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briefalpacashark · 9 months ago

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~The drink~

Warning: mention of date rape drugs. Spiking of drinks. Involuntary drug consumption.

Can be triggering for anyone who had experienced anything similar.

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You didn't drink much. You had your own reasons, but every now and then you would let loose. You had headed to the bar you and the 141 usually frequented, only to find that there seemed to be an event on. A bass boosting, strobe and glow lights club event. It was fuller than it usually was and with it being the only bar for miles around; it was packed. Price and Ghost didn't seem pleased with it, but Jonny and Gaz didn't mind. As you filed into the bar, the smell of sweat and drinks filled your nose.

“Y/N!” two girls stumbled out of the crowd, practically crashing you in a hug. Other medics from the base, the ones you would call friends. There was Rosie, a gorgeous blond and Anna, the embodiment of an African Queen.

“SORRY WERE STEALING HER!” Even though the music was loud, their yell seemed louder as they practically dragged you away. You mouthed a quick apology to the guys who waved you off and moved to their regular spot. After a lot of pleading, begging and water works, the girls managed to convince you to have a few drinks.

You were having a good time. Dancing, if you could call it that. You were just practically jumping up and down constantly. You had had three drinks, nothing too strong and nothing that would have you feeling the way you did.

Your sight was fuzzy.

Your limbs felt heavy.

The music sounded dull, and the lights started to move on their own.

You had been drugged. A sensation you were sadly familiar with.

“I need to go!” It was a panic that had the words forced from your throat. Only your friends were basically blind drunk. They barely heard your words.

When did it happen? You had kept an eye on your drink. You never left it unattended. Hell you even held it in a way that you hand covered most of the top at all times. Your breath caught in your throat as someone bumped into you, shoving you away from your friends. You searched for them when you recovered, only having to hold your head as it started to spin.

The boys.

Drink in hand you stumbled through the bodies breathing a sigh of relief as you made it out of the mosh pit. Finally able to get proper air into your lungs, your vision cleared slightly. You spotted the lads all focused on a tv screen that was playing the latest match. You practically fell into the table, the force almost knocking a few of their drinks over. You felt extremely drunk.

“Whoah!” Jonny exclaimed quickly, catching his drink as they all flinched at your sudden appearance.

“Shit sorry,” you mumbled, pushing yourself up into a standing position relying heavily on the table in front of you. You looked absolutely wasted.

“Went a bit hard on the drinks, eh?” Price asked with a bemused smile.

“Though Australians were supposed to be good at holding their liquor,” Gaz said, earning a few laughs. You forced a nervous laugh of your own.

“You alright love?” It was Ghost that asked the question. When the boys gave him confused looks at the level of concern in his voice he simply nodded down to your hands that shook, even while they tightly gripped the table. “My uh, my drinks been spiked,” you whispered. The atmosphere did a one sixty all the boys expression suddenly turning dark. Their bodies tensed, their jaws locked as anger flared inside them.

“The fuck?” Jonny hissed as his eyes instantly searched for the culprit.

“Sure you're not just drunk love?” Price asked. It wasn't like he didn't believe you. It was just his stupide logical captain brain. You raised your head, your fearful expression giving him all the answers he needed.

“No, I've uh, I've been spiked before. This is different, though. It's not something normal, this guy knows what he's doing,” you whispered. Jonny stood, reaching for you to offer support or comfort. He froze as you flinched away. An action all the boys took note off.

“I'm calling the police,” Gaz announced, holding his phone to his ear.

“Come on love, let's get you out of here,” Jonny suggested gently.

“No, if I leave, he'll just do it to the next girl. We, we gotta catch him,” you muttered.

“You're in no state, love,” Jonny tried to reason with you.

“Don't baby me. I know what I can handle. What I'm going to do it I'm gonna go sit at the bar. Whoever drugged me will be looking for the opportunity to get me out of here. When he comes for me, then you guys get him alright. Restrain him till the cops come ok,” even in your state, your firm words had the boys considering them. You were right. Logically, it was the best way to draw the creep out.

“You see, who did it, love?” Price asked. You shock your head.

“Are you sure you're ready to do this?” Ghost asked. His steady concerned gaze that locked with yours's had your breathing returning to normal. His big brown eyes anchoring you.

“I trust you guys,” you stated simply, as if it was to answer. Giving them a nod you turned on your heal and stumbled over to the bar on the far side using the furniture to aid you. When you did manage to sit down, the panic started to creep back up. It was just the drug, you tried to convince yourself. You had been in plenty more sticky situations. In unison the boys fanned out, all keeping an eye on you as they took different positions around the room. Gaz by the door, ready for the police. Price a few seats down from you and Jonny hanging around. You didn't know where Ghost was, probably hiding in the shadows somewhere. Your head dropped to the cold slightly sticky surface of the bar as you were hit with another dizzy spell.

“There you are, sweetheart,” the sickly sweet voice slid over your ears sending a disgusted shiver through your body. A voice you had never heard before. “Come on, let's get you home,” his arms wrapped around you. You wanted to fight him off, but you just felt so sluggish. Your elbow attempted a weak push. Before he could pull you out of your chair, his presence suddenly disappeared. It was a bit of a blur at that stage. You could hear sounds, a scream somewhere. You heard yelling.

“TAKE IT OUTSIDE!” The Bar owner screamed over you.

“Gladly,” It was Ghost voice that sounded. You pushed yourself up, turning around to see Ghost pulling a man out of the bar by the scruff of his collar.

“Lovey, it's me Jonny,” Jonny announced his presence as he walked up to your side with Gaz in tow. After your flinch before he was being extra cautious.

“Jonny,” you forced a smile as you turned to him. When he suddenly turned into triplets.

“Come on love,” he gently helped you out of the chair tucking you protectively under his arm, and out into the cold air of the night. It was refreshing to have it in your lungs. But it stung.

Jonny helped you to a bench, setting you down. The world was spinning. With a deep breath, you dropped your head to your hands. After a bit Ghost and Price returned with the man, his arms zipped tied behind his back, his face bloody and beaten. One of his arms hung limply at the shoulder joint. Price had found the drugs he had used in his pocket shoving a few down his throat for good measure.

“It's him alright. Confused and everything," Price announced holding the drugs up.

“Hell yeah. Vigilante team for the win!” you wobbly pumped your fist into the air before letting it drop.

“I'm cold,” you muttered through a shiver. Almost instantly a large coat was draped over you. The scent of Ghost filled your senses as you tucked yourself into the folds of the warmth.

“Fuckin cunt,” Jonny growled in disgust as he pulled the man ruffly over to the side of the road delivering a kick for good measure. Gaz glared down at the man logging a ball of spit directly to his feet.

“Hey,” you rose your head coming face to face with a kneeling Ghost. who placed a gentle hand on your knee his thumb rubbing it gently.

“You need to chuck ya guts. Get whatever's in ya stomach out,” he stated simply.

“Shit, you're right. Let me just press the button that instantly activated my regurgitation feature,” although drugged out of your mind you still quipped at them. If anything, it was reassuring to hear it.

“I can shove my fingers down your throat if ya like,” he offered jokingly.

“Promise?” The boys' eyes widened at the seductive tone your voice took. It even stuck poor Simon into a monetary freeze. Only then did they notice the blush that dusted your cheeks. Molly you thought. Something the man probably mixed with his drug.

“Oh don't get your panties in a twist Lieutenant. Just get me some tequila. A shot of that and you'll all get a pretty picture of what I had for lunch,” You chuckled half assed. Gaz quickly did as he was told. Boy you didn't even have to taste it to chuck your guts.

Why? Simple. Schoolies, yourself, teenage confidence, a dumb bet and a bottle of tequila. You couldn't drink the stuff without emptying your guts.

Ghost patted your back as you fertilized the pot plant nearby. You briefly took in the blue and red flashing lights as the police pulled up. It was quite a scene. Your head in a pot plant. Ghost holding your hair back. Jonny and Price standing side by side with the man hung loosely between them. Gaz standing by you with a water bottle at the ready. The police officers, one male and one female approached your group with caution.

“Officer. This guy drugged and attempted to take advantage of our friend there. Here is the drink that was spiked. The drugs we found in his pocket. And the camera footage proving he did so,” Price handed over all the items that had quickly been collected. The police officer stood taking it all, looking over the group before his eyes dropped to the man.

“The fuck happened to him?” he asked.

“We found him like that,” Price stated with an innocent smile, not bothering to hide the blood on his hand. Jonny smiled innocently and Ghost simply glared, daring the police to do something about it.

“Alright well put him in the back, is she alright to come down to the station to provide a statement?” His question was answered by the lovely melody of your insides becoming your outsides.

“Don't think that's necessary. But we can come down tomorrow to provide a blood sample for proof," Price suggested.

“How do we know you're not the ones who drugged her?” You were grateful for the female officer's concern. But you just wanted to go home.

“Don't accuse them. These,” you pushed yourself up, gesturing wildly around you. “These are my boys. I love these fuckers.” Your words began to slur as you blinked one eye a bit more delayed than the other. You leaned against the pot putting the other hand on your hip.

“I'd trust these cunts with my life,” you stated proudly.

“Aw she called us cunts,” Jonny cooed as he ruffly shoved the man into the back of the police car. “Accidental” knocking him harshly against the side of the door a few times.

You weren't sure how you got into the back of the car, but you did know one thing. You were fucking horney. Your eyes lazily trailed over the handsome men in the car. Your heart was beating a million beats per second as you weighed your options. Have you thought about fucking them before. Who wouldn't. They were stunning all in their own unique way. Heat was flushing all through your body. Your eyes trailed to Simon who sat next to you.

‘Fuck, I’d ride that man like a bronco,’ the dirty thought had your face turning compltley red. You couldn't believe you had just thought that. You wanted him. And by the way your body was feeling you were sure you were about to act on that want.

“Nope not doing this,” you suddenly announced. Yells of fright sounded as you opened the door, throwing yourself from the relatively slow moving car. You were back on the base you gathered. But nowhere near your barracks. You tucked and rolled with the fall popping back up immediately and high tailing it out of there. The four guys ran after you. As they rounded a building they frowned when they couldn't see you. What they did see was your shirt gently falling to the ground. Their eyes instantly snapped up to the roof of the building where you stood.

“The fuck,”Jonny wispered as they all stepped back to better see you.

“How do she mange to climb all this shit?” Gaz asked searching for the path you used to get to the roof.

“Get down from there, sergeant!” Price ordered.

“Fuck you Price!” You yelled pulling a boot off and chucking casually off the side of the building.

“What are you doing?!” Gaz yelled.

“What does it look like? I'm undressing. It's to fucking hot!” You yelled unbuttoning your pants. For the record, it wasn't hot. It was cold. So cold that the boys could see their breaths. You just hoped that getting your temperature under control would dull the urges you were having.

“What are you doing up there? Get down come on it's not safe love!” Jonny tried to coax you down, all of them too scared to take their eyes off you in the fear that you would fall.

“Not safe for me. Bro I was just about to attack you guys,” you yelled, stomping out of your pants the boys sucking in a breath as you tilted to the side a bit more than they liked.

“What you mean love?” Price asked nodding Ghost forward who quickly made his way to look for a way up onto the roof.

“That fucker must have lased that shit with ecstasy. Cause in simple term Captain, I'm HORNEY AS FUCK!” you yelled into the open night air. All the boys paused momentarily at your words wondering if they had heard you right.

“Horney you say?” Johnny asked with a slight smirk. It was a terrible situation, no one would argue that. But the way you were acting was slightly entertaining.

“Yep!” you popped the p.

“I was sitting in the car and I was like fuck. I could totally fuck these guys,” your shrugged casually.

“Really?” Johnny asked.

“Oh yeah. I would have made my way thought you fuckers like a cougar that just came out of prison. I'd start with Price, cause that man knows how to fuck. Like he's probably got some real fucking skill. Just look at him,” You gestured to Price who blushed slightly at the statement.

“Then I go to Gaz. I dont know why but you look like youve got some fucking endurance,” you stated simply.

“Id fuck Jonnys brains out cause we all know he can’t get a girl to save his life,” You had begun rambling. The boys were doing there best to keep their laughter in. Even though you were talking about something so intimate they knew it would never happen.

“I got with your friend Rosie didn't I?” Jonny asked.

“Yeah and so did half the fucking base. I would seriously consider getting all that checked out,” you gestured to his manly parts as Gaz laughed at his dead panned expression.

“Oh and Simon!” You let out a low whistle.

“I'd take that poor man's innocence,” This time both Jonny and Gaz were full blown laughing. Price rubbed his mouth hiding a chuckle. And Simon, well he stepped up behind you. You didn't notice him. What you did notice was how constricting your bra felt.

“Fucking hate bras,” You muttered in once swift motion unclipping it and tossing it to the side.

“Fucking hell,” Price grumbled as they all quickly avoided there gaze.

“Right,” you hear the mutter from behind you as you were suddenly enveloped by material. Simon used his jaket that you had discarded early to form a makeshift straight jacket. Which in three swift movements, he zipped up behind you and tired the sleeves around you. You let out a yelp as you were casually thrown over his shoulder.

“I'm getting too old for this,” Price muttered.

After they got you checked out at the med bay they brought you back to the barracks. Simon was carrying you bridal style as you dropped in and out of sleep. Gently they set you in your bed and tucked you in still in the makeshift straight jacket. You snuggled into the warmth curling up.

“Night love,” Jonny muttered as they all moved to leave your room.

“Hey,” your back was facing towards them as they stopped at the entrance of your room. “I love you guys. You know that right?” you asked.

“Yeah we love you to lass,” Jonny smiled.

“I mean it,” you cut off his slightly joking tone. “Tonight I was really fucking scared. And you guys saved me. So thank you,” you whispered. The boys were not really sure how to respond to that.

“Anytime love,” Price muttered.

“Good,” you nodded readjusting.

“Oh and Simon,” you called in a sing-song voice. He hummed a response.

“Offer still stands hot stuff,” you poked your head up giving him what you assumed was a seductive wink. It looked more like you were trying to get something out of your eyes.

“Sure thing love. Well, see if you remember your offer in the morning,” he stated simply shoving the chuckle Jonny out the room before closing the door. Even drugged to kingdom come you felt safe. Protected, so calm that you slipped into slumber without a second thought or a moment's worry.

The next morning you awoke with not a single memory of the night before. You frowned at the pounding in your head, yet your confusion deepened when you tried to make sense of what you were wearing. The binds had come lose burning the night leaving you with the jacket still zipped up behind you. You could only remember the very start of the night. And the fact that your drink had been spiked. Once you managed to escape the contraption you donned some loose clothes and walked out into the rec room. Where the boys were all situated, Simon cooking breakfast, Gaz and Soap sitting watching tv and Pierce at the table reading a newspaper. At your appearance they boys all stopped what they were going and looked at you. There expression unreadable.

“Soooo,” You trailed off. “My drink got spiked,” you stated simply.

“That's Correct,” Price nodded, folding his newspaper and putting it aside.

“How are you feeling?” he asked softly.

“Honestly not the worst hang over I've had,” you tried to make light of the situation with a soft-hearted chuckle.

“So, uh what happened exactly? I didn't do anything stupide did I?” you asked nervously.

“Well,” Jonny began, only to be silenced by a wooden spoon hitting him with deadly precision.

“You came to us, asking for help. We got the guy and got you out of there. Brought you back to base where the docs checked you out, flushed the drugs out ya system the best they could and we tucked you into bed,” Price explained simply.

“I see. And why was I nude and buried in a huge ass jacket?” you asked a deep blush creeping up into your cheeks. Millions of scenarios passed through your mind. So many possibilities that could have led you up to that point.

“You had nicked Simon's jumper. You were moving around a bit last night from what we could hear. The doc said the drug would make you hot. Perhaps you just stripped in ya sleep,” Price gentle words gave you no reason to believe anything other than that happened. But there was a slight doubt in the back of your mind. You looked to Simon who had yet to meet your gaze.

“So I didn't go streaking through base?” you asked.

“Like streaking do ya?” Jonny asked with a wag of his eyebrows.

“Sober Y/N not so much. Blind drunk Y/N very much so,” you nodded. The boys chuckled, shaking their heads. If only you knew.

“Your fine love. Come sit down and eat something,” Price ordered you softly as Ghost set down the various foods. The breakfast was like any other one. The boys talked like they normally did. Once you got over the slight embarrassment of what happened, you fell back into a normal rhythm.

Not before Price personally called you into his office to have a very serious chat about what happened. Where he suggested a visit to a syce and an offer to come to him if your ever needed anything.

Not before Jonny gifted you with a key ring taser and a graphic demonstration of where to aim for.

Not before Gaz bought you a nail polish that would change color whenever it came into contact with drugs.

Not before Ghost would sit beside you in silence his presence simply being a reassurance.

Not before the boys never pressed you again to drink when you said no.

Not before they got a glimpse into a very serious part of a woman's world.

Not before they grasped and understanding for it.

And not before they would watch your drinks like eagles whenever you would go out again.

The most amazing thing about it was that they never once blamed you for it. The thought never crossed their minds. They never once pried if you had left your drink alone. They never once suggested that you took a drink a stranger had offered.

They were good men. And you were thankful that you had them in your life.

And little did you know that the man that drugged you would send the rest of his life in prison. Price managed to pull a few strings and get him charged with much more than he had originally done.

After he spent a month in intensive recovery.

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--COD Master List Here--

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#141 x reader #141 x you #cod 141 #cod ghost #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #task force 141 #simon riley x reader #tf 141 #ghost cod #cod #cod x reader #ghost x y/n #simon ghost riley x reader

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hanglimi · 5 months ago

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opposite - yu jimin

jimin is sick and tired of the stupid, good for nothing student who keeps throwing parties in the dorm room above hers. but woah, she's the complete opposite of what jimin imagined, and really hot too.

TAGS - jimin x f! reader, fluff, college au

WORDCOUNT - 2100~

WARNINGS - substance use, swearing, suggestiveness,

A/N - this is really dialogue heavy, and i can't tell if that's a bad or good thing.

“oh my god, does this ever fucking stop?” ningning whined as she sat atop jimin’s bed, her feet crossed over each other, laptop thrown onto one of the multiple pillows.

jimin threw her friend a questioning look over her shoulder. the girl was acting crazy, and she had no time to engage if she wanted to finish the paper her professor had given her weeks before. the longer she left ning alone, the better chance of there being no continuation to the conversation.

“seriously, jimin! this is driving me insane.”

“what the hell do you mean, ning,” she groaned, laying her head down on her table.

“the dorm above you! i can genuinely feel the ceiling shaking with how loud the music is, and it’s been like this everyday this week!” ningning was practically hyperventilating at this point, and sure, while jimin thought she was being a tad bit dramatic, she also had a point.

but unfortunately, jimin had gotten so used to the girl above her, and her endless parties, that she barely noticed it anymore.

“here.” she reached down into her backpack by the base of her desk, grasping around in the pockets for what she was looking for. she finally felt it’s wire as she pulled it out of the bag and threw it over to her friend, glancing back down at her respective laptop.

“earbuds? really?”

jimin ignored her question, getting back to work. If she wanted to pass this class before the end of the semester, she had no time to idly chat with her friend, no matter how much she loved her.

“jimin!” ningning screamed again a couple seconds later, her head in her hands. “how the fuck do you live with this?” she curled into herself on the bed, as if that would help with the walls literally bouncing with each bass hit from upstairs.

“remind me to never come to your dorm again. from now on, we're studying in the library,”

jimin simply giggled at the comment, tuning out the bass boosted audio and her best friend’s whining.

“damn, jimin!” aeri said, snatching the girl’s phone from her, pausing her music so she could hear what was happening, “how loud do you need your music to be to actually hear it?”

jimin gave her a sneer, and reached back for her phone, but it was just so far across the table, and minjeong was faster than her, grabbing it, and pocketing it. aeri chuckled at her struggles before slapping a hand over her mouth, slowly turning her head towards the front of the library, hoping she wouldn’t get a third warning from the librarian just today.

“her eardrums are probably nonexistent because of the bitch above her,” ning noted as she scrolled on her phone, obviously distracted from what they actually came here for.

“you’re still on about that?” jimin drawled, dropping her head and leaning down in her seat, giving up on trying to retrieve her device. “and was i the only one still on task? it’s literally only been thirty minutes, guys.”

“on about what?” minjeong asked, leaning into the gossip, “who lives above jimin?”

“dude, if i knew what her name was i'd tell you.” ningning sat up, getting ready to entertain her. “all i know is that she throws a party like every other day, and plays overly obnoxious bass boosted music. and the RA of their floor just doesn't care.”

“jimin’s on the fourth floor, right?”

jimin nodded at aeri’s question. she just wanted to finish the discussion, and get back to studying, but her friends obviously felt otherwise.

“oh my god, jimin, i fucking know who that is! it’s that y/n chick,” aeri said, laughing, but her eyes widened as she heard the loud shush of the librarian.

“as i was saying, everyone on the fifth floor despises y/n, like genuinely hates,” she said.

jimin groaned as the three of them continued to talk about every single rumour y/n was involved in, and she pressed at her eyes with the palms of her hands until she started seeing dots.

“i’m literally the one who lives below her, and i don’t care this much,” jimin complained, adjusting her body so she was sat in the chair properly. “unlike you guys, i actually have things to do, so give me back my phone, minjeong”

they all groaned at her words, minjeong muttering as she handed the device to the girl’s outreached hand.

“you’re such a buzzkill, jimin,” aeri let out a sigh, shaking her head.

“yeah, fucking buzz killer,” ning followed up.

“buzz kill~.” minjeong sang, giggling a bit with the other two girls at the end.

“shut up!”

the librarian near the main entrance lowered her glasses down her nose at the outburst, glaring at their table. “you four girls over there! out!”

jimin made sure to flip her friends off as she snatched her things away from the table, walking back to her dreaded dorm, with a huge headache caused from the three.

it was never this bad.

like sure, jimin would often notice how loud y/n’s music was, but she never really got this mad about it. it was only a passing thought usually, but today, she couldn’t ignore it. and somehow, her body betrayed her, leading jimin out of her dorm, into the elevator, and facing the perpetrators door.

she knocked once, letting precious seconds pass as she stood in front of the dorm room, tapping her foot against the floor, slipping into the beat of the drums that was in the song playing from inside the room. no one answered, even though she could tell from the yelling that there were at least ten people in there. she let out a deep exhale through her nose, and raised her fist to knock, hitting the door again.

jimin waited there a little bit longer, still tapping her foot to the song as her mind wandered to how she would deal with the infamous y/n. she waited for what she thought was eternity before she got impatient, and raised her fist to knock again, but before she could make contact, the door swung open.

“who are you?” the girl who opened the door asked, while jimin strained to hear her over her overbearing chewing of gum. the stench of liquor infiltrated her nose from the open door, and there was a light fog covering the room, hazing up her vision of any furniture in the dorm. the loud music was piercing her brain now, closer than ever, and it was making her headache stronger.

“is y/n here?” she asked in response, but the girl only stared blankly at her, continuing to chew. jimin’s jaw clenched at the lack of reaction, but assumed y/n's friend couldn’t hear her over the music.

“is y/n here!” she repeated much louder, leaning closer to the girl’s ear, but the girl shoved her backwards immediately, and sneered at her.

“i’m not deaf yet, bitch. i was just trying to figure out if you were one of her exes,” the girl scolded, leaning an arm on the doorframe and turning her body to face the inside of the dorm.

“y/n! did you invite one of your flings to our party again?” the girl screamed into the fog while jimin scowled at the back of her head. apparently, y/n responded, because she turned back around to face her after a couple of seconds. “y/n will be here in a few,” and she shut the door.

jimin already hated the girl, and she didn’t even know her name.

the door reopened after a few moments to who jimin assumed was y/n, and her heart leapt out of her chest at the sight. the girl was the complete opposite of how jimin thought she would appear, and she couldn’t believe she fell for what aeri had said before. the clothes she wore leaned to the pink, feminine side–her tank top a cute combination of red, pink and yellow–and she wore a pearl necklace to accompany the soft vibe. the look was coupled with a pink cardigan over top, which was falling down to reveal one of her shoulders.

jimin was definitely gawking at her too long, because the girl cleared her throat in annoyance.

“what do you need?” the girl’s voice was also the complete opposite of her look, siding more with what jimin had thought y/n would be like originally. the deep, rough tones of it scratched her brain in a way she never imagined before, and she almost melted right there on the spot.

“oh yeah! i’m so sorry about that. my name is jimin, and i live on the floor below you, right under your room, which is actually pretty cool, huh.” jimin stuttered through her introduction, her face heating up at the intense staring contest y/n had her locked in.

she quickly averted her eyes, wanting to look anywhere else but the student's face, “anyways, it usually hasn’t been a problem but-”

the girl cut her off, rolling her eyes at the long winded explanation. “i get it, you want us to lower the volume of the music, right?” she drawled, and her tone grated against the headache jimin had, further enhancing it.

jimin nodded her head rapidly.

“well we can’t.” y/n started, lifting her hand up to take a look at her nails which were–once again a contrast to her voice–painted a mix of pink and yellow. “not that we can’t, just that we won’t.”

jimin cocked her head in confusion, “you… won’t?”

y/n stood there, still observing her fingers, “you heard me the first time, cutie,”

even though she was slightly infuriated, she felt her heart jump at the pet name, and warmth rushed up to her cheeks once again, but she quickly shook away the feeling, steeling her face in anger.

“what do you mean by ‘you won’t’” jimin said, crossing her arms over her chest.

“exactly what it means, babe. we’re having fun, and if it’s really bothering you that much, you can leave the complex for a couple hours.” y/n finally looked away from her nails to stare up at jimin, giving her a smile, as if she was trying to soften the words.

“uh, no the fuck not.”

the girl’s eyes flashed with something jimin couldn't recognise, and y/n stood up straighter, a smirk playing on her lips at the words.

“so you stand your ground, huh?” y/n noted aloud, eyeing jimin from head to toe. “how about you come in here, and we can party together?”

“fuck you.” jimin said.

“that’s what i’m asking for,” the girl replied in a dull tone, rolling her eyes.

the girl was annoying her, and the constant flirty jokes weren’t helping jimin’s case either. she couldn’t tell if she wanted to feel flustered, angry, or perhaps a mix of both.

“i’m gonna get the RA on you. you’ll be kicked out of the dorms, or probably even the school considering the amount of weed i smell off of you right now.”

“you wanna talk to the RA about me?” y/n laughed loudly at the statement, covering her mouth with her hand, as she turned around to face the fog.

“hey, chaewon! come here,” y/n screamed over the music that was still playing, and she stood aside after a bit, letting chaewon pop her head through the door.

“meet the fifth floor’s RA!” the annoying girl cackled, doubling over at the look on jimin’s face.

the girl was wasted–jimin could tell by the dazed look in her eyes, and how she had to lean against y/n to stabilise herself.

“don’t tell anyone i’m here.” chaewon slurred, and hiccupped, slowly raising her pointer finger to press it against jimin’s lips, but she missed, and ended up poking her in the eye. “or we’ll all end up in trouble.”

“shit!” jimin exclaimed, pressing a hand to her eye trying to soothe the pain.

y/n’s mouth curved into a smile, and jimin couldn’t tell if it was from her pain or chaewon’s actions. she lightly pushed chaewon back into the room while telling her to ease up on the drinks, and came back to face jimin straight on.

“see what I mean?” y/n said, shaking her head at jimin’s poor attempts, further belittling her.

jimin scrunched her forehead up in thought. she wasn’t going to accept defeat, and let this go–that wasn’t who she was–and she didn’t want to see y/n’s stupid hot smirk again anyways.

“if you lower the volume of your music, and keep it there” she gulped, “i’ll do anything that you want me to.”

“really?” y/n eyes widened, “if so-”

“nothing sexual, of course.” jimin cut her off before she had the chance.

y/n giggled in response, “well then.”

#hanglimi #kpop gg #kpop x reader #kpop fanfic #aespa x reader #yu jimin x reader #karina x reader #karina imagines #aespa imagines

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thekeeperof-thefandoms · 8 months ago

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Hazbin Hotel characters react to your stims

(I'm doing my personal favorite characters, so if there are others you wanna see, ask me. They may also be slightly OOC.)

Vox

You can't convince me this man doesn't also have ADHD. He's just spent decades masking it, as well as most of himself, to present a perfect image. Probably heard the term as it got more well known but didn't really connect the dots until meeting you.

He fidgets a lot, tapping his claws, bouncing his legs, can't sit in a fucking chair properly.

Doesn't realize he's overstimulated and burnt out from multi tasking dozens of screens until you point it out.

Once he's aware of it you help him manage his work better so he can be less stimulated and tense. You buy him proper fidget toys to mess with and he makes himself some top of the line bass boosted sound canceling headphones. He gives you a pair, too. When you're both alone, you look up songs with loaded bass in 8d just to watch each other twitch and involuntarily move your head with the sound.

That's about the extent of the conscious level of unmasking he'll do though. He gets self conscious.

But, he adores the fact you're comfortable enough to stim around him. Or in public. He can and will violently end people for even giving you dirty looks for stimming in public.

If you show excitement and joy over being around someone through happy noms he will literally get heart eyes. Just be careful where you bite him because it may lead to something else.

He's happy to let you stim, which means tricking him into doing it more.

He remembers and sub consciously absorbs your echolalias or any word replacements you use. If you do a lot of call and response vocals he learns them. (Call and response is basically when you memorize a sound with two people. One calls the other responds. You can just say both parts yourself ((I do)) but it's more satisfying with someone else).

If you do happy flappies this man will short circuit. (He will laugh if you accidentally smack yourself though).

If you squeal and kick you may give him a heart attack. He thought you were hurt or something. He gets used to it eventually but it still startles him.

Vox is also a chatter box so you two can info dump about special interests to each other for hours. Neither one of you expects the other to remember details, but the fact you don't tell each other to shut up and are content to do your own thing while listening to your partner/friend gush is enough.

He has long since forced himself into strict routines so if you struggle to get tasks started or get distracted in the middle of them he's understanding but stern. Tends to cause more harm than good because he talks down to you unintentionally.

If you're a visual/hands on learner he also gets frustrated with you for wasting hours trying to figure it out yourself and getting yourself upset instead of just letting him do it for you. You get into a lot of fights about it at first. He gets better when he sees it genuinely prevents you from enjoying things or trying new things and that you just kinda default to defeated and helpless. He didn't mean to make you feel dumb, he just doesn't understand why you wouldn't want help. Until the tables turn and as he's getting worked up over something he can't figure out and you just stare at him.

He finally snaps at you what the hell you're doing and you smirk "need help? Why don't I just do it for you and you watch? Come on, you've been struggling for an hour, stop being so stubborn and just let me do it. I'll show you later, it's not hard." You feed his own lines back at him and his stomach drops.

"Oh....that feels...mmmm. Nope! Don't like that. Ok. Won't happen again, doll."

Realistically if you work with him and you make mouth noises a lot (bird whistles, tongue clicks, humming, random shrieks) he will get annoyed. It's distracting him and sometimes you don't realize you're doing it and mess up anything he tries to record. The first few times he snaps at you and it causes problems (hello rejection sensitive dysphoria) but eventually he learns how to better talk to you/communicate without accidentally convincing you he hates you.

Alastor

Probably on the spectrum himself, but it also could just be his anti-social habits. Either way he finds you entertaining and your bouts of sporadic energy and gremlin like behavior don't phase him. He's been dealing with Niffty for years.

If you sing or hum a lot to get work done, or listen to music he's all for it. But if you're the type of ADHD where work fast music=horny and bass he'll insist you wear headphones. If you're content to listen to swing (he'll compromise with electroswing) or jazz, he'll play the radio for you.

He doesn’t even care if you're a good singer or not, he just likes seeing you get into it. Will show off by singing it better than you though.

If you're someone who picks your fingers or skin, he'll slap your hands. You bleeding is making him hungry and distracting him. He'll find you something else to do with your hands. Same with nail biting.

He tends to pull his hair when stressed so if you stim with your hair he gets it and unless it's harmful (eating/pulling) he'll leave it, but if you're like him he's either cutting your hair short or braiding it.

Will die before admitting it but thinks you flapping, hopping, clapping, squealing is the most adorable thing ever. Also, laughs at you if you smack yourself, though.

Doesn't understand your memes so half your echolalia go over his head and he just kinda stares at you.

Scolds you for not sitting in the chair properly.

Smiles, nods, and occasionally says "that's nice dear" when you info dump. It's not that he doesn't care, he just can't listen to something he's not interested in for that long.

Mouth noises make his eye twitch but so long as they don't interrupt him, he won't scold you.

He understands you're not dumb but he also doesn't have the patience to help your or wait for you to get things done so he does them for you and tells you stop pouting when you get upset with him.

He likes you enough to not reject your touch and enjoys being in your space, but please refrain from happy biting the cannibal. He will bite back and it's less cute when he does.

Lucifer

The original AUDHD. You two chatter for hours about special interests.

He makes you stim toys.

You two do the adhd laugh so hard over dumb shit you gotta hold onto and smack each other thing. You both wind up on the floor.

Literally would never talk down to you or trigger your RSD. He's spent centuries feeling like he's constantly annoying, dumb, and struggling to time manage and do tasks.

Is equally fed up with people offering to do things for him because he can do it he just needs help getting started. The more you ask if he wants you to do it or when he's gonna do it the harder it is. So you two just sorta hobble together a system for getting shit done.

It's not perfect but if it gets outta hand he can just snap his fingers and fix it.

He happy flaps with his hands and wings and constantly knocks you or other shit over. It embarrasses him but you're in love. You two sometimes hold hands to do the happy bounce squeal, shaking each other.

He initiates happy bites more than you do. Honestly you both start looking like chew toys.

You two echolali all the time and share new ones you find. If you ever can't find each other, just shout one of your current vocal stims and he'll respond.

Literally, the definition of choas couple.

#hazbin hotel imagine #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin lucifer #hazbin hotel vox #vox x reader #alastor x reader #lucifer x reader

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lalunanymph · 1 year ago

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𖨆♡𖨆 ran haitani x fem!reader, hanma shuji x fem!reader

╰┈➤ yearning for revenge after the untimely death of your father, you come to discover an underground organization called bonten and how its executive may have all the answers you need. the big catch? you were the first ever girl that broke his heart.

: ̗̀➛ explicit smut, mentions of a murder, guns, mentions of drugs, fear play, prostitution, mention of heights, daddy kink, creampie, mild exhibitionism, pet names (princess), spit kink, murder, blood, gore, torture, joint breaking, angst, mentions of a past relationship, mentions of a body disposal, slut-shaming, language, smoking, drinking, MDNI

masterlist 🌙

𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆: 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐊 #𝟏

The air tonight tasted of electricity, its charge sparking in your bloodstream.

Fidgeting in your skintight dress and boots, you wondered if you were a little overdressed considering how some of the girls milled around in skirts that barely covered their asses and crop tops that were just the barest suggestion of clothes upon their frames.

The bass boosting through the floors mimicked the palpitation of your heart and you steeled yourself, looking both ways before you crossed the street.

So, this was the infamous Haitani bar that everyone from your roommate, Kira, to her pimp was talking about. You could see why it generated much intrigue.

On the outside, the facade suggested a modest office building that boasted a helipad at its very top, like a flat cap over a square head. Rumour has it that the Haitanis liked to arrive to their own bar not in cars or even limos—but through their own private helicopter which gives them discreet entrance. The top floor, especially, was a cordoned-off area where only those who had a special pass could enter.

That, or to go in disguised as one of the many prostitutes Ran and Rindou hired to keep spirits up and the booze flowing all night long.

You had to hand it to them; those Haitani brothers were exceptionally good businessmen.

Tugging the hem of your dress down, you approached the bouncer who let you through with barely a glance at your ID. You frowned inwardly; shouldn’t security here be at its maximum capacity?

After all, Ran and Rindou were two of the most important Bonten executives—a position so feared that even the most hardened pimp would shudder at the name of Japan’s most notorious criminal organisation.

Downstairs, people were packed like sardines, girls hanging off random men’s laps or dancing in groups like a shoal of fish, bait for the sharks that lurked around the rooms.

You weren’t excused from their leering stares and kept your head down, sole mission in mind. In the elevator, you called for the highest level, the numbers on the keypad blinking every time you rose one floor higher. To calm yourself for what you had to do, you reached inside your purse for the faded photograph; your father’s smile bright in the palm of your hand.

I’ll do this for you, dad, was your silent promise. The elevator dinged and you walked towards the cordoned-off bar where the crowds were nonexistent, and all that stood between you and finding Ran Haitani was one stern looking bouncer. His muscles rippled almost threateningly under his suit, staring you up and down.

“No one is allowed to enter.”

You took in a deep breath and spoke in a low, but clear voice. “Haitani-san hired me.”

The guard arched a brow. “Which Haitani?”

Somehow, it felt like a trick question and when you answered Ran, it seemed that you had failed the test.

“Mr. Haitani is not the one that deals with hookers,” he all but growled, and despite the streaks of grey in his hair and noticeable age, you sensed without a doubt that he was able to manhandle you and toss you over the balcony railing if he so wished to.

Holding your ground, you gritted your teeth and forced out: "There must be some kind of mistake. I was requested to be here.”

The guard had evidently grown tired of this back and forth; he approached you and gripped your arm tightly, pushing you towards the elevator door. “Let go of me!” Your hunch was proven right; he was incredibly strong and did not let up, not even when you dug your heels in to impede him.

“I won’t tell ya again, miss,” he growled. “Please leave before I throw you off the fucking building myself.”

“One of his clients told me to be here!" You fought back, the desperation clawing up your throat.

His scowl deepened and a vein was threatening to pop from his temple. “Last chance. You’re gonna have to leave, miss.”

You physically and literally held your ground, gripping the railing with white knuckles. “Not until I see him.”

“Miss, I won’t ask you twice—“

“What’s going on here?”

As if he had turned to jelly, the guard released you and quickly folded into a bow. “Mr. Haitani, sir—“ you didn’t hear his babbling, your mind struggling to comprehend the deepness of that voice and how it brought back a surge of memories you could not ignore.

A smug smile, long, bleached-black hair that you loved running your fingers through, nights spent raiding the closest convenience stores, an empty phone log…

“… Ran?”

A beat of silence as he took in your face before the recognition set in.

“Y/N?”

He was different—no scratch that, he didn’t even look like his old self. Gone were the twin braids and dip-dyed bleached hair. Now, he sported a full hair of light purple locks that contrasted vividly with the frown that was etched on his face and the tattoo peeking underneath the collar of an expensive suit.

Before you could open your mouth, he reached out and gripped your shoulder, steering you towards the bar’s entrance.

“She’s with me.”

“I’m so sorry, Haitani-san, I—“ the guard’s splutters were not to be heard; Ran waved him off and trailed those hardened lilac eyes onto you. The press of his palm was warm on your bare skin.

“Didn't anyone warn you that this his bar isn’t a place for girls like you?”

You were surprised to say the least. It seemed as if those five years that you spent separated from him dissolved into nothing; he still spoke to you in that same infuriating manner like you hadn’t ghosted him out of the blue—like you hadn’t broken his heart.

“Girls like me?” For your credit, you were still as argumentative as ever. As his hard gaze bore into yours, you realised some things never changed.

Ran Haitani would always treat you like you were an errant child.

“My men are armed to the teeth and you could have walked out of here with more than a bruise,” was his retort. Your indignant anger faded a little when you eyed the tasteful bar decorations. It seemed like a different world existed up here compared to the crowded dance floor below. There was no thumping music, no drugs and no sharks waiting for you to let your guard down. Rather, bossa nova jazz music filtered over the speakers; even the people here were classier than you anticipated—all suits and dresses that tastefully showed off skin.

You stuck out like a sore thumb in your black bodycon and boots, and it appears you were not the only person who was aware of it. The women eyed you up and down, though the men were more discreet. But the one thing they all had in common? The moment it registered that Ran Haitani was beside you, all their gazes fell to the floor.

He led you to the outside bar where a few people mingled around, smoking cigars and joking amongst themselves in low tones. Ran chose a table closest to the balustrades. Immediately, two well-dressed waiters arrived to wipe down the table, set down some snacks as well as a bottle of whiskey—glowing almost amber in the half-light.

That bottle alone look like it could’ve cost more than your rent.

You sat down opposite him and watched as he removed a packet of cigarettes and a metal lighter. The click of it was loud in the silence and you didn’t know what compelled you to blurt out your next sentence, but it came out without a second thought, and you had to suffer the repercussions of his disbelief.

“Your guard didn't believe me when I told him I was a prostitute."

Those impassive lilac hues flickered onto you. “What?”

As if explaining yourself to a child, you spelled it out for him. “I’m a hooker, Ran.”

For a long moment, he did not speak. He reached forward to uncap the whiskey bottle, poured himself a cup and sat back in the plush chair. There was nothing on his face that indicated any real emotion he had towards his ex-girlfriend being in an unsavoury position, nor did he make fun of you for your new occupation. All he did was frown and said: “How’d that happen? You always said you wanted to go to business school and you’re pulling this type of shit?”

Something about the way he phrased that sentence made it feel like a slap to your face. “You don’t have to sound like my dad, Haitani.”

If there was one strange power you had over the feared Haitani brother, it would be the ability to make his blood boil with just a few words. "Huh? Do you need money? Is there someone pimping you out? What’s his name?”

You hadn’t expected him to launch into his righteous anger on your behalf, and you sat back, wide-eyed.

For Ran, he was in disbelief over how you had turned out in the five short years he lost contact with you. He had always admired your vision of climbing the corporate ladder and how you had mapped out the future together with him even knowing full well the dark path he had taken to build Bonten from the ground up together with his younger brother and a few other chosen men.

But, that was when you both were still fresh-faced twenty year olds and a novice to the hardships of life. In those years when you left him, he had climbed the ranks and claimed many, many lives to do so. His blood ran dirty with all the futures he had destroyed and you…

How did you end up like this?

You were always such a sweet thing; concern for others outweighing your need for self-preservation. A girl like you did not belong on the streets and the both of you knew it.

“I work for myself, Ran,” you clarified and he had to stop himself from shivering at how his name sounded on your lips. “I choose who I work with, when and how much I charge them.”

He was still at a loss, and the glass of whiskey he had ached for the whole evening seemed like contaminated water in this instance. Ran pushed it back and raised one perfectly groomed brow.

“Why?”

You fiddled with your fingers and stared out towards the scenery. If Ran had to choose one spot he could easily lose himself in, it would be this place. Rindou’s strategic choice of a bar faced the Tokyo skyline; from his perch, he could map out the outline of the Tokyo Exchange Building, a stout cube in the heart of the city. He could trace the rail lines, the jagged edges of the district of Roppongi where he and Rindou once reigned supreme.

“I… lost my dad,” you confessed. Similarly, he found himself at a loss too for what to say, his expression carefully construed to remain neutral. “He died shortly before we broke up. I… I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t know how to say it.”

The young executive tipped his whiskey around the glass and took a drag of his cig, unable to look you in the eyes. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he eventually said and followed up with another question which you could not easily answer.

“Is that why you dumped me?”

After five years of wondering, five years of searching out for answers and wracking his brain for something he might have done to piss you off, Ran was finally graced with the faltering of your expression.

He recalled stepping out of the elevator aching for a drink only to be confronted by the sight of someone who held the shape of you, a shape he could always easily map out even in the darkness. His heart had soared, but he tamed down the excitement, reasoning that of course it could not be you; he had done everything in his power to seek you out in those 1825 days he spent without you, where it seemed like you had dropped off the face of the earth.

Little did he know how the past could show up unannounced when one stopped searching for it. He still was not done trying to flay it apart and find out the truth.

“No, wait, scratch that,” his voice was rising in anger. “Is that why you ghosted me and blocked me on everything so I couldn’t reach out to you?”

You had always known Ran Haitani to wear his signature smirk; no matter if he was beating people up, stealing food from convenience stores or even bashing up boys taller than him with his baton; that same infuriating smile never faltered.

Until now.

Only you boasted the power to make the ever smug Ran Haitani drop his impassive facade to reveal a deep scowl. The words you practiced to explain to him all that had transpired in the past five years today seemed to elude you.

You could not reply to his interrogative questions and Ran sighed, cutting to the heart of things. “Why are you here?”

You bristled at his tone and glared towards the city view, involuntarily annoying him with your shifty reply and inability to tell him the truth.

“To enjoy the night sky.”

“No, fuck,” he gritted out and you held your breath. “Why are you really here, Y/N?”

A tremble of uncertainty passed between the both of you.

Fuck it. I'll just ask to see what his reaction is.

“I need a favour.”

Silence descended between both your tense forms. You had no idea what he was thinking or what his sudden loss of words entailed. All you sensed was that it didn’t bring you any good news.

But inwardly, you understood the gravity of what you were doing.

Picture this: you had a woman you swore to protect, to stay true to her because you both were madly in love with each other and one day, seemingly for no reason, she disappears and doesn’t pick up her phone or even answer her messages. What would you have done?

You knew, in the deepest pits of your conscience, that you were shameless; that you were nothing but a cold-hearted and calculating bitch for badgering a wounded man from your past for help when it was all your fault you turned out this way.

“A favour, eh?” He put out his cigarette and stared at you unblinkingly. “I'll give you a chance to ask it when you answer me this: How did a nice girl like you end up working the streets?"

You frowned at the accusatory tone he wore and glanced back down at your twined hands. “I…”

Your ex-boyfriend’s words were cutting you right down to the bone and you fought back the urge to cry. If it had been five long years Ran spent searching for a woman who had already lost herself, so what did he expect to find?

That you were the same girl who used to sing oldies in the middle of your shared kitchen wearing nothing but his shirt? Or, that you could coo over his wounds and patch them up, scolding him lightly to prioritise his safety?

No. That Y/N died the day you found your father in a pool of his own blood.

“I changed, Haitani.”

It seemed that Ran did not believe you. “Sure you did.”

Finally, you divulged the piece that was lingering in your mind, the final one that would give a full picture of the puzzle as to what happened in all those years you cut off contact with him.

“You would, too, if your father was murdered.”

A stifling quiet. “Huh?” Ran’s lilac eyes were piercing and all but shining with grim curiosity. “What happened?”

This was it. The final piece of the jigsaw puzzle you kept hidden from him; the pièce de résistance of how you ended up from being a good, hardworking girl to a scummy bedwarmer.

“I came back home one day after class and… our house had been broken into. H-he was in the kitchen—“ you spared the gory details and he did not press you for it. Instead, Ran lit one cigarette and passed it to you. You accepted it and breathed in the nicotine like it was fresh air, hoping that it would clear your mind.

“I'm sorry,” he said gruffly and followed your gaze towards Tokyo unfurling before your feet. You did not accept his apology, tears glimmering in your eyes from the unsuspecting pain still lingering in your soul. How you still were not over your father's death despite the years that had passed you by.

“But what I don’t get is why didn’t you tell me?”

If you could compare Ran’s anger to a flame, it would be a slow flickering light over a vat of gasoline. Sure, he was the most trigger happy brother, but he did it out of the genuine thrill of taking down his enemies—because certainty of what was black and white was always his constant companion. And in this instance, Ran did not know who was a friend or who was a foe.

“You fucking disappeared into thin air, Y/N.” A heavy disquiet fell over the both of you. “I searched for you, y’know? Thinking that it was a mistake; that you didn’t mean to leave. I wanted answers but the more I searched and dug up shit I realised something… maybe some answers just don’t want to be found.”

You took another drag of the cigarette, trying to keep the tremble out from your tone and hide your wet eyes by keeping your gaze off him. “I didn’t do it out of spite, Ran.”

“Then why’d you do it?”

That lachrymose needing to burst out into tears would not survive the truth. “I can’t answer that for now.”

Ran’s grip tightened around his glass. “So you think you can waltz in here, demanding to see me and I would give you everything you need? Stop the whole world for you again like how I used to?”

Anger flared through your chest, hot and insistent.

“Fuck—I’m not asking you to save me, Haitani! I’m just… I just wanna know…” your voice fell into a whisper and so did your hope. “I just wanna know who killed my dad and why... why’d they have to do it.”

You would have thought he would be more sympathetic, and not say, “He wasn’t a good man, Y/N. I know this because if he was, he wouldn’t have gone out that way.”

Part of you couldn’t believe he had said that, but this was Ran Haitani you were talking about; a man of rationalism and bruteness. His occupational hazard was leaving men like your poor father in that state. You pressed on.

“That’s why I needed to see you. To ask if you knew something.”

Those usual sleepy lilac eyes turned hardy like stone. “No.”

You could barely believe he was doing this, the anger coating the back of your throat. The city’s lights wavered in your periphery from your tears of desperation.

“W-what? What do you mean 'no'?”

He stood up, and people were glancing at the both of you; the crestfallen look on your face and the disproving one on his indicative of an argument. If you were in the right frame of mind, your cheeks would've warmed from how the both of you were causing a scene.

“I don’t know anything. Sorry. Can’t help you.”

Before you could hammer in your plea, he took his jacket off the chair and slung it over his arm, unable to even look at you.

“Wait—please!”

You stood up and rushed to his side, gripping his sleeve. A few women gasped at your audacity. It appeared you were gathering an even bigger audience from your stupid stunt—even the waiters carrying drinks and food paused in their tracks.

Ran ignored each of them and coolly glanced down at you with those infuriatingly beautiful eyes. He tugged his arm away and sneered down at your betrayed expression.

“Y/N, this isn’t something you want to get into.”

You grasped onto that little glimmer of truth he had unwillingly divulged, the wobble in your lower lip unmistakable.

“So, you do know something. You know who could have done this.”

Apparently, he registered his slip-up and he turned his face to glare at the ground, a mirthless chuckle leaving his lips. “I told you. I’m clueless.”

“Stop fucking treating me like a child, Ran!” Your outburst caught even you off guard and the air suddenly became stifling, despite the open sky staring down at your fury.

“You’ve always been like this! Y/N don’t do this or Y/N stop that like I’m some kind of—helpless child. I’m not, Haitani. I’ve seen shit." You were beyond desperate, trying to convince him to tell you the truth by giving up parts of your gory life for him to review.

"I’ve seen a man get shot where he stood, police dragging out mutilated bodies of the girls I work with from dumpsters—so many fucked up things. You don’t get to tell me that I can’t even know the truth when I... when I became like this just to find it!”

He did not entertain your callous words, lips pressed in a tight line.

"Sorry." At least he gave you the courtesy of a final apology before turning around to walk away.

“Haitani—“

You ran after him and gripped his arm, refusing to let him go.

In your mind, the images of your father's mangled body flashed, exacerbating your exasperation.

“Fuck!” he snarled, wrenching his arm away and staring down at you with such a virulent expression, you were almost scared if you didn't know that Ran Haitani was physically incapable of hurting you. “I’ll say this one last time, Y/N—drop this now before it’s too late.” The tension swirled around both your taut figures, taunting you with the urge to lean in and bridge the gap.

Unadulterated stubbornness clashed with the sudden gleam in his eye. You were close enough to smell the whiskey and nicotine on his breath.

Your baser instincts took over, your body trying to convince him in a way your words could not.

“Y/N—mmph.”

Your lips collided with his, hands clawed to the front of his shirt, pulling him in deeper. It wasn’t a seduction as it was a last desperate pitch to get him to listen—and the only way Ran would ever listen to you was when he was quiet. He drew you closer, one hand around your neck and the other on the small of your back. The air in the bar got thicker and you wrapped your arms around his neck, drinking the familiarity of his solid body pressed to yours. He pulled back slightly, lips swollen and shook his head, a lazy and exasperated smirk worming its way across those delectable lips.

“You’re so infuriating.” As he spoke, he found your zipper, dragging it down and you squeaked, darting your eyes towards the group of spectators who were all but gawking. Ran was brazen, but he wouldn’t be as bold to fuck you in front of a bunch of people… right?

Ran followed your line of sight and clicked his tongue, understanding your silent mortification.

“Fuck off! The bar’s closed!” he called over the easy music. As if he were a king decreeing his rigid word, the bouncers ushered the patrons away from the balcony, the lights dimmed low and even the employees were forced to leave the premises. The head guard bowed to him, closing the doors with a resolute click. Just from his bidding alone, the both of you were left alone.

Suddenly, all your bravery had dried up and you glanced down at his broad chest, unable to meet his eyes.

“Not so bold now, huh, princess?” he drawled and like a cat toying with a mouse, he cornered you against the balustrade with both arms caged around your body.

It was too quiet, the air too thick with electricity. You swallowed hard and looked up into those eyes you had found solace in so many times before your world was turned on its head. There was no denying it—you missed him with every fiber of your body and the beat of lust that had ignited from his lips on yours roared into a fire that threatened to incinerate the rest of your self-control.

“We’re alone now,” he murmured, running his nose down your neck, inhaling your light scent. “Was this your plan all along?”

“No,” the quake in your voice seemed like you were lying.

“You know I don’t like liars, Y/N,” he said, voice gravelly and deep, causing shivers to run down your spine. He was far too close, his indulgent scent of coffee, musk and tobacco was seeping into your every pore; you could not stop yourself from pitching forward and pressing your face to his neck to hide the wobble in your lower lip.

Ran sighed and irritably flicked his jacket onto the floor, the material making a heavy thud sound.

The press of his warm palms on the small of your back deteriorated the last of your hesitation.

“Ran…” you licked your dry lips, finding a shred of courage to look up at him with wide, pleading eyes. “Want it.”

“Want what?” His purring deep tone made your knees weak. If it weren’t for the cool stone and his arms around you, you would’ve melted onto the ground to join his pristine jacket.

Lower lip trembling and thighs clenching, you whispered, “I want you.”

Ran’s reaction was instantaneous. He picked you up by your thighs and placed you onto the balustrade where a ten-floor drop yawned below you. Squeaking in fear, you involuntarily wrapped your arms around him and buried your face in his chest again.

“Ran—!”

“Don’t worry, baby,” he moaned, kissing down your neck. “Ain’t gonna drop you.”

Those hot stamps in the shape of his lips were messing with your resolve and you groaned, head was thrown back, only the steel ropes of his arms and your thighs tensing around his waist anchoring you to safety. If you were a ship besieged in the middle of the storm, Ran was the roiling sea under you, ready to suck you into his depths.

“Someone can see us,” you hissed, knowing full well that if any passersby looked up, they would catch sight of two lovers on the balcony. He hummed, shaking his head with that shit-eating grin still etched across his lips.

“Baby, Rin and I own this bar. They ain’t seeing anything. ‘Sides, if they open their mouths, they won’t live to tell the tale.”

The wind whipped through your hair, stinging your eyes and you squeezed them closed, tilting your head back once he reached the valley of your breasts. Growling like a lion who had been held too long in captivity, he tugged the stretchy fabric down, exposing the lacy bra you wore to his heated stare.

“Shit,” he swore and planted more of those pussy-clenching kisses down the length of your throat.

“Ran,” you mewled, the heel of your boots digging into his lower back. Lost in his touch, you almost didn’t feel him tip you back, and you screamed once you felt the near loss of gravity, wildly scrambling to bury your white-knuckled grip in the back of his vest and hair.

“Ran!”

He secured his arms tighter around your waist, chuckling lowly into your ear. “Look at you—such a filthy little slut who wants my cock so badly she doesn’t care if she’ll fall.”

Rather than cowering in fear, his words served to heighten your arousal and you humped your drooling core across his cloth-covered bulge, trying your best to get as much friction as you could onto your aching pussy. “Oh, please,” you whimpered, pawing at his tie, removing it swiftly and throwing it down onto the cobblestone floor. Panting lightly, you managed to mutter, “N-need this.”

You hastily unbuttoned his vest to expose the crisp white dress-shirt he wore, making quick work of the first three buttons. Your mouth chartered a path from his chin to his neck, sloppily working in kisses mingled with frantic sucks of his skin, leaving reddened spots close to his gang tattoo. Trembling fingers touched the design, remembering the first day he came back home to eagerly show you the press of ink in his skin.

We’re gonna be rich, baby.

The both of you had seemed so young back then and a part of you ached for an innocence that was gone too soon.

His low groans resonated in your ear and you squeaked again when he used one arm to hold you fast to his chest while the other wormed its way under the hem of your dress, feeling for your panties. Catching two nimble fingers on the seat of the flimsy material, you felt him twist it and before you could stop him��

Riiiip.

As if your panties were nothing more than a sugar in hot water, they disintegrated into lacy tatters on the floor.

“Those were my favourite pair,” you moaned when he returned the favour and bit down on the delicate skin behind your ear.

“Fuck—will get you new ones,” he breathed heavily, tongue tracing the shell of your sensitive lobe. “I'll get you a whole wardrobe of lacy, naughty things. You want that?”

You murmured something that sounded like yes Daddy and he grinned, already loving how easily you slipped into your submissiveness. If there was one thing Ran loved more than anything in the world, it would be to bend you over anywhere he wished—over his knee, the head of the couch, even pressing you onto the hood of his car—and take you then and there. You were always such a pliant, sweet, little thing for him, and it made his blood boil to think of how much you had denied him in these past five years.

Rough hands tugged down the cups of your lacy bra, palming the plush flesh of your breasts. “Missed these fucking tits,” he muttered lewdly and before you could chastise him, he bent his head forward, almost tilting you at a dangerous angle just to latch his mouth onto your nipple. Your heart was beating wildly, your hair flowing freely in the wind. Every stroke of his tongue on your tender buds made you moan wantonly, and all you could do was stare at that angelic face and sinful mouth working one turgid nub and then another with that maddening tongue, your nipples soon shiny with spit.

In the half-dark, the sharp points were silhouetted against the city lights obscenely. A soft hum indicated he was pleased with his handy work.

He tugged you closer to his chest and attacked your mouth, numbing your complaints with those maddening kisses. Ran held your bottom lip open with that same hand that ripped your panties and a globe of spit left his mouth and dripped onto your waiting tongue. The instruction was implicit: Swallow. You did, an obedient plaything to his wills.

“Bet you liked that, don’t you, you little slut?” he crooned and your cheeks flushed, your hand moving down to cup the front of his slacks.

“Stop teasing,” you huffed and he grinned widely.

His free hand wandered down your thigh, finding your bare pussy, gently rubbing your already soaked lips.

“Ran—!”

He sensed your hesitance to accept his ministrations when your body tensed and he pressed his forehead to yours, lilac locks tickling the bridge of your nose.

“Give in fully to me, baby.”

You didn’t answer him, on a high from how he was tracing your folds, the gentle way he dipped his index finger teasingly into your clenching hole.

“Mm, your pussy seems to want this,” in a firm but silky tone, “I know you want this.”

You did not have to answer him; your arched back and the ripple of your walls around his intrusive finger more than gave him enough of an answer. “Gonna make up for not fucking you in those five years.”

You were close to a delirious fever pitch, needing him to finally fuck you. “Ran, more—please.”

“Already begging?” He slipped another finger in, instantly finding your sweet spot and pressing down on it. Hard. “Hmm, so eager.”

You jolted as if you were touched by a live wire. “Want you!” In a softer, supplicant tone you whined, “Need you—please.”

Ran could not say no, especially when you begged so nicely. He unbuttoned his slacks and slipped his hard length out, the familiar curve, veins and head making you almost salivate with joy. In one swift thrust, he sheathed himself into your heat, the both of you moaning with relief.

He swore that you looked like a fallen angel in that moment; your flushed cheeks, wide eyes, bare tits that jiggle with every slam of his pelvis into yours, getting him to almost believe in God.

Almost.

Your eyes were closed, head lolling back and he sensed that if he let you go and you fell to your demise, you would probably die with a satisfied grin on your face. But, of course, he wouldn’t do it—Ran Haitani would be a fool to let his favorite plaything go.

“My cock got you drunk, baby?” That low, rasping voice gave you goosebumps and all you could do was mewl, hands tangling with his lilac locks, your desperate gaze pinning him to the spot with begrudging awe. Years of knowing every dip, divot and curve on your body made him keenly aware of the cues you would give off—his most favorite green light in the world, one that signaled you were close to a release.

“You gonna cum for me like this?” One hand found your clit, strumming it in time with his clean thrusts. “Gonna cream all over my cock in front of the whole city?”

“M’gonna—“ Cut off by a choking moan, all you could do was squeeze your eyes tight, only able to take this ride of your life.

The sloppy meeting of his cock in your silken walls mingled with both your harsh breathing and Ran felt that telltale stir in his balls that he was going to fucking blow his load and all you could do was take it. He didn’t care if you weren’t on birth control or if this was what you did with the filthy men that you picked up on the streets; in this instance, your pussy was his, and he would show that pretty little cunt that he alone was her master.

“Yeah? Do it.” He goaded as his thumb rubbed frantic circles on your engorged and sensitive nub. “Fucking cum for me, princess.”

You jerked in his grip like a puppet strung too tightly and lost all restraint and shame, tossing your head back with a scream of his name, the sight so fucking magnificent in the haze of the flickering lights behind you that Ran thought himself to be in love again.

Every muscle in your body seized and his most favorite ones—the walls of your pussy—practically milked him dry. Ran was not even the least bit disgruntled that he was panting like a bitch in heat, fucking the last of his cum deep into your cervix.

The both of you took a second to just breathe.

Thank fuck for the open air—the smell of sex was sure to permeate every pore of his body, just like that tantalising vanilla perfume you wore.

Ran was gentle when he brought you back to your feet, toeing the scraps of what used to be your panties into a corner. Memories of how clingy you could be after every round of sex burned through his mind and he halfway expected you to cling onto him like a sleepy koala. That assumption was dashed when you stepped away from him, tucking your tits back into your bra and lifting the straps back in place.

Despite his silent disappointment, he helped you straighten the hem of your dress and you reached out to button back his vest; a team effort at getting decent once more.

Ran sat back down onto the plush chair, and this time, you sank into his lap, uncapping the bottle of whiskey and pouring a fresh glass.

You passed him the amber liquid and he took it from you with a nod.

“You alright?”

Sheepishly, you picked up his cigarettes and lighter, taking a moment to spark the flame before touching it to the butt of your white stick, the dancing flicker imprinted in the back of his eyelids whenever he blinked.

“Yeah.”

He drank and you smoked. Ran didn’t care that his seed was seeping out and staining his slacks, nor did he care that a bit of your ash fell onto his leg. He merely brushed it aside, wishing he had the courage to mimic that same motion with a stray piece of hair kissing your forehead.

“Usually I’d charge you a hundred an hour, y’know.”

Humour. You always used a joke to deflect the seriousness of a situation.

“Tell me about your life on the streets.” It wasn’t a request, and you could hear the steel under his soft tone, this one attempt to fill in the blanks of your new life something he found himself immensely curious on.

“It’s good money,” you sighed, and took another drag, the smoke unfurling past your kiss-swollen lips. “I live just by Roppongi with another hooker. She was the one who made this lifestyle sound so glamorous.”

In a softer tone, you held a faraway look in your gaze that was trailing across the city line. “The first time I did it, I sobbed like a baby afterwards. Felt dirty. But, you eventually get used to it—the leers, the pawing. I always made them wear rubber, though, so you don’t have to worry.”

He tightened his grip on the glass and swallowed down his disapproval with another mouthful of liquor. This is not you, Y/N.

You gave him a small smile and Ran bit back the urge to taste the nicotine off your tongue. “You’re the first guy I’ve ever let raw me in a long time. Well technically, you’re still the first guy.”

He tried not to let his surprise show, preferring to huff a silent laugh. A memory of you, five years younger, head on his chest and a sleepy confession passing your lips, flashed through his mind. I know this is my first time and all… but holy shit—you blew my brains out, Haitani.

Ran sat down the glass and wrapped his arms around you, perching his pointed chin on your shoulder. “I usually don’t help hookers… but I’ll make an exception for ya.”

You stubbed out the cig onto the stone wall, dusting the ash from your fingers. “Don’t pull my leg.”

Stubborn bitch.

“Nah. I’m serious,” he said, grin growing wider at the surprise settling onto your features. “I’ll see what I can find.”

He nudged you off his lap and picked up his jacket, shaking the dirt off from the expensive material. From his pocket, he procured a stiff card. “Here’s my number. Call me if you need anything.”

You turned the square in your fingers like it was a rare diamond you were studying, eyes shining. He was about to leave you alone with your thoughts when a soft call of his name punctured through the night like the clicking of a gun.

“Ran?”

The tall, Bonten executive swiveled back to face you, and he almost wished he didn’t. If he thought you were gorgeous in the throes in your orgasm, it was nothing compared to how you were looking at him now.

Swallowing back against the panic rising in his chest, he fixed you with a neutral gaze. “Hmm?”

Your answering smile was almost tender. “Thank you.”

He swore his heart skipped a beat.

And in that instance, a single, shred of doubt blossomed in his mind as he mulled over on the thought that if helping you was the right thing to do.

“Alright, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way.”

The stench of blood was thick in his nose, but Ran never took his eyes off the rivulets of red streaming into the man’s mouth. They had found him by the wharf and kidnapped him at gunpoint, bringing him down to Sanzu’s secret hideout to keep wandering eyes and ears from telling on them to Mikey. They were already in the midst of evading a drug bust and the leader of Bonten did not need this side quest to clutter his already burdened plate.

Ran had sworn them all to secrecy and here they were; Sanzu probably somewhere getting high off his fucking mind and Rindou beside him, rolling the sleeves of his shirt up and cracking his knuckles for another round.

“Wait, no—argh!”

Like breaking a biscuit in half, Rindou dislocated the man’s other finger joint, his other four twitching helplessly in abject agony. If there was one person he could trust to torture someone without spilling blood, it would his younger brother. The man spat out a globe of red and whimpered.

Well… maybe a tiny bit of blood had to be involved.

Ran’s voice was low and grim. “Answer, now. Name, location, or description.”

“I can’t tell you,” the bald-headed man gasped and flinched when Rindou bore down on him again. “Please! He’ll kill me if he finds out.”

The younger but no less feared Haitani brother wrapped two fingers around the underling's thumb. “Say, do you know what happens when you break someone’s thumb? Unlike the index or middle finger, it doesn’t heal. You know that? The ligament here—” he pressed the soft skin between the man’s index and thumb hard, his choked screams echoing across the decrepit walls. “—is all but paralysed if someone’s thumb snaps.”

Rindou shrugged and Ran had to bite back a laugh at how terrified the man looked. “Gonna be hard to explain to your boss how you can’t even shoot a Glock if you got no thumbs, huh? What are they gonna do to you—make you hold their cigarettes instead with your wrists? Kinda pathetic if you ask me.”

“No, please—”

“Last chance,” Rindou intoned in his usual bored fashion. “Name, location or description.”

The man threw his head back, his bound hands twitching, his thumb ransomed in Rindou’s unyielding grip. Eventually, he decided that the fate of his ligaments must’ve been more important; if this asshole was on his team, Ran would have shot him between the eyes with no hesitation at how easily he gave up his leader’s name.

“Kisaki Tetta.”

Fuck!

The two brothers shared a glance. You wanna do this? Rindou asked silently through a raised brow. Ran shrugged, as if to say, looks like we gotta do it, man.

Before the man could exhale in relief that his thumb was safe, Ran whipped out his gun and shot him point blank in the head. Warm flecks of blood and brain like the bursting of an overripe fruit splattered across his and Rindou’s faces. The shot echoed across the walls, the shell clattering onto the ground. The smell of smoke and blood hung in the air and Ran grunted, striding angrily towards the entrance of the warehouse, fumbling for his lighter.

“You really wanna do this?” Rindou easily caught up with his older brother, strings of blood caught in his purple mullet. He looked in a desperate need of a shower.

“I promised her, Rin.”

The younger Haitani resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Behind him, he heard Sanzu’s maniacal laughter and no doubt his superior would make sure that still-warm body would find its way down into the depths of the river; that man’s name, history and legacy wiped away together with the current. Despite his position, Bonten’s number two found extreme pleasure in cleaning up after the goriest of scenes and who was Ran to deny him his fun?

“Yeah, but she dumped you last time. You passed that?”

Ran leaned against his McLaren, a twin model of Rindou’s car but in jet black rather than muted silver. “You said it yourself—it’s all in the past.”

Rindou stole a white stick from his brother and stuck it between his teeth, grunting. “I really hope you know what you’re getting into. Kisaki’s gonna be a bitch to get through.”

Ran inhaled the curls of smoke in a rendition of a sigh. “It’s not impossible.”

“All for her, huh?”

The older Haitani narrowed his eyes and Rindou sensed when to back off. The story of his brother and his ex-girlfriend was one that he didn't have the full facts to. All he knew was that you upped and left one day and never reached out to Ran again.

Rindou snorted inwardly. As much as it hurt Ran’s ego to be left before he could do the leaving, he could see how his brother was clearly still in love with you.

Poor bastard.

“No. Her dad was a good man. I don’t know what shit he got himself in with Kisaki of all people but it wouldn’t hurt to find out more.”

Rindou stared off into the harbor, inhaling his next drag deeply. “Why?”

He had expected Ran to snort or brush him off when any mention of emotion was brought into the ring. Not to look at him with burning eyes and a hopeless sneer.

“The look on her face, man. It was like… like she didn’t have a will to live anymore. Not until she was telling me about him. Fuck, I mean… I gotta at least try.”

As much as Rindou was itching to knock some sense back into his brother, he thought about you and how you were like a rock to him all those years ago.

Once upon a time, Rindou was pretty sure that Ran was going to marry you; Bonten was a second priority to him, the first being the only woman the older Haitani had ever loved. The day you left was the day the last shred of Ran's humanity died.

After that, his brother was never the same again.

“Fuck—fine. But only because I’m actually related to you. If it was anyone else I would’ve left your ass out in the cold.”

A shadow of that lovesick grin that had been missing these past five years tugged on the corners of his lips, eliciting a sudden surge of nostalgia in the younger Haitani's chest.

“Thanks, Rin.”

Rindou rolled his eyes and stamped out his cigarette with the tip of his shoe.

“Yeah, yeah. Fuck off.”

“So, you’re the flavour of the month.”

You turned towards the unexpected, smug voice and found a young woman with red-painted lips sneering at you.

The same bossa nova music tinkled in the background and you tightened your denim jacket around your shoulders to ward off the frostiness of her forced smile.

“Excuse me?”

“Ran Haitani—you’re trying to land him.”

That glint in her eye was familiar. This woman was jealous and rather than lashing out at your ex-boyfriend, she was egging you on. Must’ve been an ex-fling, by the looks of it. You snorted inwardly. Unlucky bitch.

“No, I’m not trying to land him at all,” you retorted mildly and resisted the urge to flip her off. “I’m just using him for sex.”

A low chuckle broke through the tension and your eyes widened at another face from your past. Sleepy lilac eyes, a languid smile and a shaggy mullet the same hue as his brother’s locks. Rindou Haitani stood before you right in the flesh.

“Damn. Good to see you still have that mouth on you, Y/N.”

You threw one last glare at that woman who had scampered away the moment a Haitani was nearby and rolled your eyes. A playful smile teased your lips; you always had a good relationship with Rindou, and though he was a year younger than you, he didn’t find the need for formalities and you admired him for that.

After all, keeping up pretenses could be exhausting.

“Nice to meet you again, Rin.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he waved off your grin with a lazy one of his own. “Cmon, Ran’s up at the deck. Heard things got a little… heated there.” He let you hit his shoulder just like old times and you chuckled at his audacity. Like older brother, like younger brother.

“Shut up, Haitani.”

He wrapped an arm around you in a familial way. “Grumpy ass bitch.”

Rindou dropped his arm the moment Ran came into view. The deck was once more empty, the patrons forbidden from entering this space now that the two owners were here and wanted their privacy.

Ran’s lilac eyes roamed across your features and he shot you a grin. “Hey. We got the info you’re searching for.”

Your heart sped up and you sank down on the plush chair where Rindou had gathered, hands laced over your lap. “You did?” Ran nodded and sat next to you, the heat of his body radiating comfort despite the tension, and if Rindou’s eyes were not on the both of you, you would have laid your head on his shoulder, if not just to feel its broad strength underneath your cheek.

“Kisaki was the one who ordered your father’s death.”

That name was unfamiliar to you; none of the other girls you worked with who serviced gang members had ever mentioned a Kisaki. Ran sensed your palpable confusion. “He runs a new organisation—Valhalla 2.0. It used to be one of the top delinquent groups years ago, together with Toman. He’s been trying to revive it back to its glory days.”

Your silence perturbed both brothers though they did not show it. They’ve both been trained for the longest of time in the art of observation to determine someone’s next move and from the look on your face, it seemed that you were steeling yourself for a hard decision. However, they didn't expect what you would say next.

“I guess I’ll have to infiltrate it.”

“It won’t be easy,” Rindou said after a moment of silence, leaning back against the chair, an edge in his dark gaze.

“You’ll have to be trained,” Ran supplied.

Another twist of your hands. “I never thought it would be. But I’ll do it—for him.” Rindou must’ve known who you were referring to, most likely hearing it from Ran, as he did not ask any further questions.

Ran was more cautious of the two brothers. “You’re gonna do this on your own?”

“I have to,” you bowed your head towards both brothers so they couldn’t see the tears coruscating in your eyes. “Thank you for your help. I am indebted to you both.” Sensing that your short time together with them was up, you stood up and meant to walk away. This was all the help you would ask from them—you couldn’t expect anything more.

Any bit of intelligence in the underground world that all three of you belonged to came with a harsh price, and you had no doubt as to how the brothers had to dirty their hands to get you this information. The last thing you wanted was to overstep on their kindness.

“Wait.”

You paused.

It was Ran who asked, “How’d you like a spot in Bonten?”

Heart in your throat, you almost thought you were hallucinating from the heights and the smoke. “Bonten?” you repeated slowly.

Ran nodded, flashing you a small smile, one that reminded you of the same sheepish grin he wore whenever he bought you your favourite flowers. “We’ll train you up, get you an entry point and then you’ll strike. Sounds fair?”

This was more than fair; Ran was literally handing you your revenge on a silver platter and you would be a fool to deny this offer.

“Deal.”

Later when you had gone back to Roppongi and it was just the two brothers and their closing bar, Rindou broached the topic with him. “So, you’re just gonna Rescue Armour your little girlfriend like Pepper Potts so she can do your dirty work?”

Ran tore his eyes away from the skyline and snorted.

“She’s not my girlfriend. And second of all, who still watches Marvel movies?”

Rindou sensed it would be useless to fight with his brother once his mind was made up and he only hoped that Mikey would turn a blind eye to this.

Who knows? Perhaps once you infiltrated Valhalla and brought Kisaki down to the dirt where he belonged, Mikey might give them both a big enough raise to open another bar; this time one in the heart of the district they grew up in.

“Apparently not losers like you.”

Ran snorted and touched his suit pocket where his trusty baton was, much to his younger brother’s annoyance. “How’d you like the taste of steel on your ass, Rin?”

“Ew. Save that kinky shit for your girl, man.”

“She’s not my girl.” Another weak denial. Fuck, Ran was getting shittier at lying day by day; Sanzu would be disappointed in him.

“And I’m the fucking Queen of England.”

“Fuck off.”

Yup. His brother was completely and utterly whipped for you. Rindou reached out to flick Ran’s forehead, a smirk replacing his usual languid smile.

“Simp.”

a/n. feedback and comments are appreciated. even though this is a reuploaded fic lmao

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freak-accident419 · 5 months ago

Text

playing cards

Derek Danforth x GN!Reader

(gif by @joshfutturman) Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | More parts coming soon

Summary: When his mother hosts a party and expects him to bring a proper date, Derek is obligated to comply. Not wanting to disappoint her any further (mainly driven by the rumor of her cutting him off), Derek recruits his best friend to pose as his fake partner. However, the two have to keep up this lie when a series of constant, luxurious events are held, causing several shenanigans to ensue.

Word Count: 3.7k

Content: gender-neutral reader, swearing, reader is his best friend, Derek’s mommy issues, fake dating

Ao3 Link

(A/n: this is my first miniseries!! I will also be posting this on Ao3, so please show your support there as well. Thank you to everybody who showed me love and support. Special thanks to Skye especially :) enjoy!!)

“Uh, yeah, I’ll have a flat white with oat milk. You know, the usual.”

For the most part, Derek would go about his usual schedule, which deprived of responsibility and stress. In fact, his recent routine invariably consisted of privileged luxuries, little to no work tasks, and drunken parties every night.

Phone in hand, Derek skated through the office on his skateboard as he waited for the drink that he ordered at the coffee bar. He checked for any texts until he swiped out of the Messages app to surf through his social media. And as he tapped through his friends’ stories on Instagram, video footage that caused Derek to reminisce the events of last night’s party took over his screen.

It was a typical night out for him, actually. He would invite his group of friends to clubs or venues and indulge in the colorful strobe lights, bass-boosted music, and alcoholic drinks. You had always tagged along with him, as you were his best friend, getting drunk and partying together. Every night, he would get abysmally wasted and driven home by his employees. Ultimately, “reckless” was nearly an understatement to describe Derek Danforth—alongside irresponsible and hedonistic.

He smirked at the Instagram stories that his friends had posted of him taking a body shot off of a skimpy stripper. Ultimately, you took the best video of the scene because unlike the other posted videos, the camera was much clearer and barely shaking. Chuckling to himself as he hears your voice chanting for him in the video, he tucked his phone back in his pocket and skated back to the counter to retrieve his coffee.

“Flat white with oa—”

“Beautiful, thank you,” he replies dismissively, grabbing the cup that the worker handed him and continued to skate along the hallway, past several other employees.

Expecting the next hour to be full of pampering and Tibetan singing bowls, a stern, yet familiarly lavish voice suddenly stops him in his tracks.

“Derek.” The young billionaire stiffens at the sound of his name being called. “May I have a word?”

An irritated sigh left Derek’s lips as he stood still on his skateboard, neglecting to turn his head around to face the older man. He then rolls his eyes and finally got off of his skateboard, kicking it up in his hand.

***

“You have to clean up your act, young man,” Westwyld states as Derek slouches pettishly in his chair.

Great. It was just another one of his needless lectures again. Why did he even bother? From the moment Derek walked into Westwyld’s dreadful office, he already sensed that he would be given another ‘serious talk’ from the man who tries to act like his father after having a romantic past with his mom.

In response to his useless demand, Derek scoffs with a smug curl on his lips, taking a short drag from his vape pen. It was almost amusing to him that Wallace believed his lectures would give him the slightest motivation to “do better.”

“Isn’t your job covering up my ‘fuckups’? Keeping me out of the tabloids and the headlines, keeping my reputation clean?” He sneered, impatient with the predictable redundancy that Westwyld brought onto him. “Isn’t that all you’re good for?”

Westwyld sighs, not very keen on having to explain himself for the thousandth time. “Derek, my job is to keep Danforth Enterprises safe, to keep your mother safe. Her reputation, her name. For thirty-five years, I worked as the director of the world’s intelligence agency, but I chose this job as a favor to your mother.”

Derek rolled his eyes carelessly. It was the same, bothersome routine when Wallace would scold him and then run his mouth about how he could have had any other job, but chose security for Danforth Enterprises for the sake of President Jessica Danforth.

“Yeah, I’ve heard you tell me this for, like, a billion fucking times,” Derek retorts with a harsh scoff, “You know what, I don’t have the fucking time for this.”

He stood up instantly, storming off until Wallace’s next words made him freeze, bringing a chill up his spine.

“Your mother’s thinking of cutting you off, you know that?”

Derek processed Westwyld’s words for a second, sensing the threat behind it. His own mother wouldn’t do that to him. She completely adores him. Right? It was just another empty threat—everything had always worked out for Derek in the long run. So he kept his cool as always, scoffing in disbelief with a breathy chuckle. “Um, no. No, she’s not. She wouldn’t.” He turned around to face Wallace, walking back up to him.

“Everybody’s talking about it, Derek. A rumor, you would call it, but she spoke to her advisers. Money may play a big role in the grand scheme of things, but public image as well. I cannot keep covering for you, Derek. The endless social media posts of your immature, juvenile actions, the soirées, the strippers, it’s getting out of control,” Wallace spat sourly, evidently sick of Derek’s shenanigans and recklessness. “Even the tiniest information can spill, and your reputation will grow rotten. And your reputation is your mother’s. I won’t let you take this risk, Derek, you need to clean up your act now.”

***

Derek left Westwyld’s office slightly pissed, sipping his coffee as he rode through the hallway once again in his skateboard. Suddenly he felt his phone buzzing, so he grabbed it out of his pocket to look who was calling him.

Well, shit. Speak of the fucking devil.

It was his mother.

Taking a deep breath, Derek stared at the contact name and gulped nervously before finally clicking ‘accept’.

“Hi, Mom… What’s, um… What’s up?”

For the first time ever in Derek’s life, one of Westwyld’s lectures actually intimidated him.

Jessica Danforth was an incredibly busy woman. Hell, she was the President of the United States for fuck’s sake, there was no way she would call up her son for something casual. It had to be for something urgent, which inevitably provoked fear in him—all he could think about was getting disinherited. “Hi, Derek,” she says into the phone, sort of in a disappointed sigh. “I was just checking in, making sure you are able to attend the party on Saturday evening. You are able to come, yes?”

Derek let out a soft, gratified breath, relieved that his mother wasn’t calling him to discuss his reputation and financial situation. But either way, it seemed that he was still in deep shit; Derek forgot all about that party.

His mother spoke about it several times in the past, inviting him almost an entire month ago. She made it very clear about how important it was to her, but Derek was completey oblivious to it. It was either some kind of gala or charity event, but he’d been too baked recently to even remember.

“O-oh, um, party, right, that party…” he replies dubiously, the information barely coming back to his mind. “Yeah, um, yeah, of course.” He blinks for a moment, trying to remember the information about the party. Right. It was some kind of charity auction. Raising money for a good cause. Extremely tasteful and elegant, the kind of boring parties that Derek was never a fan of.

“Alright. Good,” she says briefly. Jessica bit her bottom lip hesitantly. “Derek, there’s something I also need to mention.”

Oh shit, here it is. The slight panic returned to him once again. He wasn’t sure how he was going to take it.

“Oh, and, um, what’s—what’s that, Mom?” He asks, raising an eyebrow and trying to sound calm.

“Your… your public image has been in a very rough state lately, especially with all of the partying posts that your friends shared online. The hard drinking and the strippers, Derek, it’s just… It’s affecting how your investors and all these businessmen perceive you. They won’t take you seriously with all of your recklessness. Just… Settle down or something. Find a really nice girl, or boy, or whoever, and take them out to dinner,” she urges. “I want you to stop partying and… hooking up with strangers so much. Please be presentable at the party, Derek. I’d—I’d even be pleased if you were able to bring a date.”

Derek didn’t process the words the moment they left his mouth abruptly, blurting out a blatant lie. “Actually, that’s what I was going to bring up. I actually have a date to the party.” Shit. No. No, you don’t, you fucking idiot.

“What?” She asks curiously, completely taken aback. “Are you serious, Derek?”

“Yeah! And, um, we’ve been serious for a long time, but uh… yeah, they are helping me become a better, uh, man, and I will no longer be reckless. My reputation will be restored, so no drastic measures have to be done,” he says, digging himself in a deeper hole as he tries to indirectly convince his mother that she shouldn’t cut him off. If those rumors were to be true, at least.

“Well… Derek, if you’ve been seeing them for a long time already, then what was that scandalous video clip of you and that… that stripper, posted everywhere online?” She questions, thinking to herself about the logistics of Derek’s situation.

“Oh yeah, that was—see, that was an old video. People have just been reposting it recently, you know the algorithm. I—Actually, I, uh, I met my partner on the day after that video was taken, and they, uh, yeah, they convinced me to be a better man, donate to charity, all that… philanthropy shit—uh, stuff.” Derek had attempted to simultaneously make his mother believe he had a respectable date to the party, as well as being a much better person than he was before.

“Which was when?” She raises an eyebrow.

“Uh, like.. gotta be a few months ago, give or take,” he answers briefly.

“Alright, and who is this date of yours?” She finally asks.

“Oh, right, that would, um, that would be my partner,” he answers in a mumble, nodding to himself with clarity.

“Derek,” she sighs exasperatedly.

“Oh. Their name? Their name, you mean? Their name is, uhh, umm… Actually, I would love to surprise you, Mom!” He answers immediately.

“Seriously?” She scoffs with a disappointed sigh. Jessica knew her son like the back of her hand. Hell, she birthed the kid, having to push out his dumb, big head out of her snatch. The point was, she could always sense when he was lying, or at least when there was something fishy. Sadly, she frequently expected very less of him, unbeknownst to Derek.

“Yeah, Mom! Trust me, they’re really kind and they’re a good person, and I am—I am just thrilled to introduce the two of you,” he exaggerates pridefully, hoping to eventually sell it.

“I worry about you, Derek,” she sighs softly. “Fine… Fine, whatever, Derek, I’ll see them at the party. Please promise me that. Just… Just be good, okay?”

Derek smiled to himself. “I will. And I promise. I won’t disappoint you. I love you, Ma.”

“I love you too.”

***

“I am so royally fucked,” Derek states bluntly.

Later on in the evening, Derek was hanging out with you as always, at the club you two would habitually meet up at. You were his best friend for many years already and earned the position of being his right-hand man ever since you first met in college.

“Why? What did you do this time?” You reply lazily, sipping your drink. You always expected bullshit from Derek. He always got himself into trouble that he would make other people fix. It wasn’t very bothersome to you, personally. You enjoyed hanging out with him and his privilege was just a big bonus.

“Well… So, I was speaking with Wallace—”

“Ew—”

“Yeah, I know,” he scoffs. “As I was saying… The guy pulled me into his office and, get this? There’s a whole fuckin’ rumor that my mom is going to cut me off.”

“What?” You perked up, sitting up from your previous slouching position and looked at Derek seriously. “No way. That—No, that’s not true. You’re—You’re a full-time Mama’s Boy, the fucking suck-up of the century, there’s no way she would do that to you!”

Derek shrugged as he sipped his bourbon, the blue lights in the bar beginning to give him a headache. “Yeah, well… Remember that… that super dope video of me drinking a shot from that one stripper’s belly button? What was her name?”

You bit the inside of your cheek in deep thought. “Vixen?”

“No, she was last week’s. Was it Trixie?”

“No, that was way back during the New Year’s Eve party,” you recalled.

“Candy? No…”

Enthusiastically, you slapped the wooden surface of the counter with your palm. “Tiffany!”

“Yes, fuck, it was Tiffany!” Derek exclaimed. “Okay, well, you recall all those videos of her and me posted everywhere, right?”

“Hell, yeah! I had the best fucking recording, man,” you chuckle softly, thinking about the wild night before.

“Yeah, you did,” he slightly smiled, “but, uh… It’s getting viral and well… I don’t fuckin’ know why Wallace can’t do more cover-up shit for me, but because I’m ‘ruining my reputation’ with this, it’s gonna give my mom a bad reputation too? So, like… Wallace said there was talk about her… cutting me off the inheritance or whatever.”

“Shit…” you blew a low whistle, raising an eyebrow. “That’s… That’s really tough, man. Look, I’m sure that there’s a reason why it was solely a rumor and she’s not actually thinking of that. She loves you, you’re the last physical form of proof of your dad, and ultimately, you’re a manipulative suck-up. You’re not getting cut off anytime soon, dude.”

Derek scoffs, pinching his eyebrows together. “Well, its too late because I sorta fucked up a bit more.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Really? How?”

“My mom was so insistent about me getting a date to the party this weekend and I think she believes that me being in an exclusive, healthy relationship or whatever would improve my reputation,” he explains, humming a small mutter of gratitude as a bartender walked over to refill his drink. “So… I lied and told her that I had a date already. And that I’ve been dating them for a few months already and they’re helping me improve so that she would have no reason to cut me off.”

“But like… the video of you and Tiff—”

“I know the video of me and Tiff!” He exclaims in frustration. “I told her that video was filmed a long time ago and people are just reposting it, or something.”

“Okay, right,” you nod, trying to get a sense of his train of lies. “So, what, did she believe you?”

“I don’t… I don’t fuckin’ know,” he mumbles, “I can’t tell. But I told her I would bring them to the party as a surprise and I couldn’t even come up with a name or anything.”

You groan, putting your head in your hands before taking another sip of your alcohol. “Derek, you are a total idiot. What are… So—so, who are you gonna pull up to the party with? A fuckin’ cardboard cutout of fuckin’… Margot Robbie and call it a night?”

“No, I’m not a dumbass, Y/n. I’ll just tell her that they couldn’t make it because they were sick or something. Better yet—they were doing some kind of modeling job in Europe,” he replies, wanting to give the impression that if he would have a romantic partner, they would be incredibly successful and beautiful. He had a reputation to uphold, after all.

“That’s rich,” you scoff, wiping an eye with your finger. You were absolutely done with him. “You really think she’s going to believe that? Seriously? She’s your mom, Derek, I’m sure she can tell when you’re lying. And—and at one point, she’s going to ask for proof of photos and to actually meet them in person, and I’m sure that when she gets the news that you lied to her, she’d want to cut you off even more! Derek, you’re just digging yourself in an even deeper hole than before. You’re practically digging your own grave,” you argue.

“Fine, fine, then if she asks again, I’ll just say that they broke up with me,” he shrugged dismissively, leaning back and drinking from his glass.

“I thought the whole point was to improve your reputation, make you seem like a goddamn saint?” You retort, wiping your hand over your face in exhaustion.

He frowns. “Okay, you do have a point. Fuck. Then what do you suggest I do?”

“Why’re you asking me?” You whine with a frown.

“Because you keep correcting me on shit, clearly you must have better ideas than me,” he shrugs, looking at you expectantly.

“Well, I don’t. If I were you, I’d just cut your losses and accept that your fucking consequences have actions!” You reason fairly. “Might as well just get kicked out to the streets, having to con people for their money—oh wait, that’s exactly what you’ve been doing for the past few years! That’s all you do, man, I’m sorry, I can’t back you up! All you do is trick and deceive with all your lies, using people as pawns, it’s ridiculous!”

And after all that calling out, there was only one thing that the arrogant bastard got out from your outburst. His eyes lit up and you could tell that he had another stupid idea.

“Wait, Y/n, that’s it!” He exclaims brightly. “Using people!”

“Dude, I really fucking can’t with you—”

“I can get someone to pose as my fake partner for the night!” He grins.

“Yeah, I am really not liking the sound of this—”

“And get this,” he began eagerly. “You can do it.”

You feel your eyes widen as you hear Derek’s proposal. “Oh, no. No. Hell no. No, no, no, not in a million fucking years.”

“Y/n, come on,” he whines childishly. “It’ll only be for a day. You can pose as my partner at the party, impress my mom, deceive the press for a bit, and boom, I won’t even be considered getting cut off.”

You let out a prolonged groan, rolling your eyes and gulped much more of your drink than a regular sip. “Derek, she knows me. She knows I’m your best friend, she’s met me, there is no way—”

“That’s the point! I can pull some strings and shit, saying that we were friends until we, like, fell for each other or some other cheesy fuckass story. And if we want this entire charade to end after the party, a few days later I could just say that we broke up because we were more compatible as friends! No bitterness so that neither of us seem like the bad guy in the breakup. It’s the perfect fucking plan,” he explains, somehow more intricately than you would expect from him.

You pause, pondering deeply about his plan.

“Hell no.” You finally say, drinking more of your beer.

“Aw—come on, Y/n. Please. It’s only for a day. Look, my life is at fucking stake! I could lose all my fucking money, and—look—you won’t get to take advantage of my rich, privileged ass anymore. No more luxuries, no more rich parties. Come on, Y/n. Please.” His voice was pleading and you could tell he was heavily desperate. He wasn’t wrong. If the rumors were true and his mother was going to cut him off due to his recklessness and immaturity, he would lose so much money that you can’t leech off on. And of course you cared about him more than the money, he’s been your friend for years. But this whole thing seemed so complicated.

However, you were his right-hand man. His best friend since college. He relied on you. But hell, if you had to humiliate yourself for one night as Derek’s romantic partner, you should at least get something out of it.

“I wanna get paid,” you blurted.

He looked at you with an almost offended expression. “What?”

“Look, if I have to spend a night at a boring ass party, shaking the wrinkly, sweaty hands of old, ancient fucks, and having to pretend I’m your partner, I expect to be paid,” you reason, raising an eyebrow.

“You’re fuckin’ kidding,” he scoffs distastefully, rolling his eyes. God, you wanted to stab a fork in them.

“No! This whole plan is so complicated and I hate you for involving me in it!” You growl, pointing at him accusingly. “What am I getting out of this? Nothing! So you might as well just pay me to do this stupid acting job.”

“You’re—You’re not serious—” he glances at your obstinate expression. “You’re fucking serious. Well, okay! Fuck, fine. How much are we talking?”

“How long is the event?” You ask, grabbing your glass up to your lips to indulge in another sip.

“Probably a few hours, I don’t know, it’s a whole fancy live charity auction event,” he shrugs carelessly, grabbing his vape from his pocket and taking a quick drag.

“Okay, then. I won’t burden you too much. Two hundred dollars,” you answer confidently.

“That’s it? Oka—”

“However,” you began with a small smirk. “If we have to be all couple-y and gross and romantic with each other, I may consider raising the price. Like, if we have to hold hands or I have to look into your eyes for more than five seconds.”

“Fine, that seems fair,” he sighs softly. “Do we have a deal?” Derek, like he always would when he’d negotiate, took out his hand in front of you.

You grimaced at it. “I really don’t wanna shake to that,” you whine, groaning to yourself. “Just one night, right?”

“One night,” he confirms.

“Staging a break up right after?”

“Yup.”

“Little to no PDA?”

“Hopefully.”

“And you’re gonna pay me five hundred bucks?”

“Yes. Wait, wh—”

Before he could protest, you shook his hand immediately, completely sealing the deal.

Having to pretend to be Derek Danforth’s romantic partner for a whole night?

Yeah, there was no way in hell that this was going to end well.

#derek danforth #derek danforth x reader #derek danforth x gn!reader #gender neutral reader #gn!reader #josh hutcherson #josh hutcherson x reader #derek danforth smut #derek danforth x you #mike schmidt x reader #clapton davis x reader #josh futturman x reader #peeta mellark x reader

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hanlimz · 1 year ago

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midnight thoughts: [heeseung + drunk words]

synopsis: real sweet, but you wish he was sober (alternatively, you take such good care of heeseung while he's drunk that he decides to tell you how he really feels). pairing: heeseung x gn!reader genre/warnings: hurt/comfort (?), f2l (ambiguous but still cute i promise) / EMETOPHOBIA TW (nothing happens but throwing up is mentioned, be cautious <3)!!!, drunk heeseung lol, tiny skz mention (my worlds colliding), um alcohol consumption (?), sunghoon is the dd don't worry there is no drunk driving! wc: 1.4k (el oh el)a/n: inspired by model student heeseung in the first couple en-o'clocks who is unreasonably attractive but also ? a dork . that is all. (love u hee stans this one's for u hope u're doing okay lately w ur man acting the way he is.)

[1:16AM] six shots of tequila and a raspberry smirnoff ice deep, and lee heeseung is gone. strong surges of heat rush to his cheeks to create a dizzying push and pull effect, rivulets of sweat are beginning to drip from his temples, and he's trying his best not to vomit up the fried chicken jake and sunghoon made him eat earlier. heeseung finds solace on the cool tiles of the kitchen floor; he clutches the crisp fabric of his white button down and attempts to will away the waves of nausea that are crashing against the walls of his stomach. breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth, heeseung's thoughts begin to drift back to a familiar place. he can almost feel the phantom sensation of your fingers carding through his hair; the tips of your fingers are refreshing and imbue him with a tranquility that he isn't often privy to.

"holy shit, dude—did we really let you get this fucked up?" heeseung vaguely registers jake's voice as two warm fingers reach under his jaw to check his pulse. inwardly, heeseung chuckles—leave it to biomedical engineering major, pre-anesthesiology track jake sim to presume death over everything else. glancing up, heeseung watches the genuine concern that flashes in the younger boy's gaze. "c'mon heeseung, we gotta get you home, bro. good god—[y/n] is actually gonna murder us …”

heeseung curls in on himself at the sound of your name, hiding away from the prodding of jake’s fingers into his upper arms. he wants to press his face into the crook of your neck, he aches to feel your hands cascading up and down the length of his spine, he yearns so desperately for a chance to indulge in a tender moment of unity with you. heeseung closes his eyes to relish in the way the memories seem to envelop him in a ghostly embrace, and he swears he only blinks once. the bass-boosted music and headache inducing strobe lights become mere background accompaniment to the movie playing behind his eyelids.

he swears he only blinks once, but the familiar aroma of your perfume begins to permeate his senses—bergamot and vanilla, his favorite. voices come into focus, his head starts to pound, and the reality of being splayed all over the backseat of sunghoon’s benz is setting in at the speed of falling molasses. "what the hell did you let him get into?" there's a certain venom in the question that bites at his jugular. he recognizes the cadence of your voice and the way you suck a sharp breath through your teeth with ease. "sigma kappa zeta is so out of hee's league—you couldn't have taken him to alpha tau zeta or tau chi tau or someplace that bang chan doesn't run?"

"he said he could handle it!" sunghoon counters.

you let an incredulous scoff escape your mouth as you berate the two boys in a hushed whisper, "and, you believed him? he obviously wanted to impress you idiots. god, i'm starting to think jongseong is the only one of you with a functioning brain ... "

"[y/n]!" jake exclaims, "so not chill."

"no—what's really not chill is tweedledumb and tweedledumber letting heeseung get wasted at his first frat party." you scold, voice cold as ice while jabbing an accusatory finger in their faces. jake and sunghoon hang their heads like dogs being told off for chewing up furniture; in any other situation, you might have had the inclination to chuckle, but you don't. "now, help him up to my couch and leave before i get even meaner."

everything is blurry as heeseung stumbles his way up the stairs to your apartment; sunghoon and jake are bickering with one another while supporting each side of his body—who is tweedledumb and who is tweedledumber, who let heeseung drink this much booze, who will have to recount tonight's escapades to jay, and who will have to give pity laughs to his impending dad jokes? they curse at one another until you mention the possibility of a noise complaint, and all the incessant chatter stops. in the midst of a spring night, only cricket song remains. heeseung focuses on the quiet chirping until the cool leather of your couch cushions begins to soothe the molten liquid that seems to course through his veins. goodbyes are exchanged and a door is closed somewhere far away, but heeseung's head is too heavy to lift.

he blinks again and opens his eyes to the rough fibers of an old washcloth running over the peaks and valleys of his face. the fabric brushes along the deep circles carved beneath his bloodshot eyes; concentration knits your forehead into a multitude of different creases, and heeseung can't help the pitiful chuckle that tumbles from his mouth. an airy sensation overtakes his being as he realizes that he's right where he had wanted to be all evening—with you. embarrassment still settles like an indestructible boulder in the pit of his stomach, however; shame's spindly talons sink into heeseung's flesh as he realizes just how much of a fool he's made out of himself.

"just—just wan'ed to be cool, [y/n]," heeseung slurs out, voice plagued with exhaustion. bringing his knees to his chest, heeseung attempts to keep his tears at bay. "just wan'ed to show you that i c'n be cool 'nd awesome 'nd sexy! but, now 'm just looking stupid on your couch ..."

placing the washcloth on the arm of the sofa, you move to rest heeseung's head in your lap. he gladly accepts the comforting gesture, cuddling into the soft cotton of sweatpants he realizes are his. combing your fingers through his roots and scratching at his scalp, you whisper, "for the record—i already think you're cool and awesome."

heeseung glances up at you, face swollen and eyes puffy. "really?" he asks, "so, you don't think i'm a stupid, un-sexy idiot that can't hold his liquor?"

"well, you can't hold your liquor," you muse with a hint of laughter in your voice, caressing the supple skin of his cheekbone, "but, no. i don't think you're a stupid, un-sexy idiot."

basking in the reality he was just confronted with, heeseung's drunken mind can only focus on one thing. his desperate need for clarification tempts him; desire's forked tongue beckons him towards the truth. the question repeats over and over again in his brain until it spills out—an unwilling victim of an inebriated perpetrator. "so ..." he drawls, attempting to wink but closing both eyes instead, "you think i'm sexy?"

and, you laugh. it's a euphoric sound—a beautiful melody reminiscent of spring picnics, gingham blankets, and the fragrant scent of blooming tulips. for a moment, heeseung loses himself in it; coherent thought escapes his grasp as he is overtaken by you. your touch, your warmth, the bleary image of your smile as it comes in and out of focus. you wash over heeseung in waves, an ocean of calm in a world that only seeks to burn; alluring siren song floods his mind as you call out to him over the sound of the blood pumping his ears. the cool tips of your fingers are beginning the quell the heat beneath heeseung's skin as consciousness begins to slip away from him, and a dopey grin is woven onto his lips.

"heeseung," you murmur, the ghost of a bout of giggles hiding behind your words. "hee, baby, you should really let me get up to grab you some advil."

the term tumbles from your mouth before you can help it, and you freeze. having revealed yourself, you're overcome by the desperate urge to run—but, heeseung has given you nowhere to go. his weight traps you, holding tight and pressing harder by the second. half of you wants to hear him say it back, while the other hopes for the couch cushions to swallow you whole. heeseung—though not a man of many surprises with his perfect grades, perfect attendance, perfect everything—manages to stun you tonight.

"wan' you t'call me that again, [y/n]," heeseung mumbles through sleep, "please."

"you want—" your voice catches in your throat, "you want me to call you baby?"

there's a beat of silence so long that you're almost sure heeseung has fallen victim to the salivating jaws of sleep, but he groans. the utterance is low and deep—dripping with what seems to be a concoction of mild annoyance, exasperation, and endearment. "'s all i've ever wanted, [y/n]," he replies, eyes closed and nose buried into your sweater, "you're all i've ever wanted."

another pause.

"okay," you say, meandering through the quiet for a moment, letting yourself wade towards him in this new sea of possibilities, "baby."

#enhypen fluff #enha fluff #heeseung fluff #enhypen reactions #; �� cass writes: heeseung #heeseung headcanons #heeseung reactions #enhypen #enha headcanons #enha reactions #heeseung imagines #enhypen imagines #enha imagines #enhypen x reader #enha x reader #heeseung x reader #heeseung x yn

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hibiscusol · 8 months ago

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IVY - rafe cameron .⋆·˚ ༘ *

navigation ! masterlist

warnings: language and mentions of alcohol

summary: rafe came back after swearing he never would.

author's note: we are sooo back guys :]

The moment Rafe’s hand snaked up your waist after three years of no contact, your mind went full-blank.

You never thought that Rafe, of all people - who are you kidding, you always did - would come back one day after swearing on his dad that he never would.

It’s not like he ever really liked his dad anyway.

So as you turned around in shock to connect your drunk glossy eyes to his, it felt wrong. So wrong. Sarah had told you he’d found someone new. That he’d found a pretty blonde who looked better next to him. She’d never say it to your face, but the pictures you’d see on his account screamed it at you.

It took you a second to remember that he probably mistook you for her, and you take a step back, shaking your head quickly.

“Wait, Y/N,” He whispers, and even in the bustling crowd, it reaches you just fine. You wait and turn, feeling dizzy. “Excuse me?” You say, too stunned to make up any other words. You want to shove him away and scream at him, yet his fucking beautiful blue eyes hold you in place.

“Can we talk? By my bike?” He says, inching a little closer so that his voice would reach you. His body towers over yours and the blue and purple lights dim a little.

“No?!” You say defensively, making it sound more like a question. “Who even are you?” You say jokingly, your freshly manicured hand landing on his shoulder and pushing him slightly away. He doesn’t resist. He takes a step back and puts his hands up in understanding. “Y/N. Please. I need to tell you some things I needed to tell you all those years ago.”

You feel your eyes sting, and a tear rolls away. You instantly turn away from him to the backyard, looking at all the half-naked people in the pool, even though your eyes are getting blurry.

He doesn’t say anything. He knows you. He waits for you to turn around.

“Your drinking problem never went away, did it?” You finally manage, barely saying it without crying. Your voice breaks, but he doesn’t notice it with the loud sound of bass-boosted Travis Scott playing in the background.

“No, Y/N, I know I’m drunk. Which is probably why I’m not rethinking this. Just 5 minutes. Please.” He says, frowning. He sounds like he’s going to cry too.

“Isn’t she here?” You spit out, rolling your eyes. Your heart has never beaten so fast before. You believe him. It must’ve been a big deal if it’s still breaking him after three years. “I tried to make me and her work. She’s not you.” He says and your heart stops.

It fucking stops.

“Rafe, stop it. You’re being mean,” You say, raising your voice. You don’t want to believe him. You don’t want to believe all the tears you shed were for nothing. You don’t want to believe when Sarah told you herself that his brother sucked, you felt like the only person who understood yourself. You hated him, yet you loved him too. And you didn’t want to believe he was sorry. You wanted to get the closure and move on. But every day, you found yourself refusing to take the picture of you and him off your bedstand. Just in case this happened.

“Mean? Y/N, what are you saying? I…” He says and you interrupt. “No, Rafe, I’m not fucking falling for this again.” You say and shake your head. Your hands are feeling so empty. You want to grab his flesh, hug him, and tell him you forgive him. For ignoring your calls when things would be rough at home all those years ago. For getting wasted and coming home, yelling at you because his dad had cut his only source of income for his rich shit. You wanna tell him it’s okay, that he was 17 and you know he didn’t know life isn’t just about that. But you can’t. Because what if he doesn’t think that like you do? What if that girl is waiting for him to come back with her drink?

“For what? Baby, I…” His voice breaks again when he calls you baby, and your body stiffens. He sounds broken and you can’t help but put your hand on his shoulder. “Don’t call me that,” You say, making it sound like advice and not a threat. “You should leave, you’re not feeling okay. You’re out of your…” You say and he shakes his head. “No, Y/N, I’m not okay because you won’t let me talk to you. I didn’t want to ruin your night, I just… I have to tell you how I feel. I’ve bottled it up for too long.”

A tear rolls down your face, and he notices it. “Don’t cry, I’m… I’m sorry.” There you go. He’s said it. He’s sorry.

The magic word. It goes through your brain and every single cell, making you shiver. You nod involuntarily, wiping your tears away with the palm of your hand. “You’re crying too.” You say, looking down at the space between the two of you. He’s wearing the shoes you bought him for his 17th birthday.

“I am.” He says and sniffs, looking away. He chuckles to lighten the mood and lets out a sigh. “I’m sorry for everything. I was a kid and I didn’t realize what I was doing wrong. I know better now.” He says and nods repeatedly.

“And I’m not with her. I… we didn’t even like each other like that. She once asked me if I was gay because of how uninterested I was.” He says and you laugh. The fact that something not even funny could sound funny coming out of his mouth makes you blush. He smiles from ear to ear when he hears your laugh. “I missed that laugh.” He whispers.

“So… do you forgive me?” He says and your smile disappears. “Wait, Y/N, don’t be like that. I’ve changed. I’ll change more. I’ll change however you want if it means I’ll have you again…”

“Okay, Rafe, I understand.” You say and nod. “I just… why three years? Where were you?” You say and rub your forehead.

He takes a deep breath and puts his drink down. He hesitates to cup your face, but then you give him the nod of permission, and he does. “Because I wasn’t in a good enough place to be with you. I wanted you to be with someone you truly deserved, even if it wasn’t me.”

The next few seconds happen before you can digest his words. His lips part and gently crash onto yours, making your breath get stuck in your throat. His head leans forward and his thumb caresses your jawline as you melt into him. You smile through the kiss and your arms snake around his neck, pulling him closer.

He pulls away abruptly and you frown. “Wha…” You try to protest but he stops you. “As much as I would love to keep on kissing you and more, I’m not here for this tonight. I’m not too drunk to drive so let’s go under that one tree we always hung out under. Come on.” His words make you chuckle as he pulls on your hand through the crowd, leading you to his bike. No matter how intoxicated you both are, you feel safe with him for the first time, because you know he’s not the same person he was all those years ago.

#rafe cameron #rafe outer banks #rafe obx #rafe x reader #rafe cameron outer banks #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe x you #outer banks #obx fanfiction #obx fic #obx #outer banks x reader #rafe cameron one shot #— 🏝 my work

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nectardaddy · 4 months ago

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mirage | suna rintarou

seven | rolodex ★

masterlist

I haven't added music to this series; however, Soda by Nothing But Thieves helped me write this. I'd definitely take a listen!

ignore timestamps

cw/notes: messy x100 bass boosted in 4k, flawed characters, self destructive behavior, real/raw emotions, anxiety/panic attack, allusion to being overstimulated, very brief mention of throwing up (used as a metaphor, not detailed), repetitive statements done on purpose

She death gripped the metal counter with a small sigh, knuckles starting to grow sore from the tension she held onto. The cold metal sending a shock wave through her palms, a sudden iciness to it that she hoped would force her back to reality - it didn't.

Breathe.

As if telling herself that would make it any easier.

Her day started off normally, despite the pain the bashed her skull from drinking the night before. A familiarity to her routine that kept her stress relatively low - if something were to go amiss it ruined her day. A rolodex of mundane tasks and work obligations, but if she did them in a set order her stress was little to none. A schedule she stuck to meticulously, one wrong move and her day would be torn asunder.

Suna Rintarou threw a wrench in that complex order; took the rolodex in his hands and made a jumbled mess of it.

'I just want you to be happy.' Haunted her subconscious the moment she read it, the moment she finally went to sleep, and the moment she opened her eyes that morning. Lingered in the back of her mind throughout the day until it couldn't be ignored anymore; prowling around in her head like a cat - until it finally pounced.

Breathe.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, but the thought of the green eyed man still rattled her to her very core. Feline and wild, at one point making her weak at the knees; now she only felt the need to vomit at the thought. To pull the nearest trash can towards her and heave; because why on earth did she still want him? Why did she still crave the attention of a man who's words were brash and unruly? Why did she still need the man who's kind sentiments never truly fizzled out?

Why did she still love the man whom she created to be the devil?

Distracting herself with every petty, trivial argument they had to negate the feelings of hopeless love. Purposefully unable to recall of times where he was doting, selfless - loving. It was better to remember him as a monster, if he ever was one in the first place, than think of him fondly.

Suna Rintarou ruined that image of himself for her. Shattered it into a million pieces and she watched in horror as it fell at her feet. 'I just want you to be happy' was the smoking gun that shot down any fleeting memory of a bickering past.

She reopened her eyes and seized the counter harder, an imprint of the table's edge embedding itself in her palm as she held it vehemently. With a tight jaw, she let her eyes slide to her phone resting on the table next to her. Staring back at her as a singular thought wracked her brain - call him.

Her world got a bit smaller when the thought hit her. Caving in on itself as the notion alone gave her tunnel vision.

Call him.

She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, sucking in a breath as all she could find herself to do was stare at the black screen in contemplation.

Call him.

A quick decision, one given without thought, that caused her body to move on its own. Picking up the phone and scrolling through her contacts with conviction, but without a thread of reflection. Yet the phone rang a bit too long, the fan next to her was a bit too loud, and the lights above her in the cramped back room were a bit too bright.

So she hung up the moment he answered and threw her phone back onto the table. She listened to it buzz relentlessly for the next few minutes with eyes screwed shut and knee bouncing until it finally fell silent again.

Breathe.

I am an unreliable narrator, obviously, and yes it was done on purpose do not come for me.

Iwa can pretty much guess what's going on, next chapter bout to go crazy with this

pay attention to the lock screen picture ;) (do not read me about that lock screen either I tried my best on canva)

if you don't know what a rolodex is, thanks for making me feel old, but (and this is the google definition) it's a "rotating card file device used to store a contact list"

she will not be telling the group chat what she's doing tonight

she will lie if they ask just like she lied to akaashi

yn I see you and I love you dearly

taglist (open , send an ASK)

@mollyrolls @causenessus @zumicho @seroh @eggyrocks

@nbcvs @rory-cakes @localgaytrainwreck @kodzu-ken @hermaeusmorax

@sunafc @lvtilzs @kr1nqu @iiwaijime @gsyche

@le000xxgrd @iheartpinky @strxwberri-s @wolffmaiden @yogurtkags

@superboywife @cherrypieyourface @soulfullystarry @bedeater @a-little-pebbl

@miliondollagirl @toges-cough-syrup @renardiererin @theycallmenanamisgirl @honeekyuu

@softpia @mfcherry @keeboismine @phoenix-eclipses

#haiykuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu smau #haikyuu!! smau #hq x reader #hq smau #suna rintarou #rintarou suna #suna rintarou x reader #suna smau #series: mirage

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shewritesfics · 9 months ago

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Hypnotize

Spencer Reid/Reader

Summary: Reader drinks a little bit too much, Spencer gets jealous.

Warnings: Alcohol!! Weed!! Drugs!! Cursing!!

Notes: Hey everyone! I’ve never written for Spencer Reid before, so please let me know any feedback you have! Hope you enjoy <3

If there is anything the team knows, you were a lightweight. What they didn’t know was that you had a little more fun than the rest of them on nights out. Yes, you are an FBI agent, and yes, that comes in handy. You had been going to the bathroom more than usual, blaming it on ‘breaking the seal’. In reality, you were ripping your dab pen and maybe dabbling in a bit of a party drug. So what? It’s your night out! You deserved to have a little fun.

If Spencer was being honest, he only came to keep an eye on you. You’re strong and perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, he knows that! But you were prone to certain situations. You’re gorgeous, anyone with eyes could tell. They don’t appreciate it as much as he does.

You rejoin the gang at the booth they were sitting at, pulling up a chair to the end of the table for an easy escape to the bathroom again. Spencer had been watching you, keeping a close eye on how many breaks you went to, how long they lasted, and how many people you talked to on the way back. For your safety, of course! Not that he was jealous by how much everyone else caught your attention.

You take a shot and slam the glass down on the tale, wiping your mouth when you’re done. “Guys! I seriously feel like we need to dance..” You slur out and point at the dancefloor.

Chuckles erupt from the table. “I agree with blackout for once.” You scowl at the nickname Derek had given you.

“First off, I’m not blackout.” You squint at him and point a finger in his face, he smiles at you. “Second off, I’m gonna dance.” You quickly rise from your seat, grabbing the end of it to regain your balance real quick, before flashing a smile at the team. You notice Spencer’s eyebrows furrow and he watches you, in almost a pleading way. You brush it off and head straight for the dancefloor. Spencer straightens in his seat once you’re out of view.

He’s always been partial to you. Standing closer in meetings, always grabbing the seat across from you so he can admire you. Making you a cup of coffee, leaving sticky notes of awful jokes on your computer. Both are oblivious to the blushes when you catch eye contact or how you two slowly get closer until you’re practically touching. The team noticed, they even had a bet going on for who would cave first.

And tonight, it seemed like Spencer was going to.

The music is loud, the bass is shaking your feet on the floor, and your heartbeat pulsing with the rhythm A quick drag from your pen sets you in the perfect mood, closing your eyes and letting the music take over your body. Time is floating at this point. You’re a sight to uphold. A beautiful person dancing alone, obviously faced at this point by how your body sways. People are taking notice, one guy specifically has been eyeing you all night. Now that you’re alone he swoops in. You’re so focused on the music, your breath escaping you with each boost in the music, when someone comes up behind you. It starts shy, keeping a distance but holding your waist with a hand, waiting for your permission to continue. Unbeknownst to you, Spencer is watching.

He’s glaring from the booth, it’s crazy how the mystery man has not noticed the heat pouring from his eyes. A scowl is on his face, and his thoughts are running wild. He’s had a few drinks, but that doesn’t matter right now. All that matters is you, and how someone else is touching you.

It should be him.

You back slowly into the stranger's arms. You don’t care who it is, but it’s someone. And that’s what matters. You haven’t been drinking like this for no reason. Truth be told, you’re lonely. It’s hard to come home from such a demanding job just to be alone. You haven’t been touched in months. This stranger reminds you that you’re real.

Spencer noticed you got closer. He’s moved from the booth now, just to the outskirts of the circle. The team can’t see where he went, and you haven’t noticed yet either. His hands are flexing in anger. Why are you so okay with a stranger touching you like this? And the fact you haven’t checked is not safe. That’s what he’ll tell himself anyway, It’s all for your safety. Nothing more. He’s moving in now, pushing past the bouncing bodies with only one thing in mind. He pushes the stranger off of you and grabs your hand quickly. He rushes to the exit and pulls you along with him, despite your confusion.

“Spencer! I was dancin-” You start to protest.

“Do you even know who that was?” You take in a deep breath, facing him. “How he was touching you?”

“It doesn’t matter.” You cross your arms.

“Yes, it does!” His voice cracks lightly. He’s still avoiding your eye.

“Why should it?” You quickly shoot back in a huff. You were having fun! Spencer has no right to tear you away from that, not after the week you had.

“Because it should be me!” He yells and faces you. You straighten as his voice rises. Your eyes soften as he looks away from you, quickly holding his arms close to his chest. “It should be me.” He whispers this time, focusing his eyes on the sidewalk in front of him.

It’s silent for a moment. To be quite fair, you are pretty much gone. For all you know, you could still be on the dancefloor, just wishing this would happen and yearning for the day you finally catch his eye. You’ve imagined this many times now. Wishing he could sense your emotions from miles away, or seeing how often your eyes linger on him. Maybe it’s shameful, the way you ache for something more than a friendship. How often you imagine his arms wrapped around you in bed at night. The way his lips would feel so soft against yours. The way his hands would fit perfectly to yours. How your breathing would fall in rhythm as you fall asleep in his arms. How he would smell. How his hair would feel tickling your neck. Maybe his voice dips deeper when he’s asleep, does it have a rasp when it wakes up too? You’d still be draped across him in the morning, waking up first and taking in how the sun shines as if it was made just for him. How you would-

Spencer huffs and turns to face you, noticing your silence. It’s irrational how he’s expecting anything from you at this moment. He counted the shots, the singles, the doubles you drank. The way you sway and blink slowly. Your face is flushed, he thinks it’s from the alcohol.

“Spencer. I-” You stop for a second. Your hand comes up to your head, holding it straight so the thoughts stick with you. “You have no idea.” You blink harshly, focusing on your heartbeat and your breathing. You laugh at yourself, and the situation at hand. Why, god, why does this have to happen when you’re shitfaced? You've played this scenario in your head so many times, reciting the perfect monologue to convey the depths of your emotions.

“You’re everything.” You breathe out and open your eyes to him in front of you, holding out his hand for you to balance yourself on. You watch his eyes and slowly reach your hand out towards his. Your fingers dance along the palm of his hand, and you don’t miss the way his arms get covered in goosebumps at your touch. A smile takes over your features.

“You’re everything to me.” You confess. The street is quiet, and the lamppost near you flickers. You can hear his breathing become deeper. “It’s torture.” You chuckle out and avoid his eye. “There isn’t a day that goes by without me thinking about you.” Your eyes scan the sidewalk, your head shaking slightly as you try to gather your thoughts. “I see you in everything I do. You haunt me everywhere I go, and I wouldn’t want it any other way. If my head were a garden, all the flowers would be every time I’ve thought of you. And it’s breathtaking, Spencer, it is.” You laugh slightly and look up at him, a loving smile crossing your face. “You wouldn’t believe how many flowers I keep up there.”

A confused look crosses over his face, his brows are furrowed, trying to make sense of your drunken confession. He looks away for a brief second, and your hand is already up pulling him back to you.

“Spencer, ugh, listen to me.” You cup his face in your hands. “It’s- I can’t even put it into words.” You breathe out a frustrated sigh. “My heart belongs to you. The second you said my name, I was bewitched.” You take in a deep breath, softening the grip on his face. “Spencer- I…” You trail off for a second. Your words are flying in your mind faster than you can process. “I love you. With every fiber of my being, I love you.”

His eyes widen. Maybe you were drunker than he thought. He’s watched you for so long now. Always second-guessing how close the two of you were. “Y/N please, you’ve been drinking-” He tries to dismiss you.

“And so have you? Why does that not make my confession any less real? How would drinking cancel anything I feel for you? Spencer, God, my heart bursts when I see you. I get so overcome with emotion that it doesn’t know where to go. My skin feels as if it’s burning when I’m near you. My heart races when you say my name. You have consumed me, mind, body, and soul. Don’t do me the dishonor of not taking my word is truth because of a few drinks. It’s not fair, Spencer.” You frown and look down at your feet. He contemplates for a second. His hand comes up and runs through his hair. Is this real? Is this some sick joke the universe has crafted for him? Everything he has wanted since he met you is happening. You love him.

A bright smile comes over his features. His eyes light up, and the lamppost behind him makes a sort of halo. It’s fitting. He’s an angel, a heaven send, you’ve felt this since the moment you met. He’s chuckling now, watching you become lost in his face, how you blink slowly and sway lightly.

“Now you’re laughing at me…” You drawl out and lean into him. His arms open in an inviting hug and holds you close. One hand wrapped around your waist and another stroking your hair out of your face.

“God.” He laughs out. “You’re indescribable.”

You look up at him and point a finger in his face. “Well, you know what?” He giggles and guides your hand back down across him.

“What?” He smiles down at you. Your eyebrows furrow as you try to rationalize if it’s a compliment or tease.

“You-” A hiccup interrupts. “You’re just. So beautiful.” You sigh and rest your head against his chest. He laughs into your hair, you can hear his heartbeat going wild. You squeeze him tighter and take a deep breath in, the smell of his cologne comforting you and slowing down your thoughts. You look back up at him, taking in how his eyes are gazing at you so softly.

“I love you, Spencer.” You whisper into the air. He melts under your touch, and how his name rolls off your tongue. Like putting honey into his favorite cup of tea, the world just got a little sweeter. He leans in slowly, gauging your reaction. You lean up to him, standing on your tip toes. You both hesitate, breathing in each other's air.

And you kiss. He’s cupping your cheek now. It’s soft, just how you imagined. Full of unspoken feelings, hesitant about who will pull away, nervous to see if anyone crossed a boundary. But, God, you’ve prayed for this moment for so long, you’ll be damned if you lose it. You grab his face with your hands and make the kiss deeper. You can taste the whiskey he’s been nursing, and it’s perfect. Lips on lips, his hands grabbing your waist and pulling your body closer to him. You both weren’t fond of PDA, but fuck it. You’re drunk and in love. The world doesn’t exist now. The pounding from the music fades into the background, the cars driving past disappear and it’s just you and him. Kissing under the lamppost. Two idiots, who took way too long to get together.

He pulls away first, his breathing deep and he’s staring at you. “God, Y/N, I love you. I always have.” You blush deeply and pull him in for another kiss, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, and lightly pulling at his hair. A soft moan escapes his lips, which only drives you further into his arms.

You break the kiss, taking in deep breaths. “Come home with me tonight.” You demanded.

“Yes! Yeah, of course!” He squeaks out as he can feel your chest rising with your breathing. Your hand gripping the belt of his pants, keeping you close to him and steadying your balance.

“Is now a good time?” You pull out your phone and start to order a ride to your place, not even waiting for an answer.

“God, yes.” He brings you back in, He can’t get enough of you, and you can’t wait to get more of him.

“I love you.”

#spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid

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wyngigi · 18 days ago

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ꕀ LUST FOR LIFE ꕀ 03

↳ sex money feelings die remastered .ᐟ cross posted on ao3

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“ they say only the good die young, that just ain't right 'cause we're having too much fun, too much fun tonight ”

↳ synopsis: a group of individuals find that their first taste of freedom in the world brings more obstacles than expected. some of them, find solace by drowning in liquor or in the backseat of somebody else’s car. a lot of them have got to get their shit together. a lot of them won't.

mdni » story contains nsfw content intended for 18+ audiences pairings » member specific, not listed for spoiler purposes ↳󠁪󠁪 ateez x female reader, ateez x ateez ↳ genre » coming of age ↳ word count » 3.3k ↳ general warnings » substance abuse & consumption, sexual content, morally grey characters, unreliable narrators, internalised homophobia, angst, basically every struggle young adolescence can go through ↳ chapter warnings » description of sexual activity while under the influence of alcohol and drugs, mention of sexual activity being filmed (with dubious consent due to intoxication) ↳ a/n┆timeline clarification chapter one is the aftermath of the party that mg, wy, ys & san talk about going to in chapter two, and this chapter (three) is the actual party this story will contain many events that are written out of chronological order im sorry its who i am

03⌇the absolute fucking irony

College parties. Young adults burdened by the struggles of growing up with too much access to liquor and a whole lot of free will. Glass bottles litter the kitchen island, empty cans crushing under people’s shoes no matter where they step.

A certain variety of liquids have been splashed and spilt onto the floors, forming several small puddles. Every room is dimly lit, courtesy of the crappy party lights sending rays of colours out, splaying onto the crowds of people below. Columbia parties, where the music never stops blasting and the room can’t stop spinning.

Tonight is no different. You’re somewhere in there, lodged deep in the collection of sweaty intoxicated people just as fucked up with a cup in hand. Everyone rocks back and forth against each other, bass boosted music drowning out any audible voices. Some others are spread out, chatting, screaming, leaning on any available surface with their almost blacked out friends by their side.

Liquor is sloshing around in the guy’s cup in front of you, splashing onto your arm. Rolling your eyes, you turn away from him wiping your arm before downing the rest of your own cup. The songs playing blast into your ears almost deafeningly as you close your eyes, intoxication making your head spin.

You’ve been here for just over an hour, drinking, dancing, drinking some more. You’re five drinks deep now before opening your eyes to spot your friend. She’s tipsy too, talking to an equally wasted new friend of hers. That’s a lie, no talking is happening there. Definitely more than friends too. You call out her name, locking eyes with her through the crowd, shooting her a thumbs up.

Julie grins, playfully waving you off as she snakes her arms around the boy’s neck opposite to her. You can’t see his face, but you do have faith in her, she’s the picky type.

When the music changes to a slow song, you take a chance to get a breather, and a refill. Tumbling as you make your way to the kitchen you spot a familiar head of tousled brown hair. He’s on his phone, typing with one hand as he runs the other through his hair. He hasn’t spotted you yet, so you head over to the opposite side of the island shuffling through the glass bottles, making just enough noise for him to look up.

Like clockwork, he does and ushers you over with a brief tilt of his head. His teeth are on display as a sly grin plays on his lips. You give him one back, picking up an unopened bottle of Pink Whitney before you make your way over to him.

Setting your empty cup and the bottle down, you lean the side of your body into the counter to stabilise yourself. The marble is cold, pressing into your stomach yet you pay no mind to it. “Having fun?” He teases eyeing how you sway slowly, more than a little out of it. Your eyes are glazed over, and he gives you a once over before mirroring you, hip digging into the counter as he crosses his arms.

Kim Hongjoong, former pretentious rich kid turned even more pretentious angsty tortured artist. Most importantly your favorite dealer, and if it matters to anyone, an excellent fuck.

Several piercings decorate both of his ears, and a small but mighty metal ring is lodged in his lip; it shines despite the low lighting. His eyelashes are long, fanning over his bloodshot eyes. His hair is chopped roughly in the front, purposely grown out in the back. It suits him, his whole brand is that type of messy yet put together all the same. The effortless rockstar vibe if you will.

The speakers are still blaring off in the distance, but the kitchen is somewhat far enough that you only have to raise your voice a little to hear each other. “Definitely a whole lot more now,” you chide. He hums in agreement, hand finding its way to your waist as he leans behind you to grab a bottle off the shelf. The metal rings on his fingers are cold, but you lean into his touch regardless.

The proximity between you two closes in, a combination of woody and musky tones hits you, flooding your senses. It’s a mix of marijuana and, his cologne. It’s welcoming, familiar.

“You don’t look drunk enough to be here,” you poke a finger into his chest, leaning up to look at him. He shakes his head, mullet brushing against the collar of his jacket. Hongjoong’s hand leaves your waist as he moves to face the counter, twisting open the bottle as the seal pops quietly. “Night’s young, pretty,” Hongjoong jests, filling up his cup, “Don’t stress, I’ll catch up soon.” You nod, silently agreeing as you move to take his cup from his hands. He allows it, eyes never leaving yours as you take a sip from the drink. It burns a little at the start then it goes down easy. Fitting.

The liquid leaves a shine on your lips that catches the light. Hongjoong’s eyes flicker down, cursing under his breath quietly at the sight as you look up at him. Your lips always looked so enticing to him, and he can’t help but appreciate the view now. It’s also welcoming, and even more familiar.

Hongjoong maintains eye contact with you, holding up the bottle you brought over in his hands between the both of you. It’s a silent question. You scrunch your nose, accepting his offer while nudging your cup towards his direction on the counter.

You step away from each other as he refills your cup, not too far but just enough so you can continue drinking comfortably. The glass bottle clinks against the countertop when he sets it down, pushing it off to the side. You rest your forearm down to cradle your drink, feeling a warm hand creep its way on top of your empty one. His hand isn’t much bigger than yours, and you smile at the chipped polish on his pinkie. Next time the two of you meet, you’ll be sure to give it a fresh coat.

You turn your head to look back at him and find him doing the same. The music seems to fade as the two of you lock eyes before a small grin cracks out on his face, the hues of red and blue lights blend, purple cascading over his features instead. You huff out a small chuckle, breaking away from his gaze. You’re chewing on your bottom lip, eyes searching the crowd for Julie just as a new face approaches Hongjoong.

The boy glances at you momentarily, lifting his drink up to you before greeting the other opposite you. “Yo man, you got a new buyer out front.” Hongjoong nods, lips pressing into a thin line as he leans off the counter. His friend notes the hand that still hasn’t left yours, eyes gesturing between the two of you. Hongjoong winks in confirmation. When he looks back to you, he’s grabbing your wrist to pull you closer to him. Leaning in, he whispers, “Text me, yeah?”

His breath is hot, fanning on your face while his lips just barely drag over your cheek as he pulls back. It heats your whole body up even once he’s already left.

Yeosang escapes quickly from the blonde who had approached him, now entering the backyard of the house. Mingi and his new roommate haven’t arrived yet, and just as anticipated, Wooyoung’s got his tongue shoved down some girl’s throat against a wall already.

He’s nursing a cup of clear liquid that he thinks could be some form of cheap tequila, but he drinks almost anything (unlike Mingi, rich prick) so the thought is pushed aside. Unfortunately, it’s not just the drink leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

Something about tonight isn’t clicking for him, the music isn’t quite right, and no one has piqued his interest to look at more than once. This weekend is being spent similar to the many before, and he would usually hope for it to end the same as well. Let Wooyoung loose to drink to his heart’s content, make sure he’s gotten more than comfortable with someone, then find his own someone for the night. Girls and guys alike have shot him subtle smiles and flirty waves, yet none are what he’s after.

By chance, it could have something to do with seeing his roommate with an arm slung around some girl. For the sake of his sanity and to not be a total buzzkill tonight, he’s pretending that’s not the case. Making another thought get pushed to the back of his mind.

Columbia parties also aren’t his usual go-to. The parties are fun don’t get him wrong, but only later in the night. It’s when the crowds really build, and he lets loose till he can’t feel his face. He’s arrived far too early, thanks to a certain someone. He curses Wooyoung for being too eager during their pregames, Yeosang hopes and prays for his friend’s hangover tomorrow to be an absolute bitch.

He spots a group of familiar people playing spin the bottle, but he doesn’t think he’s drunk enough for that yet. Yeosang feels a buzz in his pocket, taking another gulp before reaching for his phone.

mingi: san n i 2 mins away

pls tell me u n wy aren’t wasted already

yeosang: can’t say he isn’t

im ok tho

mingi: knew it , c u soon Yeosang continues scrolling through his notifications before a much taller figure appears next to him. He knows exactly who it is by height alone. Yeah, one hundred percent not nearly drunk enough to deal with this right now. Being drunk would also not help though. Yeosang wishes the boy was standing a little further away because he looks like a puppy right now. A really cute, really kissable drunk puppy.

His cheeks are tinged red and the tips of his ears match. Yunho grins, leaning close into the other’s face, pupils darting between his. Yeosang’s breath hitches, “Yunho, you good?” he asks, stepping backwards as quick as he can.

He nods slowly, “Mhm, doing great. What’s got you looking so down though?” Yunho singsongs, absentmindedly shuffling from foot to foot. Yeosang hums in response, “Just not feeling too great tonight.” Yunho tips his head back to finish off his drink, Adam’s apple bobbing. Hell, why does this guy have to be straight? Yeosang’s lost in thought before he hears Yunho retort, “Like what, no one to get your dick wet for you arrived yet?”

“Well, in another universe maybe!” Yeosang thinks to himself, instead he replies by shaking his head, hair covering his eyes slightly. This is not the type of conversation he wants to have with his roommate. He turns away from the boy to scan the crowds of people in front him, only to regret it when he spots the girl who was with Yunho earlier continuing to eye fuck him.

Before he has to make more small talk with him, he spots Mingi and who he assumes is San trailing behind him shuffling through the small groups in the backyard. Mingi’s eyes are wandering through the people, filtering for a familiar face.

Yeosang raises his hand up, giving a short whistle as he calls them over. Mingi was right, his new roommate is far from ugly. If his friend didn’t already have an obvious crush on the boy, Yeosang would not have been objected to having a taste of him, mostly to wash out the sour aftertaste someone’s mere presence has somehow brought him tonight.

“Yeo! ‘Sup, Yunho. This is the new roomie here,” Mingi pulls Yeosang into a side hug, patting him on the back. Yeosang raises his brows, shooting the boy a knowing look before whisper-yelling, “He is cute.” Mingi shushes him immediately as Yeosang turns back to the others. San stood further away finally steps forward towards the group. He waves to both of them, “San,” he tells them with a tightly lipped smile before looking around over each shoulder. The shy type, antsy. Cute.

Yeosang speaks up, “Hey San, did you um-” He holds up his own cup, “maybe want a drink or? Mingi’s been here before so he can take you to the kitchen, if you want.” The boy mentioned nods, “Yeah, c’mon,” going to move back towards the kitchen before San interjects, “I’ll uh, grab a drink in a bit. There’s someone I kind of need to look for first.” Mingi blinks slowly, furrowing his brows as he locks eyes with Yeosang.

San looks between the two, licking his lips as he stammers out a cue to leave.

“If you’re thirsty you can go ahead, I’ll catch up soon,” San’s voice trails off as he hurries off in another direction, leaving the three where they are. Yunho pays little mind, still dozed off with too many drinks in his system. Yeosang mouths, “You good?” towards Mingi just as he has to fling his arm out to catch his roommate who's starting to lose the ability to stand straight.

Mingi sighs, biting the inside of his cheek as he looks off into the crowd. He decides there in that moment, yes, he will in fact, be getting a drink. Yeosang catches the look of defeat in the boy’s eyes but before he can silently plead with his eyes for him to stay, Mingi is turned around already.

Yunho slings his arm around the younger’s shoulders, swaying them both to the slow song playing in the distance. He snickers to himself, shaking his head. Yeosang chews his bottom lip, “What’s so funny?” The boy shrugs, looking pointedly at Mingi disappearing into the crowd, head of black hair still peeking out above the others. “Isn’t San kind of oblivious, Mingi clearly wants to rip his clothes off.” Yeosang deadpans for a moment, the absolute fucking irony.

Seonghwa is more than a just little on edge right now. He’s just about to walk into a party that he knows he should not be at, first because he’s rostered for a shift tomorrow at the crack of dawn. Secondly, his friends are excruciatingly good at encouraging him to drink. Something he’d happily entertain even with the promise of a shitty hangover.

That was typically the case, right up until four hours ago when he knocked back the last few pills from his second script of oxy. Without counting how many to actually take.

And finally, he also kind of freaked out after actually seeing the now empty orange bottle, so he had texted his friends that he would be coming tonight after previously opting out. Not that he’s an addict or anything, but withdrawal can be a bitch, or so he’s heard. Anyways, that’s the background for why he’s standing in front of a fraternity house with some artsy alternative looking drug dealer, handing him a wad of cash.

The two of them talk for a bit, letting Seonghwa know he’ll throw in some free ecstasy just for his pretty face. The guy is pretty hot, so Seonghwa thanks him with a flirty smile as he shoves the plastic bags in his pocket.

If you aren’t too familiar with the wonderous world of opioids, specifically oxycodone, here’s the 101. Number one, only take it exactly as prescribed by a healthcare professional. Number two, never mix it with alcohol (or any other depressants for that matter).

His mind is on absolute overdrive right now, studying for exams, picking up extra shifts, he’s there early in the mornings and working closing ones too. The combination of these things are giving him a measly two to three hours of shut eye at most on the daily.

The party lights are beginning to flash in his eyes so much they’re seizure inducing and he’s ready to start drinking so every thought running in his mind just slows down. So he does. He starts slow, letting his friends fill his half empty cup of soda to the brim with vodka.

Eventually it gets to like, three quarters liquor then he decides to take a break. He’s not that irresponsible. Seonghwa knows he has to control himself. He’s also spitting complete bullshit if you couldn’t tell. Seonghwa had gone straight to shots after his solo cup had been emptied the first time. Alcohol doesn’t hit him too bad, but when the oxy does hit instead, it hits hard.

If he wasn’t so out of it, he’d probably be describing some pretty fucked sensory details right now. The party lights becoming brighter, but not hurting him anymore. The walls waving back and forth, starting to swirl. Or melt, the pills definitely kind of mess with some visual receptors if you can’t tell already.

Seonghwa lets out a small laugh as the music’s beat begins pounding in his chest. His breath staggers as the faces of the people surrounding him begin to blur and his arms and legs start to tingle a little. He’s happy, he feels okay now. Actually, wrong. It’s even better. He’s on top of the fucking world.

Whatever happened to Seonghwa from the moment his dopamine surged to the rest of the night can’t be recalled from memory now unfortunately. Fragments of his time at the party (and a personal, very private after party) however could instead be pieced together thanks to all the new photos and videos captured by his phone. It started off pretty tame, him screaming butchered versions of lyrics to songs, dancing and whatnot.

Then there’s a clip of a bathroom stall, white powdery lines on the metal toilet paper dispenser with some guy’s voice in the background. Then there was more dancing, which developed into PG-rated snippets of some form of grinding with a pretty boy who kind of reminds him of a puppy. Then as you continue to scroll you’ll find a video taken from the back camera, albeit a little shakily, of him walking down a faintly lit street hand-in-hand with who he thinks is the boy seen in the earlier videos.

They’re both extremely wasted, their words slurring as they stumble onto a familiar pathway that leads back to his dorm. (He also confirms both guys from the previous memories are the same person from his clothes and voice). It’s cute, in a way. They’re giggling and knocking into each other accidentally. The time stamps between that video, and the next few are just over ten minutes apart. The rest of the clips are short, but they paint the picture of their next encounters pretty effectively.

And that’s putting it lightly, Seonghwa basically made a fucking sex tape.

It’s lewd and provocative in every way, including anything and everything that a person could think of. Kissing, moaning, heavy breathing, broken gasps, his own high-pitched whining. The echoes of skin slapping against skin is apparent in almost all of them. The ones without it are replaced with the guy’s low, throaty groans. They were filmed by him too, pointing the back camera towards Seonghwa, who's looking up at him through a half-lidded gaze, awed expression as the boy swipes his thumb across his raw bitten lips.

The next morning, he wakes up naked to an empty bed. Once he finishes watching over everything captured in his phone, Seonghwa puts them into the hidden album in his gallery. His hangover feels like hell, so he begins scrambling around his room to find his jeans discarded to the floor from last night’s shenanigans. There’s a messy pile of clothes (including what he wore the night before, still turned inside out from what assumes to be impatience) that he has to filter through before he finally does find them.

Digging his hand into every pocket, he manages to first find the fresh bag of oxy and with more searching, the other bag too. As expected from whatever the fuck he did last night, that one is definitely pretty empty.

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maeumdemiel · 11 months ago

Text

yearning

tags: aftercare, implied sex/suggestive (? tagged just in case), fwb-to-lovers, mutual pining, fluff

summary: the two of you are tired and, at long last, an all-knowing yearning gives way for peace.

word count: 2.5k

author’s notes: (bass boosted) i am yearning !!!!!! god i just love the idea of ruined first kisses and then making them up

can’t believe this is my first post after MONTHS of announcing myself cuz wow so much happened since september. this was gonna be just a tad bit longer but it’s just a mess of thoughts lolol

Miguel O’Hara has high-cut cheekbones and wispy eyelashes and insists on holding you close after you both finish. He claims that it stabilizes his breathing quicker so he can then tend to you, whom he unknowingly loves enough to forget what waits for him beyond your bed. A meticulous, waiting gaze watches you; blissfully lost, you open your eyes to the kiss on your forehead. It’s a relief that follows and is always ready for you. Your hands need something to ground to.

There are strong arms, a firm chest, and everything warm. Miguel pulls the blanket up where his hands don’t reach.

“You okay?”

You nod, breathless, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. “Yeah, I— I’m good.”

You were exhausted. Miguel doesn’t half-ass anything— never has and never will— and you were no exception. As insatiable as he can be, he makes a point of his gratitude. Those feverish kisses everywhere will stay with you. His hands, relentless but forgiving, sought for more tonight.

“Tired?” He sounds more composed now.

You can’t help but scoff. “No shit, Miguel. I’m worn out.”

A begrudging quip makes him chuckle. It’s low and throaty, reverberating where you hear it beautifully. His hands, one on your head and the other on the small of your back bring you a smidge closer. You’re fine like this: tangled in skin and sheets and kissing wherever your lips can reach. Miguel knows this because you’re quiet and receptive. Bashful excitement buzzes in his chest, knowing you’d never pull away from this.

For him, you’d undress down to the nerves. Hand him shears to cut away the bone that protects your heart to watch how it reacts to his exploratory touch. You reel from the memory of his kisses down your sternum every time he goes lower.

“Good.” His laugh is breathy. “I aim to please.”

You laugh with him, playfully shoving his shoulder as he brings his head to rest atop yours, cradling you like a wounded animal.

“Real funny, Mig. But I know I’m not the only one who’s tired.”

Now you sound more composed. This proximity gives you a view of his clean collarbones. Hardly do either of you spend these intimate moments without marking each other; you want to ignore the pull of your lips into a smile when you see his skin glowing. Instead, you thumb the contour of his collarbone.

He sighs, and you melt. “No doubt, hermosa. You’re a lot of work, y’know.”

“As if you’re not.”

His sturdy arm keeps your head up, finding his eyes in that heartbeat. It's the afterglow and balmy light that softens the angles of his face. He looks kind even if he feels perpetually tired. Rest looks sweet on him; it’s a gorgeous distraction. When your eyes flutter, Miguel wrestles that knee-jerk reaction to kiss you.

He hums. He’s white-knuckling that yearning. “I don’t think I’ll be leaving anytime soon.”

“Not if the multiverse has anything to say about that.” You huff.

Miguel comes to you with too much on his mind, heavy shoulders, and weary eyes. It didn’t take long to learn the kind of person he is in your bed— and soon enough, you happily welcomed him with any sign of his fading resistance. Soon enough, you provided more than just your bed for comfort. He fought against it at first, gently swatting away your hands when they would graze the ache and tiredness in his limbs. Whether he stopped resisting that relief or you were too stubborn for him, lovingly, he gave up.

“You’re all work and no play. Well—” You gaze down, beaming when you see how close both of you are. “Some play. I stand corrected.”

“Qué te puedo decir? I’m a busy man. You’re one to talk, though.” He leans in and you feel his grin against your cheek. “You sure know how to make me work for it.”

[What can I tell you?]

Embarrassed until you hear the tinge of exhaustion and satisfaction in his voice, you grin back. “I need my fun too, Mig.”

He looks down at you, but the vision before you occupies your attention. The sculpture of his muscle and how light bends across it— ruthlessly beautiful. Your hand finds his heart and you watch how he takes a deep breath beneath your palm. He spreads his lungs on the bed, watching you hesitate less than he does.

Something that you want to bring your lips to. Something that should remain a temptation. It’s a dream before you.

“What, sweetheart?”

Miguel enjoys catching you staring at him. You’ve appreciated him graciously when he gives back in bed, but he caught on whenever you took the lead. He didn’t know he had a dream in your shape until he left one night, vividly recalling the praises, looks, and kisses you engraved into him. Easily, he could have lasted a while on his own just with the thought of you, but he craves how you look at him.

Faintly, you grin and whisper, “Nothing. You look pretty.”

It catches him off-guard, surprisingly. His hand squeezes the one you have on his chest. When your eyes meet again, you take in the breath he let go of. Miguel searches your face for something to tell him you want more.

“No sé que hay en esta cabezita para decirme algo así.” Miguel doesn’t hold back his amusement, even less so when you have that faraway look in your eyes.

[I’m not sure what’s in this little head to tell me something like that.]

“M’just saying.” You add, not wanting to break into giggles at his face.

Miguel shakes his head, closing his eyes and kissing your forehead. His arms cage you, bringing you to him as he lays on his back. Resting on his chest, a soft spot inside you, a bruise of some sort, aches when you see how at peace Miguel is. Your head lies in your crossed arms to watch him.

***

(You’re sitting on the bed, grabbing bunches of sheets to keep warm. The back of your hand rubs your eyes while you spare a glance at Miguel’s back. Broad, hunched over, sighing. You’re mesmerized— as if he hadn’t just made you see stars every time you close your eyes.

Miguel always chases your gaze whenever he talks you through it; he loves eye contact, knowing you’re as desperate as he is. A carnal yearning you both seem to exchange, but it was nothing like the way his lips just missed yours just after you both came. You almost went into shock when that potential kiss met the corner of your mouth.

“Miguel,” He looks over his shoulder at you. “I’m fine. More than fine, you know, but for real— I’m okay.”

“I know.” Miguel breathes and looks away. “I was just worried for a second.”

He’d been having a rough week, and his visit was overdue. Eagerly, you encourage him to let it all go with you. However, that kiss— or, more appropriately, the helpless effort that ended in his lips smearing grunted praises against your cheek— was born from something that had been there long before rough weeks and missed priority calls. In the moment it happened, you were tempting him: lips plush and parted, hands cradling his face, folded beneath him, pliable and taking him sweetly. After he missed your mouth, it snapped for him, and he nearly lost control of his driving thrusts.

The truth drives him mad, seen now as he feared almost hurting you from his desire. Nothing new but pent-up frustration— regardless, I’m sorry, baby.

Your hand reaches for his back, palming his shoulder when he jumps at your touch. “Don’t apologize, Mig. You’ve never done anything I couldn’t take.”

Miguel takes your hand and kisses it, lacing his fingers with yours. He looks back at you and wonders what he’s done right in a world of mistakes, rushed judgment, and unfinished ambitions. That tired smile of yours shucks off all that burden.

“If you say so.” He leans over to kiss your temple.

You don’t even need to tug him over— he’s already got his hands on you when you reach for his other shoulder. He looks at you all over, but for you, nothing misses your trained eye. The gentle bob of his throat, the twitch of his lips, the way his posture falls when you take his hand into both of yours. He can do so much with those hands, and you know that very well; Miguel gives, gives, and gives, not knowing where he starts and when to stop. But you’re different.

As weightless as you make him feel, his slumped shoulders still make him look tense. Your voice comes out impossibly soft when you utter the following words: “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

And his guard lets down.

“Took some of your advice, and I’ve been fixing a lot of machinery because I figured it’d be a relief to fix it myself— you know, because I built everything. But that meant all the technicians went overboard with their questions, asking me why I didn't do this or why I did that.”

You wince as you trace his palm and each finger. An innocent effort to take his mind off things, only to be overwhelmed by the technicians.

“Peter B always has his baby at every meeting. I’m in the middle of briefing everyone, and suddenly, you hear him talking to her in a baby voice.” He groans, recalling Peter’s sickly sweet voice.

You giggle, imagining Miguel getting upstaged by a baby’s cooing. It’s not the first time he’s complained about that; it doesn’t take much for him to explain himself, as you’ve been an ear to many of the same problems more than once.

Miguel sighs, but it slips by you. He gets distracted watching you fixate on his talons. A few seconds of silence makes you look at him, blinking when Miguel stares back.

“And?” You say. Miguel looks down again.

He shakes his head as he watches his talons poke through. Not much else is on his mind except you. Just you.

“Nothing else. I’m just enjoying this too much right now.” He chuckles.)

***

It’s funny how quickly Miguel forgets that there’s a world outside your home, let alone the multiverse. Every time he recalls this particular night, it feels like a dream, curled in the sheets of your bed, the quiet staccato of rain hitting the window, watching you drift into sleep under the warmth of your hand resting atop his heartbeat.

The first time he stayed the night.

From the start, he never left immediately. Inconsiderate, he stated matter-of-factly. Then it became, I’m supposed to just leave you after we did that? And more recently, in that deliciously exhausted voice, Make some room for me, sweetheart.

Miguel has not done many things right, and he thinks it’s been a while since he’s done something for his own good. He looks at you in his peripherals, lying on your stomach beside him and messing with his hand, and you look— no one can be this beautiful. Is this too good to be true?— soft. Young. Peaceful.

He’s seen you do the same ritual with his hand during aftercare. Flattening his hand against yours, the other nestling it below, fingertips walking across knuckles, drawing circles and forgotten patterns on his palm, thumbing the calloused spots and scrutinizing the lines. Oh, during that part especially.

When your eyes sharpen, concentrating on this process, it reminds him of a palm reader. Sometimes, you talk him through your day or some nonsense that’s also been on your mind when you do this. Yet, Miguel feels nervy under the intensity of your gaze; his heart is dangerously close to punching through his chest, floored when the right poke causes his talons to show. Imperceptibly, he grins when they retract and rise with every jab.

“Can I kiss you?”

Now and always, nonplussed and wide-eyed in the cozy light of your bedroom, you’re precious to him. So wonderful that it makes whatever words would have followed mangle in his throat, makes his heart ache. You look at his claws thoughtfully, slowly lowering your brows and melting when he clasps his hand with yours.

You stare at his lips for a moment. “You want to kiss me again.”

So you haven’t forgotten about that miserable attempt. Miguel huffs, feeling his ego throb when he remembers that blunder. He’s a sore loser with the smile of a winner.

“Yeah, kiss you again.” He says again like he’s mocking you a little.

Maybe it’s because you didn’t expect him to ask, cringing with a giggle when you remember that kiss. This is perhaps Miguel tightrope walking on a confession, but there’s a safety net below, and when he falls, it’s clumsy but with no risk. A free fall of sorts. He knows this isn’t the best way to ask— the romantic and mushy way— but that’s okay. More than okay, actually, as he grins at the flicker of something impossible playing out in your eyes.

He turns on his side, leveling a finger at your lips, prodding at the edges. “Can I try again?”

You’d love it if he did. Quietly, you speak, “Okay.”

And then it happens too quickly. It’s not fair— the rumble of his chuckle meeting your mouth startles you, unprepared for a fleeting second until you swallow the surge of your stomach and kiss Miguel back.

It’s not any better for him either; his heart goes at a rabbit’s pace, running in circles and thrashing in his ribcage. Burning at the back of his neck, he fears he’ll singe your hand holding him there. He’s touched you before (in every sense of the word), but he restrains all teeth and nails against that soft sound you make.

Miguel is back to that night again— rain pattering outside, some forgotten playlist crooning amid sheets and pillows, watching you: a dream. He adores you, like observing something magical and unknown beneath a glass dome, reverent and precious. Then, his breath staggers when you part his lips with the tip of your tongue.

Your back meets the cold sheets when he hovers over you, arching into him, forcing the lines of your body to converge and connect with his. Any closer, and you’d be able to crawl into his skin. This all-consuming want that blazes everything in its path needs no kindling in the hearth of your bed. He catches on quickly, hand hooking on the small of your back, implacable and firm. When your fingers card through the tousled mess of his hair, giving it a tentative pull, Miguel groans and murmurs some honeyed nonsense against the base of your throat. It comes out runny and from the same rumbling laugh that caught you off-guard at the start of this.

Miguel is certain he’ll die here. He’s breathless seeing the wet pink of your mouth, then stuttering when you smile. You give him no other response than that smile, along with a laugh that makes his heart soar and stomach dive. All he can do is bring that smile to his, over and over and over again.

i’d love to take any requests/asks! thank you for reading <3

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o hara x reader #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o hara #atsv miguel #across the spiderverse #miel writes.🍑

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