tanks we’re developing. Now isn’t that a stroke of luck?”
“You want to get to this associate so you can get him to work with you?”
“Exactly. His name is Rupert Torek and he’s run up gambling debts with some very unsavoury people. I’m sure he’ll be cooperative once he realises I can lend him enough money to get himself out of debt before his wife finds out.”
You decided not to ask how Silco could have information like that on someone he’d never even met. For your sanity’s sake, it was better not to know. “And why do you need me, sir?”
It might have just been your imagination, but you could swear Silco looked you up and down again. Slower this time. “I thought that would be obvious. I cannot exactly show up to something like this alone. I need someone who can distract Torek’s wife so I can get five minutes alone with him, and who can look pretty on my arm and be trusted not to make off with the silverware from a topsider estate. That’s you.”
“I, um—” you floundered for a minute – the words look pretty on my arm setting your heart racing, which was stupid, he’d literally just said he wanted you to be his arm candy for a night, it meant nothing – and Silco raised an eyebrow at your hesitation.
“You’ll be paid overtime for your trouble, of course,” he said.
“That wasn’t—thank you, sir,” you said quickly.
“Good,” he said, flicking through some of the papers on his desk, his focus already slipping back to his work. “Meet me outside Ko Shosu’s house at eight sharp. Wear something nice and do not be late.”
It was a struggle to focus on your work for the next two days. The figures that usually came so easily to you seemed to blur together until you had to triple-check your spreadsheets in case you’d made an error while your mind insisted on screeching Silco think’s I’m pretty over and over like a stuck record. You were sure he’d meant nothing by that offhanded comment, but that didn’t help anything.
It was almost a relief when the next evening rolled around just so you could focus on doing something.
But that relief didn’t last long when you realised you didn’t have the first clue what you should wear to a party at a topsider’s fancy estate. There wasn’t time to hit up the markets even if you could justify the expense, so you settled for a black dress that was simple, but showed off your figure without showing too much of anything else, as you could at least guess that anything shorter than the knee-length hem of your dress might not go over well among the stiff, buttoned-up topsiders. You’d had the dress a long time and had to stitch it once or twice, but surely nobody would notice a little thing like that.
You felt strangely buoyant as you made your way through the upper districts of Zaun, where at this time in the evening business was just starting to pick up. Lines were forming outside the nicer clubs, the street hawkers were packing up to make way for the crowds, and the air nearly sparkled with Shimmer residue as you passed the open doors of some of the edgier establishments, where topsiders went to get a taste of the undercity without actually having to venture below. You couldn’t even find it within yourself to be annoyed at the arrogant topsiders who came to Zaun to indulge in all the things they couldn’t in Piltover before returning to their cushy homes and easy lives. Tonight felt like an infiltration, and it was you who would be inserting yourself somewhere you could never belong.
-
You met up with Silco outside the gates of Ko Shosu’s estate. He’d gone straight there from a meeting with some topsider businessman, and he was dressed as elegantly as he always was. As you approached you glanced at the people milling around on the wide driveway, and you suddenly felt underdressed.
“You’re almost late,” Silco said by way of greeting, and the nervous knot in your stomach only tightened.
“Sorry, sir. Border guards held me up. You know how they are.” The Enforcer at the checkpoint on the bridge had made a huge fuss over your ID photo having a slightly different hairstyle than you did now, just being an asshole because he was an Enforcer and he could.
“Hm,” was all he said as his eyes raked over you, and your mind instantly went to those little stitches in your dress. You suddenly felt as if he could see every little flaw in you, and the feeling only worsened when a couple of women in glittering floor-length gowns swept past, arm-in-arm and laughing airily.
“Do I look all right?” you said just to break the tense silence. “This is the best I have.”
“You look perfectly acceptable,” Silco said, and that was almost worse than if he hadn’t said anything. Acceptable. You’d be lucky if you weren’t mistaken for a servant. “Shall we?” he said then, offering you his arm. When you hesitated, he rolled his eyes. “Take my arm. We have to at least appear as if we both want to be here.”
“Do you want to be here?” you said as you curled your hand around his elbow, trying to ignore the jolt you felt at touching him, even if he was wearing a coat.
He scoffed. “Of course I don’t. But needs must.”
As you made your way up the long driveway, you couldn’t help but gawk at your surroundings. You knew this wasn’t even close to being the grandest house in all of Piltover, but at that moment you could have believed it. There were at least four floors, the upper two ringed in balconies spilling over with hanging flowers and vines. The next closest house had to be at least a hundred metres away, and in the dark space between you could make out the open expanse of a lawn lit by a ring of ground-level lamps, and manicured trees on each side. You couldn’t imagine what the topsiders would do with such a space – you could probably fit a whole other house in there, even one as large as Shosu’s.
And when you entered the house itself, you actually gasped. “Someone lives here? It looks like a palace.”
Silco shot you a glare as you stared at your surroundings with wide eyes, barely even registering the doorman who came to take your coats. “Remember how I said you were the only one I could trust not to fill your pockets? Don’t make me regret it.”
But you were hardly listening as your eyes roved over the crowded ballroom. It was a sea of fine suits and jewel-toned gowns, with servants darting through the throngs like the quick little fish that lived in the shallows of the river, trays of drinks and tiny pastry-like things balanced on their fingertips. Music drifted from somewhere you couldn’t see, almost drowned out by the chatter, and diamonds glittered at fingers and throats – and even on the ceiling, you noticed as your eyes drifted upwards, or at least it seemed like the chandeliers were draped in strings of gemstones that scattered the lights in every direction.
“Concentrate, girl,” Silco muttered close to your ear, making you shiver. “Remember why we’re here. Torek is over there,” he said, though you couldn’t possibly guess which of the guests he was indicating. “Do you remember your task?”
You dragged your eyes away from the spectacle before you to meet his mismatched eyes. “Keep his wife distracted while you get him to consider working with you. I’ve got it.”
“Good. We won’t need to stay long – an hour at most, then you can go home and do whatever you’d like. Maybe you can even catch Ran and Dustin.” As he said this the corner of his mouth tilted up, and you realised with some shock that the Eye of Zaun was teasing you.
You shrugged in what you hoped was nonchalance. “It takes as long as it takes. You know I’m not one to rush a job.”
“I’m aware,” he said as you started to make your way through the crowd, weaving through the throng as if you weren’t aiming straight for your unfortunate target. Perhaps it was because people knew he was from the Undercity, or maybe whispers of the things his people did in dark alleys and dingy establishments travelled ahead of him, but the dense crowd of people seemed to loosen before him, as if people suddenly remembered they had other places to be when he approached. If it offended him, Silco gave no sign, but instead he leaned in to you again. “He is close now. Laugh like I’ve said something terribly clever, you look petrified.”
“I’m fine,” you insisted, but you did as he asked anyway, and it seemed to help. The tension you had felt in the air around you receded a little, and before you knew it Silco was shaking hands with a tall, portly man. You barely heard as he introduced you as his guest for the night, your heart was pounding so loudly in your ears. Rupert Torek had an open, kind face, his eyes crinkling at the sides when he smiled, and he didn’t seem surprised that Silco had sought him out. You wondered if he had any idea how fucked he was.
“We haven’t met before! I’m Liana, Rupert’s wife,” a voice at your side said, making you start, though you quickly smoothed it over with a smile as you turned to the woman who had appeared next to you, introducing yourself and hoping you sounded like you knew you belonged here, just like she did.
Liana glanced between you and Silco, who had already captured her husband’s full attention. Her brows lowered slightly, and you wondered if she had suspicions about her husband’s gambling. “I didn’t know Silco had a partner,” she said carefully.
“Oh, we’re not…together,” you said, laughing airily. “I’m just accompanying him tonight.”
“I see,” Liana said, though now her smile seemed frozen in place, and you wondered if you’d offended her somehow. But nevertheless she called over a couple of her friends, whose names you quickly forgot, and for a moment you were very pleased with yourself. There was no chance Liana would try to join her husband’s conversation while you had her distracted like this.
It was at this point that things started to go wrong.
In hindsight, you should have realised what Liana thought you were implying when you’d said you were accompanying your boss, and what a topsider would think of that particular occupation. But you were a few minutes into a banal, vapid conversation with Liana and her friends about something that you weren’t really paying attention to before you realised that they all thought you were a whore he’d hired for the night, and apparently found this very offensive judging by the bladed smiles and barbed compliments that started heading your way. It didn’t help that you were inadvertently showing much more skin than any of them – and how you were supposed to know the current fashions topside, you had no idea. Pretty soon your fingers were itching to take off one of your high-heeled shoes and beat Liana’s face in with it, but you couldn’t exactly square up in the middle of a ballroom as if you were in a Zaunite dive bar.
So instead, you just played dumb.
You let the thinly-veiled insults, the insinuations that you didn’t belong among them, glance off you. Nobody spent their whole life in Zaun without growing their own kind of armour. Right now yours was keeping your smile frozen firmly on your face, and so Liana was too busy with you to notice that her husband was making a business deal with the Eye of Zaun himself, right under her powdered nose.
That thought made you glance over at Silco, and the second your eyes met his, you felt a strange sort of calm descend over you. Rupert Torek was still chatting away, not even a hint of discomfort on his round face. Silco gave you a minute, almost imperceptible nod, raising his glass of wine slightly.
It had actually worked.
You tried to keep your face blank. That only became harder when Silco turned his attention back to Torek and you realised that when you’d looked over at him, he’d already been watching you.
-
Soon after, you excused yourself to go to the ladies’ room. You were pretty sure Liana and her friends forgot all about you as soon as you were out of sight – or at least you hoped so. You didn’t want to know what they’d be saying about you as soon as you were out of earshot.
You didn’t head to the bathroom, though. Instead you went out the way you’d come in, not bothering to collect your coat from the doorman as you went down the stone steps as fast as you could without running.
As soon as you were outside, away from the glare of the house’s lights, you felt the tightness that had settled in your chest loosen. You hadn’t even noticed the anxiety creep under your skin with every barb Liana and her friends had thrown your way, but when it finally dissipated you wondered how you’d been able to breathe at all.
You should go back now that you’d got your fresh air. You couldn’t just disappear.
But one glance back at the shadowy figures moving through the ballroom windows had you moving away from the house, into the shadows of the grounds where nobody would notice the Zaunite girl who was hilariously out of place among them.
The pathways were lit by low electric lights, and there was nobody else out here. You chose a path along the edge of the grounds, shielded on one side by a high wall and on the other by a huge rosebush bordering the lawn. You weren’t sure whether you were really supposed to be out here, but nobody stopped you as you wandered further into the grounds. 
Eventually you found a bench and you sat down, tipping your head back to watch the stars in the sky. You’d only ever seen them when Silco sent you up to Piltover on business, and on those nights there was never time to stop and really look at them. Down in the Undercity it was difficult to see the sky at all through the smog, let alone the dozens of stars that shimmered through the haze of Piltover’s lights.
For some reason you couldn’t name, tears sprang to your eyes unbidden, and you tried to blink them away without ruining your makeup.
Of course, that was the moment you heard footsteps approaching.
“Drinking alone already?”
Your head snapped up to see Silco strolling towards you, and it was then that you realised you still had your glass of wine in your hand. You sighed, taking a sip as your boss sat down next to you.
“Just needed some air,” you muttered as Silco slung his arm over the back of the bench. It didn’t escape you that if you leaned back, he would have his arm around you. “How did it go with Torek?”
“I expect we’ll be getting a visit from him or one of his associates in the near future. His wife wasn’t too much for you, I take it?”
“I handled it. But they’re all just so…ugh.”
Silco chuckled as he pulled a cigar from somewhere in his coat, and you tried not to let the sound startle you. You’d never heard Silco laugh before, not even a little, and the sound was surprisingly warm. “Don’t worry, we won’t have to do this again for a while.” You watched as he held the cigar between his crooked teeth as he flicked his lighter, the strange angle of the lights highlighting his sharp cheekbones as he took a long drag.
“You know, I don’t think we’re allowed to smoke out here.”
“I don’t care.” He blew a long puff of smoke out into the crisp night air, staining it with a rich scent of tobacco and spices. “Is something bothering you?”
You searched for words to explain the anger tightening your throat, but came up with nothing that made sense. You were a numbers girl. Words were Silco’s thing. You shrugged. “It’s stupid. It doesn’t matter.”
“I’m asking, so I would say it does.” His voice had hardened, and you glanced over at him in alarm, though he didn’t look angry.
You didn’t want to push it, though, so you sighed and took a sip from your wine to buy a few seconds, feeling Silco’s mismatched gaze on you the whole time. “It’s just…all they did in there was bitch about things. What I was wearing, how I acted, their husbands, their lives. And yet…” you gestured vaguely at your surroundings. The gardens that must have needed a whole team of people to maintain. The lawn that sat empty when it could have grown enough food to feed a whole street of hungry Zaunites. The house. “They have all this, but it’s all they’ve ever had, so they can’t even see how privileged they really are. Meanwhile we have to scrape every penny just to put food on the table and some people in Zaun don’t even get that. If I lived up here I’d never complain about anything ever again,” you finished, and by now you were speaking into your wine glass, your eyes fixed on the ground.
Silco was quiet for a moment, and you didn’t dare glance up at him to see if you could gauge what he was really thinking. You’d never been so candid with your boss before, and you half expected him to leave and pretend tonight had never happened. The very last thing you expected him to say was, “What if I told you that tonight had been something of a test of your loyalties?”
Now you did look up, and he was watching you with that kind of calculated detachment he was so good at, though something in the hard lines of his face had softened. Or maybe it was just the moonlight.
“I don’t understand, sir.”
He took his time answering, taking another long drag of his cigar and releasing the smoke in a ring. “You’ve been with me a short while now, and you’re a very talented accountant. With your skills and some forged papers you could easily find work topside. Something with less risk and more pay.”
You flushed at his insinuation. “You pay me just fine.”
He rolled his eyes. “All wages are higher topside, you know that. You could have walked out of that house with a whole list of people who would pay you far more than I can for the same work, but you didn’t. Instead you stood there and allowed me to work on Torek while everyone in that room thought you were just some girl I’d hired for the night.”
You started to splutter a protest, but it died on your lips when you realised Silco was right. If you’d revealed your real job it would have raised Liana’s suspicions.
“It’s a long road ahead of us until Zaun is an independent nation. The topsiders won’t let us go without a fight,” he said, his voice dropping in case you weren’t alone in the gardens. “There will be times when you are tempted by offers of money, better jobs in better places, employers who won’t ask you to break the topsiders’ laws every day. I needed to know that you were true to the cause, that you would remain loyal to me even when you had the opportunity to make things easier for yourself.”
“You were giving me an out,” you said as it clicked into place. “Why now?”
“Because by now, you know exactly what you’re getting into by staying. Your choice to work for me is a genuine one.”
“So did I pass? Your test, I mean.”
“We would not be sitting here now if you had failed.”
You weren’t involved in the…bloodier side of Silco’s business, but you weren’t ignorant to it, either. You knew what he did to people he suspected of disloyalty. Would he really have let you go if you’d wanted? Or would you have disappeared into the shadows of the Lanes, never to be heard from again? You wouldn’t be the first. But then you realised that you’d never been afraid of that, because you would never give him a reason to doubt your loyalties. Zaun had to break free of Piltover, and he was the only one with the wits, the resources, and the sheer bloody-mindedness to finally cut the undercity free.
A sudden cold breeze blew in off the river, making the hedges surrounding you tremble, and you became acutely aware that you had left your coat inside. Before you could give yourself the chance to think better of it, you leaned back, and as you’d suspected, Silco didn’t move his arm. He didn’t quite put his arm around you, but he traced a circle on your bare shoulder with the back of his thumb, almost as if he was reluctant to touch you in case he scared you off.
“We can return to the party if you wish,” he said, and now he was near enough for his warm breath on your ear to send shivers along your skin that had nothing to do with the chilled night air.
“I prefer it out here.”
“As do I.” He held his cigar between his teeth as he reached into his coat and produced a small metal hip flask.
You couldn’t help but snort as he uncapped it and the smell of whiskey hit your nose. “You brought your own alcohol?”
He took a swig and then passed the flask to you. “Better than the swill they’re serving in there.”
“That swill is probably very expensive.”
“So is this. Drink.”
You took a small sip and were proud of yourself when you didn’t cough, even though the whiskey was strong enough to make your eyes water. A pleasant warm sensation spread out from your chest as you swallowed, though, and you shivered as you licked a drop off your lip. “Definitely tastes expensive.”
You looked up at him, and Silco’s eyes quickly snapped away from your mouth as he made a vague hum of agreement. For a while neither of you spoke, and you only passed the flask back and forth in companionable silence. The music that drifted towards you on the wind picked up in pace, and you heard the occasional drunken shout in the distance. Still nobody ventured into the dark grounds.
“Earlier I told you that you looked acceptable,” Silco said all of a sudden as he tapped out his half-smoked cigar and put it back in the tin. “I believe I should have told you that you look lovely instead.”
You felt a flush creep up your neck, and you risked a glance up at your boss – who had told you that you would look pretty on his arm, who had trusted you with this mission and had noticed when you slipped off to be alone. Nobody ever did that.
Maybe it was the whiskey. Maybe you were delusional or perhaps just stupid. You didn’t really know why you did it, but before you could think better of it, you leaned over and kissed him.
It was only a quick, chaste press of your lips against his, and you instantly regretted it when Silco stayed completely still against you. You jerked backwards, already apologising. “I’m so sorry sir, I shouldn’t—”
You didn’t get to finish your sentence. Silco’s hand was firm on the back of your neck as he pulled you towards him and kissed you. Properly this time. It was your turn to freeze in shock, but you quickly got over it as his tongue danced against yours and you tasted whiskey and smoke. You eagerly let him in as he deepened the kiss, shivering as his hand slid up your leg from your knee to your thigh, and for the first time that night you were glad of your too-short skirt.
You gasped in surprise as he pulled you onto his lap, barely breaking the kiss as he made you straddle him, your skirt riding up as your thighs spread. Feeling bold, you ran your hands through his soft hair, and he hummed in approval as you raked your nails through the short hair at the base of his neck. In response he gave your ass a firm squeeze, grinding you down onto his lap.
And onto the hard length beneath you.
You circled your hips against him as he moved down to your neck, holding you in place with a hand in your hair pulling just tight enough to hurt as he bit more than kissed you, leaving marks that would definitely be impossible to hide in this dress. You couldn’t give a shit. No way were you going back into that stupid party after this.
“Tell me how long you’ve wanted this,” Silco said, emphasising his point with a sharp snap of his hips up against you.
“I—” you started, but you could only focus on his hands creeping up your thighs again. Except this time, they didn’t stop.
“Go on,” he coaxed, as if you were supposed to focus on anything except his fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties. You hissed as he tugged them down and the cold night air hit your pussy, and it faded into a whimper as he trailed his fingers along your lips, pausing to circle your entrance in a way that made your back arch. “And don’t you dare try to lie to me, sweetheart, because you’re already wet for me.”
“Um…” you tried to focus on anything but the soft, barely-there brush of his fingers against your pussy. Every time you tried to grind against his hand he moved away, keeping his touch just a little too soft, the bastard. “I think – maybe…”
“A few weeks?” he prompted.
“Mm – no…”
He raised an eyebrow, but rewarded your answer by pressing his thumb against your clit, though he still refused to give you what you wanted. Needed.
“Months?”
“Longer. Since… I wanted this since my first day working for you.” Finally, Silco slid one long finger into you as his thumb drew an agonisingly slow circle over your clit, and your eyes fluttered closed in pleasure.
��Do you want to know a secret, my lovely?” he said, his fingers moving faster, obscene wet noises filling the air.
“M-hm.”
“I have you beat. I’ve wanted this since I interviewed you.”
Your eyes flew open at his admission just as he sank another finger into you without warning. Later. You could think about what he’d said later. For now you just let yourself enjoy the curl of his long fingers inside you, the expert ministrations of his thumb on your clit that sent waves of warm pleasure up your spine.
Until the bastard stopped.
He withdrew his hand from you, and his fingers glistened in the moonlight from your wetness. Your eyes widened as he licked them clean, then he motioned for you to stand. “Get up. Go and stand at the end of the bench.”
You followed his directions on shaky legs, and Silco followed, casually strolling around to stand behind you. You had a good idea of what he intended. He trailed his fingers up your bare arms, then fisted one hand in your hair while the other held your bicep in a bruising grip. “If you want this to stop,” he purred in your ear, “say the word now.”
You only pushed back against him, feeling his hard length behind you.
“I thought not.” Then he bent you over the arm of the bench, the ornate steel armrest digging into your hips as he lifted your skirt and pulled your panties down to your knees. You weren’t sure if you shivered with the cool breeze or the anticipation as you heard him unbutton his pants, his hand still in your hair. Then you hissed as you felt the press of his cock against your centre, arched your back as he slid it through your wetness before finally sinking into you as his free hand started playing with your clit once more.
Your voice rose in a high, keening cry as he sheathed himself inside you, easing the ache of his entry with his fingers on your clit. He stopped abruptly, pulling you up by your hair. “Hush now,” he hissed in your ear as he let go of your hair and shoved his fingers in your mouth. You could taste the echo of yourself on his skin. “You don’t want them to think you really are my whore, do you?”
You choked around his fingers for a moment before you relaxed your throat enough that you could shake your head and make a garbled nuh-uh sound, which earned you a low chuckle.
“I didn’t quite catch that, sweetheart,” he said as he started to move, setting a quick, urgent pace that reminded you that anybody could come around the corner and see you bent over a bench with the most powerful man in the Undercity driving into you from behind as you gagged on his fingers. Every thrust of his hips ground yours against the metal armrest, and you knew you’d surely have bruises in the morning. “I wish we were somewhere I could fuck you properly. Take you apart piece by piece until you’re nothing more than a writhing, crying mess in my bed. But perhaps you do like the idea of someone seeing you, seeing how well you’re taking me. How wet you are.” His breathing was becoming shallow as he fucked you, but that didn’t stop the stream of filth from his mouth. “I don’t know about you, but I would kill to see the look on Ko Shosu’s face when he realises we used his party to lure his friend into our web and then defiled his rose garden right under his nose.”
He said something else after that too, but you’d stopped listening to his words and let the low, rough cadence of his voice be the final push you needed over that peak you’d been approaching, once interrupted and now higher than ever. Even Silco’s fingers in your mouth weren’t enough to muffle your cries as you came, your thighs shaking from the strain of standing while your walls clamped down on Silco’s cock, over and over again in waves of agonising bliss. He followed soon after, and you felt a warm rush as he spilled himself inside you with a groan he muffled in your neck.
For a moment you both stood there, catching your breath. You sighed in relief as Silco removed his fingers from your mouth, and after tucking himself away he cleaned you up with a handkerchief before pulling your panties back up for you. “You felt just as good as I’d imagined you would,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to your abused scalp.
“Is that something you imagined often, sir?” you said teasingly.
“Most nights,” he murmured into your hair. “And perhaps some days, too.”
Well, damn. You had no idea what to say to that, other than, “Me too.” Maybe you had actually drank too much. “Take me home,” you said, leaning back against his chest as he straightened out your skirts. You felt him smile against your hair.
“It would be my absolute pleasure.”
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xxanaduwrites · 3 months ago
Text
⋆ ˚。⋆୨୧˚ a residue series installment ˚ ୨୧⋆。˚ ⋆
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wearin’ that loved on look
✎ elementary-teacher!reader (miss.honey) x biker!benny 🏍️
summary: in which a drawn out engagement leaves honey takin’ matters into her own hands. benny may or may not break a rule or two, actin’ married sooner rather than later when seeing his honey wearin’ that loved on look ;)
warnings: 18 + only. alluded sexual content but nothing super crazy. quite more poetic actually. they are pretty much pining over each other. no actual smut here but i may write a part 2 if requested or interest ensues.
word count: 4.2k
main hive 🐝
💌 requests are open, send ‘em honey 💋
⋆ ˚。⋆୨୧˚୨୧⋆。˚ ⋆
You were taking one last look in the mirror when that familiar sound of a rumbling engine echoed out on the street near your front lawn. Your stomach couldn’t help but twist up in a tight knot, your reflection staring back at you, confirming there was no turning back now. Your man was here. He was right outside, and it’d be cruel to make him wait a minute longer. Would it? Or would it be just the right thing. Sixty seconds to settle yourself. Sixty seconds to render your composure and pique his interest simultaneously.
All good things come to those who wait after all.
So you took your time – well as much time as you would allow yourself. Stepping over a lone shoe missing its match and an overall or two, you made your way over to the window to let your man know you’d be out in just a minute. On a night like this, you knew he’d keep the engine running, Itching to get to the club. Itching to get you out of your parents’ hair. Not wanting to waste a single second he could be spending with just you. So, it was only fair when you rolled up the window and hollered his name over the not-so quiet street. The sound of his engine was noisy enough to mask out the hinges of the old window panes attached to your house.
Not wanting to give too much away, you ducked ever-so swiftly as Benny’s head turned in the direction of your sweet voice. Once his eyes landed on you, all he could see was your small head, a mound of honey dewdrop curls planted up on your head like your own personal hive. And then you were holding up a finger, silently telling him to hold on for just a minute, and he of course was complying – still with a sliver of hesitance though. It was unlike you to leave him waiting. Especially on a night like this. A night that didn’t require hitting the hay early for rising school hours. No – it was a Friday night. An oddly warm and buggy Friday night, relevant over the sudden silence of his engine succumbing to the buzzing cicadas.
Mounting off his bike, he settled into a casual lean against it instead. However, his cool demeanor did not match the tumbleweed of thoughts rolling inside his head.
Were your Ma and Pa holding you back? Would they come out to talk to him? Were they finally gonna rip off the bandage and take away the blessing of marrying you he’d been working so hard to maintain?
Pinching his nose between his thumb and forefinger, he let out a much needed breath before fishing for his pack of cigarettes in his pocket. The urge for a smoke was unbearable and warranted, so much so, that when he lit the thing up, took a look around, and really settled with his thoughts, his concerns didn’t feel as daunting as they once were. Upon inspection, your driveway was vacant, empty – confirming that one or both of your parents had to be out on the town or out of it completely. It wasn’t unusual for them to trek to another state for a festival where honey sales were of great interest, and on top of that, well – you didn’t look upset by any means. That had to be a plus there. Could it? He couldn’t recall your smile meeting your eyes through the warm honey light shining from your childhood bedroom against the deep dark night….
He was just about to take another drag when the hinges of your front door squeaked in protest, your silhouetted figure crisp against the hall lamp light. Right before you were about to close the front door completely, you peeked your head back inside, practically cursing yourself as you smacked on the front porch light.
Welp – there was truly no turning back now. Your one minute time stamp was long gone. The hair tie, that you’d already regretted taking out of your hair, was haphazardly tossed on your vanity, and the searing porch light was now burning you like a spot light. The show had begun, and boy were you giving your Benny a show.
He blinked. Once, twice, maybe three times? He wasn’t sure. Hell – how could he keep count when he was looking at you. You – his fiance, top snug in a new denim vest, decked out in patches galore, and bottom – god your bottom – in a matching mini skirt, your smooth honey tanned legs on full display. With your hair scooped down, tossed messily in a side parted wave and your form lacking its usual layers of clothes, his eyes rounded out, jaw slackened, and his pants – well they started to feel real tight around him.
Little did he know you were nervous. Real nervous to come towards him. To be out in such an outfit that was so unlike you. Sure you were known for your signature denim and fun patches, but not like this. Not out of your more appropriate school clothes that consisted of long skirts and dresses, and of course your usual overalls. And hey – there was no denying that you wore shorts every now and then on your days off. The Chicago heat was no joke on those dense warm summer days. Yet there was nothing sunny about tonight, no – not in this darkness where you felt in competition with the moon.
As you walked towards Benny, you couldn’t help but pull your skirt down ever-so slightly, the barely there length making you rather uncomfortable and out of sorts. You could only hope you weren’t mooning your house, let alone your neighbors. The last thing you needed were your parents finding out you left the house with your ass out.
Funnily enough, your worry slipped your mind the moment your eyes landed on Benny. Eyes alight, he looked like a lost puppy, begging for a treat. So much so, that the cigarette dangling between his teeth lost purchase. His jaw so slack from shock, the cylinder tipped right out of his mouth and hit the pavement. You almost laughed. You really almost did, but you bit down on your lip before it could escape you.
You were relieved to say the least, and his reaction alone reminded you why you were doing this in the first place. It wasn’t because you were fishing for his attention. You always had it. Hell – you had him wrapped around your little finger, even if you were too humble and sometimes clueless to really think so.
But here, now – there was a difference. A difference because you were not only trying to reward him for being so good to you, but also because you wanted a little something more from him. Of course you just loved being his fiance, but waiting to get married was taking such a toll on you. You wanted to be his wife sooner rather than later, and it was no help at all that your parents were being sticklers in the matter. Practically ruining your plans of getting hitched anytime soon. It was all this and that of them wanting Benny to prove himself. To show himself worthy to your parents that he would be a good fit for their daughter. You thought it was all rather counter productive. Benny had shown himself worthy to you in many ways, and there was no denying that it perturbed you that your parents didn’t trust your judgment. You were a big girl, a fully grown adult, a whole school teacher, and yet they still treated you like you were a little one.
You didn’t want to be treated like that tonight. No – you wanted to be treated like a wife. His wife.
Benny was in the midst of reaching down for his fallen cigarette, too lovestruck and drunk off your presence to realize it was long gone and better off forgotten. Funnily enough, his peripheral vision was still trained on you, making you realize sooner than later that upon straightening back out, he’d have the perfect view under your skirt. The thought made you blush all over, warming up your insides.
Before his lean fingers could snag the thing, your wedged denim sandal found purchase on the discarded cylinder, the fire burning out as your foot stomped on it. “S’dirty.” You reasoned, those pretty sky blue eyes of his boring up at you in a way that kind-of reminded you of the little school children you worked with. There was an innocence there. One that was only reserved for you, hidden beneath a tough rounded out exterior apparent to everyone else. Yet, it wasn’t all innocent. No — not in the way his features twisted up in desire.
For a second you almost thought he was gonna take you right there and then, a nosedive right up your skirt that you wouldn’t deny. But no — instead you were left wanting, aching as he straightened himself back up, warm calloused fingertips brushing against the small remnants of exposed skin between your vest and skirt, hands materializing at your hips and pulling you in.
“Honey….” He drawled, a fun little whistle rather detached from his usual deep tuned voice spurring out of him. “Wha’ I do to deserve this?” He mused, planting kisses across your neck, erupting you in giggles. “Hm?” He pressed, squeezing your sides sweetly.
In your defense, who could blame you for being tongue tied when he was all over you? Pillowy lips snagging the delicate skin of your neck, soft and sweet. “Is tha’ even a question?” You giggled again as his teeth dragged against your collarbone.
“M’serious…” he murmured into your skin, stifling the growl that was bound to escape him. “S’there a special occasion I dunno ‘bout?” He tried again, but suddenly stiffened. Lips detached from your skin, as well as his warm breath. An indication that he was holding it in. “S’not our anniversary is it? I swore it wasn’t until — fuck, m’sorry Honey did I —“ his words caught in his throat, tangled in a web of self inflicted doubt, and you hated it. Hated seeing him like this, thinking he had done something wrong. Fucked up somehow. But you were quick — so quick in assessing the situation, your hands, fingernails decked out in your usual color of choice — ballet slippers — and Benny’s ring, still snug on your honorary finger since your engagement, circled around his face.
It took him a moment, but his scruffy cheeks relaxed against your palms in an instant when your eyes met his in alarm. “No, baby. Nah. Ain’t an anniversary or nothin’. Just wanted to show y’my love. That’s all.” His pinched brows smoothed out, and you smiled as you watched the worry flee his eyes. “Betty er —“ you began rather shyly, “she uh gave me one of her old vests, y’see?” You explained, dropping your hands from his face and onto the clothing in question. “Johnny’s got her a new one, so she said I could have hers. Deck it out. Do what I wanna with it. So….” You turned on your heel, spinning in a quick circle before sing-songing a, “ta-da!” like you’d do for your students when you had some sort of surprise or good news. Usually it’d be a lollipop for each after an exam. A congratulatory treat for completing such a task!
Your nerves were still running on a high, but you flashed Benny one of your grand smiles as you striked a little pose, jazz hands included.
When it hit you what you were doing, you mentally wanted to curse yourself out for putting on such a childish act. This was all about acting like a wife, not a child! You wanted him to want you just as much as you wanted him, but what kind of motives were this?
Thankfully, your mental battle didn’t last very long. It ended quite quickly the moment his mouth opened and drawled, “Hmm….C’mere. Lemme take a closer look at ya.”
You obliged without question. Without resistance. Without any sort of hesitation. His voice always tickled you to the bone, but this — this! This was something else entirely. Something that sent honey down below in deep measure. So you stepped forward, becoming caged by his observation in an instant. His hands materialized on your hips against the rough denim of your skirt all over again. It was like he was scared you’d walk away before he’d get to really look at the art in front of him, and god were you just a whole masterpiece.
You stayed silent, giving him the space to do as such, but you couldn’t help but watch him as he drank you in from head to toe. His eyes wandered over every patch, and it made your cheeks burn when he spent extra time on the ones that really resembled you. There were the cute little bedazzled bees and a jar of honey of course, but also an apple as a little ode to your teacher status. You stitched some extra flowers you had leftover from when you were sewing patches onto your denim overall dress from school. The one you met Benny in the very first day you saw him.
“Baby….” he hummed in complete approval. “Ya real talented, y’know that? S’good. Too —“ But then his words cut out in the midst of complimenting you, and you knew he finally saw it. The patch that was just the beginning to what the back claimed, but held so much more commitment. More devotion even. In the front, on the left upper side of the vest right over your heart was a patch, shaped in such a way — a heart to be exact — with the words Benny’s Baby stitched right into it. “Wha — What’s this?”
Your heart dropped to your stomach then, worry shooting through your veins as you scrambled to complete your next sentence. “S’just a — a lil’ something. I know you were uh — real hell bent about the ring thing. Getting me a proper one or whatever so…” you trail off, nudging your purse from your shoulder so you could open up it and reveal the contents of your explanation. Benny just stared, watched you like some fascinated kid about to be gifted a candy cigarette for the first time as you took out the matching patch you made for him. One that was more daring, more forward, and far more a symbol of ownership than anything you had on yours, as far as you were concerned. “I uh — I made you one too,” you tumbled out, hands shaking as you held it out for him to see. A similar heart. Rather exact to yours. The catch? It said Honey’s Hubby in your pretty neat stitched cursive. “And look, you don’t have to wear it if you don’t wanna. I know it’s kind of silly and all, but I just thought it could be our thang, y’know? Our promise to each other but again if that’s —“
“Honey, Honey….Honey,” he rumbled out soft, smooth, and sultry, all the same, bringing your rambling to a hault. “Are ya kiddin’ me? Y’think I wouldn’t wear this?” He asked, his thumb rubbing across the indentations the stitching made over and over again. If he could mold his finger print into the embroidery, write those same words repeatedly, eternally to show his devotion, he would.
“Well I, I mean —“ you dropped your hands dramatically at your sides. “The guys….”
“What about ‘em?” Benny pressed, pocketing your creation protectively over his heart before taking a step closer to you. “I don’t care wha’ they think. Don’t care what anybody thinks besides you,” his hand circled your side once more, this time pulling you in so you were chest to chest. “Look, soon when the times right,” he let out a frustrated sigh, clearly targeted towards your parents who weren’t even in the vicinity, ”on paper, in writing, y’gonna be my wife. But right here, right now, fucking on this patch, y’already mine, kay?”
“Mhm,” you nodded, your hands taking purchase on Benny’s vest, fingers trailing down the patches, down until you reached his belt, down down down until his breath caught his throat.
“Honey…” he warned, eyes drooping with heaviness. Heaviness in your desire and his own. It wasn’t that he didn’t want you. Hell — he always fucking wanted you. Only you. But he had made a promise to himself.
To you. For you.
He promised to wait. Wait to have all of you.
He knew he wasn’t a good guy. Knew he’d never be the good guy, but he wanted to be better for you. Do better for you. So, he decided early on — the moment he knew he wanted you to be his wife, that he’d at least do one thing right.
Sure you’d fool around. There wasn’t any way either of you could resist it. Not when Benny’s muscular arms appeared full display when a shirt simply couldn’t be an option on one of those super sweltering days. It’d be a sin not to have your hands all over him, feeling the warmth of his toned sun-kissed skin under your palms. And you — oh you, in one of your pretty little dresses, a rare sight to see on a weekday. Benny’d be kicking himself for weeks on end if he didn’t seize the opportunity, didn’t get to have his skilled calloused fingers up and under your skirt.
“Wha?” You asked innocently with batting lashes.
He didn’t move away from your touch, but stilled yours, his large hand encircling both your smaller ones hugging onto his belt loop. “Y’know we can’t….” He murmured, vibrated even. His words didn’t match what he wanted. You could tell in the way his bottom lip turned crimson as he bit down through all his restraint, and his eyes burned darker in the pale moonlight. And of course you could tell by the obvious bulge that was forming rather apparently in his jeans.
“Not right nowwww…” you trailed, pulling on the reins of his belt loop so you could be closer. “Lata, after the club. My parents ain’t home for the rest of the weekend. Won’t be home until Monday. So…Y’know what that meansss?”
“So that’s why y’dolled up like this?” He huffed, a big toothed smile in pure disbelief stretching across his gorgeous features. A rare sight to see. So rare that you almost thought you imagined his eyes crinkling at the edges in pure amusement. “To get me inta y’bed?”
Embarrassment dusted your cheeks in red heat. So hot, it left you shy in the wake of your motives. “S’not just —“ you stammered, trying to find the right words to say what you truly felt.
But you were frustrated. So frustrated. And Benny well — he was sure to fix that. Sure to get that stubborn crease out between your brows that waa forming in pure stress. “If that wha’ y’wanted, baby. Y’coulda just asked.” He mused, lips pressing against the curve of your neck, right near a sensitive spot he knew worked you up. “As much as I love all this,” he whispered, the warmth of his breathe sending a shiver down your spine as his hands traveled down your silhouette, “Y’could be wearin’ a potato sack, and I’d still find ya sexy.”
You understood what he meant, and you appreciated it. You really did. But that wasn’t the point. The point was much more emotional, more intense, more meaningful, and you weren’t gonna let it slip way. “S’not just about gettin’ ya in my bed,” you started, your lips parting and almost making you lose your train of thought as his lips edged the side of your ear. Your hands moved up the plains of his chest and you pushed him back ever-so slightly.
His lips detached from your skin in an instant and those pretty blue eyes of his locked with yours in complete attentiveness. “Then wha’ is it, Honey?”
“I know y’say I’m already yours, and I believe ya I really do, but,” you sighed, “why doesn’t it feel that way?”
“Wha — wha d’ya mean?” He asked, fingers pressing into your sides in a way that made you know he was the one gettin’ frustrated now. Frustrated that he could lose you. That you could just slip between his fingertips.
Reassuring him, you slipped your hands upward, looping them behind and around his neck lovingly. “I mean…I’m tired, baby. Tired of waitin’ to be your wife. And I’m sick of my Ma and Pa thinkin’ they can control us. Control what we want. Control our lives. Why let ‘em? When have you — Mister doesn’t let anybody tell ‘em what to do— follow the rules?”
You had a point. Benny knew that. It was rather out of character for him to be a goody-to-shoes, if you will, but this — this was different. This was him showing his honor. His dedication to you. Similarly to how he would to the club. Deep down you knew that too.
“I am too,” Benny admitted, his fingers relaxing against you, his admission draining the tension from his body. “As much as I’d like ta marry ya right ‘bout now, the courthouses ain’t open, and I know it’d break Betty’s lil’ heart if we went off and got hitched with all the plannin’ she’s up to.”
“Oh no — i know. I know we can’t do that right now crazy,” you laughed lightly before getting serious, “And y’know I’d neva’ do that to her. Neva eva.”
“Mhm,” he hummed, eyes never leaving you.
“I just wanna be close to you. That’s all. Never feel — never feel close enough, y’know?” Now you were the one with an admission.
Benny’s features softened in an instant, shoulders slumping against your arms. You could feel his resolve slipping in the seconds that slipped by your words. He went silent for a minute. Just a minute. Sixty seconds that had the gears turning in his head. But sixty seconds that would change everything once they were through. He knew you were right about the rules. He wasn’t one to follow them anyways, and besides in the long run would it really hurt to break just this one a bit? A bit for you who was wanting to do just the same.
You who was begging to be his wife.
If it was so wrong then why did it feel so right?
“Y’wanna be closer to me? Wanna feel what it’s really like to be married, baby?” He said suddenly, taking you off guard.
He pulled you in closer, and your heart leaped in your chest. “Yes,” you said as confidently as you could.
“Then when the club’s through, I’ll stay the night and you’ll have me, ‘kay?” The words you were longing to hear had come into frusion.
Your disbelief and pure surprise made you eager to confirm they were real. “Oh Benny! Are y’sure?” You asked, practically jumping up and down.
“M’sure,” Benny laughed lightly, his heart warming at the sight of you in genuine happiness. “As y’said, when have I ever followed the rules?”
“Hm…Tha’ my Benny…” you murmured before his lips captured yours in a searing passionate kiss.
You were so wrapped in one another, not realizing how long you were standing there, that it took one of the neighbor’s lights turning on through their window in your peripheral vision for you to pull apart.
“We should go,” Benny said breathlessly. His lips were swollen and puffy with a thin sheen of your lip gloss now coating ‘em. You had to stifle a laugh when you reached up and wiped the excess off with your thumb.
You nodded in agreement, turning with him to mount the bike, but at the last second you stopped in your tracks. “Wait Benny! I forgot to show you the back.” You exasperated, stepping back.
“Hm?” He hummed in confusion, not leaving his spot on the bike, mounted and ready to go as he looked at you.
“The vest!” You explained, spinning on your heel and revealing the back. In the center, around the usual Outlaws Chicago emblem, instead of a skull in the center, you replaced it with a patch that said, Property of Benny.
You stood there for a minute. Sixty seconds in your pose, and just when you were about to open your mouth and ask if he liked it, did you suddenly feel those all too familiar arms circle around you and hold you up in the air. “Benny!” You squealed when your feet were no longer against the pavement dangling in the air.
“That’s it,” he groaned, before swooping up your feet bridal style and walking across the grass.
“Benny! What’re ya doing?” Your eyes widened in surprise as you watched him walk you in the opposite direction of the bike. To your front door. “Wha’ about the club?” You probbed again frantically.
“Club can wait.” He said simply. “Actin’ married can’t.”
That was all it took — well that and his lips molding against yours, silencing every thought you ever had once the door closed behind you two and you ended up doing just what you intended.
Actin’ married.
Because even if it wasn’t legal yet, you were bound together spiritually by your feelings and actions alone.
You became his, and he became yours on a randomly warm night under the pale moonlight.
⋆ ˚。⋆୨୧˚୨୧⋆。˚ ⋆
authors note: i apologize for how long this took for me to update! i’m just glad my writer’s block has ended & i’m back.
but anywayssss i may write a part 2 to this ;)
also if ya new here hi! welcome honey & if you aren’t but haven’t yet don’t forget to comment if you’d like be added to “da bee hive” (my version of da tag list)
smoochies. all da love xanadu 💋
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keilanana · 7 months ago
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𝑻𝒐 𝑫𝒆𝒇𝒚 𝑭𝒂𝒕𝒆
ᴏ. ʀᴇɪɴᴄᴀʀɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ɪs ᴀ ᴛʜɪɴɢ, ᴀᴘᴘᴀʀᴇɴᴛʟʏ
You find out reincarnation actually exists the hard way and sort of maybe go through the five stages of grief?
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Your death comes to you in the most embarrassing way on your thirteenth birthday.
On your way home from school, you had decided to take the long route and found yourself walking across the edge of a bridge, arms held out to help you keep balance and your mind somewhere far away.
Unfortunately for you, though, your far away thoughts cost you your focus, so you failed to remember that it had rained last night, and the bridge was still wet from the storm's assault in result.
All in all, your realization came too late in the form of you slipping and falling into dark, deep, rushing water that sung with triumph when your form fell into its embrace and sunk into its depths.
Death didn't last long, luckily enough, but that was only because you somehow opened your eyes just after closing them in acceptance of your inevitable end.
Needless to say, when you woke up—expecting either the gates of Heaven, the fiery pits of Hell, or perhaps nothing—to find yourself staring up into the eyes of two women you had never seen before in your life, you were pretty confused.
One of the women, who just so happened to be holding you, for some reason, had [S/t] skin, long, [H/c] hair, and fox-like [E/c] eyes that stared down at you with such pure adoration, you nearly did a double take to see if maybe your eyes weren't working as well as they used to due to, you know ... dying.
The other woman was quick to take your focus from the other one, though, and that was probably because of the fact that she had horns and goat ears??
Maybe you were right about your eye sight, after all. It clearly must've had something wrong with it now, if you were starting to see people with horns and goat ears.
"[Y/n] ..." The whisper of your name makes you return your attention to the woman holding you, and she smiles down at you, emitting a sort of warmth that had you snuggling closer to her before you could even think of stopping yourself. The action seems to please her, because her smile grows and she pulls you closer, placing a kiss atop your head.
You hear the other woman chuckle, the noise fond and just as warm as the presence of the one holding you, and then watch her from the corner of your eye as she draws closer and slips her arm beneath you, wanting to cradle you as well.
"Welcome to our world, little one," you hear her say, and with their combined warmth, you can only keep your eyes open for so long before exhaustion consumes you once again.
(In the back of your mind, the horned woman's words echo; "Welcome to our world"—something meant only to be a greeting to the new being they've brought to life, yet despite this, you can't help but feel as though it also alludes to something deeper.
But for now, sleep comes first, and you promise yourself that you'll only feel semi-disappointed when you wake up and learn this was all only a dream.)
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
You're going to lose your shit.
It was not a dream. This is not a dream.
You end up balling your eyes out for hours. The two women you had thought to be mere figments of your imagination (your new parents, apparently) panic throughout the entire ordeal and do everything they can to get you to stop, but for as bad as you feel for making them worry, you just can't stop because you were dead you were supposed to be dead how is this even possible—
The only peace they get is when you're asleep, but even then, those moments can only last for so long before the nightmares—the memories have your eyes shooting open to fill with tears in seconds, and then the cycle starts all over again.
Your parents (no they're not they can't be yours and you can't be theirs oh god do they even know what's happened to you back home what happened to your body) are, understandably, very concerned. Since coming home, you've done nothing but cry and cry and cry, and nothing they do can get you to stop. They've already tried taking you to the doctor, believing for a horrifying moment that you must have been painfully ill, but the appointment only ended with the man—eyes filled with sympathy for the couple—telling them that you're actually perfectly healthy.
"I'm sorry, but I'm afraid that there isn't anything that I can do to help you," he'd said, your cries just as loud as ever and making the [E/c]-eyed woman holding you—Penelope Ophelia—gather you up from where you were sitting on her lap to rock you gently in her arms in a desperate attempt to soothe you.
"Really?" Penelope's lover, the woman the horns (that the doctor doesn't seem to notice, mind you), sent the doctor a pained, frustrated look. "Nothing at all?" she asked.
He only shook his and apologized again.
You don't know how long it's been, nor do you care. All you know is that you were dead, and then you weren't, and now all you've ever known most likely doesn't matter, because who knows if you'll ever see it again?
But then one day, as if your world couldn't be turned upside down anymore than it already has, you manage to catch Penelope's loud gasp above your crying, and then—
"Willow! I think I know why [Y/n]'s been crying!" she says, suddenly rushing over to you and lifting you up for a closer look at your head. "They have horns coming in!"
You hear someone—Willow, obviously—spit their drink out from the other room, and the shock you feel at Penelope's words turns out to be all it takes for you to finally stop crying.
'Horns'? Did you hear that right?
Clearly taking your stunned silence as a sign for whatever reason, Penelope begins to coo at you and bring you close to caress your head and kiss it, and—Oh. Oh.
You can feel them: the horns, small bumps on your head (for now), everytime Penelope's delicate hands brush over them. The movements are gentle and careful, obviously out of fear of accidentally hurting you and setting your constant crying off once more, and your mind is so caught up trying to piece together an explanation for—for all of this—that you don't even notice Willow coming into the room, a bright grin on her face as she takes in the small nubs growing from your crown and says:
"Would you look at that?" She laughs and takes you from Penelop's grasp to hold you up in the air like that monkey from The Lion King did. "Looks like I win the bet after all! Ay, little satyr?"
Willow laughs again when she sees her wife playfully roll her eyes, and you—for the first time since you've been brought to their home—remain silent while your entire world crumbles around you.
Satyr?
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The Percy Jackson series was a gift to you from your grandparents on your eleventh birthday, and you've been obsessed with it ever since.
When you found yourself sighing over the boring, mundane life you lived, you would open the books and get lost in the world of Camp Half-Blood: imagining yourself as a camper, wondering who your Godly parent would be, and grinning at the idea of getting to befriend the main cast and join them on their adventures. While you were stuck inside doing homework, Percy and his friends were out fighting monsters and meeting Gods, and a part of you—the part that always longed for something more—would wish you could reach out and join them.
And now here you were, in a world clearly not like your own, and one of your new mother's is apparently a satyr.
(You are, too, but you're not really ready to process that just yet.)
It wasn't possible—it couldn't be possible. It's not like satyrs were only relevant in Percy Jackson, after all; there are plenty of stories out there that included the mythological race! You couldn't have possibly just so happened to get reborn into the world of the book series you've adored for two years! It just—it wouldn't make sense! Clearly, one of your new guardians being a satyr was a mere coincidence. Nothing more, nothing less.
"Chiron wrote to me, recently," sighs Willow as she plops down onto the couch Penelope had decided to read a book to you on. "Looks like the camp's satyr situation is a lot more serious than I thought, if he's sending me letters and asking me to help out again."
You choke on your own spit and have Penelope frantically patting your back before the woman can even respond to what her wife just revealed.
Then, when that whole ordeal's finished, Penelope lays you down in your crib after her and Willow take turns kissing your forehead, and now you're left alone to stare up at the canopy painted to the ceiling, losing yourself to your thoughts.
This ... isn't a dream. Yeah, that's been pretty obvious for a while now, but the assurance made your shoulders feel a little lighter. This isn't a dream and ... it's a lot.
You ... What should you do? You don't know how you got here, and you honestly doubt that there's a way out, so ... Again, what should you do?
Taking a deep breath, you close your eyes and decide, for now, to just go over what you do know:
1. You've been reborn (no duh, but sometimes you just have to repeat that to yourself to properly get it through your head).
2. Your 'parents' are two women by the name of Penelope and Willow Ophelia. Willow is a satyr, and Penelope (as far as you know) is a human.
3. Again, you've been reborn, and into the world of Percy Jackson of all places.
The bigger, more logical part of you kind of wants to start crying again. Out of literally anyone in the world—your world—why was this happening to you? Everyone you've ever known, all you've ever known, are suddenly gone, and all because you decided you wanted to walk along the edge of a stupid, slippery bridge.
It's just ... so frustrating. You were never perfect, you never wanted to be perfect, but you liked to think you were a good person, at least. What could you have done to deserve this? Who could have thought you deserved this?!
Yet, still, for as badly as you want to freak out (to cry, scream, break something) you can't deny that there's a small part of you—the part of you that always knew, even if you didn't want to fully admit it to yourself, that you could never conform to what society expected from you, that wanted nothing more than to just jump into the pages of your beloved books and live out the rest of your days in Camp Half-Blood, fighting monsters and challenging Gods—that feels just a little bit ... giddy about this. Because for as much your old family tried, for as much as they loved you, they just couldn't understand why you were the way you were; couldn't make you feel seen in the way Percy, Annabeth, Nico, and all of the other demigods did.
And, Gods, that was just the biggest part of it, wasn't it?
Even after everything they'd gone through—the ignorance of adults not willing to understand, the apathy of other kids who thought lesser of those not like them, the loneliness and confusion because you didn't know what was wrong with you—they had still found a place to belong. Found people to belong to. And ... and ...
And you wanted that. More than anything in the world, back then.
But this was not your world anymore. This was theirs.
And now that you've thought about it, you realize that there's one more thing you can add to the list of 'Things I Know':
4. You've been reborn into the world of Percy Jackson, and you've already read a step-by-step guide on how to live in it.
(That morning, when Willow comes into your room to bring you down for breakfast, her forest green eyes swell with tears.
Your smile was just as beautiful as her and Penelope knew it'd be.)
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Next Chapter ->
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thetruthwilloutsworld · 5 months ago
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I'm making this post to debunk the theories currently circulating regarding the identity of the woman who was with Sam this weekend. I think now is the best time to do this as I feel it has gone too far after a possible woman has been identified.
You may question why I'm in a position to do this well it's because I know the actual identity of the woman. I was the person who saw her picture when she posted it on an IGS on Sunday 28/7/24. I follow this woman on Instagram before I'm accused of stalking along with a few thousand others so I certainly wasn't the only one who saw it. She usually tags who she's with and the location but didn't in this instance but I just thought at the time she might still be there.
Sam then posted his pictures on Monday 29/7/24 and I knew straightaway they looked identical to the one the woman I follow posted.
The woman I follow didn't take her IGS down when Sam posted his pictures it was there for the full 24 hours.
I sent a message to BCAC as I knew the usual questions would be raised as to who he was with or was he alone.
BCAC and I discussed it she agreed it was the same location and left it at that. She was asked by an anon if he'd gone hiking and she responded yes and wasn't alone.
BCAC didn't make her post until Wednesday and quite rightly didn't identify the woman. I don't agree about people getting harassed because of an association or coming after the blogger who posted the information.
Theories starting popping up which is amazing considering it was just the top of a picture. Then overnight a blogger has alluded to a woman but the facts are wrong which is why I'm doing this post to set the record straight.
If anyone is trying to find the picture the woman posted it was an IGS so it's not on her blog or highlights so don't waste your time looking.
She isn't an actress.
She isn't married.
She didn't put the word 'our' on the picture she just put 'last nights camping spot'.
Yes he knows her as they've spent time together before which I'm not going into.
She definitely isn't any of the women he's been linked with recently.
The video that Sam took wasn't a 360° more like 180° so she could've easily stood behind him. There were comments about other people being with them I find it hard to believe they all moved in unison behind Sam to keep themselves hidden.
There's only two people minimum who know the full story and they aren't going to tell, so yes there may have been others or it could've been just the two of them.
Following details given out by another blogger I can confirm the woman Sam was with in the picture is not 19 years of age, her chosen profession is not that of an athlete and the initials are completely wrong so please do not go to her page for those who have guessed who she is she's an innocent party in all of this.
The last thing I'm going to say about the woman in the camping picture is I'm not going to give her name, nationality, age or career details or post the full picture so there's no point in asking.
At the end of the day a picture was posted at the same location as Sam's and we will probably never know the full story.
Hopefully that has answered some people's questions, will stop rumours and bloggers inboxes can have a well earned rest.
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onlyseokmins · 1 year ago
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the devil wears baby blue • h.j.s.
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Pairing: joshua hong x afab!reader Genres: smut (minors PLS dni!), strangers to fucking lol Warnings: joshua hong himself 🚩🚩, swearing, alcohol, reader is a menace and tease too i'm ngl, grinding, groping, slight exhibition kink, degradation, name-calling, objectification, FINGERS (all of it fingering, riding, etc), mentions of knife/surgery, choking, wbk but major hints to big cock josh 💔, marking, licking, alluding to devil imagery uwu, roleplay sort of but not really, kind of public sex acts + a mirror, manhandling, lil slaps, dangerous fashion decisions + "fun" clothing shenanigans during sex ig????, mentions of car sex and oral sex (male rec.), dirty talk (joshua won't stfu), edging, lil bit of pain kink if you squint ❤️‍🩹, and tons of banter/insults, is there a thing like a wealth kink??? - as always lmk if i missed smth WC: 7k A/N: *taps mic* would love to thank @onlymingyus and @duhnova for proofing, hyping, and supporting me on this. also ofc a huge honorary shout out to @hwanghyunjinenthusiast for the constant cheering and screeching at me in and out of dms - hope you enjoy this hehe. idk if jackie will see this but her watch post(s) helped re-inspire me to attack this wip. and finally blowing kisses to the joshushushus in my inbox, i hope you'll like this! ps if anyone recognizes where the last dialogue is from, you receive a kiss on the forehead from me and get to spend one night with joshua!! 😏
↪ this is a loosely based prequel to idiot
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Seungkwan's hand lays steady on your back, guiding you through the crowd much more efficiently than you could have on your own. He has a way of navigating through the waves of people with practiced ease whereas you would rather just be swept away. It's why you enjoy going to the club with him, especially one as crazy as tonight's.
You would think you were still on the dance floor with how many people are bustling around you, mingling and giggling just as much on the sidelines as they do moving to the music. Drinks in hand, they chat and flirt with one another so it takes nearly twice as long to make it to the bar than you think it really should.
"This better be worth it," you shout directly into your friend's ear despite how close you are to him. "For the amount of times my feet have been stepped on!"
There's a sharp pinch from his fingers that snuck to your side. "Told you not to wear those stupid shoes." 
Though you can't exactly hear it, you can see how his pouty lips purse out in a huff. He's also grumbling under his breath and you're able to catch bits and pieces. Things like, "won't matter" and "swept off your feet anyways" and "don't blame me" make you roll your eyes.
"Acting like this is my social debut with the prince of wales."
"Someone's been watching too much Bridgerton. And with how often you fail to come —" he's interrupted by the loud thumping of the bass, "makes sense."
"You can't possibly compare me against your standards, Mister Social Butterfly. You know everyone… and you've probably screwed a lot of them as well."
Seungkwan can only guess a gist of what you actually say and is therefore mildly tempted to let you get lost in the sea of people like he knows you'd rather prefer. But he's finally made it all the way over to what seems like an impenetrable social circle, though the group readily parts to make room for the two of you to squeeze in. So, he'll have to bring you along for the adventure. 
"Hey there!" 
"Hello!"
"Fancy seeing you here."
"I know, right?" 
Greetings are easily interchanged. Most of them are familiar faces — friends of your own or people you've gotten to know simply through Seungkwan's ever-growing collection of new instagram posts. 
Jeonghan's got some poor new soul to flirt with again and Seokmin looks like he'd rather be at home watching cooking videos. Vernon is wearing headphones of all things while Seungcheol has a shit-eating grin on his handsome face. And you instinctively know Mingyu has to be up to no good because you don't see or hear him.
Not that you're actually paying that much attention to the same-old-same people, focus naturally drawn to the tall man standing next to Wonwoo. Light brown hair curls just beneath his ears, shaggy enough that the urge to run your fingers through and imagine what the tug of strands between them might feel like consumes you. It comes as a shock, considering that Jeonghan's had the same style before and you've never felt like this.
You drink in the baby blue shirt that compliments the mystery man's skin tone, top buttons left undone to showcase the delicate silver around his throat and framed by collar bones. The fabric's elegance belies the strength of the body it clothes, material straining tastefully in the tiniest bit over a broad chest and wide shoulders. Sleeves rolled up to accentuate the flex of his forearm down to the long, long fingers wrapped all the way around the glass of alcohol held between them.
"That's Joshua Hong," Seungkwan supplies helpfully though he can't hide how smug he sounds observing you and shares a knowing look with Vernon who snickers.
"Joshua Hong," you repeat and enjoy how easy his name sounds and feels coming off your tongue. "Is that so?"
"Yeah and to my knowledge, he's extremely single."
"Don't tell me that's how you introduce me to other people."
He feigns innocence. "Can't recall but even if I did, bet it's going to work in your favor. Don't look now but it seems like you've caught a big fish."
Of course, when someone tells you not to look, the first thing you'd logically do is look. Glad you weren't caught staring earlier now that the very same man you were drooling over has noticed your existence and is staring directly at you. 
Brown irises drop down to scan your figure and the suggestiveness of it lights something deep within you. You're quick to nudge off Seungkwan's arm around your waist when Joshua's eyes linger a second longer on it than you'd expect, ignoring your friend's sassy mutter of "hook, line, and sinker."
"I… I really don't like that implication, 'Kwan."
"Sure you don't."
Joshua Hong's intent gaze is far from unsavory. Even if it was more perverse in nature, you think you'd feel drunk off the same amount of power it fills you with and you haven't had a single drop of alcohol yet. A swear word escapes under your breath at the dampness of your back — and elsewhere — before sending the admiring man a demure smile of acknowledgement and turning once more to Seungkwan.
"You were criticizing my shoes earlier?"
"'Cause you can barely walk in them!"
"Then let's put these bad boys to good use."
Your friend can only shake his head as you stride away. He'll keep an occasional eye on you from afar for the rest of the night but he has a hunch things will be… fine. He hopes. Wonwoo did say Joshua was a decent man, after all.
He'll have to be… if he's willing to put up with you, Seungkwan thinks to himself with a cringe as he watches. 
Vernon hands over a much appreciated beer and he sidles up to the unbothered man's side, jutting his chin out in your direction and asking, "Are you ready for some entertainment?"
"Yo, always bro."
"Cheers to that."
Meanwhile, you've made it to the new company without stumbling once — something you're very proud of. You nod at Joshua. Nothing more than a soft flutter of eyelashes, alerting him that you're aware of his presence but indulging in nothing more. Instead, you choose to lean comfortably into his companion's space.
"Hi Woo, care to share?"
The bespectacled man wordlessly offers his nearly empty glass of wine, always easygoing and ever perceptive. Unlike his best friend who never fails to be endearing but can't take a hint to save his life. One of the many reasons why Mingyu has never succeeded as a wingman —  unfathomably clumsy but still loveable in all aspects to steal everyone's heart involved.
You finish the rest of Wonwoo's drink off with a satisfied hiss at the taste but not without a snort. "I didn't mean that, silly."
He cracks a smile, returning the teasing with a fake, reproaching scold of your name. "Could've told me you wanted to steal my buddy and not drain all my alcohol!"
Joshua laughs — loud and clear above the din of noises surrounding you. It has an air of gracefulness to it and you're sure the club brightens in a way that's totally not from the strobe lights going crazy.
"So, this is Seungkwan's friend…"
You jab Wonwoo's side with a huff. "Hey, I'm much more than that!"
"If it's any consolation," Joshua cuts in with another laugh and a handshake, taking on a self introduction. "I'm just some guy named Joshua. Hope that doesn't disappoint."
"Just some guy, huh? One that wears a Royal Oak?" 
He thrillingly doesn't let go of your hand, keeping a firm but gentle grasp when turning it with his to properly glance at the notorious status symbol wrapped around it. The steel casing glints just as fiercely as the sapphire glass over white gold hour-markers embedded on its face. 
"Yep, still just some guy that's called Josh. Joshua Hong, to be exact. Scared you off yet?" 
"I wear heels that have a one hundred percent chance of breaking my ankle to a place where there's a terrible combo of dancing and drinks. But you think I'd be scared by a pretty boy wearing thirty-some jewels around his wrist?"
He steals another appreciative look up and down your body. Not as fiery as the first one but still bold without shame, striking another bolt of heat that flashes through your veins and simmers in your lower abdomen. 
"Taste. And bite. I'd expect nothing less from someone like you."
"Someone like me?" you scoff as he winks, taking a step back and extending your arm as far as it will go with the notion for you to follow.
"Dance with me?"
Wonwoo had quietly faded into the background and slipped away for another refill. Smart guy. There's no one to worry about leaving behind when you accept this unfamiliar man's invitation and let him whisk you in the direction of the dancefloor. But not before catching Seungkwan's mild and supportive yet watchful gaze before he raises his beer in a mock salute.
It's almost cute at how inept Joshua is maneuvering through the tumultuous flow and ebb of moving bodies compared to said good friend. The way his taller frame looks more like a poor cruise ship tossed helplessly in the waves of the ocean than the stationary lighthouse and its reassuring beacon you'd expect causes a chuckle.
"You're almost as bad at this as I am."
He shoots an apologetic smile at the same time someone once again jostles his shoulder, pushing him closer into you. "Nightclubs really aren't my scene."
You're not complaining about the aided proximity that lets you hear what he says without strain. Although you do try to match the beat as it changes to something more sensual yet still playful. Going along with the rhythm of the other dancers rather than against much smoother than Joshua's awkward attempt to mimic. He sticks behind you, failing to hide the blatant mesmerization at how you sway effortlessly to the beat.
"You're not bad at this at all."
You shrug. "I've been here often enough to blend in better than most. So tell me, what's a rich boy's usual scene then? Shanqin Bay's clubhouse?"
"Hah, you wanna come with me sometime and find out?"
"Only if you can promise a fun experience… oh," you throw a smirk at him over your shoulder, "and to cover all the costs, of course."
"A pretty thing like you would have anyone saying yes and wrapped around your little finger." 
"Maybe, but only if they're worth my attention."
"Afraid to disappoint yet again when I spend most hours of the day in the operating room."
You turn abruptly to face him, grateful for the hand that shoots out to support your elbow despite his surprise at your dubious side-eye. "Are you a doctor?"
"Maybe."
"Director's son?"
"Cliché enough for you yet?"
"I recall someone who's wearing a Royal Oak saying I had good taste so I'm not going to complain. Though it would have been quite the story to hear you were the one under the knife," you take a step closer and slip a finger underneath his silver chain to tempt him closer, "to end up looking this good." When large hands hesitate to land on your hips, you raise an eyebrow. "Thought a surgeon would have a steadier grip."
"Oh." Brown eyes flicker with a carnal desire, focusing on your lips. "You expect me to be a rich, talented playboy and not be naturally handsome too?" 
"Sorry, Doctor Hong but there has to be at least something wrong with you."
The polite smile he'd been wearing all night quirks up at the corners, changing into something more on edge. A little dangerous. Beckoning excitement. He spins you back around, hands solidly landing on your sides — this time without reserve — to prevent your lower bodies from touching and changes the subject back to when you approached Wonwoo and him.
"Do you always take drinks from guys?"
"Ah, hm. Just the good ones."
"Good alcohol?" His breath is hot against the ear he's speaking directly into. "Or… good boys?"
Biting your lower lip does nothing to hide the unfettered glee you're feeling. "Alcohol, of course." A breathy sigh and you take the leap. "Want a taste?"
There's no need to ask twice. It's like the right key turning its lock. The doctor's initial awkward movements are nowhere to be found as one hand smoothly leaves your hip, turning your chin toward him to meet you halfway with his lips ready to brush against yours. 
At the last minute, he backs off and turns your chin to its original position of facing forward with a smirk you can't see. Who cares about a missed kiss when his other hand slides across your stomach? Urging you to press your ass backwards and grind against the very obvious bulge that his khakis do nothing to hide.
Its growing hardness and promising length cause you to automatically moan, arching your back with the feral need to feel more. Your head tilts to the side, hips swiveling and swaying not to the beat but the rise of his cock. The position willingly grants Joshua access to lick, suck, and bite at the exposed skin. 
He hums along to the music with a melodic voice from what you can hear, though you find more enjoyment in the consistent vibrations against your neck. A naughty hand plays with the tucked-in hem of your blouse and an occasional finger teasingly slips under the waistline of your jeans.
You can now feel Joshua's smirk when in turn, your fingers tangle in the bottom hairs of his mullet. His lips curl up, moving to nibble behind your other ear and breathe in your scent. As delightfully predicted, there's a distinct pull by your rings when you tug them free from the strands that has him pausing. Eliciting a sharp hiss and equally as sharp — but appreciative — thrust against your backside. 
In retaliation, the lax hand caressing your throat tightens around it ever so slightly while he growls in your ear, "You said there has to be something wrong with me, right?"
"Mhm, oh yeah. Totally."
"Wanna fuck around and find out, beautiful?"
Hook, line, and sinker was damn right, Boo Seungkwan. Of course, the devil would be wearing a shirt the same shade as the sky where heaven's clouds make their home.
And you eagerly take the forbidden fruit — his hand, once again — and teeter after him. The red flags are already starting to fly at full mast but into the dimly lit hallway you go, elated to find an empty and quiet corner right before the stairs leading down to the bathrooms.
Underneath the neon glow of the exit sign, Joshua pins you against the wall with your arms laying on his shoulders. If you thought the attacks from his mouth were rough on the dance floor, they turn ten times more animalistic now that he has something to support you with other than strong arms and big hands. A pair of soft lips and the warm wet tongue between them contrast with the digging in of his teeth that follow your necklace chain to its adorning pendant. 
It hangs in the v-neck window of your blouse and he lets out a tiny grunt of displeasure at the breasts being concealed away by the fabric and its many buttons. That doesn't stop him from tugging the bottom of the shirt free like a petulant child, nothing preventing his fingers now free to tickle and feel up the bare skin beneath. 
This man is good at distraction. You don't think much of the light grazing beneath your tits, only a fleeting and casual touch. It feels so good when he cups under them like an additional support for the bra you're wearing and squeezes, causing you to keen and push yourself further into him. Then quick as lightning, one hand sneaks around the back to unhook the bra's clasp and the other deftly unbuttons your jeans.
"Joshua!" you squeak in protest, stepping back and pressing flat against the wall. You're quick to rush and slap a hand against your chest to keep the beloved strapless bra that's served you well from falling to the ground. "Is your red flag undressing someone in public?"
"Only if you insist 'cause surely I would never decline such a request being the gentleman that I am." The doctor makes no further move despite the way he licks his lips and teases, only chuckling at the menacing way you squint. "Just know my full intentions are to be touching all over and especially under whatever layers you're wearing very shortly."
There's no use hiding the whine that escapes when he places a hand on the wall next to you and leans in with a smirk.
"However, sweetheart… " 
You catch his line of sight dart off to the left and your heart plummets, the fear of being left high and dry (wet) setting in. "Josh — "
"You'll have to forgive this rich boy's schemes. You see, I've always been very spoiled and just have to take what I want right away. And you're much too irresistible…" 
He speaks casually. Like your jeans weren't suddenly unzippered and he isn't currently running a tantalizing finger on the fabric below the waistband of your panties, causing them to soaken further down. Way more than they already had and almost where you need him but also not even close in the slightest. 
"Though as a rich boy," he continues, "I'm more than familiar with providing a small courtesy here and there. Would this club's filthy bathroom offer enough privacy for you, gorgeous?"
"… Only if you make sure I'm presentable enough to get down there… and back up here after, for when I have to leave with my friends."
Joshua's eyes widen before he's throwing his head back and laughing, bright and cheery like he's not going to rearrange your guts. "So you don't expect to go home with me? Maybe I won't be such a walking red flag to you."
"Doubtful. Now fix me up, Doctor." 
"With pleasure." 
It's not like there are as many people milling about as in the main area. Still, it's good to be conscientious. The same adept hands re-fasten your top undergarment efficiently. When he ducks his head to kindly fix your pants — which is sort of hot — you take the opportunity to whisper in his ear for shit-and-giggles to gauge his reaction.
"You know there's a front clasp too."
He glances up from where he's eye-level with your covered breasts, eyes darkening. Bingo. 
"What a little whore we have here, hm?"
The nonchalant, degrading question and burning desire in his gaze makes your knees weaken, arousal skyrocketing. Enough that you almost throw all caution to the wind for him to fuck you. Right here, right now. But then he's pulling away, offering a palm you can't seem to refrain from taking a hold of. And ever the true picture of being a gentleman — helps you descend down the dark stairwell.
Your killer heels really do nothing for you physically (besides the threat of rolling an ankle) because it doesn't matter how tall or short you end up with them on. It's the confidence and ego that are heightened exponentially, which is all that matters. 
That's why you follow Joshua Hong into the sketchy bathroom, let him lock the door, and bat your eyelashes with a coy smile. Leaning against the sink and fussing with your blouse as he approaches like a predator eyeing up its prey. Greedily drinking in the bare skin revealed by each button that's undone until only one is still fastened — right across your tits — that the man can unclasp himself if he so chooses.
Barely anything stopped him before anyways.
And that's what also fuels you to put your arms around his neck, pressing your bodies close together. Even closer by hooking your right leg across his hip, the point of your heel digging intentionally into the back of his other thigh. It's hot and hard — the dick bulge that keeps growing pressed tightly into the snug warmth of your core — and Joshua lets you grind down and dampen his khakis for a few moments longer than expected.
"Desperate, aren't you? Didn't wanna fuck in public 'cause you're freakier behind closed doors?"
"Just a little." You fight back the urge to whimper or admit anything to him. Like you aren't humping his length that only swells more and feels achingly thicker the harder you rut against it, eyelids fluttering the few times it's able to deliciously spread your pussy lips just the slightest through your clothes. "I'm so wet — "
"The more of a mess you leave on my pants, the longer I'll have to edge you while waiting for them to dry." Joshua grins cockily at you trying to force your hips to stop themselves only to struggle pathetically in vain. "Think you'd like that. Haven't even gotten to fuck this hot little cunt yet and I'm already certain I wouldn't mind being buried in there for hours. But don't know if your friends will stick around for that long…"
"J-Josh, ah — Shua… mhm!"
"So I think you'd better behave if you know what's good for you," he stills your hips hard, "fuckin' slut."
You mewl at the hard, rude thrust that bumps your clit as if he was actually fucking you. Like goo, you let him manhandle you around so you're bent over and facing the smudged mirror, hands gripping tightly to each side of the sink basin. Aided by the reflections, you witness how he shamelessly ogles the tempting ass that's been rubbing all over him all night. And of course that means you have to perk up and wiggle your hips, giving him quite a show.
The small distance between you clears the lust cloud and you throw a smoldering glance over your shoulder. "If you fuck me with my heels on, I'll give you a chance with them off."
Joshua swats your ass — not very hard but you release a yelp of surprise. "Wasn't aware that you were running the show, sweetheart."
"It's my backside you're looking at."
"Knew you were mouthy the minute I saw you. You're aware of how kind I am, so let me give you a choice." He's anything but kind as he sighs and leans his weight over top of you. Despite the bracing strength of his arms, you feel suffocated by just being caged in between them and the overpowering scent of his cologne. "I shut you up with either my fingers in your mouth or around your throat."
Oh… decisions, decisions! Long fingers that would surely feel best deep inside your pussy but that wasn't one of the options. You purse your lips in thought and arch up, balancing the heavy cock supported by your ass and unconsciously pouting. Joshua has the audacity to look at the time while brushing back his hair and clicks his tongue.
"Wow, I'm letting you choose between sucking on my fingers like a slut or being choked like a whore and you still can't decide? What a high maintenance toy."
The urge to scoff is extremely strong. "Sucking it is then, Doctor Hong," you say sweetly and then add with a sneer, "like the perfect slut that I truly am."
"When your friends all said you were nothing but a gentle soul, I knew they were duped. Only one was partially truthful in saying you could be sassy which doesn't even come close. Little do they know there's a bratty cockwhore with quite a bite underneath all that charm."
"Haven't fucked any of them, that's why. No plans to either."
"Yeah, what was it you like — oh right, good boys?" He laughs — low, mean, and degrading. "Then what am I, sweetheart?"
"A doctor who's full of himself and needs taken down a few, ha, pegs."
"Ah, there it is." Joshua undoes the final button, slipping a curious finger beneath the bra's front hook pulling your tits together. You shiver when it snaps against your skin after he retracts, pointer finger tracing a lazy line up your throat to its final destination. "The attitude."
You willingly part your lips, lolling your tongue out mischievously to match the roll of your eyes. "Someone gets off on it."
"Is that so?" He smears the lipgloss on your lower lip by pulling it down before releasing it. "Do you think this is all a coincidence, darling?" Meeting the hardened gaze in the mirror, you shake your head. "The minute I saw such a sparkling gem on Wonwoo's story, I just had to have it for myself."
It's not hard to guess what he's referring to. A couple weeks ago, you wore enough scraps of fabric to just cover your nipples and the areas between your legs. Drinking far too much and hanging off of the WonGyu duo's broad frames while the whole gang partied it up together at Vernon's. You had even asked them to send you the videos and pictures after because damn, you did look hot as fuck.
Who knew it would be bait for an entitled pretty boy? 
"At least you waited to find me when I wasn't drunk."
"Much more fun to break someone sober."
"Glad to know consensual exists in your vocabulary."
"How about it — will you let me destroy this little pussy of yours and ruin it to keep you crawling back to me for more?"
"Sure, if you ever stop talking and actually do something — "
Joshua's quick to shut you up, almost cracking your jaw with the harsh thumb that's jammed in the corner of your mouth to prop it open. The following two fingers are thrust cruelly inside as a replacement so it can move to keep your chin steady. They're able to reach so far when pinning down your tongue, ending up wedged near the back of your throat so you're already gagging around them. 
"Most sluts behave the second I drop the nice guy act. But boy oh boy, it only makes you act up more, eh?" 
He finally does away with your bra to allow those gorgeous tits to spill out and casually rips the garment from your body like it's personally offended him. Maybe it has. Shoving it away into his back pocket and then urgently tugging your jeans down. The binding position you're left in helps keep your shaky legs in place while you cling to the sink like it's a lifeline. Upper body supported only by the cruel hold he has on your face until he yanks it back so you're flush against him instead, the cool baby-blue silk of his shirt set ablaze by your shared body heat. 
"Next time, wear something that has easier access. Or better yet… maybe nothing at all or I'll be forced to rip it off." A piercing set of eyes attempt to glare into yours that roll back delightfully despite what's likely some snark ends up sounding all jumbled. "Oh yes, there will be a next time, sweetheart. I have to train this cunt to yearn for my cock — and you don't think you'll get it that easily, right?"
Joshua chuckles darkly knowing you can't reply. But liking to be full of surprises, you relax your upper jaw while his fingers trail across your pelvis and close your lips around the ones in your mouth. Suckling and swirling once the tension in them relaxes despite the naughty thought of biting. That doesn't eliminate the occasional graze of your teeth as a threat, responding to his words in your own way.
"Just look at yourself, slobbering all over… bet you suck cock like a champ. And prolly like it real messy. How well-trained you'd look trying to balance on these pointed heels while I fuck that bratty mouth."
You moan at the visual he's painted in your head. 
"That's right, darling." There's a mean pinch to your clit followed by the man's groan at the ruined fabric squelching between his fingertips and how the covered little nub was already begging for friction. "Now tell me how long your cunt's been warming up and soaking these drenched panties?"
"Since the beginning…" you admit once he's freed your sore mouth and chooses to bully your breasts next. "When you looked at me."
He snickers, pushing your underwear to the side and petting at the bare slippery folds. Just able to barely see a small glimpse of where his actions play with your lower body in the mirror. At least your expressions make up for what he misses seeing.
"Aw, this soft pussy started drooling the minute I laid eyes on you? While I was imagining all the things I could do to these tits," the hand on one of them palms at the rounded flesh hard. "This ass," his pelvis grinds in a slow circle against it. "Mhm, and of course, this hidden gem." 
At that, a thumb brutally rubs at your clit while plunging a finger inside the warm, wet walls that eagerly pulse around it. You weren't wrong about how good the digit would feel inside, the length and stretch of its bony knuckle feeling good enough to substitute as a mini-dick when Joshua starts a slow and methodical pace with it.
"Thought about having you spread out in the backseat of my Bugatti La Voiture Noire, you'd look like a vision laying across its leather seats. And the best thing? No one can see inside so you'll get your much desired privacy while being right out in the open."
Then he's adding another finger, longer than the first. And finally one more with an additional push in and out of the others. Clearly his experience on how to work a pussy is more than helpful. Alternating between stuffing your hole full of all three or changing up the pace and number each turn. 
And of course, your chest is attended to as well. Both nipples tugged in iterations to match the rhythm of each finger spearing into your cunt, the pendant of your necklace bouncing in time. Without fail, he hits the bundle of nerves with a deadly precision that has you going slack against him.
"Maybe we should do that 'cause," he mumbles in your ear, "this filthy hole is awfully good at convincing me to spoil its owner like no one else. Let's see if it can tell me how much it'll want me to fill it up one day."
Your ears ring with the devastating screams of white noise at the sudden stop. The moans you were letting out trail off into a dissatisfied growl. His hand falls away from your upper body while the one in between your legs merely sits nice and snug, still inside but not moving. Far too relaxed, limp even.
"Joshua!"
"C'mon, weren't you listening? Convince me."
"Fuck you," is what you spit out, glaring at the challenging and impossibly smug reflection of the menace behind you. 
"You didn't say fuck off, so… I'm waiting." 
Another check at his watch like he's bored infuriates you enough to move your hips. Whining at how his fingers fail to stiffen and only follow your pitiful motions back and forth. Out of protest, you reach behind and take a harsh hold of the hard length you're able to grab.
"Watch it, darling!" Joshua flinches and the way his cock twitches dulls the venomous words that come next. "Or I'll leave you here all needy and by yourself, waiting for some other pathetic dick to hop onto in order to satiate just a little bit of this wet and slutty pussy's behaviors."
Well, that idea doesn't appeal to you whatsoever so you lean on the sink with a huff to do what needs done. It's a struggle to stay balanced on your heels while grabbing at his wrist but a small part of you knows he won't let you fall, a bicep supporting under your breasts. Revenge comes sweetly by digging your nails into the tense muscle of his forearm and leaving scratch marks that have him hissing.
And now you know for sure —  despite the doctor's incredibly huge ego and big talk, Joshua Hong's no better than a painslut.
"Hah," you breathe out and start to slowly rock your hips. "Disrespectfully, go to hell."
Ignoring the abrasive insult — because he's a demon anyways — Joshua focuses on the wet suctioning sound growing louder the faster you move. The feeling of your tits and necklace hitting his arm to the beat of your hip bounces and enjoying the view of how his fingers disappear beyond the jiggle of your asscheeks. Up into the tight heat of velvety walls as you force his hand to behave and serve your needs like one of your dildos, though they've never been this uncooperative.
"That's it. Yeah, there we go… just like that. Go ahead and make yourself cum riding my fingers, beautiful. Uh-huh, now who's using me like a little whore to get off?"
You're already losing yourself. Waiting for that rising wave to crest because despite his annoying mouth, Joshua's fingers are more than skilled enough to hurl you into a delightful climax. As long as nothing interrupts it.
"Answer me — or I'll make you choke yourself."
"Mhm…"
He likes seeing how your face contorts, moans getting louder. It's too addicting which is why he growls out, "Do it." 
It's a feat to let go of the sink but the reward is to move his arm around your bra-line to your throat, making his hand envelope it. The visual in the mirror is depraved — limbs all wrapped and tangled with each other — and your half-closed eyes taunt the searing gaze in the mirror, repeating his words right back. 
"Why not do it yourself, Doctor?"
"Are you some sort of succubus or what?" He spits out the question like it's the germs on the toilet seat next to you. Freeing himself momentarily from the grip of your hand and your cunt, the man's at least nice enough to assuage the pissed off whine with a consoling lick up your neck and tugs impatiently at your pants. "Take these off."
"Go fuck yourself," you mutter darkly with half the mind to walk out of there. But you do as he says, quickly shimmying them off while your clit buzzes and twitches angrily at the neglect of stimulation again. 
Joshua's eyes don't look away, his hands steadying your hips and your pussy aching when you hear how he slowly slurps on his fingers to clean them. Once you step back into your heels, he throws the jeans over his shoulder. 
"Careful with the phone," you threaten. 
Joshua snorts and bends over to secure a strap for you — sucking harshly on the skin of your thigh as a "you're welcome" but pulling away before your hands can tangle in his hair and keep him down there. 
"Wrong thing to say to someone who likes broken and expensive things. Shouldn't you be warning me not to break something else?" Suddenly, your other shoe dangles precariously off your foot when he uses a strong hand to lift and support your leg onto the sink's surface. "Like this poor pussy?" 
The straining burn in your muscles and the added chill of the porcelain is all alleviated by harsh rubbing at the tender skin of your entrance. Middle and pointer finger eagerly prying sloppy pussy lips apart once again.
"Ah, but I might enjoy that." 
A clear glob of arousal drips from your hole fluttering and clenching around nothing. Joshua leers hungrily past your shoulder at the mirror's erotic display of your exposed cunt and the wetness shining under the buzz of the bathroom's fluorescent lights.
"Dirty and yet it's such a pretty little jewel. Sparkling and glistening so, so lovely that I can't wait to watch it shatter while playing with it."
Finally, all three fingers from before work in tandem to scissor repeatedly inside of your tight warmth without forgiveness. This time, the devil has nothing but good intentions to send you over the peak of pleasure. His eyes can't stop feasting on the raunchy way your greedy hole gobbles up his fingers. The loud squelches accompanying his motions echo around the small enclosed space, mixing with the warm breath hitting the side of his cheek from your gasping moans.
Joshua thinks it's mighty cute how puffy your outer pussy lips grow and struggle to spread around the thick and long digits shoved inside plus the onslaught of his thumb bullying your clit. The angle shows the slightest bulge of them relentlessly stroking the bundle of nerves that has your leg twitching from the sheer pleasure.
He focuses on bringing you there, all on what you're feeling rather than his own pleasure because you have the most convincing cunt ever that deserves to be ravaged by a large, girthy cock. A shame it has to wait because he cannot give in so easily. But you're definitely a piece of work. Joshua likes that. 
"Gonna keep making a mess on my fingers, darling? Leave 'em all sweet and wet enough for me to wrap around my dick later and pretend it's your pussy instead."
You'll be the death of him when your head rolls into the crease of his neck, drool dampening the skin as you mouth senselessly at the vein protruding beneath. There's a sharp sting — the certain kind he hasn't felt in a very long time. A telltale warning of a hickey, the beautiful colors of red and purple already rushing to the surface and decorated by little nips of your teeth after you soothe the pain with your tongue.
No one marks up Joshua Hong. Sure, he's had lipstick stains before but those can easily be swiped off with a handkerchief and washed away in the shower. He can't help but smirk though, knowing when he eventually wipes your sticky lipgloss off, something of you will remain for a bit.
However you can't go without a little punishment. If you can even call it that when he returns to wrapping a hand around your throat. Anyone else who dared to leave a mark would be walked away from. But you — you simply lose enough oxygen causing your head to spin more pleasantly than it already is. 
And you claw at his forearm, scratching it up ten times more to serve as a further reminder for Joshua to look at. You're by no means urging him to stop but to earnestly keep going while simultaneously searching for something — anything — to anchor you down as you float into an almost unconscious state of pure ecstasy. 
It's by far the strongest, most intense orgasm you'd ever experienced. Becoming nothing but a bag of bones in his arms as your walls pulsate around his fingers and the fruitful expenditure of your release drips down his wrist.
He stays in that position, unable to move anyways with the vice-like grip of your spasming cunt cramping his fingers. Instead, drawing out the pleasure as much as possible by squeezing and releasing the pressure on your throat over and over again. The true picture of debauchery — heaven and sin mixed in one — and he kind of wishes for a third arm to take a photo for a keepsake. 
Everything in your body aches deliciously. You feel both refreshed and exhausted when you finally come to and even then Joshua supports your weak body as you try to regain control over your wits and whereabouts.
"Pants," you croak out and wave him off when he tries to gentlemanly assist. Which he still kind of has to when you almost topple face-first on legs that feel like jelly. "Bra." 
Joshua's a little less enthusiastic to hand that over, bitter sarcasm lacing his words. "Wow, won't even grant me a souvenir?"
"Boo-hoo," you gripe back and pretend not to notice the eyes glued to the way your tits bounce when adjusting the garment around them. Turning to look in the mirror, you work on dulling the "just got fingered in the bathroom" appearance. "It's not like you need one and it seems even less likely you'll keep anything from a stranger, especially lingerie."
"Hm, I like how well you read me."
"Of course you do, fuels that large privileged ego. Don't get used to it. But, want me to do something about that one though?"
He coughs at the rather suggestive insult, shifting his pants and shirt that does absolutely nothing to hide the messy boner you're referencing. "Guess I did a great job if you're begging for it already."
"Oh, for goodness sake I'm being courteous."
"Cute." 
Joshua admits it almost like he's startled by the words that escape his mouth. Further surprising both of you with a clumsy, sloppy kiss to the cheek when he leans over to fasten the top button of your blouse. As if embarrassed, he's already halfway out the door when he remembers to mention, "I'll be thinking of you darling, look forward to your call!"
You're left staring at the saliva spot reflected on your cheek in shock. And then, you wipe it off with the rest of the accumulated sweat to make yourself a bit more presentable and then head back to the club as naturally as possible.
Dr. Hong is seemingly nowhere in sight as expected. You figure it would be hard to return with a raging boner despite the low lighting and he probably left through the back exit to likely jerk off in his ridiculously expensive car. The visual of white ropes of cum streaming past the steel band of the Royal Oak around his wrist haunts your mind, making your aching core buzz to life again and your sticky panties even grosser.
Out of pure spite, you hope he stains his shirt too. 
Luckily, Seungkwan is still at the bar when you wobble over in search of him. He shouts your name in mock shock, assessing your appearance with pursed lips and eyeballing your figure dubiously. 
"You look like hell."
"Yeah?" you laugh it off as nonchalantly as possible, unaware of the phone in your back pocket lighting up with a returned text message from a newly saved number and a scandalous picture attached. "I just got back."
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onlyseokmins: July 2023 ©
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mrscolinbridgerton96 · 4 months ago
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“The freakin’ London premiere- we all know that that was not supposed to happen; that was not okay.. and he still did it.”
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I’m sorry, but what is this “bad behavior” that she’s alluding to? What exactly did Luke do that could’ve offended her and other people so much? Someone please enlighten me. I really want to know how Luke showcased “bad behavior” at the London premiere. I’m genuinely curious.. because, I personally haven’t seen anything- and I’m sure I’m not the only one who’ll say that.
~
This TikTok is 3 and a half minutes long. If you want to watch the video, go right ahead! But for those who don’t want to watch the full thing, I’m gonna give you my thoughts on just a few of the things she said in her video.
She talked about how Luke should post something on social media to show more appreciation to the fans. In multiple interviews throughout the press tour for season 3, Luke has talked about how he appreciates every ounce of support and love that has come from the fans and how he can’t wait for everyone to see Colin and Penelope finally get together. But apparently… to some (unfortunately), that’s not enough. Just because he hasn’t posted about how grateful he is for the fans, that doesn’t mean that he’s not grateful. To insinuate that he’s “inconsiderate” because he doesn’t post on social media is diabolical to me; it is not only unfair but it’s unacceptable. At the end of the day, Luke doesn’t owe us a damn thing.
The second thing I want to share my opinion on very much relates to the first thing. This girl talked about how he should post something for Nicola and publicly show his appreciation for all the times she stood up for him. To the people who have said this (and trust me, this girl is not the only one who thinks this) and believe that he’s ungrateful for her defending him.. let me ask you ask you something: did it ever cross your mind that he showed his appreciation for all the times she expressed her (platonic) love and respect for him privately? I’m sure they talk and text each other a lot. There are other ways to show someone appreciation- and it’s (to me) even more meaningful when it’s not on social media. Just because he doesn’t post about on social media.. it does NOT mean that he is unappreciative. Nicola has defended him publicly because she’s a good person and knows that he’s a good person too. There’s a reason that Luke’s cast mates (most of them he’s known for 5 years) only have good things to say about him. Yet, there are “fans” who want devote so much time and energy to talk shit about someone they don’t even know.
Lastly, and this is something I’ve addressed a few times before. She asked, and I quote, “What is the bullying that according to some of you he’s experiencing? Where is the bullying?” The way I see it; in my opinion, by asking that.. she has made it abundantly clear that she has NOT been paying attention.
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I shared these screenshots back in July- they have since been removed from Twitter (I’m not calling it ‘X’ because it sounds like the name of a p*rn site). If any of this doesn’t count as bullying, then what the Hell is it? They weren’t complimenting him to lift his spirits up. He even said in an interview that he was verbally harassed for TWO YEARS because of Colin’s “I would never dream of courting Penelope Featherington” comment at the end of season 2 (even though Colin Bridgerton is a fictional character)- last time I checked… THAT’S bullying.
~
She says that she’s “holding him accountable” when he hasn’t done anything wrong. Has Luke said or done something that truly IS problematic? If he has, I would gladly hold him accountable for it. However, I haven’t seen him do or say anything that is so awful that he has to be held accountable for it.
She also talked about how A would post something when Nicola posts something- she posts something; same with when the official Bridgerton account posts something and she would overshadow Luke. You can point all of that nonsense out all you want, but Luke has NO CONTROL over what she posts her posts on her own social media account and when she decides to posts it!! Regardless of how you feel about their age gap, she’s an adult who makes her own choices. She old enough to know to know right from wrong- just like the “fans” who have been harassing him for months.
One more thing, today.. she posted a TikTok about how Luke liked Nicola’s recent post and she was all giggly and excited.. with that being said, my mind is telling me one thing- that she is one of those people who only like Luke when he interacts with her on social media and/or is actually with her (whether it’s casual or in interviews). Now, I could be wrong; this is strictly my opinion- an observation, if we’re getting technical.
Overall thoughts: I know that Luke’s not a perfect human being and I never said that he was- no person living on this planet is perfect.. and I would 1000% hold him accountable if he did or said something that actually WAS problematic. But, from what I’ve seen.. he hasn’t done anything to deserve all of the negativity he’s been getting.
Now, if you’ll excuse me.. I’m gonna go take something for my migraine.
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crevicedwelling · 2 years ago
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some invasive worms I found in Florida!
first is a Caenoplana sp., a flatworm now found across the tropics but which is likely native to Australia (or nearby). they feed on arthropods, including isopods.
next is Bipalium vagum, the Wandering Hammerhead Flatworm. its specific name alludes to the fact that it too has spread itself throughout the tropics. its close relatives in the US are also probably native to East Asia, but while those eat only earthworms, B. vagum feeds on only snails. Bipalium are known to produce tetrodotoxin, a nasty poison responsible for the toxicity of fugu pufferfish.
third is an Anisorhynchodemus sp., and its original distribution is also unknown. the genus it’s placed in is essentially a wastebasket—all the rhynchodemine flatworms that can’t be connected with an older, outdated classification method get lumped there. these guys are predators of arthropods, and also love sucking isopods out of their shells. when seized, they cleave their own rears off; the biggest one I have failed to autotomize its tail completely and now has two tails (not pictured).
despite a similar appearance, the last isn’t a flatworm, but an entire different phylum of animals! the nemertean (ribbon worm) Geonemertes pelaensis is just one of 13 species of nemertean that live on land with the remaining 1,300 living in saltwater. and, you guessed it, it’s native to *somewhere in the Indopacific* and is now found all over the tropics because of humans transporting it accidentally with soil. it is a predator of small arthropods, including spiders and isopods, which it captures with a sticky, venomous projectile proboscis. good video of that on its Wikipedia page.
so yeah that’s my worms. hope you like the worms
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jonsnowunemploymentera · 10 months ago
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It’s important that the first revelation of Nissa Nissa is accompanied by some level of skepticism from Salladhor Saan and aversion on Davos’ part. It doesn’t sound right that Azor Ahai chose to sacrifice his wife for a magic sword. It shouldn’t sound right.
“A hundred days and a hundred nights he labored on the third blade, and as it glowed white-hot in the sacred fires, he summoned his wife. ‘Nissa Nissa,’ he said to her, for that was her name, ‘bare your breast, and know that I love you best of all that is in this world.’ She did this thing, why I cannot say, and Azor Ahai thrust the smoking sword through her living heart. It is said that her cry of anguish and ecstasy left a crack across the face of the moon, but her blood and her soul and her strength and her courage all went into the steel. Such is the tale of the forging of Lightbringer, the Red Sword of Heroes.
“Now do you see my meaning? Be glad that it is just a burnt sword that His Grace pulled from that fire. Too much light can hurt the eyes, my friend, and fire burns.” Salladhor Saan finished the last grape and smacked his lips. “When do you think the king will bid us sail, good ser?”
[…] A true sword of fire, now, that would be a wonder to behold. Yet at such a cost … When he thought of Nissa Nissa, it was his own Marya he pictured, a good-natured plump woman with sagging breasts and a kindly smile, the best woman in the world. He tried to picture himself driving a sword through her, and shuddered. I am not made of the stuff of heroes, he decided. If that was the price of a magic sword, it was more than he cared to pay.
Not only does it not make sense that Nissa Nissa would agree to her husband’s request, it’s also telling how Salladhor Saan expresses relief in knowing that King Stannis didn’t actually forge Lightbringer. Because forging Lightbringer means human sacrifice. And why should one be deprived of their life, even if it’s for a magic sword? Davos is very right to be creeped out by it.
The theme of sacrifice shows up quite a bit in ASOIAF and Davos I isn’t the first or last time. The very first chapter in the series, Bran I, tackles this idea with Jon and the direwolves.
“Lord Stark,” Jon said. It was strange to hear him call Father that, so formal. Bran looked at him with desperate hope. “There are five pups,” he told Father. “Three male, two female.”
“What of it, Jon?”
“You have five trueborn children,” Jon said. “Three sons, two daughters. The direwolf is the sigil of your House. Your children were meant to have these pups, my lord.”
Bran saw his father’s face change, saw the other men exchange glances. He loved Jon with all his heart at that moment. Even at seven, Bran understood what his brother had done. The count had come right only because Jon had omitted himself. He had included the girls, included even Rickon, the baby, but not the bastard who bore the surname Snow, the name that custom decreed be given to all those in the north unlucky enough to be born with no name of their own.
Their father understood as well. “You want no pup for yourself, Jon?” he asked softly.
“The direwolf graces the banners of House Stark,” Jon pointed out. “I am no Stark, Father.”
Jon, though he may desperately desire to have his own piece of magic, would not sacrifice his siblings for it. He wouldn’t dare to deprave the girls, Arya and Sansa, of their own magic even when it might be very easy to do so. This is a pretty stark contrast (pun intended) to Azor Ahai and his Nissa Nissa. Azor Ahai’s first line of thought was to sacrifice his wife whereas Jon’s was to sacrifice himself. Sure Azor Ahai got his magic sword, but Jon’s self-sacrifice is not in vain either because he later earns his own wolf, who turns out to be even more special than the rest in the pack.
Bran IV kind of alludes to the idea of self sacrifice through Old Nan’s retelling of the last hero:
So as cold and death filled the earth, the last hero determined to seek out the children, in the hopes that their ancient magics could win back what the armies of men had lost. He set out into the dead lands with a sword, a horse, a dog, and a dozen companions. For years he searched, until he despaired of ever finding the children of the forest in their secret cities. One by one his friends died, and his horse, and finally even his dog, and his sword froze so hard the blade snapped when he tried to use it. And the Others smelled the hot blood in him, and came silent on his trail, stalking him with packs of pale white spiders big as hounds—”
Though the one we know is called the “last hero”, notice that it’s not a title but a mere descriptor; there were many heroes before him who died and he was the last one standing. There is a human toll in this legend, but it’s implied to be self sacrifice. It’s also interesting that though there is mention of a blade, it is the children of the forest’s magic that is key. This does kind of bleed into what we know about the Night’s Watch and its relation to the long night. The Night’s Watch victory was a group effort, rather than the actions of any one man.
We have several legends surrounding the long night that work, but only one involves the cost of sacrificing someone else (that we know of). This might be where GRRM is headed with Stannis and his creation of Lightbringer. Sure Azor Ahai did get his magic sword, but it doesn’t negate the steep human cost. GRRM has lowkey confirmed that Stannis is sure to burn Shireen. And rather than this sacrifice not working, I think it’s more likely that it does work. Stannis does indeed create the flaming sword. But this will be directly weighed by other (self) sacrifices made for the same purpose. Stannis’ sacrifice of his daughter won’t work any better than other characters who choose to sacrifice themselves even when knowing that they are not going to go down as individual legends; I think Jon Snow will once again be the prime example of this, as he has already resigned himself to being a shadow in history despite initially wanting the opposite. Maester Aemon was right in saying that
[…] all deceive ourselves, when we want to believe. Melisandre most of all, I think. The sword is wrong, she has to know that … light without heat … an empty glamor … the sword is wrong, and the false light can only lead us deeper into darkness, Sam
The sword is wrong. Azor Ahai is NOT one to be emulated. Rather, he should be a cautionary tale. He is not any more special for his sacrifice than what the last hero or the men of the Night’s Watch did, even though we know his name but don’t know theirs. GRRM answered the question regarding sacrifice before he even posed it. To make someone else pay the price is flat out wrong. The only true and worthy sacrifice is really that of the self.
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bonzos-number-1-fan · 4 months ago
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TMAGP 27 Thoughts: Uber Eats
We've broken the guest writer run with another Jonny episode and it's quickly apparent why. Super pleased to hear another Augustus incident. As I mentioned the last time we had one of these I was half expecting it to be the last of the season. Glad to be wrong and glad for another fantastic episode.
Spoilers for episode 27 of TMP and general spoilers of TMA below the cut.
There isn't a whole lot to get into for the opening scene. Lena is obviously very anxious for this visit with the minister. I'm fairly sure that's just Lena being Lena but you never know.
As I've mentioned I'm thrilled for another Augustus episode. Tim Fearon has killed it in every performance and I think the style of incident he gets are some of the most enjoyable. In no small part to the gravitas he lends these older incidents. This is going to be another quote heavy breakdown too as there are a fair few bits to really pull apart in the incident.
I really enjoyed this incident. Just a lot of fun and Augustus incidents are always great. I'm not going to get into the plot of this one too much as I feel that's fairly easy to follow. There are some details to get into all the same though. Firstly, our PoV character is an unnamed Magnus and while it'd be tempting to say it's Jonah you can't rule out the fact that their first name, and gender, wasn't mentioned here. There are also few mentions of the Great Work here too. This is something I talked about it my ep 21 post Y2K [Errors] so I won't repeat myself here. This being set in 1845 is pretty important for a few of the details but it also means it takes place just 14 years after episode 4 and so the stranger with the violin could well be our PoV character, as has been speculated by myself and others. Our Magnus' mention of being at work for 3 decades would also line up well with that timeline.
With all the more general thoughts out of the way it's time for a lot of quote.
While I have no hesitation in accepting N’s recommendation, the particulars of the collapse must be confronted directly.
The only N I think this might be alluding to is Isaac Newton. There is a later reference that, while not directly supporting this idea, reinforces it. Newton would potentially be aligned with the Institutes goals. The Great Work is the goal of alchemy and as we've seen from ep 19 it's something he was invested in. However, this episode takes place in 1845. Newton died in 1727. The "recommendation" could be something foundational to the pursuit and as such laid down before Newton passed the phrasing does make it seem more immediate than that. Which probably means this N isn't Newton, or Newton never quite kicked the bucket. Whether because he's achieved the immortality alchemy promises, or is using more sinister means. It could also be a title that's passed down too. That would be fun.
and thus far are still unable to effect transmutations beyond those endeavours we each undertook alone.
This is a very interesting quote. There are two ways of looking at this to my mind. The first is that the Great Work is simply too vast a topic for any one mind to pursue to fruition. The second is that it's impossible for one man to do it alone because the aspects of the Great Work are governed by separate powers and you can only serve/be claimed by one. If it's the second one then this is a set up anyone familiar with TMA will be very familiar with.
No, I must excise such doubts from my mind. Purification is not only to be found in chemical processes, after all.
This one isn't super important but I did want to mention that purification is the second stage in the traditional four stage process to create the Magnum Opus.
It is strange how the work of natural philosophy attunes ones eye to the things that might be termed unusual.
The quote here isn't important. The way this quote is said very much is and I've not seen anyone mention it at the time of writing. There is an unnatural strain on the word "eye" and it's obviously not a coincidence. Given the text itself doesn't have any strong meaning so I can only conclude that the problem speaking the word is with the speaker rather than the text. While it's not exactly revelatory it's likely the strongest hint we have at who Augustus is: TMA's Jonah Magnus.
our London offices
Not a whole lot to say on this bit other than it's interesting they had these at all. We knew they were snatching up a lot of land but had these been particularly prominent you'd expect them to have been mentioned by now.
Perhaps my recent frustrations with our progress and the increased scrutiny by Boyle’s incessantly meddling inheritors have pressed me to put more significance on this than is warranted
This is our second reference to episode 19. You'll all no doubt remember that Robert Hooke wrote to Robert Boyle in that episode about Newton and referenced the "Protocol" multiple times. It would now appear that my earlier speculation is correct. The histories of the Institute and the Protocol are deeply tied together and that whatever the Protocol, or rather its enactors, grows into the OIAR is connected too.
Archibald Cameron’s notebook, and found it surprisingly legible, if somewhat soiled. It is no great loss to the Institute
Okay, so this one is just bizarre. Archibald Cameron is a fairly important historical figure. He was a very prominent figure in the Jacobite rising of 1745. 100 years before this incident is set. He was the last Jacobite to be executed, in 1753. While that's now viewed as a pretty shitty move it does mean he should be well dead. There isn't really another famous Archibald Cameron that would be alive here either. So this is either the "young" 138 year old Archibald Cameron, or it's just a very odd choice of naming/a mistake. If it's the first that also means our as yet unnamed Magnus is much older than 138 if Doctor Archie is "young". Which could very well be the case if our Magnus is famed alchemist Albertus Magnus. He was born somewhere around 1200.
the rate of digestion, for lack of a better word, seems to be linked to his own levels of fear
Fear makes it hungry. Hunger theorists are either in shambles or elated.
I think that's all the interesting stuff to pick out of this incident. A really fun listen and I can't wait to hear more about
I do always enjoy Gwen and Alice hating each other. It seems like strange emails are back on the menu. Although this time I think it's more likely to be from Klaus, or one of his potential associates like Einsamernarr, than it is another John email. Especially as the address was nonsense and it contained files. It's not the first time he's leaked stuff after all, and not the first time it's been direct to Gwen.
Just… junk. Old paperwork. Nothing important. bzzt Sorry. Already deleted. bzzt
Also Alice mentioned she's trans in text now. It was always canon but now people can't deny it.
Sam and Celia's continued Magnussing doesn't have as much to dig into as you might expect here. It's all pretty explanatory and if it isn't there isn't a load to say. The obvious stuff is Hilltop and Oxford. Celia's fascination with this is obvious as she ends up in or going towards Oxford when she "sleepwalks". The Institute, and other powers, interest seems to be tied to other worlds. The Hilltop Centre is where the charity shop the hard to remember strangers packed full of strange antiques. It's also now confirmed to be where the Magnus Institute's "Outreach Centre" was that scooped up Darrien 3 in episode 17. It's also burned down in either case. It's really nice to see Alice getting more on board with all this too. I thought it was rapidly approaching the point where she wouldn't be able to just do nothing. Totally weird Celia is so concerned about the word "Archivist". Its just a job title for boring nerds.
You also have no idea how much I regret not including a joke about Trevor Herbert being the minister. I wrote a joke about the irony of going from killing blood sucking leeches to being one. I cut it because I already made the better joke about Tories that post and thought it was enough politics.
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Incident/CAT#R#DPHW Master Sheet and Terminology Sheet
DPHW Theory: 5535 seemed fine but I expected H to be a good bit higher on this. You can, obviously, just not fall for it. It does seem like a hard thing to escape from after it's gotten you though so I'd expect more H here. First one in a long time I've sort of disagreed with.
CAT# Theory: CAT3 is sort of interesting for the "It's not Person/Place/Object" thing. This is another one in the same sorts of realms as Mr. Bonzo or a doll, presumably, where something is ostensibly an object but has some higher level of reasoning. All three are different CAT#s too.
R# Theory: B felt quite high for this one but it's got multiple witnesses who both documented their sightings of it. For one of them they documented it while being victim to it. So that's probably fair.
Header talk: Kidnapping (Carriage) -/- Consumption [Letter]. WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN "[letter]"‽‽‽ Why did formats stop? Why did they start? Why does it not have a crosslink subsection? Can you only have 4 terms in a heading at once?
This was done to spite me, and me alone.
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darsynia · 2 years ago
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Hand(s) Off | Ch 5: Chemistry
(Steve Rogers/f!Reader sex pollen-esque multichapter)
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gif by @chrisevansedits
STORY MASTERLIST | STEVE MASTERLIST | PREV | NEXT
Summary: You and Steve have to navigate the aftermath of the overexposure to Mistress, and something tells you that your mood swings and inability to self-satisfy is directly related to the drug...
Length | Warnings: 3,880 | sexual situations MINORS DNI
Fill: Adoptable ‘Pheremones’ from @allcapsbingo
Tags (please request!): @starryeyes2000 @munstysmind @ronearoundblindly @chickensarentcheap @themaradaniels @tiny-anne @deepbatched @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @wolfstar-marvelsfan @icequeen1371 @chibijusstuff @nekoannie-chan @brooke0297 @caplanreads @mrsevans90 @hails270105 @venusfalling
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Excerpt:
He’s wearing jeans that fit him like a second skin, a tight gray tee, and an unbuttoned long-sleeve blue flannel, which feels distinctly unfair. Somehow he looks every bit as handsome wearing this casual get-up as he had the night before in his suit pants and blue jacket. 
“You, uh--” He sounds upset, and you glance up. “Bruce says we need to be looking more at each other than not,” Steve offers with a wince.
“Right. Twist my arm, right?” you joke.
His brows furrow. “If you’re--”
“Steve! You’re handsome as hell. Not a hardship, is my point,” you tell him.
“Ah,” he says in response, and oh. There’s a bit of joy there, not quite pride, but close. If you had to name it, you’d say Steve is deeply pleased, and yep, that’s a jump in arousal, there. “Right back at ya,” he says, almost too quiet to hear it.
“They’re going to have to burn those forms,” you muse aloud.
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Chemistry
You wake up the morning after your 1940’s performance feeling more refreshed than you have for weeks. The constant, low-level irritation you’ve had to learn to live with is not entirely gone, but it’s lessened, and for that you’re very grateful.
The plan is to meet Bucky for… something, but he hasn’t made clear what. You opt for a skirt to swish around your legs, voluminous but not bulky. Restrictive or tight clothing has been a no-go lately, making you feel anxious and closed-in at worst and kind of turned on at best. It’s another data point in the line of ‘things that are different since Mistress,’ but you don’t really know what to make of them all. The worst out of everything is your mood, but is that worsened by your inability to come, or is it an actual after-effect?
When you get downstairs after getting Bucky’s text, you’re surprised when he opens the door of a taxi for you. The two of you usually walk everywhere.
“Where we going?” you ask.
“It’s a surprise.” He doesn’t elaborate, instead choosing to deflect in the most unfair way possible: “Steve liked the show last night.”
You keep your expression tightly controlled, but your anxious tone gives you away. “You could have warned me about that! I’m glad he enjoyed it, but--”
“I didn’t plan all that far ahead, okay? I did it because he said yes. To the thing you asked me about.”
Embarrassment blooms from your chest and across your body, and you dart your eyes over to the taxi driver. There’s no way he can know the context, but holding a conversation about impossible orgasms with Bucky had been embarrassing enough, so alluding to it around a stranger is pretty stressful.
“Uh, thank you, then.” Your mind skips past the awkwardness to the substance of the comment, and you slump back into your seat. “That means it’s definitely related.”
“Yeah.” 
He looks out the window, and you smile down at your lap. Bucky isn’t the kind of person to smoothe over awkward things with platitudes (which often makes them worse). If he had, you’d never have had the courage to ask about Steve in the first place. You’d probably have rather withered away and died of sexual frustration instead. Not that dying isn’t still on the table.
“You uh, probably should go talk to Dr. Banner,” Bucky says, his voice overloud and uncomfortable. “He’s been running tests on Steve, thanks to his lousy mood and the--” He makes a gesture, but you deliberately look at his face, not his hands.
“He’s been having problems with that too?”
Bucky’s is the kind of expression that anyone who’s ever lived with a grumpy roommate would instantly recognize.
“Yeah, okay,” you sigh, pulling your phone from your pocket. “Give me some kind of contact number?”
The taxi stops, and he points out the window with his thumb. “How about instead, we just do it right now?”
The vehicle is stopped in front of the tower. The taxi driver is already grousing, so as the two of you get out, you hiss at your best friend, “I can't believe you set me up! I didn’t mean now! I need more mental fortitude! Banner’s an Avenger! He knows Steve personally!”
“So do I!” Bucky says, affronted.
The taxi drives off as you glare at each other, and then he sticks his left elbow out like a frustrated chaperone. It’s manipulative in a really brilliant way, because he trusts you with the knowledge that there’s a metal weapon of war under all that fabric. You swallow your pride and tuck your hand in the nook he’s created for you, and he walks you inside.
“I thought you usually went through the side door?” you ask quietly as the two of you wait in the short security line.
“I didn’t want you to have time to change your mind.” Buck grins at you, right as the two of you are guided past the checkpoint and toward the bank of elevators.
“You’re really unbelievable-- and the worst part is, you know it!”
He just settles against the back wall of the elevator and looks smug. It’s midday, so the others who file into the elevator car with the two of you are all in business wear, and you feel intensely out of place in your casual skirt and blouse. Bucky, who is out of place practically anywhere, never manages to look anything but cool.
You settle against the wall beside him, but you must look nervous, because he bumps your shoulder with his as some of the office workers from the lower floors file out. Eventually, you’re the only two left, and Bucky speaks aloud asking to be taken to the floor where Banner’s lab is.
Shall I inform Dr. Banner of your impending arrival? the AI asks drily.
“What’s the fun in that?”
The rest of the trip is short. A few seconds after the two of you step out, Bucky stops you with a hand, his lips twisting apologetically.
“I’m gonna head to the apartment. This is private, and I want to respect that-- but you didn’t volunteer for this whole mess, so if you need an advocate, some of that fortitude you mentioned, just text me.”
You’re touched by this unexpected speech, but you also feel kind of adrift; this wasn’t what you’d expected your day to be like. There’s no chance to respond though, because Bucky ducks back into the elevator after gesturing toward the correct lab.
A surprised-looking man with salt and pepper curls opens the door to your knock, so you blurt out your name, explaining that Bucky Barnes had suggested you drop by.
“Oh! Oh, that’s great, come in, come in,” the man says, offering his hand to shake. “Bruce Banner. I hope Barnes passed on my sincere regrets about what happened?”
He didn’t (you hadn’t wanted to talk about it at all until you’d realized you had to ask about The Issue), so you don’t know what to say. Luckily, Banner has already hurried off to bring over a second chair beside the lab table he’s clearly been using as a desk. 
“Have a seat. I should warn you, I’ve already got--”
He breaks off as a woman in a lab coat walks over with purpose. “All blood tests are completed.” They continue talking, but the voice of Steve Rogers behind you derails your attention.
“Dee?”
You spin around in shock. “I’m sorry, I had no idea you’d be here! Not that I would, of course, but Bucky-- Oh, my God,” you realize aloud. “Did you… tell him you were coming to the lab today?”
“No, I haven’t seen him since last night.”
“Actually, this is good,” Banner says, walking over to stand between the two of you with a placating hand held toward each. “I have some theories I’d love to expand on with a few blood and proximity tests. If you’re willing, of course.”
Proximity. You’d noticed last night that being in the same large room as Steve Rogers had mitigated some of the lesser symptoms you haven’t been brave enough to mention to anybody. The same thing is happening now, with the added complication of a really bizarre desire to move closer to him. Somewhere there’s a magnetism joke just begging to be told, but not by you.
“Is this scientific curiosity, or will it help figure out how to regulate this stuff?” Steve asks.
“My own exposure took care of the curiosity part,” Banner says, rubbing a knuckle against the side of his cheek.
“Wow, Bruce, I guess I figured the Hulk’s biology would have cleared that out for you,” Steve says, his expression a mask of concern. “At least you had more data for a solo expos--” He breaks off, embarrassment flushing his face as he looks over with dawning horror at the other occupant of the room.
“No worries, I was whisked home to my husband. We were happy to be part of the ‘control’ group,” the woman in the lab coat says with a bright smile.
“In the interests of reassurance, I’ll tell you I’m in a relationship, and that person and I, ah, handled things,” Banner says, occupying himself by studiously cleaning his glasses. “So yes, there’s data, both from the mitigation of my healing factor as well as the reactions of a wholly un-exposed partner.”
“It’s not often that I get to be a hero, but I think I’ll step in and ask if you’d be willing to give some blood while these two awkward it out? Doctor Lynette Lyonne, nice to meet you.”
You smile gratefully at Dr. Lyonne and nod. She seems like exactly the sort of down-to-Earth person to keep Banner focused.
“That’s a mouthful! I feel like if my dad met you, he’d be asking you if your parents had a limited budget for letters when you were born,” you say as you sit in the chair Dr. Lyonne indicates.
“Ooh, I haven’t heard that one in six months!”
You’re pretty sure the tourniquet that Dr. Lyonne puts on after that is the regular tightness, but you hold very still and keep things polite, just in case.
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Dr. Lyonne leaves you alone in that side room after the blood test for a half hour , explaining that they need to keep you and Steve separated as they come up with some proximity tests to perform. You get it: they want to gauge various reactions between the two of you, but the anxiety you feel about being shoved into yet another situation beyond your control is almost making you sick.
Finally, the door opens and Banner ushers you out and down the hall to a different room. There’s a second, smaller space inside it made up of transparent walls and a vinyl ‘roof’ thing above it, and Steve Rogers is standing in there.
“We’ve rigged the room with all kinds of monitors, and if you are okay with it, I’d like to put some heart monitors and such on you. Steve is already rigged up with a microphone in case I need to tell you two anything, but I won’t be able to hear anything the two of you say. Steve?” Banner calls out, turning around and making some gesture you can’t see. In response, Steve lifts his shirt, showing that he does indeed have a series of medical patches connected to wires placed in various places on his splendid chest.
“Dr. Banner, you’re contaminating our results!” Dr. Lyonne objects, shoving a file folder over to block your view. “I guarantee that her heart rate just went up.”
“Shit, I didn’t think of that. Uhh…”
Grabbing Banner’s lapel mic, Dr. Lyonne leans into it and says, “Banner and Rogers, cover your eyes!” She grabs the patches and comes over. With her help, you unbutton your blouse and the two of you place them in record time. Under her breath, the doctor mutters, “Blessed with two of the most ethical red-blooded men on the planet, thank fuck…”
Two minutes later you’re closing the door of the half-room-sized enclosure they’d constructed, standing closer to Steve Rogers than you’d been since you’d met, nearly three weeks ago.
“Hi,” he says, clearly the most awkward person in the building. It’s absurdly charming.
“Hi,” you whisper back.
You’re both holding a clipboard with a pencil, and Steve nods at the one in your hand. “We’re supposed to fill out our initial reactions.”
There are two chairs placed twelve feet away but facing each other. Instead of sitting down, you plant a foot on the closest one and brace the clipboard on your knee. The questions are… a bit much, asking what your arousal level is (which is not zero, but you try having a zero arousal level around a man who can fuck like that) , how calm you’ve been in the last week, last twenty-four hours, and last hour before coming in the lab, stuff like that. They only take a minute or two to fill out, and when you’re done, you realize that there’s a stack of questions underneath that seem to be directed toward some kind of escalation.
Just what are they about to ask the two of you to do??
“I think they should have fitted you with the earpiece,” Steve says. You straighten up to see that he’s walking to the middle of the room. “They want us to stand six feet apart. Bruce? I don’t want to tell her what to do, okay? That’s--” Steve breaks off and frowns. “Yeah, I understand that, but--” Another pause, and then he sighs. “Okay.” To you, in the most gentle voice you’ve ever heard, Steve says, “There’s no time to grab another one that will work. Please forgive me if anything I say sounds close to-- Inappropriate. I’m not ordering you around. You have every right to say no.”
“This is to help people who might get stuck in a similar situation, right?” you ask, dragging the chair over so you can stand the requested distance away without having to walk over to retrieve it for clipboard-steadying. He nods. “Then it’s worth a little discomfort.”
In truth, the questions on the clipboard are perceptive, because this is the most comfortable you’ve felt in weeks. There’s something calming, something wonderful about being close to Steve. It’s as if you’d been wound more and more tightly the past few weeks, and finally, finally, you can relax. You’re certain it’s related to the drug, and you’re a bit worried about how much of yourself you’re going to put on display when you’re forced to admit that.
The two of you stand looking anywhere but each other, and after a few minutes of darting your eyes over to Steve and back to the floor, he says, “Clipboard time.”
You’re glad to have something to focus on other than whether you should be stealing glances of Captain America-- but then you start writing down your answers to the questions.
How much has your arousal level risen since the previous series of questions? 5%
How much has your comfort level risen or fallen since the previous series of questions? Risen 10%
Privately, you feel like that one is going to have bad data, because what’s 10% of ‘almost as comfortable around another person as I could be, despite the entire circumstances of our acquaintance?’
Do you feel an urge or compulsion to engage in sexual activity? Not really?
“Bruce, these questions!” Steve chokes out. He listens for a few seconds, and then says to you, “He says, and I quote, ‘We’re flying by the seat of our pants, here.’ No kidding!” Nodding as though he’d just heard something else in his earpiece, he then says, “Banner’s asking us to stand a foot apart now. And Dr. Lyonne wants me to tell you they printed a bunch of cards, so there are way more than they need.”
You drag your chair again, nodding. Given that there are something like twenty pages in the stack, you’re mollified. A little. Shit. The arousal thing is… definitely happening. A thought occurs to you, and you’re pretty sure you have an obligation to mention it.
Double shit.
“All right, can Banner hear me at all?” you say cautiously, seeking the mental fortitude you’d mentioned to Bucky. At Steve’s negative response, you nod. “Ok, one more round and then maybe they’ll ask us to stand close enough for that.”
Steve swallows hard. Both of you will clearly have different answers to the next set of questions.
“A little closer,” he whispers to you. 
You startle slightly before moving toward him. It feels much closer than a foot, because there’s almost nowhere to look but Steve. He’s wearing jeans that fit him like a second skin, a tight gray tee, and an unbuttoned long-sleeve blue flannel, which feels distinctly unfair. Somehow he looks every bit as handsome wearing this casual get-up as he had the night before in his suit pants and blue jacket. 
“You, uh--” He sounds upset, and you glance up. “Bruce says we need to be looking more at each other than not,” Steve offers with a wince.
“Right. Twist my arm, right?” you joke.
His brows furrow. “If you’re--”
“Steve! You’re handsome as hell. Not a hardship, is my point,” you tell him.
“Ah,” he says in response, and oh. There’s a bit of joy there, not quite pride, but close. If you had to name it, you’d say Steve is deeply pleased, and yep, that’s a jump in arousal, there. “Right back at ya,” he says, almost too quiet to hear it.
“They’re going to have to burn those forms,” you muse aloud. “In fact, c’mere.” 
With a bravery borne out of guilt at ruining the findings, you walk right up to Steve and tug at his collar. He doesn’t resist, but he rests a hand on your bare lower arm. It feels as much of a comfort as a warning, and in the strangest way, it reinforces your need to call a halt to this farce.
“Bruce?” you say, lifting up to speak as closely to Steve’s earpiece as you can. Using Banner’s first name is deliberate, a hint at urgency you hope he’ll heed.
“He can hear you,” Steve murmurs. His mouth is close to your ear, and fuck, you’ve made a serious tactical mistake.
“Steve showed up to the restaurant last night,” you say as clearly as you can, given how fully immersed you are in everything Steve Rogers right now. He smells good, of soap and a hint of cologne or shaving cream, and he’s right there, gorgeous and obviously as affected as you are. His grip on your arm is just this side of painful, but you doubt he even realizes. “There’s--” you stop and clear your throat, because that one word was dangerously breathy. Steve’s clenched jaw and tightened grip sends your heart racing.
“The data is corrupted, she’s saying,” Steve breaks in. “Just mark down a hundred percent increase on everything and give us some privacy, will you?”
This is as much permission to push off and away from him as you need. It takes him a second to let go-- the look you exchange as he realizes this is electric.
“Bruce, do it.” The undercurrent of angry urgency in Steve’s tone has you scrambling at the door of your enclosure, and to hell with the clipboard and everything else.
You catch a glimpse of Banner and Lyonne leaving as you rush over to the window and press your overwarm hands to the glass, pulling in huge breaths like you’ve just run a marathon. Nearby footsteps on the tiled floor signal that Steve’s also left the quarantined testing zone.
“I’m--” You stop yourself. “I was going to say ‘I’m sorry,’ but I’m not. The data was already hopelessly corrupted.”
“Yeah,” he says.
“God, this is so screwed up. Do you know, this is the best I’ve felt in weeks?”
“You should be angry with me.”
“Why? Because I got confused, got lost in your apartment and put us in this position? Don’t be absurd.”
“I broke protocol,” Steve says in a hoarse voice. You turn around to see him shaking his head, his jaw set in a miserable line. “I was supposed to head to a quarantine room to get checked out. We get cleared and then we leave. Those rules are set up to prevent--”
You're not having it. “Does it help at all? To feel bad about it?”
“Does it help you to blame yourself?” Steve asks, walking forward, forcing you to listen by sheer command authority.
“Stop being a fucking leader, Steve, and just be a man, would you?” you snap, furious to incandescence that he’s drawing on his Cap persona at a time like this.
“Fine!” he thunders, and reaches out, catching your waist in one large hand as his momentum crashes the two of you into the wall by the window. You’re pinned there, both by his hips and his desperate expression, but Steve gathers the last scraps of his will, holding his hand up and away from where he’d been about to touch you, and fisting it. He closes his eyes tightly and says, “This isn’t me, I’m not--”
“So let’s figure out how to be ourselves and still live through this, yeah?” you say, moving to tug his fist over so you can kiss his knuckles. The raw contact is a pale shade of your previous ferocity under Mistress, but it’s still powerfully erotic. Steve lets out a tiny noise, but you don’t know him well enough to guess whether it’s a sound of distress or lust.
Then his eyes pop open and you suck in a breath at the intensity in his gaze. He’s nodding, turning the hand you’re clutching so he can slide it along your cheek and around to cup the back of your head.
“May I?” he breathes. He’s trembling. So are you.
“Please,” you whisper-- and Steve surges forward, tilting his head to capture your lips in an open-mouthed kiss. Everything about this moment is overwhelming, and you can do nothing but feel. You cling to his flannel, caught up in the exquisite sweetness of his kiss, the way he’s dominating you with his body but drawing you out and teasing you with his tongue. The tension of the past weeks melt away with the heat of Steve’s hand holding you still for him, each sizzling brush of his lips against yours burning through every question of propriety.
His other hand falls to your hips, gathering the fabric of your skirt in a needy fist like he needs more of an anchor than the touch of his lips against yours. The rock of Steve’s hips against you is ruinous, incendiary, delightful, destructive. Inside you, a furnace-dam breaks, unleashing a firestorm of pleasure that rushes straight to your core.
“Oh!” you gasp, breaking the kiss as you recognize what’s about to happen. “Oh, God, oh, thank God,” you babble, even as Steve sucks a frantic kiss to your neck. “Are you --?” you manage to ask.
His incoherent noises of assent against your neck sound just as broken and relieved as yours. You clutch at any part of Steve you can reach as he hitches your leg up to angle himself just right to rut against you. Remembering that he’d needed a personal connection last time, you coax him back into a deep, desperate kiss with a gentle caress through his hair.
Steve pulls back after a few seconds and presses his forehead against yours. Something inside you drags your eyes open, and as soon as you make eye contact, your orgasm sweeps through you, arching your back and drawing a low, satisfied moan from your throat.
“Yes,” Steve crows, and his hips thrust against you multiple times in rapid succession as he is taken by a release of his own. His free hand comes up to cup your face as he pants for breath, but it’s the way Steve holds your gaze through it all that completely strips your soul bare.
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e-dubbc11 · 2 years ago
Text
The Sweetest Pain
Pt. 2
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Photos are not mine. They are courtesy of Pinterest/Google.
Pairing: Tattoo Artist Billy Russo x F! Reader
Warnings: Swearing, Smexy time alludes to sex so 18+please or I’m telling on you, jealous reader, and of course some fluff
Word Count: 5.3k-ish
Summary: After being friends with your tattoo artist for six years and confessing your true feelings for each other, you finally go out on your first date. Billy starts in on another session of your octopus tattoo and introduces you to the new artist he hired who seems a little too friendly with him.
A/N: Read part one HERE. I’ve had a lot of fun working on this second part and my dear friend Lily @munsonownsmyass has been working hard on her own fic that is adjacent to this little series which I am SO excited for you guys to read. This little collaboration has been a lot of fun, the back and forth chatting about it, everything about it has brought a smile to my face and I hope it will for you too. Read Lily’s Mark Upon Your Skin HERE
As always, thank you for reading!  I appreciate it so much and comments, reblogs are welcome and encouraged. Don’t be shy to tell me your favorite part. 💕💕 💕
“But I wanna see you tomorrow…for dinner.”
His command had been wandering through your head all day as you bit down on your lower lip to try and keep from smiling but it was impossible.
You could still smell the intoxicating combination of his cologne and his natural scent on the sweatshirt he placed over your shoulders when he took you home last night, it had been chillier than you expected when the two of you left the studio.
The sweatshirt had his shop logo on it and as you motioned to remove it after arriving at your apartment, Billy told you to “Keep it, I know the guy that owns the shop. I can always get another one.” And he pulled you in close for another kiss, his lips were soft, his hands were gently cupping your cheeks and moving their way down around your neck.
They came to rest around your waist, his kisses became hungrier as he pressed you up against the wall. You didn’t want him to leave, you had wanted this for so long and now it was actually happening.
The man you have been friends with for six years, who has tattooed you countless times in those six years was now kissing you and exploring your body with his skilled hands.
You had hooked your leg around his and pulled him closer to you and he was careful not to touch the top of your thigh no matter how much he wanted to because he had just tattooed it.
“You still taking me to dinner tomorrow night, handsome?” You asked him.
He pulled away from kissing your neck. “If we keep this up, I may end up taking you to breakfast.”
You liked the way that sounded but not tonight so you pulled away.
“Alright, alright stud…I gotta get up for work in the morning anyway. This is really nice though.” You had said with a slight smile.
He leaned forward to place a soft kiss on your lips and then flashed you that perfect smile again. “I like kissing you too.” He said with a warm smile. “I’ll call you when I wake up tomorrow. Goodnight, beautiful.”
“Goodnight, Billy. Sweet dreams.” You said.
He kissed you on the forehead before saying “They will be now.”
That was all you could think about while you were at work today, like you could still feel Billy’s firm lips on yours, on your neck, and his hands everywhere else.
You had to make excuses of why you were daydreaming, even while you were in a meeting. You couldn’t do anything BUT think of him, it brought a smile to your face and you were very excited about dinner tonight.
He called you in the morning just like he said he would. That’s something you could get used to, no guy you’ve ever dated called when they said they were going to.
You could tell Billy had a smile on his face on the other end of the phone, the smooth velvet tone to his voice as he said your name gave you flutters all over, and the childlike excitement in his voice when he said he was looking forward to your date tonight made your heart skip a beat.
He said he was taking you to a restaurant/bar called The Wicked Monk. It wasn’t too far from his shop in Brooklyn and he had asked if going to a bar was ok with you.
Billy obviously wasn’t a three-piece suit kind of guy, and it seemed like he was concerned that going to a bar wouldn’t be good enough for you.
“Yeah? Are you sure that’s ok?” He asked timidly.
“Of course, Billy. Why wouldn’t it be?” You asked him.
There was a long pause. “Because—some women I’ve dated wanted to be wined and dined at 5 star restaurants. I’m a tattoo artist, I don’t work on Wall Street. And I’m not gonna pretend to be somethin’ I’m not.”
“You don’t have to pretend with me, Billy. If I don’t like something, believe me I’m gonna tell you about it. Sometimes my mouth gets me into a bit of trouble so strap in, I hope you’re ready for that.” You said.
He laughed, a real genuine laugh. It was difficult to get a laugh out of Billy. “Oh I knew I was gonna have my hands full with you, my little firecracker. I can’t wait to see you later.”
“I’m excited to see you too, handsome. I’ll text you when I’m on my lunch break.” You said.
The rest of your work day seemed to take forever, of course it did because you had something to look forward to tonight.
On your way home, you were trying to picture in your head of what you wanted to wear tonight. You went with casual but a little sexy, jeans and a black top with lace sleeves along with your black leather jacket.
Billy’s face froze when you opened the door to greet him, he tried hard not to eye you from head to toe but he couldn’t help himself.
“Holy shit.” He stated. “You look amazing, y/n. You sure you still wanna go out orrrrrr?” He placed his hands on your hips and his tongue darted out to lick his bottom lip.
“Billy Russo!” You playfully slapped his shoulder. “I’m hungry so yes, I still wanna go out.” A little laugh escaped your mouth and you felt yourself start to blush.
“Ah, now I’m making YOU blush!” He said excitedly as he pulled you in close, his eyes like two pieces of onyx staring down at you like you were the only woman in the world.
You were crazy about him.
“I wanna give you a kiss but I don’t wanna mess up your lipstick. I love the red, baby. So I’ll just do this…for now.” He drew your hand up to meet his lips and he planted a soft kiss on the back of your hand.
“I’ll let you kiss me later, let’s move soldier!” You said.
Billy just shook his head back and forth, smiling as you took his hand in yours and led him out of your apartment building.
Always a gentleman, Billy walked on the outside of the sidewalk next to the road, held you close to him, protecting you, opened the door for you and pulled out your chair. They seated you at a cozy table in the back, in front of the large wooden door with the word Guinness painted on it.
There was a lot to look at inside the intimate little Irish bar, stone walls, stained glass windows, even part of the ceiling was stained glass made to look like an amusing version of Michelangelo’s mural on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel with cheerful monks holding up mugs of beer.
“Well this is a fun place, I’ve never been here before.” You said, removing your jacket and draping it off the back of your chair.
Billy removed his leather jacket as well, looking as handsome as ever in a black Henley shirt and dark jeans.
“Yeah some of the stained glass and wood fixtures are actually from a chapel in Ireland.” He told you.
“Look at you, spouting off facts and shit. You tryin’ to impress me or somethin’, Russo? You could be makin’ all that shit up, for all I know.” You asked.
“Depends…is it working?” Billy asked with a wink.
“Maybe…” You said with kind eyes and a slight smile.
You had such a nice time with him. The conversation was easy, the food was good, and of course Guinness on tap is delicious. Billy held your hand across the table, ran his thumb across your knuckles as he stared down at the rose he tattooed on your hand a few years ago, then slowly traced the outline of the petals with his long nimble fingers.
Still looking down at the rose, he asked. “Remember when I did this one?”
He brought his gaze up to meet yours when you answered him.
“I remember them all, Billy.” You whispered only loud enough for him to hear.
“You’re making me blush again, y/n!” A little embarrassed, his eyes darted from your gaze quickly before returning to have his eyes meet yours again.
“That night was a fun one though, you got to tattoo me AND my best friend.” You said.
“I hadn’t laughed that hard in a long time, you two are somethin’ else.” Said Billy.
You leaned across the table to place a gentle kiss on his lips. “I like making you laugh, Billy. You deserve to.”
He kissed you back, a tint of red from your lipstick appeared on his lips that you went to wipe away when he kissed your thumb.
“You wanna get outta here? Go for a walk down by the water?” He asked.
“I’d love to.” You replied.
Walking arm in arm, the breeze down by the water felt amazing against your warm skin which was all Billy’s doing. The man gave you butterflies in your stomach and sent a surge of heat throughout the rest of your body.
You didn’t even notice the cold on the unseasonably cool spring night, he warmed you up from the top of your head all the way down to your toes.
He asked you a lot of questions like what the relationship was like between you and your parents. You told him your parents divorced when you were 12, your mom re-married not even a year after the divorce was final and had another baby.
She never gave a second thought to the children she already had, and you felt like she resented you because you looked and acted so much like your father.
Billy asked if you started getting tattoos to piss off your mother, which made you laugh. Jokingly, you told him that was only part of the reason, but you’ve just always loved them and within the past few years you finally were making the money you needed to support your “ink habit.” And that made him laugh.
“It was something that I loved, that made me happy. She once told me ‘no man wants a woman that’s permanently marked up her body.’ She just never liked to see me happy, Billy. Whenever I was, she would do everything in her power to try and take it away from me by making me feel bad about myself. That was her way of trying to manipulate me into someone she wanted me to be.” You said, trying to look away from him so he wouldn’t see the tears in your eyes.
“Sweet girl, look at me.” He demanded, as you turned to look at him. His voice was breathless with anger. “There is nothing I love more than seeing your beautiful smile or listening to your laugh and I am so sorry she tried to take that away from you. I hate seeing those tears in your eyes.”
With rage his eyes, he gnashed his teeth as he said. “I guess neither of our mothers are winning Mother of the Year awards, are they.”
“No, no they’re definitely not.” You replied with a slight smile and a bitter laugh.
As your tears spilled over and ran down your cheeks, he wiped them away before tilting your chin up to look into those hypnotic dark brown eyes and he did his best to kiss your tears away.
Billy’s lips eagerly pressed against yours, parting them, his tongue stroking against yours, and your fingers combed through his ebony colored hair.
His beard lightly scratched your chin and cheeks as he kissed up and down your neck, and back up to capture your lips once again. You gasped against his mouth and felt his breath on your eyelids.
He easily lifted the bottom of your shirt and his talented fingers skirted across the delicate skin on your stomach which sent a shiver of intense sharpness down your spine.
Breathless, you pulled away to ask him. “Do you want to go back to my place, maybe have a drink?”
“You sure, baby?” His eyes flashed with a little excitement.
You gave him a slightly wicked smile. “Well it’s either that or we’re goin’ down a few blocks to your shop and I’m kickin’ everyone out so I can fuck you in your tattoo chair.”
He was so surprised by your answer that he couldn’t help but burst out laughing. “My little firecracker.” He pinched your chin between his thumb and forefinger and gave you a quick kiss.
After getting back to your apartment, the two of you enjoyed a glass of bourbon, talked more, laughed more, and he told you more stories about his time overseas.
They were mostly happy stories about his fellow marines, especially Frank. Billy didn’t like telling stories about the darker times of war but he didn’t mind sharing some with you.
He lifted his Henley and pulled the top of his jeans down a little, revealing a bullet wound scar on his hip. You sat facing each other on the couch, he rubbed strands of your hair in between his fingertips, and you inched closer to him so you could kiss him on the cheek.
There was a look of hurt at the back of Billy’s eyes, like he wanted to tell you something else but he just wasn’t ready so without another word, you just climbed into his lap, knees resting on either side of his hips and pressed down into him.
You could feel his hardening length press against you, twitching every time you leaned down to kiss him, and he let out a low moan when you moved to bite down gently on his earlobe.
Your hands traveled to his chest, down to the hem of his shirt and holding the soft material in between your fingers, lifted it up and over his head and discarded it on the floor.
His patriotic tattoo sleeve was in full view now. From the American flag, to the bald eagle, and every part in between, it was incredible. It went from his shoulder all the way down to his hand.
His Marine Corps. tattoo started from his wrist, and ended on the knuckles. You didn’t know it was possible but it made him even sexier.
Shocked at your own lack of restraint, you laced your fingers with his to pin them against the top of the couch and kissed him readily. You wanted him, you wanted him badly and that’s when he broke free from your grasp and started to unbutton your jeans.
“There’s more room in my bed, handsome.” You panted into his ear and started to stand up.
That’s all he needed to hear. He scooped you into his arms, headed for your bedroom and put you down at the foot of the bed while he hurriedly pulled your shirt off revealing the black lingerie you had on underneath.
Your hands were shaking slightly undoing his belt and the button on his jeans, forcefully pushing them down and hearing his belt hit the floor which left him in just his black boxer briefs.
The bristles of his beard scratched the curves of your breasts as he kissed in between them before slowly easing your jeans down to the floor. His dark hair fell into his eyes while you gently pulled on it, his impatient kisses became greedier, leaving little love bites down your torso to the inside of your thighs.
You always wondered what he’d look like on his knees in front of you, those thoughts weren’t just a dream anymore as you gazed down at him sliding your panties down your thighs pausing to place a gentle kiss just above your core that made you shudder.
Moving to the bed, you were suddenly underneath him, his strong hands holding your wrists together above your head and his knee spreading your legs apart.
You were almost embarrassed about how wet you were for him, playfully resisting, laughing and trying to move your wrists from underneath his hands because you wanted to touch him and you desperately wanted him inside you.
“I told you not to make me wait, Billy. I want you now.” You demanded.
Billy pulled on your bottom lip with his thumb and gave you a sly smile. “Whatever you want, baby.” He closed the distance between your faces to seize your lips again and covered your body with his own.
**********
Tangled in each other’s limbs, with the city lights dimly lighting up your bedroom, you rested your head on Billy’s chest, your leg draped over his and lightly ran your fingers up and down his tattoo sleeve. Stopping on his bicep, you noticed he had the words “Til Valhalla” tattooed there.
“Til Valhalla.” You whispered with a slight hitch in your voice.
Billy kissed the top of your head. “You know what it means, sweet girl?” He asked.
“It means you’ll see your Fallen again.” You said, grazing the words with your thumb.
Smiling against your hair, Billy asked. “Is there anything you DON’T know, baby?”
“Not really.” You said with a smile and lightly kissed his chest. “I’m so sorry, Billy. I can’t imagine what it must have been like for you over there. Did you get this scar over there too?” You moved your fingers from his bicep to the longer scar on his shoulder.
Billy shuddered a little at your touch.
“I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have—“ You started to say.
He moved so he could look you in your eyes. “Oh no, y/n. It’s ok, baby—It’s…that’s where my rotator cuff was torn. It happened while I was at the group home. I just really don’t like—”
His body tensed underneath you and it was clear that Billy was uncomfortable talking about it, almost ashamed.
You interrupted him.
“Another time, Billy. You decide if and when you wanna tell me and I’ll be here.” You said with a warm smile.
Billy nodded. “Thank you, love.” You could tell he was grateful you didn’t ask any more questions. He picked his head up off of the pillow so he could touch his lips to yours.
“Goodnight, handsome.” You squeezed him tightly.
His body finally relaxed and he was able to fall asleep while you gently scratched his scalp with your fingernails. It was the most at peace you had ever seen him.
**********
The two weeks in between your tattoo appointments, Billy took you out as often as he could manage. You worked during the day and he worked mostly in the evenings so it was a little difficult to see each other but the two of you made it work.
And maybe it was a little premature but you were very much in love with him. Even though you had only been dating officially for a couple of weeks, you’ve been friends for six years, you talked almost daily, and you’ve shared a lot with each other in that time.
You had been as close as two people could be without the intimacy but that was two weeks ago and it was definitely a different relationship now. It felt…complete and you were hoping he felt the same way because for the first time in your life you had a boyfriend that made you incredibly happy.
Two weeks had flown by and it was time to go back and have Billy do more work on your octopus tattoo. You had a nice conversation with Frank while Billy readied his station for you.
“Bill told ya he hired a new artist, yeah?” He asked.
It had completely slipped your mind until Frank mentioned it but it all came flooding back to you when he did.
“OH! Yeah he did. He showed me some of her work the other night, it’s really good. What was her name again? Short stack?” You asked.
Frank let out a little chuckle. “Cake, sweetheart. Shortcake.”
“Short-CAKE! Shit, gotta remember that. Don’t wanna fuck up her name as soon as she comes in. That would be rude.” You said, a little embarrassed.
“Yeah, she’s done a little work on me—check it out.” Frank said as he moved his shirt so you could see the skull.
The detail was amazing for it being a small tattoo but it was rather impressive.
“Her line work is great.” You said.
Frank smirked. “Hey that’s what Bill said.”
“Really?” You said, narrowing your eyes a little.
Billy was completely in the dark as to what the two of you were talking about. “Huh? What’s that, Frankie?”
“I commented on Shortcake’s line work. Frank said you had a similar comment.” You said.
Billy winked at you and said. “I’m ready, baby. Come have a seat.”
Thinking that it may be different now that you and Billy were actually together but his touches still caused your nerves fire in every direction and caused your skin to erupt with goosebumps. His deep exhales hit the skin on your knee and it felt like the first time, every time.
Billy may have been working on you for about 30 minutes when Shortcake walked in. She said hello to everyone and stopped at Billy’s station on the way to hers to check out what he was working on. She leaned in close, maybe a little closer to Billy than you wanted her to, so she could get a good look at it.
“Wow! Billy, that’s incredible.” She said with a flirtatious smile.
Billy didn’t look up as he said “Thanks…” He paused to look at you. “Shortcake, this is my sweet girl. Baby, this is my new artist, Shortcake.”
You extended your hand for her to shake. “Hi there. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Oh jeez, I should have recognized you from your pictures. Why didn’t you tell me she was coming in today, Billy?! It’s nice to meet you too.” She said.
Maybe it was nothing but as the evening continued, the playful banter between Billy and Shortcake seemed a little too flirtatious. The way they joked around, made a few inappropriate comments, and all while you were sitting in between them.
Shortcake did try and make small talk with you. She told you how much she’s learning from Billy and what an amazing and talented tattoo artist he is.
You smiled, feeling like it was coming from a genuinely innocent place, but maybe she just doesn’t realize how flirtatious she was being and Billy reciprocating was starting to make your blood boil and you couldn’t take any more of it tonight.
“Billy, I uh think I need to call it a night. I’m a little tired.”
Billy had a look of concern on his face. “Are you sure, baby?”
“Yeah, yeah I’m sure.” You said, trying to smile.
After Billy put the tegaderm on, he started to clean up his station. “Well, I’ll clean up and take you home, ok?”
“It’s ok Billy, I know you’ve been teaching Shortcake some things after hours so I’ll let you do that, I can walk home by myself. It’s fine.” You said. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
Before you could really give him a chance to argue, you walked over to him, planted a gentle kiss on his lips, said goodbye to everyone and left.
As soon as you closed the door to the shop, it was hard not to feel angry and suddenly your eyes welled up with tears.
They were flirting with each other right in front of you and you just couldn’t be around them right now. All you wanted was to go home and go to bed, you’d deal with all of this tomorrow.
**********
Billy texted a few times after you left the studio, wanting to know if you got home alright, if you were ok, and mentioned that he was going to be working with Shortcake during the day tomorrow and then a client in the evening but he wanted you to stop by because he wanted to see you.
Your eyes closed in relief, he wanted to see you even though he was busy tomorrow. Maybe you really were just overreacting to their banter, it’s a tattoo shop so of course conversations are going to be slightly inappropriate. They were just having fun.
You made sure to text him back.
Of course I’ll come see you tomorrow, handsome.
You followed it up with three heart emoji’s and planned to apologize in person for basically just up and leaving and why you did it.
Billy was definitely a man of routine, he called you the next morning like he had every morning for the past couple of weeks and even though he was busy at the shop, he made sure he was available to talk to you during your lunch break.
In the background, you could hear everyone in the shop heckling Billy because of how sweetly he was talking to you, how he was whispering into the phone and because of how happy they were saying he looked while doing it.
“I’ll see you after I get outta work, Billy.” You said.
He didn’t even try to hide the happiness in his voice in front of the other artists and you could picture very clearly, the smile he had stretched across his face.
“I can’t wait, beautiful. I’ll see you soon.” He said.
**********
Roaring laughter erupted from the other side of the shop door before you reached for the handle. Anytime you heard Billy laugh, it put a smile on your face. After closing the door behind you, he greeted you with a smile that could melt your insides.
Billy was watching while Shortcake worked on a handsome man wearing red tinted glasses, leaning in close to her, and smiling at her like he smiled at you.
You could feel your stomach clench in resentment, every muscle in your body stiffened, and your cheeks flamed with anger any time he touched her back, moved a stray hair away from her face so she’d be able to see better, or reciprocate after she said something flirtatious.
You couldn’t take it anymore.
“Billy? Can I talk to you for a minute out on the back deck? Please?” There was an acid burn of bitterness in your throat as you marched over to the back door and nearly ripped it off the hinges when you opened it.
The mood of the shop completely shifted. Suddenly, it was eerily quiet, no one was laughing, and the air inside quickly became thick with tension.
Billy followed you out to the back deck and closed the door so no one could hear anything.
“Is everything ok, y/n? You seem a little upset.” He asked.
“Oh you picked up on that, huh?!” Sarcasm dripping from your mouth, you protectively folded your arms across your chest as you asked. “Do you two do this every day? Trade flirty remarks back and forth? You’re not even toning it down while I’m here! You did it last night, you’re doing it now! You have any idea how that makes me feel, Billy?!!”
Your eyes were burning with tears and between clenched teeth, the words burned in the back of your throat like white hot fire.
“It’s just playful banter, baby. It’s a tattoo shop, you know how it is in there. You’ve been a part of it too!” He explained.
“She has a thing for you, Billy!” You shouted.
Billy shook his head furiously. “No, she doesn’t. I promise you, sweet girl. I’m not even her type.”
You let out a sharp laugh and scoffed at his claim. “Oh please, you’re everyone’s type!!”
Your skin felt like it was engulfed in flames and you turned to grab the door handle so you could leave but Billy stopped you.
“Baby, please! I don’t want you to go! I just thought we were all messing around, she’s just really friendly and flirty. I didn’t know that it would affect you like this, so I’m—I’m sorry ok? I don’t have ANY interest in Shortcake because—I” There was a piercing dryness in his throat.
You could tell he was nervous.
“Well…I’m waiting!” You demanded.
Billy inhaled sharply. “I don’t have any interest in Shortcake because I’m in love with someone else.”
Taken completely by surprise, you responded. “What?”
“Yeah, she is quite the firecracker, beautiful, smart, she makes me laugh, plus she looks really cute when she’s mad at me. And I really hope she loves me too because this conversation is gonna get really awkward, really fast if she doesn’t.” He said with a warm smile.
Your hand dropped away from the door handle and you let out a little laugh.
“You love me?” You asked shyly.
Billy pulled your body flush with his, those liquid brown eyes staring down at you as he wiped the tear that trickled down your cheek.
“I do…I do love you. I’ve been in love with you for quite some time.” He whispered.
You snaked your arms around his neck. “I love you too, Billy.”
Billy leaned in to softly press his lips to yours. His kisses always gave you butterflies and you never wanted that feeling to go away.
“Oh by the way, the guy that Shortcake has in her chair right now has bionic hearing or some shit so I’m sure he heard EVERYTHING.” He said. “She also has a little bit of a thing for him.”
“Oh shit, really?” You said in a surprised tone. “Well he sure got a show, didn’t he. And I guess I know her type now, don’t I.”
You let out a chuckle and so did Billy.
“Baby, I know you don’t appreciate the flirting so I won’t reciprocate anymore. Plus, I’ve seen your face when women flirt with me when they come in to make an appointment.” He said.
Slightly embarrassed you replied. “Oh…you’ve seen that?”
“If looks could kill, my love.” Said Billy. “But that just means you’re crazy about me.” He said with a slightly wicked smile and a wink.
“Well you’re right about that, handsome. I am crazy about you.” You said and kissed him again.
After going back inside, everyone seemed to scramble back to their stations which made you laugh. Shortcake apologized profusely and said she didn’t mean to cause any trouble. You also apologized to her and everyone else.
The last thing you wanted to do was make her feel uncomfortable in any way, she seemed like a great addition to the shop and you wanted her to stay.
Billy walked over to his desk calendar. Looking over the dates for the next few weeks, he asked you “Baby, when do you wanna come back so I can finish your leg?”
You narrowed your eyes and crossed your arms across your chest. “Ya know, you really should have been done by now, Billy. You get to see me naked, so I shouldn’t have to keep coming back so you can finish something that should have taken one session.”
You flashed him a smile and a wink, everyone started to laugh.
When Billy told you he wanted you back in the chair in another two weeks, you could feel eyes on your backside.
“ANDY!! How many times do I have to tell you to keep your eyes off my girlfriend’s ass?! Seriously, bro!” Billy shouted.
“And he calls ME a firecracker! If looks could kill, baby.” You said, pushing yourself up onto your toes to give Billy a kiss on the cheek. “But that just means you’re crazy about me, right handsome?”
He turned his head, gazed down at you, and hungrily attacked your lips with his.
“Oh you have no idea, sweet girl.”
Tag List: @mindidjarin @saintmurd0ck @wheresthesunshinesblog @rafaelakelley @idaoftheburningmind @snowkestrel @xdervyxccgh @mattmurdocksscars @fakehappy27 @music-indie-tv @fictional-hooman @kayhi808 @munsonownsmyass @gijos @celestialams @idek-what-to-put @anastasianeedstoread @ratsys @k-marzolf @nutmeg17 @rosaleenablack
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wildemaven · 1 year ago
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forever | agent whiskey
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-> pairing: agent whiskey x f!reader
-> wc: 821
-> content warning: alluding to sex, accidental marriage, talks of annulment/divorce, fluff, happy ending, mention of drunken mistake
-> a/n: this is a third installment to my accidentally got married to Jack in Vegas. Had this random thought this morning and thought I’d give them a happy ending.
part one | part two | masterlist
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The doors of the courthouse stare you down as you sit frozen in your parked car. The reality of why you are here is your own doing— you had set the appointment up, demanded that he actually show up and be here on time. Yet, you can’t seem to bring yourself to walk through those doors that will bring an end to the one thing that’s been weighing heavy on your heart the last 24 hours.  
He’s your partner. Your friend. And now your husband, in a marriage you never wanted, never dreamed about. You were independent and career driven, you didn’t have time to fall in love and play family. You were an agent before anything else, a damn good one at that. 
And as much as he is a thorn in your side, on even a good day, there’s this small part of you that has started to feel complete with him. 
Life carried on like normal after your last big assignment produced this drunken martial mess. Neither of you spoke of it at work, and no one mentioned the shiny gold hardware that adorned both of your left hands. 
Behind closed doors was a different story. The same song and dance routine of falling into bed with him after insisting things needed to end before someone got hurt. Your judgment seemingly clouded by lust driven promises and hours of passion at the hands of a man whose heart was more invested in this charade than you were. By morning, guilt and regret crept in and you were grabbing your clothes and stumbling out the door yelling to the naked cowboy in bed, This is the last time Jack! 
Only it wasn’t, no matter how hard you tried. You couldn’t figure out why you were so drawn to him, despite the fact that you were literally begging him for this marriage to come to an end. 
Jack was your best friend when you needed him most. An incredible partner who always had your back through any situation. And even with the amount of snoring that came from his side of the bed, he had become a loving husband. 
You release a deep steady sigh. Grabbing your purse along with the stack of legal papers from the passenger seat, you dolefully make your way to the courthouse entrance. And like many times prior, you’ll sit alone in front of the judge in the empty courtroom, wait until he’s scolding you for wasting his time yet again because your husband— Jack didn’t show up. 
The large wooden doors creak open as you land on the top steps and you’re met with a familiar face you hadn’t expected to see. 
 “Jack?” You barely managed to whisper his name, shock still flooding your system, the papers in your hold crinkle as you grip them tightly. 
“Yer late Darlin’. Judge wasn’t too happy either. Dismissed the appointment. Said he’s not makin’ another one until we can both be here together and on time.” There’s a tinge of sorrow in his voice, he looks out into the parking lot, trying to avoid your gaze. 
He looks handsome in his blue jeans and leather jacket, your favorite look of his. He’d even worn it that night in Vegas, making the memory of that night a little more special. 
“You showed up.” You say, saddened at the thought that he finally decided he was done too. 
“Isn’t that what you wanted? Get divorced so you could go live yer life, without me botherin’ you.” You can hear the hurt in his voice as he stands in front of you, hands firmly on his waist. 
“I do— did.” Your heart starts to speak for you. “I thought I wanted this Jack, I did want it. But— I…”
“What are ya tryin’ to say?” He takes a step closer, removing his glasses, revealing his handsome mustached face fully to you. 
“I’m not sure— I thought this was what I wanted.” Pointing to the ornate building you’re both standing in front of. “But now that you’re here, I don’t think I can go through with it.”
This kiss feels different. It’s unhurried and soft. It’s all butterflies and feelings of happiness. It’s an all encompassing experience, the first of many more to come and you want to feel like this forever. 
“Well, that settles that then. Question is, yer place or mine, Darlin’?” He asks. His left hand cupping the side of your face, you lean into it. The coolness of his ring, mirroring the one you still wear as well, against your cheek is a welcomed sensation. 
“Seeing how we both have the afternoon off, how ‘bout we go find our place?” You suggest, eager to show him the listings you had already been looking at this morning. 
“Our place, huh? Sure you won’t get tired of this cowboy?” 
“I survived this long, I’m sure I can handle forever.”
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vasito-de-leche · 1 year ago
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;R1999 FORGET ME NOT - General Headcanons
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Compilation of headcanons and analysis on Forget Me Not as a character and other related things.
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this post was brought to you by me, procrastinating on the second part of the Cover analysis and those yandere Pavia headcanons, and ALSO because mister lawrence cavendish jr is the second target for my brainrot
warning for suicide and self-harm themes!
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On the subject of Forget Me Not's name and past.
It's Lawrence Cavendish Jr. Forget Me Not's real name is confirmed to be just that, as seen in this specific excerpt:
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"Cavendish Jr, who was still alive and once sat in front of you [...]" which alludes to the dinner Vertin had at the Walden with Druvis III and Forget Me Not, and "'Forget Me Not', what a hilarious, stupid name". I only included this because I've seen people wonder about it.
What I mean to tackle in this point is the relationship between Forget Me Not, his origins and his current chosen name. Despite his calm and collected appearance, it becomes clear that Forget Me Not is one hair away from becoming entirely deranged, especially when confronted with the possibility of getting revenge. But why is Forget Me Not so focused on revenge specifically?
His backstory is not as openly laid out for us to read, but we can gleam some bits and pieces from all the documents and dialogue he has. To understand Forget Me Not, we also need to look at Druvis III.
All throughout chapter 02, we see parallels and connections being drawn between Forget Me Not and Druvis III - both of them appear to be extremely aloof, cold and collected, only to be revealed to be very emotional deep down, for better and for worse. Druvis III is initially defined by the neutrality and inertia that comes with being stuck in the past, while Forget Me Not is initially defined by the neutrality of the Walden and his ties with Manus Vindictae, an organization that rejects the future.
Druvis III is a disgraced, fallen noble whose life wasn't ruined by the fire that took her family, but the perception the world had of her, an image they forced onto her due to their hatred towards arcanists. And Forget Me Not has a family surname "buried in the dust, shot dead in history". A disgraced, fallen noble implied to have struggled with poverty, battling hunger and suicide countless of times. In the "··· Formula: 1920s" document, we can see a few pieces from various people and their opinions on Forget Me Not from the Big Mouth Bulletin. 3 out of 4 want him dead or think of him as a monster - entirely because of his existence as an arcanist.
The similarities are obvious. Hell, both share the theme of flora and plants, too. There is an even more subtle dynamic here too, alluding to the game's prominent religious imagery - Vertin's suitcase being compared to an ark that will brave the "Storm", the last supper moment, Arcana's offering, the orange, being a replacement for the apple of Eden...
And then, Forget Me Not association with snakes, rumoured to have a body covered in scales, with an arcanum skill that allows people to indulge in alcohol during the Prohibition Era - the snake that tempted Adam and Eve. Druvis III is associated with forests, trees, as well as a link between Vertin (the good guys) and Manus Vindictae (the bad guys) - the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. The two go hand in hand and are linked together.
The big difference between them is that their respective quests to set things "right" are entirely different - their "revenge" is not the same. Druvis III was hellbent on finding out who set the fire that killed her family, not because she wanted them to face the consequences, but because in doing so, people would finally leave her alone and let her mourn. She could finally move on from something that she knew the truth of. Forget Me Not does it to feel satisfied with himself and get back at everyone who ever looked down on him or wronged him. To inflict as much as pain unto others as he had received before. It's a powerplay fantasy in which he finally wins, against all odds.
It's unclear what truly happened to the Cavendish that caused Forget Me Not to end up in such conditions, to the point where he'd go as far as make sure no one can trace him back to his family, to the point where not even the Foundation has a proper report on him.
But there is one line in particular that lives rent free in my head when it comes to the Cavendish and Forget Me Not's potential relationship with them.
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This takes place after Druvis III loses her forest, after she loses her eternal branch because of Vertin's intervention during their dinner. They're talking about how to use her forest to build a refugee camp.
There's the possibility that Forget Me Not is simply alluding to that forest - something that used to belong to her is now something that he should have for the sake of Manus Vindictae's goals.
But! Indulge me for a second! There's a noticeable pause, there's a subtle tone to his voice. Reverse 1999's writing might be confusing at times due to the translation, but it's easy to see that it's loaded with metaphors, hidden meanings and so much more, to the point where reading deeply into everything most characters' say is pretty much the norm.
The dialogue that precedes that specific line is Forget Me Not insisting that he can transfer the ownership of the woods over to Druvis III anytime, because she has always been and will always be the only owner, no matter what. He does this to convince her to go through with Manus' plans, that's his main goal, he doesn't care about the woods. But that single line pictured above? It could mean so much more.
Again, the two share many, many similarities. So when Forget Me Not talks about what Druvis III once had - a prestigious family business, a name people can recognize, an assured future - is what he should have, it evokes a sense of entitlement and lingering resentment. Almost as if Forget Me Not's desire to go back to the past doesn't stem from nostalgia like her, but to reclaim something that was denied to him.
Which is incredibly ironic to me because both of them carried their family in their names - Druvis THE THIRD. Lawrence Cavendish JUNIOR. And yet, the one that worked so hard to obscure his origins and changed his family name was him.
Neither of these characters can be recognized nor traced back to their families by appearance alone - people need a name or a really good memory to truly recognize them. The only one with enough courage to continue carrying such burden is Druvis III. Forget Me Not wants something that he willingy lost the right to the moment he allowed Lawrence Cavendish Jr. to die and fade into obscurity.
The name "Forget Me Not" begins to sound more ironic. Like an order, a threat or the promise of his return - his desire for revenge and his hypocrisy become clear once you begin to dissect his character. Like the narrator in the "To Lawrence Cavendish" document says: "He is patiently waiting... to put his meanness, craziness and quivers under the sun". He's waiting to reveal himself.
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The "stage" is shown when he makes people explode from inside out, a lot of people who recognized him as Forget Me Not, the mixologist. This is when we finally see his true intentions and the main difference between him and Druvis III, all in their respective reactions to the journalists.
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She's terrified, thinking about the day of her family's funeral. On the other hand, he's ordering them to watch and record as he "takes everything he has been deprived of".
This is why the thing that breaks Forget Me Not is hearing that Druvis III does not care about the man who started the fire, that it's not important anymore. He believed them to be on the same page, that she would love to torture the single person responsible for all of her grief. The guy is projecting heavily onto Druvis III.
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In the end, I don't know if Forget Me Not resents his father, his family name, if he had some sort of business to inherit and a "future" that was taken from him, or if they actually might've been a happy family.
What I do know is that Forget Me Not's desire for revenge was absolutely amplified and fueled by Manus Vindictae's own agenda. And that's why he works perfectly as both a victim of their MO and a willing member within their ranks.
He clings so hard to the past because there is no future worth fighting for, because everything would be much better if it was rebuilt from scratch with only those that won't oppose him and repeat history. He clings so hard that his new name and identity are, in the end, a plea for the world not to forget who he used to be and, at worst, an order because he sure as hell hasn't forgotten all the things others have done or said Back when Lawrence Cavendish Jr was around. Once his family outlived their usefulness or relevance within society.
TLDR: THIS is the cold-blooded, numb murderer who is actually very sad, empty and broken deep inside that some people wanted Pavia to be. Like, he's even sopping wet and sad and asking Vertin to kill him next time they meet.
Which leads us to my next point!
On the subject of Forget Me Not's self-destructive and suicidal mindset.
We've talked about Forget Me Not's views and relationship with the Cavendish - but what exactly is the end goal? He feels entitled to a better life, one he was supposed to have, and then what?
The "???" narrator mentions a woman who made a promise to Forget Me Not, as well as leaving a "sarcoma" behind which he then adapted and turned into his own. This woman is implied to be Arcana, as we see her talk to Vertin about being able to see the truth, to not be blinded - there's an emphasis in the way she recruits people by opening their eyes to reality. The sarcoma is the city (apparently "Windy City" is used to refer to Chicago, I had to google that but hey, that's pretty neat!). It's the world he lives in and that wants him gone. She focused Forget Me Not's grief towards it because in doing so, it would help Manus Vindictae's ideals of a world exclusively for pureblooded arcanists.
And even so, he remained suicidal. There was at least one more attempt at taking his own life, and that's when he saw "what had been on his mind". Whatever that might've been, no doubt influenced by Arcana and his situation, is what pushed Forget Me Not to "allow himself to revenge, revenge, re-re-re-revenge, and to die".
Ultimately, Forget Me Not's goal is to die at the end of it all - even after he gets his revenge, earns the life he wanted, takes back everything that was meant for him. This is why, after he's fully defeated, his last words to Vertin are to show no mercy next time they meet. To kill him.
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This is not only a long and convoluted plan of revenge, it's Forget Me Not willingly marching into his own demise. And just like before, he's not strong enough to pull the trigger himself. Now that he has no solid argument to justify his anger - all because Druvis III has shown him that people can, in fact, move on - his only option is to have someone else end his life. He's shown tired, and the phrase "Don't save it no more" might indicate that even if there was someone who could repeat what Arcana did to him - give him a sense of purpose and a target for his grief - he simply doesn't have the energy for that.
Forget Me Not's self-destructive tendencies can also be seen in other ways. His job at The Walden is to cater to all the people who shunned him - he welcomes everyone and anyone for the sake of creating a network of secrets, he attends fancy parties and events full of those who call him a drug dealer, Satan's spawn and so much more. And he pretends to be someone else entirely while wishing for others to remember him. He willingly surrounds himself with all the things that hurt him.
His arcanum being related to alcohol is rather poetic to me - since Forget Me Not is said to have spiraled into decadence and into this extreme mindset, it makes sense that his main skill is related to being intoxicated and to drown into something that is largely hated but at the same time, desired and coveted. The Prohibition Era does have a very similar mentality to religion, namely western ideologies - you're meant to openly reject and loathe something, but the constant repression causes you to yearn for it instead. And at some point, this repression can become an addiction in itself, leading some to indulge in it. This loops back to Forget Me Not's association with the snake in the Garden of Eden.
It makes sense to me that he indulges in something so painful, while cohercing others into indulging in forbidden alcohol. That he later uses this very same arcane skill to kill all those people who, in his eyes, represent everything he loathes about the current state of the world. It's like a sarcoma that he now leaves behind, that kills from inside out.
And this is the last time I'll bring up Druvis III in a Forget Me Not post, but notice their choice of flower/plant? She has a mistletoe bouquet - a parasitic and toxic plant which represents positive things such as fertility, life and protection in many different cultures. Forget Me Not has black roses, roses being immediately recognized as one of the most beautiful flowers but, in this context, symbolizing things such as death and rebirth, remembrance, mourning. Their duality, contrast and the "two-faced" aspect is prominent there. And not to get very deep about character design, but Druvis III holds the bouquet very carefully and carries it around with her willingly, whereas the black roses that Forget Me Not wears wrap around his neck not unlike a noose.
To really drive home how Forget Me Not sees himself, here's the description they gave him for his boss fight.
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They boil down his character perfectly, to all the little traits that make up his whole emotional baggage.
And to also put more emphasis on how Forget Me Not truly doesn't expect to live and "win" at the end of this whole revenge trip, here's his ultimate - "Heavengazing from Hell". He's fully aware that he's going to be destroyed by his own actions and that the only thing left for him will be to look up at heaven from hell. That all the good things will forever be out of his reach.
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Now, onto proper headcanon territory, since I'm running out of media to analyze!
On the subject of Forget Me Not's scales.
As established before, Forget Me Not is associated with snakes - one of the segments from the Big Mouth Bulletin comments on this. "[...] he had scales under those long sleeves, one next to another embedded in his flesh."
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And this can actually be seen on his in-game sprite! It's very faint, but there's absolutely some sort of texture peeking out from under his collar and sleeves that resemble scales. They can also be seen on the trailer animations. The only time these scales don't appear or peek out from his clothes are in The Walden illustration, with the other members of Manus Vindictae, but that can easily be explained as him covering up properly and the angle he's drawn in.
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Originally I thought that they could be burn scars, as it would mean a stronger connection between him and Druvis III. But upon closer inspection, they don't look like burn scars at all.
I like to headcanon that it's a side-effect from his own arcanum, similar to how Rabies is implied to look like a scarecrow because of his involvement treating rabies. Being something "self-inflicted" - in the sense of him having the choice to stop and heal, but refuses to - also lines up with Forget Me Not's suicidal tendencies, the whole sarcoma metaphor and the fact that by carrying on like this, he's doing nothing but destroy himself and add to his suffering.
As for how far the scales have extended, I don't have a set favorite idea! Part of me really would love it if the scales coiled around his body like actual snakes, but also the idea of him having different patches of scales scattered throughout (again, like a sarcoma) and the third secret option of him being MOSTLY covered in them to the point where it becomes grotesque, something that he can't even look at.
They're not just a tattoo or pattern embedded onto his skin either - they're actual scales, cold and rough to the touch. The areas affected by this have grown numb, making it hard for Forget Me Not to feel any warmth or pressure applied onto them. This adds to that otherworldly and sinister vibe he's got going on, even if the lack of proper tactile sense irritates him. It's extremely uncomfortable if they're brushed or rubbed in the wrong direction, however!
Sometimes, Forget Me Not might pick at the scales, as if deciding whether he loves or hates them. In particularly bad days, he picks them out. I like the idea that, once picked, the scales grow faster and stronger, as well as in broader areas, making it a perpetual loop of picking them off from his skin.
Overall, it would be extremely easy to conceal them - he only needs a shirt with a higher collar and gloves or some make-up, but I like to think that Forget Me Not loves the idea of someone catching a glimpse of them, a reminder that he's dangerous and so much more than meets the eye.
As much as he he's been affected by the stigma against arcanists, he now thrives in their hatred for him and his existence - sneaking into places he knows he's not welcome is addictive, especially knowing everyone tolerates him because he's their only access to alcohol. The way everyone will turn around and talk shit about him once they're out of The Walden is fun, because it reinforces his views on why this current era deserves to be rebuilt from the ground up.
Forget Me Not has extremely poor eyesight.
I know the glasses look thin and pretty standard, but I just like to think that Forget Me Not can't see shit without them.
He has this habit of taking them off to "clean" them whenever he's talking with those he loathes - mostly humans - just so he doesn't have to look at them directly. Sometimes, he might just close his eyes and dissociate, pretending to pay attention if the situation calls for it. Yes, he's petty and hateful enough to feel physically sick when talking to people he hates.
If you pay enough attention, it becomes clear that eye contact becomes scarce, as if just looking at them will send him into a fit of rage (but he conceals it extremely well when needed).
Forget Me Not's poor eyesight is not a secret, and he often likes to make patrons nervous by making their drinks without his glasses - of course, he knows his way around drinks and potions, there's no chance of him messing up, he could do this with his eyes closed. But seeing customers squirm is such a delight. Because now, they must choose between making a scene in HIS territory or risk being poisoned with a poorly-made drink.
I like to think that he also just has a very fine ear, since he does play instruments (all of his attacks being related to music and him using a piano as his wand during the boss fight). So really, Forget Me Not couldn't care less about his eyesight.
Forget Me Not enjoys floral arrangement.
This is just based on his association with the actual forget me not flower. I think he enjoys creating bouquets or putting up vases full of flowers around his home, even if all of them may end up creating a very gloomy and decadent atmospere - they're perfect for funerals, and he simply may be preparing for his own.
And he leaves them out on display long after they've wilted. "They're more beautiful this way", he'd say.
It's not rare to find Forget Me Not on rainy afternoons with a pair of scissors on hand, absentmindedly cutting every leaf and petal off from all these roses, as if he had a personal vendetta against their colorful hues. Sometimes, he just twirls the stem around, pressing hard on the thorns to feel anything while he looks out the window. He's so very fucking dramatic and volatile.
Basically, I like to picture Forget Me Not as the type of person who has dedicated so much time into something as empty as revenge, that he absolutely has no idea what to do outside of that.
Everything he does is just a way to pass the time until he can go back to dedicate every waking second of his life into his and Manus Vindictae's plans, every "little pleasure" is just a façade, he doesn't get any real enjoyment from anything. Sometime he worries that revenge won't help him climb out of this apathetic life he's built for himself, but he can't afford to dwell too much on that possibility. Everything that he does is muscle memory, he's forcing himself to try and do it, because otherwise he could simply sit still in an empty room for hours on end, with the lights turned off, waiting and waiting - all alone with his thoughts.
#reverse 1999#reverse: 1999#r1999#r1999 headcanons#reverse 1999 forget me not#forget me not#playable forget me not WHEN bluepoch i NEED him#i like forget me not when hes like. deranged#when hes one hair away from hurting others or hurting himself because hes. in the most horrible mindset ever#like hes just looking for an excuse to blow up or blow up others (hehehehehe....get it....)#like sure hes so cool with the walden and his network of information and secrets#but hes still a cowardly snake who hides and needs to be revealed. bc he cant reveal himself willingly and openly on his own#its the loss of humanity again but whereas pavia rejects it. FMN just lives within it. he just masks SO well#'but you cant simp for any manus vindictae character! theyre explicitly racists!' and re1999 is a game that CHOSE to replace#actual racial issues in history with their magic ppl vs normal ppl plot line with many many parallels to struggles poc like me lived throug#and then chose to be like 'hey theyre actually physically different and its xenophobia on a whole different species hahaaa bye'#so like. fuckin chew on that first before coming for me. if we're already suspending our belief for the sake of playing:dont cherry pick#tackle the WHOLE thing the game chose to portray. not just a single group within the whole game#sorry if that was heated but lmfao i saw ppl already trying to dictate who ppl can and cannot simp for on twitter#as if this wasnt another fictional anime gacha game at the end of the day
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