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[pumpkin-bats]

One Piece Boys As Lovers - Headcanons

The poll has spoken! I kinda figured this was gonna be the result but I was curious anyway. So without further ado-

Law:

Works with you asleep in his lap.

Doesn't get jealous often, but it's obvious when he is.

Not big on PDA but loves subtly showing people that you two are together, and looks real smug about it the entire time.

Massages your hands when he's distracted or thinking about something and accidentally made it into a habit, so now he does it to bring him comfort.

Lots of late night cuddles. He's a big koala. The stickiest parasite, does not let go even when bribed.

Huffs at a lot of your most energy draining ideas, but always goes along with what you want or say regardless. Often has a fond smile as soon as you aren't looking.

Zoro:

A lot of nap time sessions where he's your pillow and blanket. But he'll wake up the second you ask him to.

Spars with you and tries to teach you to swordfight because he likes sharing his interests with you.

Does not make it obvious, but he worries about you a lot.

Doesn't like it when you're out of his sight for extremely long periods of time, it makes him antsy.

Holding hands almost all the time in public. Not as much in private, because the private time between the two of you is a different kind of safe intimacy.

Has a sixth sense for when you're upset and acts on it instantly.

Sanji:

Favorite foods, all the time, at all times. No food request is off the table, he'll make anything you crave when you crave it without any fuss. Sometimes he'll make it just because.

Really likes to dance with you, whether it's wildly spinning around the room or slow dancing under the moonlight.

The physical embodiment of 'just to be the man who walks a thousand miles to fall down at your door.'

He's very weak to cheek kisses. Melts. Like butter.

Rubs your shoulders when you're tired.

Matching couples outfits. His idea of matching with you is wearing a shirt or tie that matches the general color of your outfit.

Ace:

He occasionally takes you stargazing where you spend the entire time making up constellations and the stories behind them. Eight times out of ten you end up huddled together and asleep outside.

Cuddling gets rough in the summer because his temperature runs high, but it's non-negotiable during the colder months. Personal heater go brrrrr.

Holding hands while walking down the street, swinging your arms and laughing like love struck fools.

A lot of adventure themed dates. Amusement parks, hiking, canoeing, or even little walks through the park.

Needing to label your food in the fridge so he doesn't eat it all. He eats it anyway, but always apologizes and makes up for it.

Brags about you a lot to his friends.

Mihawk:

Candlelit dinner dates that become regular dinner nights because they happen so often.

Makes you breakfast every morning and knows how you take your coffee/tea like the back of his hand.

Pet names. It's always 'my dear' or 'darling' and never just your name.

Not the most physically affectionate but always takes care of you.

Occasionally he'll do something for you and you'll be like 'oh I love this' and then he'll proceed to respond with 'I know, you- [brings up extremely obscure habit/interest/trait/tic of yours]'.

Sleeps significantly better with you in his arms and the morning after a night without you he'll offhandedly mention how he slept well but not that well.

Buggy:

You do each other's nails and makeup. Sometimes when he's too tired, he'll ask you to do his makeup for him.

He adores it when you play with his hair. Whether that be styling it, washing it, or simply just running your fingers through it, he loves it all. Goes literally weak in the knees and has to sit down.

Bad jokes when drunk that are so bad the both of you spend an hour straight just laughing.

He gets very easily embarrassed whenever you do nice things for him or compliment him. His face gets redder than his nose- which you may or may not tell him.

A lot of singing together. All kinds of songs and tunes, at any time of the day. Also very loudly. Sometimes off key.

He'll try to be straight faced around you, but the second you say something or make physical contact he giggles like an idiot. He's very shy about physical affection, and acts nervous about it every time.

Crocodile:

The physical embodiment of 'they asked for no pickles.'

He really likes to keep an arm around you whenever he's next to you, and will occasionally tug you a bit closer.

Long, mellow conversations that turn into late night talks.

It's hard to tell when he's jealous because he tends to glare at anyone and everyone that gets a bit too close to you.

Buys things for you. Not to be nice, it's actually a genuine problem. He buys way too many things for you because he tends to get something if it reminds him of you, which happens often.

Does face masks with you on the weekends and you can occasionally convince him into doing a spa night with you

[ugh-yoongi]

hang up if u want to | kmg

he's in japan. you're at home, knowing there's no point in staring at your phone, waiting. mingyu might not wanna define what the two of you are, but that certainly doesn't stop him from asking for what he wants.

pairing: idol!mingyu x f. reader genre: situationship au; a lil angst, smut warnings: swearing. sexting — use of gendered terms for genitalia, mentions of oral and penetrative sex, masturbation, images/videos, dirty talk i guess?, squirting. one mention of reader wearing a dress. another mention of reader wearing mingyu’s shirt and it being large on her. (not meant to be an indication of size—that mf is just so large i think most people would drown in his clothes.) mingyu is domineering and kind of brat tamer-y but i wouldn't say this is dom-y at all. he also uses the term "baby" a lot bc i refuse to use y/n. rating: explicit. minors dni. wordcount: 3.6k listen to: namasenda - dare (pm) / khalid, 6lack, ty dolla $ign - otw / keshi - like i need u / edward maya & vika jigulina - stereo love / monsta x - addicted / brockhampton - sugar / shy martin - good together author's note: hello, i barely text men let alone sext them, so if this sucks my bad. i'm also not 100% comfy for writing any groups outside of bts, so i'm also sorry if the characterization is off. the mingyu brainrot was brainrotting tho bc if there's one thing he's gonna do it's look hot holding his phone in a photo, so. here we are. i was gonna wait and post this tomorrow but it's valentine's day so fuck it we ball. thank you: @the-boy-meets-evil, @hot-soop, & @effortandmore for checking this over and brainstorming with me. namasenda for the lyrics in the title and inspo.

Kim Mingyu Missed Call (2)

Your eyes glance upwards at the time. It’s nearing one a.m.; Mingyu’s second call came and went only a few minutes ago. The first one will have come not long after he got off stage, because they always do. There’s a script—unspoken and unacknowledged, but a script nonetheless—and Mingyu follows it religiously.

You sigh. Leave your phone on your nightstand as you change into pajamas, back into the bathroom to wash your face. Roll your eyes as you hear the texts roll in, the sound grating and ominous as it vibrates against the wood.

All part of the script.

Kim Mingyu: just got back to the hotel Kim Mingyu: you up

Also part of the script: this is the only way it goes. Maybe Mingyu wants to text you, but adrenaline’s the only reason he ever goes through with it. That post-concert high, nothing else to do with all that energy but invest it into you, and the thing about scripts is that they get old, grow stale. Always the same thing, and you can only have that conversation so many times before you get tired and rip it up.

We all have roles to play. Mingyu is the one who refuses to define what it is the two of you have, put a label on it. He’s the one who calls from countries away and speaks in that low, hushed tone. He’s the tempter, the one who holds all the cards but refuses to lay them down.

A royal flush, every single time.

And you—you’re not helpless. Not some poor creature fighting for its life in a spun-silk web. Mingyu’s capable of devouring you in more ways than one, but it’s not like that. Not really. As laissez-faire as he is, you come and go as you please, too. Perhaps it’s as mutually beneficial as it is destructive, but that’s the nature of the production; the result of the roles you two of you play.

Kim Mingyu: you ignoring me? Kim Mingyu: i saw your ig story Kim Mingyu: knock it off baby

You smile, private and sardonic, because you aren’t helpless. Sometimes it’s your web, and it’s all Mingyu can do to keep his head above water. Another role you’d borrowed from someplace else but still have memorized. Still remember all the lines, the mannerisms.

On your story: a video of you, bare skin glittering beneath the golden-fluorescent light of your bathroom; you, with your dress unzipped, the straps slipping down your arms; your hand pressed to your chest to keep yourself covered. Your back turned to the camera, visible only in the mirror, as the silk dropped to the floor.

In the settings: only two accounts given permission to see, both belonging to the same person.

In your DMs: Mingyu, on his private account with the username that looks more like a keysmash than any legible thing, reacting with the fire emoji.

Related: the image hovering just above Mingyu’s texts. The one he’d repaid you with not long after seeing your story. A mirror selfie of his own: grey sweatpants hung low on his hips, a soaked-through white t-shirt stuck to his stomach, the lines of his abs visible.

That, and everything below it—all left unanswered.

The thing about Mingyu is he’ll give chase. Doesn’t shy away from all the things he wants; isn’t shy about giving voice to them.

But he’ll never, ever beg.

(Not like this, at least. When he’s in your bed it’s always a different story. He’s a kept man, there, and kept men have no qualms about things like that. Begging for your mouth, your pussy. Begging you to let him come.)

Normally you’d let it go. Let him talk to himself in your texts, because he’s got a lot of nerve if nothing else, but you’d gone out earlier. Grabbed a few drinks with your girlfriends, let the alcohol thrum through you like a livewire. Watched as they danced with men whose names they didn’t know and never learned and thought about what it’d be like to be able to do something like that in public.

Got home, felt a little scorned, just on the edge of bitter. Made a show of taking your dress off in the bathroom mirror and posted it someplace you knew he’d look.

You: did you like it?

Rhetorical. Mingyu may not want to put a label on this thing, might not want to be caged-in and suffocated, but you know what you do to him. All the ways you affect him.

i could tell you, comes the immediate reply, and your eyes are halfway rolled when—

Kim Mingyu: or i could show you

It takes a second to come through, but once it does your breath hitches in your throat. Far from the most obscene image he’s ever sent you, but just as effective. An expanse of tanned, soft skin, lean muscle; still in those same grey sweats, bunched up a little on the thigh as he lays in his plush hotel bed with his legs spread.

At the center of it all, the outline of his hard, thick cock, so fucking big as it stretches the fabric taut.

All you can do is stare.

Mingyu is not of this earth. This thought is nothing new: he has always existed outside the realm of possibility, in more ways than one, so this is merely a fact. Grass is green, the sky is blue, sometimes you can love someone in a way that’s so overwhelming and still be no good for them.

Another fact: it’s primal, the way you need him. Always has been.

You: what am i looking at? You: new sweatpants?

On the other end of the line, it’s easy to imagine his reaction. A quick snort of laughter, tongue pressed into the fat of his cheek before he clenches his jaw. If he were here, he’d haul you into his lap, kiss you deep and messy. Trail his fingers along your skin until they settled in the hollow of your throat.

Pull away just for a second. Just long enough to say, “Watch your mouth,” before he’s licking into it.

Kim Mingyu: don’t be like that 🙄

This time your eyes fully roll. Spitefully, you snap a picture of what’s in front of you: your bedroom wall, some drama playing on the TV, a sliver of amber light from the lamp next to you.

You send it.

You: while we’re sending pictures of irrelevant shit

Truth be told, you’re not like this often, but you get a streak of it every now and then. Only ever at times like this, when the two of you haven’t seen one another in a while and the distance between you is still so ambiguous, untitled.

Usually Mingyu will come by your place. Get you stripped down to almost nothing, have you writhing on his fingers. Then, in between satisfied groans, he’ll slap at your thighs, tell you to stop being a brat.

Kim Mingyu: then send me something worthwhile You: you first

Another beat of silence. Long enough to flick through the channels, plug in your phone, let some of that heat dissipate.

Your phone chimes, and when you look down—

Those grey sweats are long gone, replaced with a pair of black briefs barely containing his cock, still hard and curved toward his stomach. You swallow. Let your eyes linger on the corded muscle of his thighs, all that soft skin. Let your mind remind you, just for a second, how it feels beneath your fingertips, your hands, your mouth.

All the sounds he makes.

Kim Mingyu: is that better Kim Mingyu: is that what you wanted

Unbidden, the corners of your mouth lift. hm… close but no, you type out. Let it sit for a few seconds before you delete it. If Mingyu wants to be a tease, you can do the same.

You situate yourself against the pillows. Angle your phone so the length of your body is visible: your bare legs twisted in the sheets, the bruise Mingyu had sucked into the inside of your thigh before he left just barely making it into the frame. What’s fully visible, though: his shirt that’s draped over your frame, how much it engulfs you, the way you’re drowning in it. In him.

You send it.

You: depends... is this what you wanted?

The response is immediate:

Kim Mingyu: absolutely not. take it off baby.

You’ve starred in this production before, knew where it was headed the second you saw the missed calls, so you’d put on his favorite of your underwear. Skimpy red lace, part of a set he’d had sent to your apartment. Used to tell you in desperate whispers how ruined he was seeing you in them; used to have to rein himself in so he didn’t rip them off.

So you snap another photo. Spread your legs a little further, pull the hem of Mingyu’s shirt between your teeth. Know seeing that sliver of your stomach will drive him crazy, too, but it’ll pale in comparison to the underwear.

You consider video calling him. Want to see his face when you send this photo—the pinch of his brows, the slight drop of his jaw. The way he’ll whimper a little, say baby in that tone that floods you with heat: a little desperate, all hushed awe, bordering on a whine.

The same kind of heat that starts to creep back in again. There’s power in desire, in being desired, and even though you’re here and Mingyu’s in a hotel room in Japan, you can still feel it. Subconscious, like some kind of red string shit. Anticipatory.

Kim Mingyu: goddamn Kim Mingyu: you wear those for me? Kim Mingyu: fuck, i wish i was there to take them off of you

You suck in a breath. and if you were? you send back.

Kim Mingyu: you know that pair is my favorite Kim Mingyu: drives me crazy every time you wear that set Kim Mingyu: but i’ve changed my mind. i want you to keep them on Kim Mingyu: want you to keep my shirt on too You: yeah? you want me to wear your shirt while you fuck me? pull my panties to the side? Kim Mingyu: slow down baby, i’m taking my time with you

In your bed, you snort to yourself. Mingyu has never been patient with anything, but especially not with you. Most of the time he’s so keyed up, wound so tight, that it’s all the two of you can do to make it to your bed—and sometimes you don’t. Sometimes Mingyu puts all that body to use, presses your back to the wall and throws your legs over his shoulders as he eats you out. Wraps your legs around him as he fucks you right there, the slide so, so easy with how wet and messy he gets you.

You remind him of as much. Type out, you? taking your time? i’ve got a couple walls in my entryway that would say differently, and laugh when the reply comes through—can’t help myself sometimes—and promptly stop laughing at the next one: never can, with you.

Kim Mingyu: have i ever told you what i love the most? Kim Mingyu: just kissing you. you always taste so good, baby Kim Mingyu: the way you get so worked up and start grabbing at me when i’m doing it. the way you try to get me to touch you. the way you start grinding your pussy on me like you can’t go another second without me inside you

You feel like you’re on fire. Gets worse with every word you read and re-read, try to commit to memory. You know it all too well, what he’s talking about. Know how warm his skin is, how firm he feels under your touch. Know what he tastes like. How soft his lips are. The way he sounds when you start to writhe, the way he groans when he presses tighter against you, presses you into the mattress, hard cock rutting against you, enough to take the edge off but nowhere near what he needs.

You: love that too You: love when you’re inside me even more

Kim Mingyu: me too baby Kim Mingyu: love the way you feel around me Kim Mingyu: always so fucking tight Kim Mingyu: ffuck

Your stomach drops at his last message. are you touching yourself? you type, even though you already know the answer. Another sight you’re blessed to know: Mingyu’s hand wrapped around himself, how the size of his cock makes it look small in comparison. Head tilted back, abs flexing under the weight of the pleasure.

You get a singular character in reply: 응.

show me.

He doesn’t respond right away. The pause is enough to have anticipation thrumming through your veins, make you a little shaky. Your hand trembles as you trace patterns into your warm, soft skin, pretending it’s Mingyu’s touch and not your own. Pretend it’s Mingyu’s hand that grabs at your breast beneath his shirt, thumbs over your nipple; Mingyu’s touch that has soft gasps escaping you. Pretend it’s Mingyu’s hand that dips beneath the hem of your panties.

Kim Mingyu Attachment: 1 Movie

On the screen: Mingyu’s face greets you first, eyes half-lidded and hazy, the corners of his mouth lifted in a smirk. He tilts his head back, lets you see the sweat-slick skin of his neck, the column of his throat; pans the camera down over his collar bones, his bare chest, before he flips the screen. Can barely fit the entirety of his frame in the shot, and it strikes you someplace deep, how big he is. How overwhelming.

You suck in a breath as your eyes focus—as you take in the way he’s stroking himself. His cock glistens with whatever lube he’d indulged in, but you can’t help but pretend it’s from you and your mouth. Wish you could see the way he’d touch himself as you sucked him nearly to orgasm and told him to finish himself off. The way he’d whine, beg a little, get a little shitty with you.

“Fuck,” you say out loud. You can feel your pupils blow at the thought.

“Jagiya,” comes Mingyu’s voice, intertwined with the sounds of the tv, a city so far away from you, “fuck, I’m so fu-fucking hard.”

If you’d thought you were on fire before, it’s nothing compared to now. Hearing the need in his voice, watching the way he’s touching himself. The way his hips stutter as his body seeks out more, more, more, always more, and the way he squeezes the base of his cock so he doesn’t come too soon.

“Wish it was you. Wish it was you touching me like this. I—fuck, need you so bad.”

You watch as Mingyu strokes over the head of his cock, as each subsequent pass gets more tacky and wet. Lick your lips at the sight of it. Want, more than anything, to get your mouth on him and taste the salt of his skin, the precome he’s jerking himself off with.

Before he even needs to ask, you start recording a video of your own. Leave your panties on because you know he’d want you to. Record the first pass of your fingers through your slick, let out a disbelieving little laugh at how wet you are, how you can hear it. Moan as you dip a finger into your cunt, just to the first knuckle. Say, “I’m so wet, Gyu, oh my god,” all breathy.

Not all that different from how you sound when he’s here. When he’s flesh and blood and right beside you, on top of you.

You use the wetness you’ve gathered and move your hand to your clit. It’s throbbing beneath your touch, your body already wound too tight, and you nearly hiss in oversensitivity and relief when you finally touch yourself the way you’ve wanted to. “Fuck.”

You force yourself to take your time. Slow, small circles, when everything in your body is screaming to be selfish, begging for release the same way Mingyu’s had.

“Should I finger myself?” you ask. A sharp inhale as your next pass has your toes curling. “Wo-won’t feel as good as you, but I need—need more.”

Before you cut the video, you zoom in a little. Make sure Mingyu will be able to see the way you’re touching yourself, be able to hear the sound of your arousal, the same sounds that have warmth blooming in your cheeks.

Kim Mingyu: jesusf fuck Kim Mingyu: god baby youre so hto Kim Mingyu: wanna see you finger yourself Kim Mingyu: please

It’s a little embarrassing, how incapable you are of denying him anything. You trust him implicitly, love him even more, so it’s second nature to give in, to adjust your phone so you don’t have to hold it. Second nature to press record, pull your panties to the side just like you’d proposed earlier; second nature to make a show of sticking two fingers in your mouth, sucking on them, before bringing them to your entrance and easing them inside.

Nothing compared to the stretch of Mingyu, both his fingers and his cock, but it’s still good. Enough to have you sighing softly, barely audible over the sound of everything else: the rustling of your sheets, the low thrum of your own television, you in general.

A rhythmic song and dance. Practiced. You grow wetter with each push and pull; know Mingyu will be able to see it, the way you work yourself open. That, too, has you a little dizzy. Breathless. You wonder what he sees when he looks at you. Not only like this, but all the time. Does he see an expiration date? Something good while it lasted? Is there just this—something carnal and superficial?

Or does he just see you?

It drives you crazy. Inspires something within you: not just the desire to please him, make it worth his while, but to be something else, something more than this. Has your fingers moving a little faster, has you grinding your clit against the palm of your hand. Has you a whining, writhing mess; has sounds spilling out that you aren’t sure you’ve ever heard come out of you.

You send it before you can overthink it. Whatever Mingyu sees in you, at least these are the images that’ll play in his mind whenever he thinks of you. At least you’ve sunk your claws into him.

Seconds pass in a blur. You’re still on the brink of a mind-numbing orgasm, stuck in this liminal space simply because Mingyu isn’t here, and you know, too, how this goes. Know you aren’t supposed to come without his say-so in the same way he edges himself until he gets yours.

Kim Mingyu: shit shit shit Kim Mingyu: i wish that was me. wanna take you apart like that. wanna finger you while i eat you out, make you squirt all over me again Kim Mingyu: fuck i thin k about that all the time Kim Mingyu: im gonna cum

I think about that all the time.

So do you. You, on your hands and knees, Mingyu eating you out from behind. Bracing yourself against the headboard with one arm, the other one reaching behind you to pull at his hair. You remember how relentless he’d been that night. A man possessed. Disregarded all your breathless pleas, every Mingyu, Gyu, fuck, fuck, Mingyu, baby— that left your mouth. His tongue left your pussy only long enough to say, you can take it, baby before he was right back at it. Before he worked in two fingers alongside his mouth. Before his free hand came down hard on your ass, the sting startling you, making you jerk, forcing you closer to his mouth.

You remember coming with a scream. You remember coming to with Mingyu’s lips to your neck, the sweet way he was speaking to you. You remember the knee-jerk embarrassment you felt when you saw the giant wet spot you’d left on the bed and how quickly it dissipated when Mingyu pressed a kiss to your temple, called you his good girl.

You: you can come, but you know the rule

You move your fingers back to your clit, feel all that pleasure flood back, start in your toes. It’s not long before you’re pulling a blistering orgasm from your body—one that feels like it belongs to Mingyu, wasn’t yours for the taking.

thank you, he replies, right beneath a photo of his abs streaked with cum.

The comedown is jarring. You feel both too big for your body and completely out of sorts now that you’ve fulfilled your role. Now that there’s nothing to do but sit in the stillness of your bedroom, that same drama playing on television, some girl getting her heart broken.

You wonder if Mingyu’s thinking the same. If his body also sags with relief, if the absence of all that tension feels crushing. If the first thought he has in this newfound clarity is also I love you and if he also swallows it down every single time. You wonder if he thinks about his role, if it’s becoming stale and tired.

Because you know what comes next:

Kim Mingyu: i’ll be home soon Kim Mingyu: can i see you

And you also know what you’ll say. After all, you’ve played this role before.

if you've made it this far thank you so much for reading! this is prob not my best work since it's a lil rushed but i needed something to get me out of my slump.

i would love to hear your thoughts! <3

[suempu]

tw: nonconsensual kissing. graphic wording.

"you look lonely."

ivan sighs while you situate yourself on the sofa beside him. his room is pitch dark, save for the light from the tv broadcast.

mindless advertisements and commercials mix and buzz into the air, creating a fog of background noise. and you wonder whose poor soul is getting killed on that stage at this very moment.

you spread your arm and dramatically bring him into a side hug. "nothing a bit of booze won't fix. ha ha ha!!" exclaiming with the vigor of an alcoholic, ivan can only groan in frustration.

"i'm not getting wasted with you." his eyes look worn down, mouth wrinkling into a frown as he tries to hide the agony behind a stone cold face.

a part of him is comforted by your presence, a sense of normality washes over him. as if you two were still children playing across the fake fields and staring at the equally as fake sky, laughing as you tackled each other to the ground and picked flowers.

"too late, i brought the good shit." you snicker as you bring out weird looking bottles. you're not exactly sure how safe these are for humans but the aliens seem to love it so, who cares? "this was hard to steal by the way, i got it from those private rooms."

ivan stares at you for a moment and eventually rests his head on your shoulder. he looks at you, cold ice wall melting down and you're met with the sight of absolute pain and distress on his pretty face when he sighs.

"why does it have to feel like this?" he whispers, voice cracking from the amount of vocal training and warmups he's been forced to endure that day.

you take a deep breath and open a bottle, careful with your movements as his heavy head rested on your arm. "what? wanna runaway? you know i wouldn't hesitate if you asked." chuckling as you tried reading the labels.

ivan knows though. you're the closest thing he's got to a friend. you'd do anything for him and with him. and of course he'd do the same but... you're not the person he holds nearest to his heart.

"it's funny," he watches as you sniff the alcoholic aroma before taking a sip. "no matter how much they make us do these—things, no matter how much it hurts... why is this thing in my chest more painful?"

your face falls blank, glaring at the bottle before taking a big chug. you hope it'll get rid of your own pain, wash away all the emotions and feelings of him.

and its funny. because what kind of weird fucking love hexagon is this?

you despise till.

you wish you could tear his bones out and wear his skin, take out his tongue and say all the things ivan has always wanted to hear and keep his heart for your own.

"i wish i knew the answer to that."

looking down at him and seeing his exhausted face, makes your heart break. you want to gather yours and his shattered pieces and construct a deformed statue of love and just hope it'll be enough for him. enough to replace the burning loneliness he's been forced to go through.

but no. even if he were to love you, it'd take a million years to pass, thousands of stars to die, and hundreds of planets to explode until then.

you bump your forehead into his and watch as his eyes widen. smirking to yourself, you think, what more could i lose?

"let's be lonely together then. just this once."

you whisper before kissing him.

[bestofmultiverse]

Between the pages || 5

Aubrey plaza x fem!reader

"Whatever our struggles and triumphs, however we may suffer them, all too soon they bleed into a wash, just like watery ink on paper. A love like this is a dream.”

– Kafka on the Shore by Haruki Murakami

A/N : Idk if it good but i kinda felt like being sappy here.

1 • 2 • 3 • 4

The interview seemed to be going well, Y/N thought, watching from behind the scenes.

Aubrey had a knack for charming people with just one smile. She was relaxed as she spoke to Drew about her upcoming project, her confidence radiating in every word. Y/N felt her heart skip a beat as Aubrey flirted playfully (Y/N couldn’t blame her—it’s Drew Barrymore, for crying out loud!) and teased her fans with a casual grin that always left her weak in the knees.

Drew seemed to enjoy the banter, too. The two of them joked effortlessly, with Drew throwing in a few personal questions—ones Aubrey had agreed to answer beforehand. Y/N could sense the moment she’d been both dreading and anticipating inching closer.

Their relationship.

For some reason, even after months, people couldn’t seem to let it go. The world was fascinated by the unlikely pairing, endlessly dissecting it. Y/N figured it was because she wasn’t famous, nor did she live a very public life. People were either intrigued by her anonymity or bitter, labeling her a gold-digger.

Her social media was private, her career was far from glamorous, and even when her future book will be finally published—her own book, not just something she’d co-edited—she knew she’d still be considered “ordinary” next to Aubrey. She wasn’t an actress, a model, or an influencer. She was just a small-town girl who, somehow, had caught the Aubrey Plaza’s attention—and love.

A montage of pictures suddenly appeared on the screen, paired with Drew’s next question. Y/N watched nervously.

The first photo showed her lying on top of Aubrey on their couch, fast asleep with her face buried in Aubrey’s stomach. Aubrey, meanwhile, was smiling like she’d won the lottery. The second image was a messy selfie of them covered in eggs and flour, laughing with huge, silly grins. The last was from a Marvel party they’d attended together: Aubrey’s hand rested possessively on Y/N’s waist as they leaned in close, noses almost touching. Y/N had a crinkle in her nose, clearly giggling at something Aubrey had whispered.

From her seat, Y/N noticed Aubrey shift slightly, sitting a little straighter. It was subtle, but Y/N could tell—her girlfriend was nervous.

“So, there are a lot of rumors about your relationship,” Drew began warmly. “It’s not new news, but somehow it’s still keeping people on their toes. How do you feel about that? And how’s your girlfriend handling it?”

Drew’s tone was light, like a friend genuinely curious, not a journalist digging for a scoop.

Aubrey smiled softly. “How do I feel about it? Well… I’ve had a few relationships in my life—some public, some less so. Most were great in their own ways. But honestly, this one? This one’s it for me. She’s my person, and I’m happy. I just wish people could be more supportive of that.”

She paused for a moment, glancing briefly behind Drew to catch Y/N’s eye. When she saw Y/N’s encouraging thumbs-up and grin, Aubrey’s smile grew.

“But I get it,” she continued. “People wonder, they talk—and that’s fine, I guess. It’s part of the package deal. I just wish the hate wasn’t part of it. It’s one thing when it’s the media. Neither of us cares what some sleazy tabloid writer thinks. But when it’s from people who call themselves fans? That stings. For both of us.”

Drew nodded, her expression understanding. “Do you think addressing it will change anything? Or are you worried it might even get worse?”

Aubrey shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m not counting on this fixing anything. God, I hope it doesn’t get worse. But even if it does, we have a great relationship. I’m crazy about her, and that’s all that matters.”

She glanced over at Y/N and winked, making her laugh softly.

“Aren’t you a sweetheart,” Drew teased, grinning.

The conversation moved to lighter topics, including Aubrey’s notorious pranks on set and an embarrassing story about the time she accidentally walked into the wrong bathroom at an awards show. The tension from earlier melted away as they both dissolved into laughter. Y/N knew fans would love this part. Aubrey seemed lighter, too, like addressing the issue had lifted a weight off her shoulders.

After the interview aired, the two decided to ditch their phones for the evening. They curled up on the couch in Aubrey’s apartment, embracing the quiet.

Y/N rested her head on Aubrey’s shoulder, sighing contentedly. “Well, that wasn’t a complete disaster,” she teased.

“Disaster? That was amazing,” Aubrey replied, reaching over to run her fingers through Y/N’s hair. “And I killed it, if I do say so myself.”

Y/N snorted. “Humble as ever.”

“Hey, it’s not bragging if it’s true.” Aubrey smirked, leaning down to press a kiss to Y/N’s temple. “Besides, you were the real MVP, giving me that thumbs-up when I needed it. You’re my rock, you know that?”

“Stop. You’re making me blush,” Y/N mumbled, hiding her face against Aubrey’s neck.

“Good. You’re cute when you blush.”

They stayed like that for a while, wrapped up in each other, the world and its noise fading away. For now, all that mattered was the warmth of the moment and the peace of being together, on their own terms.

The morning light crept into Aubrey’s apartment, highlighting the lazy entanglement of limbs on the couch. Y/N stirred first, groaning softly as the realization dawned that they’d fallen asleep there. Aubrey, half-awake, tightened her arm around Y/N’s waist.

“Don’t move,” Aubrey murmured, her voice husky with sleep. ���You’re my pillow.”

Y/N chuckled, brushing her fingers through Aubrey’s messy hair. “We’re not even in bed. My neck is going to hate me for this later.”

“It’s a small price to pay for cuddles,” Aubrey countered, pressing her face into Y/N’s shoulder.

The moment was warm and serene, but the peace was short-lived. Y/N glanced at her phone on the coffee table, her curiosity getting the better of her. Against her better judgment, she reached for it.

As soon as she unlocked it, her screen lit up with notifications. Dozens of missed messages, tagged posts, and news alerts. A quick scroll through Twitter showed one trending topic: #AubreyAndYN.

“Oh no,” Y/N muttered, biting her lip. “Aubrey, we’re trending again.”

Aubrey groaned dramatically, flopping onto her back like a starfish. “Of course we are. Can’t the world leave us alone for one day?”

“It’s… different this time,” Y/N said hesitantly, scrolling further. “Look.”

Curiosity piqued, Aubrey sat up and leaned over Y/N’s shoulder. What they found was unexpected.

Instead of the usual nasty gossip or conspiracy theories, the feed was flooded with supportive messages and heartwarming edits. Fans had clipped moments from the interview, adding captions like, “Aubrey loves her GF so much, I’m crying 🥹” and, “Finally, they addressed the haters. Good for them!”

A particularly popular tweet featured the marvel party photo that had appeared in the interview. It was captioned, “Find someone who looks at you like Aubrey looks at Y/N. Relationship goals!”

Y/N scrolled further, finding more positive reactions. One user wrote, “I wasn’t sure about them at first, but seeing Aubrey defend her GF so fiercely? Respect.”

Another said, “Y/N’s clearly the happiest thing to happen to Aubrey. Why can’t we just let them be in love?”

Aubrey raised an eyebrow, amused. “Wow. Are we in the Twilight Zone? Where’s all the hate?”

“There’s still some,” Y/N admitted, gesturing to a few bitter comments. “But it’s… quieter than usual.”

Aubrey grinned, clearly pleased. “Looks like our plan worked. I told you people just needed to see how awesome you are.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress her smile. “Sure. It’s totally because I’m awesome, not because you publicly declared your undying love for me on live television.”

“Well, that didn’t hurt,” Aubrey teased, wrapping her arms around Y/N’s waist and pulling her close. “Maybe I should do it more often.”

Y/N laughed, leaning into Aubrey’s embrace. “Let’s not push our luck.”

They spent the next hour scrolling through the posts, laughing at memes and reading comments aloud. By the time they set their phones down, the tension from the day before had all but disappeared.

Later, as they sat at the kitchen table, sharing a plate of pancakes Aubrey had lovingly burnt on one side, Y/N felt a strange sense of calm.

“You know,” she said, spearing a piece of pancake with her fork, “it’s kind of nice seeing people be supportive for a change.”

Aubrey nodded, sipping her coffee. “Yeah. Feels weird, though. Like, are we actually allowed to enjoy this?”

“I think so,” Y/N said with a small smile. “We deserve to enjoy it.”

Aubrey reached across the table to take Y/N’s hand, squeezing it gently. “We do. And for the record, I don’t care if we’re trending, ignored, or completely forgotten. As long as I have you, I’m good.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed. “You’re such a sap.”

“You love it,” Aubrey shot back, her grin mischievous.

“Unfortunately, I do.”

They spent the rest of the morning laughing, teasing each other, and stealing bites of pancake from the same plate. No matter what the internet thought of them, they were happy—and that was all that mattered.

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

(3) TENDER LIKE A BRUISE ─── ethan landry 𖦹

ೃ⁀➷ “Let me hold your tenderness for a moment, Forgetting all pains that the tenderness has caused….” — Luffina Lourduraj

pairing. spiderman!ethan landry x reader

warnings. heavy swearing, mention of blood+death, alcohol

summary. ethan calls during a patrol, frantic, and you have no choice but to find and save him. (1) (2) (3) (4)

a/n. another bit of the spiderman!ethan landry universe. i'm being pretty carefree about the timeline atm, so basically you and ethan have been fake-dating for a few months already. also, do tell if the relationship progression is too fast or too slow!

iii.

Your fake-dating label has stuck, following you everywhere. 

From having an awkward dinner with Ethan’s parents (which would have been one with his entire family, but Quinn could not keep a straight face and had to leave), having double-dates with Annika and Mindy, Ethan having to ward off weirdos hitting on you at parties (which, was actually rather welcome), and the like.

Sometimes, entirely to keep your cover straight, you and Ethan have to engage in some… physical contact. Mostly, it’s hand holding, or wiping something off his cheek, him tucking your hair back behind your ear, fixing his shirt collar, him tying your shoes — all the little intimate things that make your fake relationship seem so much more real. 

It’s kind of sweet, actually, how in-tune you guys are becoming with each other. Like, Ethan knows how you like your coffee, and you know what shirts he likes to keep at your place more than the others. You can trust the boy to pick an amazing place to order food from, and he can trust you to wash his Spidersuit like no-one else. (Seriously, he is shocked at how you can clean it in forty minutes and he can spend four hours in his sink without doing much at all.)  

However, once, you and Ethan had to kiss. Well, “kiss”. It was drunk couple stuff, trying to fly under everyone's radar. 

Your friends were beginning to think it was a little odd you had never done anything while drunk together, because everyone did. Sure, you two could be very private considering PDA, but everyone saw how sweet you were in front of others, so it was getting suspicious.

To void these pesky suspicions, during a low-key drunk night between friends at Chad and Ethans place, you downed a full shot of gin, let it burn in your throat, and pulled yourself onto the equally drunk Ethan. 

You had climbed atop his lap, his fatigued head thrown back against the leather couch. Your hands graced the sides of his face, and through your alcohol stained lips you whispered close in Ethan’s ear. 

“I’m going to kiss you, Ethan. Fake, though,” You said simply, your mind addled with that familiar alcohol fog. 

You waited for his familiar hum of acknowledgment, the one he voiced when he was brushing his teeth, or drinking something, all his little sounds you’d grown to know. 

When he did, you leaned your head at just the right angle that to everyone, it looked like you were going to town on Ethan, when in reality you were pecking the side of his lip. 

Your hands had carded through Ethan’s soft, curly locks, tugging slightly and repositioning yourself on his lap, his own hands settling nervously on your waist. You moved onto hovering around his neck, sending shivers down his spine with your hot breath on his skin. 

Ethan could taste the citrus stains you left on the side of his mouth, and he was beginning to feel feverish. His entire body was incredibly warm, either from the alcohol, or how close you were to him now. 

He gulped, watching you on his lap, pretending to do everything he had exactly zero experience in. You - this, made him so incredibly nervous, he was losing his mind over your touch. 

And as soon as it started, it was over, and you pulled yourself off the flustered boy. Chad whistled at the intensity of the action, a “proud dad” moment of sorts. 

Ignoring it, your hands itched towards another shot of alcohol. Through the corner of your eye, you saw Ethan, breathing heavily, eyes coursing over you. 

His gaze, low and deep, made your heart skip a tender beat, beginning to thump louder in your ears—

You downed another shot, and let it wash those thoughts away. Perhaps it is denial, or perhaps you don’t want to lose him. 

(Somewhere deep in you, you’re terrified of losing him. Literally and figuratively, you could lose Ethan in so many ways it's beginning to hurt.

One of those ways comes far too soon for your comfort.) 

-

It’s Halloween. 

You’re stuck in someone's house, and a drunk girl you don’t know the name of is regaling you on her outfit choices for the night. 

Quinn and Mindy are fighting over who's the better superhero, Spiderman or Iron-Man (and when Quinn heatedly declares Spiderman is some friendless, familyless freak, you snort), Tara and Chad are… doing whatever their newly blossomed situationship requires to make even more tense, and Annika is passed out on Mindy’s shoulder. 

Ethan is on patrol tonight, after he left you alone in the middle of the party. Apparently, it had something to do with candy and costumes making criminals more “devious” (whatever that meant). 

Sometimes, you really wish trick-or-treating wasn’t just for kids. 

You slip away from the drunk girl, whose friend group has since found her, and sneak into the very same bathroom Ethan had jumped out of earlier. In the mirror, you finnicked with the costume you were wearing. 

“I couldn’t exactly find anything similar, so I made it myself.” Ethan had said a few hours ago, holding up the costume. It was an odd black-and-white version of his Spidersuit, with a white hood and pink underarms. 

“It’s made of a mix of spandex and a flexible carbon-fiber I stole from the evidence locker at the NYPD - the same stuff as my suit. And, I know, not morally great, but whatever, I’ll make up for it by catching the criminals who owned that stuff.” Ethan continued, stretching the fabric. 

You raised a brow, taking the slim piece of fabric off his hands. “And why exactly do I have to be some Spiderman dupe tonight?” 

Ethan scratched his cheek, gaze veering from yours.  “If I’m wearing this, you’ve gotta wear that. To keep the cover, obviously.”

You two were sitting on your bed, Ethan already decked out in his own well made Spiderman “costume”. Everyone else was dressed, too, just waiting for you to finish.

“So,” You leaned in closer to Ethan, “this is just a matching couple costume… for the cover.”

Ethan nodded rapidly, still avoiding your eyes. 

You surveyed him for a moment: his brown eyes were coursing across the whole room, on anything except you, lips bitten between his teeth, hair askew, slight blush blazing across his face. 

Something about that look of his just got to you, and the sound of the blood rushing to your face was positively deafening. 

You pulled back, trying to ease your stuttering heart. “Isn’t this a bad idea? Wearing the suit and all, aren’t you scared of someone finding out?”

“I think it’s ironic.” Ethan said under his breath, a small smile gracing his face. “And it’s the opposite. If I pretend to be some superfan, people won’t think I’m him.” 

You puffed up your cheeks, blowing the air out. “Okay, fine. I’ll wear your couples costume. Just don’t, and I mean it, Ethan, do not leave me alone at the party to go on patrol.”

“[Name]. You know I can’t promise you anything, I mean, what if there's a dog or something getting stolen out of an apartment—“

Without thinking, you stopped his rambling by pulling him close to you, hands gripping lightly at his arms. The two of you held still for a moment, staring deep into eachothers eyes. 

You would have been ready to say anything, but the heartfelt words you had thought of, the feelings you knew were burning in your heart, about to burst at any moment, died in the sudden hesitance you felt from Ethan. 

Unknowingly, your face contorted into one of hurt. “I know. I know, I’m sorry, I - I know that's selfish of me to ask, I just…” You let go of him, “there will never be enough time in the world for you to be both Ethan and Spiderman. Which one - which life, relationships -  do you value more?” you turned away, whispering under your breath. 

And if Ethan had heard you, he didn’t say anything. Tension settled in the room, with a terribly miserable air of regret. 

Suddenly, Mindy had called out from the living room that you’d all be late to the party if you didn’t hurry up. Ethan exited your room quietly, and you didn’t see him look back at your door with so much guilt it was choking him. 

Remembering that bitter start to the night, you sighed, patting down your spandex suit. 

Then, someone on the other side of the bathroom door started banging it, but you couldn’t make out what they were saying under the blaring music reverberating throughout the entire house. 

“Wait a minute!” You shouted, straining your throat. You began to continue in the loud tone, but the familiar buzz of your phone interrupted you. 

Quickly, you fished out the device from a sleek thigh pocket you were thoroughly impressed with Ethan for designing, and clicked it on. 

“Speak of the devil,” You mumbled to yourself, seeing the ever-present contact name of ETHAN LANDRY buzzing atop your phone screen. 

You answered, pressed the phone to your ear. However, before you could get a word out, Ethan began frantically shouting into the phone. 

“[Name]! Goddam—it, okay, I need you to - to - I left my backpack at your place, and I can’t do this without—“ 

“Ethan! Ethan, Eth— slow down, I can’t—“ 

“Get my bag, please, and don’t find me, just— leave it at Blackmore, near the fountain, I’ll swing by— and— oh, for fuc—“ 

And then he hung up. Or, more precisely, probably broke his phone swinging away from whatever was causing him to act like that. 

You felt your heart drop, finally registering the intensity of Ethan’s voice. The boy was often lighthearted and dorky, extremely endearing in his polite awkwardness, so hearing how alarmed he was now was sending you for a loop. 

You shook your head, storing such feelings away for later. You made a mental note of Ethan’s requests: bag at your apartment, leave at Blackmore fountain.

Nervously, you cranked open the window in the bathroom, eyeing the slingers attached to your wrists. You’d found out entirely by accident after sticking to a beer bottle that Ethan hadn’t merely created a fake pair of web slingers for the costume — he’d supplied you with a functional pair of his own. 

Ethan had done a full run-down of his suit once, entirely fascinated with the thing. He was so proud of his own creation, rambling about how the web-fluid took ages to perfect, and about the one time his father got in trouble for “forgetting” to keep track of evidence from the NYPD locker. 

This identity was entirely Ethan’s own, and he was so incredibly happy with it. You realized then how selfish your comment had been, how it must have stung him so. 

You bit your lip, and pushed yourself back on track, slipping on the matching mask the costume had. Surprisingly, the vision in it wasn’t terrible, and it was merely a little foggy. 

Then, at the window, you decided you needed to use the web slingers. You knew this could go extremely wrong, seeing as you obviously hadn’t been bit by a radioactive spider, so your agility, physical build, and pain tolerance were at an all time low in comparison to Ethans, but you remembered how frenzied the boy-hero was— and swung out the window. Time was of essence. 

You finnicked with the webs, feeling the cool night chill bite your face, and tried desperately to replicate how Ethan so easily thwipped building to building. You just barely made it into an alley a few blocks away from the party-house, and almost hit your head on a lamp post on the way there, so you knew after this incident you’d never even approach the web-slinger cuffs. 

You ran the rest of the way to your apartment, climbed up your fire escape, and shimmied the small gap for Ethan in the glass window open with your foot. After a moment of scanning, you nicked Ethan’s characteristic green canvas bag, and braced yourself to swing once more. 

Your web made a slippery connection with the building in front of you - Danny’s apartment - and you swore you saw your life flash before your eyes when you almost fell. 

After several moments of climbing down the wall with webs, a situation which closely resembled rock climbing with a rope, you broke into another run, heading to Blackmore University. 

You would have felt dead tired by now if not for the adrenaline pumping through you, your anxiety for Ethan up to your ears. That, and maybe the amateur web-slinging that almost killed you, were the only things keeping you upright as you ran around New York. 

However, as you made quick shortcuts through other alleys, you heard a familiar cry come out from an approaching block. 

“Fucking—“ You heard the boy cry out, heaving, alongside the sounds of an intense scuffle. 

Without any acknowledgment of doing so, your body pulled itself to the dimly lit backstreet lane, and you found yourself watching Ethan, partially unmasked, fighting a group of several masked people, weapons and duffle bags of money thrown on the ground. In the distance, you could vaguely hear an alarm — perhaps a banks — beeping on and off. 

“E—“ You stopped yourself mid sentence, breath catching in your throat, and when one of the men threatened to grab the pistol lying haphazardly to Ethan’s side, you shot a web at the gun, bringing it to you. 

Quickly, you slid the offending weapon away, and did as much as you could to help the still-fighting Ethan. From throwing measly punches of your own, tossing weapons away, or pinning the burglars to the wall with webs, you did it all, until it was just you and Ethan, sitting on the cobblestone, breathing heavily. 

He slipped his mask fully back on, and turned to say something to you, obviously seeing your own mask on, as well as your use of his web slingers. 

But, then replacing the bank's alarm in your ears, several police sirens could be heard making their way down to the backstreet lane you were occupying. 

“We have to go. Can you swing?”  you said to Ethan between gasping for air. 

“I’m out of web fluid. It - it’ll take too long to refill,” he pointed lazily to the long-forgotten backpack. 

“I’ll do it, then,” You said, trying not to show your hesitancy. Before Ethan could voice his own surprise and fear, you wrapped an arm (and several webs, as you knew you could not fully support his built body) around him and shot a thick string of webs at the closest tall building. 

“You’re—“ Ethan’s eyes were wide open, “doing it wrong! We’ll— fall!”

“Just—“ you swung to the next building, completely unaware of how terrifying your technique was to an expert, “bare with it! I promise not to - kill us!”

“I’m unsure how - trustworthy - your - words are!” 

“Stop - distracting me!” You said, making a close call on a parked garbage truck, before making your last swing to the fire escape window at your apartment. 

Thank god the bank was not all the way across the world to your apartment, for you didn’t know how long your poor swinging skills and decent luck would last. 

You two entered your room, and you immediately ripped off the white hooded mask you were wearing, taking in fresh bouts of air like a fish entering water. You felt extremely relieved that you two had made it back safe, alive — but Ethan clearly felt differently. 

He tore his mask off, rapidly turning to face you. “I thought I told you to leave the bag at Blackmore!” Ethan’s finger was pointed accusingly, “I told you not to find me, for fucks sakes, [Name]!”

“Excuse me?” You said, in shock. “If I hadn’t found you — and I was going to Blackmore, I was taking fucking shortcuts, Landry — if I hadn’t found you, alright, you could be dead right now. You said it yourself, you were out of web-fluid!”

“Not then! I would’ve made it out fine!”

“Is this fine to you?” You gestured to his bloodied state, beaten up and bruised. “What? Were you gonna drag your broken bones up my fire escape, ask me to fix you up again?”

Ethan’s eyebrows creased. He had no answer for your words. “Just— I fucking told you not to fucking find me!”

“Jesus christ, Landry, you are fucking stubborn. I did find you, okay, but not on purpose— I fucking stumbled upon you. So don’t get all up on me for something you did.” 

“You didn’t have to help either,” he said viciously, “I have escaped worse situations without your help. I have done this for years without you, okay?”

You let out an incredulous laugh. “Oh my god, are you serious right now? I wouldn’t have to help you if you didn’t call me, if you didn’t forget your web fluid, and if you just fucking listened to me and didn’t go on patrol tonight.”

Ethan went silent, digesting your words.

“You know this is your fucking fault, right?” 

And as soon as the words left your mouth, you regretted them. You wanted to catch the air and stuff it right back down your throat, undo your harshness, realize how increasingly broken Ethan’s tone was. 

Realize how he stared at your cuts and limp, realize how guilty he looked as he asked why you went to find him. 

Why you put yourself in danger. 

Ethan’s mouth opened and closed, unsure of how to tread further, his anger falling off him in waves, revealing the pain he held underneath. 

“Fuck, Ethan, I’m sorry, I—“ you started, but stopped when Ethan looked you in the eye. 

“You could’ve died,” he whispered, “and you were - you were swinging and fighting armed men, [Name], I—“

“Ethan, I wanted to. I wanted to help you, it was my own goddamn choice. My own stupid choice.” 

“No - no, you were right. I should’ve never called you, I have done this all before, in worse moments, all by myself—“

“That does not mean you should, Ethan. Being alone in this kind of danger is not smart.” 

“I’d rather be alone than endanger you.” 

“Ethan, I’d rather be endangered than have to lose you.” 

You stared deep into eachothers eyes, not unlike the way you did at the beginning of the night. Except this time something had changed, perhaps the way you unearthed your hearts to one another now made it so much easier to breathe, to feel, to do. 

But there was still hesitation there. Untread territory and past regrets making things - this - so much harder to make real. 

You and Ethan wanted to do so much more, to do all the things you pretended to do, but instead, you wrapped your arms around his broad back and hugged him like there was no tomorrow, like you were the last people on earth before a meteor struck. His arms snaked around your waist similarly, longingly, and terribly grievous.

It felt like connecting broken pieces of a heart together, and though you did not kiss, you felt so equally joined to him like you had. The hug was long and intimate, so close you could smell the dull impression of his cheap cologne from earlier, the lonely heat of your bodies joining to warm you both so completely.

You felt so at home in his touch. You could only wish he felt the same. 

(And Ethan did. He melted into you, the only thoughts in his mind being that this felt right. 

Somewhere, deep in his mind, where he kept his guilt hidden, he felt he was just going to lose another thing he loved. That this love was futile, fading, the loss inevitable. 

But today Ethan wanted to be selfish, breathe you in, and be at peace, even for a second.) 

a/n2: no kiss, and not quite to the official relationship yet, folks! but we’re getting there, slowly but surely. have these lovely crumbs for now. though, big milestone: the acknowledgment of mutual love!

taglist: @iloveneilperry @backtotheshitshow @hazehepburn @powowowy @ifilwtmfc @oscarisdaddy69 @al1v3cvp1d2 @bloodyeverything @diamondci1ty @l5bryinth @gojosbucket @volturi-girl-imagines @sflame15-blog @thatoneembarrasingmoment @bajadotcom @cerealzzz @elynka @theapulidooo @solaceinwriting-blog1

(strikethrough: wouldn’t allow me to tag!)

[mw4n]

Should ¥XX,000,000 Make Fushiguro's Shit Worth It? - ch. 2

༄ synopsis - Being Toji Fushiguro's in-house private solicitor may pay well, but recently you're reconsidering if the pay makes all the stress (read: Toji himself) worth it. At this point, with all the less-than-legal actions Toji commits on the regular, you're practically a certified mob lawyer. [ full synopsis ]

༄ series tags - toji fushiguro x reader; lawyer! reader; no curses; yakuza/organised crime; violence; explicit content; dilf! toji; tags to be added

༄ wc - 5.2k

<< ch. 1 || ch. 3 >>

( う-´)づ︻╦̵̵̿╤── \(˚☐˚”)/

It’s times like these where your brain disobediently begins to wander to relatively unimportant matters, like the chances of someone in the office accessing the printer history and seeing that you’ve freshly printed a document conspicuously labelled ‘CV - final.docx’ under your printing account.

Then, your brain starts to think about the chances of them bringing that up with your boss, and how embarrassing it’ll be if this falls through. 

If it was any other office, you’d say that those chances would be slim - if not flat out impossible. But your mind drifts further towards Usui, whose cubicle is parked right next to the printing room and has been known to snoop in the printer history when he’s bored.

That was how he found out one of your colleagues had been using the printer to print advertisements for their brother’s business: more than 90 flyers. 

Honestly, what kind of hobby is that? Browsing the printer history?

You purse your lips with annoyance at the thought, unaware that the slight movement has caught Fushiguro’s attention.

He pauses from his perusal of your CV - even the manner in how he scans your paper, one handed and casual, seems hot (insert dreamy sigh) - watching you silently over the top of the page. 

Finally, he speaks up.

“Something the issue?” The voice settles around you. The background noise dulls amidst the washing in your ears. 

Any concerns about Usui dematerialise and you snap to attention, not unlike a soldier before their superior.

“Not at all, Mr. Fushiguro. Take your time.” 

He hums, lowering back to your CV. It’s taking him longer than expected, but despite your shitty job, your CV is relatively impressive. It seems he also notices.

“So, Y/N, this is all well and good,” he sets it down, spinning it on the table to face you. He’s conjured a pen from somewhere and is using the back of it to tap at a particular set of words, “but what I want to know is why someone who graduated near top of her class from Kyoto University, excellent marks and sponsored by an international law firm, is doing at your current company and not… there.” 

The pen nib clicks onto paper and circles around the name of the firm. 

Is he even allowed to ask this? 

You stare down at it. It’s just a couple words - it doesn’t even take up that much space on the paper, but it had felt huge for the few months it occupied in your life. 

You’re not surprised he’s asking. If you were on the other side, interviewing a candidate, you would ask too.

The events of last year run through your mind, scenes rapidly unfurling. The sights, smell, sounds flood into you briefly. You resist the urge to withdraw and squeeze your eyes shut, settling for digging your nails into your palms under the table instead.

A scale sits inside your mind, weighing the choices. Either lay low, make up some reason, or be honest and risk… his disdain. 

The thought that he, like the others, would just dismiss you and think of you as another liar, presses against your chest suffocatingly. You can’t put your finger on why it would upset you so much.

So what if he doesn’t believe you? Worst comes to worst, you just go back to your cubicle and continue working. Nothing changes. The world goes on. 

You’re aware that the silence has stretched on a tad longer than it should’ve, yet Fushiguro doesn’t speak.

He leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. (He’s wearing a loose cream sweater this time, of which you suspect is designer. It’s got these irregular and obtrusive stitches at the cuffs and hem, but the rest of the make is constructed so well that those have to be deliberate design.) 

“I… did go to that firm, actually. I received the offer shortly after my undergrad and it was only with their help that I was able to pay for most of law school,” your voice dries up at the next part. You hem, taking a sip of water. “But it was during one of my training days there, right before I was set to graduate, where I ran into some trouble in the firm and… was terminated. Due to the sensitivity of what happened, they settled for just revoking my place and the last tuition payment.”

You weren’t blacklisted, per se, but it didn’t exactly help that the people involved in the ‘trouble’ were pretty well connected. 

He’s not stupid. Judging by how cautiously you’re speaking about it, he knows it would be fruitless to prod any further. 

“Are you not allowed to speak of it?” 

Your face remains stiff, betraying no emotion. “I wouldn’t really want to.”

If he decides to take back his offer because of this, you wouldn’t really blame him per se. You’re not exactly forthcoming with the details, and that could be a risk in itself depending on the job. 

“Hm…” Fushiguro scans the name of the firm on your CV, imprinting it in his memory. Though he’s not the most well-versed in the legal field, being involved in a completely different industry of work, the name feels familiar.

You watch him, almost cautiously. His face is unreadable. 

Your heart sinks. 

-

“Do you have any questions?”

You blink - the only indication of surprise you’ll allow yourself. Have you passed some kind of stage? Successfully, at that? 

Regaining your mental composure, you sit up straighter, hands folding neatly in your lap and knees pressing against one another. 

“For… you?”

There’s an amused lilt along his lip. The lip, which you notice, has a pale scar in the end. You wonder if that feels different than the rest of his skin. Probably.

“Yes, for me.” Though he’s not smiling, you can feel some smirk-like energy emanating off him. 

“Ah, I was mainly wondering what kind of work you’re involved in. What would I mainly be required to do?” 

You can’t lie, you’re curious on why he’s decided to extend an offer, an extremely generous one at that, to you in the first place, given your relatively limited interaction with him. 

“That…” this time, he’s the one who looks a little troubled. “It’s mainly just small things. Representing me when some clients try to sue my business, or if something happens with Megumi again, I can rest assured knowing that he’ll have someone to contact that knows what they’re doing. Just in case the brat runs into some… problems.”

Your brows furrow. “Typically, Mr. Fushiguro, paying someone to be your exclusive lawyer is quite a big deal-”

He flaps a hand, “if it’s the money you’re worried about, don’t be. I’ll compensate you satisfactorily.”

“I am worried about the money, but not my salary. With all due respect, Mr. Fushiguro, what kind of business do you run that allows you to pay so generously and require a lawyer?” You hesitate before saying this next part, but this interview has been relatively informal from the start and - again, if anything goes wrong, you’ll just go back to your tedious office job again. “And… what made you consider me as a candidate?”

“My business details will be confidential. But I call it that just for tax reasons, it’s essentially just me being a freelancer. As for why you…” Mr. Fushiguro leans back, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “... instinct?”

…

That answer was barely a step up from him saying ‘your looks’, and was hardly reassuring. You don’t get the sense that he’s as generous with details as he is with your future salary though. 

He must see the hesitant expression and deigns to elaborate. Though not much.

“Trust me, and in my line of work, instinct… is the difference between-” he raises a hand, drawing a line high, “-and here.” His hand plummets lower.

Heaven and hell. 

The reminder of your salary makes you swallow the rest of the questions back. No matter what hellish conditions he proposes or how hard he works you or how suspicious this is all beginning to sound… ¥XX,000,000 is a crazy number that lowers any inhibitions. 

An angel on your shoulder pipes up. But… what if he requires you to be on call 24/7? 

The devil on the opposite side smashes the thought with ‘¥XX,000,000’.

What if his personality as a boss ends up to be the absolute worst - worse than your current one! 

¥XX,000,000.

What if his work is… illegal?

You grit your teeth. 

¥XX,000,000!!!!!

That’s one, two, three, four, five, SIX zeroes at the end of that! 

The social media jokes about would you suck your bros dick for 20 dollars runs through your mind. That’s 20 dollars. Imagine this?

"And is the money… legal?” You feel hesitant asking this, worried if that’s an affront to his character.

He raises an eyebrow. “Say, how big of a concern would you say that is for you?”

our shock probably condenses too visibly, judging by the large guffaws that begin belting out of Fushiguro.

As you walk back to the office, your iced coffee barely touched and gripped in your hand (he had been smart to order both your drinks as takeaway, it seems), you feel dazed.

The concrete under your high-heeled pumps feels closer to clouds and a heaviness you hadn’t even known had been weighing on you feels lifted. 

The next steps logically present in front of you. You’ll have to type and present your two weeks notice to your boss, but Fushiguro said you’d be on call starting after this weekend.

That meant for your last week at work, you’d be working for Fushiguro - essentially two jobs at once. He hadn’t been the most forthcoming with details, but you hadn’t either with your past. And it seemed like his requirements weren’t that much.

Besides, it was just him and Megumi. Even though you were just one person, how much work could there be? 

You can’t even help but smugly think to yourself: this might be the easiest ¥XX,000,000 anyone’s ever made. 

(The you in the future can only look back at your naive self and sigh.)

--

The first time Fushiguro employs your services, he only texts you a location pin with four words. (‘My office. One hour.’) The notification catches your attention right as you step into the carriage of a packed train car, along with the rest of the 5PM rush, causing you to pivot directly on the heel and wrestle your way out. Apologising profusely to the others ,you have no choice.

You had just gotten off of work (it was still your last week in your crappy law firm) but Fushiguro had already told you at the informal ‘interview’ of the possibility of being contacted after the weekend. For that salary, you had no complaints of working two jobs for a week.

Judging from this text message and your first texting conversation, you can already feel that Fushiguro has a very identifiable no-nonsense minimalistic style. The lack of detail in his messages makes you want to grit your teeth, but there’s nothing you can do but squeeze into a different train line – enduring the disgruntled puffs and stares from the other sardined-crammed salary dogs eager to get home.

As you persist through the side-eyes from a couple of the older students, you reflect on that location pin. Why does his office location seem familiar?

It’s only when you step off the bus and approach the looming black gate, complete with two robust security cameras, that you realise that his office location is literally just his house.

Or at least, it’s the location that Megumi had you drop him off at a few weeks ago when he had busted his bike AND your car. The car, of which, was still getting serviced.

You had half a mind that the mechanic was an extreme slacker and had already resolved to never go to him again for any issues. Sure, the damage wasn’t small but did it really warrant more than three weeks in the shop?

Maybe you just didn’t know that much about cars.

Keeping your face as impassive as possible, you approach the intercom at the side of the gate and shoot a text to Fushiguro.

I’m here. What floor?

The message blueticks but no notice of him typing shows up. You furrow your brow, your thumbs hovering over the keyboard to follow up, when an abrupt grating noise causes you to jolt a foot in the air.

The black gate slides open a hair – its automatic – and you walk in.

Sidewalk-height embedded floor lamps light up the path to a two-story tall lofty glass lobby and carefully maintained shrubbery and foliage decorate the road in. The road stretches towards an underground carpark, but you just beeline to the lobby.

Everything about this gated community exudes wealth. If you had any doubts of Fushiguro’s ability to follow through with ¥XX,000,000, you don’t now.

Your phone dings again.

45.

You quickly text back asking for what flat, but upon pressing forty-five into the intercom, the lobby door opens automatically as well without having to input the corresponding flat letter.

A thought fills you.

There’s no way…

Indeed, Fushiguro’s apartment occupied the entirety of the forty-fifth floor. At this point, having seen the apartment complex and even how fast the elevator had jetted up all the way, your heart feels dead to the splendour of the rich. Instead you can only wonder what exactly does Fushiguro do?

The apartment door is partially ajar, light spilling into the dim lift-area, but you knock regardless.

A voice–distinctly not Fushiguro–rings out. “Come in.”

It’s Megumi.

You push open the door and the warm light of the setting sun fills your vision: floor to ceiling glass windows, the largest living room you’ve seen in Tokyo yet and a wall-mounted screen of the biggest TV you’ve seen ever depicting a split-screen game of Kirby beating the shit out of Ryu from Streetfighter going ham.

Where the fuck does Fushiguro get his money from?

You had been happy at the sound of ¥XX,000,000 but seeing the wealth is much different than merely hearing about it. The joke he made at the interview – “Say, how big of a concern would you say that (the legality of the money) is for you?” – is beginning to feel less like a joke and more like an omen that your money blinded eyes had missed!

Who jokes like that?

You had even googled Fushiguro online but had found no mention of any rich man with that last name!

Well, that wasn’t true, but the photo that had come up was definitely not the Fushiguro you knew. Some professor who lived randomly in Hokkaido. No one who could plausibly match the scale of the wealth you’re seeing and the name ‘Fushiguro’ had shown up with your research.

You’re apprehensive, but you’ve already walked into the mouth of the tiger. Might as well wander further in. Or however the saying goes.

Was that even a saying?

“Hello,” you slip off your heels, soles crying with relief at the action, and greet Megumi. “Is Fushiguro in?”

Megumi turns around, blinking in acknowledgment of your presence. “Dad…? Ah, he did say you were stopping by. He’s in his office upstairs.”

Up…stairs?

Stairs? In Tokyo?

Comically, you slowly turn to see the wooden spiral staircase that leads to a partial second floor that overlooks the massive downstairs open-space living room and kitchen area you’re in.

“Ack-!” A strangled cry catches your attention as some explosion unfurls on the screen in the corner of your eye.

It’s at this moment that you realise another teenager you know is sitting cross-legged next to Megumi. Tongue sticking out of his mouth in extreme concentration, Itadori’s slamming his thumbs onto the controller.

Your gaze pans to the screen.

“Who’s winning?”

The Kirby is clearly wiping the floor with Ryu.

You were a little surprised that Itadori was better at videogames then Megumi bu-

“Me, of course,” Megumi scoffs, haughtily, stopping your train of thought.

Megumi is Kirby?

You flick back to Megumi’s spiky hair and cold demeanour. Itadori’s sunshine smile. The cute, round and pink Kirby. The macho buff Ryu.

Maybe it does make more sense that Itadori would play a manly-masculine figure like Ryu.

Megumi as Kirby though?

Feeling like your characterisation of him has been momentarily subverted, you can only respond with an empty-headed “ah,” before you pad up the spiral staircase to find the office.

Fushiguro is engrossed on his laptop, an annoyed expression on his face, when you knock.

He skips the pleasantries, not even acknowledging that you’re fifteen minutes early, despite the fact you had literally hauled ass across Tokyo to get here without a car and during the 5PM off-work rush, and gets to it.

“I need you to do something for me,” he sighs, leaning back and pinching his brow. He directs a palm to the chair in front of him, so you naturally take a seat.

You slide a hand into your tote and pull out a small notepad, ready to take notes. “Yes?”

Fushiguro rubs his chin. “I need you to… silence someone for me.”

Your stomach drops.

A beat passes.

You clear your throat. You hadn’t exactly been clear about your employable services, and this… coupled with the wealth and mysteriousness that he’s been engaging… “What, exactly, do you mean by silence?”

Your voice sounds a little pinched. Anyone would in this situation.

He chuckles. That feels like a death knell.

“Literally.” There’s a roaring sound in your head. A million versions of tiny yous scream in panic around your mental scape, upending neurons and dragging their tiny nano-nails down your mycelium-wrapped cells. “There’s this woman that… I’ve had some history with, and she’s been yapping some falsities about me. Shut her up for me.”

You feel like an employed thug.

Shut her up.

Your mental image of yourself shifts from your beautiful, well-put together, but admittedly tired looking body to a broad shouldered, beefy moustached henchman. One wearing a wife-beater and yups ‘yes, boss!’ at every remark.

You look down at your hands. These hands weren’t built for tying the ropes around wailing victims in warehouses! These hands were built for typing on keyboards, gripping iced drinks, and spending hours writing on paper!

The image of the moustached henchman you comes to mind again.

You shudder.

A premonition, perhaps.

“You’ll need to be a little clearer. What do you mean by history with? Who is this woman? What falsities? And what do you mean by shut her up?” The last part comes out sounding near desperate.

Fushiguro looks to the side. At the time, you hadn’t known it, but looking back at it… that was a tell-tale mark that he was embarrassed. Maybe even he hadn’t anticipated that your first job from him was for this.

After a couple more minutes of what could only be described as ‘prodding’, you finally extract the situation from Fushiguro. The most painful prodding of your life. You had never known a client requesting help to be so difficult. Usually, they wanted to provide more details for you to get rid of the problem! None of this looking away, humming, twiddling thumb business.

It’s a hook-up. He’s telling you to get a hook-up to stop pestering him and spreading information about him. The same speechless feeling you had when you had seen the casual display of wealth from his house comes back again.

Does a hook-up really need to be silenced? Is blocking her not enough?

You scratch out that last thought. With your newest data on Fushiguro’s personality (this face-to-face meeting so far) it was unlikely he had her number to begin with.

Whatever.

For the sake of that ¥XX,000,000 you’ll just deal.

“Do.. do you remember her name?”

Trying to get helpful information out of Fushiguro feels like trying to cradle a wiggling cat.

“Nah.” He tosses a grape into his mouth, biting down with a crunch. The bowl of grapes had been produced out of nowhere it seems, suddenly spawning into his hand as he leisurely munches away. With every crunch of the fruit under his pearly-whites, you can hear the number of hours you’ll have to spend searching for this woman ticking up.

Had you really graduated law school for this…

“Do you remember what she looked like?”

He leans back in his office chair at a terrifying angle, thumbing at the scar at his lip absentmindedly. You feel a little ray of hope. He hmms. A sign of him thinking, surely-

“Blonde.”

A couple seconds go by before you realise that’s all the information he’s got (or willing to give you).

You know better than to ask if she had long hair or short. With how hard he had to dig in there – by ‘there’, you mean his head, of course – you were probably lucky to even get blonde from the empty expanse in the end.

You pitied the woman he had so heartlessly forgotten.

Clearly she couldn’t let him go if she was still yapping information, fake or not, about him.

“How long ago was this?”

He pulls up his calendar on his computer, squinting.

“Not sure. Could be a week. Two weeks. Three. A month.”

I can’t believe this man!

You sigh, deciding to put your foot down. This is the first task from him, and you’re fearful that this is going to let a scary precedent build.

“Sir, you do know I’m not a private investigator, right? You might be better off hiring an actual P.I for this.”

Fushiguro narrows his eyes like a cat, the edges of his lips flicking up.

He opens his mouth. A stream of unidentifiable numbers falls out, injecting energy into your brain with every increased digit.

“….!@#(% yen.”

That’s all he says, and that’s all it takes for your bending spine to crack straight. The countless hours calculated to do this job vanish in lieu of a big plastic beam on your face.

“Blonde, you said?” 

Walking past the living room, head full of thoughts, you almost smack straight into another kid. It’s a girl with an adorable bob and flower-clipped into her fringe. She’s wearing the same middle-school uniform as them. Probably another one of Megumi’s playmates.

“Oh- I’m sorry,” you apologise, ceasing from your wailing mental whirlpool of all the hours you’ll have to plug to find this mysterious blonde hook-up.

She stares at you, mouth slightly agape.

You hadn’t bumped into her that hard, had you?

“It’s… okay,” she says, eyes and voice dazed.

“Nobara- where are you?!”

Her docile appearance vanishes as she flares up.

“Shut up, Itadori! You’re the one who can’t even play my Ryu right!”

“You know I main Samus!” Itadori yips back. There’s some hesitancy before he speaks again. “Because she looks good.”  

“You’re so disgusting!” Nobara plants her hands on her hips, calling towards the couch area. From this angle, the tall back of the couch masks the two kids sitting on the carpet. Turning back to you, her ferocious demeanour melts away and now you’re the one dazed at how fast her face changed. She’s too adept. “You’re so pretty. Are you Megumi’s new mom?”

The minor squabbling in the living room fades a little in your ears, along with some colour in your face.

Huh? Megumi’s… mom?

!!!!

Your ears feel like they’re on fire.

How could- wha-

No!!!

“No!!! I just work for Fushiguro!” You rush to clarify, tongue nearly tripping over itself. “I definitely am not Megumi’s new mom! I barely know him!”

She looks unconvinced. “Uh-huh.”

As serious as you can, you set your hands on her tiny shoulders and affix her with a solemn expression. “Serious.”

She purses her lips. “Fine.” A pause. A sly expression. “Are you single?”

“…Pardon?”

Her eyes gleam. “Do you like women?”

“E- Eh?”

 “Nobara, knock it off. You’ll scare her, and she just works for my dad.” It’s Megumi who calls out this time from the living room.

The tiny girl deflates. Her hand grips your pinky finger and shakes it coyingly. “If you’re into women, I know an older girl who I think you should meet. You’re so pretty it’d be a waste not to have you in my life somehow, you know.“

You’re amused that this Nobara girl is trying to matchmake you, having literally just met you a second ago.

“She’s graduated and working already! There’s no way you can pair her with Saori! Saori’s only in high school!” Itadori protests, his voice coming through amidst the Supersmash Bro’s game effects from the impressive speakers.

His cruel reminder of your age shoots you through the heart, but he’s right. You have to agree with him. You can’t have Nobara trying to pair you with a high school student. Hell, even a university student would feel a little weird to you.

It’s less about the age and the difference in maturity from life stages.

“That’s very sweet of you,” you smile, eyes curving, “but I’m afraid I’ll have to say no.”

Nobara shakes her head fast. “Don’t be afraid! Be brave! Say yes!”

This time you laugh and pat her head. “Bye kid, have fun with Megumi and his friend.”

You’re too petty to let Itadori know that you remember his name.

Hmph. That’s what he gets.

…why are you one-sidedly beefing a middle schooler…

As you close the front door and wait for the lift, you can hear the tail end of the trio gossiping about you.

“…so pretty.” That’s Nobara.

“…assistant…” Megumi. You weren't an assistant though.

“…too old for Saori.” That was for sure Itadori.

The last bit makes your eye twitch, but you let it go. Sexual orientation questions aside, high school is way too young for you.

--

Two nights (sort-of) later, you’re hunched over your desk at home when you find her.

Your bangs are pinned back from your face by a fluffy hairband and you’re sporting a sheet mask that you most likely should’ve peeled off ten minutes ago. The only lights in your room is the computer screen (nightshift mode, of course) and the soft penguin night-lamp on your bedside table.

From the hours you’ve spent searching for her (thank goodness your time at your shitty workplace was over, so you didn’t have to be up early tomorrow), you’d long kicked off your fluffy slippers and hitched a leg onto your chair.

Now finally, unlike the four other false leads you had fruitlessly leapt at and had to let go – wasting precious hours – you’re sure that this is the girl.

Yumi Tsukumo.

Blonde. Hooked-up with Fushiguro at her house (the fact that they had hooked up at hers and not Fushiguro’s place isn’t surprising given what little interaction you’ve had about his careless appearing self).

And she was for sure spreading some crazy falsities.

You weren’t exactly sure how Fushiguro had found out. Maybe she had spoken to someone, and it had slowly spread back to him, but judging off her blog alone…

You whistled low.

Small dick? Scroll scroll scroll.

Unimpressive stamina? Scroll scroll scroll scroll.

Rolled over after? You slam your dinky plastic mouse on your mousepad.

Were these actually falsities?

You peel off your sheet mask and trash it decisively. Vindication!!!

Then a reminder that he’s paying you (with suspicious money) and you probably shouldn’t be rejoicing in this pings in your head, and you deflate. But then the pile of empty energy drinks on your desk attracts your attention and you decide to rejoice anyway.  

For all that work just to find this woman and the 2% of help he provided you, maybe you can be exultant for juuuust a couple minutes.

You scroll a little longer on her blog, admittedly some schadenfreude at work, but her privacy settings on all of her her social media has messages turned off. The only way to contact her is most likely in person.

You scrub her digital footprint for her address, a weird expression of uncomfortability on your face. This is your job now.

Now that you have her full government name, it’s significantly easier to find where she works. Honestly, maybe you should be a private investigator.

Satisfied, you note down the address and name onto your notepad and head to your bathroom to brush your teeth, pointedly ignoring the first rays of sunlight beginning to leak through your thin curtains. That was what your sleeping mask was for.

-

It feels a bit stalker-ish to show up at her apartment door, so you settle for appearing at her workplace. It’s a local coffee shop that you’ve never been to, but it’s the kind of place you’d go on a weekend with your friends – all rustic looking and calm.

You cast a glance, longingly, at the chalkboard sign on the street advertising some kind of strawberry shortcake. After what you’re about to do, there’s no way you can come back here anytime soon.

It’s hard to imagine that someone with Yumi Tsukumo’s online footprint works at a cute place like this, so you’re crossing your fingers and hoping you hadn’t gotten the location wrong.

You check your notepad again. You check the maps app on your phone.

Okay… brace.

Dressed in a pantsuit, looking as professional as you can for this, and holding a briefcase that feels red-hot in your hand, you step into the café.

You recognise Tsukumo instantly from her selfies online. The café’s empty, and she’s leaning back on the counter tapping away on her phone. Her jaw mechanically and robotically jolts up and down as she gnashes on what can only be gum.

She looks up at you and sets her phone down, dragging herself to the cashier with a bored expression affixed to her face. The entire café is empty. It’s an odd hour to come.

“What can I get you?”

“Are you Yumi Tsukumo?” You ask politely, nails digging into the briefcase even more.

She raises an eyebrow, the gnashing jaw halts. “Yea, can I help you?”

You’re silent when you serve her a formal cease and desist letter.

Her mouth parts as she takes a moment to read it. You can tell the exact moment when she stumbles onto Fushiguro’s name because her eyes light up in jubilation.

“Oh my god, Toji sent you specially? He remembers me!” She cries out, all excitedly, eyes still scanning the page. “Flowers, chocol…”

You don’t say anything.

Her eyes drag onto the next part and she freezes. The gleeful emotion morphs into confusion and then anger. She slams the paper onto the counter, hand snatching for a coffee cup slated for delivery that no one had collected yet and throws it all over you – outraged.

You really wish you worn a more waterproof shirt instead of one that absorbed coffee so well.

---

next chapter link (to be added)

(probably how Itadori ended up playing Nobara's Ryu instead of his usual main)Nobara: Itadori, why do you like playing Samus so much anyway? Megumi (already knows): ... Itadori: BECAUSE SHE'S TALL AND HAS A NICE BUTT! Nobara: EW! THAT IS UNACCEPTABLE REASONING!

༄ A/N - Please let me know if you think its funny... too long too short... everything... open to all criticism QQ hehe i didn't even think ab making a tag list but more people than expected asked for one so... here! tq for the unexpected support 🙇🙇

i am more active on ao3 so sub there if u guys want email updates etc ~~

༄ taglist - @ejwrsblog @twinky-wink @corvusmorte @gators-aid @theshortmuffin07

[naturaloils]

A Deeply Nourishing Baby Face Wash is mild yet refreshes their delicate skin naturally. It effectively cleanses the skin, making it softer and smoother with a light and sweet fragrance that lingers on. Its no-tear formula does not irritate the skin and eyes. It maintains the baby’s skin’s moisture barrier while delivering natural skin nourishment that goes deep into the surface layers of the skin. It creates a rich lather that replenishes your baby’s skin’s nutrients while also leaving it feeling cared for and clean.

[snixkers]

Green

Pairing: Spencer Reid × Fem!Reader

For: @cmkinkbingo2024

EXPLICIT CONTENT, SMUT

Content Warnings: Lingerie, reader has female traits, oral (fem receiving), fingerings (fem receiving), very vanilla, no mention of aftercare or protection (SAFE SEX IS GREAT SEX)

Summary: Spencer discovers his new favorite color on you.

Author's Note: Omg, I literally never write smut, so this took forever rare. This is for the lingerie prompt on my bingo. Inspired by this set.

Feedback is always welcome!

Requests are OPEN!

You stepped into the house, trying to sneak past your boyfriend in order to safely deposit the indiscreet bag at the bottom of your closet, but no luck.

He smiled as he saw you, wrapping his arms around you tightly and drawing you closer. You stiffened slightly, kissing him to try to keep your purchase secret.

Spencer noticed your discomfort immediately, pulling back and frowning slightly. "What's wrong?"

Damn profilers.

You shifted your weight from foot to foot before deciding it was best to just come clean.

"I got something today."

You held the bag up for him, letting him read the label and watching shock wash over his features.

"Oh. Um, what is it?"

Your eyes nearly rolled on their own, and he quickly took back his words.

"I know it's lingerie. I just wanted to know what it looked like."

As you watched him try to profile you, you couldn't help but notice the growing bulge in his work slacks.

"I think it's easier for me to show you."

He nodded eagerly, following you up the stairs like a lost puppy.

"Can you at least tell me the color?"

You turned around, stepping into the bedroom and starting to close the door.

"Green."

You only got a glimpse of his jaw dropping before you closed the door to change in private.

After getting all the silk and lace situated, you waited another minute or so to really make him sweat before opening the door.

Almost immediately, he pushed into the room and grabbed you by your hips to pull you in for a searing kiss.

It was almost shocking how deeply he kissed, taking you in as if he needed to remind himself that you were his. Considering he had just returned from a case, maybe he did.

You brought your hands to his face and pulled him closer, letting your mouths meet in a whirl of teeth and tongue and love.

The two of you moved straight to the bed, collapsing on your sides without breaking the kiss. You giggled into his mouth, AMF he couldn't help but smile back.

"You like it?"

He quickly nodded, taking you in from head to toe.

"That's certainly a litotes."

You didn't even bother finding out what that meant before kissing him again and scooting back against the headboard.

He followed suit, lowering himself until he was eye level with the waistband of your increasingly slick panties. He looked up at you for permission, which you quickly gave in the form of an eager nod.

You had barely even given your approval before he was pulling your panties to the side, licking a stripe up your pussy. Immediately, you bucked into his mouth, the sensation shocking you.

"You taste so good." He practically moaned himself, drunk on you.

Spencer feasted on your moans, getting an eyeful of your heaving breasts from his position between your thighs. He waited a couple minutes to get you comfortable before introducing a finger to your heat.

He continued to eat you out with practiced ease, using his hand and tongue in tandem to bring you to the edge. Your moans filled the room, tears blurring your vision from the intense pleasure.

Your hands moved on their own, one circling your nipple and the other carding through his hair, gripping it just to have something to ground you.

You were close, and he knew it. He curled his fingers to hit that spongy spot at the same time that he circled your clit with more pressure. It only took a few seconds before you unraveled, flooding his tongue with the taste of you.

He helped you relax, slowly pulling out his fingers and sucking them clean. You let out a soft huff, looking down at him with nothing but love in your eyes.

"I really like the color green on you."

You snorted softly, running a hand through his hair.

"I couldn't tell."

[sergeantnex]

Zombie!Ghost x Reader: Relearning (Smut)

When I had been called in to work with Ghost, I knew it wasn't good. He had gotten bitten trying to save people. What was his higher-ups response to this? Break his jaw and keep him confined until a cure could be found. I knew this was going to require a lot of time and patience, fixing his broken jaw and figuring out how sentient he was. Most zombies were mindless and out of control, but Ghost... Ghost seemed aware and scared. So I made it my goal to be the only person he had contact with until he was better than the way I first got to him. I knew what I was doing was working because there were signs. His graying cold skin started to gain color and a bit of warmth. His pale blue cloudy eyes began regaining their brown. Each progression was little, but I noticed them and made sure to take pictures of him every day, marking and labeling the pictures.

Ghost seemed nervous, for lack of a better word, when it came to relearning to eat and drink. So I took the lead, showing him and letting him touch me as I did. Before I gently aided him in eating and drinking, making sure to reassure him that it would take time and that I would still be here to help him. Most days were like that, helping him readjust to simple things, but one big thing remained that I felt needed to be done. Bathing him. He still smelled of blood and death, the dried blood and filth still clinging to his skin and clothing. So I went into his old room, gathered up a pair of underwear, sweatpants, and a shirt. They were clean compared to the ruined gear and uniform he was still wearing. I grabbed a soft wash cloth and gentle body wash, shampoo, and conditioner. Once it was all set up in the private bathroom, I went to enter Ghost's room. His pale brown eyes looked up at me as I stepped in. My (h/l) (h/c) softly pulled away from my face and my (e/c) eyes locking with his.

"I've got something different planned today, okay?" I said softly, watching as Ghost tilted his head curiously.

"I wanna give you a shower, help clean away some of the dried blood and grime. Don't worry, I'll be right there, okay?" I reassured him softly as I offered my hand. Ghost was slow in taking my hand before letting me lead him to the private bathroom. I took the time to slowly remove his ruined gear, setting it all in the corner before softly speaking to him.

"I need to remove your mask, okay? I made sure to grab one of your clean balaclavas from your room." He shook his head at my words and stepped back. It broke my heart. He already felt safe with his mask before he was turned, but having people you trust break your jaw and say such crude things probably made him feel even more nervous to take it off.

"Hey, Simon, it's just me with you. There are no cameras, no one else but you and I. It's okay... you're safe with me." I reassured softly as I gently took his hand and gently touched it to my heart. It was small, but the action told him I was honest. I did it to show him I was honest. Every time I said something like that, I touched his hand to my heart. He was slow to give in, but eventually, he let me pull the ruined mask off. I gently sat it on the sink counter before gently working on his ruined clothes. I made sure to set them all aside before I turned to start the water. I kept it a bit lower than room temp to make sure it wasn't too hot or too cold. I looked back at him and softly turned the water so it wouldn't hit his skin directly.

"Okay, big guy, let's get you cleaned up, okay?" I asked with a small loving smile. Ghost gently tugged my shirt before looking at his ruined clothes. It took me a minute to understand what he was asking, but after a bit, it clicked. He wanted me to join him, to guide him like I had been doing for everything else. Smiling, I gently stripped my clothes before softly leading him to the large walk-in shower. The water was a bit colder than my normal temperature, so it was a bit of a shock when I touched it with my arm. Ghost, ever the vigilant one, noticed my shuttered breath and tilted his head.

"I made sure it was perfect for you, so it's a bit cooler than my body's temperature. Don't worry, it's okay, see?" I gently stepped my body under the water to show him I didn't mind too much. Ghost stepped forward and tugged me close to him as though he wanted to keep me warm. I smiled softly and took the time to gently wet the wash cloth and softly wipe his face. I smiled more at the sight of how much he had actually healed. Of course, there was scaring, but there was no longer decaying flesh. I softly wet his dirty blonde hair, taking special care to not pull his hair. All in all, my heart warmed at the progression of his healing. Sticking to our usual form of relearning, I washed myself first before washing him. I started with his hair and face before moving down his neck and chest. With each rinse of the blood and grime, he looked more and more human again.

I gently moved lower as I washed him, kneeling to wash his waist. I did my best not to stare or let my hand linger when I gently began washing his dick. I gently held his length and balls as I continued my work of washing him up. My mind wondered as I absent-mindedly washed his legs. Could he still get hard? Could he still feel desires or needs? Or would that take longer and more healing? I stood to rinse the cloth and ready more soap but froze as Ghost leaned his chin on my shoulder. I softly reached back and gently carded my fingers through his wet hair. I jumped as his hand softly cupped my vulva, his middle finger slipping between my labia majora. I let out a shuttering breath as his middle finger gently pressed against my entrance.

"Ghost -" I started but stopped at the feeling of his hardening dick touching me. I glanced up at him to see his pale brown eyes watching me. "Ghost, do you know what you're doing right now?"

Ghost nodded softly, a low, rumbling purr bubbling up from his throat. I wouldn't lie. It had been years since I've had such intimacy or contact like this. I whined softly when he pulled back a bit before pressing me to bend over. Following his instructions, I bent at the hips, letting him do as he pleased. I gasped at the coolness of his tongue, lapping at my outer lips. His slightly rough tongue reminded me that Ghost wasn't fully human. He still very much could kill me, bite me, and turn me as well. But as quickly as the anxiety rose, it washed away. Ghost pressed his tongue between my labia majora, letting it rub at my clit before trailing to my entrance. His saliva was shockingly warm as it created a contrast to his cool skin. Whining I reached a hand to hold Ghost's rough hand gently squeezing as he ate me out like a starved man.

Ghost stood, his erect dick rubbing against me as he pressed his hips forward. My mind foggy with arousal and my body aching to be fucked, I moved to help him. I softly pressed the tip to my opening and let him press his hips forward again. His thick shaft stretched my walls beautifully, each inch making me feel fuller and fuller. I moaned out as he finally bottomed out, his hips flush against mine. His rough, firm hands gripped my hips as he pulled out before thrusting forward. I gasped loudly and moaned out at the rough pace he was setting instantly. His grip was firm enough to bruise as he kept thrusting into me quickly. I brought my arms up to brace on the wall as I soaked up each time he bottomed out. Ghost brought one hand up to grip the back of my neck as he pinned me to the wall. Growls and groans leaving him as he fucked me so deeply.

Each thrust filled me so perfectly as his balls slapped my clit just enough to add extra stimulation. I could feel my muscles quivering and tensing as my orgasm approached. His tip kissing my cervix each time he sank all the way in. Ghost leaned in mouthing at my shoulder like he was going to bite me. I knew I should've been alarmed, but I my mind was too foggy with the need to cum that it blew caution to the wind. His hot drool gently trailed down my body only to get rinsed away by the water. His disfigured hand covered my mouth a bit as I grew louder with each thrust. My knees began shaking as my walls pulsed around his shaft. I mewled out loudly, the sound muffled by his hand as I began cumming. My hand desperately grasped at his arm as euphoria flooded my body and mind.

A heavy growl filled my muffled hearing as Ghost also began spilling his seed inside me. The fluid was hot as it squirted deep inside me, some of it seeping out past his thick shaft and began running down my legs. My body felt so tired and yet so satisfied as Ghost pulled away. I could feel his eyes take in the sight of the mess he made of me before a pleased rumble filled the quiet. I felt oddly content and relaxed at what happened. It took me a few minutes to regain my strength before I turned the water off and exited the shower. Ghost following closely behind, I took time to grab his towel and dry him off before helping him get dressed. Once I fixed his mask, I began drying and dressing myself. Ghost's cool fingers softly scooped his leaking seed before lifting it to my lips. Without hesitation, I licked his cum off his finger drawing another pleased rumble from him.

"This better not mess with my body, mister." I lightly scold him. Ghost merely rumbled and held me close a bit. I smiled and led him back to his room before laying on his bed with a soft sigh as my legs felt weak from him fucking me in the shower. Ghost climbed next to me, where he softly held me close. A sense of safety and warmth washed over me, letting my tired body subconsciously lure me to sleep. I knew no one, and nothing could touch me as long as I had Ghost with me. No matter if he was human or not, I knew I was safe with him.

"I love you, Simon..." I whispered as I fought to keep my eyes open. My mind drifted between reality and the dream world as I fought to stay awake. His cool hand gently moved to play with my hair as he watched me.

"Love... you..." His words were deeper and more gravelly, more so than his usual. Smiling sleepily, I snuggled closer to him, letting my body give in to tiredness.

[nexility-sims]

𝐍𝐎. 𝟖   ❛ 𝐝𝐨𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 ❜   |   THE DEN, MID MARCH 1991

❧  𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲  /  𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠  /  𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬  /  𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭.

   ❛  Leonor had attended a recital just the day before, but this performance was an entirely different experience. She was unprepared for how arresting it would be. Without knowing, she had noticed the lead singer earlier that night, ostensibly holding court by the far edge of the bar, distracting the bartender with animated conversation. Leonor hadn’t heard anything she said, but her movements were full of energy, almost frenetic. Now, she held still. The bassist swayed from hip to hip. Behind them, the drummer stared out at the audience with a face full of shadows. Leonor thought the frontwoman resembled a pious statue as she stood there, chin tilted upward and eyes closed. The crowd hummed with impatient anticipation, but what she reflected back to them was unfazed tranquility. 𝐮𝐧𝐚𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐠𝐞 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧

❧ (the song here, as you perhaps could have guessed from the episode title, is meant to be "doll parts" by hole.) lightly phoned this one in BUT i'd rather keep moving than skip a week bc i was sick, so :^) this is an abridged version, and i'll post an unabridged version later today w/ a label for good measure !!! additionally, we are now done with the entirely self-indulgent red light filter, i promise sdfsdf

𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐞𝐝 & 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭 ↓

The very first chord sent a chill up Leonor’s spine. She watched, rapt, as the statue came to life in a fluid series of motions. Her voice was low and rough, not ethereal by any means but still somehow, to Leonor’s ears, exquisite. The lyrics washed over her unheard. She fixated wholly on the singing itself—on the emotion of it, how the crooning turned to a harsh quaver, within it a lament that felt more defiant than mournful. It was raw. The song’s inspiration, why this woman performed it as she did, was a mystery. It was the vulnerability of it that resonated. Leonor felt the emotion in her bones as she listened. Music was never her preferred outlet but, as she experienced the song, she wished it had been.

For these three minutes, Leonor was alone again. The stage’s pit had been packed with an eager, noisy audience that responded enthusiastically to every line of the song. As it became a concert for one, they faded. Leonor’s eyes followed the movement of the singer, how her lips parted and her fingers strummed the guitar she played. They existed together in a suspended moment outside of time. It might have occurred to her later that extending, even possessing, such a moment was well within her power. For enough money, she could have anyone’s private time—especially artists, people who needed and understood patronage. It wasn't it in the spirit of the venue, but neither was her very presence, arguably. However, she was entirely in the moment as it unfolded. Feelings welled up inside of her. Her skin prickled. Her eyes, too, felt the familiar sensation attendant to being overwhelmed. 

Still, even euphoria had a blush of grief these days.

The song ended, and the bar's spirited ambience rushed back in like a sun-blocking wave. As she began speaking casually to the audience, the singer’s captivating voice changed. Whatever spell she had cast broke. Her friends remained enlivened, but Leonor felt only the desperate need to reclaim the quietude again. The minute of transition between unfamiliar songs felt like too long—too risky—of a wait. Perhaps the night had caught up with her. Or, perhaps, if she ducked into a quiet corner and collected herself, she could resume the admirable attempt at normalcy that had characterized the evening so far. That was her preferred outcome. She knew, on one level, that she was having fun. This momentary lapse wasn’t really an aberration, she feared, but she was determined to treat it as such. 

Leonor turned to Kore instinctively, leaning close to exclaim the most convenient and innocuous escape valve within reach, “Where’s the restroom?”

TRANSCRIPT:

RENZO | Okay, settle down. Next up is a treat. The Fluke girls have a new song for us. This is a songwriter’s song, alright? Conceived in this building. Show some respect.

LEONOR | Where’s the restroom? KORE | Stairs, near the bar!

[Leonor sighs, door opening]

LEONOR | What are you doing here?

LEONOR | Oh—[Laughs]—sorry. RENZO | It’s a bathroom. Maybe I gotta piss.

RENZO | Hey, don’t leave. I’m kidding. Wanted to check on you. LEONOR | Really?

RENZO | Sort of. I also had an ulterior motive. LEONOR | Did you?

RENZO | I wanted to be alone with you again, too. LEONOR | You’re in luck.

RENZO | You know, you do look different in person. More real. LEONOR | I get that a lot. RENZO | Do you? Huh— LEONOR | [Snickers] No, of course not!

RENZO | So, what do you think— LEONOR | No more talking now, okay?

RENZO | I’ll show you the dressing rooms next time. LEONOR | Next time? [Chuckles]

[coldresolve]

Moneymakers, pt.xlvii // The Confession

Credit to @snuffhimout for graciously letting me steal the 'missing in my head' line from a year old character analysis of Renee that hasn't left my brain since lmao Previous / AO3 / Wattpad / Masterlist / Next

By the time Renee reaches the apartment complex, the snow has ceased, and what thin pickings remain on the side of the road is melting in the increscent heat of the morning sun.

The same is true for whatever rage had a hold of him when the car ride began. It dissipated into apathy, and remained there until the roads became more and more recognizable, at which point, his mood steadily shifted again. He’s not entirely sure how to describe it, backing into a booth and drawing up the handbrake. Something like apprehension, but it goes much deeper than that. It’s the utter fatigue of the stream, the fight and a sleepless night, tangled with the relief of having finally left, and then – the knowledge that his immediate future depends on the following hour.

No address and no money, but if all goes wrong, at least he’s got a car this time around. Beats getting woken up by cops who whine and moan as they escort him off the premises for disrupting the sanctity of a private gas station alleyway.

He picks out a cigarette, teeth squishing the filter as he steps out and clicks the lock behind him. A few tries of his lighter, and he finally gets a spark in, looking around while rubbing is arm.

It’s a small-ish complex. Four red brick buildings lined with off-white plaster surround a lawn, across which the naked fingers of several tall larches reach toward the gray sky. Picnic tables and a community grill, a sandbox, a set of swings, piles of wood chips lining hedges that fence in the tiny gardens of the ground floor apartments. It’s a nice neighborhood. The residents seem to take care of the common areas, at least. No trash littered around, no graffiti, no smashed bottles.

The parking lot is void of people apart from a few electrician-looking guys arguing next to their van, and an older lady hauling two bags of trash toward the nearest container. A handful of crows watch him smoke from a treetop, puffed out to ward off the cold. Noise from the city creeps through the thicket surrounding the complex.

Renee discards the cigarette butt in an ashtray mounted on the outer wall, and spends a few moments watching the blanket of clouds, baring his throat to the wind.

Stalling.

It’s hard to stand the uncertainty, but he’s still mulling over a hundred different ways he could phrase things, grasping at whatever won’t make him sound too pathetic. Being this nervous about appearances is objectively idiotic when Laz has already seen him at his worst. Renee is overthinking and he knows it, but it’s compulsive. He’s facing homelessness again, but for once, that’s not even at the top of his list of worries. He thinks it might be fourth, actually.

Washing away the dread is impossible, but he moves none the less, although his heels drag on the pavement. At the second-nearest entrance, three dozen buttons line a panel on the wall. Lazarus rents the apartment under an alias, and Renee’s memory of placement is rusty. He has to read through half the Dymo labels before his eyes finally catch on M. Sullivan, the only label that sparks a feeling of familiarity. He’s not entirely sure it’s the right one, but he pushes the aluminum button next to it nonetheless. Ten, twenty seconds pass. There’s no voice on the speaker, only a low buzz that lets him know the door has been unlocked. Renee grabs the handle, looking over his shoulder. But whatever out he’s searching for, all he sees are the withered bushes that line the slope to the main road.

Stalling, stalling.

Climbing the stairs serves as a distraction, at least until the fourth story platform is within view, and his body begins to seize up again. Renee tries to push through it, determined to not waver as he knocks twice on the familiar dark green door. But the short wait is unbearable. A hint of that piercing feeling in his chest is back. His hands are clammy, breathing a little too superficial. Shutting his eyes helps, but then he loses his balance. So he backs away from the door, leaning against the staircase railings, grabbing them on either side of his body.

The bolt slides, and the door opens, but he still doesn’t open his eyes, just focuses on breathing deeply, evenly. He tries to guess proximity by the sound of footsteps, but must’ve misjudged, because when a hand tentatively brushes his shoulder, Renee flinches. It’s on repeat again. He deserves better. He deserves better.

“Hey, big guy.”

The touch slides down his arm, and Lazarus lightly squeezes his upper arm.

Renee’s first attempts at speech die partway through, dissolving into pained sighs. “Shit,” he eventually squeezes out.

“We’ll figure it out.”

Renee opens his eyes.

Concern, sincerity. Lazarus looks up at him, brows furrowed, head tilted slightly to better catch his gaze. Warm brown eyes taking in the new bruises on his face, he brushes his thumb over Renee’s cheek. There’s an ache in his expression. “I know you’re hurting,” he mutters softly. “We’ll figure it all out, alright?”

“I’m sorry,” Renee says hoarsely.

Lazarus lets out a breath, head dropping. He rocks forward, leaning his forehead against Renee’s chest, and stays there for a moment, clutching at the side of his neck. The smell of his cologne, subtle and pleasant, somehow finds its way through a stuffed nose. When he draws away, he catches Renee’s jacket, gently pulling as he takes a step backwards. “C’mon. Come.”

The apartment is more disorganized than usual, that’s Renee’s first clue. A few dishes have been left on the coffee table, clothes tossed over the chairs or the armrest of the couch, dry groceries have been left on the counter, and the cord of a charger snakes its way across the floor. It’s a far cry from the mess he’s used to living in, but with Laz, it stands out. His apartment was pristine even during the week Renee detoxed, and Renee quite clearly remembers being reprimanded for leaving trash out as soon as Laz deemed him well enough to actually do something about it.

His second clue is the silence. He walks in the dealer’s slipstream, absentmindedly glancing around, and only realizes on the threshold to the open kitchen that the apartment is uncharacteristically still.

“Where are the cats?”

Lazarus glances over his shoulder. “Been too busy this week to really take care of them. I asked Amelia to babysit.” His movements slow, and he clears his throat, and then he paces a few more steps toward the windows, bowing his head.

There’s a faint, but unmistakable sniff.

Renee feels his stomach churn. “Are you alright?”

Laz lets out a chuckle, shaking his head. As he turns, he’s rubbing one eye with the root of his hand, a sad smirk on the corner of his mouth. His voice is a little uneven. “It’s just been a shit couple days. I’ll be fine.”

Renee wants to cross the distance, but isn’t entirely sure that’s what the other needs. He swallows. “Did something happen?”

Lazarus hesitates, biting his lower lip. His focus shifts to the small dining table. “Can we sit down for a bit?”

“Sure.” Renee nods seriously. “’Course.”

“Do you want something to drink? I made a pot of coffee, but I’ve got cold drinks in the fridge, too. Water, lemonade…”

“Uh. Coffee, yeah.” Renee shrugs and stiffly sits down.

He barely noticed it at first, but it’s painfully clear now that he’s paying closer attention; there’s a hitch to Laz’ usually graceful movement, fragments of pauses in which he’s midway through a deep breath that otherwise would’ve been unnoticeable, or that small line in his forehead from a furrowed brow. He pauses to scratch that exact spot with his thumb, and for a second, his usual poise returns – only for the line to appear again the moment he carries on.

Renee’s stomach sinks. He can’t pretend he doesn’t know what it means, and a part of him already wants to leave. Why not let it all remain unsaid?

But before he can even think of making excuses, Lazarus has carried a coffee pot and two mugs over, a carton of milk notched in the crook of his elbow. He sets everything on the table. “I’ve got sugar somewhere, too, if you want.”

Renee smirks. “Nah, it’s alright.”

Nodding, Laz takes a seat on the opposite side and reaches halfway across the tabletop, hand open in invitation. Renee doesn’t know how to interpret the gesture, but he doesn’t hesitate to take it – and regrets that almost immediately, as Lazarus’ gaze flickers over the deep, layered bruises across his knuckles and winces, looking out into the room. Brown hair falling partway over his eyes, Laz rests his chin on the thumb of his other hand, closed fist covering his mouth. His jaw works. He squeezes Renee’s fingers – noticeably avoids touching the knuckles at all. That’s the third clue.

The sight of Laz struggling to maintain his composure is nauseating, but Renee finds a glimpse of comfort in a touch that feels different than the one in the hallway – one that isn’t merely for reassurance.

Still avoiding his eyes, Lazarus clears his throat. “You look like shit,” he says.

Renee snorts tersely. “Rough night. I just…” He trails off, not entirely sure he could come up with a sufficient explanation.

Laz purses his lips. “I’ve been thinking about… Do you remember that night in Dayton?”

Renee blinks. “Uh. Vaguely.”

“Music on that big lawn in Carillon. They lit up the bell tower. You didn’t get that drunk.”

“Oh – that folk bullshit you dragged me along for?”

Lazarus chuckles. “You liked it, asshole. Don’t diss my date idea.”

Renee has to do a double take. “I thought you said—”

“Who are we fooling? It was a date.” He gives a small smile, but it’s too tense, and he looks away again. “Our one and only. Just been thinking about – how carefree it was, I suppose. How you made me feel. All this time, I kept telling myself I was keeping my distance, keeping it from turning into… But we’ve been exclusive for a while, haven’t we?”

Renee swallows.

Lazarus shakes his head. His voice is almost a whisper. “I don’t really know how to have this conversation with you.”

“C-can I say something?” Renee blurts out.

Laz looks in surprise. Nods, slowly.

This is it.

Renee suppresses a cough, feels his leg start to bounce under the table. “I just… fuck—I know I’m… I haven’t been…”

It’s his turn to look away. Frowning at the table, he has to force a deep breath to collect himself, to feel out the words in his mouth. The tightness of his throat makes it harder to squeeze out – but he has to, somehow, without thinking too much about it.

“I’m kind of… I’m kind of a shit person.” He lets out a half-hearted snicker, but it quickly veers into a grimace. “I mean, I’ve wronged a lot of people. I’ve done a lot of shit I wish I didn’t. And I wasn’t even – I was sober for enough of it, y’know? So I can’t just blame it on, y’know… whatever.” Another grimace, and he shakes his head. “I think there’s something missing in my head. There’s something wrong with me, something, like… basic. I’m lacking something that everybody else has, and I don’t know what it is or how to fix it.

“All my life, just going in fucking circles, y’know, like I’m stuck in a feedback loop. I get hooked on one thing, I get clean, rinse and repeat. I make things worse, that’s the only thing I’ve ever done. I fuck people over, I burn all my bridges. I’ve never even – like, I never called Steph after I got clean, y’know? I was just pissed. And I keep… I keep getting involved with shit that makes me… It’s been like that the past month, it makes me worse—I just go insane. It keeps happening.”

As Renee takes another deep breath, Laz’ quiet listening almost becomes unbearable. It’s not coming out the way he wanted it to, far from it. He’s slowly realizing it was naïve of him to think he could keep his thoughts straight long enough to give a whole speech. But there’s no turning back, not now.

“I got out of it,” he says, “this last one, it’s done. I just want—I want to move on, I want to… to not be like this.” His voice cracks. Keeping his head down, he closes his eyes. “I want to be worth a damn. I just want to move on with my fucking life, I want… And I’ve got nothing to offer, I know that, but you’re the one thing I’ve managed to not fuck up yet.”

Yet another breath, uneven in his throat. He realizes he’s squeezing Laz’ hand a little too hard, eases up. Lazarus doesn’t move in response, and that should’ve been his fourth clue, but Renee can’t bring himself to look up, not yet. He’d lose his nerve.

“I like what you turn me into. Whatever I’m missing, you have it. You’re… And I’ll do whatever you want me to do,” he says hoarsely. “Anything you want. Fucking – therapy, rehab, whatever. We’re just friends, or we’re something else, or we’re… Or if you tell me to fuck off, I’ll fuck off. I just wanted to… to tell you that.”

There’s a long pause. He’s pretty sure he’s holding his breath.

“Renee,” Lazarus mutters unevenly. Something in his voice finally makes Renee raise his head. Dark hair falling over his forehead, he sits very still, lips slightly parted, tears welling in a wide-eyed stare, but that’s not what makes Renee pause – it’s the fact that Lazarus is paler than usual. He speaks slowly, carefully, as if the words are hard to get out. “What… exactly… are you moving on from?”

Some hint of an alarm bell. This isn’t the reaction he imagined getting. Renee swallows. “Just… Just life.” He lets out a dry chuckle. “My whole fucking l—”

“Stop,” Lazarus whispers low, shaking his head. “Please don’t be vague. I’d like to hear you say it.”

Renee feels himself tense.

Lazarus licks his lips, reclining, and his hand slides out of Renee’s, resting slack on the table. “What do you mean when you say it’s done? ‘Cause you’re making it sound like he’s dead.”

The initial confusion is genuine. “Wh-… what?”

Although Lazarus is able to force a straight face, his breathing seems shallow, and maybe that’s why it takes him a while to speak. “Conrad DeWitt.”

If there’s a single word that encapsulates the feeling of the world collapsing, caving in around you, Renee doesn’t know it. The air is sucked out of his lungs, room suddenly spinning as he takes in Lazarus’ expression, which only now registers as accusatory – something he’s never seen in the other before. Renee feels as if he’s sinking backwards – lightheaded, disoriented.

And still, as if from a distance, he hears himself compulsively laugh. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Did you kill him?”

“Wh-…” Renee smiles incredulously. “I gotta admit, confessing my undying love for you, I didn’t expect to immediately be accused of murder.” And he lets out another ironic snicker, throwing out his hands.

The chair scrapes across the floor as Lazarus suddenly gets to his feet and paces a few steps away from the table, both hands carding his hair back. His breathing is noticeably heavier now, and he hunches slightly over himself. “I feel like screaming at you right now.” He drops his hands. When he turns around this time, he makes no move to dry the wetness running down his cheek. “Please stop lying to me, ‘cause I can’t fucking recognize you when you do.”

His expression feels like a punch in the gut. Renee’s smile falters. “I’m not ly—why the fuck are y—”

“I know,” Lazarus says firmly, pointing at his own chest. His jaw is locked in another grasp at composure, even as the tears continue to fall. “We start from there, alright? I know.”

“I don’t know what the f-… I haven’t killed anyone.” Renee slowly shakes his head. “Why would you—”

“Do you think I can’t see it in your face right now? I know you.” Lazarus swallows. “I can recognize you by the sound of your footsteps. I can spot you in a crowd of a thousand people. I think I’ve heard every possible inflection of your voice. It’s been two years; I’ve spent hours by now just staring at your eyes.” He takes a deep, shaky breath, but his voice still cracks. “I watched every. single. stream.”

Renee opens his mouth, grasping for anything to say. But it’s like he’s forgotten how to speak, as if the energy is rapidly being leeched out of his body, and all he can do is stare.

“I watched some of the interviews with his family, too. Have you seen those?” Lazarus’ voice lowers to a nearly inaudible murmur. “He sounds like a decent guy. Never gotten in trouble, never did anything to… unless there’s something I’m missing, but from what I can tell, you never even met him before. He hasn’t done anything to you, has he?”

Renee’s vision is blurry. Not because of tears – it’s a veil of sorts that has slid over the world, a barrier. It doesn’t feel real – not the room, or the words, or the body he still somehow inhabits.

Lazarus lets out a bitter exhale. “And that one stream,” he bites out, “I gave you that gun, it’s the exact same make and model. You pulled me into it, do you realize that? I’m sorry I’m angry, but you made me a participant in this.”

Renee can’t even muster up the effort to wince at that. He barely feels the pain in his throat. “What do you want me to say?”

“What I want—what I hope you’ll tell me,” Lazarus says shakily, “is that someone is forcing you into this. Because otherwise, I don’t know who the fuck I’ve been…”

Wincing, he cuts himself off with a sharp inhale. Shaking his head, his voice drops to a whisper. His expression changes to something more somber.

“But every time we meet,” he says slowly, “you’ve got new bruises. You keep looking worse and worse. It’s pretty obvious that someone’s fucking you over, Renee. I can see it on you.” He finally dries his cheek with a hand that trembles slightly. “What you said at the motel was a cry for help. I don’t know how else to interpret it. You wanted out, but you didn’t know how.”

Silence.

“Tell me I’m right about that. I can’t fucking sleep at night, Renee. Tell me.”

Silence.

There’s no way to explain it all, at least not right now. Renee can’t quite feel his own body, can barely conjure up the wherewithal to keep breathing. His mouth is open, but his lips won’t move.

The depth of the plea in Laz’ expression. It’s unfathomable seeing that kind of look on him. “Is Conrad still alive?”

It’s too late to retract the silence – it alone has spoken volumes already, and Laz isn’t stupid. Renee hears himself very, very distantly, miles and miles away.

“… yes.”

Lazarus nods a little, pressing his together, and then he suddenly folds, bracing his hands on his knees, hair falling to obscure his face. He lets out a long exhale, one that sounds like relief at first – but it changes when he brings his hand to his mouth, and Renee realizes he’s trying to suppress breaking down completely. Eventually, with a low grunt, he rights himself, rubbing at his chest with a flat hand. “Is he somewhere safe?”

Gaze drifting listlessly to the floor, Renee slowly shakes his head.

“Is there a way to make him safe?”

How is he supposed to find the words? Staying would’ve been a death sentence. A more violent confrontation with Davin would’ve turned sour: he has the gun, and even if he didn’t, Renee is pretty sure he’d still have lost that fight, no matter how much he’s been fantasizing about bashing the guy’s head in. Not to mention that he’d be stuck with the hot potato – and there’s no conceivable universe in which Conrad goes free and doesn’t immediately rat him out. Notoriety is the kind of thing that gets you shanked in prison, so letting Conrad go or turning himself in would’ve both been death sentences. Any scenario he struggled to conjure up the previous night led to the same bitter conclusion:

“It’s him or me.”

Lazarus swallows, brows furrowed in concern. “What does that mean?”

It’s selfishness, that’s what it means. It’s Renee choosing his own slim chance at a decent life over the life he ostensibly should be doing everything he can to emancipate, even if it means dying in the process. It’d be the only route coming even close to fairness. Renee is just selfish. He's betting all his chips on his own ability to forget.

“Please talk to me, Renee. You don’t have be alone with this.”

Rolling his head, he slowly gets to his feet, steadying himself on the table when it triggers a wave of dizziness. Half in a haze, he ducks his head, staggering past the kitchen’s threshold.

“Don’t!” he hears Lazarus hiss. “Don’t leave, do not walk out that door.”

Renee hadn’t planned on leaving; he just wanted to create some distance between them, to turn his back the same way Lazarus did, to hide his face for a moment. But there’s an urgent desperation in Lazarus’ voice – one that betrays a degree of fear that makes Renee stop in the entryway. It doesn’t quite fit, even in this context.

That’s his fifth clue.

Something’s off, he realizes, and a chill runs down his spine. Something’s off. His shoulders drop, and the air seep out of his mouth. As if moving in slow motion, he turns around. “Why not?”

Lazarus’ face is contorted in a grimace, and he shakes his head. “Because we have to deal with this, alright? We have to face it. I’ll – I want to help you.”

Renee closes his mouth.

All the clues are adding up, but he’s not entirely sure if the sudden, growing spark of paranoia is the reasonable conclusion to draw. If he wants to test the waters – what then? What if he’s wrong? He’d be setting fire to everything again, he’d burn his last remaining bridge.

… but what if he’s right?

He walks back into the room, stopping by the table, fingers brushing over the backrest. Looks at Lazarus for a long time – how he somehow manages to be stunning even with tear tracks down his face, with his hair somewhat disheveled. Wide, brown eyes, long lashes, some of which now stick together. Renee’s tongue feels dry. “Do you trust me?”

Laz eyes him warily.

Renee grimaces. “Can I ask you to? Just for a moment.”

After a pause, Lazarus reluctantly gives a small nod.

Renee sets his jaw. His grip on the chair tightens, and he walks backwards, dragging it along with him.

“What are you…?”

Lifting it over the rug in the hallway, he tilts it, settling the backrest underneath the doorhandle. Stepping back, he levels a few hard kicks to each of the back legs, until the tension is solid enough for the door to stop jolting.

Behind him, the intake of a breath. “Are you barricading the door?”

Clue six.

With a wince, Renee stops to steel himself. Gritting his teeth hard enough to hurt, he returns to the kitchen, closing the door to the entryway behind him, and grabs the second chair. The coffee sits untouched on the table, mugs still turned on the rims.

Lazarus’ voice is dreadfully small. “Please, talk to me - why are you barricading the doors?”

It’s almost a duplicate, but the last word feeds into Renee’s suspicion – doors. Clue seven. He wordlessly repeats the ritual: the backrest under the handle, stomping at the legs. He feels distant as he steps back, settling his shoulders. Strange how he can slide so easily back into the role now, when he’s had to force it for the past week and a half.

Finally turning to face Laz again, Renee pulls the folding knife from his pocket.

Lazarus’ eyes widen, and he takes a step backwards. “Renee?” There’s fear in his voice, but slightly different this time – lower. His eyes are fixed on the closed knife.

Renee starts walking towards him slowly. “Can I trust you?” he asks, voice low. The wrongness of what he’s doing is masked by the rage looming at the prospect of actually having guessed correctly. Because Lazarus is right. Two years is enough to get pretty good at reading someone.

Lazarus is at the narrow corridor between the coffee table and the TV stand, steering blindly toward the window. “Wh—yes. Put the knife down.”

Clue eight.

“Put the knife down. Don’t come closer, okay? You’re scaring m—”

“You’re narrating,” Renee mutters.

“I… what?”

A brief moment of doubt. That bewilderment reads as fully earnest, but Renee is in too deep to let it go now. Watching the other’s expression carefully, he tilts his head to the side. “You’re narrating what I do.”

The blood drains from Lazarus’ face, and Renee catches a flicker of something akin to terror in his expression. He tries to cover it up with a brow furrowed in further confusion, but the damage is done.

Clue nine. Renee flicks the knife open.

Lazarus’ breath hitches. He lets out a sound when his backside hits the windowsill.

Renee is just a few steps behind him, and that distance doesn’t take more than two seconds to cross. Hands push at his chest as he gets up close enough to feel the heat from Lazarus’ body. Being almost a head shorter, Laz has to crane his head back to look at him. It’s the same ease of access Renee has previously found in Conrad.

He lifts the blade to Lazarus’ throat.

Laz stiffens with a gasp, mouthing a silent plea before he can gather his bearings enough to let out the real one. “You’re not like this,” he whispers, blade pressed lightly to the crook under his chin. “You’re not like this.”

Renee can’t explain why it makes him more angry, but his upper lip still curls in a sneer. “What if I am?” He raises his other hand to Lazarus’ collar, voice raspy in his throat. “What if it was all me?”

Lazarus grabs his wrist – but not of the hand holding the knife, no. Instead he pushes at the hand that’s steadily unbuttoning his shirt.

It’s the final clue.

Renee shifts, using one forearm to press Lazarus into the glass by his neck, forcing his back to arch over the window sill. He runs his hand down Lazarus’ collar, fingers searching between naked skin and fabric.

“Don’t,” Lazarus whispers desperately, hands pushing more fervently at his chest, his arm. “Renee, don’t—”

He cuts himself off at almost the exact instant Renee’s index finger catches on the thin, black cord.

Lazarus shuts his eyes tight, jaw locked, the wince curling his mouth somewhat askew.

The step Renee takes backwards is heavy, and he almost stumbles on the second, hands dropping to his sides. Something cold has hit his core, and the numbness rapidly spreading from his insides is stark enough to nearly make him lose his grip on the knife. His mouth is dry. “Why are you wearing a wire…?”

Lazarus lets out a breath through his teeth, barely moving. The relief he might feel at no longer being held at knifepoint is hidden by an expression that conveys enough grief to stun. His eyes are watering again as he gives a small shake of his head. “I know you’re not going t—”

“Why the fuck,” Renee interrupts him with a growl, “are you wearing a wire?”

Previous / Masterlist / Next

[blacklesbothatlovestowrite]

Familiar Pt 1

After months of starting and stopping this story, here’s the long awaited first part. 🥰

Summary: Reader decides to release a freestyle that breaks the internet. Her first single ever, produced on her own. Many people aren't thrilled with her because she's too pretty, too thick and too rowdy. Nonsense reasons to hate her because she's herself and authentic. Shuri and Riri the hottest couple and producing duo decide to collaborate with reader. Business and pleasure never hit so good.

Trigger: Angst, Drama, Toxicity, Fighting, Cheating, Drugs and Alcohol use.

Tag list: @lppriceisright @callmewifey @briacreations96 @ilovelulu @doramilaj233 @littlebizcuit @ziayamikaelson @andibecamethestars @6-noir @s0lam33y

-

"Your song is the talk of the internet." Maya says, as you lounge on the sofa in a pair of panties and a cropped tee. You suck on your cherry sweetie as you watch her staring at the comments on her phone.

"I was just talking shit..." You giggle, licking your lips to suck up the flavor.

"Either way, you are talented and now everyone knows what I've always known." Maya smiles, locking her phone and tossing it on the coffee table.

"Yeah?" You toy with the sweetie in your mouth, looking at her pulling her locs into a loose ponytail.

"Co'mere." She says, her southern accent making your insides warm.

"Yuh need fi tawp arrass mi." (You need to stop harassing me) You laugh, as she heads to the kitchen sink to wash her hands. You were fronting, you both knew that as she dried her hands and stalked towards you.

You watched as her hips swayed and you bit your lip. Maya was attractive, beautiful, sweet and so kind. That combination was deadly for you, as you fell harder for her daily.

"Move nuh..." You try to keep a straight face as she straddles you.

"I missed you." Maya pouts, looking at you with her big doe eyes. You kissed her, giving her little pecks.

"Ah lie yuh ah tell!" (You're lying) You laugh, you'd been by her side for every show. While you both had not addressed your relationship publicly. You were always there for her in private, keeping pda to a minimum. As far as anyone knew you were close friends.

You were Bisexual, Out and Proud. However, Maya was still in the closet. You were her first woman relationship and experience. Her label made it clear that her sexuality was a huge sell for her career.

And it was true to a point. Most of her fans were die hard heterosexual women and men. While she had fans a part of the lgbt, her main supporters were the Hetero's.

"Well I missed you today..." She frowns and you roll your eyes before giving her another kiss. She grabs the sweetie from your hand and brings it to her lips and sucks on it. You watch as her tongue swirls around the sweetie, and your core clenched at the way she eyed you.

"Maya, yuh nah get nun ah mi pumpum." (You're not getting any of my pussy) You try to be serious. She strapped you to the point your vagina was sore. You'd banned her for the next few days until you were good to go.

"Baby..." She smirks, placing the sweetie in your glass of water before placing a kiss on your neck.

"No, Maya." You shook your head.

"Baby please...." She begs, sucking on that sweet spot in the juncture of your neck.

"May---" You moan out as she sucks harder, your head falling to the side to give her more access.

"That's it, baby." She coos, licking over the spot she'd sucked on.

"I don't like yuh..." You mutter as she pinches your nipples through the cropped tee. You inhale sharply as she leans down to bite one of your nipples.

"Yes, you do." She grins, before helping you lay on the sofa flat and pulling off the tee and panties. "Don't worry, I just wanna eat it..."

Your body twitches as she settles between your legs and licks your sore pussy from top to bottom. The little minx dipping her tongue inside your hole and swiping your juices with her tongue before going back to your clit to suck.

"Fuck..." You cry out.

-

A few days after, you and Maya are out at a club. She has her hands wrapped around you, as the two of you dance to the music. She's tipsy and being touchy feely. You try several times to remove her hands from your ass to no avail.

"Babes." You whisper in her ear. "Stop it."

"I wanna get drunk and nastyyyyyy." She sings, as she grinds against you. You frown as she slides a hand under your skirt.

"Bill.. Maya!" (chill) You whisper harshly.

"Baby... why don't you want me to get drunk and nasty?" She whines, wrapping her arms around your neck and pouting. Fuck! You hated when she gave you that look.

"Babes, I would love that but right now isn't the time for that." You sigh. You help her to sit on the lounger in your section. You were being paid to perform your song and Maya was tipsy. She'd had two drinks or so you both thought. The bartender had given her a double shot of tequila in her margaritas. Something that pissed you off because neither one of you asked for a double.

"Gwan guh duh yuh ting, mi wih geh ah yiy pon har." (Go do your thing, I'll watch her) Don assures, and sits beside her as someone calls you to head backstage. You shifted from foot to foot, not wanting to leave her like that but you knew your brother would protect her like his own.

"Just get her some water please." You plead before being led back stage. As you walked through the busy and packed club people screamed and took pictures and videos.

You felt anxious as you got ready to perform. Your heart was racing as you peeked out at the packed club, and looked for Maya in your section. She was eying you with her bedroom eyes, as you looked her over.

"Introducing Twinkle!" The announcer called, and you walked on the small stage. There was over 400 people, the club was packed to capacity with people waiting outside to have a chance at coming in.

"Wah Gwaan!" (What's up!) You shouted, to which everyone greeted you with shouting. "Mi know seh unnuh caan mek a Likkle more noise!" (I know that ya'll can make more noise)

"Mi seh, WAH GWAAN!!" (I said, What's up!) You repeated even louder, watching as the crowd grew louder. "Mek sure unnuh ah video mi and tag mi. Best videos ah guh get reposted." (Make sure ya'll are recording me, best videos will be reposted)

"So, This song is dedicated to all of the gyals weh nuh know fi shut dem tinkin mouth. Fuck You." (Girls that don't know to shut their stinking mouth)

Camera's all start flashing on you, as everyone angles their phones to record you. You feel a rush of excitement and happiness fill you as the music starts. You do your thing, hyping up the crowd. You wine to the beat, getting into a squat and emphasizing the words of the song.

"Which Gyal, can seh she stress me out? That a fuckin clown! Cuz if a gyal or man seh him bruck she haffe do without... And if she screw she get a box pon har dutty mouth. But this can't real, AUDACITY MUSS BOMBOCLAAT FREE!" You sing, as everyone's screaming the words.

Everyone's singing along and you feel like you're on cloud nine. It's only been a week since the song was released and yet everyone knows the words. As you finish the song, you see Maya staring at you with a smile as she mouths dirty words at you.

As you finish and stop to take a few selfies, pictures and videos you're stopped by a girl with a messy bun at the top of her head. You raise a brow as she's blocking you.

"You're very talented." She says, her eyes taking you in. You raise a brow.

"Thanks."

"Is this a one hit wonder situation or do you plan to take music serious?" She asks and you narrow your eyes at her. "No shade, I just think you could really blow up the music scene and it'd be shit if you were only just dropping this song."

"I mean... I'm not sure. The song was really just me talking shit. I've never really thought about taking music seriously. I highly doubt people really wanna hear what I'd have to say..." You shrug. You liked singing but didn't think you'd make it as a celebrity. You had no filter, were outspoken and did as you pleased for the most part.

"And what is it you have to say?" She asks, seductively.

"I--"

"What a small world!" Maya says in her 'I don't like this bitch' tone. She was a sweetheart but when she was tipsy or drunk, the rowdy rebel came out.

"Maya? Hey..." The girl smiles, you could see the feeling was mutual. Your eyes swung between the two.

"Rina right?" Maya asks, stepping closer to you until your arms touched.

"Rianna, but I prefer Riri." The girl-Riri corrects her.

"Hmmmmm, well Rina it was soooo good seeing you!" Maya smiles a devious smile, while taking your hand and 'accidentally' bumping Riri.

"Sorry...." You call out as Maya leads you towards your section.

"How could you stand there and let her eye fuck you like that!" Maya hisses, turning to face you once you'd gotten to your section.

"B--"

"You know I don't like that hoe!" She grumbles, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Riri???" You were confused.

"That midget bitch said my debut album was trash in an interview! Yes Riri!" She was pissed. You realized exactly who Riri was. While Maya had never said her name she would call her midget bitch as she ranted about her shit talking her album.

"First we were just talking about music... she wanted to know if I was releasing more." You explain, trying to calm the little tipsy soldier.

"Sure she did..." Maya huffs. "That hating hoe wouldn't know good music if it was written out for her."

"Wow...." You scoff.

"Baby--" Maya realized how that was taken and instantly moves to grab you.

"You should go back to your place tonight." You inform her before turning your back and heading for the main floor to turn up with everyone around you.

The rest of the night is a blur. You drunk like a fish, partying with your brother, and a few friends. You could see Maya out of the corner of your eye watching you but you ignored her.

Her words hurt. You thought she was your biggest supporter. You knew she was angry and she might not have meant it how it came out but you still were hurt. Her hatred for someone else came before you, she hadn't even said how your first performance was or congratulated you.

As the night went on, Riri approached you again this time with another girl who was tall and equally as attractive as Riri. She introduced herself as Shuri Udaku. You didn't live under a rock. You knew the Udaku name. That family had a hand in everything from the music industry, healthcare, universities, car manufacturing, real estate and more. They were filthy rich. You remembered hearing about T'Chaka and T'Challa's deaths two years before. They'd died in a car crash.

The duo were the hottest producers out as you'd been told. They were very selective of who they worked with and they wanted to work with you. At first you were hesitant. Riri had really hurt Maya's feelings but the more the three of you talked. The more they convinced you to at least think about meeting up with them in their studio.

-

The very next day, Maya showed up with bouquet upon bouquet of flowers and your favorite meal from a nearby restaurant. As the two of you talked, you had already let it go. As the two of you ate, you decided to bring up Shuri and Riri's offer.

"What would you think of me working with Shuri and Riri?" You say, as you sat on Maya's lap.

You could feel her tense underneath you. You'd hoped she could be impartial considering you were nothing but supportive with her career.

"They belong to our rival label..." She clears her throat.

"Your label." You correct her.

"Baby they'd sign you in a heartbeat--"

"The homophobes that are forcing you to stay quiet about our relationship? I would never align myself with that label..." You couldn't believe she thought that would be an option.

"Why Udaku Records though?" She frowns.

"I looked into it. Their label has a high success rate. Shuri and Riri's songs they produced are on our playlists. They've produced nothing but charters. Not to mention the artists signed to them all have won grammy's." You had already made up your mind. You knew they could help you at the very least release another song or two that would remove the one hit wonder stigma you were sure to receive.

"It sounds as though you've already made up your mind." Maya mumbles, and you turn in her lap to face her.

"Don't be like that babes." You plead. "I support you in everything even when I don't agree. I just want the same from you... I know you don't like Riri, and you don't have to. I just need you to have my back.."

"Fine..." She grumbles.

"Thank you! Thank you, thank you!" You squeal, hugging her.

"Now... what were you saying last night about wanting to get nasty?" You remind her, biting your bottom lip.

-

After an eventful day and night with Maya. You wake up an hour after your alarm was supposed to have sounded, and realize you overslept. You groan, before sliding out from under Maya.

I'm running a little late, I should be there in an hour. - Jay 10:50 am.

You rush through your shower and hygiene routine, before pulling on a fitted leggings and cropped long sleeve set.

(Your outfit)

The moment you make it to Shuri and Riri's studio it's 12 exactly and you enter to see the two seated by the soundboard, talking amongst themselves.

"I see punctuality isn't your thing." Shuri smirks, as her eyes roam over you. Riri snorts, rolling her eyes as she gets up to greet you.

"Ypree." (What's up) You greet her.

"Ypree?" She repeats, her brows furrowing. You giggle, before taking your coat off and hanging it over the arm of one of the sofa's in the studio.

"It mean's what's up, what's good, what's going on." You explain, watching as she nods before smiling.

"Ypree." She chuckles. "So, what do you see yourself releasing now? What's next?"

You bite your lip, You had quite a few songs you'd written up and some beats you'd messed with in your head but nothing concrete. Just lyrics and melodies you hummed into your phones microphone to save your thoughts.

"I sort of have a song that's been in my mind for a little bit." You admit, staring at the two of them. "Nothing too crazy, just something that's been haunting me for a while now. A melody I can't stop thinking about."

You hum the sound you had in your head. You feel slightly nervous, not that you ever cared what anyone had to say about you but the duo in front of you has you rethinking your material.

You play the voice recording you'd made, singing the lyrics here and there while humming the melody. Listening to it, you felt a peace come over you. There was something about the melody that just spoke to you, whilst the lyrics were true to you. No one could have your pussy unless you deemed it, and your pussy wasn't free.

"Get in the booth." Shuri demanded, as an idea struck her. She leaned over to whisper in Riri's ears before Riri grabbed her phone to text someone. As you settle into the booth, you place the headphones over your ears.

"Let's go over those lyrics." Shuri said, she'd worked with quite a few Jamaican artists so Patois wasn't new to her, she understood a great deal of it. You have a hook and a chorus, we just need to make it a full song.

"You wa my nana, Nah get none. Pretty gyal love money, run some funds. Want my punana, cya get none. Bad gyal love money, send dat come." You sing, into the mic. You focus all your effort into giving the seductive energy of the song.

"You free fi carry me out, give me money and buy me stuff. That's about it, you nah go cuff, get it out yuh mind, you n'ave a luck. Ay, you coulda wish pon all the stars, But dah one yah nah fall fi you. That's about it, we nah go fuck, get it outta yuh head, you n'ave no luck." You sing the chorus. "Call it weh you want, I don't give one fuck what you think about me. Some say the best things in life free, but dem nah chat 'bout my pussy. Call it weh you want, If you don't agree then I think it's best you lowe me. No boy or gyal can clown me, good ting a my grandma grow me"

"Alright, so between the first part and the chorus based on the lyrics and the vibe of the song it's safe to say you're telling whoever is trying to get at you that you're not interested. You're way too good for them and your pussy is worth more." Shuri explains. She tilts her head to the side. "How about lyrics like 'You're stupid, don't flirt with me and I'm not interested."

You think over what she says before finding a way to incorporate what she suggested into the song.

"You must be stupid! Don't even flirt with me, what you doing? Me nuh interested, keep it pushing. Come outta mi face and give me some space, You likkle bit too nuff, yute, don't chat to me A wah so? Don't make your friend dem gas you 'Cause this is a brand new moto, My front too good fi me pass." You feel giddy as you feel the song tying together.

You start from the beginning, adding the verse before the chorus and smile once you see both Shuri and Riri vibing to the lyrics.

"Alright for the next part, you want a shock factor that still flows with the rest of the lyrics. Something feisty that'll have everyone like yes!" Shuri insisted and you smirk, knowing exactly what to say.

"And I know this game too well, me know just mi legs dem you want spread. You nah get none so go to Hell, me rather lay down and finger myself. A win is a win, me a buss my nut 'Cause I'll be damned if I let you fuck. Look pon me den look pon you, A really must crack you siddung a spark up, yeah." You giggle at the look on Shuri and Riri's face as you sing the new part.

It doesn't take long before the whole song is formulated as far as the lyrics go. A few hours later, after you've recorded the song acapella a few times, and added in adlibs a few people come in. Riri introduces them as musicians.

Shuri explains her vision for the beat based on the melody you'd presented and everyone gets to work. The musicians set up their instruments. Shuri plays around with a beat she's formulated, and tells the musicians what keys and notes to play.

It takes a few tries before they're able to fit the vibe of the lyrics. Once the melody is mastered you feel excited, knowing that you made the right idea taking Riri and Shuri up on their offer. The instrumental is amazing.

You head back into the booth to record the song with the music now, and exude all of your sensual energy, as you emphasize the words. You do the explicit gestures of the song, sticking your tongue out, pointing your two fingers towards your pussy, and blowing kisses as a videographer records you singing the song.

Riri's mesmerized as she watches you exude confidence. You're seducing many of the people in the studio with barely any effort as you wink at a few people, clocking the fact that many of them can't stop staring at you.

"She's a star." Riri whispers to Shuri. They'd had a discussion before you'd arrived on their thoughts of signing you. Riri was certain you'd take the world by storm, she just had that instinct. Shuri agreed, your performance last night sold them. It was your first performance and you blew it out the waters.

For someone with no vocal coaching, no stage performance prepping and no team behind you. You were a natural. So many artists needed artist development whilst you seemed to have everything down pact out the gate.

It'd be a mistake to let you slip through their fingers.

"There's no doubt." Shuri agreed, watching you as you lost yourself in the music and lyrics.

"Go get N'Jadaka." Shuri ordered one of the musicians. The woman scurried off in a hurry. "Jay, one more time."

N'jadaka walked in just as you started the song over. His brows raised as he looked you over. He looked to Shuri and Riri before looking back at you.

"Damn..." He mumbled to himself, before crossing his hands over his chest and placing a hand under his chin.

He'd seen the recording of your performance, as well as heard the song on Spotify. He was certain that Udaku Records had to have you but this song... Your demeanor, your looks. Fuck, he could see the money signs that would surely follow you.

"Did she just?" He looked from you in shock to Shuri, chuckling to himself. You'd made the fingering gesture but pressed the same fingers to your lips with a wink his way as you finished the song.

"Jay, come here." Shuri called, beckoning you over as Riri started finalizing the song and perfecting it. "Jay, this is my cousin the head of the label. N'Jadaka."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Jay." N'Jadaka smirks, shaking Jay's hand.

"The pleasure's all mine." You smile.

"I take it you enjoyed your session with Shuri and Riri?" He asks, nodding towards the soundboard.

"It was more than I'd of hoped for. Shuri seems to share my vision, she knew exactly where I wanted this song to go." You admit. You'd had hopes for this session but it far surpassed any of them.

"Does that mean you'd be interested in signing onto Udaku Records?" N'Jadaka coyly asks.

"A label offer with just a barely week old song?" You laugh, thinking he's joking.

"We can talk about it tomorrow morning if that works for you?" He suggests. "It'll give you time to hire legal representation to represent you--"

"I don't need anyone representing me. I know how to look after myself, I've been doing it all my life." Your accent was strong there. You felt passionately about not trusting a soul. People were wicked if you gave them the opportunity.

"Just send me the paperwork and i'll look over it." You shrugged. "I'd like two days to fully study and scrutinize everything. Then I'll make any amendments and we'll negotiate."

"A woman that knows what she wants is a woman to watch." N'Jadaka grins, liking the energy you had.

"Start teasing the song on your socials." N'jadaka tells you. "By the end of the week the contract will be signed and we can release the song friday at midnight."

"It will be signed?" You raised a brow.

"It will be." He winks, before turning and walking out.

"Let me have your email, so I can forward everything to my cousin." Shuri suggests. You waste no time giving her your contact information.

By the time everything's done, it's 1 in the morning and you’re starving. Shuri and Riri suggest they take out you to get some food in you since they’ve worked you hard.

-

“Can I ask you a question?” Riri asks. They settled on a 24 hour Jamaican restaurant that’s a popular hotspot. You all are seated in the back away from people. Shuri’s bodyguards Okoye and Ayo are seated at the closest table.

“Go ahead.” You tilt your head watching as she licks her lips before responding.

“What’s with you and Maya?” Riri’s brows are raised and her lips are pouty as she stares at you. “She’s pretty territorial of you.”

“We’re cool. She’s a great friend.” You shrug, giving nothing away.

“Friend.” Shuri laughs, as she looks at you in a ‘yeah right’ kind of way.

“What’s all the drama about her album being trash?” You question, wanting to know what exactly she said and why.

“Never said that.” Riri snorted. “I said her persona was trash. That her music was lacking substance and everything about her was forced. Her music is decent however it’s nothing to win awards over nor is it anything that’ll last long term. She leans on her sex appeal like a crutch. People pay more attention to her looks than the music.”

You but your lip to refrain from saying something slick in Maya’s defense. You’d said something similar to Maya. You loved that she was confident and showed off her body, that was her God given right. However you hated that she’d stopped being herself along the way. Her music was no longer full of meaning, it was just made to be TikTok songs and you hated that considering how talented she was.

You knew her label was pushing her to act how she was and to release the music she’d released. ‘Have Mercy’ was a good song, one of her biggest and you loved it yet you hated the fact that people only knew her for her sex appeal or ‘hot girl’ music.

No one really knew the girl you knew. The one that song love ballads, and really got deep and under your skin with her lyrics and beats.

“Have you heard her old material?” You settle on asking.

“I have which is why I feel as though she’s doing herself a disservice with the forced sexual appeal route she’s on.” Riri looked you in the eyes. “You naturally have that sex appeal that speaks for itself, then when you add your music it flows. I’m not saying she shouldn’t lean into her sexuality but there’s a huge difference between leaning into and leaning onto.”

“Hi, hello. I don’t haav all day suh tell me wah huh want.” (I don’t have all day so tell me what you want) The waitress says and you look her up and down to ensure she’s talking to the right table. You’d seen her mugging you from the moment you walked in.

“Ah coulda neva mi yuh ah talk…” (You couldn’t be talking to me) You kissed your teeth, before mugging her right back.

“My gurl, annuh huh mi ah look pon?” (My girl, isn’t it you I’m looking at?) She retorts in a similar tone and you roll your tongue over your cheek and chuckle to yourself.

“Mind how mi dash weh di likkle wata pon yuh.” (Be careful I don’t throw this water on you.) You reply looking her up and down.

“Alrite, Alrite. Bill nuh.” (Alright, Alright. Chill) Shuri says in patois and you swallow as you feel your core moisten.

“Mek we get tree orders of curry goat, white rice and provisions. And tree Lola champagnes, please miss.” (Can we have three orders…) Shuri continues and you internally fan yourself off.

“Dat ah guh be mi pleasure, ma’am.” The waitress giggles, calming. You kiss your teeth and roll your eyes.

“Da bitch deh bright and outta audah!” (That bitch is rude and out of order) You hiss as she walks away after writing the order down. You can tell by the way that she tended she hears you but ignores you.

“You sound so hot when you talk patois.” Riri giggles, staring at you. “The way you talk and your accent…”

“Mi? Yer gurlfriend tek eh cake wid har patois. Mi wouldn’t even know seh she annuh Yaadie.” (Me? Your girlfriend takes the cake with her patois. I wouldn’t even know that she wasn’t a true Jamaican.)

“I know enough to get by.” Shuri smiles. You raise a brow before shaking your head.

“You dated someone who spoke patois. You couldn’t have gained that accent any other way unless you grew up around it.” You insist.

“Is that so?” Shuri smirks.

“Google is free.” Riri chuckles.

“I don’t care that much.” You wink, before pulling your phone out and taking it off airplane mode. You see a shit ton of texts and calls from Maya. Rather than read the messages you call her.

“Where are you?!” You hear the moment she answers the call.

“Hi, how are you? I missed you.” You say, snorting.

“Jay, I’m not playing it’s almost 2 in the morning. No text or anything. What the hell?” Maya snaps and you sign.

“You knew I went to the studio, I messaged you earlier and updated you.” You watch as the duo across from you stare intently at you.

These bitches are nosy…. But so am I.

“That was 8 hours ago. You should have told me you were staying later.” Maya huffs.

“Babes, you know that I was at the studio. You know how that goes. I’ve never hounded you about that because I know when you’re focused on your music, you’re locked in.” You explain.

“I update you throughout my day and when I can’t, I do it at my first opportunity.” Maya sniffles and you know she’s crying. She’s very sensitive.

“I’m sorry baby. I should have updated you when I realized I was going to be out longer.” You felt slightly guilty. You hated when she cried.

“I’m grabbing food right now, why don’t I pick you up something and come over?” You suggest.

“We’re not friends.” She says softly, and you can tell she’s pouting.

“What do you want, babes?” You ask.

“Hmmm. Sweet potato fries and the vegan nuggets from that vegan spot by Jamaica House.” She tells you, and you chuckle realizing she just checked your location.

“Ok, baby. Give me an hour.” You tell her, yawning.

“I’m at your place.” Maya informs you and you bite your lip realizing she’d most likely went straight there from her rehearsals meaning she’d been waiting for you there for hours.

“I’m sorry.” You apologize, knowing that was a shitty feeling.

“You’ll feel sorry when you realize what you missed out on.” Maya giggled before hanging up.

A picture message comes in and you press it and narrow your eyes when you see her posing in your bathroom.

A text back would have gotten you this 💋 - Maya 1:47 am

You take a deep breath, and release it. She knew better than to play on your phone like that. You loved the image before sending an emoji that conveyed your message.

👿 - You 1:49 am

“Do you mind if I leave, we can have a make up lunch ?” You ask, not wanting to be rude. Maya knew how to get your ass home, and it was working.

“Yeah, no problem mama.” Riri smiles, but you could see something in her eyes. You could tell she was annoyed.

“We’ll see you later.” Shuri nods.

And just like that you were out. Your food and Maya’s food forgotten as you sped to your house.

-

“Ah, yuh haav nuff sense.” (You have common sense) You say, as you walk into your bedroom to see Maya fully naked on your bed with her legs spread, fingering herself and moaning out.

“Hi, baby.” Maya grins, happy with herself.

“Uh, uhhh.” You shake your head stripping down to your thong. “You know how I want you.”

She quickly flips over, getting onto her hands and knees. You slap her ass hard, watching it shake. You smirk as she hisses. You get behind her and place your tongue in her ass, feeling her shiver as you lap at the rosebud.

“F..fuck… Jay.” She groans as you move your tongue sinfully slow. You place your fingers at her pussy and moan into her ass as you feel the hot, soaked core. She’s dripping onto your fingers as you drag her wetness up to your tongue before shoving them into her pussy.

“Jay….” Maya moans out. But you continue fingering her as you lick her ass, moaning as your free hand massages her ass cheek.

“Baby…” She whines as you add a third finger, and curl your fingers to hit that spongy spot that makes her cream every time.

The moment she’s about to cum you move away and slap her on the pussy, grinning as she clenches her thighs.

You move away to put on the strap that had you deliciously sore a few days ago. Once it’s secure you move back behind her and run the tip of the strap up and down her pussy.

You thrust in fully without warning, her pussy so wet it slides right in. You groan softly as you watch the way she takes the strap. Your hands gripping her hips, as you thrust into her.

“Fuck me back!” You demand, listening to her whimper. She does as you say and starts throwing it back, and you stop moving to watch her fuck herself on you. Your mouth waters as you watch the strap enter and exit her.

“Which gyal can seh she stress me out.” You mumble to yourself as you watch the way Maya relieves any stress you’d previously had.

-

Let me know what you guys thought of this part and if you want me to continue. I love hearing your feedback, it makes my day. Also let me know who wants a tag on the next part. 🤎

[klausysworld]

hello can you make a one-shot for yandere klaus mikaelson where elijah discovers klaus's obsession with y/n, after finding thousands of portraits, paintings, drawings, photos taken secretly, stolen belongings (perfume, panties, clothes, keys his home), Elijah confronts him about it.

Niklaus what have you done?

Klaus’s obsession had been going for months, he had rooms which were once empty, hidden from his family due to his design plans but now they were full of her face, her belongings just her. Canvases were everywhere, paintings, sketches, charcoals, chalk, any medias he could use.

There were boxed of her things, all organised accordingly, labelled and colour coded so that he may never struggle to find what he needed.

Now these things were secret, his eye’s only, he wanted it kept that way and so he tried to make sure he was private about his…tendencies.

———————————————————————

Elijah was becoming concerned. Niklaus was always missing, leaving in the middle of the night, not picking up his phone for hours, always returning in silence and sneaking around the house. It was odd to say the least.

So naturally he decided he should just take a little look through his brothers things like a any good father figure brother would do.

Elijah understood that Niklaus liked his privacy, Elijah did too but this wasn’t to harm his brother, he was worried for him, he wasn’t his usual…murdery self, naked girls weren’t all around the house and he wasn’t purposefully pissing everyone off. Now this should be a good thing apart from the fact that Elijah knew his brother. This was not a good thing. Something else was going on, something that had Klaus’ entire attention.

Finding the secret rooms weren’t much of a shock, he was often aware of them through the centuries.

What was inside was what was shocking.

He walked around silently as he looked at as many different portraits as he could. All of her. The same girl in different outfits, hair styled differently, facial expressions slightly different, the lighting positioned differently. They were all so different and yet the same.

The next room he got to had his hand covering his mouth, she was painted and sketched naked everywhere. The floor was scattered in her naked body. Her back arched as she touched herself clearly painted across a large canvas. His eyes darted around as he saw an array of boxes.

Hesitantly he picked the red box. Underwear.

Many pairs of panties, some bras too. His fingers pinched the bridge of his nose as he put the box away, making sure to position perfectly the way it was.

The purple box. Pictures.

Thousands. All of her.

Park, grill, home, walking, running, shopping, sleeping, changing, showering, masterbating, having sex with other guys.

There were pictures of her in both Mystic falls and New Orleans, how long has his brother been following this girl?

Images of her at the mikaelson ball, home coming, prom, the party Marcel threw so long ago, the factions peace agreement party, she was everywhere, she was always where he was, no he was always where she was.

“Niklaus what have you done” he whispered to himself as he checked the next box

Blue. Belongings.

Jumpers, jeans, shirts, skirts, bracelets, necklaces, hats, scarves, teddy bears, books, a phone? Dream catchers, cards, fake flowers, perfume, a face wash, body wash, everything she had owned in a box.

Green box. Information.

Notes, so many notes.

She’s afraid of the dark

She still owns her childhood bear

When she was 5 her mother made her join a dance class

She can’t swim well -get her lessons

She had a birthmark ____

Favourite colour

Favourite food

Favourite band

He had her preferences ok just about everything. Her fears, her goals, he had her everything known. He had been studying her for years.

So much information on when she moved to New Orleans, which college she got into, how far away from their home. Maps of New Orleans to find the best routes to her house. Everything.

And then a little black box. He opened it to find keys. Keys to presumably her home, her car, a storage unit?

Elijah carefully out everything back and made his way back to his room only to bump into his brother.

Klaus’ expression dropped in an instant.

The silence was deathly, almost as much as Klaus’ stare.

His eyes darted to behind Elijah, then to his hands checking he hadn’t taken anything

“Niklaus…” he began quietly

“Why were you in there” he cut off

“I was worried about you-“

“You shouldn’t be, I’m happier than ever” he told him

“Niklaus this isn’t right- this girl-“ he tried but Klaus was quick

“She is my girl and that makes it right”

“She doesn’t even know you exist does she?” He asked almost softly as to not anger him but it appeared his attempt failed

“Of course she knows i exist! She’s mine, i love her, I wouldn’t love someone I don’t know Elijah!” He yelled roughly shoved his brother away when he placed a hand on his shoulder

“Yes you know who she is but she has no idea-“

“No. No. She knows. I’ve talked to her multiple times, you should see her Elijah, the way she smiled at me, she loves me i can tell” his voice grew quieter, calmer, scarier.

“She’s just being polite” he reasoned

“Then why does she leave so much for me? She wouldn’t leave her curtains open unless she wanted to be seen, i see her, and i love her for everything that she is” he whispered while nodding convincingly

“No Niklaus, no she doesn’t know that. She’s young and doesn’t understand the consequences of her own actions-“

“She is not stupid Elijah! I know her, she is bright and smart, she isn’t too young and pathetic, she’s perfect”

“She’s just a girl, an innocent bystander, she has nothing to do with our world do not do this to her” he urged

“She is already in my world, she may aswell be my world and id you for a moment think that you can try to take her from me do not doubt the thought that i will dagger you so many times that you never wake back up”

Elijah swallowed thickly, his next move would have to be careful. It wasn’t safe when Klaus was like this, obsessive. Possessive.

“You shouldn’t be watching her like that” he whispered

“It’s just to see her, so she’s safe” he argued

“Not when she’s..vulnerable. She’s not meant for you to use as a source for your..satisfaction or whatever your perverted mind-“ Klaus cut him off with a hand around his throat, his grip so tight he feared his head would detach from his shoulders

“How dare you? You-you looked at those? You went thought the photos? You saw her? Did you fucking look?” His hybrid face came into play as the image of his brother seeing her naked body entered his mind

“Ni-kl-aus” he struggled but there was no use now. Klaus had snapped his neck in an instant. He needed his dagger now. He was either going to have him in a coffin or stab his eyes out

“You should really mind your own business Elijah, it’s rude to pry.” He uttered as he dragged his body to the dungeons. On the way he past that room

The room he had for her. The room that one day, not too far from now, he would be able to bring her to, convince her that their love could finally come together.

After dumping his brothers rotting body he went back to check on his love, he couldn’t bare the thought of someone else seeing her the way he does, that’s why he must always be on standby, ready to kill anyone who looked at her for more than a second.

[biscuitblinkeu]

Be Mines [9]

Park Chaeyoung x Fem!reader

Word Count: 2633

This has taken me a month and it shouldn’t have. I procrastinate so much and I just wanna say I’m sorry you guys had to wait this long and that I hope I get back on track with my updates. P.s - I’m going to add a keep reading label later today

…………………………………………………………….

“You said…kiss me again.” Oh, God, she’d love too.

“I-I did?” You stuttered, embarrassed and shocked.

Did you actually voice your thoughts out loud?

When Rosé sets the burners to warm and confirms with a nod you wanted to turn invisible right then and there. “Wow- I uh, what I meant was…” You trail off as Rosé chuckles under her breath, seemingly amused. Moving in between your legs, warm hands settle on your thighs, and Rosé presses a kiss to your lips— just a peck. It doesn’t go further than that, but it shuts you up.

There’s a fire! A fire! Woah, where? In your chest, down through your stomach, and eventually between your—

“I can kiss you again, and again, and a lot more later. But let’s eat?” Rosé looks you in the eyes, waiting for your answer. “Okay, yeah.” And a lopsided grin spreads across your face. She helps you hop off the counter and you both wash your hands. Then she plates the stir fry and wow, does it smell delicious.

You sit at the island table stools, across from the blonde. During eating, conversation, smiles, and glances are exchanged.

You round the table and start rolling up your sleeves of your hoodie, ready to wash the dishes made from the dinner when Rosé all but shoves her last spoonful of food into her mouth and scurries toward you.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Rosé loads the sink with her dish and the dishes used when cooking, shooing you away. You're her guest!

“Let me wash them, please.” You whine, fighting to stand in front of the sink. You huff, adamant and stubborn on doing the dishes. “You cooked for us, so I should clean. I caused you some trouble tonight too. I could’ve left with a weirdo— although I don’t think Irene is one. But you know what I mean.”

At the mention of that woman’s name, Rosé’s face sours and she pouts. You laugh at this, taking the scrub brush from her hands, which her arms fall to her sides uselessly, and start doing the dishes.

A minute goes by till Rosé’s voice cuts through the air. “Ah! Don’t mention her,” she whines, and then a bit begrudgingly, “she almost took you home…” Took you away from her. And then the attorney is back hugging you.

Her arms wrap tight around your waist and she buries her head into your neck. Humming at the warmth, you lean into her. “I like you like this.” You say, loving this soft side of her. It makes you want to stay forever in this moment, wrapped in her embrace. And the thought alone gives your heart a jolt and you feel your cheeks warming slightly.

You were falling, and fast. Should you feel guilty you got over Jaylyn so fast?

When you finish, Rosé wordlessly brings you to her room. Hank trots after you two, only for her to shut the door on him (softly). He whimpers and scratches at the door, making you feel bad. You turn to Rosé, the looks on your face: questioning.

“He’ll be fine, he’s going to find something else that catches his attention in a minute or two.” She reasons.

Rosé needs to talk to you privately, to address the elephant in the room. She doesn’t want Hank to see, and this is if things go well, the two of you being intimate. That’s her baby!

“This thing going on between us, it’s confusing, I’m confusing you,” Rosé starts, plopping down and sitting cross legged on her bed. She gestures for you to join her, and when you do, she continues. “I’d like for it not to be that way, because I feel things for you (Y/n), and…it terrifies me. But I want this, you.”

Your throat felt dry as Rosé trailed her fingertips behind your ear and then down your neck, which she then cupped with her hand. A flash of emotion lingered in Rosé’s eyes and your heart skipped a beat when you saw it. Rosé’s other hand slowly moved to touch your thigh and a smile flashed on her face when she heard your breath hitch.

“I liked the kiss that we shared back then, the night we spent together. I liked the way that you looked at me. I liked it. I liked it all.” You felt a slight pull on your neck, and you swore that Rosé could hear your heartbeat as she slowly closed the distance between you until your lips were just a breath apart. “I like you, (Y/n).”

You can’t help but grin into the kiss. Her lips were soft, the kiss firm, while yours were somewhat eager. Your fingers gripped onto the sheets below as she pulled you closer and closer.

She likes you.

Gently, you're pulled onto her lap, straddling her. As soon as you're comfortable, her lips are moving against yours again. Although this time a tongue swipes across the bottom your lips as the two of you deepen the kiss. It's intoxicating, and your body thrums from the excitement. All you can think about is Rosé and how amazing it is to kiss her again.

Rosé, the same, all she can think about is you. In her arms. Her senses are overwhelmed with the feel of you against her, your taste, scent, everything you. She doesn’t kiss with a hunger, instead hoping to pour her feelings into the kiss. You alternate between kissing her and nibbling at her bottom lip (she loves that).

"Rosé.." You whispered, the blonde pulling away because of the lack of oxygen but it did not stop her from kissing you, her lips moving to kiss lightly along your cheek and along your jaw, heading down your neck. Your hand grabbed at the hoody which she was wearing, and you trembled as you felt her teeth nipping at your skin. "S-Say it again."

"I like you." Rosé husked out, branding the words into your skin as she nipped and sucked at your neck.

"A-Again." You repeated, a bit more breathless this time. She chuckled, her breath ghosting over your chest as she nipped at the skin. "I like you."

“Again,” you pleaded, the rush you feel when she tells you those three words is warm. “I like you.”

You indulged in her kisses and touches for a while more, then gently pulled away, leaving a chaste kiss on her lips. You played with the collar of her hoodie, occasionally locking eyes with her. “I’m sure you want to hear my reply,” you teased, “I’m really happy you like me. I like you too, Rosé.”

The corners of Rosé’s lips turned upward, and she leaned forward to give you a brief peck on the nose before saying, “Well, then I think I should ask you… Will you be my girlfriend?”

You grinned at her, reaching out to hold her hands, you pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles.

“I would love nothing more.”

…

“Thank you, bye! And be safe on the roads!” You yelled, returning your Mother’s wave. She had just dropped your daughter off, who was spending time with her grandparents on your side.

You shut the door behind you and turned to Nala. She had already taken her boots off and was waiting for you to help her with her coat. Your heart broke at the sniffles and occasional coughs coming from your five year old. You hated when your child got sick, it was a universal parent-worry.

Like many times before, Nala stomped the snow off her shoes and snatched her hat and gloves off, putting them in a purple basket next to the door. This gave her hair a bit of a wild look, making you smile.

“Did grandpa and grandma give you any medicine before dropping you off?” You asked, pulling her coat zipper down. She muttered ‘soup’, and something about nasty purple liquid. You knew you had to give her more medicine though.

After getting her out of her layers of winter clothing, you left for a bit to get her a towel and underwear and pajamas. You were preparing a bath for her because you didn’t want her sleeping in her sweat. Waiting for you, Nala wandered the house looking for Rosé. She found her in the living room, wrapped up in a cover and watching TV.

“Hi, Rosé!” Her little face lit up like a Christmas tree. Rosé smiled widely at her, pushing the covers off and moving to give her a hug. But the little one took a step back.

“No! You can’t hug me!” Nala said, pouting. She wanted to hug Rosé but she couldn’t.

Rosé frowned, and asked. “Why not?”

“Nala is sick, don’t want you to get sick too, so no hugs!” She said stubbornly. Rosé felt relieved that was why she couldn’t hug her. But worried, too, knowing she was sick.

“You’re sick?” Nala nodded sadly.

Rose hummed. “Well, I heard hugs can make someone better. Along with medicine.” This made Nala perk up a bit.

“Really?

“Really.”

That wasn’t completely a lie, but Rosé also knew that a lot of people believed they could get better by hugging.

Atleast, she believed that when she was little.

She opened her arms up and tiny arms circled around her waist, Rosé gave her a squeeze and then pulled away.

The two were plopped on the couch watching some cartoons when you came back. You smiled at the sight. “Nala, baby? The bath is ready.” You said, shaking the beige bath towel in your hands.

“Okay!” Nala wiggled off the couch and ran to your bathroom. She loved baths.

You heard her squeal upon seeing the amount of bubbles you put in (she loved bubbles). You shook your head amused, mirroring Rosé’s smile before walking after her.

You helped her take off her clothes and she hopped in. A rubber duck floated next to her as she cupped bubbles in her hands, giggling. You had lined up her shampoo, body wash, and body oil on the side of you easy to grab.

After giving her ten minutes to play around, you started to wash her hair, rinsing the soap suds off. You were careful to not get it in her eyes. You gently massaged the condition in her hair before rinsing some of that out too. Nala hummed the SpongeBob theme song as you did this.

“Mommy, the blue one, use the blue one—” She directed, pointing to the blue-colored body wash. It was almost gone because you used it so much, it was her favorite.

You led her towel-clad self to her room and set her on her bed as you searched through her dresser for something warm. Something warm but not in the sense it’d make her too hot. She’s already feverish with the cold she has.

“Can you do me a favor and lift your arms up for me?”

“Mhm!” She nods, allowing you to slip a tank top on.

You grab her bear onesie, holding the bottoms so she could slide her feet through, and then zip it up. She jumps happily and pushes the hood on, “Looks pretty?”

“It does. It’s adorable. Let’s go to the living room, Nala. Do you want to watch TV with Rosé or play with your toys?”

“I wanna draw with you,” she says, allowing you to take her hand in yours.

You squeeze her hand, “Okay, but I have to go to the pharmacy, and then I’ll come right back and draw with you, yeah?”

Nala pouts as she looks down to her floor. That was always what she did whenever she wanted to say no. “Kay.” She says quietly after a few moments. You sigh, kneeling down in front of her so she can’t avoid your eyes, “I promise I’ll be fast, I’ll even get you a snack? Do you want chips? Candy?”

Nala purses her lips, thinking hard about it, before nodding slowly. Her eyes lit up. “Candy. Please.”

“Alright, sweetheart. I’ll see you soon. Ask Rosé if you need anything or call me.” You kissed her forehead. She followed you to the front door, and Rosé had entered the little hallway.

She took your coat off the hanger and handed it to you, smiling when your hands brushed, and you thanked her. “You’re welcome.”

"Is mommy going to be long? She promised we would draw together…" Nala pouted while holding onto the fabric of Rosé’s pants, watching you hop in your car.

"Your mommy has to get some medicine for you, can I draw with you in the meantime?" She asked, looking down at the little girl who looked so much like you. Nala seemed to like the idea.

"Can you draw well like mommy? She's the best drawer!"

"I don't know about drawing like your mom, but I can draw pretty flowers." Rosé smiled, closing the front door behind them both as Nala led her to the table.

"With lots of colors?"

"However colorful you want it, Nala."

…

“It’ll be over as soon as you swallow it, promise.”

Your efforts to persuade your daughter to take her medicine are all crashing and burning. You’ve tried everything you could think of. Nala crosses her arms, foot stomping on the ground as she shakes her head rapidly. She’s on the verge of throwing a tantrum.

You turn to Rosé, pleading. “Got any bright ideas?”

“I do.” Rosé pours some of the thick liquid on another spoon and calls for your daughters attention.

“See, look.” Rosé says, demonstrating. The medicine goes in her mouth and immediately after she’s hit with the bad taste; if the way her eyebrows furrow and the way she briefly looks to the sink is any indication.

She smiles with effort. “It’s not…so bad.” It was disgusting and she hasn’t swallowed it yet. The bile liquid sits at the bottom of her mouth, and right when Nala takes her spoonful, she’s speed walking out the kitchen and into the bathroom to spit it out.

Nala hums, surprised the bubblegum flavored medicine’s taste is tolerable, and goes back to coloring. You can’t help but think: that’s all I had to do?

You approach Rosé, who’s hunched over, gagging into the sink. “Oh god,” she groans, “that is so nasty, I don’t know how she does it.”

You lean against the door with an extra toothbrush in your hand, chuckling. “You were brave out there soldier, thank you for your efforts. Mission accomplished.”

Amused, she shakes her head, taking the tooth brush from you. Deciding to play along, she salutes and begins to brush her teeth; your fingers interlace with her free hand and you lean your head on her shoulder.

Although, unbeknownst to you, Nala can see the bathroom from where she is, the door is open too.

Soon, you come out of the bathroom with Rosé trailing close behind.

There’s a confused frown on her lips as she looks between you and Rosé. She wonders why you’re so close. Then it hits her. “Do you wanna kiss my mommy?” She asks in awe, staring at Rosé intently, who has just retaken her seat.

The bluntness of it has you choking on your spit, inhaling sharp breaths through your nose as you pat your chest, looking wide eyed at your clueless daughter-and then to Rosé, because how will she answer? Rosé doesn’t know the true meaning of what Nala really meant by that, kiss correlates to like in her mind.

“Do I want to…kiss your mommy?” Rosé repeated slowly, testing the words on her tongue. A faint rouge-tinted blush rose to her ears, and she swallowed. Of course she does, she always wants to.

But in front of Nala?

Would you like to continue?