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littlemissmentallyunstable · 5 months ago

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hi!! I’m very aware that this was requested on the 13th of August, and literally over a month later I’ve finally managed to write it up. I feel unbelievably guilty for not getting it done sooner and I’m sorry it even took this long. I really really hope you enjoy it and I’m ever grateful for the patience 🤍🤍

title: there’s always another mystery

pairing: jameson hawthorne x reader

synopsis: avery kylie grambs is spending a little too much time with your boyfriend than you’d like… but when jameson starts lying about it questions are raised and tension rises until it all bubbles over

warnings: mild swearing, violence, assault

a/n: the synopsis sounds really cringy so forgive me, this fic is kind of long and very dialogue heavy and ermmm… I hope you enjoy the ending ;)

tag list: @bewitchingkisses @whatsamongus @wish-i-were-heather @inmyheaddd @never-enough-novels @sweetlikeanangel @midiosaamor @sweetreveriee @emelia07 @f4iry-bell @zaraaaabear @thoughtdaughter3 @benny1989fredd @elysianwayy77 @maybxlle @sheisntyou @anintellectualintellectual @aleatorio1234 @adalia-jaycee @off-to-the-r4ces @lyra-kane @reminiscentreader @lyrakanefanatic @imaseabear @elizaa31

You sit on the bed waiting for Jameson to arrive. You wonder how long he’ll take this time. You’d just seen him and Avery ascending the set of stairs that lead to his dead uncle’s wing. Him and Avery. The pretty new comer with those big hazel eyes and long soft hair, pocketing a billionaire’s fortune overnight. She had it all: the looks, the brains, the humour. She was perfection and that bugged you greatly. She was a mystery.

Literally. When Tobias had finally decided to fall asleep forever, she was the result, the heiress, the consequence. She was big masterful puzzle had popped out of nowhere, from nothing. Not that you hadn’t had you fair share of experience with that. You’d earned yourself a scholarship to one of the most prestigious private schools in Texas and raised from the ashes into a burning flame. Then you’d met Jameson Hawthorne.

He had always been an interesting character, you had just never expected his interest in you. You were the scholarship kid nobody knew or cared enough to know and somehow he was intrigued. He had found you studying the the library one day and the two of you just clicked, it was like you’d known each other for years. He’d walked you home that night and had done so ever since. From that day on you were the closest of friends. It wasn’t long before you met his brothers, mostly absent mother and extremely judgemental grandfather. Hawthorne house became a second home. The two of you sat for hours, mostly on the rooftop, staring up at an endless sky of stars and talking about anything and everything. You actually don’t think there’s a topic you haven’t covered. Everything seemed to be going swimmingly… then he started dating Emily.

From the beginning, you didn’t like her at all, but you bit your tongue from pouring out your true feelings to Jameson when he’d asked for an opinion on her. You didn’t want to make his relationship feel awkward. She was everything you didn’t want him to be with. And she wasn’t you. It shattered you, but you saw how his face lit up when he mentioned her name and you vowed you wouldn’t ruin that for him. To see him that happy was worth it.

You should’ve trusted your gut. Everyday since she broke his heart, you beat yourself up for not saying anything. There were so many chances and you took none of them. She used him, abused him and left him to rot, you supposed she didn’t account for that fact that you’d be there to save him. And then she died. It was one destructive milestone after another. Explosion after explosion. But you helped Jameson through the hardest time of his life, you fixed him when he was too broken to mend.

It wasn’t until then that you realised you loved him. I mean you’d always known you’d loved him, but never in a romantic way, it had always felt so plutonic. But judging by the pure fury that built up inside of you when Emily was mentioned, the passionate way you protected and defended him in situations and the fact that you wanted nothing more than to kiss him until he couldn’t speak, you were pretty sure you were in love. But you never acted on the feeling, too afraid you’d ruin the closeness you had. It wasn’t until one night when you’d been stargazing together that he took your face in his gentle palms and kissed your tender lips. The whole act took you by surprise suddenly, but it didn’t stop you from kissing back. It felt so natural, so normal, like it was supposed to be this way. He was sweeter than you’d imagined but in the best way possible.

“I’ve always loved you,” he’d whispered as you’d pulled away, “always.”

“I’ve always loved you too,” you’d smiled shyly, cheeks flushed with colour, “and to be honest I don’t think I’ll ever stop.”

You can’t remember when it was established that he was your boyfriend but from that kiss onwards, that’s what he was to you. He was still your best friend but in a different way. There was more chemistry and kissing, but the banter remained the same. The two of you were actually planning to go on a backpacking trip around Europe but then Tobias had died and it was another round of pain and healing for Jameson, who turned to alcohol for respite. But then the will happened and Avery Kylie Grambs had appeared out of nowhere and the old man’s final game had unfurled. So the mystery girl had been an adjustment for you to say the least.

Avery wasn’t bad. In fact you liked her a lot, you could see yourself forming a friendship with her, a tight bond but the problem was the sheer amount of time she was spending with your boyfriend. After discovering she was the key to solving his grandfather’s final mystery Jameson became obsessed. He craved the answers, thirsted for knowledge. You didn’t mind at first, you let him play his game, you only ever objected the dangerous parts when he risked himself getting hurt. Other than that you said nothing. Then he let on that this all had something to do with Emily. Emily had destroyed him, from inside out. A broken, bitter shell was formed over the real Jameson. You had worked so hard to get him to see that he wasn’t broken or damaged and you feared this might undo it.

But you knew how important Emily had been, how much of his life she’d ruined, you knew Jameson needed the closure and Avery would help him to get there, but after that you expected their interaction to die down. But they didn’t. Not in the slightest. You weren’t jealous at first, you trusted Jameson and didn’t see Avery as a threat, but after a while the meetings felt too frequent and too elongated. It was a little suspicious. When you’d asked Jameson he insisted it was all part of the game.

But then that game finished and it opened up another. Of course there always had to be more to a mystery. They were Hawthorne’s. But you’d had enough, you were tired of the endless myserties. Was it so selfish to want things to go back to how they were before? When the old man’s games were not as dangerous, a little less time consuming and uninvloving of recent billionaire girls.

You’re reeled in from your deep train of thought as Jameson walks in. You look up from your desk, placing your pen down. You flash him a sweet smile in which he returns.

“So where have you been?” you ask, a hint of a forged giggle in the back of your throat.

“Nowhere,” he shrugs, the blatant lie so easily escaping his lips cuts right through your heart.

“Nowhere with brick dust on your blazer and shoes?” you raise an challenging eyebrow, arms folded across your chest.

“I climbed a wall,” he says. Lie number two, you make a mental note.

“I saw you with Avery and Xander in Toby’s wing,” you say bluntly, your face expressionless so he can’t read it.

“Are you spying on me?” he replies, gaping.

You give a delicate shrug in response and don’t answer the question directly, “what were you whispering about?”

“What do you mean?” he furrows his brow, confused.

He’s playing dumb. Fine. He can play dumb. But he won’t able to for much longer.

“I mean what were you and Avery just whispering about,” you ask directly, your tone flat as the tyre you’d burst on his car earlier that morning.

He hesitates. He doesn’t want to tell you, that’s obvious.

“Oh, was it personal?” you ask, raising an eyebrow, opting a cold, curt, feigned sort of concern to your tone.

“Oh no,” he mumbles, “well kind of…Tobias Hawthorne is alive.”

You try not to the let your jaw drop, “your grandfather?”

How had that slimy bastard managed to fake his own death and-

He shakes his head, “my uncle.”

Of course, why hadn’t you seen it sooner? Him and Avery going into his wing, the sneaking around. But then how is the question, Toby had died before Jameson had even been born.

“And so the plot thickens,” you muse, pursing your lips.

“As always,” he says, flashing you a lopsided grin that was so like him, it reminded you of the old Jameson. The one that you got closer and closer to forgetting the less you saw of him.

“Who else knows?” you ask.

“The family,” he shrugs in response.

“And Avery?” you prompt.

“She knows,” he nods, not meeting your eyes.

You raise an eyebrow, “you didn’t mention her name?”

“She was implied when I said family,” he replies.

“She was and I wasn’t,” you ask, the words not being filtered through your brain before you blurt them out. You don’t know why it hurt you so much, it just did.

“It’s not like that,” he shakes his head.

“Okay,” you reply flatly

He shoots you a knowing look and sighs, “y/n.”

“What? I said okay,” you exclaim, throwing your hands up into the air, “that means it’s okay, I’m okay, we’re all okay.”

“You don’t sound okay,” he says gently.

“Well I’m fine,” you snap.

“I didn’t mean it like that, of course you’re part of this family,” Jameson replies, trying to make up for it.

“Forget it, I don’t care,” you retort.

“Common y/n,” he groans.

“No it’s fine, I don’t care,” you shrug, very obviously caring as your voice is high pitched and you’re being far too defensive, “do what you want.”

“She just worked it out,” he explains, “she found out that-“

“I said I don’t care,” you say sharply, eyes pinned to his.

“I know you do,” he murmurs, taking a step closer.

“No I don’t,” you shake your head in denial, “end of story, what’s for dinner?”

“I know I’ve been with her a lot recently,” he sighs.

“A lot is an understatement,” you blurt out, unable to stop the thoughts that circle your mind from finally surfacing.

“It was all part of the game, you understand,” he says as a statement, not a question.

“Of course I understand,” you reply, your voice a little colder than you’d intended but it’s too late to take it back.

For a split second hurt flashed across Jameson’s features but he swiftly continues, “it was the old man’s game.”

“It always is with you,” you say curtly, with an eye roll.

“You knew what you were getting into when you became my girlfriend,” he says, growing irritated, “I warned you-“

“Getting into?” you scoff.

“The old man always has a game,” he presses on, regaining his cool.

“And you always play it,” you snap, the fury inside of your raging a little too violently to be tamed.

“I have to play,” he says, his voice strained.

“No. You don’t. You think you have to play and your grandfather knew that,” you reply, “he knew you had a thirst to play and wouldn’t resist. Prove him wrong Jamie, make him stir for the flipping grave.”

“And what if I don’t want to do that,” he asks, raising his voice slightly.

“Then you’re not the Jameson I know,” you murmur in a low, dark voice.

“Maybe I’m not anymore,” he shrugs, “people change.”

“No,” you shake your head, “people have changed you, one person in particular.”

“Avery is just a friend,” he rolls his eyes, “I don’t understand why you’re getting so hotheaded about it!”

“You’re dimming yourself down for her,” you yell.

“So what?” Jameson challenges, making the volume of your voice.

“That’s not you,” you tell him.

“Maybe it is now,” he cocks his head to the side.

“You know you’re just talking shit,” you spit.

“I like her company,” he shrugs, “and I don’t want to prove the old man wrong, I want to make him proud.”

He’s trying to get under your skin and you know it. He’s doing a good job.

“You can’t live your life trying to prove something to him, he won’t be proud, he’s dead Jameson,” you snap.

“I know he’s dead,” he shouts, “I don’t need you to tell me.”

“Good, now that information is consolidated maybe you’ll come back and live your life,” you say, the harshness in your tone making your throat ache.

“I am living my life,” he retorts.

“Running off with girls to the Laughlin’s cottage at 3am, that’s living your life?” you ask.

“Is this still about Avery?” he asks, then laughs, “you’re pathetic.”

“I’m pathetic?” you yell, “you have spent the majority of the past few weeks at her side, working this shit out and I’ve been patient and I let it happen and I waited but now there’s more to this mystery and I can’t do it again and it’s not fair for you to put me in that situation again. So forgive me if I’m sounding a little pathetic.”

“Fair? My uncle is still out there, still alive,” he replies.

“You never even knew him,” I roll my eyes.

“He’s family,” he roars.

Something about Jameson was that he was loyal to the bone when it came to family.

I shrug, “so was your grandfather and look how he treated you.”

“Don’t speak a word against him,” he says, his voice low, warning, dangerous

“You were never good enough for him and that killed you,” I reply, my voice failing to stay stable, “he broke you and I helped fix you and now we’re going back around the same cycle. Why are you still letting him continue to break you?”

“I said don’t speak a WORD against him!” he tells, his voice powerful

You could cry. You feel like it. But you don’t. For some reason you’re past tears now.

“But when you did it was okay?” I scream back, “when you’d come to your bedroom a wreck and shit talk him, who listened to you then huh? Don’t throw this all back in my face now, don’t you fucking dare.”

“I’m not trying to-“

“Well you are,” you cut him off,

He runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head, “look I don’t know what the hell you’re on this afternoon but-“

“What the hell I’m on?” you scoff.

His face softens and so does his tone, “all this arguing we’re doing, it’s not us,” he says, “it never has been so are we really going to carry on this stupid fight?”

“I don’t know, why don’t you ask Avery?” you ask, it’s petty but you didn’t feel like being mature in this moment

“This keeps circling back to her,” he sighs with an eye roll.

“You have spent the entirety of the morning with her,” I stated “again.”

“I don’t see anything wrong with that,” he says.

“Seriously?” I ask, my jaw hanging slack.

“What?”

“You know what, it doesn’t even matter,” you shake your head and begin to walk out.

“Sweetheart,” he says, lunging forwards to grab your arm. You spin around and can see the desperation seeping from his eyes.

“I’m going out,” you tell him harshly,

“Where?” he asks immediately.

“For a walk,” you shrug, going to turn again. But he holds you firmly in his grip.

“I’ll come with you,” he says.

“No, I need headspace right now,” you snap coldly.

“Okay, that’s fine,” he nods, eyes wide with understanding. You hated that he was being so nice when you were supposed to be mad at him, it wasn’t fair, “but at least take a bodyguard with you.”

“No,” you immediately say.

“Yes,” he argues back.

“I’m not one of you, Jameson,” you quip. You can see in his face that pains him but you’re too furious to care, “people aren’t coming for me, I’m not taking a bodyguard.”

“Look I’m sorry about before but-“

“It’s not about you Jameson,” you yell, “I just need a walk.”

“Okay, but I’m still sorry and please baby, take a bodyguard with you,” he begs.

“I’m not going to,” you reply, “I need to be alone.”

“Fine, okay then,” he shrugs, pretending not to care, “yeah fine, go have fun in nature or something.”

“I will,” you snap, charging out, slamming the door behind you.

***

You start walking with no intention of going anywhere. In a headspace of anger, your pace is swift and dominant. You needed air, you needed a clear head, you needed to get away. Bringing a bodyguard felt claustrophobic. You didn’t want another person breathing down your neck. You just needed to be alone for a while. A million and one thoughts swarm your mind. He probably complained about you to Avery, you think, kicking a rock violently. He’s probably with her right now, telling her what an annoying, selfish, jealous person you are and she’s probably comforting him. The thought of it makes your stomach squeeze.

It was getting darker and colder by the second. In your rage you’d forgotten to bring a hoodie and now you’re absolutely freezing. The street lights flicker on and you suddenly realise you have no idea where you are. You’re cold, alone, lost and a little hungry. You pray it doesn’t start to rain. You get out your phone quickly to look on google maps, but two red words flash up: no connection. Great. Just when you thought today couldn’t get any worse. You wish you hadn’t left the house now, but didn’t know which way to turn to walk back. You walk around the corner of a tall white building, hoping to see a signpost nearby.

That’s when you notice the footsteps of someone behind you. You turn absentmindedly to see a stranger dressed in all black clothing. You couldn’t properly see their face or decipher whether they were a man or woman. Feeling a little sceptical, you choose to cross to the other side of the road, trying to shake or anxious feelings that were creeping in. You spin the ring on your finger, trying to breathe in and out slowly. You side glance at the figure a few times to see that they’re still on the opposite side of the road. You exhale and turn the corner, feeling stupid for getting so het up over nothing.

You hear more footsteps and paranoid you look behind. You feel sick. The mystery stranger is back. Panic seizes your throat and you walk a little faster, noting their feet also pick up the pace. You turn a second corner. So do they. A thousand and one questions flashed up in your mind. What did they want? Why were they following you? And more importantly how long had they been following you for? You’re breathing heavily, maybe too heavily. You don’t want them to know you’re scared.

You fumble to reach your phone, hurriedly finding your contacts. You click Jameson’s name but the call fails. Your eyes flick to your internet, still none. You try again, the cycle repeats. Tears well up in your eyes. You were hopeless, helpless and frightened to death. You begin to fiddle anxiously with your necklace trying to work out what to do next, but your mind was blank. You couldn’t think. The person was a good few meters behind you now. A silent tear of rolls down your cheek as you carry on walking forwards, pretending you’re going somewhere in hope the follower might get bored a leave. They did not. You bite back and audible sob and notice one bar lights up in the top right hand corner of your phone screen. You have one bar of internet and you’ve never felt more relieved. Your finger rushes to hit the call button. One ring and he picks up. It’s a miracle.

“Sweetheart,” he breathes, a sense of relief and a smile in his voice.

“Jamie,” you say, your voice more panicked than you’d intended.

“What’s wrong?”

His voice is immediate and assertive but thick with anxiety. He can sense there’s something wrong, he knows.

“Jamie there’s someone following me,” you hyperventilate, the sharp sudden breaths hurting your chest.

“Where are you?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” you say, your voice shaky, “and I’m panicking.”

“Okay, don’t worry, just keep walking straight,” he instructs, “okay sweetheart?”

“Okay,” you murmur.

“Just breathe,” he soothes, “I’m tracking your location.”

You exhale unevenly and carry on walking.

“Are you near any buildings?” Jameson asks, strategically. You can tell he’s concentrated.

“There’s a housing complex and a few shops across the street,” you describe.

“Good,” he replies, “cross the road and go into one of the shops and stay in there.”

“Okay,” you answer, jogging across the road, taking note of anything that might help Jameson find you.

“What’s the name of the shop you’re going to go into?” he asks, “it might help me track you a little faster.”

You step back to read the cursive white letters, “Betty’s,” you reply, stepping in.

“That’s it?” he confirms.

“That’s it,” you say, carefully stepping inside, seeing the follower cross the road in the refection of the shop window.

Your heart thuds in your chest as the little bell rings to announce your entrance in the shop. It was one of those little knick-knack type shops, small but compact. You pretend to admire a china tea set.

“Are you inside?” Jameson asks, his voice washing some sort of comfort over you.

“Yes,” you say quickly, subconsciously tracing the tablecloth deign with your index finger.

“Have they followed you inside?” he asks.

“No,” you reply, though you haven’t looked up, the shop bell definitely has not rung since your arrival. You are the only customer in this shop. You look up and see them standing outside, you catch their eye and fear flicker through you as you quickly turn away, jolts of sheer nauseating panic runs up and down your abdomen, “Jamie they’re waiting outside, oh god Jameson they’re waiting outside, for me to come out, oh god.”

“Hey! Hey! You have the stay calm,” he says sharply but kindly, “as long as you’re in there you’re safe and I’m on my way now.”

“You found where I am?” you breathe, sounding too much like a child than you care to admit.

“I’m getting into the car as we speak,” he replies.

He’s coming. You tell yourself. You’re going to be okay. You say in your head.

“Stay on the line with me,” you blurt out, “please.”

“Of course baby, I’m not going anywhere,” he says, the concern in his voice made you yearn to be in his arms.

The other end of the phone goes silent except for the sound of a car engine, gently groaning in motion. You try to distract yourself by admiring the little collection of ceramic mouse figurines and try to give all of them a name. That’s when you catch the stranger in your peripheral.

“Jameson I’m scared,” you bite the inside of your cheek, “I’m really scared.”

“I’m coming, just hang in there okay,” he comforts “breathe for me.”

“Jameson,” you exhale, your hands becoming increasingly more restless.

“Hey, sweetheart, take a breath with me okay?” he says, “together?”

“Together,” you nod, despite the fact that he can’t see you, but somewhere deep down you know he knows you’re nodding.

“In through your nose and out through your mouth, okay?” he replies.

I’m through your nose and out through your mouth. You repeat the motion over and over with him over the phone, until you’re bored.

“I’m nearly there,” he mentions after a while.

“You promise?” you say, your breath hitching.

“I promise, just stay where you are,” he says calmly.

“Okay,” you reply.

“Sorry honey we close at 11:00,” comes a voice.

It makes you jump at first, as you yelp in surprise at the old woman beside you. Where had she appeared from? You drop your phone and it crashes to the floor. You realise for the first time how tightly you’d had it pressed to the side of your face as the cold air rushes to that spot and you feel the sticky sweat. You scramble to pick up your phone.

“I’m fine,” you reassure Jameson quickly, before turning the the woman, “sorry, would I be able to stay a few more minutes?”

She glances disapprovingly at you and then her watch, “I don’t think so.”

“It won’t be long, I promise,” you rush.

“I’m sorry but I have to lock up now,” she shakes her head and waves the keys between her fingers.

“Just until my boyfriend gets here,” you try again, desperation slicing through your tone.

“You’re not purchasing anything and it’s closing hours,” she replied sternly, “I need to lock up.”

“Please,” you beg.

“Store policy I’m afraid,” she shrugs flatly.

“I’ll but the whole damn place of you let me stay,” you exclaim, not really sure why the sentence left your mouth but it was too late to take it back now.

“This place isn’t for sale,” she says sourly with pursed wrinkled lips.

“Not literally,” you sigh, “look I’ll make a purchase.”

“No purchases after 11:00,” she responds, blunt as a baseball bat.

“But you just said-“

“We’re closed,” she snaps.

“Please just let me stay for five minutes,” you ask, hoping by some miracle she’ll agree.

“I really can’t do that,” she sighs, with an almost apologetic look on her face “I’m sorry.”

“Two minutes?” you try to compromise.

She stares through you, “I’m going to call the police.”

“There’s someone out there following me outside,” you burst, “so please, if you’re going to call the police on anyone, do it on them.”

The woman gently cocks her head to see the mysterious figure outside the window, her eyes widen by the tiniest fraction and she stares back at you. You wonder what she’s thinking. She chews her lip thoughtfully for a while and then finally replied, “there’s a back way out, I can take you through to there.”

“Thank you,” you exhale in relief.

She walks hurriedly walks away and you follow her, ending up at the very back of the shop. It couldn’t be seen from the window, but how long would it take for the follower to realise? Not long enough, you pray, hoping Jameson would arrive in time. There is a small green door with a lacy translucent curtain across the window.

“Here,” she nods towards it, “get home safe.”

“Thanks,” you say gratefully.

You almost trip out of the back door but managed to stabilise yourself, the old woman slams to door and it nearly clips your heals. You quickly press your phone back to your ear, realising Jameson is still on the line.

“Jamie?” you say.

“I’m still here,” he replies, reading your mind, “Betty’s a bitch.”

You choke on your own spittle, “what?”

“Betty,” he states as if it’s obvious.

“Betty?” you question, hoping he’ll elaborate.

“Well I assume it’s her name,” he says, you could practically hear him shrug, “the woman who just kicked you out of her shop.”

“Oh, you heard all of that?” you say.

“I did,” he confirms, “but I’m two minutes away now.”

“Two minutes?” you check, hope returning your voice.

“Yeah,” he confirms gently.

“I’m still at the back,” you mention, “but I’ll walk to the front to meet you.”

“Okay,” he replies, “I’m so close sweetheart, don’t worry.”

“Okay I-“

All the air is knocked from your lungs as you turn the corner and someone grabs your shoulders and it’s so sudden you forget to scream. Fear runs cold and thick through your veins. You can’t move. The grip is strong and foreign, their hands are callous and your arms ache the longer you’re in their hold. Paralysed, you fail to struggle free. It all happens in a blur. You feel yourself being thrown to the side and you land on the pavement with a hard thump after rolling over your ankle. Pain seizes through it and you bite back a yelp. You look up, struggling to your feet and see Jameson has arrived.

Jameson. Jameson. Jameson.

He’s fighting the mysterious follower who you can now see is man. He’s a few inches taller than Jameson and has much more muscle but Jameson is quicker, more agile. You wish you could help him but the searing agony deriving from your ankle would’ve only made him slower. So you’re now just watching. It’s a tête-a-tête of frantic hits and blocks, all scarily aggressive. The look in Jameson’s eyes is not one you recognise, it’s like the green had been frosted over with ice. The follower lunges at him suddenly and an audible gasp escapes your lips. He has Jameson in a headlock. You stumble forwards, ready to attack him from behind when Jameson twists the man’s arms in an awkward direction, leaving him vulnerable. In the split second Jameson knees him in the stomach and begins to punch him repeatedly.

Jameson’s jaw is clenched, his hair is ragged and wild. A flow of crimson red liquid falls from one nostril and from a new wound just above his eyebrow. His eyes are fierce and gleaming, like a predator on its prey. You’re not sure you know who this man is, he’s not Jameson, he’s a mutation, a weapon, a unrecognisable being.

“Jamie,” you murmur, your voice shaking. You can’t stop yourself, you’re too scared.

He can’t hear properly, he doesn’t even acknowledge you. He carries on punching and punching but the follower seems to be cold out.

“Jameson stop! You’re scaring me!” you yell, fear in your throat but fire in your belly.

He looks up and he freezes, all but his hands that are shaking from the adrelenline rush. He looks down at his bloodied knuckles to the limp figure on ground, then back to me again. He can see the fright in my features that I’m so desperately trying to conceal.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” he says, “it’s okay, let’s go home.”

“Is he dead?” you say, the words so much harsher than you intended.

“No,” he shakes his head gently, “just knocked out, I promise.”

“I-“ you can’t finish the sentence.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs tentatively, wrapping an arm around you to still your trembling torso.

“I’m fine,” you say, trying to sound strong, but synthetic strength only made you sound weaker.

“You’re not fine,” he shakes his head.

“Let’s just get out of here,” you sigh, then look at him with sparkling eyes, “please?”

“Of course,” he says, concern bleeding across his features.

You begin to walk but have to bite your lip as pain rips through your ankle with weight pressing down on it.

“What wrong?” Jameson asks, his reaction instant and lightning fast.

“Nothing,” you shake your head, trying to carry on without displaying the pain.

But he’s too vigilant for his own good, “are you hurt?”

“No, it’s fine,” you reply, in denial, “I’m fine.”

You’ve found that things are easier to believe if you say them out loud. Unfortunately not in this case.

“Where?” he asks, stopping still, pressing gently down your arms to check for tentative pressure points.

You pull away, “Jamie I’m-“

“Where?” he asks firmly, giving me that look.

“I just rolled over my ankle,” you sigh, “it’s not a big deal.”

“Do you want me to carry you?” he offers.

“No,” you say quickly, too quickly.

The truth was, you did want to be carried. The thought of being in his protective arms, pressed up against his chest was very appealing. But just like he could see your winces and hear your sharp breaths in, you notice his. The fight hadn’t been easy on him, no matter how stubbornly he tries to hide it.

“Just support me and I’ll support you,” you reply.

“I don’t need support,” he says.

You stare at him, “you don’t have to be the knight in shining armour with me, I thought you’d stopped that.”

You’d made a pact at the start of your relationship that Jameson couldn’t play that role. You were there for each other, it wasn’t one or the other.

“Fine,” he grits through his teeth, “we’ll support each other.”

You both walk, labouring, limping and leaning on one another. In the silence of it all you have time to think about all that had happened, a chances you hadn’t previously had with your mind always preoccupied on something else. A tidal wave of guilt almost drowns you.

“I’m sorry,” you burst out suddenly, feeling all of a sudden emotional, as tears run down your face.

You didn’t realise how much yours been keeping it in, your fear, your pain, your guilt, your sorrow.

“Hey, shhhh,” he soothes, caressing your cheek, “shhh shh stop that now, hey, hey.”

“I shouldn’t have left,” you shake your head, “I shouldn’t have got so angry and walked so far alone and it was dark-“

“Y/n, breathe,” Jameson murmurs, “I’m not angry, it’s not your fault, I’m just glad you’re safe now, okay? I would never let him hurt you, you know that right?”

You nod.

“Let’s get to the car and then we can go home, okay?” he suggests softly.

“Okay,” you murmur in response.

He wraps his arm back around your shoulders and holds your hand with the other, steering you towards his car. He walks around to your door, looking over his shoulder cautiously, making sure you are in and safe before he thinks of himself. You’ve never felt safer in a car, your back pressed up against the seat. Your leg bobs up and down uncontrollably, even when your try to stop it. Seems the adrenaline had gotten to you more than you’d thought.

Jameson is swift to get into the driver’s seat and start the car. He silently places his hand on your upper thigh to still the shaking. The warmth of his familiar touch relaxes some of the built up worry in your chest. One knot has been untied from the incomprehensible ball.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

You nod numbly. You didn’t reply with words in fear that you’d spill out the truth. Lying to Jameson was a challenge.

“Stupid question,” he mumbles, “of course you’re not.”

“I think I’m still trying to process what just happened,” you murmur, not a complete lie. You’d only processed parts.

“Okay, that’s fine, take as long as you need,” he says reassuringly, “I’m here if you want to talk.”

You nod again. Then take a breath.

“I’m sorry,” you say, choked up with emotion, “I’m sorry for fighting, I don’t know why I get so annoyed it’s just-“

“It doesn’t matter, all that matters is that you’re safe,” he tells you gently.

“Safe,” you repeat, the word has an odd texture on your tongue.

“You are safe,” Jameson replies firmly.

“I am safe,” you repeat, believing it a little more.

***

The two of you had gotten back to Hawthorne House late. No one was around so no questions were asked. But whilst you showered and changed Jameson insisted on getting the security team on it and you didn’t object. You join Jameson in your shared room after your shower, he’s already waiting with open arms. You clamber into the bed and fall onto his chest. The smell of him indescribably addictive. He wraps his arms around your torso and you wince, tenderness spreading across the tops of your arms and upper back.

“What hurts baby?” he asks, eyebrows knotted with worry.

“Nothing,” you reply, shrugging the pain off.

He looks at you, “you don’t have to lie to me.”

You’re silent for a few beats but then finally murmur, “my arms.”

“Let me see,” he says.

“It’s okay-“

“Let me see,” he whispers, sending a hot shiver down your spine.

You slowly slip of your jumper and expose the rounded bruises from the follower’s fingers. You’d discovered them moments ago in the bathroom, it must’ve been from where he’d grabbed you. You can’t see Jameson’s face but judging by the thick blanket of tense air that had enveloped your surroundings, you have a good idea of what he’s thinking.

“He did this?” he asks, tracing every bruise so delicately it nearly tickles.

“Jamie he grabbed me,” you explain.

“I’ll kill him for laying a finger on you,” he spits, a foreign violence in his tone you weren’t sure you liked.

“Don’t say that,” you say before you can stop yourself.

“What?” he looks at you in wild disbelief.

“Talk of killing him,” you close your eyes, “you’re not a murderer.”

He opens his mouth.

“Don’t you dare argue with me,” you snap, a raw intensity in your voice. You struggle to recall where you found it.

Silence you like a car hits roadkill. Swiftly and out of nowhere with a sickening thud.

“You know you scared me back there,” you murmur, meeting his eyes shyly.

“Me?”

“When you were punching him…” you trail off, “you looked so angry.”

“I was angry” he retorts, “no one should do that, especially not to you. Never to you.”

“Yeah but I really thought you might…” you stop yourself.

“I might what?” he urges you to continue.

“I don’t know,” you say trying to brush it off, “it doesn’t matter.”

“No it does,” he replies, “you thought I might kill him right?”

“It just wasn’t you punching that guys, it wasn’t my Jameson,” you murmur.

“Your Jameson doesn’t protect you,” he yells and you flinch slightly.

You don’t meet his eye, “no, not like that.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you, I just…” he sighs, “I never would’ve forgiven myself if something had happened to you.”

“It would’ve been my fault for storming off like that, god I’m so stupid,” emotion rises thick in your throat.

“Hey, stop beating yourself up about this,” Jameson says, “it was my fault in the first place.”

“No it wasn’t-“

“Yes it was, let’s just forget about this okay,” he insists.

“But what if he comes back? What if he knows where I am? What did he want with me Jamie? What if-“

“It’s all going to be sorted okay, we have so many staff on it right this second,” he says tracing the outlines of your knuckles, “you just need to breathe.”

“I am breathing,” you grit through your teeth.

“What’s worrying you then?” he asks softly.

“I don’t know,” you reply, biting back a sob.

He senses the emotion, “come here.”

You practically collapse into his arms, keeping your tears at bay just barely. There’s something about being in his arms, against the warmth of his body that made the bad things go quiet for a second, that stopped the overwhelming voices in your head, that silences your thudding heart. But even now, things were unusually playing on your mind, despite the comfort.

“I don’t know Jamie,” you murmur into his chest, “I’m scared and exhausted and anxious and I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“Let me help you,” he whisper, gently running his fingers through your hair.

“I don’t think you can,” you mumble, your eyes grappling to stay open.

“I will find a way,” he says, you almost laugh at his stubbornness.

“I don’t want to lose you,” you reply, your voice breaking, “I don’t know anything bad to happen.”

“You’re not going to lose me and I won’t let anything bad happen,” Jameson kisses the top of your head, “I promise.”

“I don’t feel safe,” you admit.

“What’s making you feel unsafe baby?” he asks, aching concern in his voice.

“Before today I’d never even imagined potentially being kidnapped and it just happened today,” you ramble, “and that means there’s so many other things that I couldn’t ever have imagine that might happen.”

“If we spend our whole lives in fear of what might happen we’d forget to live,” Jameson says.

You meet his emerald eyes and try not to melt, “I’m scared.”

“There’s no need to be,” he comforts, “I’m here.”

“You promise?”

“Always,” he says. His voice is so sure, so strong. It almost makes you believe.

“And you’re not going anywhere?”

“Not anywhere without you,” he grins lopsidedly, the real Jameson shining through making your cheeks tint a pale pink.

“I’m sorry,” you say again, the residing guilt flowing back in.

“If you apologise one more time I’m going to do a lyrical dance routine to ‘hot stuff’ only dressed in sequinned hot pants and a top hat,” he says.

“I think I’d quite like to see that,” you can’t help but smile, “I should apologise more often.”

He chuckles softly and kisses the top of your head. You nuzzle into the nape of his neck and allow one tear to slip from the under your mask. Just one.

“I’ve got you baby and I’m not letting go,” Jameson whispers.

“Please don’t let me go,” you murmur, sounding as small as a child.

“I’m not, never ever,” he murmurs, kissing your nose, then cheeks and then a soft kiss on your lips.

You smile, a fluttery feeling in your chest and you kiss him back. His hands snake around your waist, the tentative touch making you tingle a little. You wish you could just focus on Jameson and nothing else but the problem was the scene kept replaying in your head. The man grabbing your shoulders, the bruises left on your skin, the smell of his cologne in your hair. He was everywhere.

“Hey sweetheart, it’s okay,” Jameson soothes, “you’re safe now.”

It’s only then you notice how your entire body is shaking, your bones rattling together. You try to stop but you can’t. He brings you into deeper his arms and holds your quivering limbs together. You wonder if he let go you’d fall apart all together.

***

You didn’t go to school the next day, instead you stayed curled up in Jameson’s arms as he gently traced spirals across your back with his index finger.

You can’t remember the last time you’d felt so in love.

***

Thursday rolls around far too quickly and you know you have to go back. Word about the stalker had been kept quiet but you know you couldn’t stay under your duvet forever. No matter how badly you wanted to. So you wake up early and take your time getting ready. Jameson sleeps like the dead all the way through it, even when you blow dry your hair. You meet Xander who is already at breakfast, eating muffins. You’d promised the week before you’d come and observe his biology project for him, so he could have a second opinion and you didn’t want to break that promise.

“You know you really didn’t have to come,” he says, still chewing, “after you know…”

“I want to Xand, really,” you say, “I can’t avoid it forever and I want to see your project.”

“If you’re sure?” he checks, with an eyebrow raise.

“I’m sure,” you nod, “I swear.”

“Well then, have a muffin or two and then we’ll be on our way,” he grins, handing me one from the plate in the centre.

“Roger that sir,” you smile back, saluting him as you take a bite.

***

School was difficult that day, not the content, just the energy. The problem was you had none. And it was one of those long modified timetable days where your first break of the day was lunch and it wasn’t even until 2:00pm. That in itself was a mood killer. On top of that you couldn’t get the follower out of your head. The events played on some sort of endless loop in your head. You wonder who it might be, why they might have been following you of all people. It was known you were dating Jameson but not that known. Apparently, according to Xander, Oren had been put on high alert and Alisa was working on finding their identity. That should have brought you solace. It didn’t.

But the more you thought about it the more your realised that part of you selfishly didn’t mind that it has happened too much because last night you’d felt more connected to Jameson than you had in forever. It had been a while since it had just been the two of you, no mysteries, no arguments, no Avery. Yesterday had solely been the two of you, all day. Just in the presence of one another but, at school, you hadn’t seen Jameson all morning, seen as you’d left for school early with Xander but he had sent you a string of text messages that you only see at first on your very late lunch break.

morning sweetheart

are you okay??

I know you left early with Xand but I’m still worried about you

text me for ANYTHING okay??

I love you xx

And then an hour later…

you still haven’t text back

are you okay??

I bribed the woman at the front desk for your schedule so you’re probably in class right now

unless you’re not!!

just answer me when you can okay

I love you

Then in the next hour…

ARE YOU OKAY!?

I HAVEN’T SEEN YOU IN THE HALLWAYS

PLEASE ANSWERRR!!!!

I love you ;)

You almost laugh at the cuteness of it all. You type a couple of messages in response incase he bribed the headteacher to let him use the announcement speaker to find you next.

I’m fine Jamie, don’t worry

late lunch break sorry I couldn’t text sooner

They bleep through one after the other, sending through.

meet you after school for our plans

You close your phone quickly and get to the next class, holding your books tightly to your chest. The next few periods better go fast.

***

They didn’t go fast. In fact every millisecond felt like an hour, the day seemed endless. You get out of class and don’t pass Jameson in any hallways yet again sk decide to go to your usual meeting spot after school. You send him a quick message.

waiting outside business studies

You wait for him by the curb. One minute passes, he’s been a minute late before, many times. So you figure it’s okay, leaning on the wall behind you. Five minutes go by next and most kids are leaving or have left the school premises. Maybe his class has run over, your brain suggests. Then it is ten minutes, barely anyone is walking out. The odd person, sure, but never Jameson. You begin to wonder where he might be. Detention? No, he always finds a way out of those. Basketball court? No, he doesn’t like to play with the other guys. Classroom? No, he wouldn’t spend longer than he had to in the school. You sigh, ten minutes isn’t that long after all. Maybe you’re overreacting. Still, you send him another text ‘hey, are you nearly here?’ Half an hour passes. That’s when you get really confused. He should definitely be here by now. Slowly you wonder down several hallways, checking your phone for any messages, calls or voicemails, but there are none. Few students are around and every time you look into a classroom Jameson isn’t there. You make your way back to your original spot, incase he turned up. Forty minutes pass and you try his phone for the last time, ringing him rather than just texting but it goes straight to voicemail. So you resort to calling Xander, hoping he’ll be able to help and ease the tightening knot of worry growing in your chest. There is only two rings.

“Hello y/n,” Xander’s cheerful voice says down the other end, “is there any reason you’re phoning the best Hawthorne on this fine afternoon?”

“Yeah, sorry Xand,” you reply, “but have you seen Jamie anywhere?”

“Don’t be sorry,” he tells me, “and I think I saw him come in earlier, I just presumed you were with him.”

Too many juxtaposed emotions hit you at once. Relief, he’s okay, he’s alive, he’s at home. Hurt, he left without you, abdomen or forgot the plans you had. Annoyance, he’d left without sparing you a second thought.

“No,” you mutter, “I wasn’t.”

“You sound annoyed,” Xander comments.

“I’m fine, sorry Xand,” you reply, putting some more life into your voice to wash away and tense notes, “it’s been a long day.”

“Don’t I know it,” he sighs, “but hey it’s the weekend now, fancy a game of strip bowling when you get back?”

Strip bowling was one of your favourites, mostly because you were very good at it and barely had to strip and also because Jameson usually ended up in his underwear. Xander must’ve sensed the false happiness in your voice and suggested it to be nice.

“Maybe tomorrow,” you say, trying to let him down gently. You did appreciate the gesture, but the thought of playing stop bowling right now did not match the mood.

“Yeesh your day was that bad huh?” he asks softly, playing it off as jokey.

“I’ll be okay,” you reassure him quietly.

“I’m here you know,” he reminds you.

“Thanks Xander,” you reply, but don’t elaborate. You didn’t feel like talking right now.

“Talk to Jamie, he’ll know how to make you feel better,” he suggests sweetly.

You smile through your pain, “yeah, I’ll give it a go.”

You hang up and exhale slowly, he doesn’t know that Jameson is your problem.

***

You get back to Hawthorne house about twenty minutes later. It sounds relatively empty, though it always does, seen as there were so many possible places for people to be. You wander through the entrance, trying to think where Jameson might be. You hear footsteps approaching and spin around to see a blonde in a suit. Wrong brother.

“Have you seen Jameson?” you ask him before he can greet you.

“He was upstairs earlier, with Avery,” Grayson replies.

All the air is knocked from your stomach, “Avery?”

“You didn’t know?” his expression flashed for a fraction of a second into something between guilt and shame before it is composed.

“No…” you trail off.

“Oh,” he replies, with an unreadable expression back on.

“Well thanks anyway,” you say with a synthetic smile.

You walk away quickly before he can respond, looking up with glossy eyes. You ascend the stairs quickly and don’t look back. You feel you need to see for yourself did this is true. But where would he take Avery? You could only hope it wasn’t the roof where the two of you stargazed, that would hurt like hell. You trail down a hallway where voices are coming from and stumble upon a door that is ajar. Inside, Jameson talking to Avery. Your stomach rolls uncomfortably. He’s positioned barely a foot a way and he’s laughing. He looks so beautiful when he laughs, but now it’s ugly. It’s like biting into something sweet and getting a sour taste. It’s not the fact that she made him laugh, it’s the fact he’s laughing like he laughs when he’s with you. That’s the thing that cuts deep. The way his eyes are sparkling and his smile is wide and carefree, you thought he reserved those kind of smiles only for you.

Clearly not.

You turn your back on the scene and rush to your bedroom. You swing the door open forcefully and then slam it shut behind you. So he’d ditched your plans for her. Great. You sigh as you collapse down on your bed feeling an unwelcome tightness squeezing across your chest. Tears well up in your eyes. You didn’t like to cry, you rarely ever did. But right now, you couldn’t do anything about it. The tears just flowed down your cheeks and your whole body shook with each sob. Your heart physically ached, something you hadn’t thought was possible until this moment. A searingly mournful agony rippling through the left side your the chest. You felt so vulnerable, so exposed. You didn’t stop crying the blanket was soaked through, weighted with wet emotion and your throat was so raw it was numb.

***

You binge movies for the rest of the evening, the only feeling left in your system was anger, you’d cried all the sadness out. You felt so done with feeling shit and binging movies gave you that outlet of doing nothing, thinking nothing and feeling nothing. Exhaustion is beginning to win the ongoing battle between the two of you when you hear soft footsteps approaching. Jameson had been practically out of your mind the whole evening, Disney movies are a good distraction, but that is until he walks in. You hear as the door handle turns and he enters. Your eyes flicker to the clock, it’s just gone midnight.

“Hey sweetheart,” he murmurs, taking his suit jacket off and undoing his top button, “you’re up late.”

“What do you want?” you ask, eyes glued to Elsa’s performance of ‘let it go’ on the tv screen.

He immediately notices something is off and walks over, “woah, hey, what’s wrong?”

“Oh so now you care?” you scoff, looking him dead in the eye.

“What did I do?” he asks quickly, cluelessly.

“You are unbelievable,” you exclaim, switching the movie off before hurling the control across the room.

Jameson stares in disbelief, “why are you so pissed off?”

“You don’t know why I’m annoyed?” you ask, dumbfounded.

“No…” he replies hesitantly, like he’s treading on egg shells.

“Seriously?”

“Seriously,”

“Oh my god,” you laugh bitterly, shaking your head, “tell me you’re joking, please.”

“I’m not joking,” he says, the desperation and worry evident in his tone.

“Do you even know what we were supposed to do today?” you ask with a withered look.

A moment of realisation strikes and you notice as his eyes widen and his jaw drops a little.

“Shit. I’m sorry, I forgot,” he says, actually looking guilty. You almost feel sorry for him.

“Yeah I know,” you deadpan, folding your arms across your chest.

“There’s just been a lot going on lately and with the following and then I was days behind on the thing with Toby and-“

“Am I some sort of burden,” you retort, eyebrows raised.

“What? No! I never said that,” he exclaims, his voice raised.

“Okay,” you shrug, nonchalantly. The small display of passive aggression would get under his skin, prickling it like an unscratchable itch.

“Last time we argued it ended with you being followed, I don’t want you in that situation again,” he says, his voice dominant and definitive.

“You’re making this about you!” you yell, rage blinding your vision, “what you want, for me!”

“Oh so you want to be followed, stalked?” he asks, with a forced cruel laugh.

“That’s not what I said,” you snap, eyes narrowed.

“Sounds like it,” he bites back, the bitterness in his voice hurting you far more than you cared to admit.

You don’t say anything for a long while but eventually cut through the long silence, “I even text you about it,” you say quietly.

“What?” he replies, head cocked to the side, confused.

“About tonight,” you say, raising your hands into the air with an eye roll.

“No you didn’t!” he yells back, defensively.

“Yes I did,” you scream.

“Look, this is the last message I got,” he exclaims, shoving his phone’s bright screen into your face.

‘late lunch break sorry I couldn’t text sooner’

You stare at the message and then quickly open your phone to double check. Your message hadn’t gone through, you look up glaring at him. You were mad he didn’t remember, mad the message never went through and just mad in general.

“It didn’t go through, I couldn’t help it,” he defends.

“You still forgot,” you press on, getting mor annoyed by the second, “I shouldn’t have to remind you that you have plans with your girlfriend.”

“Look, I’m really sorry,” he replies and you can see the meaning in his face, “we’ll reschedule.”

“I don’t want to do it anymore,” you tell him nonchalantly. You know you’re being petty, but you can’t help it.

“Oh common y/n,” he says.

“No I don’t,” you shrug. He’d messed it up, that opportunity was passed now.

“Look I just needed to-“

“What you needed to do was stick to your word, what you needed to do was remember when you had things plans, what you needed to do was think before you acted,” you say in a low voice, interrupting him, “but you did none of that.”

“I can’t have a life now?” he scoffs, growing irritated, “that’s not you.”

“What’s not me?” you scowl.

“This, right now,” he says, “you’re being so controlling!”

You raise your eyebrows, almost laughing, “controlling? You started this argument!”

“No I didn’t!” he argues.

“You know what, if you didn’t want to have it out then you shouldn’t have asked why I was angry,” you roll your eyes, “so just forget about it.”

“Oh would you STOP doing that,” he yells.

“What?”

“The whole ‘forget about it’ thing, it’s so fucking annoying,” he retorts, anger creeping up in his tone.

“You know what else is annoying?” you ask him, “when your boyfriend is hanging out constantly with some random girl who inherited all his grandfather’s money, that’s really fucking annoying.”

He’s silent. Nothing to say for once. No witty reply, no deflection, nothing. His face is impossible to read, blank.

“Hang on, that’s not quite the right word,” you continue, “what about aggravating, demoralising, hurtful-“

“You know I never would’ve pinned you as a jealous possessive girlfriend,” he shakes his head, with a cruel chuckle.

“I’m not!” you snap, “but you lied Jameson, why did you feel the need to lie!?”

“Lie?”

“You told me a few days ago you’d climbed a wall and if I hadn’t known any better I would’ve believed you,” you say, “but you weren’t climbing a wall, you were with Avery.”

“This,” he says exasperatedly, “this is exactly the reason I lied.”

“What?” you ask.

“This overreaction,” he explains, making some weird hand gesture.

“I’m overreacting?” you scoff, as your eyebrows shoot to your forehead.

“Completely,” he exclaims.

“So let me just get this straight,” you begin, “you’d have never pinned me as a jealous possessive girlfriend but you lied to me about ditching our plans to spend time with another girl because you were worried about an overreaction? Right, that makes sense.”

“I’m sorry,” he exhales, “I’m sorry.”

“No you can’t just say sorry and then think it’s all going to be okay,” you shake your head, “sorry is just a stupid word, it means nothing.”

“I didn’t mean to say what I said just now and I am sorry that I hurt you,” Jameson says desperately, “I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s not just that! You blew off our plans for her,” you yell with a sob, “so yeah that kind of fucking hurts.”

“Sweetheart I didn’t mean to-“

“Yeah well you did,” you laugh bitterly, aggressively wiping away your tears, “and I’m crying over it which is just stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” he tells you gently.

“Yes it is stupid Jameson,” you snap, the tears only flowing thicker and faster, “I feel like an idiot.”

“You shouldn’t,” he insists.

“Well I do, I’m such an idiot. I’m an idiot for fighting with you, I’m an idiot for getting myself followed, I’m an idiot for thinking that someone could actually love me, I’m an idiot for not seeing the signs sooner and I’m an idiot for crying over it all now,” you snivel, roughly scrubbing your tear-stained cheeks.

“Woah, hey,” he says, “sweetheart I love you. Just you.”

“Well it doesn’t feel like it lately,” you say, choking back a sob desperate to leave your throat.

His face softens, “sweetheart…”

He reaches out to touch me but you flinch away. His gentle touch is only a reminder of the good person he is and how much you love him for it. And you can’t afford to fall for it, not again, the pain was too much.

“You’re hurting me Jamie,” you say, your voice breaking as you jab a finger to your heart, “this is hurting me.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmurs, as his eyes mellow.

“If you want to be with her I’d rather you just tell me,” you whimper, “it would save me the pain of all this back and forth and sneaking around and finding out. Just tell me straight.”

“I don’t want to be with Avery,” he says, “I never have.”

“You don’t look at me how you look at her,” you say bitterly, getting it off of your chest.

“You’re right I don’t,” he agrees. Your heart plummets, here it comes, the confession, the break up, the empty sorrys and eyes filled with tears. “I don’t look at you like I look at her, because I look at her like any other person on this planet, but when I look at you I’m looking at my world. And I’d sure as hell hope that differs from the look that I gave to everyone else.”

A wave of emotion coats your skin, soaking you through. His world. The words repeat over and over and over until you feel delirious.

“Do you mean that? Do you really mean that?” you whisper.

“Of course I do,” he sighs, “don’t you understand? I love you, it’s always been you, it will never not be you! You’re my person, you’re my other half, I was supposed to meet you and fall in love with you. You give me purpose and passion and so much more. When you called me the other night after our fight I’ve never been more frightened in my life, I was freaking out over here. I’ve never felt so panicked, so sick with the thought of someone being hurt. I’m in so love with you that I can’t even explain it and I can’t believe I led you to doubt it. Avery is a friend, I promise, she means nothing to me compared to you, trust me. How can I prove that to you?”

“I don’t know Jameson,” you shout, your head aching from this endless circle of arguments.

“Then marry me!” he yells, then his voice softens, “marry me.”

You freeze, every muscle in your body suddenly falling into a state of paralysis, “what?”

“You heard me,” he says, his expression too serious.

“Jameson,” you murmur, barely getting his name out.

“Marry me.”

a/n: I’m a sucker for fat dramatic impulse decisions (it’s a problem, you may have gathered from my more recent fics) SOZ GUYS 😘😘 anywayyysss the time frame is roughly (and I mean very ROUGHLY) based around chapters 11-13 of the Hawthorne brothers incase you were wondering

thanks for the req anon, so sorry again for the wait, hope you enjoyed the read 🤍🤍 if you made it to the end and didn’t DNF halfway through, well done!! can you guys tell I got way too carried away, this fic was so all over the place but I posted it anyway bc yolo

there will be no part 2!! sorry!! I really need a break from reqs… you decide how you answer 🤭🤭

TIG masterlist

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wri0thesley · 1 year ago

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famous last words - dottore x reader x dainsleif (9.6k)

you can take care of yourself.

cw: dead dove, do not eat. not sfw, minors dni. non-con, drugging, syringes, mind control. yandere dottore and yandere dainsleif. reader is the traveller and has been travelling with dain. bondage, restraints, misuse of the akasha system, reader is traumatised and taken advantage of by dainsleif after being at dottore's mercy. reader wears a dress and has breasts/a vagina, but is referred to by they/them pronouns. please please heed the warnings.

a/n: please please (i am repeating it!) read the warnings on this one. one of my favourite yandere/dark content tropes is actually 'reader has a horrible experience and then a character who is supposed to take care of them takes advantage of them', and i don't think i've ever written it before, so this was super interesting to write!

this was a commissioned work.

Dainsleif has been on edge since the two of you crossed Sumeru’s borders.

He doesn’t say it out loud - you have learnt, over the time the two of you have spent travelling together, that Dainsleif is a man of very few words even at the best of times - but you know his small quirks and foibles well enough now that you sense it. It’s in the set of his shoulders and the line of his mouth, the way his eyes are constantly darting about wherever you go.

It’s somewhat in the way he walks closer to you, his height casting a shadow over your own, as if he can protect you merely by being near you. It makes a muscle in your jaw twitch - you are grateful for his care, of course, but surely he knows by now that you are perfectly capable of taking care of yourself? You have gotten used to the feeling of a sword in your hand over your search for your twin - you have made a name for yourself in every nation you’ve traversed, and only some of the time has Dainsleif been by your side.

You suppose that the newfound relationship between the two of you is clouding his judgement somewhat too--

Well.

‘Relationship’ might be too strong of a word.

Dainsleif is hesitant with you even now; checks with you, twice and three times, before he so much as touches your shoulder. But you hope you have made it clear he does not need to, with the way you have let your hand entangle with his and the way you have smiled at him when nobody else is looking, the soft confessions to him at camp overnight that he’s one of only two people in this world you would trust whole-heartedly . . .

All of that, perhaps, has made Dain even more protective over you than he was before, despite the truth of the matter being that you are almost equal in swordsmanship and combat ability. And he’s said enough to you, too, that you understand his hesitance. Other people he has loved have been taken from him - a whole nation, in fact. Dain has had to struggle on for years all alone, and walls built over such a long time do not crumble so easily--

But still. You wish he would not fret so when you walk away from him in Sumeru City to investigate an interesting looking fruit and to ask the stallholder some questions about their wares.

You’re startled out of your reverie - handling the Zaytun peaches that lay in plump piles in round baskets upon this particular stall - by Dain murmuring your name. He has attracted some attention - he is tall and handsome and blond, an air of mystery and exoticism emanating off of him - but he is unaware of the giggles behind other people’s hands, his gaze set firmly on you.

He has always been like that - those piercing blue eyes, even through his mask-like patch - never fail to make you feel as though you are the only person in the world. You have woken up in the night at camp plenty of times, too, and felt safe in the knowledge that Dainsleif is there and his gaze will not falter.

You toss some Mora to the stallholder and turn to Dainsleif, proffering one of the peaches to him. He takes it like a precious treasure.

“Is something wrong?” You ask him, before you take a bite. His brow is furrowed - you sense something brewing in the wind. A kind of unease that lies hot and heavy in the humid Sumeru air. Dain sighs softly.

“I have some things I must do,” he says to you, his voice soft and low. “I don’t want to leave you alone, but . . .”

“I’ll be fine,” you tell him, smiling. You wonder what it is that he does not want to take you along with, but you do not push - Dainsleif will tell you in his own time, you are sure. You have no desire to push him too far when his hope seems such a fragile thing still. “I’ll meet you tonight, here?”

His shoulders untense, just a touch.

“Will you stay in the City?” He asks you, and you laugh.

“Dain,” you say, smiling, just a touch of reproach in your voice. “I can take care of myself, you know! Go and do what you need to do. I will be absolutely fine. You know that! When have I not been?”

Dain does not look entirely convinced, but whatever it is that he has a need to do has a hold on him - he looks at you with those serious, piercing eyes and takes your hand. Your cheeks go hot all over as he bends to press a chivalrous kiss upon the back of it. The crowd of admirers that Dain has amassed are all atwitter over this - you cannot blame them. If you’d seen it happen to someone else you’re sure you’d be swooning. Even now, your heart is beating a double time march against your ribcage as you wonder how you got so lucky.

“You promise me?” He asks. You can sense he is barely holding back the urgency in his voice; anxiety that tugs at the syllables like it is weighing them down. This errand he has to run . . . your curiosity runs rampant at what it might be that it is so clearly important to him.

“I promise I’ll be more than fine,” you say to him, smiling. There is the slightest snick of irritation, in the back of your mind - have you not fought dragons? Have you not befriended Archons? His concern is sweet, but he does not need to fret about you so. You say to him, trying to make sure your voice is as reasonable and convincing as possible; “You don’t have to worry about me.”

As it turns out, this proclamation will come back to haunt you.

They will become what are referred to in some places as ‘famous last words’.

You notice the earpieces that the Sumeru citizens wear as you wander around; when you ask someone about it, they look baffled as to your own lack of them.

“Usually you’re given one when you come into the city,” the young woman explains, as she kindly guides you back towards the entrance of Sumeru City. This explains it; Dainsleif always prefers to take the least populated way into anywhere, and most of the time you are happy to agree with him. Your exploits across Teyvat so far have occasionally resulted in some notoriety that isn’t always conducive to exploring new nations; you’re not surprised that Dainsleif had avoided the grand entrance of Sumeru City proper. Still, you’re beaming as the young woman brazenly walks up to one of the men standing at the entrance greeting newcomers.

He has dark hair and a moustache, and is wearing the robes that you recognise as marking him out as a member of the Sumeru Akademiya; as the young woman explains that you two are without the devices - she calls them an ‘Akasha’ - you smile at him, as bright and hopeful and friendly as you can manage.

He nods thoughtfully, and raises a hand to his own Akasha system.

“Just a moment,” he tells you, “I’m scanning the system for any information on you - just to ensure we don’t go around letting in criminals, you see?”

As he does that, you ask a few more questions of the young woman - what it is that the Akasha system does, and whether your . . . unusual physiology (a far easier way to explain it, you’ve surmised over weeks of practise, than explaining that you are a traveller from beyond the realms of Teyvat) will effect it in any way. She is effluent with her praise - the Akasha, she tells you with a wide smile and genuine pride in her voice, has truly revolutionised what it is like to be a citizen of Sumeru.

“This is unusual,” the man says, finally taking his hand from the complicated earpiece of the Akasha system. “I’m terribly sorry, but . . .”

“Is everything alright?”

You hadn’t wanted to mention it, of course - but you’d been afraid when he’d said he was scanning for information on you. Though you have mostly made peace with the nations you’ve travelled through, there have been plenty of misunderstandings too - and there are an unfortunate amount of activities that may be considered criminal in your past. Your heart beats just a little too quickly, as you carry on smiling and hope that your nervousness isn’t written too plain on your face.

You’d hate to get yourself into trouble after promising Dainsleif you would be absolutely fine on your own.

“I’m sure there’s no problem at all,” the man assures you, as he tries to return your smile. “It’s simply that we do have a record of you - oh, please don’t worry, it doesn’t name you as a wanted criminal or some such thing! It merely asks that you be shown to the Akademiya to meet with one of our trusted scholars, if you are to set foot in Sumeru City.”

This sounds a little more understandable, you think, as you let loose a small sigh of relief. Your reputation precedes you in several places - and this scholar would be far from the first person who has sought your help with matters. It’s strange that they couldn’t manage it alone with all of the resources of Sumeru behind them, but you are not in a position to judge.

“Is it just me?” You ask. “I usually travel with another man, a different blond--”

He checks, the vine-like contraption of the Akasha pulsing over his ear, but then he shakes his head.

“No,” he says, as he offers you his arm. “The only information we have is on you.” Another smile, clearly meant to reassure. “I really did mean it about not worrying; if you were a danger, I’m certain that this would not all be so civil. Sumeru maintains several forces of Eremite mercenaries to keep the peace, and the Akademiya itself has the Matra . . . If you were about to be in trouble, there would be far more of a guard than simply me.”

You still consider running. You let your eyes flash over the surrounding area to map out all possible escape routes, to see who you might have to fight if you need to - but in the end, you take the proffered arm. No matter how much Dainsleif might want you to lie low and not attract attention, you can’t help thinking that causing a scene like that would be far worse than going along with whatever it is you’re wanted for up in the Akademiya.

You do not know it at the time, but it turns out to be just another decision that will come back to bite you.

As the two of you walk, Panah - that is the man’s name, you find out - sends a message up to the Akademiya proper via the system, to let them know that the two of you are coming. He seems almost giddy when he is done, a smile playing beneath the moustache.

“I was permitted to speak to him myself,” he says, and you gather from the excitement in his voice that whatever man it is you’re about to meet occupies a place of high honour within the walls of the Akademiya. You’re impressed by the technology; you can’t help thinking how useful it would be, if you and Dainsleif had such a way to communicate when you were apart.

He’s not going to be happy about all of this - but with any luck, this will be a quick thing for you to deal with and you’ll be able to rake in some glory and reputation in Sumeru so the two of you don’t have to worry so much on your journey. A lost dog, perhaps. A band of Treasure Hoarders who need to be taken out--

If you had one of those Akasha systems, you think, you wouldn’t need to be trailing up all of these steps. You bring this up to Panah, and he laughs, still riding a high from speaking to whoever it was he was permitted to speak to.

“Ah, don’t worry about that! You’re going to be very lucky - he told me he even has an Akasha terminal set aside especially for you, with a couple of brand new features he’s been wanting to test out--”

Later on, you’ll curse yourself for these words not setting alarm bells off in your head. But right then, under the bright Sumeru sun and with the freedom of a day in Sumeru without Dain’s occasionally too protective presence, you just laugh brightly and daydream about the knowledge your very own Akasha will place at your fingertips.

There’s a little bit of pomp and ceremony when you make it to the Akademiya proper; the other staff members and workers and students who have been assigned to help you are all excited and chattering as they wave Panah off and begin to lead you into the labyrinthine halls. It’s a beautiful building, to be sure - but it’s deceptively large, and after going through lifts and corridors and being taken through door after door you begin to lose sense of where exactly it is you are. You feel a brief flare of panic inside; you much prefer to be in places where you have an idea of how to escape, should the need arise--

But everyone around you remains excited about the great scholar you’re about to meet, and their smiles and pats and their wistful proclamations about how lucky you are serve to soothe the fear, just a little.

“Here we are,” says one of them, stopping outside a great wooden door with a complicated series of locks on it; some of them are easy to understand (you know what a padlock looks like, after all), but others seem to be rather more high-tech than you’re used to. Whatever it is behind this door, you think, it must either be very important or very expensive. “Oh! We have your Akasha terminal--”

He reaches into the folds of his robe to produce one of the vine-like contraptions that everyone in Sumeru wears on their ears.

“This one was designed by him specifically,” the man tells you in awe, as he reaches over and affixes it onto your ear. “It has a few brand new functions that he wants help testing out, and he said that your experience would be a huge boon in working out all of the kinks--”

Ah. So that’s what he wanted your help with. You wonder which of your exploits it is that has made this scholar think you’d be a good fit for this kind of testing; you wonder, too, why Dainsleif wasn’t included in this idea. The two of you have done so much together, after all--

You feel a brief electric zap that seems to flash over your vision and down to your spine. A little noise in your ear, a sense of heat that lasts barely a moment - and then, the man is stepping away from you and giving a strange little bow.

“It’s working, I think,” he says, as he reaches into his pocket to turn a key, swipe a card, as his own Akasha pulses to life and some of the locks upon the door respond in kind. “Ah - I’m afraid we’ll be leaving you. His temperament can be a little unpredictable, and I’m sure he’d rather meet you alone--”

“That’s alright,” you say, smiling. You wonder what kind of brand new functions this Akasha system is going to have; perhaps something for combat capabilities? Wilderness scanning, to be able to identify poisonous herbs and dangerous animals? The big wooden door slowly creaks open, as the entourage who have guided you into the bowels of the Akademiya all disperse, leaving you alone.

“Come in,” calls a voice.

The voice is familiar; somewhere, in the back of your mind, you know that you recognise it. A kind of low, smooth drawl of a voice, that shivers with suggestion as it calls out to you. But it is not enough to deter you, now you’ve made it all the way here.

You step into the room, walking further and further into it to see that it’s a . . . workshop, of some sort. There are a few tables scattered with various tools, deconstructed machinery lolling on the floor and propped against walls. There are a couple of remains of Ruin Guards, but in Sumeru this is hardly a surprising sight--

The door slams closed behind you. You hear the click and the whirr of the locks resetting themselves, trapping you in here, but even then you still do not panic just yet. You are in the Sumeru Akademiya, after all - what horror could possibly befall you at the hands of someone so well-regarded, in such a beacon of wisdom and hope in the nation?

That’s when you spot the bed in the middle of the room.

Sterile white sheets, white metal frame, restraints at the head and at the feet. An IV standing proudly beside it; a table to one side that is scattered with, instead of tools and screwdrivers, medical equipment. Needles and scalpels and pill bottles. Your throat goes dry.

“Ah,” there’s that voice again, and out of the shadows steps a figure. Your brain snaps into action sickeningly quickly; this is indeed a man you recognise. This figure, in his doctor’s coat and long boots, with his hair falling over a masked face-- “You’re just as lovely as I remembered you.”

You crouch, your body primed, your position ready to jump to attention at any moment. You reach behind you to will your sword into your hand - if you incapacitate Dottore quickly enough, perhaps you can knock him out whilst you search his workshop for tools to help you break the locks--

“Oh, my,” he says. “Such an unwelcome reception, my dear. Still. That won’t be for long.”

“Open the door,” you snarl, through gritted teeth. “Let me out, and I won’t ram my blade through your throat.”

He smiles beneath the mask, the tilt of his lips almost fond.

“There’s that lovely fire,” he says to you, in a pleased purr. “Oh, I’ve been waiting for you for what seems like forever.”

“I’m warning you--” Your fingers wrap around the hilt of your sword. Your breath comes short; your heart pounds.

You do not truly know if you could take Dottore in a fight - he is ranked second of the Harbingers, after all, and you do not think such a position would be granted without some combat capability. But you have to hold fast to your hope - and without Dainsleif here, all you have to rely on is your own skills. What might happen if he does overpower you doesn’t bear thinking about--

(You’d noticed, the last time the two of you had met, the way his gaze behind the mask had lingered on the shape of your body. The way he had spoken silky smooth, shivering with intent, when he had addressed you. The way his leather gloved hands had felt, on your shoulders, lingering there as if they wished they could be somewhere else--)

“Ah, ah,” he clicks his tongue, chiding. “Now, darling. That won’t do at all.”

You realise too late that the Doctor himself is not wearing an Akasha system earpiece - but you are.

And as you feel it pulse into life, as bright colours flash against your vision and you stumble, your sword slipping through your fingers . . .

Everything goes black.

“Now,” Dottore’s voice cuts through the blackness, as everything seems to slowly fall back into place like a jigsaw puzzle being re-assembled. “This might hurt a touch. Just a sharp scratch, my dear--”

You’ve been strapped onto the medical bed, just as you had feared. The straps are wrapped around your ankles and your wrists, binding you spread-eagle upon the thin little mattress. You can still feel the vines of the Akasha system wrapped around your ear, and your throat clogs with the fear of it - if it could knock you out stone cold, what else could it do? Your eyes flutter open, and Dottore pauses--

He’s leaning over you with a syringe in his hand, the liquid within glowing with the same blue glow as the earring he wears. As he sees that you’re awake, his mouth opens into a wide smile with just a hint of too sharp teeth.

“Oh!” He exclaims in delight. “You’re finally awake! My, you’ve missed quite the little drama.”

He carefully places the syringe down upon the metal table as he reaches over you and fiddles with some kind of control on the side of the bed. Slowly, it creaks upwards, propping you up a little so you are bent at the waist.

“That’s better,” Dottore coos. “Now we can all see one another. Look, darling. Your knight in shining armour.”

Dainsleif.

How long have you been out cold? How easy was it for Dottore to strap you onto this operating table - how deeply did the Akasha knock you out?

Long enough for Dain to realise you were missing. Long enough for him to track you down - long enough for he, too, to be overpowered by the second Harbinger and find himself entirely at the Doctor’s mercy.

Your travelling companion sits across from the bed you are restrained upon, ropes tied around his broad chest to keep him lashed to a rusted metal chair. A gag has been crudely shoved into his mouth so all he can do is make a soft little distressed noise at the predicament you have found himself in; more ropes bind his ankles to each leg of the chair, just to ensure that he’s fully unable to so much as wriggle in his bindings. He stares at you, agonised.

“We’ve been talking about everything I’m going to do to you,” Dottore hums - and something hot and sour crawls into your throat as he leans over, and his leather gloves caress your face like a lover and not like a madman. “Ah, sweet little traveller . . . I’ve barely been able to wait to get my hands on you. A pretty face like that, and that fighting spirit . . . Ah! You stick in a man’s mind.” His smile is just as wide and unhinged as ever as he taps your cheek fondly. “I don’t think your poor knight is going to enjoy it, but . . . well. I’m sure you will.”

You struggle in the bonds, as your strength returns to you. You try and use your not inconsiderable strength to see if you can loosen the leather around your wrists, as fear of the undercurrent of desire in Dottore’s words and anger at Dainsleif finding you like this and worry about Dain himself all war at once within you like a churning whirlpool.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you seethe at Dottore, tugging hard. “I don’t know what you’re planning, but it would be better for everyone if you just let me go now, and we can pretend none of this happened--”

Dottore throws his head back and laughs.

“Oh,” he practically purrs at you. “You’re so lovely when you’re enraged. But . . . ah. No, I don’t think I shall. Now, my dear. How shall we start? A kiss, perhaps? Your lips have been haunting my dreams recently--”

“I’ll bite your tongue off,” you snarl, and though you cannot see Dottore’s eyes you can tell from the way that his face moves that he has raised his eyebrows. He lets out a low, silky chuckle.

“Ah. So that’s how it’s going to be. Well, if so . . .”

He reaches back over to the metal table, and in his hands now he lifts the syringe once more. He taps the barrel of glowing blue liquid once, twice, that infuriatingly calm and smooth smile returning to his face.

“This won’t knock you out,” he tells you. “I want you to be aware of everything we do together, darling, so you remember how good it makes you feel . . . how much we belong together. But it shall . . . how should I put this? Take a bit of the edge out of you.” He leans in; finding the crook of your elbow, thumb smoothing softly and almost lovingly over the patch of skin. “I’d hate for all of your fire to go missing, but . . . perhaps we should at least dull your teeth a little, hmm?”

Dainsleif makes some awful noise; a whimper crossed with a moan, a kind of noise you’ve never heard the stoic Twilight Sword make before, as the needle sinks into your skin with a sharp scratch. Panic flares in your mind white hot at whatever kind of concoction is being injected directly into your veins--

But the panic quickly dulls, as you feel the drug beginning to take effect.

It adds a muzzy kind of quality to everything. You see Dottore and Dain before you - the Doctor smiling, Dain agonised behind his patch and gag and rope. You know that there is something terribly wrong with this scene, but your mind is too hazy to pull up the specifics. You go to open your mouth and put word to a question, but nothing comes out - your tongue is too heavy, your teeth feeling as though they’re in the wrong place in your mouth.

“Oh, lovely,” says Dottore with relish. “My, you took to that sedative better than even I hoped you would! Sweet dear thing, will you let me kiss you now?”

You know, in that hazy mess of your mind, that you do not want this man to kiss you - but as he leans forward, you cannot remember why. You cannot make your tongue move to say no, and before you know it a pair of lips have firmly pressed to your own, tasting of the smell of antiseptic and peppermint. Dottore kisses you as thoroughly as he does everything else - his mouth working against yours, sharp teeth tugging at your lower lip, his tongue slipping into your mouth and laying claim to the shape of it as if he is an explorer mapping out newly conquered territory.

From somewhere that seems very far away, you hear another angry noise, half groan and half moan.

Dottore pulls back, his tongue tracing his lips as if he’s savouring the taste of you left on them.

“Even better than I imagined,” he murmurs. “But . . . ah, my dear, don’t you want to kiss me back?”

There’s a pulse by your ear. Your mind short-circuits - and then Dottore is leaning in again for another kiss, and without you sending a single signal to your body you are kissing Dottore back, your mouth working against his, your tongues twining with one another as if possessed by an unknown force. Dottore groans into your mouth, at the same time as one of his gloved hands comes to land on your thigh, bare beneath your skirt.

You realise dully that it is the Akasha, taking control of your body; doing exactly what Dottore tells you to do.

If you hadn’t been drugged with the sedative that the Doctor had used, perhaps this realisation would make horror rise in you - it clearly does in Dainsleif, who struggles desperately against his bonds. But to you, in your current state . . . it is merely a realisation that washes over you like a cool stream. An inevitability.

“Ah,” Dottore says, and he smiles something horrific and tender down at you. “We’re going to enjoy ourselves, aren’t we?”

Those gloved fingers slide higher and higher up your thigh, the touch remaining soft. You think it would be better if he started pawing at you like an animal; if he ripped and tore at your clothes. Something about the softness of how his thumb moves over your inner thigh, the soft untouched skin there - something about the gentle way his thumb brushes over your underwear . . . that feels a hundred times worse than you could ever imagine.

He sighs in pleasure. All you can do is lay there and take it; your wrists and ankles bound, your entire body prone, your veins numbed with sedatives. Your eyes seek out Dain’s across the room - and he looks at you, so broken that you think you will cry.

Dottore’s other hand reaches up to the catches down the side of your dress. They are there to make it easier to dress yourself - catches and buttons up your spine are not helpful when you are alone or injured, and since you have found yourself in Teyvat you have been both of those things more often than you’d like to have - but you curse them, now, as Dottore’s other hand gently (oh-so-gently) peels them from your body and you are almost bare before him. Your nipples pebble in the cool air; your cheeks flush hot at how he tilts his head to look down at you.

If you could see his eyes, what would you see written in them?

“Oh,” Dottore is quiet when he speaks; appreciation dripping off every syllable. He moves his other hand away from where he’s been constantly petting at your sex through your underwear in order to turn all of his attention to your newly bared chest; you feel the hot flush across your collarbones at the sheer admiration that seems to ghost every movement. “You’re even more lovely than I could have thought.”

His leather-clad palms reach down, taking a handful of the soft curve of your chest; squeezing the half-globes in his hand, sighing happily at how they fit in his grip. His thumb and forefinger find the nub of your nipples, pinching one each until they stiffen and pucker beneath the attention and you squirm, a hot little bolt of lightning going straight from the place Dottore is pinching to the place between your thighs.

“You like that?” He murmurs, not missing the way you shudder beneath the attention. “Ah, sweet thing - has your knight not done this for you? Have you been saving yourself for me?”

Again, you can’t make your tongue form words; all you can do is let out a little whimpering moan of a noise that makes Dottore chuckle. It sounds far too close to affirmation for your liking, but what can you really do, as Dottore continues to pinch and pluck at your nipples and the warm zaps of pleasure and excitement continue to run hot in your veins?

You can hear the way your breath is starting to come out in little pants; how it shudders in the air, heat coalescing between the bots of you as Dottore’s insistent pinches further cloud your mind. You can’t help the noise that falls from your mouth as he bends his head and applies his tongue just so upon one of the buds; as it swirls around it, suckling the nipple into his mouth, lathing it with attention that makes your back arch involuntarily.

Dainsleif, still bound across the room, fights against the ropes once again and lets out a muffled noise of anger; words caught in the gag, vitriol spewed at the Doctor as he does whatever he wants to with your body. It is all for nothing, though.

Dottore’s thumbs are hooking into your underwear. The thin cotton tears at the seams at only the flimsiest tug from the second ranked Harbinger, and then Dottore is looking down at your spread thighs and the folds of your sex on display for him and cooing at you so sweetly that it cloys.

“Oh, darling,” he says to you. “You’re this wet for me?”

It’s not fair.

Frustrated tears rise to your eyes. In your current state, drugged and confused, under all of Dottore’s touches . . . your body has betrayed you. You know you’re wet; you can feel your own slick, oozing out of you, your folds wet with droplets of arousal. Desire to be touched warring with disgust for the man before you inside of you - frustration that you cannot so much as speak to put voice to your anger. Not even to beg him to stop.

Hand on your thigh. Two fingers, deftly parting the lips of your labia so cool air hits the sensitive inner folds; the swollen bud of your clit, waiting to be touched, thrumming with excitement. A whine catches in your throat at the sensation of being studied like this; the way that Dottore is looking down at you like a wolf about to thoroughly enjoy his meal.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, again. “So much lovelier in the flesh.” He turns his head without turning his body, catching Dainsleif’s gaze. “Look, Twilight Sword. Ah. Don’t you wish you were in my position now? Aren’t you simply longing to have your wicked way with our sweet little Traveller?”

Dain struggles desperately, the muscles of his shoulders flexing, his eyebrows furrowing and his mouth working at the gag firmly pressed within it. You know that he wants to help you; that Dain would tear Dottore limb for limb for what he is clearly about to do to you, if only he could get himself free.

But, too, there’s something in his eye that you do not want to admit to.

Shining bright behind the agonised blue is a palpable lust; a desire to be in Dottore’s place. You know that Dain would never hurt you - would never strap you to a table and use you against your will, you’re sure of it - but that look in his eyes makes you shiver.

“Don’t worry,” Dottore assures him, turning back to you with that wicked smile on his face. “I’ll make sure you get to watch.”

He eases the way his fingers are keeping you spread apart in order to be able to slowly slide his index finger through the valley of your sex; to wet his glove on all of the slick, to let it gather on his fingertip. He raises that gloved finger to his mouth, tongue darting out to taste you as he tilts his chin back to savour it.

“Ah,” he says, as he tugs his glove off with his teeth. “Forgive me, my dear - I simply must feel you without them.”

His fingertips feel just as cold, as he touches you with them instead of the gloves. Your back arches again, though your own restraints keep you on the bed and stop you from being able to wriggle away from Dottore’s questing fingers even if the sedative hadn’t filled your limbs with honey.

Dottore lets out a soft chuckle at the way your body moves, another chiding click of his tongue.

“Breathe out,” he advises you, as his finger circles your entrance, as his thumb finds the swollen pearl of your clit and begins to draw slow, firm circles over it. “It will make it easier, sweet thing--”

One of his fingers swiftly presses inside of you, punching the air out of your chest. You hate it, you think - you hate the feel of his slender digits pressing further and further inside of you, the feel of him crooking his knuckle just so that the bone rubs against a spot inside of you that makes you see stars--

It feels good, too. You don’t want it to. You don’t like how the feeling of him inside of you seems to satiate an ache that had started when he had rubbed over the seam of your underwear and kissed you and toyed with your chest. You don’t like that, as a second finger rubs around your entrance in preparation to be put inside of you, your breath catches in excitement at the thought of being stretched further.

“That’s right,” Dottore is murmuring, his own voice a little breathless now as excitement leaks into his tone. “Oh, you’re doing so well, lovely thing. Ah-- you have no idea how good you feel. Like silk . . . Thinking about doing this to you doesn’t at all measure up to the real thing.”

The thought of Dottore having these thoughts about you makes your heart twist. You close your eyes, just so you don’t have to see Dainsleif sitting across from you, watching you with agonised eyes as Dottore’s fingers make you feel a way you didn’t know you could.

A few more months and perhaps you would have imagined Dain himself doing this to you - something more intimate than the shy, awkward kisses the two of you have so far shared, as Dainsleif silently agonises and worries about his body being tainted and his curse ruining everything that shimmers between the two of you like fragile gossamer. Perhaps then, it would have been slow and careful - Dain waiting for you to give the go-ahead, letting you lead . . .

That choice has been taken from you, now, as two of Dottore’s fingers scissor inside of you to open you up wide and his thumb continues to rub over your clit in firm, sure circles. The way that Dottore touches you would almost be clinical - designed solely to make you feel good, to prepare you for the inevitable stretch of his cock, to make sure that your slickness would provide adequate lubrication for the glide of the same - were it not for the bright mania that fills his grin as he stares down at you, watching your sex swallow his fingers with every wet, slick pump of his wrist.

That is the look of a man very much enjoying what he’s doing to you.

“Sweet Traveller,” he murmurs, low and cajoling. “I think you’re going to come for me.”

You have just enough control of your body to toss your head weakly, shaking it from side to side, your hair falling over your face. It does not hide the fact that your cheeks are flushed and your eyes are bright, that your chest is heaving as every rub of his fingers sends brand new sparks of pleasure careening to the middle of your stomach into a hot, tight ball.

“Oh,” Dottore’s voice is laced with faux sympathy. “That wasn’t me asking, darling. Come for me.”

Another zing; a zap, a pulse, where the Akasha terminal is wrapped about your ear--

And your body twitches and pulses under his command, as the hot tight ball of want inside of you seems to get a signal from the terminal that now is the time to explode. You don’t know how to explain it; the way that your mind seems to contract at the same time as your body, and then you are panting and whining helplessly as shivers rack you underneath Dottore’s twisting wrist, his insistent thumb.

He lets out a sigh of pleasure as he pulls back, his fingers glimmering wetly with your own orgasm. Again, he lifts them to his mouth; again, you see a sharp flash of teeth as his tongue traces his own digits and he savours the way you taste on his tongue.

“That’s more than enough,” he says, pleasantly. He looks at Dainsleif, the blond all wide-eyed and desperate and seething with hatred, and gives him another smile that is like the edge of a knife. “Don’t you think so, knight? Ah. Don’t you think it’s time for me to take them fully?”

Dainsleif struggles again, and Dottore laughs like a creaked, rusting hinge on a sharp iron gate.

“I don’t want to hurt them,” he says, syrupy sweet. “Oh, they mean more to me than that. I merely want them to understand how badly I need them . . . and how good I could be for them, too.”

The sedatives in your system do not allow you to fight back; to bare your teeth and growl and tell him you could never imagine how he could possibly be good for you. But though your mind churns with these thoughts, your body is still not quick enough to respond - your veins still weighed down with honey. Too tenderly, Dottore reaches for your face; traces his thumb over your cheekbone.

“We are going to consummate our mutual adoration,” he tells you, and he reaches for his fly. You hear the buttons of his placket undo as if you are somewhere very far away, button sliding through button hole. Dottore sighs happily as he repositions the table and himself, making sure that Dainsleif has an even better view of the way that he slots himself between your thighs. Your breath catches in your throat as you feel Dottore’s cock slap against the bare skin; the wet, slick head of him, as he rubs it over your own soft inner thighs. You burn with humiliation, as the wet pap of him slapping the cockhead against your cunt echoes in Dottore’s workshop, and the Doctor keeps smiling as if he’s enjoying himself terribly.

“How about,” he says, loud enough for Dainsleif to hear it, “before we begin, you tell me what I want to hear, Traveller?”

You blink at him slowly, as he pushes his hips forward, and the head of his cock catches on the ring of your entrance; as your body clenches and puckers, waiting for him to move further forward. You wish he would just get on with it, but at the same time you wish that this wouldn’t happen. If you were fully in control of your body, you’re certain you would be struggling and sobbing and spitting - but you are not.

“Oh,” he murmurs, syrupy sweet. “You don’t know what I mean? Darling, let me say it a little simpler whilst you’re still all addled from me making you come . . . Loud enough for the Twilight Sword to hear, now. Why don’t you tell me you love me?”

You could hear a pin drop in the silence.

It’s not really silent; there’s a buzzing in your ears, there’s a constant hum from the machinery that surrounds you both, there’s the sound of three people breathing within the room, panting and seething and hating . . . but that’s how it feels.

You would never tell this monster you loved him.

But Dottore is still looking at you, his cock still pressing against your entrance, his head still tilted to one side, his mouth still quirked in a smile - and there’s an eager kind of obsession in his gaze, as if he thinks you might actually get the words out--

The pulsing in your ear. The flash across your brain. You can’t breathe; you can’t think, through anything but the sudden desire to tell the Doctor who’s about to ruin you that you love him.

Your tongue is slow. Heavy. Your voice echoes too loud around the room.

“Doctor . . .” Dainsleif lets out a pained whine behind the gag. “I-- I love you--”

“Oh, good-- well done--!”

Dottore pants in wild pleasure at the sound of your voice, the way it sounds desperate and reedy not with hate, but with feeling. He cants his hips forward, still too wild - and your head falls back, a whine escaping your slow-tongued mouth as his entire cock sheaths itself inside of you in excitement.

It’s easier to close your eyes.

You do not want to see Dainsleif, over Dottore’s shoulder - the disappointment and horror and despair that’s written clear across his handsome face. He must have seen the Akasha pulse, he must know that you would never say such a thing of your own volition - but that doesn’t stop the fact that you did say it, and he did hear it. Eyes squeezed shut, the feel of him inside you is all the worse; the way you can sense your body tightening around him, the feel of being stretched wider than you’ve been stretched before.

Dottore’s pants do not let up; there’s a desperation in him that you would never have thought the Doctor possible of - bringing a horrifying kind of truth to all of those things he had said, all of the ways he had stared at you. Perhaps it is more than just lust--

And that makes it all the worse.

His hips judder against yours in desperation, his white coat rustling as it rubs against your own bare body. One of his hands explores your chest, even as he keeps rutting into you; thumbs pinching at your nipples, palming at your hips and your waist and your chest, as if he cannot truly believe this is happening.

He is undone, like this; and you cannot quite believe he is letting you see some of those walls fall down. There is no more the strong, smooth Doctor - the one who could raze cities to the ground if he so chose. There is a man; a man who is fucking into you, a man who wants to have as much of your body as he can, a man who seems to want to devour you.

You cannot believe he made you say that you love him. The Akasha upon your ear feels like a parasite, worming its way into your psyche, taking complete control of you. You think of Dainsleif, forced to watch, and a juddering sob manages to tear itself from your throat.

Dottore kisses your cheek, the tears catching on his lips, his tongue tracing the saltwater tracks.

“Don’t fret so, darling,” Dottore murmurs, against the apple of your cheek. “It’s alright . . . Doesn’t it feel good?”

It doesn’t - and it does. You don’t want to admit to the way that his constant thrusting and the grinding of his pelvis against your still-swollen clit are working together to make your insides churn, your body feverishly hot and confused. Your breath comes out in pants that match Dottore’s own. You can’t come for him again, you simply can’t - it doesn’t matter, you try and tell yourself, that there is heat bursting anew in your stomach. That it is not really because of Dottore, but natural biology--

You came earlier, yes, but Dottore told you to; used the Akasha against you. If you came now, without him forcing you to, it does not bear to think about - it doesn’t bear to think about how Dain might react, if he watched you come of your own volition under Dottore’s fucking--

No matter how sternly you try to speak to yourself, one cannot stop biology in its tracks.

Dottore’s pelvis batters against your clit; Dottore’s cock bullies itself mercilessly into you, as if it is trying to make you mould to the shape of him. With each thrust, it rubs against spots inside of you that your own fingers have never been able to reach; ones you had never realised would feel so good. You try and tell yourself, over and over and over, that you will not let yourself come for Dottore.

But your body betrays you.

Your body betrays both yourself and Dain, a man who you had always thought would be the only one to ever do this to you, though you had not let your fantasies yet get further than a hand over your dress, skimming your bare thigh. You come for the second Fatui Harbinger, as he continues to fuck into you with wild abandon - and this time, you do not even have the Akasha to blame it upon.

Your wrists are still held either side of your head by restraints; all you can do, as the spasms of pleasure resonate out from your sex and into every other part of you, is dig your nails into your palms. All you can do is let out a heavy, slurred whine-moan escape from your parted lips. All you can do is take it - come for the Doctor, the way he always knew you were going to.

“Fuck,” he growls, and his hips double their speed, desperately rutting into you. “I didn’t even have to tell you to, that time - you want me just as badly, don’t you? Oh, sweet thing, don’t worry, I’ll give you everything I have--”

His words are slurred too; he is too far gone within the euphoria of finally being inside of you. His hips rock into you, harder and harder, his cock twitching wildly as he hisses out your name.

He comes inside of you with a wild bite into your bare shoulder, grunting and groaning, more animal than scientist - proof that, beneath it all, he is just a man. He remains there, humming into your skin, his cock softening inside of you. His tongue licks across the bite on your shoulder as if he wants to remember the taste of you.

“Why,” he says, a pleased hum in the back of his throat. His cock twitches. “I think I might even do that again--”

There’s a knock on the door.

You are still too out of it after what Dottore did to you to register much beyond his frustration that he is being called back to Snezhnaya, now of all times. An awkward assistant, unsure of what they’re supposed to be doing, lingers by Dottore’s side as the Doctor grumbles under his breath and pulls your clothes back on over your bruised body, his come still leaking out from between your thighs.

“I’ll see you again,” Dottore says to you, with a smile, as he brandishes another syringe. “Oh, I won’t be forgetting about how much we shared any time soon, darling. You’ll keep me warm many a cold Snezhnayan night.”

The syringe is brought up to your elbow; the liquid injected directly into the vein once again. You barely have time to wonder what he is injecting you with this time before the heaviness of unconsciousness begins to blur the corners of your vision.

Dottore strides across the room to Dainsleif, another syringe glowing within his gloved fingers.

Before you slip into oblivion, you watch Dottore roll up Dainsleif’s sleeve, and you hear him say this;

“Now, I’m sending them back with you, Knight - but you won’t soon forget, will you, that they told me that they loved me?��

You slip into the abyss.

You wake back up at the camp you and Dainsleif had established, on the edges of Sumeru, as safe as the two of you could find - as if absolutely nothing has happened.

Oh, there’s the lingering reminder of Dottore - there’s a soreness to your thighs, there are bites on your shoulders, there’s a muzzy headache from the drugs and the way he had used the Akasha upon you . . . but other than that, there’s nothing. The system itself isn’t even attached to your ear any longer.

Dain, too, has reminders of the ordeal upon him - rope burn on his wrists. A burning look in his eyes when his gaze falls upon you that makes your insides crawl in fear, lest he be disgusted by you now - lest he never want to look at you again. Perhaps, you think wildly, he is going to cast you away - say that the two of you can no longer travel together, accuse you of being damaged goods . . .

It does not end that way.

Dainsleif stares at you across the clearing after waking up, as if he is trying to sort all of his thoughts out. His fingers twitch, his eyes raking over you desperately - and then he has moved, lightning quick, and his arms have wrapped around you and you are being crushed against the weight of his chest.

“I thought . . .” He whispers into your ear, his voice so broken it makes you ache. “Oh, I can’t believe he would . . . I’m so sorry--”

“You couldn’t have done anything,” you whisper to him - relieved to find that your tongue and your throat are once more capable of working. You reach up to touch his face, and Dain groans, torn between leaning into the touch and pulling away as he so often does, so worried that he’s somehow going to taint you.

You’re not sure if you could ever feel more tainted than you do right now.

“I thought I was going to lose you,” his voice cracks. Dainsleif is normally so stoic and solid; you cling to him as you journey through Teyvat, relying on him. Seeing him like this makes you ache.

“You won’t,” you reach for his hand, take it gently and place it over your collarbone, shivering at the touch of his glove on your skin. “See? I’m still here.”

Dain sighs again, his lashes fluttering closed against his sculpted cheekbones. He murmurs your name again, so softly you can barely hear it; and his fingers slide along the imprint of that same collarbone, to your shoulder, until they find the place Dottore had bitten into when he had come.

“I can’t bear seeing his marks on you,” he whispers. “I want to scrub you free of every touch.”

You close your own eyes and let yourself be lulled into Dainsleif’s arms; you let your head rest against his chest, you let yourself be comforted by the familiar scent of him. His fingers don’t stop tracing the bite marks, his touch getting more and more agitated.

“Dain--” You murmur. You’re suddenly so tired. You know you were just unconscious, but that’s not the same as getting real rest. This morning - or was it this morning? How long were the two of you really with Dottore? How long had it been before Dainsleif had come to find you? Whatever the case, it seems a hundred years ago now.

You wonder if Dainsleif would mind if you fell asleep on him, right here.

“Please,” Dain’s lowered his head now. His breath flutters against your ear; delicately tickling your ear. “Let me . . . Let me make sure you’re alright.”

“I’m fine,” you murmur, but it clearly means a lot to Dainsleif, and you do not mind the gentle touch of his hands as they smooth softly over the places Dottore has bitten, the places you have bruised. Dainsleif has lost so many people, after all - you do not blame him for wanting to check on you. You nestle your head under Dain’s chin and he takes a shuddering breath, inhaling the scent of your hair. “Do I still smell like myself?”

“Don’t joke,” his voice breaks. You don’t know how else to cope with it; the thought of Dottore’s hands all over you, the reminder of what the Doctor took from you. Dain’s hand slips under the bodice of your dress.

You go all-over cold, all-over still.

Dainsleif doesn’t even notice. His hand gently travels further down, further down, squeezing the weight of your breast in his hand. Your fingers twitch where they lay against him, cradled as you are in his arms - but Dainsleif is still murmuring to himself now, lost in a frenzy of his own thoughts, and for the first time you feel afraid of him.

“Dain--” You try to say, throat clogged. “Dain, don’t--”

“Please,” he repeats, ragged. “I just . . . I need to touch you. I need to know you’re here. I need to know he didn’t--”

You can’t do this. Your heart jumps into your throat, a sickening thumping beat as Dain’s thumb rubs a circle over your nipple and traitorous body, it responds to him just as it had to Dottore.

You squeeze your eyes shut.

“I love you,” Dainsleif whispers, broken into your ear. “Let me . . . I won’t hurt you . . .”

His other hand, pulling you further into his lap. Holding you spoon-fashion against him, like a lover.

You wouldn’t complain, ordinarily.

But now . . .

All you want is for him to hold you. All you want is for him, you think, to kiss your forehead and reassure you and take care of you. The way his hands keep travelling over your skin - the other is kneading at the flesh of your thigh now, his breath coming in those same great shuddering pants as if he doesn’t have full control over his own body right now. You whimper aloud as his hand brushes further, further--

You’re not wearing underwear. Not after Dottore had torn it at the seams.

Dainsleif sighs.

“It killed me seeing him touch you,” he whispers into your hair, dropping a kiss onto the top of your head, disgustingly tender. His fingers are petting at your folds, his arms iron-tight like the ropes that had wrapped around him earlier. He doesn’t notice that you’re trembling; he ignores the soft little entreaties you do manage to get out.

“I can’t,” you say, as Dainsleif tugs at your nipples.

“Dain--” you whimper, his fingers spreading the lips of your sex apart.

“Not yet,” you beg, as he drops a kiss over the bruising bites Dottore left on your shoulders.

“I wish I could cover you with myself,” Dainsleif says, as he continues to use his mouth and his fingers and acts as though he does not hear a word. “But . . . oh, I don’t deserve you . . . Not yet . . . Please, let me make sure you never think of him again--”

It’s too much. Too much, too soon, your body churning with feelings and your mind churning with thoughts that you can’t yet put in place, because Dainsleif is touching you and not listening to you and you wonder if this makes him just like Dottore, in his way.

You think about yourself, in Sumeru City, your smile bright, laughing off his concern - and you think about Dainsleif now, his touch so possessive and so desperate that he’s going to cover the bruises Dottore left with bruises of his own.

“I’ll be fine,” you had said. I can take care of myself.

Dainsleif takes care of you, when you cannot; when you are injured or sick or lost. You have always had him to rely on; your travelling companion through Teyvat, as you desperately tried to make sense of the world that you have found yourself in.

Here, though . . .

You think, as the tears roll down your face, you could do without Dainsleif taking care of you like this.

#writing #dark content for ts #non con for ts #dead dove do not eat #mind control for ts #dub con for ts #genshin impact posting #commissioned work #not sfw text

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bachiras-toaster · 1 year ago

Text

teaching ranpo a lesson : ̗̀➛

RANPO EDOGAWA x f!reader

contents. nsfw dubcon, dom! reader, submissive!ranpo, tit sucking, bratty!ranpo, dry humping, panty fucking, ranpo tastes his own cum, pet names (reader calls ranpo “good boy” and “sweetheart”), reader jerks ranpo off, he eats reader out, praise

wc. 6.2k

a/n. okay but i wish tumblr didn’t remove my italics whenever i paste my fanfictions from another tab?? when is tumblr gonna start showing me the word count so i don’t have to write on other apps? so, just imagine the italics are there.

"Come in!" Ranpo called out when he heard a knocking on his door, and a pleasant surprise came his way when he discovered that it was you peeping your head through the entrance. "Oh, what a nice surprise!"

You shot him a cold glare before making your way into his room, slamming a pile of documents onto his messy table. You disliked Ranpo, so you didn't want to attempt making conversation, but he seemed eager to chat. Ranpo couldn't help but notice the chill in the air, but he brushed it off- as he always did, his eyes glinting with curiosity as he leaned over the table, examining the documents you'd brought.

"This is it?"

"Yep. All twenty cases that Kunikida has assigned to you." You muttered, crossing your arms as you watched him lean against his desk. "You have half an hour to solve them all before we get to close the cases."

"Half an hour, you say?" Ranpo chuckled softly, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Very well then, let's see what we've got here." He began flipping through the papers, his mind already racing with potential theories and connections.

Watching as he eagerly dove into his responsibility, you turned to leave him to his work. However, before you could even face the door, he grabbed you by the wrist, a little dissapointed that you thought to go so soon.

"You're leaving already?" He frowned, pulling you back. "I was hoping you'd get to see my genius mind at work as I solve all of these mysteries."

"I don't have time to watch you solve these cases, Edogawa. And you know I'd much rather do anything else than stay anyway." You rolled your eyes, scoffing as you snatched your hand away. He scrunched his nose a little, irritated how you'd insist on calling him Edogawa instead of Ranpo.

"Still calling me Edogawa, huh? After we've known each other for so long." He pouted slightly, but his eyes twinkled with amusement. "Well, maybe I should try something else to catch your attention."

"Try all you want. I'm leaving." You let out a displeased snort.

"Alright, let me give this a shot." He interrupted your path towards the door, still holding your gaze. "I'll admit, you're one tough nut to crack... What exactly is it that you don't like about spending time with me?"

You arched a brow. "The master detective asking me a question?" You shrivelled your nose. "Now, I can't tell if that's rhetorical."

"It's not." He grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "So, tell me, what's the matter with me?"

"God, you really are a piece of fucking work." You finally turned back to face him fully, pinching thr bridge of your nose as you prepared yourself for the rant of a lifetime- since he had been so kind as to ask you himself.

"Okay, first of all: You're a narcissist. You think the entire world revolves around you and that your ability is the best. You're lazy and irritating, you leach off of other people, and you refuse to do any work that doesn't interest you. And not only that, but you get kind people like Atsushi and Kenji to go out and run errands for you because you know they're too nice to say no."

His eyes widened at first, but his lips curved in amusement before he shrugged.

"Well, I'll admit to a little bit of narcissism. And maybe a touch of laziness. But I like to say that these kinds of things are what make me me!" He boasted, completely unaffected by your remarks.

Your eye twitched at his unfazement. "It's clear that nobody's ever taught you a lesson up until now, Edogawa. I would've thought that the boss would shape you up to be a decent person, but you're still the same, old egotist."

"Well, I'm sorry if I don't fit into your idea of a 'decent person.' But maybe there's something about me that you haven't quite figured out yet." He leaned closer, his voice lowering. "I don't need to be taught any lessons."

You saw how he attempted to take control of the situation, but you just lifted yourself up and walked over to him, backing him up slightly as you let out through gritted teeth:

"If it were up to me, I wouldn't let you walk around all high and mighty like the boss does" You had leaned so close to him that you were backing him into his bed.

"Oh really?" He challenged, his eyes glinting with mischief. "And what exactly would you do to make me stop, hmm? Torture me? The boss would have you kicked out in no time."

"You see, unlike you, I'm reliant on my strength outside of my ability." You pressed your palm against his chest and pushed him down onto his bed so you stood above him, your eyes glaring down at him. "And even if I wasn't, I wouldn't have the lip to talk back to people stronger than me."

"You're not stronger than me. You might have some physical strength, but your mind is weak. It's obvious that you've never encountered anyone like me before."

"Oh, I've encountered hundreds of narcissists like you in the past. The only issue with you is that I work with you." You flicked the button of his hoodie so it would fall off, leaving him in his button-up, tie, and vest. You pulled on his tie and leaned down so that his face was forced inches from yours. "What's a strong mind if you can't comprehend simple shit like shutting the fuck up?"

"I'm the one who decides what to shut up about." Ranpo grinned, his face inches from yours. His voice betrayed an unexpected level of arousal beneath his bravado. "And I'll never shut up, if that goes against what you want from me."

You loosened your grip around the end of his tie so your finger could hook around the top of it instead, pulling the tie off him.

"You're a brat, you know that?" You lifted your knee up to the side of his bed so that you started to straddle him- An action that caught Ranpo completely off guard because of how completely out-of-character it seemed for you to do, considering your rocky history with the cocky detective. His face flushed red as he glanced up at you, his pupils dilated and his jaw hung open just a little.

"What are you doing—?"

"It's obvious that no one's taught you how to behave before, and since everyone at the agency seems reluctant to, I guess I could fill that role." You glared down at him from the seat on his lap. "You're going to listen to me, and I'm going to turn you into a humble, hardworking, and kind detective."

"You're lying if you think that's possible," Ranpo snorted with a grin, his face flushed with excitement beneath your aggressive stare. Despite his protests, he couldn't help but be intrigued by the fact that you were actually willing to do something like this to the person you hated most.

"It is possible, Edogawa." You hummed. "And I know I can't hurt you physically, so I can torture you in some other ways." Your hands moved down to unzip the fly of his pants.

"Other ways?" Ranpo groaned, his face flushed red as he felt you unzip his pants and touch him through his underwear. "You... you're not actually planning to—?"

"Sh." You ordered. "If you want to ask me any questions, you need to say my name first. And be polite." You fished his erection out of his pants, which only grew harder by the second.

Ranpo's eyes widened, his heart racing in anticipation and fear, but he kept a fidgety smirk on his lips as he attempted to keep his composure.

"Oh, I have no questions. Just enjoying the show."

"Still quite the brat." You commented as you began to stroke the length of his cock, slowly sending shivers through his nervous system.

"Hah... well, aren't you just confident?" Ranpo teased, his breath hitching as he arched into your touch, his cock twitching eagerly. "If you wanted me this badly, you could've just asked. My door is always open."

Suddenly, your movements slowed down immensely, and your thumb swept over the tip of his cock, which caused a jolt. You glared at him with a deadpan stare, but kept stroking at a rate that was starting to get irritatingly slow. Ranpo couldn't help but growl in frustration as you teased him mercilessly, his hands clenching into fists beneath you, his breath hitching uncontrollably.

"Damn, stop it..."

"Stop what?" You asked innocently, swiping the collection of precum that emerged from his slit down to the base of his shaft, making it easier for you to stroke.

"God—" Ranpo's voice cracked as you swiped the precum, his body jerking slightly from the unexpected sensation. "You're not making this easy..."

"I wasn't planning to." You said coldly, leaning down to gather saliva in your mouth before spitting down at his cock to lubricate it more for your hands.

"Fuck..." Ranpo hissed out, his hips jerking upwards involuntarily into your hand, seeking more contact even as he tried to maintain his dominance. "Come on, let's stop playing games now. Stop teasing me..."

"Not with that attitude." You huffed, starting to speed up more at a steadier pace now.

"You... you have no idea what you're doing to me..."

"Oh, I feel like I know exactly what I'm doing... Does it feel good, Edogawa?" You asked in a babyish tone, like some sort of mockery. To that, his face contorted, a mix of humiliation and intense arousal. "Aww, what? Does little Edogawa like being the dominant one?"

"No— I mean... damn it, stop teasing me, already..." Ranpo groaned, his body trembling with the effort to maintain his composure as you teased him relentlessly.

"You're gonna have to ask a lot nicer than that if you want something. Have you no manners?" You went to grab him by the base of his chin by your left hand as your right hand slowly moved up and down his length again.

Ranpo gritted his teeth, his breath coming in quick, ragged moments through his nostrils.

"Stop teasing me... Please." He added, as if he were a a bratty toddler being asked to do something he really didn't want to do.

"That was a good start." You nodded approvingly. "Unfortunately, you can't undo bad manners with one good deed. I'm going to train politeness into your brain by fucking you until you can't take it."

"Don't be stupid. You can't train politeness" He spat back, a mix of fear and excitement coursing through him as you spoke; his hips arched up slightly, offering himself to you once more.

"Me? Stupid? But I can. Look at how you're arching for me right now." Your left hand began to travel down from his neck down to his shirt and vest so you could undo the buttons.

"Stop the attempts now... you're not getting me to submit like this." His heart raced as your hand continued to undo his clothes, revealing more skin.

"What do you mean? It's working." You hummed as you carelessly tossed his vest to the side, leaving him just in his unbuttoned shirt, which revealed his chest that panted uncontrollably.

"I'm not gonna give in so eas—ily." He gulped between his word as the pleasure hit him suddenly. His cock twitched in your hand, leaking pre-cum in anticipation.

"You will. And once we're done, I'm going to be the only member of the detective agency you'll listen to completely. You'll bend over backwards for me and you'll have the upmost respect for me." You stated as a matter of factly. "As for everyone else: You're going to treat them all with the respect and kindness they deserve and you're going to pick up your weight at the Detective Agency."

He seemed amused at your assertiveness, but his heart pounded relentlessly. "No one can control me like that. You're being dumb." He wanted desperately to pull away and give himself a moment to reassert his dominance to take control, but his body betrayed him, responding to your touch and words.

"You will." You pushed him back so his back laid completely on his bed, with you still sat comfortable on his lap. "And we'll start with tabletop manners. If you want something, you say 'please'. When you get it, you say 'thank you'."

"How do you expect me to apply that here?" Ranpo murmured, feeling both humiliated and aroused by your dominance, his body trembled slightly as fet your weight on his thighs.

"Easy. Like this:" You retracted your hand again, leaving him without touch for a moment. Once you had pulled your hand away, he felt a shaky breath leave his lips- Which was much less embarrassing than the whine he had suppressed. "You want me to continue?" You questioned coyly.

The man's jaw just ticked, and he looked back at you with the most unimpressed stare of the century. "Obviously..."

"Ah, ah, ah." You immediately tutted, shaking your head. "That's not what I just taught you. Try again."

You could see Ranpo'a eye twitch at your command, which made it all the more amusing for you when he finally let out a large sigh.

"Yes..." He whispered, hating himself for it but unable to resist. "...Please."

"Loud and clear. I didn't quite get that."

He felt like he was close to giving in, his cock throbbing in anticipation of your touch.

"Yes, I would like you to continue please." He said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Good boy." You teased with a delicate smirk, but one that could barely be seen through your glare.

Upon hearing such a sentence, Ranpo's eyes immediately widened at your praise, and his cock throbbed even more before you even touched it again. He squirmed a bit, his body aching for you to touch him. He knew he was being pathetic, but he couldn't help it. He was hopelessly obsessed with you. His face blushed brightly when you had praised him like that, and it was like such a reward was enough for him.

"I'm no genius like you, but I can understand you love being praised." You hummed sweetly with a stone-cold expression as your hand met his cock again to stroke. "I'm no monster, so I'll praise you when you do something good. That's our deal."

Ranpo gasped softly, his eyes rolling back into his head as your touch sent shivers down his spine. He couldn't believe how much he craved this from you, even though he knew it was wrong. His mind was a mess of desire and submission.

"When you do something wrong, you apologise and say that it won't happen again." You continued reciting the rules.

Ranpo nodded slowly, his eyes still rolling back into his head. "I...I understand." He said, knowing that he was giving in to you entirely. His heart ached as he realized how much he wanted to be owned by you, his hands needing grasped onto your thighs as he yearned to touch you. However, when you felt him on your thighs, you paused again, making him whimper at the lack of sensation.

"I don't remember recall saying that you could touch me. And I also don't remember you asking."

His face turned red.

"S-sorry...I just...I can't help it...I needed to—" He sounded desperate and filthy, his need for you was becoming more and more obvious as time went on. He cleared his throat. "...I'm sorry. It won't happen again." His hands retreated.

"What did I say you should do when you want something?" You queried. Ranpo swallowed hard, his heart racing

"A-Ask...I'm supposed to ask." He trembled, his mind a jumbled mess of desire and submission. He wanted you to take control again, but he also knew that he shouldn't give in to these urges.

"Good. So ask nicely." You offered. You realised how easy it was to get him to listen when your hands were around his cock.

"P-please...can I touch you?" He asked, his voice trembling.

"Touch me where?" Your brown arched.

"Your thighs... Please." He was practically begging now, his submissive side completely exposed.

"Of course. I can even take my tights off if that would make it nicer for you. Do you want that?" Your unoccupied hand went to stroke his chin, his eyes filled with need and desire.

"Y-yes, please...I want you to take your tights off."

You leaned your palms against the bed and hovered over him for a moment so you could pull your tights off your legs. He bit his lower lip nervously, his heart racing in anticipation as he made eye contact with you above him. Having your chest so close to his causes Ranpo's eyes to widen, but he knew that this was all for a greater cause, so he didn't dare to move. Once your tights were discarded of to leave your thighs bare, you sat back on his lap.

"There. Now what do you say?"

Ranpo looked up at you, his eyes glued to your thighs, which were now bare and exposed. His breathing was ragged, and his heart was racing. He could feel himself getting harder, aching for you.

"...Thank you..."

"Well done." You felt Ranpo began to knead at the softness of your skin at the same time you stroked him.

He moaned softly into the touch, his hands moving up and down your thighs, feeling the warmth and softness of your skin beneath his fingertips.

"M-more... I need more." He panted, his voice filled with desire and submission.

"Need more what?"

"More... of this." He said between gasps, his hands moving higher up on your thighs, brushing against the sensitive skin just below your waistline. "I want to touch more of you... Please."

"Like what, Edogawa?" You seemed bored with his lack of clarification.

Ranpo swallowed hard, his heart pounding in anticipation. His gaze flickered down to your hand, still stroking him gently.

"Your... chest." He croaked, his voice barely audible above the sound of his heavy breathing.

"My chest?" Your eyebrows raised a little, amused by his plea. "But do you deserve it?"

"I..." He cleared his throat, his body shivering slightly from the anticipation and excitement. His eyes filled with determination and submission.

"Do you think you deserve my chest?" You asked him directly now, watching as he trembled.

"Yes, I do. Please... I need you. I crave it. Please—" He begged.

"You don't need it. You want it." You corrected him.

"I... Yes, I want it. Please, give me what I want." He groaned, his body arching towards you, seeking out the connection he desired so desperately.

Your lips teased into a smile. "How about this: We do a little exercise to show appreciation to all of your coworkers. If you can say one nice thing about all of them, I'll let you hold my tits."

"A-alright..." He gulped, knowing that this would be difficult for him, as he wasn't the most expressive person when it came to compliments. But the challenge seemed fair- for the reward, anyway. "Umm... I guess Junichiro has a cool ability..."

"Ah- Stop there." You shook your head. "You need to sound more confident about your compliments. None of that 'I guess' shit."

"Y-yes, sorry." He swallowed thickly, trying to find the right words. "...Junichiro's ability is really unique and serves as a perfect defence for our team..." He let out a long, shaky sigh as he could still feel your hands wrapped around his dick. "A-And Dazai's intellect is incredible... It's almost matches mine." The final comment made your movements stop, which caused him to wince.

"No snarky comments either."

"S-sorry... I couldn't help it. I just want to hold you—"

"Not until you give all of your coworkers compliments. Say them. Now." You demanded.

"—'M sorry...! Uh..." He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, trying to think of something nice to say about each person. You listened as he continued to spew out more words of kindness, growing more whiny and helpless as he went on.

"...And Kunikida is great at handling the more technical aspects of investigations. He helps keep the whole team on track and ensures we don't miss anything. I really appreciate his contributions..." He could feel himself growing increasingly desperate as he spoke.

"Well done! Now was that so hard?" Your lips pulled into a kind smile as your palm ran down his cheek, which was flushed with a glowing pink colour.

His cheeks felt hot as he let out a shaky breath, feeling oddly relieved. "T-th-thank you... I-It's wasn't so hard..." he stammered, his heart racing as he anticipated what would happen next.

"Now. I'll hold my end of the bargain. Sit up." You pulled him over so you could read the other end of the bed. You rested your back against his pillows, allowing him to settle himself between your legs. "If you want to get a taste of my tits, you'll need to take off my shirt yourself."

His face was flushed and his hands were shaking, but he leaned over and gently pulled the hem of your shirt up over your chest, exposing your breasts to him. With a simple flick, he had unclasped your bra and discarded it carefully to the side as to not cast it too far away. His breathing was quick and shallow as he stared down at your bare chest, his hands trembling as he tentatively reached out towards your right tit, hesitating. He paused, not sure if he should go further.

"M-May I touch?"

"You may."

With a mix of excitement and nervousness, he gently cupped your breast, his fingers trembling against your warm skin as his thumb swept over your nipple, his fingers exploring every inch of your soft skin. His eyes were locked onto the fat of your chest, and your eyes darkened at how eager he stared at your chest- the wat he fondles your breasts while licking his lips.

"M-May I taste now, please?" he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

"You may."

With a small moan of delight, Ranpo finally gave in to his desires and lowered his head towards your chest. His warm breath fanned across your sensitive nipple as he took it between his lips, sucking softly at first before beginning to tease it with his tongue. The way he dragged his tongue across you made it seem like he was trying to make out with your breast- He was so desperate to have it in his mouth. The delicate touch of his tongue sent butterflies through your stomach, and the small moaning noises emanating from his throat only served to heighten the intense sexual tension in the air.

As he leaned in closer, you could feel how his cock pressed between your thighs and up against your clothed cunt. As he sucked on your tit, he was pushing his tip up aright against you- Almost involuntarily, like he didn't even realise. Feeling the warmth and wetness that spread across his tongue, Ranpo couldn't help but become more assertive. His hands roamed up your body, seeking out your breasts, pinching and rolling the nipples in time with his mouth's movements. His cock pressed against you even more as he leaned forward.

But you held your hand against Ranpo's chest to push him away, and he whimpered as he lost connection with your nipple.

"Are you getting too excited, Ranpo?" You questioned, gesturing down to his leaking cock. "It seems like you're pressing up against me way too much."

His eyes flickered up to meet yours, filled with a mix of desire and defiance. He swallowed hard, his cock twitching against your thigh as he pulled back slightly, but not entirely.

"I... I can't help it.” He said softly, in an almost apologetic tone.

"It's like you're using getting to taste me as an excuse to get yourself off down there too." You let out a deep breath. "I told you, if you want something, you need to ask."

Ranpo felt a blush spread across his cheeks and neck as you called him out, his heart racing as he stared down at his erection. His cock throbbed again, as if eager to fill the void between them.

"I... I want to be inside you, please…”

"Well, after that, I don't think you deserve it." You huffed, to which Ranpo's eyes widened in shock and disappointment; there was still an undeniable spark of determination within them.

"Please! Please, don't do this..."

"How about another exercise then?" You suggested, causing his eyes to light up at the opportunity.

"Yes, another exercise...!" Ranpo breathed out in relief, his mind already racing with potential scenarios. He could feel himself growing even harder against his will. "What would you like me to do?"

"I want you to tell me how smart Dazai is... Without complimenting yourself in the process." You offered, watching how his eye twitched.

He bit his lip, thinking for a moment. There was no way he could take the opportunity to praise someone he knew he was smarter than, but he had to find a way to prove his independence.

"Dazai is... extremely intelligent.”

"Is that it?" You scoffed

"I don't know what the stakes are! I don’t know what I'm getting in return..." He grumbled.

"Good boys don’t ask for something in return. But, if you can compliment Dazai. I'll let you dry hump me and fuck my panties. That's all you get." You offered, but that still seemed enough to satiate his neediness. He seemed to hesitate at first, frustrated at his inability to resist praising Dazai but determined to find a way out.

"He is incredibly intelligent and... cunning." He added, knowing that even with his compliment, it would still be clear who was smarter.

"You can be nicer than that." You told him with another shrivel of your nose.

Feeling the heat between you two intensify, Ranpo let out a small groan of desire. He took a deep breath and tried to ignore the intense throbbing he felt between his own legs. Contrary to popular belief, it probably would kill him to compliment someone else- but the reward was too sweet for him to care.

"Dazai is... Incredibly intelligent- An underrated source of intellect for the team. He may not show it often, but his strategic thinking is one that has saved our asses on numerous occasions.” He said it all with a grumble, not even looking you in the eye- But you were satisfied, nevertheless.

"Well said." You smirked. "Okay. Now you can take off everything you need, except for my panties."

With a mix of excitement and nervousness, Ranpo began to undress you, pulling your skirt off. He crawled further towards you, his eyes fixated on your panties as he reached out to touch them, his tongue wetting his lips as he realised his great achievement..

He steadily pressed his tip against your panties, the precum already leaving a wet patch on the cloth. He couldn't stand that the fact that he couldn't feel your pussy instead, but the panties would have to do. So, with a soft moan, Ranpo began to grind against your underwear, his cock begging for more as he felt your wetness against him, all while his other hand slid up your leg to trace soft circles around your inner thigh. He let out a low moan of pleasure as his hips moved back and forth against your panties with more force, feeling the head of his cock rub against your fabric, on the edge of what he desperately craved.

"F-Fuck..!" He almost instinctively whimpered out. Even you couldn't help but let out soft whines as Ranpo's tip just about bumped your clit through your panties- An action which only caused Ranpo more motivation. Feeling the warmth emanating from your body, Ranpo's determination only intensified. His hand gripped your thigh tighter, digging into your soft skin as he continued his relentless assault on your pant-clad sex.

"Does that feel good, huh?" You asked, panting heavily.

Heaving as he continued to pleasure himself through your panties, Ranpo nodded whilst gnawing on his bottom lip, his eyes narrowed down at the space below between you in concentration.

"I... I can't take it anymore... let me..." He pleaded, pushing against your panties with his cock. "Please-"

"Please what?" You glared at him, narrowing your eyes at his desperately blushing face, which had beads of sweat dripping down his cheeks.

He groaned in frustration, his cock poking at your panties as he panted heavily.

"Please let me have you... I need... I need... Ngh~!" Ranpo stammered swiftly. "Oh, god- Please! I'll do anything—"'

You seemed amused by his begging, all while he was still thrusting his cock against your panties.

"You ‘need me'? What do you mean by that?"

"I... I need you, okay? —Fuck! I want you!" He confessed- backtracking when he heard his own mistake, hips moving faster and harder as he pleaded for release. "I just... can't handle this anymore..."

"You want to cum, is that it?" She chuckled, brushing her finger against his chin.

"Yes, yes, please... I can't hold it much longer..." He whimpered as he continued to grind against your panties, his hips pistoning up and down in desperate need.

“God, please, let me cum… I don’t even care what I have to do this time…”

"My, my, aren't you desperate." You cackled at him, teeth sinking into your lip as you attempted to suppress your own moans at the tension. He hadn’t been bumping at your clit so much anymore, rather sloppily thrusted against your clothed hole instead, but the warmth in the action was enough to cause you to sweat.

"You cum when I say it's okay for you to cum."

Ranpo cried out, his eyes closed as he moved faster, tears threatening to fall from his lids as his hips slammed against your panties, need coiling inside him.

"Fuck, it's too much... I can't—"

"If I let you cum, will you be a good boy tomorrow at the agency?" You asked him simply, seeing how messed up and blushy his face became. "You're gonna be nice to your coworkers and you're not going to be lazy?"

Ranpo panted heavily, his eyes glossed over in lust as he nodded hurriedly.

“Yes, yes of course... just... just let me cum... please..." He pleaded.

"What did I say about speaking more clearly?" You demanded. He inhaled sharply with another thick swallow, gyrating his hips as he pleaded for you.

“I'll be a good boy tomorrow! No more laziness, I'll be so good! Please— I’ll be on my best behaviour, just for you— Fuck!”

You smirked.

"…Okay, you can cum then." You hummed, seeing how his tired eyes lit up with the permission.

With a loud, shuddering whine, Ranpo finally reaches his peak, his fingers digging into your thighs as he found release. With a shaky arch of his own back, his seed spurted between your legs, painting your panties with his essence.

"God, you're so messy." You sighed.

"I'm sorry... I can't help it... you're just too..." He gulped, his eyes roll back, revealing his submission even in his post-orgasmic state.

"Well, since I was so nice and let you cum." You grabbed a fistful of his hair and forced his head down a little so he was forced to look up into your eyes. "It's your turn to make me cum."

Ranpo couldn’t help but blush at your touch when your hand grabbed a bunch of is hairs, his body still trembling from the aftershocks of his orgasm- but finding a new source of pleasure all the same. He whimpered softly, unable to meet your gaze as he was so fixated on your panties and how his own seed coated the fabric.

"C-Can I..?"

"I expect you to." You said darkly. "Eat up. And get a taste of your own mess before you do.”

He was reluctant, but did as you commander him to, tentatively reaching out to lick at your panties, his face flushed with embarrassment and submission. As he tastes his own seed, his face contorted a little at the taste, but his body tingled with pleasure, an unavoidable moan escaping him.

As his tongue dragged across the cloth of your underwear, he latched his teeth onto the edge of your panties, pulling them down slowly. When he had torn them down completely, it revealed your swollen, wet folds to his greedy gaze. The man looked up at you guiltily, his face burning red as his cock twitches in anticipation, leaking more pre-cum as he sees your panties still clinging to your thighs.

"Don't be shy now." You said, assisting him to fully remove your panties as you kicked them off to the side to reveal your glistening cunt. "I thought you wanted to taste me."

He nodded silently, leaning forward to taste you properly. He took a large strip between your legs using his tongue, tasting your sweet nectar as he starts to lap at your folds, his mouth exploring every inch of your wetness.

"That's it..." You shuddered as you felt his tongue inside you, finally feeling your own sense of pleasure. Ranpo’s heart raced with excitement when he sensed your enjoyment and he continued his assault on your sensitive flesh, pushing his face deeper into your folds, seeking to please you even more.

"F-Fuck... God, you use your tongue so well." You chuckle softly through your gentle moans. "See what happens when you use that mouth for better things rather than pissing people off?"

He hummed in agreement, his tongue continuing to wedge itself between your folds. With a groan, he licked harder, drawing your walls upwards, seeking to reach your throbbing center.

"You're gonna eat me out until I cum, aren't you sweetheart?" You grin, hands finding his way to his hair to run your fingers through the strands before stopping to grab a handful of it again.

"Mhm..." He moaned, his fingers twitching with desire. His tongue darted out, swirling around your clit, making you shudder as he brought you closer and closer to the edge. You had treated him so well that night, and he fully intended to return the favour.

—

The next day at the agency, Ranpo kept his side of the promise. For the first time— Possibly ever, Ranpo wasn't glued to his office desk anymore shoving treats down his mouth, instead, he was walking around and offering his assistance to anybody who looked like they needed it. It amused you to see him frantically searching for work to do while you were working on your own thing at your desk, pretending not to see his efforts, but you were glad that your intimate act with him didn’t go to waste.

"Would you look at that! I've never seen Ranpo so diligent!" Dazai commented to Kunikida, who was as equally surprised by the sight of the rare happening.

During the mesmerising scene, Kenji had happened to pass by Ranpo, which made him feel like he had been granted a glorious opportunity by the gods above. His eyes lighting up, the taller, brunette stopped Kenji in his tracks- Whom of which had been two boxes of files, tapping him on his shoulder with an awkward smile.

"Hey, Kenji, do you need help carrying that?" Ranpo queried with a hopeful gaze, to which Kenji stared blankly, blinking a few times.

"...It's a little heavy." He said softly with gentle beamed smile, trying not to offend him.

"Don't worry about it!" Ranpo reassured him, holding out his arms. "Where do you need me to take it?"

Upon seeing his eagerness, Kenji's eyes sparkled exponentially and he went to drop the boxes in his grasp.

"To the boss's office!"

Ranpo immediately felt like the weight was going to crush his arms when the heavy boxes had been dropped onto them. He struggled for a moment to hold them up, but eventually found his method to keep himself standing without feeling like his arms were going to break. After the wave of accomplishment had washed over him, he frantically looked over to you to see if you had been watching him with a hopeful smile— Which you had, of course, but your head was tilted down as to not let him know that you had.

"Maybe he's finally learnt that he has responsibilities at this agency." Kunikida suggested, staring as Ranpo uncomfortably waddled out of the office, the boxes threatening to break his fingers.

"I wonder what could've made him suddenly realise that though, considering he had never lifted a finger to help before." Dazai's eyes narrowed.

#bungo stray dogs x you #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs ranpo #bungou stray dogs dazai #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs smut #ranpo edogawa smut #ranpo edogawa x reader #ranpo edogawa #ranpo edogawa x reader smut #ranpo x reader smut #ranpo x reader #bsd ranpo

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luvsturniolo · 1 year ago

Text

ー ★ !! STRANGER

pairing : matt sturniolo x fem!reader

synopsis : having been dared to kiss a random stranger, you're the first person matt choses to approach

a/n : guys ive been needing to write another fic so badly that i got this prompt off of pinterest and i'm completely winging it (this is a cry for help. pls send reqs bc i'm running low atm.)

i hate how this is written & this is prob the worst thing i've done on this app but i need to post something so ur gonna read it anyway !

wc : 2.5k

nick, matt, chris, nate, and madi are currently on an expidition to the mall. they hardly ever hang out as a complete group, so everyones moods are sky rocketed from the simple fact of them all being together. it honestly doesn't matter what they're buying or where they are. they'll all have smiles on their faces regardless.

"i'm surprised nick isn't trying to record a video right now." chris says as the group enters a random clothing store. "it's one of the very few times we're all together and everyone is in good moods. nick would normally take advantage of that."

"just say you want to record and move on." matt grumbles, walking over to one of the racks to flip through the t-shirts on display.

"i don't want to record! i was saying nick probably would!" chris tries to defend himself, earning weird looks from everyone due to this very clearly being a lie. chris lets out a sigh when he realizes that nobody is believing him. "whatever. i'm just saying that i don't think we should waste the opportunity to make good content. the fans love nate and madi."

"woww," madi says sarcastically, feigning offence, "you're just using us for content?"

"oh, shut up." chris replies, dramatically rolling his eyes at her teasing. madi giggles and takes a sip from the cup of lemonade she got from lunch earlier today at the food court. everyone else already finished their drinks, she's the only one with anything leftover from the meal.

"i didn't bring the camera anyway." nick says with a careless shrug, causing chris's jaw to drop with shock. "i wanted this hangout to be authentic. just everyone laughing and smiling together as a group. no cameras. no new friends. just us."

"since when did you ever leave the house without your camera?" chris asks him with his jaw still hung loose on its hinges. "it's practically glued to your bag at all times."

matt finds himself zoning out of the conversation as he looks around at the clothes. their argument about recording is only relevant to him if they decide that they are going to record. otherwise, it's unimportant and frankly quite boring. and now that nick admitted that he didn't even bring the camera, the conversation is no longer of interest to him.

they continue to stay near the front of the store, nick and chris arguing about the camera predicament while nate and madi laugh at them from the sidelines. but matt strays away from the group. he has about eighty bucks he brought with the intent on spending it all today. well, at least half of it or more. so he begins to get distracted with the task of finding new clothes to add to his wardrobe.

he made a mental note before leaving the house that he wants more hoodies since the weather is started to get colder. knowing this, he wanders over to the back of the store. he's been here enough to know that there's a rack of jackets and long-sleeved shirts in the right corner beside the employee exit door.

matt flips through the clothing. he wants more bright colors in his closet. most of his hoodies are black or dark grey. nick said that his wardrobe looks like a funeral home and he needs something more lively. but nothing here seems to catch his eye.

"need help finding anything?" a random female voice asks him. he turns to face the sound and sees a worker standing to his left. you. and lets just say you definitely catch his eye — unlike any of the clothes you're selling. he likes the style of your hair, the color of your eyes, the shape of your face, the bridge of your nose, all of it.

damn! matt's never been this whipped for a random stranger. it's normal for him to find random girls attractive in public, but something about you is making him unable to take his eyes away yours.

"okay? i'll take that as a no." you say before turning on your heel and leaving. as soon as you walk away, matt feels the urge to call out and stop you, but he doesn't know your name. he was too busy admiring you to read the tag on your uniform.

he lets out a sigh before walking back across the store and rejoining the group, his mood now soured completely. when he walks up to his brothers, nick turns around with a camera in his hand, recording.

"what the hell?" matt says. "i thought you didn't bring it."

"he lied so he didn't have to film." chris says with an eye roll. "but i didn't believe him. so i dug through his backpack and guess what! i found it sitting on the very top, fully charged."

matt just nods, not having anything to say to that. plus, now that he's in a bad mood it's be best to stay away from the camera so his bitchiness doesn't ruin the video. he feels guilty for being like this while everyone else has such high spirits, but he can't help it. he embarassed himself in front of the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. there's no coming back from that.

the group exits the store and they begin to wander around. they're looking for a sunglasses store for nate so he can buy a new pair seeing as he broke his last ones while leaning out of the window of the van. the slipped off of his face — never to be seen again. but nate claims he needed new glasses anyway due to how old and scathed those ones were.

"you okay?" nate asks. the fact that he noticed matt's fatigue takes him by surprise. matt wants to continue sulking in his soured mood, but when he looks at nate's genuine worried expression, he can't help but confide in his friend about the events from earlier.

matt tells him about how he was looking for a jacket when you approached him. you came up so casually as though it meant nothing to you, when it meant everything to him. matt describes you, accentuating your beauty to paint the picture as well as possible. he tells nate that he feels like he's being dramatic, but he can't help it. i mean, you're a complete stranger whose name he doesn't even know. and yet he can't take his mind off of your guys's short interaction.

"i wish i had some wise words of advice for you, but i don't." nate says. "but judging just by the way you talk about her, you need to get her number or something. i've literally never heard you talk about a girl like that. you're fuckin' whipped, man."

"i agree." matt says. "but how the hell am i supposed to get her number when she's a literal stranger? i don't know anything about her."

"you know where she works." nate points out.

matt thinks about this for a moment before deciding that nate's right. he knows where you work and that's more than knowing nothing. someones job says a lot about them — how much money they make, what means a lot to them, etc. i mean, he's not the type of guy who gives a shit about your income, but if he wanted to know something about you, he could easily find out a lot.

"lets buy your sunglasses." matt says, confidence slowly overtaking him now that he doesn't feel like this whole thing is hopeless. "then, we can all go get a snack at the food court so i have some motivation to go talk to her."

nate agrees and hurries to catch up with the rest of the group. matt does the same, rejoining everyone now that his mood is boosted once again. they go to the glasses store and nate picks out a pair that he likes. the whole time, matt is back to normal. everyone notices the shift in his demeanor, but they decide not to point it out.

after nate purchases the glasses he chose, matt tells nick that he's hungry. madi agrees with matt, saying she could eat something seeing as it's been a few hours since they had lunch. not thinking much of it, nick agrees to go to the food court.

"fuck." chris says, sitting in the plastic chair beside matt. "i didn't know they had mozzarella sticks! if i'd known that, i would've gotten them too!"

matt just shrugs, eating another bite with a smug look on his face. chris shoots him a glare and scoffs, turning back to his cheesy fries with a frown. just as chris is about to insult matt, nick and madi come over to the table with their food. nick is still carrying the camera around, filming everything for their next blog. most of what he's filming will be edited out, but he's still taking the footage just in case.

as they all begin eating their food, nate — who had been using the bathroom for the past few minutes — comes back with a slushy and a small grin. he sits on the other side of matt with a weird look on his face. matt gives him a strange look and nate just giggles and looks away.

"i'm bored guys." nate says. "we should play truth or dare."

"okay." chris agrees easily. but nick shakes his head, not thinking this is a good idea. but chris insists. "c'mon, it'll be good content. plus we're not gonna do any stupid dares that will get us in trouble or anything."

when matt and madi take chris's side, nick has no choice but to give in play the game. his only condition is that he gets to ask chris first, and he has to pick dare. chris agrees to his terms.

"i dare you to say yes to everything i ask for the rest of the day." nick tells him with a sarcastic smile. chris rolls his eyes, but has no choice but to do as he says.

"can i go next?" nate asks excitedly. it's supposed to be chris's turn next since he was the one who did the dare, but nick answers dow him. he nods, letting nate go ahead. and chris can't argue since he has to say yes to whatever nick wants. nate grins widely and continues. "matt, truth or dare."

"dare." matt says without hesitation.

"i dare you to kiss a random stranger." nate tells him with a grin. "they have to be in the food court, though."

"what the fuck type of dare is that?" nick shouts. "we're not bringing random stranger into this! plus, isn't that against some kind of law? kissing random people can't be fucking legal."

matt is about to agree with nick, saying it's a horrible idea. but he notices nate flicking his eyes back and forth between matt and someone over his shoulder, gesturing for him to look at them. matt turns around and follows nate's gaze to find you sitting alone at a table. you're wearing your work clothes, sipping on a smoothie while scrolling through your phone.

matt changes his mind in an instant. "it's my dare, nick, not yours. so fuck off and play the game like everyone else."

with that, matt stands up from his seat, causing the legs to scrape against the tiled floor beneath it. he awkwardly approaches you with a giddy smile. god, he feels like an idiot. he feels like he went back in time to when he was a child, getting nervous to talk to literally any girl on the playground.

he stands in front of your table and clears his throat to get your attention. you look up at him and raise a brow in confusion. "mind if i sit down?" he asks, pointing to the chair beside you.

"go ahead." you tell him. you're still confused about who this guy is as he sits down at your table. he's attractive and seems sweet, but who is- oh. as he runs a can through his hair, you remember who he is. "you're the guy from the store. you were the one who stared at me instead of answering."

matt feels his cheeks heat with embarrassment. that's not the first impression he wanted to make. but at least you remember him! it's better than you not knowing who he was at all.

plus, you're not talking to him in a weird way. you're smiling as though you find his awkwardness amusing rather than strange — which it is.

"that's me." he says. matt glances over his shoulder at his friends only to see that they're all staring at you guys intently. chris waves him on, urging him to hurry the hell up.

"they're nosy." you say with a laugh. "i'm assuming they're your friends. otherwise, i'd be extremely creeped out."

"uh, yeah." matt says, looking away from chris to refocus on you. fuck. every time he looks at you, he's taken aback by your beauty. like time seems to slow when you guys make eye contact. "listen, they sent me over here as a dare. i'm supposed to kiss you."

you laugh at him for a second. but then you realize he's not kidding. he's being serious. "god, take me on a date first." you tell him sarcastically. matt laughs, but is still pretty serious about the dare. you feel weird agreeing to kiss a stranger, but it'd be even weirder if you were to say no.

not to mention, the boy beside of you is insanely attractive. it wouldn't be such a bad thing to kiss something this hot. "i'll let you kiss me if you agree to give me your number afterward." you tell him.

"i would have asked for it anyway." matt says with a teasing smile. knowing you have an interest in him as well gave matt a boost in confidence. and you honestly think that his confidence makes him even more attractive.

he leans forward and you do the same. you were expecting a small smooch the way little kids kiss at recess, but this guy went all in. he places one hand on the back of your head to tangle through your hair while the other hand cupped your cheek. the kiss was passionate and needy. and you fucking loved it.

when he broke it to catch his breath, you felt deprived of something more. you were practically craving this guy you met only a few minutes ago.

matt smirked at you before you guys exchanged numbers. you were still distracted by the fact that you guys nearly made out in the middle of the food court to process what was going on. as your confidence left, his was refilled.

"i'll come back to your shop before i leave the mall." matt says. "maybe next time i'll actually catch your name before we make out in the storage room."

@kasqnxx @lvrsparadise @prettysturniolo @strniolo @urmyslxt @cupidsturniolo @opheliaofficial07 @thetriplets3 @sturn1olo-ffics @uhnanix @deadxrx @kitaysworld @lovelysturniolo @wilmalovegood @ladylokilaufeyson5 @sturniolopepsi @strnilolo @knowingnothingnoel @its-jennarose @lea0518 @slaysturniolo @sturnlover @tcvazq @ifilwtmfc @poopydroopt @cl0esblogg @ellaynaa @itzdarling

#luvsturniolo!!#sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x reader

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slaaverin · 6 days ago

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No you and other anon are not the only ones. Call me delulu but I got vibes too. Mainly because nobody actually knows the future, you can have hopes and dreams of course, and the willpower or wherewithal to reach those (Jikook already have I guess), but not one of us knows what will happen, good or bad in the future. The only thing we can do is know with some certainty is perhaps who we want that future to be with, or alongside, and I think that’s what Jimin was saying under a veil of their careers as well. Again call me delulu but you could read it as in, how they will be living their lives together, given the actually gravity of what they have done.

If we truly think about what they have done, the enlistment and now the show, and the fact they technically have made themselves a duo to be reckoned with on the charts too, they have made sure their names are thought about in tandem (solos perish), they stick out so to speak more than ever before. They must be thinking about how to navigate that upon their return? What the comeback will be like and their place and part in it? Will they travel again? Will they do a subunit? Will they revert back to laying low? Or will they be more open, given the show, the enlistment? It’s interesting for sure, it was always going to be interesting to see how they navigate this new chapter given the gravity of what they have done. However, jimins letter makes that feel more real? More tangible, and it’s right around the corner.

So let’s say they have been writing songs, together hopefully or helping each other, will they present that together? Like they asked for the show together, they must have pitched that.

He said he’s scared too, why? I read that not only about being onstage.

At Festa dinner they said there are things they can’t tell us yet. In his last live Jimin also indicated that he will do what he wants upon his return with nothing holding him back..

If we’re going even more delulu, what about the Who mv? The keep going? The link there? What about the loudness of themselves in the show and the fact we actually haven’t heard them speak on it yet. How are they going to pretend they never saw each other like in 2023? They’ve kinda laid themselves bare, despite the protests from certain fractions, the truth is they chose to be together, to be associated so deeply together for a large part of chapter 2, what was their intention with that? Or was it a by product of a simple need to be together, and that’s the crux. How will they present themselves going forward? I’m not talking about anything drastic, but kind of?

I’ll take my tin foil hat off now.

I completely agree with you on this 👏👏👏

So many questions that need answering.

There was an intent about Who and keep going, does Jimin still want to do something with this, or has it changed since then?

I think they cannot ignore how iconic they got, within the charts or with AYS, or enlistment. Despite online haters we all know that they are very much loved and they probably know it too. So what are they going to do with it?

That's a lot of things to think about for anyone, so many things weight in the balance, so I understand that Jimin might be scared.

I think if my relationship had so many eyes on it I would be scared shit too. Especially in their circumstances.

But who knows, Jimin talking about being more free after MS, them thinking about the life they want to live, could that indeed lead to something drastic as you say? How far are they willing to push it?

I know they are rock solid. I know they will come out of this closer than ever, having shared an intense experience together.

But just how much do they want to be intertwined together publicly?

If they move in together, we will surely know about it with time. Will they be ok with this? With us knowing?

Do they plan to hide as much as they can, keep it on the low, as they *somewhat* did in the past? Or now that the cat his pretty much out of the bag, they'll have a big "fuck it" moment and go with it, even play on it?

I'm answering your message with more question lmao sorry

I'm really wondering how these conversations go, and what are their respective point of views. I think Jungkook wouldn't care to be more forward, but Jimin will try to keep them level-headed.

He's scared. So my hope is that they find a compromise that will keep them both comfortable in the situation. This is already so complicated omg.

If it came to something drastic Jimin will have to go beyond his fears. But I think his fears are valid because they ARE in a conservative country and haters ARE everywhere and it depends on how they do this but they COULD get hurt. For real. I don't want that.

But at the same time they also have the right to be free to live their life however they please, to love whom they love, to be authentic and real and do the things that bring them joy without constantly being anxious about the what ifs.

Being kept in a cage even if made of glass, in an industry where you are supposed to express who you are, your gifts & talent and shine, it must be quite frustrating. Because there will always be this thing, like a thorn in your foot that doesn't quite fit with the will to be free and to express yourself as you are. It's something they both love but they will never feel it's completely right and perfect, because of all these constraints they must think about all the time.

Once again, if we go back to the bluemoonpunch's reading with Jimin and his Devil perspective on the relationship, it totally makes sense. It would be rational to think this way.

I am so very curious to know what kind of decision, compromise they will make about all of this.

But I think the circumstances will kind push them in the direction of even more openness. I don't see another outcome. Because not doing something when they are the two most successful members would be simply dumb. Because AYS had so much success too, and put everything in the open. Because since they enlisted together WE KNOW how important they are to each other.

Trying to hide something that's already out there wouldn't make any sense, and would be out of fear only. No. Now they will be even *more free*. So the pragmatic approach would be to embrace all of it.

We know about them. We know they are together and they know that a lot of us know. Nothing is hidden, even if they tried.

I don't know what they are going to do, but there is no going back now. The next natural step would be them being even more open. And kinda pray on the denial of many that this will have no negative impact. (it wont - people unwillingness to see the truth runs so deep that they could make out on stage and people would still say they are brothers. The homophobia is real.)

I think it's best to remain an open secret. Be who they are, exactly how they want it, and deny it if any questions comes up. Because as long as they don't *kiss* on camera, they will be fine. Everything else could be denied easily. It stays in the limbo, in the fine line between friends and lovers. (I mean for me that line was crossed a long time ago but for other people that can't put 2+2 together..)

I think they should make the subunit. They should make the akward flirty lives, they should move in together and not care about what people will say, they should make that next season of AYS and be absolutely wild in it, they should not hold back on camera because there is no point, and just say fuck it all. Because none of it will actually matter, people will still be there to support them.

They might fear they might lose it all, but they won't. I don't believe it.

But of course that's only my outsider point of view, and I am not in their heads, and we don't know their situation, but what exactly is the alternative? I don't see any. Not if they want to live according to their true selves and be free.

Of course the most drastic thing would be to announce they are a couple. But they are never going to do that and it would be stupid to do so. There is much more freedom in the limbo.

Coming out would be a tsunami of endless hate and they would lose absolutely everything (look at what happened to Yoongi, for such a minor thing). So no, I don't expect something as big as this. I actually wish they don't do that ever, because the price is way too high and they're gonna get hurt :(

They don't have to.

But they should be free to express themselves as much as they want and to feel comfortable and happy to do so. So I will respect whatever decision they take for their future. I am full of hope for them. Whatever they choose will be the best path. And it's up to us to respect it.

Their happiness comes first, and I wish they will be able to be everything they want to be.

This is going to be SUCH an interesting time guys and so exciting, thrilling, jaw-dropping...let's prepare our emotions because I'm not ready yet. Let's do our best to support them in every way.

I can't fucking wait, but at the same time I feel I still need a bit of time to be ready mentally and for things to settle. So when the times comes, I am fully ready to express my support and happiness, and share what's happening through blog posts or edits or tweets or whatever.

Don't you feel grateful we're gonna be IN the thing? We're gonna collectively witness this time for all the members, as well as jikook? And see them grow into the persons they want to be? How amazing and beautiful is this. It makes you glad to be on this earth at this specific time (We picked our moment well).

So exciting, so fun. I'm truly ecstatic for everything that will come.

Cheers to you jikookers to be with me on this ride 💜

Are you guys ready? 😂

#jikook #kookmin #jimin #jungkook #ask

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starstruckmiraclekitty · 2 years ago

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1-4-1 + Horangi and Konig, helping their crush out when she approaches them in a bar asking them to pretend to be her boyfriend because a strange guy had been following her around all night. Please? I like your writing.

Oooh, yes, I can do this! I've never written for Horangi before, so bear with me!!🩵

141 + König & Horangi Pretending To Be Readers Boyfriend To Help Her

Warnings: reader being uncomfortable, unwanted advances, physical violence, swearing

Simon Ghost Riley-

The guy had been staring at you all night. No matter where you went, his eyes followed you everywhere.

You walked up to the bar to get another drink for yourself when you saw him get up from the corner of your eye and started to make his way toward you.

There was a fairly attractive gentleman to your right, and you acted quickly. You tapped him on the shoulder softly. "I'm so sorry to bother, that gentleman back there has been staring at me all night making me really uncomfortable, and now he's coming over here, could you possibly just act like you're my boyfriend?"

The man turned to you before catching sight of the greasy man coming toward you and gave you a firm nod. He stood to his full height, towering over you as the other man approached.

"Hey baby, I've been watching you all night. Can I buy you a drink and maybe take you out?" The greasy man gave a sickening smile, making your insides churn. You instinctively gripped onto the handsome man's arm tightly.

"She's with me. So I suggest you back off." The man's voice was incredibly deep, with a thick Manchester accent.

The greasy man gave a sneer before looking back to you. "Haven't seen you with this fella at all tonight. Are you sure he's yours?"

"I said, I suggest you back off. She's not interested. Now scram." The Manchester man's voice could cut knives, but the man wasn't backing down.

"I'm just saying your little pet here has quite the body. It's not such a bad thing to share, is it?" He walked closer, clearly under the influence as any sane man would've ran from the way the tall man was looking at him.

"Look, mate. You've got about 5 seconds before I smash this glass across your face, and I'll make sure it leaves scars." The Manchester man's voice was eerily calm, and it clearly worked on the other man, as he audibly gulped and ran for the door.

You let out a shaky sigh of relief and loosened your hold on the man's arm, turning to him.

"Oh, thank you so much. He was making me really uncomfortable, and I'm not super great at standing my ground." Your cheeks flushed under the man's intense gaze. "I'm so sorry to bother."

"It's no issue at all. I'm happy to have helped." He gave you a ghost of a smile before finishing off the last of his bourbon.

"Can I buy you a round, as a thank you?" You asked, your tone hopeful.

"Nah." He started, and your shoulders slumped slightly in defeat. "Wouldn't be much of a gentleman if I had you pay. What're you having?" He gestured to the unoccupied seat beside him, the same ghost of a smile on his face. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't caught sight of you earlier. You were a sight to behold, and the fact that you were now sitting beside him had his insides warming.

"Whatever you are." You smiled, sitting in the unoccupied seat next to him. "I'm Y/N, by the way."

"Simon. You drink bourbon?"

"Prefer Kentucky if I'm honest." You said shyly.

Simon's eyes lit up at your admission. Nobody in his life ever liked Kentucky. "Good taste."

The two of you remained there for what felt like hours, conversation flowing naturally between you. He'd told you very little about himself, but just enough to keep you intrigued. You were quick to develop a little crush on him, and unbeknownst to you, he was planning on asking for your number before you both parted ways.

König-

You were a close friend of Roze's and had met Konig a few times in passing. There was something about you, that had his cheeks heating from under his hood, and his word's always coming out as a jumbled mess whenever he tried to talk to you.

It was Roze's birthday, and you and a few members of Kortac had gone to her favorite bar to celebrate.

There was a guy who'd followed you from the last bar you were at earlier, and he was now sitting across from you, making you quite uncomfortable. You knew it was only a matter of time before he tried to approach you.

You turned to your right and saw one of Rozes teammates König (who you may have harbored a small crush on) sitting to your right, and you touched his shoulder gently.

"Konig, could I ask a huge favor? Could you possibly pretend to be my boyfriend? That guy over there has been following me all night, and it's starting to scare me." You rubbed at your arms nervously, as you watched the man from the corner of your eyes.

Konig's heart dropped at the tone of your voice and followed your gaze to a sneering man in the corner, who's eyes were fixated on you. The man's eyes shifted to Konig and gave a taunting smile before returning his gaze back to you.

König squeezed your hand gently, signaling it was okay. You stayed by König's side for a few minutes before the man decided to make his move. He walked over toward you, a wicked grin forming on his lips as he approached. "Evening, hot stuff."

You swallowed thickly and steadied yourself on König, who was now standing to his full height. "I'd recommend backing off, sir."

"I'm just coming to say hello. This fine young thing looked rather lonely. Thought I'd offer my...company." The man had said with a wink.

"She's not lonely. She's with me. Now, again, back off." Königs voice was laced with vitriol, but the man didn't seem phased.

"Why don't you join me, sweetheart. I can probably show you a better time than this guy. I could do quite a few memorable things to you." He gave a sadistic smirk to you.

König pushed you behind him gently, his hand hovering over your hip as reassurance. "I. Said. Back. Off. I can snap your bones in half more easily than you think. Don't tempt me, because I'd quite enjoy it."

The man held his hands up in mock innocence as he walked away. "Fine. Whatever. It's not worth my time anyway."

You took a deep breath as you tried to control your shaking hands. "T-thanks König. I really appriciate it. I don't think I could've handled that alone."

König turned to you with a soft smile. "You don't need to thank me, Maus."

"Maus?" You asked. Your German was limited to what you'd learned in primary school, so you were confused on what he'd called you.

The tips of König's ears turned pink as he mumbled slightly. "O-oh, it's mouse."

You gave a small giggle. "I quite like that. May.. may I offer you a coffee? There's a little shop right next door that has good sweets. They're open late."

König felt his heart skip a beat at the hopeful look in your eyes. You wanted to spend time with him? "I'd love that."

Your face lit up at his words, and you were quick to wrap your hand around his bicep. "Great! My treat."

You led the way to the coffee shop, and you and König had spent hours there until they closed. He'd insisted on walking you to your apartment, and you refused to let him leave until you made plans for your next "date." To say König had a smile that could light up all of Austria as he left your flat that night, would be an understatement.

Horangi-

Horangi had been subtly watching you all night. You were rather cute to him, but what caught his attention was the fact that you looked very uncomfortable. There was a gentleman who'd been continuously making passes at you and your group of friends, and it was clear it was unwanted.

The man had whistled to get your attention, and you looked over to him. You gave an awkward half smile and returned to the conversation your friends were having. You turned your attention discreetly back to the gentleman when you'd heard some fairly sexual remarks being said about you. Your cheeks reddened from embarrassment at what was being said. You finished off your drink and made your way to get a drink from the bar, and your stomach dropped when you saw the guy approaching.

You quickly turned to Horangi, your hands shaking slightly as you tapped on his shoulder gently. "Hi there, could I bother you a moment?"

Horangi turned to you, his smile dropping when he saw the panicked look on your face. "Yes of course, are you alright miss?"

"I'm... yes. Sorry that guy is bothering me, and I'm just trying to get a drink. Actually... could I ask you to pretend to be my boyfriend for just a few minutes until he leaves?" You asked, speaking at a brisk pace.

"Absolutely, yes." He nodded, as watched as the man approached you.

"Hey, sweetheart. Haven't seen you around here often. Wanted to invite you over to drink with my buddies and I. Could use a nice little piece of ass at our table." He gave a satisfied smile as he watched your expressions.

"S-sorry, I have a boyfriend, actually." You muttered meekly. Horangi watched as the drunk man walked closer to you, a sickening smirk on his lips.

"Haven't seen him around here. Not wise for your boyfriend to leave you unattended." He stopped just close enough for you to smell the strong alcohol on his breath.

"I'm her boyfriend, and I suggest you back the hell off her." Horangi stood, and the drunk man backed up with his hands up in a defensive gesture.

"Whatever. Don't want a slag like you anyway." The drunk man huffed before walking away.

You breathed a sigh of relief and turned to the tall man, placing a gentle hand on his arm. "Thank you so so much."

Horangi blushed at the contact, his eyes trailing to where your hand was resting. "It's not a problem. Are you okay, now?"

You gave a nod, running your hand along the backside of your neck. "Oh yeah, I'm good." You felt a sudden burst of confidence coursing through you with the way he was looking at you. "Could I maybe make it up to you by taking you out for dinner? If you're not seeing anyone, that is. I'm Y/N, by the way."

Horangi's heart was beating rapidly as he processed your words. You were interested in him? "I'm Horangi I'd love that."

The two of you spoke for a while longer before exchanging numbers. You were quite giddy, as you made plans to hang out the next day.

Johnny Soap MacTavish-

Johnny was infatuated with you. You'd recently joined the team as a medic, and he hadn't had much of a chance to talk to you lately. You had such a carefree attitude and he couldn't help but be drawn to you.

He was sitting with Simon and Gaz at a local pub on a Friday night, drinking away a long day when his eyes fell on you. You were with a group of friends laughing away, and he felt his insides grow warm at the sound.

He'd watched as you stood and made your way to the bar, his stomach dropping as he saw a sniveling drunk man follow you, his eyes latched onto your ass.

It was almost instinct, as Johnny stood up telling the boys he was "going to get another round". He stalked over to you and the man, and his blood began to boil as he saw the look of clear discomfort on your face.

"Sir. I have a boyfriend I'm sorry." You said, your voice shaking slightly.

"I dont see one. Just you and your pretty little friends." The man weaseled his way closer to you, and you nearly gagged at the smell of his rancid breath. You turned your head and spotted a familiar mohawked scot next to you, your eyes meeting his.

"This is my boyfriend, actually." You stated matter of factly, and Johnny's cheeks turned slightly pink at the thought.

Shaking his head of those thoughts, he stood closer to you, placing a comforting hand on your hip. "Just getting a drink, babe? This guy bothering you?"

You turned to Johnny with a nod, your eyes screaming a thousand thank you's to him. Johnny got the hint and walked over to the man. "They're taken. Suggest you take a hint and look elsewhere, man."

The man gave a sinister smile before muttering "slag" under his breath and walking away from the two of you. It took everything in Johnny not to go shove his fist in his face.

You took a deep breath, relief flooding your system before giving Johnny a grateful smile. "Thank you so much, Soap. I'm sorry about that, the men here can be...persistent, and not in a good way."

Johnny gave a chuckle. "Persistence isn't always a bad thing. I'm happy I could assist, though. The guy was a creep."

You bit your lip softly, the alcohol making your brain just a bit fuzzy as you slipped out words that had Johnny's eyes widening.

"You're right. It's not always a bad thing. It just depends on the guy. Some guys here, though, I wouldn't mind trying to pick me up." You let your eyes rake along his body before giving him a sly wink. "Specially Scots with Mohawks."

Johnny was at a loss for words, his usual flirty banter being lost on him in that moment. He let out a weak "yes" as his tongue subconsciously wet his lips.

You gave a small giggle and turned to the bar tender. "Two drinks, please. I'll have a gin and tonic, and whatever he's having."

Johnny began to protest, but you'd silenced him. "Let me buy you a drink, Sargent. It's the least I can do to repay you."

And who was Johnny to say no? He was your "boyfriend" afterall.

John Price-

You were Laswells assistant. You'd been introduced to the boys only a few weeks prior, and that was just long enough for John to develop a small crush on you. You were professional, smart, and had a witty attitude that John couldn't help but fall for.

The 6 of you had found yourselves at a pub for the night, celebrating one of the most recent victories of the team. He couldn't help it, as his eyes continuously followed you, everywhere you went. You held such an aura of confidence, it naturally drew a bunch of unwanted attention at the bar.

One man, in particular, kept his eyes trained on you. He'd tried to talk to you earlier at the bar, and you did your best to brush away his advances before returning to your table. John could clearly see the discomfort in your eyes.

"Are you okay?" He'd asked, eyes searching your face.

"Yeah. Yeah, that guy's just giving me weird vibes." You gave a half smile before returning to your drink.

John made a note to pay close attention to the man the rest of the night.

It wasn't until later on that night that you'd stood and went to the restroom, and John saw red when he saw the man follow you into the restroom.

He stood abruptly, nearly causing the table to fall over before making his way to the bathroom. He pushed the door open with force to find you being shoved against the wall by the man.

"John!" You'd cried out. "Sir, please, this is my boyfriend. Please leave me alone."

The man gave a horrid laugh as he spared a glance in John's direction. "Surely you don't mind if I get a piece of the action."

John seethed, his nostrils flaring slightly as his anger blinded him. He stepped a few inches closer to the man before connecting his fist to the man's face.

The man let out a strangled cry as he dropped to the floor, clutching his cheek. You looked up at John with tears in your eyes and were quick to scurry over to him.

John wrapped his arm around your waist. "I've got you babe."

He led you out of the bathroom, back to your table, before telling the team he was heading out for the night. It didn't take a scientist to figure out what had happened, as they watched the man come out clutching his cheek, and your crying form.

The two of you walked outside, the fresh air providing an immense relief for you as you regained your senses. "Thank you, John. I owe you."

"Don't owe me anything, love. Are you okay?" He turned to you, his previously hardened eyes softening. You blinked up at him with a small smile, before engulfing the man in a hug.

"I am now."

Kyle Gaz Garrick-

You were a newer recruit to the 141. The boys had all fallen in love with you and were glad for you being the new addition, especially Kyle, who'd had a small crush on you.

There were a few of you that had gone to the local bar for the night, and you found yourself in the corner of the bar with one of your friends.

There was a group of gentlemen at the table next to you who were making overly sexual remarks about you. You and your friend got rather uncomfortable and tried to make your way over to the 141 boys.

The group in the corner had followed your every move and began to cat call from their table. You shook slightly as you walked up to Kyle.

"Hey Kyle. Do you mind possibly acting like you're my boyfriend? Those guys have been following me around all night, and my friend just went to the bathroom."

"Sure thing, those guys in the corner?" He asked, eyeing up the group of men.

You gave a nod, not daring to look back at the men.

The boys at the table all eyed up the men who were approaching. The one who'd initiated the comments stood forward, with a smile on his face. "Evening, gents, mind if we borrow this little cutie for a bit?"

"She's taken." Kyle stood, puffing out his chest. "Best, try your luck elsewhere."

The men stood defensively, clearly not backing down. The man who spoke first gave a hearty chuckle. "Taken doesn't mean anything anymore, mate. Let us take her off your hands for awhile."

Kyle walked right up to the man, his face inches from his. "Touch my girlfriend, and my buddies and I will throw all of you out on your ass."

Ghost approached from behind you, casting a menacing glare in their direction. "Try it."

The men clearly knew better than to pick a fight with them and went about their business. Not before, however one of them made a crude remark about you.

Kyle grabbed the man's arm and twisted it. "Say it again, I dare you."

The man ripped his arm from Kyle's grasp and ran back to his buddies in the corner.

"Are you okay?" Kyle asked, moving to sit back next to you.

You nodded, regaining your composure as you gave Kyle a smile. "Thank you, I don't want to know what would've happened if you guys hadn't stepped in."

"Of course, it's what we are here for." He squeezed your shoulder gently.

You sat and thought for a moment before speaking in a hushed tone. "Would you want to get out of here? There's a good burger place down the road. Kind of over the bar scene right now anyway."

Kyle gave you a wide smile before standing, offering his hand to you. "I'd be a fool to say no to that."

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A/N: I hope this was okay! 🙂 still tryna work through my writers block!

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