#I UPSCALED HIS FACE HIS HEAD IS TOO BIG FUCK

[cursezoroark]

What r we thinking.,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,, 5 yr timeskip designs (basically what they look like while rejuv is occurring)

[rafeandonlyrafe]

emergency

words: 1.2k

warnings: single mom!reader (request)

taglist: @drewstarkeyslut @thelomlisrafecameron @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @winterrrnight @drudyslut @drewsbabygirll @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @jjmaybankisbae @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450 @babygorewhore @vanessa-rafesgirl @michelleisheres-blog

“oh fuck…” you look at your phone after it buzzed for the third time. “i-i have to go, i’m sorry rafe.” you stand up.

“what? whats wrong?” rafe asks, not waiting for your answer before tossing some cash on the table, plenty to cover the bill and a tip for the inconvenience of rushing out mid dinner.

“it’s an emergency, i just need to get back home.” you explain, hands shaking as you exit the restaurant. you were so excited originally to go with on this date with rafe, the restaurant was upscale and you chose the perfect dress for the occasion.

“hey, baby.” rafe calls after you.

you dig into your purse as you approach your car until you finally find your keys. you pull them out but fumble, dropping them to the floor.

“baby, you can’t drive like this.” rafe says, snatching the keys off the ground before you can get to them first.

“i have to get home rafe, stop!” you shout, temper starting to flare as the minutes tick by.

“then let me drive you.” rafe says, looking just as concerned as you feel right now. 

“fine.” you groan. you know rafe well enough to know that when decides something, he doesn’t back down easily, and he has decided that you can’t get yourself home with the state you’re in. if only he knew what the reason behind the nerves was.

rafe opens up the car door, not even caring about leaving his vehicle here as you run around to the passenger seat. you don’t make any small talk, sending a quick text back in response to your cousin while giving rafe directions. 

he pulls into your driveway, surprised by how close you live, considering that all the dates that you’ve gone on in the past, you’ve insisted on driving yourself, to the point where you’ve been seeing rafe for almost four months now and he didn’t even know where you lived until this moment.

rafe throws the car into park as you hop out the vehicle, only pausing when you realize rafe is getting out too. 

“i’ll call an uber for you back to the restaurant.” you say. “just… wait out here.”

“y/n, if it’s an emergency, let me come in and help.” rafe says, as your ears pick up the cries coming from inside, but judging by rafes face, he hasn’t heard it yet. 

“no-no. i got this rafe.” you say firmly.

“what more do i have to do to prove how serious i am about us?” rafe asks, throwing his hands up, just as the door opens behind you.

you turn to the door, then back to rafe, seeing the confusion on his face, before running up to the door. you scoop your daughter out of your cousins arms, her sobs instantly lessening to a quiet cry as her grabby hands grip your dress.

“i’m so sorry, she woke up and would not calm down.” your cousin says.

“it’s okay.” you shake your head. “you can head home, i’ll venmo you for tonight.”

“hey, no worries.” your cousin shakes her head, giving you a hug and giving your daughter a kiss on the top of her head before heading away, sending a glance to rafe but staying quiet as his eyes remain on you, on the baby in your arms.

“mamas here, it’s okay baby girl.” you coo, bouncing your daughter as her cries lessen and then eventually stop.

“mama? that’s your daughter?” rafe asks.

“yes.” you hold your head high, despite how defeated you fell. “so you can just go now.”

“go?” rafe moves closer until he’s standing next to you in the doorway. he glances down at your daughter, who is looking up at him with big, curious eyes. “why would i go?”

“well, now that you know i’m a single mom i figured you-”

“you figured wrong.” rafe interrupts you. “i’m not just going to leave because you have a child. i’m only upset that you never told me.”

“i didn’t want to bring you into her life, let her get attached to you only for you to leave like her dad did.” you explain, shifting how you’re holding your daughter, hoping she goes back to sleep soon so you can have the conversation with rafe that you know is needed.

“i won’t, y/n.” rafe says seriously, his face showing the strength of his statement. “i’m not just going to run away from you, or from her.”

you feel tears well in your eyes, and you don’t hold them back. you like rafe a lot, and from what you’ve seen on the dates you’ve been on with him, he puts family before anything else, family that would include your daughter if given the chance.

“whats her name?”

“brynne. and she’s eight months old.”

“so she was three months when we met?” rafe asks, and you nod yes, moving through the threshold. rafe follows you in, shutting the door behind you, eyes sweeping around your home now that he’s finally in it for the first time.

“listen, rafe. i’m really sorry i didn’t tell you before. i was just worried you’d judge me for being a young single mom, and i’m so protective of her.” “it’s okay.” rafe shakes his head. “i get it.”

“thank you.” you smile, despite the tears still staining your cheeks. you hold brynne with one arm as you raise your hand to rafes cheek, glad that you’ve still got your heels on as you’re able to press your lips against his, quickly accepted by rafe as he kisses back.

you let yourself calm now that your mouth is against his. you pull away to rest your head against his shoulder.

“i should get her to bed, and then we can talk.” you offer.

“can i carry her to bed?” rafe asks, a small smile on his face as he looks down at brynne. “i’d like to hold her, if that’s okay.”

“yeah.” you smile, shifting so rafe can take your daughter from your arms. you cover your mouth with a giggle upon seeing how tiny she looks in his big arms.

“hi brynne, i’m rafe. your moms boyfriend.” rafe tells her, his voice soft and higher than normal when speaking to the baby.

“boyfriend, huh?” you question, raising an eyebrow. you never officially gave your relationship a title, but it seems like rafe has decided that for you.

“you heard me.” rafe smiles back, causing a blush to flare over your cheeks.

“now lets get you to bed, little one.” rafe bounces your daughter gently as he walks further into the house. 

you can’t let go of your smile as you watch your boyfriend and your daughter together, the months of worry now leading to something that you’re going to work to keep great.

“you coming?” rafe turns when he notices you aren’t following him.

“yeah.” you nod, rushing over to lay your hand on rafes back, leaning over him slightly to look at your daughter as well while you walk. “i love you.”

“was that to me or brynne?” rafe asks.

you look up at him, his blue eyes shining back brightly. 

“both.”

[themaclean]

We Don't Have To Be Friends (1/2) Characters: Cooper Howard/Lucy MacLean. Summary: 3,507 words, Post Season One -- character study that was meant to be PWP, but then ended up being entirely plot. Part two will be smut or I will krill myself. Warnings: Nothing you wouldn't see in the show. ( Ao3 ) > Part One | Part Two | Part Three <

Cooper never thought much about Hollywood anymore.

He had no reason to and no time either— but the thoughts bubbled up when he saw how the gold thread of his shirt dulled and familiar street signs melted into slack arches. Sometimes, he’d catch sight of a tattered newspaper with names he recognized or faces of people long since dead.

But nothing made him think of Hollywood the way Lucy did.

It hit him one afternoon with a nasty churn, that flash of the old world that locked his knees mid-stride. It was pathetic, really, when he thought about it now.

It was the flash of Lucy's Vault-Tec-sponsored smile over her shoulder, her thin hand with a necrotized finger pointing ahead of them at some landmark she’d heard of. With her head turned at just the right angle, and the sun was low as it caught the edges of her cheeks and lashes…

She had the sort of face girls in the movies had: clear skin, big eyes, and neat hair. Pretty — beautiful, actually, but not as a matter of compliment. Beautiful in the way she’d make a good price at any given market if he was inclined to sell her. Beautiful in the way people loved to exploit.

That’s the lifeblood of Hollywood—that churning mass of young talent desperate to prove they had what it takes. They’d sweet talk whoever they needed to, go to the parties, and chat his ear off about how amazing he’d been in whatever movie had come out lately, about the sponsorships they’d been offered, and about the dresses they got sent. They’d slip him their number and hold his bicep too long like they’d been taught to by managers and mothers alike.

Dozens of pretty women rushed to audition for the role of arm candy. They’d audition to play the mayor's daughter, the farmer's daughter, or so-and-so’s daughter. They’d always been the damsel. Then, whatever cowboy he’d been hired to play would toss the pretty woman onto the back of Sugarfoot and ride off into the sunset. The sort of girl who'd be gone by the next movie or end up married to a director, so she'd quit acting.

And, much like all the girls in Hollywood Cooper had spent time with, Lucy had changed. She had the same optimism, but it’d dulled; her marketable face now held tired, empty eyes. It was like she finally caught onto the world’s current: no sunset and no next movie.

Cooper couldn’t fault her. It's a strange journey to discover what to do to survive.

“Hey Cooper — is that it?” Lucy asked, repeating herself. The sprawl of buildings ahead was dotted with torches and candles.

Cooper nodded, his hand firm on Dogmeat’s collar.

A short strip of buildings stood out against the expanse of desert and dry shrubs. Each building leaned towards another, with sheet metal fastened with unskilled welding. Several turrets puttered away, seeking whatever wasn’t humanoid enough. Strips of fabric and tin cans garlands peppered the buildings' front. The smaller buildings on either side were your standard fare: a repair shop, a medic, a trader with a little diner area.

But the one Cooper was after stood out for its neon sign—Hell’s Oasis.

Hell’s Oasis served its purpose—it was a decent place to get information, and the people minded their business. They weren’t too bothered with ghouls or mutants as long as you had caps. The place often served as a meeting ground for bounty hunters and their contractors. It was also one of the more upscale places, as they wouldn’t harvest organs unless you died of natural causes.

And, if you couldn’t fight or forage for survival, you could fuck for it.

(Not that Cooper ever wasted caps on the whores who took residence within Hell’s Oasis. He’d sooner pay people to fuck off than spend the night with him.)

Cooper grabbed Lucy by the nape of her neck to yank her close and keep her firmly by his side. Most people he brought here, he left here — call it a force of habit to handle her so roughly.

“I can walk, y’know,” Lucy hissed.

“Stick close,” Cooper clicked his tongue at her, and a slight hiss followed. His grip flexed to further the message that she’d do well to follow his guidance.

They made their way through the hotel lobby, the moldy carpet slick against the floor with dirt and grease from the world outside. A few people chattered away in the attached bar, laughing at jokes Cooper couldn’t make out. Casino chips clattered on the table as they played made-up card games.

Long dead plants clung to arid dirt, the sticks of old ferns wilting against one another. Metal crates were lashed together in each corner of the alcove where the front desk sat, providing a makeshift cage between the staff and the patrons. Several girls rushed past Cooper and Lucy, jeering and cackling as they approached the bar. They were clad in lacy nightgowns. He couldn’t tell if they knew they were lingerie rather than clothes or if they’d even care.

“It’s so lively here,” Lucy said, a pang of something in her face.

“It happens in pockets,” Cooper said with a shrug of his shoulder. Little uh… spots of life.”

“Must be why they call it an oasis.”

Cooper rolled his eyes as they reached the front desk. Magazines sat in thick stacks with information about local tours in the area and a guide to the national parks. An abandoned handbag was tucked against the desk, which Lucy eyed with curiosity.

Cooper slapped the front desk bell a few times, a gargling growl low in his throat.

They needed this break after a couple of weeks on the road together. Water was getting sparse, and he wanted to be ready to meet with whoever the fuck Hank had run off to. And in such an open desert, there’s no sense traveling at night, and all manner of dumb shit came up along the way.

It was always something. People needed help or some dumb cunt trying to pick a fight, resupplies, rest… He didn’t like helping people much, but Lucy argued with him whenever they tried to go on without at least trying. And whether the people lived or died, at least they tried. That was her argument.

But Lucy listened to him a little more now, and he was as patient as he could be with her.

Cooper rang the bell again. He wanted a room, and the chattering laughter in the bar was only making his aches worse.

Priscilla appeared from behind a moth-eaten velvet curtain. Her hairline was hidden beneath a thick headscarf with puffy blond curls bouncing beneath it. The last time he’d been here, her hair had begun to rot out of her skull. He guessed it’d only gotten worse. She’s still pretty, mirroring that old-world red lip with pin curls.

“Oh my God, is that you, Coop? I haven’t seen you in a long time,” Priscilla said in a slow, low voice. She had a rasp to it, always had, though he wasn’t sure if it was from the radiation or a smoking habit.

“Was underground,” Cooper said with a lazy smile. He wouldn’t mention that he’d been underground in a literal sense, trapped in a coffin.

“Well, it’s nice for you to come to see us and…” Priscilla’s gaze slid to Lucy, that usual surprise swelling up at the sight of a genuine Vault Dweller. They weren’t hard to spot. “Ah, you turning her in for a bounty?”

Lucy’s head snapped towards him, a mixture of shock and disgust.

“No,” Cooper shook his head, his grip firm on Lucy’s neck to turn her head away from him. His fingers tensed before they dropped away altogether, brushing across Lucy’s shoulder. “Tag-along. Helpin’ her uh…” He picked through the words that came to mind, cautious not to share too much. “Adjust to the surface.”

Priscilla’s jaw squared as she stared Lucy down.

“We’re just lookin’ for a room, some food,” Cooper said before she could pry further. “Usual fare.”

“Please,” Lucy said, like Cooper had forgotten, and it was important to say. “The usual fare, please.”

“She speaks,” Priscilla said in a purr.

Cooper had to give Lucy credit. She’d stayed quiet much longer than he’d expected.

“Oh, we’ll also need water,” Lucy said, looking up at Cooper. “For cleaning and drinking. I’m not sure if you separate it that way or if you reuse it unless you have showers.”

Priscilla narrowed her eyes. “Running water? We can get you a bucket of water, sweetness. That alright with you?”

“It works great for me. Big fan of buckets. They’re the backbone of agriculture and cleaning, really, if you think about it…” Lucy agreed, her smile as bright as the neon sign by the front window.

Priscilla looked at Cooper and then at Lucy, repeating the loop before she sauntered behind a moth-eaten velvet curtain strung up with zip ties. The distant hum of a generator underscored the silence as Cooper picked over the board of caricatures. Plenty of people were banned from the premises or with a bounty on their heads — no one stood out on the board, at least.

“She was giving us a weird look,” Lucy leaned closer to Cooper, feigning a swipe of her hand through her hair. The floor creaked as she shifted her weight closer to him. “Is it the bucket thing? I panicked.”

Cooper scoffed from the back of his throat.

“It is safe here, right? You trust her?”

“It’s safe,” Cooper bared his teeth at Lucy, begging her to return to the docile silence she’d thrived in.

“Then why — ”

Cooper hissed for her to shh through clenched teeth.

Priscilla pushed past the curtain. She gripped a little blue card with faded gold edges. A key with a golden ball chain was attached to the edge. It felt strangely archaic to be so formal about lodgings, but it was why he liked this place.

“I guess it makes sense,” Priscilla said as she slid the key to Cooper. She nodded to Lucy. “You wanting a girl who’s more… Old—world flavor. It reminds you of the golden years, hm?”

“Six, right?” Cooper ignored her question, his gaze fixed to the card.

“Six,” Priscilla repeated, her gaze on Lucy.

Cooper tossed a few caps onto the front desk, the clatter of metal their own punctuation. He notched his head towards the stairs, and Dogmeat and Lucy followed in stride. He was eager for the simple things — water, food, and a moment to let his bags rest.

“Wanting a girl…” Lucy smiled, mumbling more of Priscilla’s words under her breath.

After several flights of stairs and a few hours, Cooper felt all the better. He’d eaten his fill and enjoyed the peace of an enclosed room. He didn’t often allow himself such a luxury, as being in a settlement put a target on your back for any larger groups. But it’d been two weeks since they’d had proper rest out of the elements.

Tracking Hank wasn’t easy, either. That suit meant he could skip over all the pocked landscape and roaming threats. What would take him an hour to travel by air was a day for them sometimes, a fact that spurred Cooper on. But they couldn’t rush, as rushing would only get them killed.

One wrong step and you were deathclaw chow.

“God, more, please!”

And there went the silence. Cooper’s eye twitched; his lipless mouth sneered at the screeches.

Whoever had taken up residence in room five was making the most of their money — an hour straight of screams and moans, an hour straight of Lucy pretending to read. She’d picked up a holotape at the last outpost they’d stopped at; something about a sequel she’d always wanted to continue reading.

By the second hour, it wasn’t so much that room five stopped fucking. But they at least got a lot quieter about it. The occasional shriek or moan rattled through the air vents, but it was far and few between.

Lucy lay across the double bed, her boots discarded beside the door. Her vault suit hung from the defunct radiator. Her washing was all done, and she’d freshened up, the usual Lucy shit. She’d helped herself to the water and changed into some pajama set she’d pilfered from a house a few days back.

“I think it’s nice,” Lucy said into the open air of the hotel room.

Cooper looked up from his shotgun, teeth bared like he was trying to smile. “The quiet?”

“No,” Lucy smiled at the wall between them and room five. “That people can find love, even now.”

Cooper couldn’t stop himself from laughing at that. The cackles shook from low in his lungs and caught him so off-guard he hacked up some foul muck into his palm. He hissed through a wheezed breath as he fumbled with his RadAway puffer.

“I mean it! It’s not funny!”

“That ain’t love, Vaultie,” Cooper coughed out, his eyes narrowed as drool and tears mingled on his cheeks. He wiped his face, fine skin catching against the scarred, leathery mess. “That…” He pointed to the wall. “S’probably a whore and her John making the most of the caps.”

Lucy’s eyes darted as she picked apart what he’d said. “John..?”

“John’s a term for uh…” Cooper’s jaw strained against a smile, though it was far too cruel to be kind. “A guy who pays for sex.”

“Ah, wasteland slang,” she said with a solemn nod, as if it made sense she hadn’t caught on immediately.

“Old world slang,” Cooper corrected.

Lucy looked around the hotel room anew, like she’d finally caught on to what this place really was. She scooted to the edge of the bed, to sit with her legs angled towards him. “That woman at the front desk said you’d want a girl who’s old world — she thought I was a prostitute. ”

“Maybe.”

Lucy crossed her arms as if she had more to say on the matter. But then she remained quiet, uncharacteristically so.

“S’waste of caps.”

“Hiring me to have sex with you? Actually, I know all about sexual gratification, so I think it’d be a great use of money — caps.”

Cooper stared Lucy down as if he couldn’t parse what she’d just said. “Paying anyone money to fuck you is a waste.” Cooper tongued his lips apart. “Bullets. Meds. There’s shit worth paying for. Sex is — ”

“Important.”

“Sex ain’t worth much.”

“To you, maybe,” Lucy frowned. “It’s an act of love and intimacy, and… It’s how humanity continues, and it’s — fun if done well.”

“You wanna waste your caps on some cock?” Cooper snapped, his hand flapping at the door. “Be my guest.”

“No,” Lucy shook her head. “I don’t want to, but I’m saying that I… I think killing people is probably worse than sleeping with people for caps. If it’s to survive, I think it makes sense. Morally speaking.”

“Don’t,” Cooper snarled.

Cooper didn’t like how Lucy spoke to him most days, but this was a new, worse permutation. Her Vault-addled morality was sickening enough on its own, as she embodied whatever bullshit had been drip-fed to her by the company who’d bought her vault. Not that he was without sin, given the shit he’d done to survive this long.

But sex and love and all that shit was not front of mind. He needed to find his family and to know what happened to them. He didn’t need a two-cap blowjob from a stranger in the dim light of some bar. Though, in all honesty, his drug habit mixed with the amount of alcohol he’d drowned himself in, some nights got hazy.

There’s that animalistic, self-destructive part of him that won on his worst nights. The same part of him that kept him alive, the same part that let him do all the miserable shit he needed to do to survive.

But it’s certainly never been love. Not since Barb.

Never again, he’d wager.

"I had sex once," Lucy said this like it was a point of pride, now on her feet. She idled beside the bed, her gaze settled onto the empty space she’d been lying. "With my husband, but…" Her face twisted with this delayed amusement. She turned towards him, closing the gap between them.

Lucy’s eyes remained unfocused as she stared at the marked table between them, where his shotgun lay across a dirty cloth. "Does that make us both widows..? You said you have a family, right? So, you were probably married and had at least one kid. Not trying to presume, so tell me if I’m wrong, but… You said that in the observatory. That’s what you’re after."

Cooper parted his lips, a nasty tilt to his hairless brow.

Lucy gave a tight smile. "I was married. Only for a few hours, but… It was an arranged marriage, I didn’t meet him until the wedding. It turned out he was a raider from the surface posing as my match from Vault 32 and…" At this point, Lucy caught herself. “I feel for you, if you lost someone. That’s all.”

“You ain’t a widow.”

“Technically — ”

Cooper stood up, unable to stay seated. “You say you’re a widow like it’s a fact outta some book. The shit you went through — you’re an experiment gone wrong, not a damn widow,” Cooper said, his voice flat.

Lucy’s face twitched at his words as if she struggled to keep her smile. “Well, guess what? We’re all an experiment gone wrong, whether you’re in a vault or not.”

Cooper’s eyes twitched, narrowing in the dark of their hotel room. Room five was quiet, which made this moment all the worse. He didn’t like how she spoke about him, as if she knew what was happening in his mind. He wasn’t some wounded man looking for sympathy.

He wasn’t anything.

“Go back to your holotapes,” Cooper said with a jut of his chin. “You’ve been up here a few weeks, acting like you know how it is.”

“Well, I know we’ve all been screwed over by people hundreds of years ago, and I’m sorry if I’m not as beaten down by it as you, but — I’m just trying to share things with you, to…” Lucy struggled through her words, her arms crossed protectively over her chest. “We don’t have to be friends, but we have to be — something.”

The couple in room five screeched. Cooper tensed out of habit but relaxed again when he reasoned what the noise was. It didn’t solve the fierce look on Lucy’s face as she stared him down, her fists clenched by her pajama-clad thighs.

“I don’t want to fight with you,” Lucy said, shaking her damp hair out of her face. She stood idle by the table as if she had just realized she had stepped towards him in their argument. There was a bird-like shake to her chest, her heart and lungs quick beneath bone.

It was moments like this that made his nature crystalline to him — that thin line she couldn’t perceive of how easy it’d be to string her up by the ankles and bleed her dry. Of how easy it’d be to slide into that ache for warm flesh between his teeth and blood down his throat.

Ghouls aren’t welcome in most settlements for a reason, and Lucy is too damn optimistic to learn that lesson.

Cooper tongued the inside of his cheek, and his teeth gnashed at the frayed edge of his lip. “We have to be something, huh?”

Lucy’s brow twitched, and her jaw strained as she tried to stand taller. She nodded as something like hope softened her stern expression.

It wasn’t hard to close the gap. It was even easier to grab that ponytail she always wore and yank her head close, fist tight in her hair as he brought her close. Her hand scrabbled against the table, and nails dug into the wood as their eyes met.

“Don’t you ever talk about my family again,” Cooper said, his voice level. “We clear?”

Lucy’s breathing redoubled, but she nodded. Her nostrils flared as he let her go with a firm shove. There was a real sense of satisfaction as he felt her perception of him shift as if she’d forgotten she was dealing with a monster rather than a man. As if the rotted skin and exposed tensions, or the gaping hole where his nose had once been, weren’t enough warning.

Pretty girls in Hollywood were overlooked as much in his time — all in the name of survival in a race that no one really won. You took your part and played it until the work dried up. Then, you prayed for sponsorships, deals, and other things to spare you from the real world.

He watched it with co-stars, time and again. It wasn’t much different now, just less rhinestones and more rads.

[delusionalvenusian]

The Long Con, Pt. 1

Pairing: Max Burnett x Fem!Reader (no use of y/n, reader eventually has a nickname)

Summary: Max, having parted ways with Madeline, still can't let go of his lust for a lavish life. He now finds himself at upscale hotel bars scouting out wealthy widows and divorcees to bed and steal from to keep afloat while he cooks up his first big solo con. What seems like a business-as-usual one night stand could just end up being his perfect long con. Or hers.

Warnings: 18+ only, smuuuuuuuuuut (pretty much right off the bat, but there is a plot in there somewhere), oral, unprotected p in v, swearing, drinking, kissing, dubcon (sorta), kinda subby Max, Max and reader are both little assholes

Word count: ~4k

a/n: Hellooooooo! I don't really know what the market is for this kind of thing since I've been out of the fanfic writing world for over a decade now, but I've had this little story brewing in my head since watching Sharper when it was first released and finally started putting it into words and feeling courageous enough to publish it somewhere on the off chance someone will enjoy it. This will be a few parts, but I'm not exactly sure how many at this point. Anyway, I so hope you enjoy this if you stumble upon it and give it a shot. :)

___________________________

Max swirled the whiskey in his glass as he leaned coolly against the bar, scanning the dim Manhattan establishment for what felt like the hundredth time, trying to locate his next mark.

With what he’d heard about the clientele here, he had expected the evening to go much smoother—get in, find a desperate 50-something to leave with, pocket some cash and blank checks after fucking her to sleep, repeat—but, after an hour or so of misses, he was ready to call it a night. Weekday evenings were usually perfect for this little game he’d adopted to pass the time while he figured out his next big solo move since breaking from Madeline. The too-young girls looking for rich old men weren’t out until the weekend, and the mature divorcees were out scouting for their next fling, more than happy to accept his attention. But tonight was a quiet one, and he was growing more frustrated with each dud he spotted. Downing the rest of the amber liquid, he slammed the glass down on the bar and moved to head for the door.

“Easy there!” He heard from behind. He turned quickly to study the source of the honeyed voice. “Excuse me,” she asked, effortlessly getting the bartender’s attention as soon as she stepped up to the bar.  “Could I get a vodka tonic, extra lime, and keep them coming, please? Actually, go ahead and make that a double.” She smiled softly at the bartender’s confirming nod and spun to face the crowd of patrons as she waited for her drink. Her gaze shifted lazily around the room, meeting Max’s eyes as he sized her up. “See something you like?”

She was perfect. Younger than his usual target, but old enough to have the resources he needed. Her glossy blown out hair and subtle designer label ensemble screamed trust fund baby. Her drink order suggested she was ready to loosen up for the evening, and she was at least regular enough here that she didn’t have to give a card for a tab. No ring on her finger. Cool demeanor. And she was much easier on the eyes than the women he had suffered the last few months to get by. Perfect.

“Absolutely,” he replied, pulling his most seductive smirk.

She chuckled amusedly, cocking her brow. “Forward.”

Max sidled back up to the bar to settle next to his prey, gesturing to the bartender for another. “Let me buy you a drink?”

“Not wasting any time, are we?” She took a sip of her cocktail as soon as it reached her hand. “No introductions, just right down to business. I respect that.”

“I’m—”

“No, unh-unh,” she interrupted with a fluid wave of her hand, “I don’t care. We’ve both got the same motive, so let’s just skip the unnecessary bullshit. Trust me, it’s so much more fun with no names.”

Max could hear the jackpot jingle ring in his brain as he registered her words. Beyond perfect. He wouldn’t even have to bother with creating an identity for the night or convincing her to take him home. Admittedly, it did suck some of the fun out of his scheme, but he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. He clinked his glass against hers in enthusiastic agreement.

“Great. I’ve got this one, so next one’s on you.” She downed a few gulps of her drink and gave him a slow once over. “Not bad. I usually only catch old pervs here.”

Max snickered. “Glad to hear I don’t look like a perv.”

“You don’t look like an old perv,” she corrected.

“So then tell me what I look like,” Max prompted as he softly ran his knuckles up her bicep from elbow to shoulder, twisting her hair around his finger.

She studied his features for another moment through narrowed eyes before responding. “Attractive. New money. Arrogant, for sure. Devious— you’ve got that glint in your eye, I see it. And here tonight, so definitely a perv.”

“You’re here tonight, what does that make you?”

She smiled up at him teasingly. “You’ll just have to come back to my room and find out, I guess.”

_______________

The walk from the bar, through the hotel lobby, and to the elevator was a short one, and Max couldn’t have been more thankful. The flowing liquor and flirtatious banter coupled with the anticipation of his scheme playing out successfully had his excitement at peak. The attraction certainly didn’t hurt either. It had been months since he found himself entangled with someone he felt legitimate physical desire for—not that that mattered to him in the end so long as he left with his pockets satisfactorily lined, but it was a welcome change.

She kept her hands to herself as she led Max to the elevators, unable to leave behind the strict societal manners she was raised on and give in to her temptation to grab him and take him in the nearest secluded corner. It had been months since she’d had a good lay, and Max’s assertive air had her convinced that he’d be the one to break that depressing trend. Impatient and aroused as ever, she fought not to drum her fingers or tap her foot waiting for the elevator to finish its slow descent, not wanting to drop her poised façade and let Max see how desperate she was to be alone with him, to touch him, to taste him. She let out a silent breath in relief as the doors finally parted, quickly fishing a key out and stepping in.

Max’s eyes lit up watching her insert the key and press the accompanying “P” button. Penthouse. His cock jumped in exhilaration, and suddenly his hands were on her as the elevator doors closed. The touch of his hands on her waist and his soft breath on her neck threatened to break her and make her go feral. She fought her urge to whip around, grab his hair roughly, and pull his lips to meet hers—her resolve to appear as composed as possible still strong. As Max wound himself around her like the snake he was, pressing his body to hers and peppering lazy kisses along her throat, she counted down the seconds until the elevator stopped at her floor.

Stepping out of the claustrophobic box into the airy suite instantly flipped the switch on her demeanor. The freedom of absolute privacy from the outside world washed over her and she suddenly found herself unreservedly overtaken by the lust that had been simmering within her, pulling Max out of the elevator by the lapel of his jacket. Greedy lips collided while hands caressed skin and pulled hair. Neither wanting to waste another second, they clumsily made their way through the bedroom doorway, quickly discarding the last of each other’s clothing.

Max continued backing her toward the plush bed as she nipped and sucked at his neck. The groan he let out at her teeth grazing his skin told her he liked a little dominance. When the backs of her knees met the side of the bed she disconnected from him, looking into his eyes through her long lashes and shaking her head as she rounded on him and shoved him down instead. Max grinned devilishly as she straddled him and roughly reclaimed his lips.

“Touch me,” she said breathily between sloppy kisses, guiding his right hand from her hair at the nape of her neck down to her aching core.

“Right down to business. I respect that,” Max said, teasingly repeating her words from earlier that evening. Without hesitation, he inserted two digits, eliciting a deep moan from her right into his mouth. “So wet for me.” He gathered her slick and languidly drew out his fingers to tightly circle her swollen clit.

The sob she let out was nearly animal as he applied just the right amount of pressure but kept his movement frustratingly slow. “Fuck,” she keened, “faster.”

Max bit her bottom lip and quickened his pace ever so slightly. “’Atta girl, tell me what to do.”

She slid a hand down his chest and abdomen, grasping his firm cock, and quickly jerked his head back by the hair with the other to look him in his dilated eyes. “Make me cum and you can have whatever you want,” she promised as she stroked him so softly that he physically ached for more.

He tried to hide the breath that caught in his throat and laid back on his elbows. “Get up here,” he said, grabbing the backs of her thighs and pulling her toward his face. She laughed sensually as she shuffled her way up his torso. He greeted her throbbing bundle of nerves with a smooth lap of his tongue and hooked his arms around each thigh to draw her down until she was sat on him completely. He teased her no longer, tasting her sweetness deeply and sucking her clit, immediately turning her into a whimpering mess.

“Fuck, yes. Just like that, don’t stop.” Her cries of satisfaction and writhing on Max’s skilled tongue elicited his own moans and had him bucking his hips in anticipation of burying himself deep inside her wet heat. “Yes! Right there, right there” she chanted. Max increased the pace of his massage and shook his head, sucking her in impossibly deeper, his encouraging moans sending vibrations through her body and overstimulating her. She couldn’t form words any longer as the growing knot in her stomach came undone and she convulsed, crying out the god she did or didn’t believe in and releasing her orgasm into Max’s welcoming mouth.

Max—ever the proud lover—didn’t stop until she’d nearly collapsed. He finally freed her tender clit when she pulled his hair so hard it threatened to rip out at the root. Despite her promise, she didn’t wait for Max’s direction before taking her next steps, needing him inside of her as soon as humanly possible. She slithered down his body until her wanting core hovered just above his painfully hard cock. Before she could grip him herself, Max grabbed her roughly by the hip to hold her steady as he lined himself up and ran his leaking tip through her soaked folds. They moaned in unison while he repeated his movements once, twice, three times, until he abruptly thrust up into her. He bottomed out, sheathing her completely, and gave her a moment to adjust to his size.

Without a word, she ran a hand up his chiseled abdomen and placed it on his chest for leverage as she began to slowly rise up off of him. She stopped as the head of his dick reached her entrance, just before it could fall out, and sank back down as slowly as she had risen. Max threw his head back into the mattress, eyes rolled far back in his head, and cried out in ecstasy. She lifted herself again, reiterating her slow descent and moaned proudly at the sight of Max’s nods of pleasure. “You like that, huh, baby,” she cooed.

“Mhmm,” Max nodded again.

“Use your words. Tell me what you want,” she said, continuing to lazily ride him, drawing out each lift and descent.

Max grunted as her cervix bumped his sensitive tip once more. “Need you to ride me,” he said. “So fucking tight and wet for me. Bounce on my cock.” He gave her no chance to quicken her pace herself. He took hold of her ass cheeks brusquely, spreading them slightly, and guiding her down hard over his length, meeting her in the middle with a thrust.

She didn’t protest, giving up control and allowing Max to set his desired pace. It was fast and raucous by this point as Max’s need for release had steadily built up in the act of giving pleasure.

 “God, you’re so fucking good,” she sighed out through a hazy, cock-drunk smile.

Max practically growled at the praise, tightening his grip to hold her in place and giving her everything he had. The bottom of his spine was starting to tingle and his need to cum was taking over.

She intuited the meaning of his increased intensity and woke slightly from her sex-induced fog as she remembered they hadn’t used a condom. “Shit, wait,” she exclaimed. “You can’t cum inside me, you have to pull out.”

“But you feel so fucking good,” he said without really processing the bigger picture. She was right, of course, and had he been in his right mind he would have agreed in an instant.

“Please,” she said through her moans. “Fuck me on my back. I want you to cum all over me.”

The sound of her begging and the thought of her with her legs spread for him, covered in his cum, got his full attention. He flipped them over and kept his rhythm, throwing her legs over his shoulders and hitting even deeper now than before. He watched himself fill her over and over as she writhed beneath him and grabbed at whatever she could get her hands on. The tingling at the base of his spine formed again and his hips jerked erratically. “I’m gonna cum. Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” he let out through gritted teeth. He pulled out just in time and she quickly grabbed his shaft, pumping him fervently and letting his ropes of cum spread across her stomach and chest.

Max stayed hovered over her for a moment while he caught his breath, eventually flopping over next to her. As he recovered, she raised herself onto her elbows, surveying the mess they’d painted onto her body together, giggling in her pleasured, post-coital daze. “I’ll clean this up in a minute,” she muttered, collapsing back down with a smile and closing her eyes.

_______________

Max slowly left the bed, careful not to wake the sleeping beauty next to him. She was gorgeous, and she’d been the best fuck he’d had in quite some time, but he had a job to do. Somewhere in the well-decorated penthouse was the money he’d come for. He had no trouble finding and pocketing the cash in her purse that she’d so carelessly left right by the elevator, but $1,500 wasn’t going to get him far—he needed the trust checks. Based on the state of the place, it was clear she had taken up permanent residence there. As stealthily as he could, he tore the place apart searching for the coveted checkbook, growing more and more irritated as he continued to find nothing.

Time passed quickly, and he found himself scavenging through her purse yet again. Knowing nothing was likely to magically appear, he decided to take a moment to study the contents of her wallet. He pulled out her ID card, finally putting a name to the face. He smiled to himself when he read her last name, recognizing it instantly and feeling pride in his ability to successfully spot old money types in a crowd. He was still silently patting himself on the back when the sound of a throat clearing behind him broke the early morning silence he’d been working in. Fuck.

“You’re robbing me,” she asked flatly, seemingly unsurprised. “Pathetic.”

Max chuckled darkly, dropping the charm he’d laid on mere hours ago. “You let a nameless stranger fuck you raw and spend the night in your pretty little penthouse suite. Yeah, I’m pathetic.”

“Oh, please.” She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest as he approached her, ID still clutched in his fingers.

“What’ll you tell daddy when your money’s all gone,” he taunted, brushing a featherlight knuckle across her cheekbone. He was taken aback as she broke into laughter instead of starting to break under his touch like he expected.

“’What’ll you tell daddy when your money’s all gone,’” she mimicked through her laughter. “Man, you are funny. See, for you take all my money, I’d have to have it first, you fucking idiot.”

Max’s eyes widened. Admittedly he hadn’t inquired about her age, trusting that she looked old enough to be an adult, and he hadn’t checked her date of birth on her ID for lack of interest. She stared him down, enjoying seeing the wheels furiously spinning in his head.

“Calm down, I’m not even close to a child,” she assured him. “Daddy is just a misogynist.” Max’s expression turned from alarm to confusion. “We’ll get to that in a second. First, your name.”

“Fuck off,” Max said.

She scoffed sarcastically. “Well, that’s not very nice. It’s only fair now that you know who I am, and you’re trying to take me for everything I’ve got.” She waited a moment, but Max stayed silent. “Ah, come on. You tell me your name, and I won’t have your kneecaps shot out by daddy’s friends.”

Max’s eyes darted toward the window as if he’d be able to see in the flesh the burly henchmen he was now imagining. He’d never been in this position before and he couldn’t confidently call her bluff—how else do these old money types keep their money and connections but through brute force? He resigned with a sigh. “Max.”

“Max,” she repeated. “I’d say nice to meet you, but—well, you get it. Anyway, Max, you can call me Doe.”

Max sneered. “Dough? Like money? The jokes really wri—”

“No,” she interjected. “Doe, D-O-E, like a deer. For my eyes.”

Max snorted derisively. “Okay, Doe.”

“Oh, shut up,” she snapped. “Anyway, misogyny. You know what that word means, right? Maybe a big one for someone of your… station.”

“My station? God, you fucking people. Yes, I know what misogyny means.”

Doe nodded, smiling up at him in jest. “Impressive. See, daddy does have me set up with a trust—you’re right about that. The problem is, daddy doesn’t think women can handle millions, let alone billions of dollars, no matter how old we are or how much education we have or how long we work our asses off to prove ourselves. So, daddy set my trust up with one stipulation: I get married, I get the money.” Max raised a brow as he took in her predicament. “Right? You see my problem, then.”

Max shook his head as if to clear it. “Wait, so you have a billion-fucking-dollar trust waiting for you—billion with a ‘b’—and you won’t just do what you have to do to get it?”

“No, I will not,” she exclaimed, disgusted at the notion of even considering it. “Not in his way, anyway.”

“The will,” Max said, seemingly connecting the dots. “You think he’s leaving it all to you? He won’t let you touch your own trust and you think he’s leaving his entire empire to you?”

Doe glowered at him. She had thought that a possibility at one time, of course, but had long since admitted to herself that he would never entrust her with the family fortune. She’d even hoped that he would at least leave her enough by her standards, but that wasn’t going to happen either. Deep down, Doe wasn’t much different from Max. She wanted her money, she wanted all the money, and the thought of losing the luxurious life she’d grown accustomed to all her life made her sick. She wasn’t cut out for a boring, regular life. And, thus, she found herself here.

“Fuck you,” she retorted. “No, not the will—I’m not a fool. I have a plan, and that’s where you come in.”

Max stared at her in silent confusion.

“Please don’t drool on my floor,” Doe teased, patting his slack jaw. “Here, let me spell it out for you. I went down to the bar last night to hunt, just like you. I’ve been scouting and, like I said, only finding old pervs. Do you have any idea what it’s like to be face to face with a 70-year-old man’s flaccid penis while you wait for the blue pill to kick in? Not worth the fucking money. I physically could not do it anymore. Anyway, I pivoted to the leeches—at least you’re hot, ya know?”

“Leeches?”

“Yes, leeches. You look for money, that’s all you want, and you’ll bleed it from any woman who has it and is charitable enough to look past the Brooks Brothers sale rack suit and take you home,” Doe continued. “Call me altruistic—I scoped you out, caught you in your most desperate moment when you were just about to throw in the towel, and reeled you right in. I’ll admit I wasn’t sure how it would turn out at first, but you’re a fantastic lay.”

“Truly pathetic,” Max muttered.

“Aw, Maxy, don’t be mad,” Doe tutted, running a hand through his sleek hair. “Really, you were so talented even just as a quickie. And then, even better than I expected, I woke up for a little morning round two only to find you trying to burgle me. I mean, truly, what a perfect set up.”

“You’re pitiful,” Max spat, trying to gain some control over the unforeseen situation he now found himself in. “And the saddest part is how easy it all could’ve been. Look at you. You’re beautiful, smart, you could cut practically any man down with that fucking mouth of yours, good in bed, and fucking loaded. You could pull any sucker out there and live happily ever after. Hell, just pick one, get married, get the money, then divorce him.”

“Just good in bed? Not even great?” Max blustered in annoyance at her quips. “Don’t get huffy with me. Anyway, you just laid out the whole plan.” She paused, waiting for it to click for him.

Max’s expression quickly shifted from annoyance to an amused smirk. “I’m the sucker, huh?”

“Now you’re getting it,” Doe smiled back.

“No,” Max said, dropping the smirk in in instant. “Absolutely fucking not.”

Doe laughed sweetly. “Oh, but you are. I wasn’t kidding about the kneecaps.”

Max stepped away from her, pointing an angry finger in her face. “You’re a fucking psychopath. I’m not fucking marrying you.”

Doe rolled her eyes at Max’s aggravation. “Chill out, you’ll get your cut.”

That got Max’s attention. “My cut?” He could feel his frustration diffusing from a boil to a simmer.

“Of course,” Doe said. “What, you didn’t think I’d leave you high and dry, did you? I’m not a monster, like you.” She teased, sidling her way back into his space, gently caressing his chest. “I told you last night, make me cum and you can have whatever you want. You kept up your end of the bargain and I plan to keep mine. We’ll just get married, get the money, split it, and we can go our separate ways. We’ll be set for life—do whatever we want. Billions with a ‘b,’ remember?”

Doe’s soft touch and devious mind coupled with the thought of money the likes of which Max couldn’t fully comprehend had his cock twitching in his briefs. It was extreme—far beyond anything he’d ever planned—but he couldn’t deny it was genius. He’d striven to not be tied to another person in his game again after working with Madeline for so long, ultimately becoming completely unable to trust her as a partner, but this allowed him a freedom to walk away that he’d never had before so long as Doe kept her word. And even if she didn’t, the marriage would grant him access to the funds whether she liked it or not. He had nothing to lose.

Doe placed a delicate kiss on his neck. “So? What do you say,” she asked, pulling him out of his contemplative trance. “60/40?”

Max smiled widely, cupping either side of Doe’s face and, just like the night before, led her backward into the dimly lit bedroom. “Billions with a fucking ‘b,’” he shouted excitedly and captured her mouth in a heated kiss. Doe would get her money and her morning round two.

[sideeffectsofhavingnolife]

IPKKND S:1 EP-4

I don't know why but I feel strangely exhausted today. Eh! Just one of those days.

Fourth Episode of Iss pyaar ko kya naam doon, here we come

"Maine tumse pehle bhi kaha hai, apni aukaat me raha karo" Sir, what?!

We just started and he's got her beat again. Let my girl vent once. I want her to say some real ugly stuff, he deserves it.

"Kyu... Kya kiya maine? "This bitch! Look at his smug face.

Girl, stop clutching your Kurta and try to snap back at least.

There he goes, Score 4:0

Yeah, sure! Follow him and preach about God. Definitely the next best course of action.

Look at him talking about dard, you're not the only one who has endured pain in life, buddy, it doesn't give you the right to be an asshole or to harass women.

I thought the speech would be about him being a dick the last time they met and possibly a threat of lodging a harassment complaint.

But go off, Khushi, tell him how big and universal God is, whom Arnav doesn't even believe in. Seems like it should work.

Damn! I was just being sarcastic but looks like it actually worked, he looks pissed.

Where are you even scurrying off to? Oh right! She has to apologize to a lot of people.

Fuck! I knew that the fashion show footage would be on the news but I didn't predict that Arnav would do it to take revenge.

Lol, he cares more about a girl who made a lousy speech than his own company's reputation.

I can't say this enough, the sister and the dad are the most sweetest.

Who was the groom, anyway? Are we ever gonna meet him?

Oh, she mentioned the missing pearls.

I feel bad for my girl, sexual harassment is not a joke, it can be so traumatizing.

Yay! The return of 'Laard Governer'.

Did this man just called him 'bhai'

"Bhai, navratre chal rahe hai" same here dude, perfectly matched the timing.

Let's not oversell, Khushi.

You barely made a dent and it still made him mad.

"Chote log aksar aukaat se bada mooh kholte hai" There's no end to this shit.

This guy seems really close to Arnav. Wonder what's their deal?

We are in for a dance sequence, I guess.

Or more like casual fun.

The mother saw, she is gonna be even more upset.

Not the freeze with the broom right in her face.

Mom! Come be a part of this.

Yes, coax her in. I want to spend some good moments with the mother, I feel like she has been sulking from the very start.

That's right! collective Bua slander is what we live for in this house.

"Aap hi ki beti hu na?"

Let's go! Be the wholesome family you all deserve.

I already know the dad's gonna be a part of it. So stop with the tense music.

Aghh this Bua needs to shut the fuck up and get out of the house.

Why is your head aching Bua? Aap ne hi to sabke sar me dard kar rakha hai.

Thanks Dad! Keep your daughter away from this poisonous bitch.

What's with this nosy caterer? I guess we are not done with our toxicity quota of the day yet.

Somebody shoot this motherfucker down, please.

That's your signal, Khushi. Tear this man a new one.

Nice, so that's her thing, she is good with accounting stuff.

The dad is so proud of her as well.

I wish the sister was here too but she is stuck making chai for the Bua at home.

What a weird shooting set! The fake stars, disco balls, and a backdrop that looks like someone upscaled a screenshot of a Google image. Not to mention the bad lighting. Like what exactly are you even shooting for?

Are those the dresses from the Runway? Because they look just as terrible.

He basically called him a kutta and I am not surprised.

But I don't understand why won't he just throw money at his face if he is so rich.

Are padaaa!

He shouldn't have challanged Arnav's childhood trauma.

Don't talk about people's mother disrespectfully in general, though.

Another one!

2 Crores for two slaps. I wish I got a deal like that. I'd be a billionare by now, if only my mother beating me counted.

Back to Bua ji. 🙄

Fuck! she'll discover the footage first. That's not gonna end well.

What the fuck is this news reporter?

No but why are the needless arrows and circles so absurdly accurate, I've seen it in real news channels.

The sister showed up as well.

Nah! There's no way any cameras were taking those close ups.

How did these people even saw this news?

Somebody in the crowd literally said "Dekh dekh, kaise chal rahi hai?" like what?

Of, course, they are standing in front of a television store but also how did they recognise her so fast? Am I the only person in the world who won't be able to tell even the most famous celebrity apart from a crowd. If they were not surrounded by a crew.

Holy shit! The reporter's voice over just scared me.

"Pakke hue aam ki tarah tapak jaati hai" Please! 😂I am guessing they paid the reporter or he has a personal vendetta against her because why would you deliver these statements with such intristic passion if not for money?

Okay, so it reallly picked up at the end. Excited to see what happens next. I mean I am sure this would lead to some sort of inciting incident but at the same time, it would reallly hurt to see Khushi's parents' dissapointed faces.

But let's not act like I didn't wish for more drama.

[queenmayor23]

Love In The Dark (Fire and Rain)

Batman's neighbors, The Drakes, were secluded billionaires. Bruce invited them on vacation in an attempt to merge the companies. A missile hit the plane, leaving Bruce as the sole survivor and Ra's al Ghul's most promising prodigy to take the place of the young Tim Drake. After years of sidekick training, "Tim" picks up a street rat Jason Todd stealing hubcaps off the Robin Cycle and forms a relationship with him.

~Years Ago~

---Gotham City---

There was a knock on the door, steady and hard.

"Coming!" The owner of the shitty upscale apartment yelled, but it wasn't fast enough for the beggar, so there was another knock, this time louder.

"I said, "Coming!" Give me a minute to get to the door." The door was swung open. "What the hell do you-"

A freshly turned eighteen-year-old stands there, his black suit soaked from the pouring rain. "Missed you at the funeral, Dick." He spoke monotonously as if all the color was drained from the world, and there was nothing but grey.

"Tim."

"Doesn't matter. I missed it too. Didn't even see the body. When I got there, he was putting the shovel into the ground to mark the headstone."

The only person he could confide in wasn't there for him, which hurt him deeply.

"Bruce said it would be better for you if we didn't make a big deal about it."

"And you listened? You know how I feel about Jason. You were my only friend for the longest time, and you knew everything. Things Donna and Garth wouldn't fathom to think about me. The three of us were brothers first, no matter Jason's feelings." He was speechless. His mouth was moving, but no words or sounds came out.

"Tim. I'm sorry-" 

"Are you? You've yet to let me in despite the pouring rain and the cold front. You've barely said anything besides your notecards Daddy put together for you. Dick, I went and looked at the cameras. I watched as he dug, dropped Jason's body, covered it, and cried for two hours. He obviously is dealing with it very roughly. So rough that the phone lines are down at the manor, even the emergency line. He sealed off the entrance from the Cave and locked all the gates after I left."

"I'm-"

"STOP SAYING I'M SORRY! Hug me. Ask me if I'm okay. Be Jason's brother. Be MY brother." The young man screamed, surely waking everyone on the floor.

Dick Grayson refused to touch Tim, not only because Bruce told him to, but if he did, he would be no help to his little brother. Dick knew Tim was hurting, but he didn't need the screaming to realize that. Despite his face being covered in rain and his hair drenched, Dick saw the single tear fall out of Tim's eye, and from that, his emotions weren't far behind.

"Fine. Just thought you would be better than him. Guess not. If you need me, fuck off." Tim turned around and headed back onto Gotham's streets.

He landed at the back entrance for the Nest. He inputs his code.

"Invalid entry."

He tries again.

"Invalid entry. Please try again."

He punches the console and makes another attempt.

"Invalid entry."

"Override 01"

"Voice recognition required."

The angry, broken-hearted ex-Robin deepens his voice until it is unrecognizable, nearly a growl, and he speaks. "I'm Batman." The Bat Symbol spins as it loads, and the screen glows green.

"Access granted." The elevator doors open, and he steps in, going to the residential floor.

It was dark. The only light was from the perpetual fireplace in the center of the floor and the illuminated glass placards. Tim walks to the kitchen pulling a glass and the "secret" bottle of whiskey from under the stove. He pours a drink and powers through. Then another. And another. And another. He makes one more drink and saunters back to the living room, and there it is, five sheets of glass, one representing each bird-themed hero. The blue Nightwing, the red "RR", a black spraypainted "R", a blue dove, and a red hawk. It all reminded Tim of what he had lost. Dawn left because she tried to get Hank clean, but he kept sneaking it behind her back. Dawn confronted Dick about the situation. He decided that as long as Hank could adequately do the job, he could stay, so she left. Jason was dead. Hank was probably doing a line of cocaine while shooting himself up with heroin. And it was all because of Dick. If Dick would've helped, they would be one happy bird family. Since he didn't, one was buried on this stormy night, one was knocking on death's door, another was dying a fate worse than death, and the other didn't want anything to do with them.

"Aargh!" The glass went flying across the room. Nightwing's panel was down, and the blue spotlight used to color the glass reflected through the window to the city. Then Tim picked up the bowl of decorative rocks from the coffee table. He and Hank thought they were stupid when they moved in, but Dawn liked them, so Hank changed his tune, and the impressionable Tim did anything to be like the cool kids. Dawn was gone, and so was Dove's panel, the white light untamed. Hank was off his rocker, and his panel soared to the floor in pieces. There was no Robin anymore, so they would have to replace it. Tim just made the contractor's job easier. The shattered glass on the floor was the pride and joy of the Nest just moments ago. When they installed it, Jason wanted to personalize his because he was an outcast. Dick allowed it after explaining why Hank couldn't do his design of a big red penis. On dark nights, you could see the symbols in the night sky. To some, they were symbols of hope. Others, chaos. But if you were looking for that hope tonight, all you would see was some lights and a red "RR" backlit by a gold luminescence.

Tim screamed and cried, breaking the dishware until nothing was left but the one glass and the bottle he had been drinking all night. It was nearing empty, and Tim could barely see straight. That's when he heard the 80s rock coming from down the hall. Tim gulped the rest of the bottle like it was the only thing to keep him going.

He slowly made his way down the hall, tripping and stumbling along the way. His training with Batman prepared him for the most potent Fear Toxin but not the 60-year-old whiskey. He listened to the soft music get louder. Then, Tim drunkenly pushes open the door revealing Hank Hall in a tank top and shorts. He sits on his bed, pulling the rubber band tight with his teeth, getting ready to insert the needle in his arm. 

He looks up to see the new adult bracing himself against the doorframe. He releases the tension on the band and drops the needle on the bed. "What the hell are you doing here, kid?"

"Ju-just taking the edge off. You know, doing the fun part of grieving where you drink until you feel like a fish. What's that you got there? A little heroine? What-whats got you down in the dumps? It can't be Jason because the only person who's allowed to grieve him is me. That memo came from the big bat himself, so don't worry, I got it all handled." Tim walks into the room and picks up the needle. "Don't want to accidentally sit on this, so I'll take it off your hands." Tim walks away, heading out of the room. Hank gets up, chasing Tim down the hall and into the lab seeing all the damage passing the living room and kitchen.

"Give me the needle, kid. You're hurt. I get that. What's in that syringe is something stronger than street drugs." Hank tries to talk Tim down as he ties the rubber band around his bicep.

"I'm not a kid anymore." Tim chuckles. "I don't think I've ever been a "kid". Except when I first met you guys, but what kid goes out in the middle of the night on patrol. I was raised to kill. Something like death shouldn't affect me like this."

"Death gets us all. Nobody can run from it."

"That's where you're wrong, Hanky Panky. See, there's this thing called a Lazarus Pit, and the man who raised me... Not the bat fucker but Ra's al Ghul he- he used it to keep himself youthful. He let me use it a few times. Without it, I- I would have never made it to Gotham. But I'm here. Crying like a little girl because my best friend is in the ground when there is a Lazarus Pit under WAYNE FUCKING MANOR!"

"Wait?" Hank starts to think but is too slow for Tim. 

"That's right! Bruce could've brought Jason back to life if he wanted."

"Does Dick know?"

"Who cares? He's just going to say some bullshit about Bruce not wanting to make a big deal about-"

"Stay here." Hank runs out of the lab, and Tim twirls the syringe in his hand. He strides over to the computer, and Tim places the contents of the syringe into a vial, taking the vial to the scanner. After waiting a few seconds for the scan, the computer analyzes the particles showing the genetic sequence of the serum.

"Mirakuru. Genetically it looks like Bane Venom or that weird formula Mark Desmond created." Tim researches the serum, articles, database archives, and encrypted files flood the screen. "Mirakuru is a super-soldier serum created by the Japanese during World War II that causes enhanced physical abilities once injected. Use of the serum can risk death or warp the person's mind and personality, driving the subject to insanity, aggression, and hostility." He finished reading. "Sounds like a regular day in Gotham."

Tim takes the vial from the scanner and inserts it into a syringe gun. "Let's warp my mind." Tim injects himself with the serum causing him to convulse for a moment before regaining control of his body.

Tim goes to the Bird House, a room designated for their suits, and takes a pistol from Searcher's suit. Then, he calls the elevator and leaves the building.

Hank ran back to his room, looking for his phone. He finds it and dials the last number he called.

"Dammit, Dick, pick up the phone!" After several forwards to voicemail, he calls another number.

"Hello?"

"Thank fucking God you got service on that damn island."

"Hank? Wha- How did you get my number?"

"That doesn't matter right now. You need to ask for the keys to that invisible jet because Tim is off his fucking rocker."

"Hank, Tim is grieving. We all are. He not only lost Jason, but he lost his team too. Light did a number on all of us. So Tim throwing a tantrum or two is understandable."

"Disbanding the Titans, I get. Drinking his problems away, I get. You didn't see how he wrecked the living room and the kitchen. You didn't see how drunk off his ass he is. He's craving drugs. He has drugs. And you know how anti-drugs he is after the Stephanie Brown situation."

"Where would he get something that would actually affect his body? The street stuff isn't going to cut it."

Hank sighs. "He got it from me."

"Are you serious, Hank? You know what, why did I think any higher of you? Of course, you would call someone else to clean up your mess. Dawn was right about you." The phone call ends.

"Shit."

Hank searches his phone for another number to call, and he hears the elevator's ding. He darts to the Bird House and calls the elevator, but it returns vacant. The undone strap of Pat's holster gives him cause for alarm. Tim hated using guns. He called them a coward's weapon, one of the few things he and Jason actually fought over. Jason had a black eye for a month and was pulled from patrol for insubordination, but Tim snuck him out. Hank runs to the lab seeing a used gun on the table and the screen showing his Mirakuru research. Hank calls Zatanna Zatara a last-ditch effort to stop his friend.

"Zee, I know you can't bring anybody from the dead, but if you could, right now would be the time to do it. Tim is out on the streets and about to do some damage. Not including he injected himself with a super drug. I'm going after him, but please, you're the last person I know who can help him."

"You're right. I can't bring back the dead, but I can give him some comfort. Find Tim and get him alone. I have a plan."

In the dark and damp streets of Gotham, the rain had stopped. Tim wandered in his soaking wet clothes picking fights with anyone he deemed worthy of one. He walked the sidewalk in front of an alleyway where a man held a couple at gunpoint. A shot rang out. The two men stood there in fear holding each other close, shielding their eyes from their horrifying death. After realizing they were unharmed, they opened their eyes. They saw their attacker standing still and a bloodstain growing on his shirt. The man dropped to the ground; the couple looked up and saw Tim's silhouette illuminated by the blinking streetlamp, still holding the gun as if he were waiting for a glamor photo.

The burlier of the men tried to focus his sight on his hero, but Tim was gone. Walking further down the street, Tim is run over by a guy in a red hoodie running down the road. "Hey!" Ignoring the call, the guy continues running. In his anger, Tim chases after him. After running for a few minutes, Tim sees the assailant run into an abandoned building. "Got you now fuck face."

Tim holds the gun tight in his hand and slowly enters. "You forgot to say sorry. You fucking lowlife."

Stalking further into the building, Tim comes to a wall and hears music on the other side. He follows the wall to find a door, and after the count of three, he kicks the door in. It was a barroom, and at the sight of the gun-wielding young man, everyone cleared out. The band leaves their instruments in a hurry to escape the possible gunfire. Tim scans the room looking for the guy he ran down, but he's gone.

"Am I at the seeing things stage?" 

Tim walks behind the bar fixing himself another drink. 

"If you get to drink, then I want a beer."

Tim lets the words enter one ear and exit the other. "I am definitely hearing things." He pours the whiskey into a glass and fixes himself a bowl of fruit from the fridge under the bar top. A song begins to play on the drums. It was Jason's favorite song from Hank's playlist, a point of contention between the two during parties at The Nest. But this one song was the musical opinion they agreed on.

"Got it bad, got it bad, got it bad. I'm hot for teacher. I've got it bad, so bad. I'm hot for teacher."

It was his voice. It was THE voice. It was Jason's voice. Tim turned around and looked at the poorly lit stage, the lights obscuring the face attached to the drummer's body.

"No. It can't be. Bruce refused to put you in the pit. Zee can't bring back the dead, and Zatara has been missing, so I will ask you this once. Who are you?"

"It's me-"

"Bullshit!" Tim screamed, squeezing the glass so tight it cracked, spilling into his palm. He put the glass down on the bar top, wiping the wasted alcohol on his pants, which were still uncomfortably wet. It was like he took the polar plunge challenge fully clothed and never dried off.

"It's me whether you believe me or not. I'm here to give you closure." The drummer stands.

"Give me the wrong answer, and I'll shoot. How did you die?"

After a few breaths, the voice, who may or may not be Jason, responded. "Joker's girlfriend kidnaped me, and about an hour later, Joker took a crowbar to my face and blew up the building on top of me." There was a slight beat before the gun clip was unloaded on the stage. The drummer jumped down in the nick of time, dodging bullets aimed at him, although sloppily.

"Jace never called Harley the Joker's girlfriend. He either called her Harley or the Queen of Arkham." The guy took a couple steps towards Tim, and now in the light, Tim could see his face. The face that matched the voice. Jason slowly moved toward Tim, the gun aimed at his heart.

"You don't want to do that, Red. Put the gun down. You hate feeling it in your hand. You-"

"Take another step, and I'll shoot!" Tim was so distracted he didn't hear the round of police sirens going off outside. 

"Red, calm down. You don't even know if I'm even real. Look at yourself. If I were alive, I would be so pissed. You made a promise to me. Do you remember what it was?"

"I promised to not let you become something you're not. You're not your parents-"

"So, do you think this stunt your pulling is honoring that promise?"

"That was for you, not me."

"And you held me accountable. For everything. Cleaning the bikes, making sure the oil was changed on the BatMobile, and polishing boots, even Dick's from his Robin days. I had protocols in the BatHandbook memorized more than Alfred, and on top of that, I was training, doing chores, out on patrol with Bats, and going to school."

"You think I wasn't doing my fair share of tasks?"

"I know you did. That's why I admire you so much. I never loved you." 

Tim's face didn't show it, but he was stabbed in the heart. Was it true? Did Jason never love him? What about at the stadium? That was more of an order. Had Tim been fooling himself all this time? Reaching for something that he would never have. Was love an unachievable goal for an assassin like him? All of these questions and thoughts ran through his head. Suddenly a boom made him flinch as three thugs came into the building, entering the barroom.

"Put the gun down, kid. I don't wanna hurt ya."

The men entered the room. Muscular tough guys, with physiques rivaling Bruce and Hank.

"Are they real?" Jason said out loud, but who he said it to could be brought into question.

In his reckless mind-fogged state, Tim aimed the gun at the mobsters and pulled the trigger. When nothing came out, he grabbed a barstool and swung it against one guy's face breaking it into pieces. Then, Tim took two of the legs and used them as batons. It was a scary and bloody scene. When Tim was done, they weren't breathing.

Outside, more police sirens approach the building. An unmarked vehicle came to a halt. An older man steps out, walking with a cane. Hank turns around, sees the man, and instantly fends him off. 

"Commissioner, I know what this looks like, but we-"

"Hall, I have reports of shots fired and a trail of people severely beaten within an inch of their life. Whoever is in there has to pay."

Hank sighs. "How we looking, Zee?" 

Zatanna stands facing the door, eyes as bright as the moon and her gloves glowing to match. "Stable on my end."

"Oracle?"

"It's bad, Hank. The cops need medical attention. If it weren't for Zatanna's spell, they would've been dead. You have to keep my dad from going in there." Oracle speaks from Hank's earpiece.

"Commissioner, I need you to hold your men back. We almost have him ready to come out."

"Who's in there? Two-Face? Mad Hatter? Zsasz?"

"I can't tell you at the moment."

"Why?"

"You're not going to like who it is, and I'm not letting your daughter blame me for your blood pressure being higher than Wayne Tower."

"For God's sake Hall, I have people in there, and if they don't come out, I go in."

"I am begging you for ten more minutes. We have everything under control."

Commissioner Gordon sighs, knowing the stakes of keeping his officers in the building. "You have ten. One second more, and I'm pulling the plug."

Back inside, Tim sits the bodies on the wall, having them lean on each other for support, and throws the empty gun on top of them. He turns to Jason. "Now, where were we?"

"The highlights were me saying I never loved you, you threatening me, and questioning whether any of this was real. You're hopped up on Mirakuru and drunk out of your mind. Ooo, what if it's a spell?" Jason says with a slight grin on his face.

"Bringing Jason back is out of Zee's wheelhouse. And there's no one else who can do that."

"She is becoming a master of illusion. She should take that act on the road, like her father. Well, that didn't end too well for him. Hopefully, she can do better. Now that I think about it, Zee never did find Giovanni? She probably would have if she had her team behind her. With all of those Bat resources at your disposal-"

"Bruce looked for him. We all did. It was like he vanished into thin air, but with magic involved, he could be anywhere."

"The tech genius believing in magic isn't that funny. No, what would really be funny is if this was all a dream."

Hearing this, Tim was taken aback. Could this be a dream? When did it start? Was it after the building? Was it when he watched Bruce bury the body? Is he laid out on the floor in the lab with a needle in his arm from the Mirakuru?

"If this is a dream, there's only one way to wake up." Tim takes another wooden stool, smashes it like the first time, and picks up the leg with the sharpest end. He swings it around in his hand for a moment. Tim grips it tightly and proceeds to impale his chest. After a loud response to the pain, he twists the wood beam deeper when another voice enters the room. 

"Stop."

Tim looked to the door to see the woman he called his sister dressed in black and red leathery armor. 

"Nyssa?"

"Father has requested that you return immediately. Your time in Gotham has expired, and you shall resume your duties with him, Al Layl."

Al Layl was a name that became foreign to Tim, but that's how he knew everything had happened. That the pain he experienced was not something he conjured as a punishment. He looked about the room and saw the bodies he piled together. 

"Nyssa, I did-"

"There is no time for apologies. You are an assassin again. Act like it." Nyssa pulls the wood from Al Layl's chest and patches it up for travel. 

"Are we done here?"

Nyssa's eyes pivot to Jason. "Yes, we-" A crowd of gangsters floods the room aiming weapons at Al Layl.

"Hands where we can see them."

"Don't shoot! Don't shoot!" Hank runs in after them. "Zee, drop the spell." Then, in a blinding light, the barroom returned to an empty warehouse. The gangsters turned into GCPD cops wearing SWAT gear, including the ones in the corner. Al Layl saw everything for what it was, but one thing stayed the same, Jason was still there looking confused.

"It's okay. You can take it off now!" Hank yelled across the empty space. 

Jason scratched at his neck, peeling off his skin to reveal himself. "Nice to meet you, Timothy."

"Christopher Chance, the Human Target." 

"In my flesh."

"All this-"

Hank interrupts Al Layl, talking straight to Nyssa. "He needs to get out of here now, or Gordon will arrest him. Jet's waiting on the roof."

Hank, Chris, and the police officers walk out of the building. "Where is he?"

"I told you, Commissioner. We had everything under control." From the corner of Hank's eye, he sees Chris and Zatanna meet Dick Grayson behind one of the tactical trucks. Dick makes eye contact with Hank, and Hank somberly and inaudibly mouths, "Thank you," Dick nods, leaving the crime scene with Zee and Chris following.

"Under control? Explain "under control" to the families that I have to tell that their son or daughter won't come home because they're dead!"

"Whelm yourself, Gordon.."

"You know what? I'm done. Done with you, with Batman and his Robins, the Tit-" Gordon grabs his chest dropping his cane, and his breathing falls short. 

"Commissioner?" Hank notices the sweat covering his face and hands. Gordon begins to fall, but Hank moves closer, catching him. "Medic! I need a medic over here!" Hank yells as the paramedics ride away the officers that Al Layl piled up.

"Gordon. Gordon? Say something, Jim." Jim doesn't move. He takes a breath, but when his chest falls, it never rises again.

"Hank, what's going on? Hank, talk to me." Hank heard in his ear, forgetting Oracle was on the other side.

"The Commissioner is down. He's dead, Barbara."

[calypso-finale]

Hundred Seven. Part 2

My mother is so sneaky, like she does things without me knowing at all. Like she didn’t even say she is having Oakley for Fenty skin too, like she is flying high. News has just broke out about the multi-million deal Oakley has done with my mother and it’s really taking flight with the news outlets because how a urban clothing line is collaborating with a upscale luxury like Fenty. It sounds crazy but it’s one for the streets, my mother is not stupid. She knew this would make the biggest noise for herself and Oakley, she is funny “she is fucking crazy” locking my phone “your mother has just created the biggest hype among the streets and upper, like I just know the luxury brands aren’t liking it because think about it, they want to remains out of reach but now she is doing this move? It’s nice to see that really, like why does every day, pay check to pay check person have to pay over the odds for clothing for their child, you know how these kids are. Clever fucking move” Mika pointed “but your photoshoot today, you was serving ass” I chuckled “why did you side eye me to put lotion on my ass?” he shrugged “no I am sorry, it just didn’t click at first. I get it” nodding my head slowly, I didn’t want the guy to do it, I rather Mika did, and he pulled a face “I apologise, it wasn’t at you. Like I know, sorry. They was being so demanding, so I ended up looking moody, but they got it out of you” nodding my head “like I don’t mind a guy doing my face but like anything lower, no. Fuck that” Mika poked his bottom lip out “sorry, I am genuine with that, I got you girl. So you didn’t finish off the fucking story though, so Taylan is a dickhead?” rolling my eyes “he is, but like my dad is doing we are just riding the wave. Look I don’t want it to be me, it’s always like Rylee has issues and it’s always her fault so I am sitting back. I don’t have to interact with him do I?” Mika pulled a face “but he is entering your family, he is disrespecting you. Nothing you have done in life is wrong. You had a baby young, so what. Things are taking time, so what. Look at you girl, you’re booked and busy too, you’re beautiful and any guy don’t deserve you really” I cooed out “like I am mad he disrespected you, but you don’t want to say” Mika said “please do not speak on it, leave it. I am not upset about it; it just shocked me that was it” I rather not speak a word on it.

Getting out of the car, Aziel is on facetime with me “show me then, let me see what Ruby got you” he wants to show me his sleep wear Oakley mom got him “look mommy” he ran into the camera view “awww oh wow Aziel, did you say thank you” he nodded his head “yes, look. Car” he loves cars now, everything is cars “you going to show mom what you got also?” Racheal said “yes, get it please” I miss my baby, walking into the house “he also got this hot wheels car” she showed me this truck “that is really big, you are getting spoilt aren’t you” he nodded his head “McDonald’s” I chuckled “yes we had McDonald’s for tea too didn’t we, so we had a busy day today. Please and thank you day, but he has been good, he has been showing the girls his arm” I laughed out “really?” that is funny “yes, we was at the cashier checkout and the lady said what is your name, he goes Aziel and he proudly said about his arm and the lady gave you a sticker for being a good boy, so he has been getting some freebies haven’t you, then you went food shopping. Lots of shopping today, we chose what we are having for tea tomorrow yes?” Racheal is so British white, calling dinner tea “yes” Aziel nodded “what are we having? Tell mom” he seems to be very happy “pasta!” he spat “oh again, you love pasta. And is dad going to sort your hair out too tomorrow yeah” he better “yes Oakley said he will be over to take him, but we are having fun and now he is ready for bed. Are you ok over there?” she asked, my sisters are awake still good “long day for me, this is why I only got the chance now to speak to him but sorry, I wasn’t ignoring you Aziel” looks like Aziel is sleeping in his dad old room, I know that room very clearly “it’s fine, shall we go bed now Aziel” she asked him “be good now, look who is here. Your aunties” turning the phone “Aziel!” Ti shouted “TT baby” Aziel yelped out “look at superman with his arm” Imani laughed “miss you” my son deserves all this love he is getting, like I am at peace to know he is.

I didn’t expect my sisters to be awake, it is really late here when we got back from the shoot “he staying with the white side?” Imani asked “oh yeah, very formal aren’t they. He is happy, he is getting spoilt. He went out with them, why am I denying them that. She apologised to me, Oakley bought her over and she did say sorry so yeah, we move on I suppose, he is so happy, so I am not upset about” Ti cooed out “he did look very happy, I saw a video of him. Hamlet toy store put it up, I was like who these white people, it made it onto the UK gossip site and said rapper son but the way he was explaining his arm and how it broke, my heart. I want one” I laughed out “that is what Rachael was on about, I don’t really like those sites posting him though, I wish like his face wasn’t shown. Like his privacy just out of the window” I said “I am sure he will be ok, his white family will tame him, they old as shit” I chuckled “they are so white, like oh we had tea in McDonalds. Tea? Like just say you had dinner there” I laughed “oh that white side is unseasoned” I chuckled “least Aziel took more of me in him, if I ever. I mean ever, ever have one more with him, imagine it just a white baby” I cringed “but the thought of having another makes me gag, oh forget me. Ti told me that Rueben is here?” Imani hid her face “she is panicking now; I am like you stupid girl. Have a fucking date with him, he is practically asking you to go out” Imani is so stubborn “Imani, fucking go. I am so serious; you both have been speaking for months too!” I spat.

Looking at my phone, just to check Oakley is listening. He is driving to somewhere; I am just doing my makeup and he called “alright” he just said “alright?” I said back, he looked at his phone and laughed “no it’s not alright, he holds deep hate for you but that is a bitch move, it clearly upset you but be the better person. He will hate being ignored, clearly he is just being a prick. You’re better than that, what he said sounds jealous because Ti didn’t get that lifestyle. Maybe he is trying to pin you both against each other, don’t bite. I heard it, don’t worry. I was letting you vent” letting out an oh “well thank you for listening” I said “always, the real reason I called was Colin got stabbed” I gasped “stop it? really” he nodded his head “I told him not too, Wyge got cut but they both was getting at each other, and I just found out he in hospital, I told him not too. Fuck it, it’s only Halle” he shrugged “how rude, that is my beautiful friend. You not stabbing anyone for me?” he looked over at the phone and side eyed me “not worth it” I chuckled “ass, wow. That is horrible, people are so rude nowadays. Just annoying” I scoffed “don’t let it stress you though, the whole Taylan thing, you better than that. If that is her happiness let her be, you won’t see him really” he has a point “you miss me or something, not like you to call and then facetime me?” I love watching him drive really “erm nah, I just got bored in traffic” he is such a liar “whatever, you better fix Aziel hair” he scoffed “that is where I am driving too right now, London is shit for traffic man” he gets so mad that is so sexy when he is mad at London traffic “thank you for listening to me though” he is laughing “you know me, I just like to listen rather then talk. I feel like talking takes energy and I need to conserve that but, thank you for entertaining me and yeah, I am off now. I am outside my mother home, have a good time whatever you’re up too” smiling at him “thank you, bye. Disconnect the facetime please” watching him disconnect the call for me, that was so sweet of him, to listen to me like that too.

Walking outside with my fruit bowl “did Imani go?” I asked Mika and Ti “she did, woo!” now that is good news, that girl can be so stubborn “I hope it goes well for her. She needs a man, a good one too. My little virgin Mary” sitting down on the lounger “have you both thought of where you want to get married?” I asked “I know it’s early days but any ideas, I need to get my figure in gear too” I pointed “he wants it in his hometown. New Zealand” letting out an oh “that is a little boring don’t you think? I mean why there, who ever thinks of getting married there, maybe tell him no” Mika said “but where do you want to get married? What do you want?” I asked “erm, I don’t mind it. I mean it makes it better for him because he said that his family can’t afford to come out to the wedding you know? It is better though; imagine he has to pay out for them” rolling my eyes “what?” Ti laughed “nothing just make sure you make your dreams come true too, this is your dream wedding. Not his” I just know this wedding will be about him, it will be his day and what he wants “what is happening about you though Rylee, how is you and Oakley? Heard you both talking, you was both laughing loudly” my eyes bulged out “what did you hear!?” I spat “nothing, I just could hear his voice though” I am so glad she heard nothing “well we are friends, and we are putting being parents first and then friendship. He is like one of my best friends out of this. I can openly say that, I am just glad we can be that. But that is it” Mika cooed out “I don’t know how you can be friends with him, he is just awkward” here he goes “yeah well you should cuss him out, he posted a screenshot of you doing your foundation while on facetime” I gasped “and he literally put women” he is such an ass “whatever” I will get him for that “ I do wish mom and dad cared about Taylan the way they do Oakley, it does annoy me to see and he feels it but like the Fenty deal, Oakley is being made to get millions while Taylan struggled? Like he was mentioning it, but I said what do you want me to say” makes sense why he is so bitter.

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

Adam sighed in relief, if he could he would punch Michael in the fucking face and tell him to pound sand. Making him choose between work and his fucking kid, Adam hoped he got into a car accident on the way home.

When he did close up shop he checked the text and had to double check. It was the upscale part of town, which made sense since Lucifer was loaded but it still surprised him at times.

When Adam pulled up to the house, his eyes nearly bugged out of his head. It was huge!

Walking up to the door, Adam rung the bell. He half expected a butler to answer it. But he heard a muffled "coming!" And it was Lucifer's voice.

Lucifer: Hey! Come on in

Adam: Thank you so much for picking him up for me, my boss is a dick and wouldn't let me leave to get him.

Lucifer shook his head: Yeah he does sound like a dick. Abel's in Charlie's room with her playing, they already had dinner.

Adam: Dinner?

He looked down at his phone and it was nearly 8 o'clock!

Adam: Shit.

Lucifer: If it's too late he could stay the night, it's almost Charlie's bedtime too. And, if you wanted you could stay too, I have more than enough guest rooms.

Adam: Are you sure? I hate that I even had to ask.

Lucifer: Of course! And I don't mind, if he ever pulls shit like this again I can bring Abel here so they can play.

Adam really lucked out that he was also a really nice guy.

Adam: Thank you.

Lucifer smiled: You're welcome, you must be hungry there's still some dinner left.

He guided Adam to the dinning room slash kitchen, the house was a beautiful open concept. Lucifer served him up grilled chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy with vegetables. Everything was well seasoned.

Adam: This is delicious.

Lucifer: Thanks, I cooked it myself.

Adam: Did you find a new maid yet?

Lucifer sighed: No, I think people are intimidated by how big the house is.

Adam ate some food, fuck this was good: Why is it so big?

Lucifer: Well, I have a huge family and sometimes they all come to visit and..... Truth be told I thought I'd end up having more kids than just Charlie.

He sipped his wine.

Lucifer: You wouldn't know anyone who is interested in cleaning, making $80 an hour, with benefits do you?

Adam nearly choked on his food, HOLY SHIT!!

Lucifer: Are you okay?

Adam: What if I did it?

Lucifer blinked: Are you sure?

Anything to get him away from Michael.

Adam: Yes. You have done a lot for me and I won't lie I really need the money and that place pays me peanuts.

Lucifer: Okay, well how about in the morning I give you a list of things that need to be done so you can go over them with the contract?

Adam: Sounds good to me.

Okay! So, idk if you're familiar with any works I posted to AO3, but I have a coffee shop au called Freshly Brewed and I've been thinking about it lately..

I'd love a fluffy Rp of it 😩

I've seen a few things of yours but not that!

But, there's one thing to know about me, I love coffee shop aus!

I'm ready for some fluff if you are 👀

[lesgetittkookie]

redamancy - jjk (part I)

⤖ genre: fluff, future smut, angst, gardener!jeongguk x rich!reader, okay but jeongguk isn't really a gardener like that but you'll see, kinda slow burn but not really, strangers to lovers

⤖ pairing: jeongguk x female reader

⤖ rating: 18+

⤖word count: approx. 5.1 k words

⤖ warnings: as of right now, none

⤖ part ii

summary: jeongguk is just a normal dude with a simple routine. wake up, go to the gym, work his job as a waiter at this posh upscale restaurant in the heart of gangnam before coming home to a night full of video games and ramen (it's delicious and cheap). that routine gets disrupted when he accidentally taps the back of an expensive sports car of one of the richest men in south korea. considering he's broke, he couldn't afford to pay for the damages so the man makes a deal with him by offering him to work at his house as one of the gardeners. jeongguk takes it but wasn't prepared to meet this beautiful young woman who's constantly lounging by the pool, you, the rich man's daughter.

redamancy (n.) the act of loving the one who loves you; a love returned in full

Sweaty, dirty, thirsty, hungry, and exhausted. Those are all of the things that Jeongguk is feeling at the moment. With his sore legs dragging him across the vibrant green lawn where the sprinkles are going off, he pushes the wheelbarrow full of all the gardening tools that he has to put back into the damn shed.

The harsh rays of the sun are glaring down at him, his white t-shirt drenched with sweat, clinging to his chest like a second skin. He's breathing heavily, tired from picking up bags of soil all morning. The other gardener, Juno, was too weak to pick up the bags which led to Jeongguk doing them because how bad can it be.

It was bad.

Especially when you have a lawn that is about the size of a damn soccer field.

Okay, maybe not that big, Jeongguk is just exaggerating.

He's just really tired and hungry. He has leftover spicy rice cakes and a beautiful PlayStation 4 waiting for him at home. He wants to jump on with his friends and play for the rest of the night. But no, it just had to wait. Because Jeongguk took up the offer of doing this damn gardening job so he can pay off this debt he owes to the man who owns that mansion he's working at right now.

If you're wondering how he owes this debt, Jeongguk will explain.

FLASHBACK 

It all started when Jeongguk woke up one late afternoon completely sleeping through all of his alarms for work. To make it worse, he wasn't even in his bed. He was lying next to this naked chick, unaware of what her name was but all he remembered was that he met her at one of his hyung's parties where he was drunk out of his mind. One thing led to another and eventually, Jeongguk ended up at her place where they had sex all night long.

He had to rush out of the door, completely ignoring the girl's call of his name. He had no time for breakfast or getting to know her. She was a screamer, that's for sure. He thinks he can still feel his ears ringing. 

He ran a few blocks down to his apartment building where he was rushing to get his uniform before hopping into his shitty truck that took a few turns to start. As he drove down towards the restaurant he works out, he ended up misjudging the car in front of him, he rammed the front of his car into the back of a matte black Aston Martin DB9.

Banging his head against his steering wheel while muttering fuck fuck fuck repeatedly, he had to begrudgingly get out of his car and prepared to face the wrath of an angry rich person. At least that's what he thought.

Instead, the man calmly approached his car, sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose, dressed in a gray suit that must've been worth more than Jeongguk's life. Jeongguk immediately bowed, apologizing profusely.

"Sir, I am so sorry," He hates apologizing, "I thought you were going to stop and I braked too late. I can pay for the damages.” No, he can’t. 

The man looks at him with a raised brow, giving his car a once over before glancing at Jeongguk as if asking ‘can you really?’ 

“Okay so maybe I can’t,” Jeongguk admits, scratching the nape of his neck while avoiding the other man’s judgemental eyes. “Look, I’m poor. Like when I say poor, I mean I’ve been living off of ramen and pizza rolls these past few weeks.” 

The man looks like he’s holding back a laugh, lips turned up at the corners. He takes a look down at his watch, again, probably worth more than Jeongguk. He clicks his tongue, foot tapping against the ground. He was definitely in a hurry. Maybe he’ll let Jeongguk off the…

“Do you have any gardening experience?” 

Nevermind. He was not off the hook. 

Gardening experience? He can’t remember the last time he’s kept a plant alive. One time his Hyung, Namjoon, asked him if he could water his plants for him while he was away to see his family in Ilsan for a few days. Long story short, Jeongguk completely forgot and got a call from a very upset Hyung because his plants were all shriveled up and dying. 

So no, Jeongguk does not have any gardening experience. 

Jeongguk looks at him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Um… not really.” 

The man lets out another sigh, shaking his head. “Look, I don’t have time but you can pay me back by working for me for a few days. Our lawn and backyard are being renovated and I’m sure you can help out. But here,” He pulls out what looks like a business card and hands it to Jeongguk, “Call this number and tell them Mr. Kim told you to call them about the job.” 

What the fuck. Why why why. 

He should’ve never drank that damn peach soju at the party the previous night. 

Jeongguk looks down at the card in his hand, taking in the name and number. He squints at the name of the man, curious as to why it looks so familiar. He looks back up at the man who’s looking at him expectantly. Jeongguk lets out a sigh, nodding because what other choice does he have? Maybe the man will forget all about it if he just never calls the– 

“Can you give me your name and contact information? I already have your license plate down.” 

Nevermind. 

Jeongguk is ready to jump in front of the damn bus. 

“Uh yeah yeah,” He answers, telling the man his name and phone number. “I’ll uh, call them as soon as I get off work.” 

Wait. Work! He’s so fucked. 

“Okay Jeongguk, make sure you call otherwise… you’re gonna have to face the consequences,” The man warns in a stern tone, and Jeongguk nods. 

“Yes sir, I understand,” He does not understand why life is so cruel to him. 

“Good, take care,” And with that, the man goes back into his car and drives off. 

Where’s that damn bus? He’s ready to end it once and for all. 

FLASHBACK ENDS 

And this is how Jeongguk ended up here. Soaked in sweat, wearing this ugly green jumpsuit he’s required to wear. The material of the suit was so thick, that Jeongguk couldn’t bear it in the heat anymore which led him to unbutton the upper half and tie the sleeves around his waist. He sure got some nasty and judging looks from the other workers for showing off the ink that is covering both of his arms. 

“Jeongguk! Jeongguk!” A slightly high-pitched voice calls out, causing him to stop in his tracks and let out a sigh, eyes shut because he can’t catch a break from anyone. He doesn’t turn around, letting the person walk up to him. 

“Hey man, what’s up?” Jeongguk asks Dohyun, one of the other gardeners. He was the one who showed Jeongguk around when he first showed up at the house and gave him a small tour of the places and rooms they were allowed to be in which wasn’t very much. They were outside most of the time, only being able to access a part of the house for bathroom breaks and lunch. 

Dohyun was a sweet guy. Bubbly, talkative, and socializing. All of the things Jeongguk isn’t. When he first met Dohyun, he was just about ready to quit, tired of hearing about the recent anime the kid has been watching. He made the mistake of telling him that he’s watched Attack on Titans – it was a very big mistake – because, for the rest of the shift, he just couldn’t shut up. He’d be telling Jeongguk about his theories which quite frankly, Jeongguk did not ask for but he just nodded and hummed to pretend like he was listening. That’s what he does most of the time now whenever Dohyun starts up a conversation with him. 

He’s about 2 years younger than Jeongguk. He’s always wearing these thick glasses frames along with an anime shirt beneath his jumpsuit. His hair is long and always in his mouth when he’s speaking which makes Jeongguk wonder if he’s ever going to get a damn haircut. 

“How’s it going?” Dohyun asks with a bright smile. 

“Oh you know,” Jeongguk waves his hand over to the wheelbarrow full of tools. “Just packing stuff up for the day.” 

“Nice nice,” Dohyun nods, “I just wanted to know if you wanted to grab some lunch after we finish working?” 

Hell to the no. Never. Not in a million years. 

Sue him but if he goes to lunch with this guy, he might end up duct-taping his mouth shut. 

Jeongguk tries to come up with an excuse, the first thing that comes to mind is, “Oh uh sorry I can’t. I’m uh…” Come on, think. “I’m uh cat sitting for a friend of mine.” None of his friends have cats. 

“Oh,” Dohyun responds, “I love cats! They’re so cute and cuddly. Except for this one time where…” And this is where Jeongguk blanks out, nodding to whatever the guy is saying. He just wants to put these damn tools in the shed and leave. 

“Hey listen, that sounds great,” He has no idea what Dohyun was telling him when he interrupts his story, “But I’m kind of in a rush. Do you mind if we talk about this tomorrow?” 

“Oh sure, no problem Hyung,” Dohyun gives Jeongguk an understanding smile, “Here, you want me to take this for you?” He grabs the handle before Jeongguk can even respond, attempting to push the barrow with all his mighty strength. To no avail, it does not move. 

The dude is built like a twig. Jeongguk did not expect it to go anywhere.

“Hey don’t worry about it, I’ll take it there,” Jeongguk reassures him, lightly pushing him aside to he can grab the handles and start moving the barrow again. 

“Okay I’ll help you put the tools back then,” He begins walking beside him and Jeongguk drops his head, letting out an exasperated sigh. God help me. Please. 

They walk around the little pathway of the house, Dohyun chatting the whole way while Jeongguk just nods, pretending to be interested in the conversation. As they reach the shed, Jeongguk pushes the door open and begins taking out the tools. Just as he was about to hang the giant plant snips, he’s startled and drops it on his damn foot when he hears Dohyun let out a loud gasp. 

Jeongguk curses, leaning his hand against the wood wall of the shed, taking a deep breath to calm himself down because he was just about ready to cuss Dohyun out. He turns his head to look over at Dohyun, mouth open when he stops, following the other boy’s line of vision and attention which was on something a couple of feet away. 

He closes his mouth, biting down on his pierced lip when he notices a woman walking towards the sun lounger by the large rectangular pool. She’s dressed in a simple bathing suit, simple but extremely sexy if you ask him. It’s a two-piece white bikini, clinging to the woman’s figure in such a way that it makes Jeongguk’s dick twitch in his pants. Her ass is perky and moves with every step she takes to the sun lounge. 

He looks over at Dohyun who’s completely enamored by the woman, jaw slightly agape as he watches her like a child in an ice cream shop. The woman sits down on the sunbed, placing a book on the table beside it before she pulls her feet up and lies back. 

She’s attractive. Her cleavage lightly spills out of the bandeau bikini top but it doesn’t seem intentional. Her wavy hair is hanging over her shoulders and she’s got cat-like sunglasses perched onto her nose. Her legs look smooth as silk, soaking in the rays of the beaming sun. She’s got a cute face too. 

Jeongguk wonders who she is. 

The moment is broken when he feels his foot throbbing, reminding him that he wants to give Dohyun a piece of his mind for making him drop the plant snips on his foot. Before he can say anything, Dohyun calls out to the woman, walking towards her. Or more like skip towards her. 

“Hey Y/N!” He says excitedly, making Jeongguk slightly cringe at the sound. He contemplates whether or not he should take the chance to put the tools away because knowing Dohyun, something is bound to end up broken. 

However, he is curious about who this girl is. She’s someone he’d flirt with if he saw her outside of this house. 

Could it be Mr. Kim’s wife? Don’t rich dudes always have young wives who end up marrying them for money? He doesn’t know. This is his first time seeing you around the house. He shrugs, continuing to put the rest of the garden tools away but not without taking small glances at your face, a polite smile displayed towards Dohyun. 

She’s got a pretty smile, Jeongguk thinks. 

+ 

You let out a bored sigh, walking down the spiral staircase in your bathing suit, planning to chill by the pool for the afternoon. You still felt groggy even after sleeping in for almost 11 hours straight, exhausted from your 14-hour flight from the United States. You landed yesterday evening, and your family chauffeur picking up from the airport much to your disappointment. As much as you loved Mr. Kang, the sweet old man who’s been driving you around since you were a little girl, you were hoping that at least one of your parents would come with him to pick you up. 

You should stop expecting things like that. 

Your father, Kim Daejung, is one of South Korea’s most well-known movie directors. He’s had several hit movies, some even Oscar award-winning. He’s always traveling back and forth between Korea and the U.S., busy filming or writing his next script. Though you lived in the U.S. for almost four years, graduating with a degree in biology, he hardly visited you whenever he was there. Meanwhile, your mother, Kim Seoyeon, was a world-renowned fashion designer. She was too busy running her luxury clothing brand. 

Your relationship with your parents isn’t particularly bad. You get along with them well. It’s just that they don’t spend enough time with you, too busy caught up in their work. 

You have a younger brother, Suho, who’s currently in the U.K. attending a boarding school. Your parents thought it was best to send the both of you abroad as a way of becoming “independent” is how they like to put it. You know it’s more than just independence, they just didn’t want to be distracted from their jobs and they knew they couldn’t give you any time. 

One of the maids gives you a respectful bow which you return with a smile, hugging the romance novel in your hand to your chest. You were a sucker for romance. Your best friend, Joy, constantly teases you for being such a hopeless romantic. 

You’ve never been in an actual relationship before. You were too picky and none of the guys you’ve met have stood out to you. Sure, your mom has sent you on blind dates while you were studying abroad and she’d inform you that they were the sons of a well-known couple blah blah. All of the men you met on these blind dates were either stuck up or too self-absorbed, looking down upon other people which you couldn’t stand. 

You were craving a type of love and relationship where the other person will pay attention to you. They’d shower you with affection and not just materialistic gifts. You were tired of those things. You just wanted them to listen to you and appreciate you. Love you for who you are and not your family name. You want their eyes to light up whenever they see you. Just someone that would treat you with respect and kindness. One day you hope to find that person. 

But for now, you’ll just be sticking to the cheesy romance novels and the fake scenarios you have every night before bed. 

Sliding open the glass door that leads to the backyard, you head towards the sun lounger by the pool. You take a deep breath, attempting to relax when you lie across the bed. Soaking in the warmth of the sun, you open the book and begin reading. 

You barely got through three sentences because someone shouts your name, causing you to slightly flinch and drop your book. You look up to see who it is, eyes widening when you recognize it as Dohyun, one of the gardeners. You’ve known him since you guys were kids, seeing him come to your house with his grandpa whenever they’d work on the garden in the summer. 

You wouldn’t say you guys are friends. Whenever you’d see him, you’d just give a polite smile and hi as a way of being nice. You didn’t want to ignore him whenever he’d greet you excitedly. 

Your lips pull up into a smile, pretending to gasp in shock, “Dohyun, is that you?”

Dohyun nods vigorously, fiddling with his fingers as if he’s nervous. He would look at you and then look away shyly. 

“How’ve you been, Y/N?” He asks you with that familiar bright smile he’d always flash you even as kids. He hasn’t changed a bit. Looks wise either. 

“I’ve been well,” You respond, “I just got back yesterday evening.” You close your book to give him your full attention, not wanting to be rude. 

“Ahhh how was America?” He asks with eagerness. 

You shrug, not having much to say about it. “Eh, it was good. Just got my useless degree and came right back,” You chuckle and you see him shake his head. 

“Biology is not useless. I’m sure you’re so smart now,” He says before his eyes widen and he looks at you nervously, “I-I m-mean not that you were n-never smart, I just mean like um,” He stutters, trying to find his words, “Just that you’re probably so much smarter you were before.” He winces, shaking his head at himself. 

You give him another small smile, trying to hold back a laugh, “Don’t worry, I know what you mean.” You tell him and his shoulders relax, letting out a sigh of relief. 

“Oh thank God,” He puts a hand over his chest, “I didn’t want you to think I was calling you dumb or something.” 

“No worries, I didn’t think that,” you reassure him and he nods. 

It becomes silent, awkward even because neither of you knows what to say. You purse your lips, staring at the pool whereas Dohyun is just standing there like an anxious mess, trying to figure out how to continue the conversation. 

“So I was thinking that we could–” Dohyun begins but is interrupted by another male calling for him. 

The voice is smooth and a little husky yet it’s soft. You both turn your heads towards the source of the voice, your breath hitching in your throat at the sight you see before you. It's a tall man wearing the same green jumpsuit as Dohyun except the top half is tied around his waist, revealing a white t-shirt that’s clinging to the man’s chest and showing off his toned chest. Both arms are covered in ink of various designs and you can see them start from his shoulder down to his veiny hands. His face is one that you’ve never seen before. He’s extremely handsome. He has brown doe eyes and a slightly big nose that suits his face. His jawline is as sharp as a razor and his bottom lip is slightly bigger than the upper lip. There are several piercings on each of his ears along with a barbell running through his right eyebrow and a hoop on his bottom lip. His hair is dark and unruly as if he’s run his hand through it multiple times. 

God, he’s fucking hot. 

You give his body a once over, taking in his small waist and strong thighs, making you gulp. Your eyes trail over his chest and his neck before looking up at his face only to make eye contact. You see the corner of his lip turn up into a knowing smirk causing you to look away with a flush to your cheeks and down into your lap. 

“Dohyun,” The man says, “I finished putting the tools away so I’m about to head home.” He informs, making your stomach drop. 

He’s already leaving? You don’t even know who he is but you want to at least catch his name. 

“Oh okay, thanks Jeongguk,” Dohyun says to who you now know as Jeongguk. 

“Yeah no problem man,” Jeongguk responds to the boy, eyes glancing at you once again. 

It becomes quiet for a moment, the three of you not saying a single word, making it a little awkward. Jeongguk has moved to leave yet and you try not to look at him, fearing that he may catch you staring once again. You can’t be helped, you’ve never seen such a good-looking man before. 

And he’s a damn gardener? 

You might have to sit by the pool more often if that means getting to see him work. 

“Oh Jeongguk,” Dohyun says, realizing that you guys do not know each other. “This is Y/N, she’s Mr. Kim’s daughter. She just got back from America yesterday,” He refers toward you with his hand and you look at Jeongguk to give him a polite smile. “Y/N, this is Jeongguk. He’s one of the newer gardeners.” 

“Nice to meet you, Jeongguk,” You tell him, praying that your voice is steady when you speak. 

He nods towards you, lips turned up into a small smile, “Likewise, Ms. Kim.” 

“Oh please, call me Y/N,” You inform him and he nods. 

“Y/N!” You hear your name being called, causing the three of you to turn your heads simultaneously towards the direction it came from. 

You recognize it as your mother, immediately causing you to stand up. Both guys turn their heads to look at you again and you try not to flush when Jeongguk’s eyes give your now standing figure a once over. You try hiding your smile, pressing your lips together. 

“Sounds like mother is home,” You inform them, excited to finally see her after so long. You bend over the table to grab your book, bringing it to your chest before looking at the guys with a sweet smile. “Well, it was good to see you again, Dohyun. And Jeongguk, it was nice to meet you.” You tell him and he nods, “I hope to see you around the house more,” You tell him, patting yourself on the back when your voice doesn’t unwaver. 

You don't know where the sudden confidence came from. 

Dohyun’s facial expression is unreadable when you say that, his eyes flickering between you and Jeongguk. Meanwhile, the latter has a smug look on his face, a knowing look in his eyes. You tuck your hair behind your ear, bowing to both of them before heading towards the door. 

You feel a pair of eyes on your backside, causing you to walk a little faster because you just felt so damn flustered. 

You don’t even know Jeongguk but he surely lit a spark in you that caused your stomach to flutter. You felt giddy and excited to see him once again. 

+

“Okay but listen, hear me out,” Taehyung, one of Jeongguk’s closest friends, says to the entire table who groan out of exasperation because they just know he’s about to say something ridiculous, “If we all started selling feet pics, we’d be making a good amount of money.”  

After his gardening job, Jeongguk had gone straight home to take a nap. Truth be told, he slightly lingered so he can catch a small glimpse of you once more before leaving but unfortunately, you never came back outside.

His oldest friend, Seokjin, had texted him around 5 PM, asking him if he wanted to go grab dinner with their other four friends.

“Tae,” Jeongguk groans before taking a bite out of his pizza, “How many times do I have to tell you? I don’t wanna put photos of my feet on the internet.” The other four men agree in unison with him. 

“Dude, we can make so much money off of it. Ever heard of foot models?” Taehyung asks, looking at everyone as if they’re the ones being ridiculous. 

“Yah! Those foot models probably pay tons of money to get their pedicures done. We’d get kicked out of the salons if they saw our feet,” Seokjin says, cheeks bulging from stuffing half the slice of pizza into his mouth. 

“Agreed,” Jeongguk adds, gulping down half of his soda and burping out loud right after, making the other boys groan in disgust, before he continues speaking, “Hobi hyung’s feet always stink,” He dodges the fry thrown at his face, “ Namjoon hyung is missing his pinky toe after it got caught in the bicycle chain that one time,” Namjoon doesn’t argue, nodding his head in agreement because it’s true, “Jiminie hyung’s feet can be mistaken for a child,” He ignores the whining hey! from his hyung, “Yoongi hyung doesn’t need to sell feet pics because his toes are always out when he’s wearing those slides,” Yoongi shrugs, “And don’t even get me started with Jin hyung’s feet,” Jeongguk finishes, unapologetic to all of his offended hyungs. 

“So you’re saying I have a chance?” Taehyung asks at the same time as Jin speaks.

“Who shat in your milk?” Jin asks bitterly, “And why the hell are you not eating the crusts? Are you a child? Give me that if you’re not gonna eat it,” Jeongguk wordlessly holds out his plate in one hand while the other is holding his fifth slice that he's currently munching on. 

“Who hasn’t shat in my milk? I’ve had too much shit going on lately,” Jeongguk tells them.

“Are you still paying off that rich guy’s debt?” Yoongi asks him curiously and Jeongguk nods, thinking back to when he started and how he’s almost halfway there.

“Yeah,” Jeongguk leans forward, staring down at the table before looking up at everyone, “I’ve got a few more weeks left and then I’ll be free. I swear that soil smells like ass. I’m sick of it.” 

“It’s not just some rich guy. It's THE Kim Daejung, one of the most famous movie directors in the country. Hey, do you know if he’s looking for any extras for the current movie he’s shooting?” Taehyung asks Jeongguk who just shrugs in response because he has no idea. 

“I haven’t seen that guy since I tapped his car, dude. Ever since I started working there, I’ve just met the other workers,” Jeongguk informs them and his mind wanders to the events that took place today. 

“Oh I know that look,” Hoseok says, resting his chin on his hands, “That’s the I saw a hot girl today look.” Jeongguk rolls his eyes but he smirks because he’s not wrong. 

Jimin looks at him in wonderment, “He has a look for that?” 

“He’s always had a particular look for that,” Namjoon responds with a chuckle and Jimin just shrugs with a pursed lip. 

“So who’s the girl?” Jin asks Jeongguk, mimicking Hoseok by resting his chin atop of his folded hands, purposely fluttering his lashes in a teasing manner. 

Jeongguk rolls his eyes, holding back a laugh. “It’s no one special. Mr. Kim’s daughter was by the pool today when I was putting the tools away.” 

“Oh shit, I’m assuming she’s hot?” Taehyung asks and Jeongguk nods, thinking about how good you looked, standing by the pool in the white two-piece you were wearing. 

“Very,” Jeongguk tells them, “But get this, you know that annoying gardener, Doyun? The dude who never shuts up about?” They all nod in acknowledgment because Jeongguk ranted to them so much at the beginning of the job when he first started. “He has a crush on her. Like I thought he was ready to pop a boner right there.” 

“Yikes, did he?” Jin wonders. 

“Lucky for him, no. But he was a nervous wreck while she was just trying to be polite and listen to him talk,” And this is where Jeongguk begins smirking which tells everyone that he’s about to say some egotistical shit. “Meanwhile, I saw her checking me out.” 

All the boys groan, Jin scoffing and looking at Jeongguk in disgust, “You always think everyone is checking you out? Have you seen yourself?” 

“I have seen myself and I know I’m good-looking, hyung,” Jin throws a french fry at his face and shouts boo, “Look I’m not kidding. She was staring at me like when I say staring, I mean like how Tae stares at Jimin’s ass whenever he’s following those workout videos on TV.” 

“Hey!” Tae whines, smacking Jeongguk’s shoulder as if he exposed him when really everyone, including Jimin, knows that it’s true. 

“Okay, but was she staring with a look that said I really wanna suck your dick, or was it an I want you to wine and dine me type of look?” Yoongi asks, causing Jeongguk to pause in thought. 

Jeongguk’s mind plays the events that took place earlier in the day, to the moment where he approached you and Doyun by the pool. He remembers how flustered you looked when you saw him, cheeks tinted pink but your eyes couldn’t look away from his figure, gazing at him from head to toe. Your voice was soft when you spoke, almost shy. 

“Or maybe, it was I really wanna suck your dick look AND an I want you to wine and dine my type of look,” Jin adds, and Jeongguk purses his lips in a pondering manner. 

“It might be that one,” Jeongguk refers to what Jin says, “I’m not sure. We barely spoke. Oh wait– I forgot to mention. You’re not gonna believe what she said before she left,” They all stare at him curiously, “She said ‘I hope to see you around the house more often.” Jeongguk grins, causing Jimin to gasp scandalously whereas Taehyung and Jin whistle. 

“Oh she definitely wants to suck your dick,” Hoseok says and all the boys nod in agreement. 

“She said that in front of Doyun? The guy who’s crushing on her?” Jimin asks, hand covering his mouth as if shocked. 

Jeongguk nods, “Yeah, but I don’t think he noticed she was flirting. I was too busy trying not to stare at her tits to see his reaction.” He says shamelessly with a shrug. Jin shakes his head as if disappointed and mutters I can’t believe I raised this horny kid.

“Guess we’ll see how it goes tomorrow,” Jeongguk says, excitement swirling in his belly at the mere thought of speaking with you again.  

“Let us know how that goes,” Namjoon says, stacking their empty plates together as they’ve finished eating dinner. 

“Anyways guys, back to selling pics of my feet on OnlyFans…” Taehyung brings up the subject again, causing everyone to groan and he pouts, “I just don’t understand why you guys can’t be supportive!” 

+

[ushidoux]

November Baby - Ushijima x Reader

Summary: Wakatoshi offers you a little more than just chocolate and flowers on Valentine’s Day. (~2.7k words)

Warnings: breeding kink, pregnancy talk, cisfem!reader, nsfw

A/N: Breeding kink and big one-track minded boy just go hand in hand. This is for @prettysetterbaby’s Valentine’s Day collab!

---

Wakatoshi never told you directly that he wanted children, but he signaled so in every possible way. 

It was initially subtle - of course, he’d always loved your hips, but his eyes and hands started to rest on them more often, and soon your belly became his favorite place to plant soft kisses, and his fingers started to favor the dip in your waist and the smoothness of your hips.

In the evenings when you washed up for the night, his eyes seemed to hone in on your facial features more than usual, and while he stood beside you at the bathroom sink to get ready of his own accord as you brushed your teeth and swiped toner on your face and neck, you could see him perform a sort of math in his head, adding and subtracting from the elements that comprised the two of you. 

You took note of all these behaviors, but you declined to pick his brain because your Toshi was always direct, and you knew that if he was quiet now, it was only because he was still coming up with the proper words to express what he was feeling.

But he let you know all right, in the middle of a crowded department store in the heart of Warsaw that looked like it had been ransacked by Cupid’s battalion many times over.

“Is Poland just really into Valentines’ Day or is it this store?” You joked, as you followed your husband leisurely pushing a shopping cart you’d overloaded with essentially useless trinkets and decorative items. You’d moved into your new home just a couple of weeks ago, and still were engrossed with the task of filling the empty spaces between comfy furniture and elegant fixtures. 

You were now trekking through the realm of cribs and diapers and couldn’t help but stifle a laugh at the frankly quite excessive marketing. Red and pink hearts were everywhere, as were flowers, huge balloons, chubby angels and red crossbows, you name it.

“Oh my God, even the baby section is Valentine’s Day themed??? No wonder everyone I know is born in November!”

You were busy laughing at your own joke, but instead, he looked at you with the slightest bit of caution in his hazel eyes, leaning over the cart as it rolled to a stop and gripping the handles carefully.

“Let’s have a November baby, too,” he said, abruptly enough to stun you for a split second.

Your eyes grew slightly wide, your face growing hot at his clear and concise statement, and you quickly looked around to see if anyone else had picked up his distinct baritone. You knew in your heart of hearts he was completely serious, and flustered, you bumped him slightly on the hip.

“Why would you say it right now?” You hissed.

“Does it matter where I say it?” He asked, with a slight raise of his eyebrows. You pouted, fingers tightening on the handles of the shopping cart as well. His eyes were still on you, again, gauging your reaction, worried if he was too forward and if he had somehow made you upset with his suggestion.

“Only if you want to of course, my love,” he reassured again, his hand now covering yours. His smile was understanding, even if there was a hint of lingering hope.

The warmth was fading from your face, your heartbeat that had sped up due to embarrassment now settling with the stroke of his thumb over the back of your hand.

It didn’t take you long to think because the thought had already crossed your mind. Being heavy with his child, then eventually coming to this very store with a small little one that looked like the two of you…

It was a delightful thought, actually.

“Wine and dine me first,” you teased, kissing him quickly on the nose, “and then we can consider having a Valentine’s Day baby.”

He grinned, the slightest bit of mischief in his glance.

“I’ll have you pregnant by the end of the night.”

---

Dumping your pill pack into the trash was a surprisingly simple ordeal and you were very thankful it was mainly used for birth control over anything else. But out of an abundance of caution, you’d decided to shoot a message to your primary care doctor earlier that morning anyway and gotten the green light to start immediately, which was reassuring if not embarrassing. While you knew she didn’t take it this way, part of you felt like you’d essentially disrupted her life to say by the way, my husband’s gonna fuck me into oblivion until i pee positive on a stick, any objections?

Ushijima seemed to be taking this ordeal very seriously as he was prone to do, his diet even more regimented than usual despite being off-season and adding an extra ten minutes to his morning jog, a protein-heavy green smoothie in hand. While that was cute, what wasn’t cute was the fact that he hadn’t touched you in the past week.

When you rolled over to him in the middle of the night, slipping your hand down his boxers to try to get him to give you what he wanted, he responded with a kiss on the lips before gently removing your hand off of him and intertwining his fingers with that hand instead. 

“If I’m going to breed you, it’s gonna be special,” he murmured almost directly into your ear, a tinge of slumber in his voice making his voice even more seductive.

Breed? The thought itself had your heart racing but not as much when he added,

“I’m saving up to fill you with the biggest load possible, sweetheart.” 

With that, he patted you on the head before whispering for you to go to sleep and anchoring an arm around your midsection to snuggle with you, but the thought of what he would do to you had you wide, wide awake.

---

The fact that you were so focused on the main event made it easier for Ushijima to surprise you with the rest of the activities he had planned for Valentine’s Day.

It wasn’t the first since you’d been married, but he’d absolutely put even greater efforts into this one, starting with waking you up (after letting you sleep almost into noon) to an oversized box of chocolates and bouquet of roses and a handmade card with a haiku written in his neat script. If that weren’t enough, he’d brought you brunch to enjoy together, cozied up in bed, and topped off morning kisses with the revelation of a tennis bracelet to go with your engagement ring.

“Toshi, it’s perfect…,” you all but blubbered out, ready to burst into tears. He treated you so well.

“Not as perfect as you,” he said with a smile, welcoming you to bury yourself in his chest.

Dinner warranted more of an effort from you, and so you dressed up in your finest attire for the upscale restaurant, armed with the complete awareness that your husband planned to rip every inch of fabric off of you tonight. It didn’t help that while your meal was pleasant, you could see Ushijima grow impatient with time, adjusting and readjusting the sleeves of his blazer as night approached.

When you finally returned to the front door of your home, you were stuffed but not to bursting, and that very little bit of space left in your belly seemed to fill with new butterflies, especially with Ushijima’s hand resting at the small of your back as he opened the door. 

Why were you so nervous? You’d had sex before, many times over, but something about today felt… different? Maybe it was the looming idea of purpose, and Ushijima knew purpose very well. 

When the door clicked shut, he wasn’t on you immediately as you expected, but he was still ready, as were you. He leaned down to plant yet another kiss on your lips that seemed to whisk the nervousness away - again he was your Toshi, and you were his, and you were going to create life.

“Baby?” He asked, tentatively. 

“Baby,” you agreed, wrapping your arms around his neck to start another kiss anew. He carried you effortlessly, keeping his lips pressed to yours as he pulled off your high heels and tossed them haphazardly, leading you back into the bedroom where a smattering of rose petals along the shag carpet and in the center of the bed greeted you, along with a lightly diffused essential oil blend with heavy notes of ylang-ylang and cedarwood.

Laying you carefully on your back, his eyes shifted from soft to focused, practically to match the level of intensity you saw when he was on the court, and your pulse started to pick up again. While he didn’t exactly tear the clothes off of you as you had anticipated, your dress was pulled over your body quite hastily to reveal all of you. Inches of skin to mark, a beautiful body to fill. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured again, leaning into your neck for soft bites and kisses. He was still mostly fully clothed, and you could feel his swollen length press against your pubis, thick and heavy.

He let out a sigh, and climbed off the bed to undress.

“Don’t move,” he ordered as he pulled off tie, shirt, pants, in that order, and you couldn’t tell if you were more distracted by the sculpted muscles of his shoulders, arms, chest and abs, flexing and relaxing with every minute movement or the swell of his fat cock at attention, anxious to bury itself inside you. 

You gulped. You knew this was a ridiculous thought, but for a moment, you wondered if it was somehow bigger today?

Before you even realized what you were saying, you were already pleading, “Toshi… please be gentle…”

Ushijima smirked at your wide-eyed look, then shifted back to taking in your splayed out body with his eyes, as though mapping out his strategy while he idly fisted his length.

“Of course, love. I would never dream of hurting the mother of my kids.” 

Yet, he was absolutely going to have his way with you.

It didn’t take him long to make a decision on how to attack, anyway, because he quickly resumed position hovering over you, taking a moment to appreciate the sight of anticipating, open lips, slightly knit eyebrows over a curious gaze. His lower half pressed against you closely enough that again, you could feel the entirety of his warm, girthy length pressing against the bottom of your quickly wetting cunt to your abdomen.

The sheer span of his cock reminded you that he was basically designed to do this.

The fact that he started moving first, rubbing his length across your belly as if trying out the course before he dove in also reminded you how much your body craved him always. 

His fingers entered you hastily, and he reveled in the way your cunt already made the lewdest of noises, soft audible squishes with every pump of his fingers as he prepped you.

“So eager… so sloppy, waiting to receive all of my cum, aren’t you?” He teased, withdrawing his fingers to show you some of your slick. “You’re receptive,” he added, pulling his two fingers apart to show you the stringiness of your arousal. 

“I-I want this too, you know,” your face growing hot from the tease, hotter still when he sucked your wetness right off his fingers.

“What do you want?” He said, raising an eyebrow, still moving painfully slowly on top of you, but angling his body so that he was just running the entire base of his cock against your wet slit, killing you with every second he wasn’t immediately filling you up.

“Your babies, Toshi...”

That made him smile, and you earned the slight entry of his cockhead into you, forcing a slight moan out of your throat. The stretch was intense, as always, but the fact that he slowed had you squirming for more, as fast as possible. 

“T-Toshi… please, more,” you moaned as you raised your legs to slide down further on his cock, and he held them, pressing both firmly along his side.

“How much cum can you take in this little body of yours?” he asked, pressing right at your umbilicus with one hand, as he pushed in a mere additional inch.

You let out something between a moan and a scream from the overwhelming sensation of being stretched with so many inches to spare.

“Just fill me!!! Please, just put everything inside me,” you whined. 

“As you wish, darling.”

His arms hoisted your legs above his shoulders and he did you the service of thrusting all remaining inches inside you, forcing tears from your eyes from the too full sensation, kissing your ankles beside his head as he gave you time to breathe and adjust. Once you’d settled from the sound of your whimpers slowing, he reached for the headboard behind you before he started his onslaught.

Thrust after thrust after savage thrust, you could hear his groans deepen as he plowed the grounds for his seed, his hands tightening firmly against the wood of your headboard as it creaked for mercy. 

He felt so good, so perfect, so fitting, stretching you out like this to make room for his kin. 

Your fingers etched desire into his back, as you choked up a demand for more sensation, more him, more closeness..

“More, daddy!”

“Daddy is quite correct,” he mused, his hands moving from the headboard to quiet instead the jostle of your breasts, palming them gently. 

They were so pretty to him, he couldn’t wait to see them swell. 

He leaned down again to swallow your moans in a kiss, then opted to flip you above him instead, before he continued to snap his hips, bouncing you into the air.

“T-Toshi, you’re ah- too fast!” You shrieked, barely able to stand upright, the ride too rocky and intense for you. Palming his abdomen to walk your way up despite your movement, he brought you back down flush against his chest again, holding you tightly. 

“Let me do the work,” he whispered, kissing you, making your head swim to distract from the fact that he really was rearranging your guts. “I’ll do at least this much, since you’ll be carrying our child.”

And to that promise, you came almost instantly, an impulse of shock traveling from your slippery cunt up that you could almost feel in the tips of your fingers that made your body clench, your toes curl and the sound that came out of your throat less dainty and more primal, coming from so far deep inside you, even you were afraid.

As if on cue, his fingers dug into the flesh of your waist, holding you steady as he pounded into you even further, faster, pushing past fluttering walls and soundless cries coming from your lips, until he finally came with a shudder, spurting thick, hot gobs of liquid that you could feel hitting your cervix.

And it kept coming; he held you tighter, so desperately you thought you might break under his touch, burying his face in your chest - you could feel yourself still clenching around him, so greedy, trying to milk him for even more than the generous amount he was giving you.

It would be a miracle if you weren’t pregnant.

When it finally stopped, he left an arm around your back pressing you close to him, letting out a soft, pleased sigh with lowered eyelids. You stayed against him for longer, cockwarming him, your hands languidly coming to rest on both sides of his face.

Your darling Wakatoshi…

He stayed hard inside you, slowly giving you just one more stroke to atone for the small amount of semen that was already threatening to leak out around him, then laid you on your back.

“You’re doing so well already…” he encouraged, scooping up drops of him spilling out of you. “Keep it all in,” he said breathily, a warm palm pressing on your opening. 

“I will, baby,” you nodded, and he gave you another peck on the lips, then moved to one of your mounds to take a pert nipple in his mouth and suck softly. 

His hand lingered on your hot cunt, warm and dripping; he instead focused on stimulating your nipples with the other hand and his lips, forcing another orgasm out of you with time and dedication.

He’d obviously read somewhere orgasms themselves made pregnancy more likely. Always so thorough.

“You... f-feel so good,” you mewled, your back arching with pleasure as he used a thumb to stimulate your clit gently as he kept his semen inside you. 

He smiled, stroking his already re-hardening cock in his hand, preparing for the next round. 

“Anything for my Valentine.” 

With that was implied, the love of his life, and the mother of his kids.

[bclletragedie]

𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃, 𝐍𝐀𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄 had been told that when she was nervous -- she shook like a leaf. that she could never tell a lie, bless her heart. and yet, here she was now: living a lie. an associate to a gang, plastering on a pretty face, leaning into the stereotype that bartenders wear like a badge of honor. she always opened with the same line: some say that bartenders are better than therapists.. they certainly expect less money. the suckers will bite, and she will fight to keep it all together as they spill their guts all over the bar of the olive branch. as she listens she sifts through all of the unimportance ( they may be important to the patron -- but certain tidbits of information won't get her paid ), taking what will benefit the dead hand straight to akira.

every single time she speaks with akira she can't help but analyze his face, searching for any kind of praise. a sign that she did a job well done, that she would walk out of their meetings with a hefty sum in her pocket. while bartending at an upscale martini bar does pay somewhat of a livable wage ( including tips ), paychecks can only extend so far. and the last thing she wants to do is grovel at her sister's feet for help -- give her another fucking mess of hers to clean up.

the warmth of zakir's voice does indeed bring her some comfort -- he has a natural gift for it, at least around her. somehow, she somewhat begins to believe him. " okay.. " nahome sighs, indulging in another drag before exhaling. she can't help but watch the end of her cigarette for a moment -- how the end begins to burn away into ash. the more she paused, the closer the fire got to the edges of her fingertips. the fire would catch her. " i guess you're right... sometimes i wonder if this city is too big enough for people to care about everybody. what they think, i mean. you either gotta make a name for yourself, or keep your head down. " her voice is quiet, but she does make an effort to flash a smile in his direction -- a substitute for a thank you for helping her keep her head on straight. " sometimes keeping your head down isn't enough. "

Zakir had grown up on the streets of Delhi, there were rules there, there were places you couldn’t go, places where you had to be careful, and plenty of places where you weren’t welcome, a sprawling city, NYC had seemed small to him. But where the brightness of Delhi’s warm weather, the smog, and the smell of spicy food had offered less shadows and hiding places for criminals than the American city did, he felt less paranoid here than he had at home. Perhaps being part of a gang had given him the feeling like he was more safe here. At home his skills at languages weren’t hailed, after all, plenty of his fellow friends could speak at least three languages, sometimes more. If you needed someone to translate Urdu, you poked four nearby people and you’d find one among them. 

In NYC, Zakir could get paid handsomely for his skills. In NYC, he was an important asset, a way to give an edge to Dead Hand to understand any enemy and rival and ally. If he was present, he would be picking up on the conversations others thought to hold in secret. His augmentation a second layer to the advantage he held. 

But he was no longer a street rat from Delhi, and with that came the loss of the wariness he even needed on these streets. “No Habibty,” he said, warmly. He kept his face away from the smoke of her cigarette. “Doesn’t everything feel off in this city to begin with?” he asked, merely to put her at ease, though he started to wonder if she was simply better at picking up the winds of change. If she could smell the bad omens lingering in the air.

[hornime]

omgomgomg just mean!hinata whos an absolute bully to you, but the whack part about it is that you like it? he knows it too and he calls you out whenever he catches the way your eyes glaze over or the way you obediently nod your head to whatever prude remark he says to you. he just scoffs and nudges your cheek before going on about how easy you are, but really who wouldn't be easy when you're with someone like him :(

STARRY-EYED SLUT | HINATA SHOYO X F!READER

a/n: plum,,, who gave you the right to do this to me,,,,,,

warnings: 18+, mean!hinata, f!reader, dumbification (but you're already dumb PFTT), degradation, face-fucking, impact play, prob manipulation cus this shit toxic af

"why're you so dumb, huh?" you're between hinata's legs, already on your knees, ass poking out from underneath the glitzy dress you'd worn for this upscale party he'd taken you to. your hands are balancing on his thighs as you creep towards his crotch, your fingers trailing along the unyielding muscle there that you want nothing more to see without the cloth of his pants covering it.

you're too mesmerized by the way his cock dangles in front of you—you just want to stick your tongue out and lick it—that you barely register his question.

you're leaning your body closer, driven by the need to nuzzle yourself against his flesh and inhale his scent, caught up in the haziness of your own mind, when a sharp slap! on skin-on-skin against your cheek shakes you out of your daze.

you peer up at him, shocked, and he glares back down at you with a fist wrapped tightly around the base of his cock—what he just hit you with.

"answer me, slut. what's got you all stupid?"

"you, sho," you mumble, the throbbing in your face making your eyes sting with tears. "only you."

his mouth morphs into a scowl and you're barely able to think about how hot it looks on him before he smacks you with his cock again, making you whimper in pain.

"lying bitch," he sneers. "it's not me that's made you this much of an idiot, it's my cock. isn't that right? aren't you just a cockslut whose brain turns off the moment she sees cock? huh?"

"mhm," you nod eagerly, looking at him with big, innocent eyes, desperate to be in his good graces so that you can finally wrap your lips around him. "'m your cockslut, sho. i love your cock so much. please lemme suck it. please."

hinata scoffs in awe at just how easily you take his taunts. no matter what he calls you, what names he tries to tear you down with, you're just too damn dense. that thick pool of jelly that you call a brain just can't seem to comprehend that he's actually being mean to you, that he's actually trying to hurt you.

or maybe you do know, but you're just too drunk on the way he fills you up to give a fuck. either way, you seem to like it when he torments you.

"alright then, bitch. open your mouth, and make it wet." he gestures to his cock, already dripping pre-cum in response to the way you're so lewdly presented for him.

you practically squeal in happiness, lolling your tongue out to lather his shaft in your saliva. you take your time with licking it, practically worshipping it, and hinata can only lean back and watch as you treat him like he's your god.

you pull away momentarily only to envelop his tip in the soft velvet of your mouth, forcing him to throw his head back and let out a raspy moan.

you feel yourself growing wetter at the noise, and the vibrations of your feeble whines send shocks of pleasure through his nerves. despite your throat's cries of alarm, you continue to push your throat down until you're choking, but you forget about the need to breathe, especially when having him filling you whole feels so good.

you're gagging, trying to take in oxygen while he's clogging your airways, and hinata furrows his eyebrows at the way you've seemingly forgotten that you can't inhale while his cock is in your throat. are you really that idiotic?

he pries your face back, allowing you to gasp for air. "stupid girl," he chastises, the narrowest of concerns apparent in his voice. "you need to fucking breathe."

you nod dumbly, then immediately go back to salivating over his cock, drooling on the leaking head only to lick up the sweetness of your spit and the saltiness of his musk. the taste of your combined fluids makes your eyes roll backward and you moan shamelessly, getting off on just sucking him off. your panties are soaking now; you're so aroused by the way he feels that you swear you could probably cum just from giving him head.

he knows it, too. he's almost scared at the way you've given him so much power in so little time. but fuck if he cares—dumb sluts like you can't think much for yourselves, anyway. it's a good thing you have someone like him to tell you what to do.

"c'mon, choke on it," he insists, nudging your head down until your nose is at his pelvic bone. you comply easily, letting your throat relax so that you can take him all the way, your legs twitching with the need for stimulation.

he groans as you swallow around him, the tightness of your soft and malleable muscles constricting and loosening around him in a way that makes his abs flex. he suddenly leans forward to squeeze your ass, relishing in the way your mewls are muffled when he spanks it, and then relaxes back in his seat, grabbing both sides of your face.

"gonna fuck this dumb lil' face of yours. maybe i'll fuck a couple thoughts in there, hm?"

you nod, at least as much as you can with him shoved down your throat, because what else would you do? you're just his starry-eyed slut, desperate for cock and desperate for his attention, because even if he wounds you, you can’t help but love the way the pain feels.

if you enjoyed, reblogs + comments are appreciated!

© property of hornime 2021. do not plagiarize any of my writing and do not repost/copy my writing onto any other sites.

[steviespanties]

Any insecure Steve HCs 🙌🏼 I'm projecting and I imagine that as he gets older, he becomes more insecure about his job (Billy makes more and Steve isn't used to not being the main financial contributer), his looks, his parents, etc, and maybe sometimes he gets waspish about it because he doesn't know how to ✨Regulate his emotions properly✨(projecting again)

Let me give you a big hug Anon!! This got a bit longer and a lot less smutty than expected, so I’ll put it under a cut:’)

So, I kind of imagine that Steve and Billy move in together while Billy is in college and, after a first semester of absolutely hating student living he’s desperately searching for somewhere off-campus to live. 

That’s how Steve meets him again: He happens to hear from Robin about it, he and Billy meet up and bury the hatchet and next thing he knows he’s got Billy Hargrove as his flatmate and they are quickly falling in lust and then in love. Somewhere between Billy crawling into Steve’s bed every time he comes home from a party and begging him to suck his dick again because “no one else does it as good as you, Stevie” and Steve falling asleep on Billy’s shoulder during movie nights.

It’s a whole Thing they have to figure out, but they’re pretty much on equal levels of scraping by and sleep deprived, fucking for stress relief transforming into something they seek for comfort. Steve tries community college for a while, but classes on top of his work schedule are a bit too much and he drops them after a while.

For a couple of years, Billy is busy with school and Steve works a handful different jobs: another video rental, as a server at a restaurant, then a book store that’s a phenomenally bad fit and finally at a hotel reception. It’s not a big deal being broke in his twenties just like many other twenty year olds (he’s sure as hell not getting any support from his parents). He’s in love and happy.

The thing is, when Billy finishes school, grabs a really good position right after graduation and the first check of his full-time job comes in, it’s a bit of a shock. Sure, he’s paying off the student debt his scholarship didn’t cover, but it’s still a massive bump for their household. So that’s the first time Steve feels a twinge of insecurity. He tells himself that he still looks hot and Billy is stupidly in love with him, so it really doesn’t matter!! He just needs to get over himself!! They move into a bigger place and he tries to squash down any feelings of insecurity because things are good. 

(So what if he starts paying a little more attention to his hair- and skincare and doing stretches?) 

He does make a joke about becoming Billy’s trophy wife and Billy gets this dreamy look on his face for a moment. Like he wouldn’t mind just coming home to Steve looking pretty. And yeah, Steve was making a joke, but the seriousness of it all suddenly gives him a stomach ache. He changes the subject.

There’s no dreaded conversation about Steve looking for a career between them, though. Not like the way his parents have started to push again the few times he visits them. Asking what he’s gonna do with his life. If he ever plans to get married, build a family. They mean well, he knows, but he can’t bring himself to tell them that possibly buying a house with his long time ‘friend’ is about the closest he plans on getting in terms of marriage.

When Steve comes home after that particular sermon and is particularly snippy and sad, Billy buys him a very nice set of lingerie instead and fucks Steve silly, showering his face in kisses. Tells him “I’m so lucky to have you” and manages to soothe a little of that pain away.

And then the end of Steve’s twenties come and go and suddenly he’s got early silver streaks in his hair, occasional head-splitting migraines and a job at an upscale boutique that’s nice, but that also makes him feel like the gap between him and Billy has only grown further.

In many ways, they’ve been extremely fortunate. They’re starting to get settled! But it’s like all of Steve’s upbringing suddenly decides to rear its head again when he realizes he’s in a beautiful home with a beautiful partner and he’s not occupying the role he was taught he should. He’s not the main provider. He’s not the “man” of the house, though there really isn’t such a thing when both of you are men and neither of you sees the other as superior or inferior.

That doesn’t change how he feels, though. How it feels when Steve stands by himself in the kitchen on a Saturday morning after Billy had to take a quick trip to the office and calls to tell him in an apologetic tone “I’ll be back after lunch, don’t wait up for me” and Steve’s not sure what to do with himself or the sudden shock of helplessness and shame in that moment.

He snaps at Billy. “Have fun, then,” he says in his mom’s familiar, passive aggressive tone. He hangs up, feeling mortified. Like he’s useless. Like he’s done nothing with his life and Billy can easily leave him once he really starts to age and turn flabby and old. It’s like an amalgamation of both of his parents in his head, both their expectations and insecurities superimposed onto him in that moment. He cries bitter, hot tears about it. Allows himself to flow through and out of him, till he’s red eyed but clinging to composure and calls Billy back to apologize.

Except Billy doesn’t pick up. Steve closes his eyes. Feels his stomach sink. Takes a shuddering breath and makes himself wait. 

When Billy comes home they both apologize, but Steve can’t bring himself to put into words this new yet deeply familiar anxiety stewing in his gut. Most of the time, he catches the barbs it wants to take shape as and leave his mouth. It’s on his mind, though, his inadequacy in constant contrast to Billy’s promotions and success. 

He blows Billy in the back of their car after a fancy dinner and when Billy runs his hands through his hair he can’t help but think of the new silver streak at the side of his head. He looks in the mirror after night of rough sex and discovers another wrinkle, suddenly embarrassed by the way he hobbles around due to the ache of his hips. 

It takes a while for him to put it into words. He can’t exactly say he wants to change his job, because he genuinely likes it. He’s not blaming Billy for how he feels, because the guy worked his ass off to get where he is and he really doesn’t deserve Steve blowing up at him for no good reason.

He does his best one night, when Billy comes home late and cuddles up to Steve with an exhausted sigh, only to find him curled up into a ball after crying. It’s not something he usually does and it throws Billy for a loop when Steve climbs onto his lap in a desperate attempt to ride him, like the orgasm will somehow wash away whatever anxieties plague him. It’s the only time he indulges Steve in that urge.

They set a frantic pace, fingering Steve open, letting him drop down onto Billy’s dick like he has something to prove as he sinks deeper onto him. He’s a shaking, desperate mess held together by Billy’s hands on his hips and a thread of composure that soon unravels.

“I promise I’ll be good,” tumbles out of his mouth, apologies and imploring Billy to keep him. He feels small and shameful in that moment. But also safe.  If there’s one thing Steve knows, it’s that Billy will hold him close instead of push him away. And he does. Takes Steve’s body and pushes him onto his back, hold his hands in place next to his head and fucks him unrelentingly while he looks at him. Looks through him.

“You’re never getting rid of me,” he promises. Or maybe threatens. It makes Steve’s heart soar and his dick pulse out come in hot splashes over his belly as he gasps and sobs for Billy.

(And later, when things have cooled down and they’re cleaned up, they do give Actual Talking a try. It doesn’t work immediately, things aren’t that easy. But it doesn’t feel like an end for them, like Steve realizes he’d started to fear. It’s just another step for them to take.)

[rowanaelinn]

Slipped away - chapter one

prompt - single parent @rowaelinscourt

“It’s cold,” Fenrys complained, sitting on Rowan’s new couch.

“We are in the north, you dumbass.” Lorcan snapped. “Of course it’s colder than what you’re used to.”

“Doranelle is in the North too.”

Lorcan took a deep breath, apparently, he wasn’t feeling very patient today. “I don’t know, Fenrys, it might be because we are on a whole other continent, maybe?”

Rowan snorted at his friends, Fenrys was playing dumb just to annoy Lorcan and as always, it worked. They were enjoying their last day of rest before their first day of work tomorrow. It wasn't a new job, not really. The company they worked for had just moved from Doranelle to Orynth, and of course, Rowan and the other employees had to move too.

Rowan knew that with the opening of the new Valg Industries headquarters the next few months would not be smooth sailing, but he believed in himself. Maeve was so confident that she even promoted him. It was a new beginning for Rowan and he was happy about it, his life in Doranelle was the perfect definition of dull. Not that he hated it, he was just glad to be away from his cousins. He didn’t hate them, they were just so… meddlesome.

Rowan walked into his kitchen and opened his fridge, empty. He cursed under his breath. The few bottles of beer he had last night ran out very quickly, they didn’t even have leftovers of the pizza they ordered yesterday. Which was a problem because Rowan was starving and there was no way he would order food for the second night in a row, it had already bothered him to do so yesterday.

He checked his watch, six in the afternoon. He was pretty sure the grocery store didn’t close before seven, he had little time if he wanted to go there. He needed to be quick. “Going shopping, be gone when I come back,” Rowan told his friends as he picked his car key. He needed some time alone but he knew they would probably still be there when he came back, his friends weren’t ones to listen.

He slammed the front door behind him and got into his car. It still smelled new, the leather still a little too stiff under Rowan's body. He had gotten the car yesterday, he had decided that if he was going to change his life, he would do it all the way. Nothing in his life in Doranelle set foot in Terrasen except his friends and his job.

Rowan lived in an upscale residence in downtown Orynth. Between his family's money and the money he was making even before he was promoted, he could afford it. He didn't want to live in the apartments that the company offered to its employees, he needed some peace and quiet.

So Rowan took a house that was too big for him, in a suburb full of family, as if he wasn't almost thirty and wasn't still alone. He had never felt so out of place, but he would get used to it.

He had chosen the opposite of the life he had until then, wanting space. He had left to forget.

When he pulled into the grocery store parking lot, Rowan could have sworn he saw a familiar face. He blinked and it was gone, he shook his head. How could he recognize anyone if he had never been to Terassen? He needed to sleep.

He got out of his car and shivered slightly. Maybe Fenrys was right, it wasn't cold but it was definitely colder than Doranelle at this time of year.

He walked into the store, it was large. Everything in Terassen looked big. The houses, the buildings, the stores... Rowan could get used to it.

He took a basket from the entrance and went straight to the vegetables. The store was almost empty considering the time of day, he could hear a couple of kids laughing in the background but otherwise, everything was quiet. It felt good to be away from the world.

He selected enough vegetables for three days, preferring to shop for short periods rather than a whole week. It made less mess and allowed him to control what he ate. That's one of the things he needed, control.

"Gotcha!" He heard a woman's voice laugh rather loudly.

"Noooo!" A little girl said and Rowan heard her laugh and ran. Gods, children were loud.

A few seconds later, something hit Rowan's legs. He looked down to find a little girl. She was a brunette with blue eyes. She laughed and stood up. "Sorry," she said before running off again to lose whoever was trying to catch her, but it was too late. A tall blonde lady came running up and threw herself on top of the little girl, grabbing her under the arms and throwing her over her shoulder. The little girl screamed with laughter and tried to struggle as the adult spun around. "Stop!" the child screamed but continued to laugh.

Rowan felt like he was intruding but he couldn't stop the tip of his lips from rising slightly. The adult stopped spinning but did not let go of the child, the little one wrapped her arms around the woman's neck and hid her head. "Hey, little monster, did you apologize?" She asked, her eyes still on the little one. Rowan couldn't see her face with the hair hiding it. "Huh?" She shook the little girl slightly but she refused to look at her.

"She did," Rowan said, not wanting the little girl to get into trouble. When the woman looked at him, his heart stopped beating and his whole body froze. It was impossible.

Did the gods hate him that much? What had he done to them for them to punish him like that?

Her eyes widened and he noticed her body going still, her hold around the girl tightening. Her mouth opened and then closed.

As he had been years before, he was struck by the intensity of Aelin Galathynius’s gaze. These blue and gold eyes were mesmerizing, had always been and always will.

His only thought was that she looked older, but since he had last seen her when she was nineteen it wasn’t surprising. She looked like a woman now, and womanhood suited her. She was wearing a white shirt and black skirt, a simple outfit for a working woman, and yet Rowan couldn’t help but stare longer than necessary at her body. If she had been beautiful seven years ago, she was magnificent now.

He wanted to punch himself in the face, so much work to forget about everything that happened, so much work to ignore the guilt and pain just to be ruined by a meeting in a grocery store.

“Rowan,” she breathed.

“Hi, Aelin.”

The little girl looked at him and he noticed everything she had in common with Aelin. Her eyes first, and the same nose and lips. They looked so similar.

Suddenly he was struck by the truth standing in front of him. While it had taken everything in him to try to forget about her, Aelin had moved on. And she had a daughter. Aelin had a life and if the laugh she let out a minute before was any indication, she was happy.

“What are you doing here?” He blurted.

A snort. “What am I doing in a grocery store?”

“In Orynth.”

“This is my hometown.” She said, her voice so tight he couldn’t guess what she might be feeling. It had always been so damn hard to read her. Orynth was her hometown? How come he never knew that? He knew she was from Terassen, her accent betraying her, but didn’t know exactly where. He knew so much about her but at the same time so little. That little truth hurt. “What are you doing here?”

“I moved. For work.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Fuck, that was awkward. “How old is your daughter?” He asked, nodding toward the small girl playing with Aelin’s hair. Aelin looked at her and her expression softened a little.

“Oh, no. She isn’t my…” She took a deep breath. “She’s Aedion and Lysandra’s daughter. I’m just babysitting for the night.” Right, Aedion. That’s why the small girl looks so much like Aelin. “Remember Aedion?”

Of course, he did, last time he saw the man Rowan got his nose broken and a black eye. He wouldn’t forget his old friend so soon. But Rowan didn’t care about that, right now he only cared that Aelin, in fact, didn’t have a daughter. It was easier to breathe suddenly. “Yeah.”

“But she’s four,” Aelin said and he knew it was only so she had something to say. Talking was awkward but the silence was worse.

Before he could say anything else, someone interrupted them by hitting Aelin’s legs, hugging them. This girl was blonde, Ashryver blonde. Gods, how many children did Lysandra and Aedion have?

The youngest paused on the ground and did not waste time before leaving from where she came. Aelin seemed to forget Rowan's entire existence as she knelt down to face the child, though she looked even tenser than a few minutes before.

"Hey, pumpkin, what's going on?" She asked softly, delicately taking the girl's grip to force her to look at her. "Tell me."

"Asper pulled my hair!" The girl cried and Aelin smiled.

"Did you try to tickle his neck?" She asked, making Rowan choke. Aelin didn’t spare him a glance. He wanted to ask her why she wasn’t punishing this Asper for pulling hair but he guessed Aelin would beat him up if he questioned how Aedion chose to raise his children. “You know how sensitive he is.” She smiled at the child. The girl sniffed heavily and Aelin used her sleeve to dry her tears. "Go back over there, I'll be there in two minutes." The child nodded briskly and before she left, she turned her head to Rowan.

His blood ran cold as green eyes fixed on him.

She looked like Aelin on the little one before, of course, but not only that. Did she... No. Lysandra had green eyes too. Rowan could have sworn that Lysandra's eyes were much lighter, but he hadn't seen her in seven years. He was wrong. He had to be wrong.

"Hi!" She said with a big smile. She was missing a tooth in the front, but that didn't take away from her charm.

Rowan swallowed, "Um, Hi." He managed to smile but he couldn't help that she looked too little like Lysandra.

“Are you a grandpa?” The girl asked and Rowan choked. “Only grandpa has grey hair.” She smiled and looked proud of herself. Silver, his damn hair is silver, not grey.

"Go ahead, Helia," Aelin said before Rowan could answer, her voice firm. She pushed the little one toward the alley away from Rowan. Aelin stood up when the little one was gone and his eyes shot to hers.

"It was nice to see you again," she said but he knew she was thinking the exact opposite. Rowan's heart was beating so loudly that Rowan could hear it pounding in his ears.

"Aelin," He called to her, stopping her in her tracks. " Just how... How old is she?"

"Bye, Rowan." Her voice left no room for questions, but he didn't care. He didn't care about what happened in college and now wasn't the time to start.

"Answer me." Not a question and she knew it. He could swear he saw the gold ring in her eyes flutter, a sign he had learned to recognize as anger. Well, let her be angry, he deserved answers.

"Ace, is everything okay?" A man with nearly black hair and sapphire blue eyes asked him. A boy a little taller than Helia was sitting on the man's shoulders and when Rowan saw his green eyes...

He had to be wrong.

"Aelin?" The man asked again as Aelin hadn't looked at him yet, her gaze still on Rowan.

"Yes." She replied with her voice cold. "My friend was just leaving, right?"

The way she said the word "friend" was anything but friendly. Fuck, he wanted to yell at her, he wanted to demand answers now, but he didn't. The two little girls were behind Aelin and the man, watching what was going on.

"Answer my question first."

"Get out." She gritted through her teeth.

"Why do you have your angry voice, Mommy?" The little boy asked and suddenly Aelin's eyes softened and she looked at the boy. She grabbed him by the underarms and took him in her arms.

Mommy.

Her son.

Clearly not the son of the man next to Aelin. He looked about six, maybe even seven.

No. That was impossible. It was only one night. One night he had spent the last seven years regretting...

“Mommy’s not angry.” She smiled as she caressed her son’s hair. Their… No, her son. For all Rowan knew, Aelin only had a thing for men with green eyes. It meant nothing. “But she’s busy right now, go back to the car with uncle Dorian, okay? Then we’ll eat pizza, that’s your favorite, right?” The three kids cheered and Aelin gave her son to the man, Dorian.

“You okay?” He asked, touching Aelin’s shoulder. Rowan didn’t know why but he wanted to slap the man.

“Yeah, I’ll be there in two minutes.” She reassured him and he nodded, letting Aelin’s son on his shoulder as he held the two girls by their hands and walked back to the parking lot. Rowan wanted to stop him, wanted to ask that boy and girl how old they were but they were just kids. He couldn’t scare them. This was between Rowan and Aelin.

“I deserve the truth.”

“You don’t deserve shit. Not after what you did.”

“It was between me and you, not between me and-” He was cut off by her.

“There is nothing between you and them. Do you understand me? Nothing.” Them. So the girl…

He couldn’t take it. She had made it clear already, deep inside he knew the answer to his question but he needed to hear her say it. “Are they mine?” He finally asked and if looks could kill, Rowan would be buried already.

“They are mine.”

Why did she have to be so fucking complicated? He clenched his fists, trying to keep his anger inside him but it was so damn hard. “Am I their father?”

Both of them were breathing heavily and Rowan was glad for the empty store now, not wanting to cause a scene. “No.” Her voice was lethal and Rowan’s mind froze. He didn’t know if it was a good thing or not. But they looked so much like him… “If your question is whether or not you knocked me up, the answer is yes. But you are not a father. Never been and never will be to them.”

They were his. Rowan’s entire world stopped and he wasn’t sure how he kept standing. He was a father, no matter what Aelin said.

“How could you hide this from me? How could you take them away from me?” He was screaming now. He didn’t care about causing a scene anymore, he didn’t care about anything but the two kids in a car outside. “They are my kids!”

“You don’t even know their fucking name!” She was screaming too, cheeks red. Fuck, why did she always had to be the most attractive when she was angry? He hated her so fucking much. “I am the one who’s been raising them alone for almost seven fucking years!” She didn’t look alone, not with that Dorian by her side.

Suddenly, he knew Aedion didn’t punch him for what he and Aelin shared the last night he saw her. He had punched him for getting his cousin pregnant. He knew Aelin hadn’t been honest about what happened between them after the sex or he would have been dead by now, so now he was sure it was because of the kids. He had deserved it, deserved more than the five punches Aedion managed to give Rowan before Fenrys and Lorcan separated them.

“I will die before I let you treat my children like you treated me. Get out of Terassen, nobody wants you here.”

She left storming out of the store without her groceries and Rowan was frozen. He knew he should go back after her and apologize, he should beg her for a chance to know his kids but he couldn’t move.

He had children, twins. And Aelin had been raising them alone because of him, because of what happened.

He was so fucking screwed.

He didn’t care about what Aelin told him, he wouldn’t go anywhere. It was too late to save what could have happened between him and Aelin, it had been too late since the night she left his apartment in tears. But it wasn’t too late for his children and he would fight for them.

————

@sheharahu // @morganofthewildfire // @thestoriesyoutell // @fromthelibraryofemilyj // @swankii-art-teacher // @itsforeverinnocent-blog // @becarefuloflove // @imnotsogoodatthis // @rowaelinismyotp // @a-court-of-milkandhoney // @feysand-loml // @surielandiareendgame // @live-the-fangirl-life // @story-scribbler // @loves-books // @fangirlprincess09 // @theysayitscrazy // @hellasblessed

[sxlver-sweet]

Please i'm begging youu i want to see more fantasy au for tokrev and that pirate would be so good i even have some idess on me already 😩

–🎴

I HAD A FUCKING FIELD DAY WITH THIS I WANNA HEAR YOUR IDEAS PLS SHARE

i’m currently sleep-deprived, so some of these are probably really basic and there’s most likely errors somewhere in here skdkcmdksk

also, requests may be closed, but discussions and more ideas are absolutely welcome.

faerie!kokonoi, who preys on the heartbroken drunkards at upscale bars, listening with a secretive smile as they spill their life stories to the bartender. silver-tongued and clever, kokonoi purrs his condolences, slipping their name into the conversation with ease and feigning oblivion when they, cloudy-eyed and ignorant, hand over their precious bank information and the locations of their valuables.

tailor!mitsuya unable to concentrate on stitching up a torn dress with the incessant clanging in the background and snapping at blacksmith!pah-chin, who’s busy forging knight!baji a new sword. mitsuya chastises baji for being so careless, but all baji does is grumble and turn away, black oil and dirt smeared on his flushed cheeks and long hair clinging to his sweat-stained forehead from his previous sparring session.

wizard!mitsuya spinning golems out of clay and shooing them away with an order to find him more materials to craft matching cloaks for his newest apprentices, luna and mana.

leprechaun!nahoya luring unsuspecting villagers into the forest with the promise of gold coins, only to send branches crashing down onto their heads when they venture far enough. they shout irately and scramble after him as he tumbles, laughing, into the shadows… but it’s no use. he’s too fast.

mermaid!yuzuha punching the shit out of pirates and dragging them down from their ships when they disturb and/or hunt the peaceful merfolk

knight!draken pledging his life to princess!emma

werewolf!baji, who appears to casually laugh off questions about his sharp, prominent canines; when in reality, when he’s secretly sweating bullets. werewolf!baji, whom the others wrinkle their noses at and tease when he orders his steak rare. werewolf!baji, who can’t hide the particularly ferocious, almost predatory glint in his eye that only appears during brawls after the sun has fallen. everyone laughs it off, mistaking his bloodlust for adrenaline. it’s only baji, he’s just intense, they reason.

half-blood!takemichi, who leaps through time with the protective blood of a phoenix coursing through his veins. half-blood!takemichi, whose blood aids him in resisting the beckon of death that pries at the empty body he habitually leaves behind and enables him to keep rising back to his feet no matter who knocks him down.

dybbuk!shinichiro, whose rage inhabits mikey’s body, only flaring to aid in crushing kazutora beneath his little brother’s fist. dybbuk!shinichiro, who plucks away at mikey’s sanity day in and day out, demanding for his death to be avenged. dybbuk!shinichiro, who is the reason that mikey can no longer set foot in his bike shop, because no matter how hard he tries, mikey can’t seem to shut out the eerie groaning of forgotten bikes as they rust away or the crackling squelch of metal colliding with bone that he’s positive he’s never heard before—so why is he hearing it now?

executioner!kazutora, who has no problem with the unjust slaughters that tyrant!kisaki approves, because his unchecked guilt can only be satiated by “cleansing the kingdom of immoral souls.” executioner!kazutora, who hums a crude tavern song as he takes his sweet time lining up his blade with the neck of the shivering woman hunched before him—the shivering woman whose only crime is swiping some bread to feed her starving family. executioner!kazutora, who only finds retribution in the twisted cycle of playing the role of god’s “divine” axe.

knight!toman forming a wall in front of their king to square off against an approaching army, a measly one hundred men with fire in their eyes and swords dripping with blood—a measly one hundred men fully prepared to offer up their lives to protect king!mikey.

jester!hanma, who flirts with the women of the court and openly takes cheap shots at tyrant!kisaki, regardless of whether or not he’s in the vicinity. still, it doesn’t matter how humorous the joke is. no one dares to allow even a twitch of their lips. how hanma hasn’t been executed yet, they don’t know.

pirate!nahoya, who cackles like a madman and jeers at an opposing ship from his place perched atop the crow’s nest

apothecary!souya meeting his future s/o in a field of lavender while he’s searching for fresh herbs. apothecary!souya, who’s mortified by the chalky powder spattered on his overalls and runs a hand through his hair, accidentally smearing a yellow dust through his blue curls. apothecary!souya, who blushes when you kindly offer to brush the powder from his hair. apothecary!souya, who offers you one of the dandelions peeking from his pocket as a gesture of gratitude.

ladies-in-waiting!emma and hina scurrying off to deliver empty dishes to cook!mitsuya, who leans forward expectantly to hear the latest gossip when they approach him with sparkling eyes and poorly concealed smiles.

adviser!draken storming into king!mikey’s private chambers without an invitation to shout at him for neglecting his duties and drag him by the ankle out of bed

sorceress!hina enchanting a four-leaf clover necklace with a spell to keep knight!takemichi safe in battle

spymaster!sanzu scaring the shit out of his scribe!s/o whenever he pops up in the windows of the library in all black with no prior warning

doll-maker!izana, who lives in a secluded area of the woods with his apprentice kakucho and obsessively lines his shelves with replicas of the older brother he wishes he had

knight-in-training!chifuyu working extra hard to impress knight!baji, who had recruited him and taken him under his wing

steampunk inventor!chifuyu, who’s never seen without his trademark goggles that kazutora always pokes fun at and threadbare overalls splattered with oil stains. inventor!chifuyu, who nearly has a heart attack when baji hobbles in on one leg, grinning at him with a face swollen with bruises while waving his detached prosthetic leg in greeting. inventor!chifuyu, who keeps wrenches on his belt specifically to hurl at his idiot friends whenever they come into his shop all beat-up with their bronze prosthetics severely damaged

steampunk!hanma, who has a glass eye with the word “pain” engraved on the iris. steampunk!hanma, who asks kisaki to hold something for him. when the latter holds his hand out with an exasperated sigh, hanma sets his replacement eye in his palm and cackles hysterically when kisaki promptly jolts with disgust and chucks it across the room

cyberpunk!sanzu, who’s already inebriated but continues to drown deeper in the neon lights of the club as he pops an array of glowing pills into his mouth, body numb to the robotic assistants that hum around him and intermingle with the equally delirious crowd in case someone were to collapse from overdosing

masquerade!mitsuya, who smiles at you with such kindness and respect as he guides you onto the marble floor that you immediately resolve to discover his identity at a later date

masquerade!kakucho, who does everything in his power to prevent you from uncovering his identity. masquerade!kakucho, who fears that you’ll be disgusted with his deformed appearance once you see his scar.

samurai!yuzuha, who rescues you from a band of thieves but is perplexed when you insist on repaying her goodwill. samurai!yuzuha, who eventually starts coming to you whenever she needs her wounds bandaged or a home-cooked meal. samurai!yuzuha, who refuses to let you touch her sword with your pure, unsullied hands.

potion-maker!ran, who always despises when rindou barges into his workspace for nothing else than to tip over a couple jars and poke fun at his craft. potion-maker!ran, whose skin and hair have been permanently imprinted with the scent of clove and allspice berries. potion-maker!ran, who concocts love spells and perfumes that grant increased intimacy for the lovesick women who visit him when their own assets aren’t working. potion-maker!ran, who smiles charmingly and calls his female customers “darling.” potion-maker!ran, who has no problem with allowing them to test his products on him in order to guarantee their potency—but only if they’re attractive and have a pretty penny to spare :)

gunslinger!mikey, who almost shoots his big toe off trying to impress the beautiful barmaid across the room

servant!baji, who isn’t the slyest but always makes sure he leaves out a saucer of cream for the stray cats that wander through the town during the night, regardless of how much trouble he gets in. servant!baji, who develops a forbidden bond with his royal!s/o due to their shared love of animals. servant!baji, who is ignorant of the ways of courtship but does his best to flirt with you, however flustered and awkward he may be. servant!baji, who sheepishly seeks advice from his mother about how to impress royalty despite him being unable to offer you any material items.

necromancer!takemichi who doesn’t know wtf is going on and is literally only a necromancer because he fucked up reading a recipe for garlic bread that was written in cursive

vampire!kokonoi, who looks wistfully upon his collection of dusty, old perfume bottles as he recalls how they’d been the most expensive items on the market centuries ago. vampire!kokonoi, who possesses splintered, wooden chests overflowing with outdated currency that will never again be utilized. vampire!kokonoi, who sits for hours and stares at the photo of the young woman that he’s preserved in mint condition for countless years, wondering why he can’t remember who she is

half-blood!mikey, who wonders why his legs are so much stronger than the rest of his body, why he’s always been so much faster than his peers, and why they’re always chock-full of energy. half-blood!mikey, who’s blissfully unaware that the blood of his ancestors is not as it seems. half-blood!mikey, who has zero clue that his lineage marks him a descendant of the minotaur.

farmer!chifuyu, who’s too shy to approach the seamstress’s daughter, so he resigns himself to only admiring her from afar until she makes a move herself. farmer!chifuyu, who’s beyond embarrassed when he accidentally bumps into her, the dirt and grime on his clothing soiling her pristine outfit. farmer!chifuyu, who tries to brush it off, only to panic when the dust on his hands stains the fabric. farmer!chifuyu, who shows up at your mother’s shop the next day to apologize and is nearly chased out due to his kind “not belonging there,” only for you to object and invite him in, claiming that he’s your friend.

jack the ripper!sanzu, who leans up against a dirty brick building with his head low, tongue clicking in rhythm with the slim hands on his golden pocket watch as he decides on his next victim. jack the ripper!sanzu, who dons a simple, shapeless white mask that contrasts sharply with the elaborate feather woven into his top hat. jack the ripper!sanzu, whom others eye skeptically when he skillfully, easily slices his steak into cross-sections with nothing more than a butter knife. jack the ripper!sanzu, who smiles so charmingly at women, basking in their ignorance as he lures them into a sense of false security with a few sweet words. jack the ripper!sanzu, who seals all of his letters documenting his crimes with a lipstick-stained kiss and giggles manically when it smears onto his cheek. jack the ripper!sanzu, who is taken aback when one of his targets whirls on him with anger in their eyes and a knife gripped in their hands, fully prepared to give him a dose of his own medicine.

achilles!izana and patroclus!kakucho. that’s all i have to say. y’all know what’s up👀

soothsayer!takemichi, who’s looked down upon by his fellow prophets because of his frenetic efforts to change the future. while the rest lounge beneath the shade of trees, sweet-smelling smoke curling from their ornate pipes and hazy eyes trailing after people who they know are supposed to die tomorrow, takemichi is doing his best to track them down to warn them of their fate. “he’s just a boy,” the others chuckle, “he won’t make a difference.”

victorian era painter!s/o, who finds seishu inui snoozing beneath a tree and resolves to capture his beauty on a canvas. seishu, who’s well-aware of what you’re doing but decides to let you have your fun. painter s/o, who’s mortified when seishu happens to “wake up” as soon as they sigh with satisfaction and requests to see the picture.

barista!izana, who mixes drugs into his drinks for certain customers while they discreetly slide a handsome wad of cash across the counter

archer!chifuyu, who accidentally spears his superior through the leg while struggling with his bow. archer!chifuyu, who meets kazutora in the dungeons and befriends him during the one night he spends there. archer!chifuyu, who is confused and hesitant when he is abruptly assigned to join the ranks of the prince’s bodyguards. archer!chifuyu, who is white with shock when he sees kazutora stroll into the room, a golden crown balanced atop his head and a wide smile blooming upon his lips when he spots his new friend.

ROBIN HOOD!CHIFUYU

potion-maker!souya, whose face always softens whenever you stop by his shop during your daily mail delivery route. potion-maker!souya, who’s ashamed of himself for having considered exploiting your trust in him and slipping a love potion into your drink. potion-maker!souya, who always offers to make you something befitting the occasion whenever you’re running low on energy, not feeling well, or are nervous about something. potion-maker!souya, who’s too shy to confess his feelings for you.

town crier!nahoya, who sometimes slips a swear word or two into his announcements and prefers to storm the town on horseback, disregarding his elaborate attire. town crier!nahoya, who has definitely snatched you off the street during his routes, leaving you to cling to his sweat-dampened clothes and shout at him for being such an imbecile.

shapeshifter!nahoya, who diligently keeps his eyes closed because he can change everything about his appearance, except for his distinctive eye color.

[after-witch]

Hook Line and Sinker [Yandere Ransom Drysdale x Reader]

Title: Hook Line and Sinker [Yandere Ransom Drysdale x Reader]

Synopsis: You’ve broken up with Ransom Drysdale, and you mean it this time. But the freedom that comes with the breakup leads to a series of unexpected coincidences that leave you wondering: was it worth the price?

Word Count: 8955

notes: yandere, mentions of physical abuse, financial abuse, comfort sweaters

Nothing lasts forever. Not even relationships--and certainly not love. What might start off as an intense, passionate relationship can (and did, in your case) eventually fizzle; things that you were willing to overlook when you were absolutely besotted would wear down with time, and eventually they became too much to ignore.

That’s what you tell yourself, what you remind yourself, in the moment after you tell him:

“It’s over, Ransom. We’re done. I’m leaving.”

It couldn’t last forever. Not with his inability to stay sober, not with his tendency to cheat on you with meaningless flings that somehow hurt more than any steamy single-minded affair. Not with his flare-ups of controlling tendencies that left you in tears on the bathroom floor as he asked you to please stop dressing like a slut in front of his family, is that too hard to ask?

You’d asked him to change. He swore he would; he never did. You forgave him, more than once, more times than you could count. But enough was enough. Maybe he thought you were too weak to leave him, especially three years into your relationship, when your lives were becoming so integrated, pushing you towards a potential permanent future. It was a future that left you feeling numb and anxious. Stuck in a marriage with someone who wanted to stay with you but treated you horribly, all the same. And that wasn’t even getting into the family dynamics that left your head spinning.

He stares at you now, and his mouth opens just a little bit in what you know is going to be a barrage of questions, insults, maybe even threats spurred on by your words. But instead he closes his mouth and shakes his head, letting out a soft, bitter chuckle.

“Well, damn. This sucks.” You can see the indent of his tongue in his cheek before he clicks and shrugs. “Guess that’s it then. Need help packing your shit or what?”

His response is so blasé that you’re genuinely shocked and, you must admit, a little hurt. He didn’t even ask for a second chance or beg you to stay or argue with you about your terrible timing because our-vacation-to-Hawaii-is-coming-up. So it’s your turn to look surprised, and you shake your head.

“No, I… already took care of it. It’s at a storage locker.” You didn’t have family left, and your close friends had pulled away from you one by one once you stayed with Ransom time and time again--so you’d had to pay movers to help you pack and transport everything to storage over the weekend, while Ransom was away and you were free to make a clean breakup.

He nods, sticks his hand inside his jacket pockets. He’s looking around the room, avoiding direct eye contact in a clear show of his discomfort. It’s weird seeing Ransom like this--the normally self-assured, cocky Ransom, looking for any excuse not to look at you.

“So… see ya around?” His tone is sincere, if still confused. The idea of you leaving must have really never crossed his mind. The look on his face when he finally faces you again appears genuinely puzzled.

He sticks out his hand and it feels almost comical for things to end this way, particularly considering the nights you’d spent imagining some big blow up, some big fight with Ransom screaming and you firing off the many reasons why it had to end no matter what he said.

But it didn’t go the way you expected at all. It was calm. Easy. A clean break-up.

So you shake his hand and grab your purse and the small roller-suitcase and give a half-hearted wave as you walk out the door; the taxi you’d hired to pick you up is waiting, car running, meter going. You would be staying at a hotel for two weeks, which would hopefully be enough time to find a semi-decent apartment; your credit score had improved so much since Ransom added you to his cards, to a shared checking account, and it wouldn’t be too difficult to get approved.

A new life, one where you could focus on yourself for once, was just around the corner.

**

"I'm sorry, miss, but it's definitely not the reader. The card is declined."

You've had this nightmare before. No, you've lived this nightmare before--years ago when your credit was shit and you ran up your cards and had to face the music in a publicly humiliating display with the longest checkout line you'd ever seen behind you. Only that was years ago, in a little grocery store, and since getting together with Ransom you never had to worry about problems like this. You never had to worry about the shame of not having enough, not being enough.

But this? This was happening now. In an upscale hotel. With your nice purse (a Christmas present) and designer clothes (casual, comfortable) and your cheeks flushed undeniably warm.

The hotel clerk has a tight, sympathetic smile on her face. A coworker who walks behind her glances at you, judging, and you just know he's going to head into some break room and tell everyone but yet another piece of discarded army candy with a declined credit card. You wish you'd kept your sunglasses on.

"Did it, um, say why? I don't--" you plaster a smile on your face, hating the way this all feels familiar, like a part of your past coming back to haunt you. "I don't understand, the card is good."

The clerk's smile flickers, just a bit.

"It says there's a fraud alert on this card. Perhaps you'd better call the company. Or would you like me to call them?"

Fucking. Ransom.

"Oh, oh no, don’t worry about it. I’ll call them myself. I'm so sorry about this." You turn away from the clerk as quickly as possible and step away from the counter, away from the person waiting behind you who will surely have no trouble with their card, away from the clerks giving you a passive side-eye. You lean against a cool cement pillar in the lobby and you know what you have to do.

You have to call Ransom.

You haven't deleted his number yet--you'd planned on calling him today or tomorrow to figure out how to split up your shared finances--so it's easy enough to find the number. It's not so easy to tap his contact, but you have to, so you force yourself to do it and stare at his photo as the call rings. And rings. And rings. “Hello?” Your breath catches but in an instant, when the message continues, you feel stupid. It’s his voicemail. Fuck.

You text him, instead. Emergency. Call right away. And of course: He leaves you on read. Fuck.

You call him again. And again. He picks up on the sixth call, but your heart is racing too hard and sweat is beading down your forehead and it takes you a moment to confirm that the "Hello?" wasn't part of the voicemail message this time. Fuck.

"Um. Hey," you say, keeping your voice as un-royally-pissed-off as possible, because if he did put in a fraud alert then you don't want to risk any additional asshole moves. "So there's something wrong with the card? The one that ends in 8921? The hotel said there was a fraud alert and--"

"Did you really think I'm going to keep paying for your shit if we're over?"

His voice is quick, biting--exactly what you'd expected from him earlier. Somehow it stings even harsher over the phone, where you feel more helpless, unable to avoid his words.

"I thought..." you wet your lips, trying to maintain your cool. "Look, my name is on them, so I thought send you my part of the payments until I can get cards in my own name."

He chuckles, low and short. "Yeah? What, you want to create a payment schedule or something?"

You fight back the annoyance in your tone. You hate having to be the bigger person, but your finances--your life--is on the line. "Yeah, actually, that'd be perfect. It wouldn't be for long. You know I'll pay them on time, I'm not looking to screw you over."

"You're going too pay me on time? For all the stuff you've bought, the stuff I’ve bought for you, this hotel room and god knows what else? How are you going to afford all that?"

He knows you recently earned a promotion at your work. He knows this, because you were so excited about it, and his half-assed congratulations over lukewarm leftovers left you feeling bitter and sad and useless. So you can't help it when bitterness seeps into your voice with your answer. "You know I just got a promotion."

"Did you?" It's said in such a casual tone that it gives you pause, but a moment later he simply hangs up on you.

Fucking. Ransom.

You shove your phone back into your purse, and the clerks at the counter are staring at you. Sweat has trickled down your back and your shirt sticks to your skin ever-so-slightly as you pull away from the pillar and approach the counter, awkward smile and cheeks hot.

"There is an issue with the card, they're working on it, so I’ll just call for a new reservation when it's fixed. I'm so sorry for the mix up!" Your voice is so peppy and high-pitched and fake and you feel like you’re back at your old job, feet aching with falling apart shoes, forced to deal with people returning old toasters laden with crumbs, calming they’d “just bought it the day before and it didn’t work.”

"Of course," the clerk says, and you know this is hotel clerk code for "You're a shitty liar."

You roll your suitcase out of the lobby with tears in your eyes and you shove your sunglasses on as soon as you've cleared the building. You feel exhausted, drained--so you use what little energy you have left to start googling for cheap motels.

**

The room smells musty. You pin the plastic sheet you’d snagged at a dollar store over the comforter and pray it will be enough to protect you from whatever is on the likely unwashed fabric. The TV is broken, there’s no WIFi, and there’s a few suspicious stains on the floor that make you wonder if this hotel has ever been featured in a porno, true crime show, or both.

But it’s all you could afford with the cash in your wallet. You only had enough cash on hand for 2 nights at a ragtag hotel that offers nightly and hourly rates. You didn’t dare use your debit card or any credit cards with Ransom’s name or information on them.

You just need some sleep. A good night’s sleep to feel renewed and ready to tackle retaking your life, bit by bit. In the morning, you need to go to the bank and withdraw your money from the joint bank account. Then you can reopen an account in your name, get a new debit card, and apply for a few credit cards afterwards.

Sure, it would have been nicer to do this without Ransom being an asshole. But deep down, you suspected he wouldn’t let you have a clean, lets-still-be-friends type of break. Not after all the times he’d pressured you into staying, manipulating you with words and gifts and promises, promises. Promises that were worth shit. 

The sheet crinkles underneath you as you scroll through your messages. You’d texted a few formerly close friends about the breakup earlier, hoping that they’d maybe want to reconnect. So far, you’d been left on read, blocked, and received only one response: “New number, who is this?”

So much for that. Not that you can blame them. There are only so many times they can rush over for a late night intervention in which you tell them every horrible thing Ransom does (he’s controlling, he doesn’t want me to meet with friends without permission, he tells me what I can and can’t wear, he cheats, he lies, he pushed me--)--before they get tired of you returning to him, again and again and again.

The only one who’d been texting you recently--okay, for the past year--had been Ransom. Mostly dick pics. And demands for you to send him something back, which you always did after a while, because you didn’t want to deal annoyed texts or voice messages accusing you of clearly cheating on him or hating him because why else wouldn’t you be willing to send him so much as a sexy selfie to your boyfriend? 

But in between those, there were conversations. Sometimes sweet ones, sometimes thoughtful ones that always made you remember why you fell hard for him in the first place. Late night conversations from when he was off on trips. You try not to wonder if he was fucking someone on each of these trips, if while you were sending him a late night ramble about a TV show and he was humoring you with jokes and quips, he was actually snuggled up with someone else. Laying in bed, naked, laughing at your dumb ass waiting at home.

The not-so-sweet conversations were ones that you had screenshotted and sent to your friends more than once, before they pulled themselves away. Texts asking where you were. Asking who you ate lunch with, and whether or not you were fucking them. Asking why your new office was connected to a certain co-worker’s, and how many blowjobs you had to give to get said new office because you didn’t tell him about the new office until after you were moved in, so you were clearly hiding him. Asking you to send him outfit pics so he could approve them or make you change if they were too slutty or not slutty enough or if you were only clearly wearing that halter dress to try to get with the bartender.

Yet your mind had always returned to the nice Ransom, the Ransom who made you laugh and squeezed you hard when had a shitty day of work and let you bury your face in his sweater as you snuggled on the couch. Maybe that’s why it took so long to leave.  You were waiting for him to stop being Ransom and start being the fantasy of Ransom you’d conjured in your head.

Your eyes feel heavy so you plug in your phone, turn the sound off, and lay down on the uncomfortable plastic sheet that crinkled over the pillows. It feels strange to lay on a lumpy mattress covered in plastic, after years of custom-made beds and memory foam pillows and all the other luxuries that Ransom was able to provide.

You try not to think about it too much. While you won’t exactly be indulging in all the luxuries you had with Ransom, but your job pays you well, and you won’t ever have to go back to living hand-to-mouth like you did before. You won’t have to worry about late bills and debt collectors and landlords who come late at night and demand inspections while you’re in your pajamas.

You have work in the morning. You have to get to the bank in the morning. Your thoughts are still buzzing with anxiety as you fall into an uneasy slumber.

**

“I’m sorry, but the account has been closed.”

You feel years of customer service training cracking underneath your skin. You can’t freak out. If you freak out, they won’t feel inclined to go the extra mile. You know this, from firsthand experience.

So you take a shaky breath. “Um, this just--it isn’t possible. It’s a joint account. I’m on the account. There was money in there, you can check--”

“I’m sorry, but the funds were transferred and account has been closed by the other account holder. There’s nothing I can do. I suggest contacting the other party in the account.”

You swallow and nod and walk away, this time having been smart enough to keep your sunglasses on to hide your humiliated expression. Why didn’t you insist on having your own account? Ransom said it was better to keep it joint, so you could just buy stuff whenever you wanted. You’d agreed because it was so generous, something you’d never thought possible at the time, when you were used to having to pay overdraft fees and cringing whenever you checked your balance.

Your fingers tremble as you bring up his contact on your phone. You tap. No answer.

You don’t have time to call him two, three, ten times--you have to get to work. So you steady your nerves. You breathe in, you breathe out. You get in your car and plug your phone in and decide to contact your lawyer. Fuck--your lawyer was Ransom's lawyer. But the anxiety eases when you remember that you’d paid him a retainer fee months ago, and Ransom couldn’t do anything about that. You could at least get a basic consult out of the retainer.

The call ringing sounds muffled through your car’s speaker but it isn’t long before someone answers, and you’re transferred to the lawyer Ransom insisted you have--gotta have a lawyer when you have money, babe--and that you hadn’t spoken to in ages.

“Hi,” you say, voice artificially bright, “this is--”

You don’t get a chance to finish.

“I know who this is.” The lawyer sounds tired, and his tone is curt and clipped. “I’m sorry. I’m no longer able to provide you with any legal counsel.”

You almost miss a red light and regret calling the office while you were driving.

“Is this about the debit card? Because I paid the retainer months ago--”

“The retainer has been refunded into the connected checking account.”

Your voice looses its artificial cheeriness and you stumble over your words in frustration. “That’s--it’s--it was a joint account, which is why I called, Ransom drained it and took everything. Isn’t there something we can do, because that was my money too and--”

“I am no longer able to provide you with legal counsel.”

You want to cry. You hate crying, as an adult. It makes you feel weak. Especially on the phone.

“I don’t understand. Why was the retainer refunded? Did--did someone call you?”

He clears his throat into the phone. “I am no longer able to provide you with legal counsel. Goodbye.”

He hangs up. Your hands shake.

You pull into the parking lot of your work and park the car and as soon as you do, you hunch yourself over the steering wheel and simply shake in frustration.

You have no bank account. Ransom drained it. You have no credit cards. Ransom blocked them. You couldn’t even talk to a lawyer, because--shock--Ransom made sure you couldn’t. Everything was in Ransom’s name. He insisted on adding you to his accounts, closing out your own paltry ones; insisted that he pay off your credit card debt, and making you close those, too, instead adding you to his cards. It was all to help you out, he said, at the time.

Wasn’t it? He was shockingly not judgmental about the state of your finances, and while you’d put up some protest, you didn’t exactly argue with him when he suggested wiping your debts clean and getting your credit back up. And considering that he wasn’t immune to needing a bail-out now and then (late night calls to his grandfather, snarky comments at his parent’s dinner table, come to mind) maybe he could sympathize with being in over your head. Even if your issues were rooted in poverty and shitty jobs and his were rooted in a total lack of financial discipline and, as you’d later found out, a drug addiction.

Still. He helped you before. He would help you now, once he realized how serious it was. For now he was just--reacting like an asshole, acting childish and ridiculous. He was an asshole. You know this. You’ve known this. You need to call him and meet with him and make him realize how ridiculous he’s being, and he’ll sigh and snark but he’ll agree to stop acting like such an ass.

But first you have to work. Life goes on. Even without Ransom--even with Ransom, screwing you over out of pettiness.

The air conditioning in the lobby is on blast, and the familiar smell of clean furniture and floor cleaner from the late-night cleaning crew is surprisingly comforting. Here, you can forget about Ransom--forget about the cards and the lawyer and the fact that your life has been upended in mere hours. If only until your lunch break, at least.

Anthony is working the front desk and you give him a a soft, if strained smile. There’s something in the smile that he gives you in return that reminds you of the hotel clerk. Sympathetic and judgmental.

Ah. You probably look like--well, less than your best, you realize. You did pack some toiletries in your suitcase but the water in the motel had streaks of brown and you didn’t shower, opting instead to rinse your face with what was left of a water bottle you’d bought earlier and layering on more deodorant to make up for the lack of a proper scrub. You probably looked a bit tired, haggard, not unlike some of the employees who got stuck with big clients the night before their paperwork was due.

Still. Nothing that freshening up in your private bathroom--thank god for the new office--can’t help. So you hit the button on the elevator and take deep breaths as you ride up, intent on working as productively as possible. The doors open and you navigate the familiar maze of open-plan desks for the lower-tier workers, desks surrounded by half-walls that always kept you staring straight ahead, lest you accidentally glance over and see a co-worker picking their nose.

Yet as you weave in-and-out of the familiar rows, heading towards the back of the room where the real offices, the ones with full walls and doors and privacy glass lay, you can’t help but feel that something is… off. 

No one calls out to greet you, though that can be easily attributed to the jealousy over your promotion. You’d been working there for far less than most of the lower level workers--Ransom got you the job, with his connections and a hefty revision of your resume and, you assume, some personal phone calls--and you’d already been promoted to senior management. That wasn’t technically Ransom’s work, though. That was all your own effort, your own blood, sweat, tears and intense devotion to each project that came your way. Sure, the connections he helped you make, the dinner parties, all that helped--but if it weren’t for your skills, the connections wouldn’t have made a difference. Right? 

Still, whatever bitterness existed in the people hunch in open-air cubicles, the receptionists always greeted you. But today they caught your eye then awkwardly glanced down, or pretended to be looking for something in their drawers. It was odd. Did you look that bad? That out of sorts?

You shake off the heavy feeling in your stomach and for once, you shut the door to your office instead of keeping it open for passers-by or people needing approval for this-and-that. It feels good to lean against the solid wood door and take a breath, a deep one, invigorating and calming.

A quick trip to the bathroom has you staring at yourself from all angles. You don’t look that bad, you reason. Just tired. But who wouldn’t be, sleeping on a plastic sheet in the shittiest motel in the area? You take a quick sniff under your arms but even that reveals nothing much but a faint hint of sweat and powdery deodorant.

There’s a firm knock at your office door and you glance at the mirror for a final once over before opening it up. It’s your boss. Did you have a meeting? You try to do a mental scan of something you’ve missed, but nothing comes to mind.

“Hi,” you say, wavering with uncertainty at the threshold. Should you invite him in? “What can I do for you? We didn’t have a meeting, did we?” You let yourself chuckle, dry and quick. “I’m sorry, I’m a bit scattered this morning.”

Your boss doesn’t return your chuckle, which immediately raises the hairs on the back of your neck. Something was wrong. Shit--you were working on a major project for a seriously important client. The type of client that could genuinely make or break a company, if you got on their bad side. You press your lips together and make a silent vow to keep it serious.

“I’d like to keep this conversation private.” His tone is low and serious and you invite him in without a second thought, shutting the thick door behind you, trying to ignore the way everyone was shooting glances as it closed. Fuck, fuck, fuck, your thoughts race--no wonder everyone was giving you the stink eye. Something was wrong with the client, and you were the one making primary contact with them.

Your boss takes a seat on the leather sofa pushed up against the wall and you immediately set yourself down behind your desk.

He sighs. Short. Frustrated. Annoyed.

“We have to let you go.”

The words don’t register.

“Go where?”

It’s only after you say it that you realize what he said, what it meant, and you feel like a colossal moron in every respect.

“It’s not working out,” he continues, staring at your desk and not at your face. “Since you’ve only been in this position for a month, you don’t quality for senior severance. The best we can do is to pay you what you’ve earned this week.”

Your mouth is so dry that you don’t know if you can talk. Your hand fumbles on your desk for a water bottle you’d left overnight, and that’s when you see it--the photo frame. You keep a photo of yourself and Ransom, cuddled together for a selfie, on your desk. The photo was lying on your desk, frameless, ripped in half--leaving only your vacantly smiling face staring up at you.

Ransom was here.

“Did he put you up to this?” You whisper. “Did Ransom tell you to fire me?”

You know he won’t answer. But you stare at him so fervently that he can’t help but look up at you, and you see it all in his eyes, in the subtle, embarrassed expression of his face.

You can imagine Ransom strolling in--maybe he called first--and settling in for a private audience with your boss in his office. He’d probably pull the chair up to the desk and put his feet on it, just to be an ass. Then he’d bring up… you. And why you had to be let go. Did he give a reason, did he tell your boss why a respected employee who he once secured a position for, who shot up the ranks through intense effort and work, needed to be fired? Did he even need to give a reason?

“This is absolute bullshit,” you say, finally, voice dry and hoarse and bitter. You want to say you’ll be contacting a lawyer. That this won’t stand. But you know--and he knows--that there’s nothing you can do.

Your boss stands, slow, and sighs again. “I’m sorry it had to end this way. Pack up your things as quickly as possible.”

He leaves, and you keep your eyes trained on the ripped photograph to avoid seeing the expressions of the people in the doorway before your boss mercifully shuts the door.

It takes all of your effort not to cry.

You don’t have much effort left.

**

Your things consisted of a handful of personal items, little touches you’d brought in to make your office feel more like “you.” A nice picture print. A pastel afghan to drape over the couch. A stapler with a floral design. You have the strong urge to dump them in a trash can, but that’s quickly quelled by the realization that you can’t afford to buy new things, or any things, at this point.

You don’t care if wearing your sunglasses as you power walk to the elevators makes you look stupid. You know someone, somewhere in this office is filming you and probably captioning it with something stupid to post to their Reels or TikTok, and it just makes you leave faster. A few people murmur comments your way, sympathetic in tone, but you’re not really listening. None of their platitudes matter, because Ransom was here, in your workplace, in your office, and he stole the thing you were most proud of from under your feet.

To his credit, when you reach the bottom floor, Anthony practically fumbles out from behind his desk and holds the door open for you. He mouths a “Sorry” and he probably is, but he’s probably used to dealing with rich assholes like Ransom who get what they want, when they want it; even when what they want is to fire a good employee on demand for very personal reasons.

The sun is beating down hard, even for the morning, and the stress of your situation makes you blast the air conditioning as soon as you get in the car. God, the car--how are you going to afford the payments? You wish you could call your mom. You wish your friends--are they even your friends, anymore?--would call you back.

You grab your phone from your purse and stare at the black screen. Maybe you should call the friend who didn’t block you. She would answer, if you called, because she knew you didn’t make calls unless it was serious. She might not rush to your side, but maybe she can offer you a place to stay, a couch, some advice. A kind word would do, right now, with how much anxiety and frustration has been packed into the last 12 hours.

But when you unlock your screen, your gut sinks. Five missed calls. From the storage company. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You tap their number and bring the phone to your ear and pretend that your hands aren’t shaking.

The man who answers is the same one you talked to on the phone before, when setting up your move. “Hello, Move’nSecure Storage Company. This is Steve speaking. How many I help you?”

“Hi Steve!” You hate how chipper you sound. “I actually just got a few missed calls from you guys, I’m sorry, I was in the office and--”

“Oh.” His voice is surprisingly flat, suddenly flat, losing its customer service inflection in an instant before picking it back up. “Yes. We’ve been trying to reach you. For confirmation, the storage locker your purchased is A443, correct?”

You fumble in your purse for the receipt and confirm the little numbers printed neatly on the paper. “Yes, A443. Is everything okay?”

“No, it’s not.” You’re grateful that you didn’t have much for breakfast because you know it would be clawing its way back up at this point. “The card you gave us for the storage fee was declined.”

The debit card. You’d paid in cash for the move, and paid for 1 month of storage with the card. The card that was now useless, connected to an empty and closed bank account.

“Is there another card you can give us?”

“No, but...” You say, because no, there is not. There is not a card. There is not a job. There is nothing. “But if you could just hold my stuff, I’ll be there in less than a hour to get it.”

“We don’t hold items,” Steve tells you, a rehearsed banality to his tone. “Your items are currently outside the unit.”

You instinctively want to yell at Steve but, fuck fuck fuck, you’ve been there, behind the counter, dealing with people who couldn’t pay for shit and then had the nerve to get upset with you. “All of it?” You ask, your voice cracking slightly.

“Yes.”

You hang up, and toss your phone onto the passenger seat. The quicker you get there, the less chance that something will get broken or stolen or who knows what else.

The trip to the storage unit seems to take forever, and when you arrive you don’t even take a second to lock your car doors. Instead you sprint inside, startling Steve--looking at his phone, then at you, then at the sign plastered up on the wall leading to the storage locker floors. He points. Row A, separated into 100s, 200s, 300s, and--your number--400s.

You don’t remember if you say ‘thank you,’ because you’re speed-walking down the hallway and following the signs and it isn’t long before you see it: a storage locker with tons of stuff piled up, dumped, outside the now-empty unit where it was supposed to be safe and sound. Waiting for you to get an apartment and pick it back up and rearrange it into your new life, your new “you.”

The problem is immediate: You can’t fit all this in your car. You don’t know anyone who could take the stuff for you. You mind reels for options and the only thing you can come up with is ferrying your belongings to and from the hotel. You can pay for a few more days once you cash your partial paycheck. After that… you don’t know.

Pawn your things? Yeah. That might work. You can get enough cash by pawning most of your stuff, the good stuff. Enough money to get you into a shitty apartment with leaks and a bad landlord. Then you can a job that barely pays rent and you’ll be right back where you started, before you met Ransom. Before you thought leaking ceilings and $20 paychecks after taxes were a thing of the past.

You ignore the humiliation that makes your stomach curl as you take your things out to the car, handful by handful. Steve doesn’t bother holding the door open for you. You mention that you’re going to be back on your way out, and he offers a non-committal hum.

At least when you get to the hotel, the owner sees you fumbling with boxes and offers to help you out. It takes less time with two hands to get everything in the room, and once it’s locked up you head back out to the storage units.

You keep your sunglasses on for the second trip into the storage unit, even though you don’t know Steve or care what he thinks. He doesn’t look up when you walk in and it’s just as well, since you’re only heading back to the A-400s and don’t need his non-existent help.

But the sight that greets you when you round the corner to your unpaid-for storage locker makes your blood run cold.

Your stuff is gone. All of it.

You rush back to the desk, where Steve does look up, startled by your urgency.

“My stuff,” you spit out, “My stuff is gone! Someone took it!”

Steve shrugs. “Sorry.” He points to a sign behind him: “We are not responsible for the loss of items inside or outside storage lockers.”

“Are you fucking kidding?” You can’t the anger in your voice this time. “You just watched someone walk off with my stuff and didn’t say anything?”

Steve raises his eyebrows. “If it was that important, you shouldn’t have left it here. Or you should have given us another card.”

You feel like throwing your hands up but you just clench your fist and storm out the door, huffing as you reach your car. The anger melts into the sense of loss, the realization that you only have a few meager items that you’d managed to collect; you picked the lightest stuff, first. And in retrospect it was things that didn’t matter much at all. Clothes. Hair supplies. Makeup. You should have grabbed the box with your USB sticks, your memory cards, your photo albums; your personal mementos and sentimental shit. Instead you grabbed the box with your shampoo.

At least the clothes might get something in a pawnshop. The makeup, too, on Facebook or Depop or Instagram. But it wouldn’t be enough to put you up in an apartment. You’ll have to live in your car. Until they repossess it for lack of payment.

You don’t have your bank account, your credit cards, your job, a place to stay, or your personal possessions. And soon, you won’t have your car.

You have no friends. No boyfriend. No family.

All you have $20 left in your wallet and well, fuck it. You grab some McDonalds on the way home because, fuck it, and eat all the fries before you make it to the motel. The thought of eating in your dirty room makes your stomach turn and you decide to eat everything else you bought, the burger and the shake and the chicken nuggets too, tossing the wrappers on the floor. It feels like deja vu--getting cheap fast food to make you feel full, tossing trash on the floor of the passenger seat, all bringing back the way you used to when you’d grab something from the dollar menu on your way to work at the call center.

You almost wish you could stay at this hotel, brown water and all. The owner is decently nice. He smiles at you when you enter and doesn’t bring up that you didn’t come back with more boxes, like you said you would.  

You’re surprised at how grateful you feel for the dingy hotel room now that you won’t be able to stay here more than another day. Now that the alternative is sleeping in your car, then sleeping on the street, if you were lucky.

Your phone feels heavy when you set it on the table and stare at the home screen. Another photo of you and Ransom stares back up at you. You haven’t had time to change it up yet. He’s grinning. You’re smiling. It’s a good photo. You try to place it in your memory, try to remember what beach that was, but your trips blur together and you can’t.

Should you call him? If it was just the cards, just him being petty over credit and finances, it was one thing. You could try to placate him with returning gifts, just asking him to give you what you put in from your own paychecks. But making you lose your job? It was too far, too fucking far. And there was no going back from that. Fuck, someone was probably moving into your office as you sat in this dimly lit room mourning the loss of your entire life.

For a brief, very fleeting moment, you consider calling Harlan. You weren’t exceptionally close, but he seemed to like you well enough. He’d even asked you once, puling you aside at a tension-filled family party, if Ransom treated you right, told you to tell him if he ever got to be too much. Harlan felt like Ransom’s keeper--in more ways than one. You could never tell Harlan about the shouts or the occasional bruises from when Ransom really, really lost his temper--it’s not like you could prove them, anyway, as Ransom made sure to keep you away from his family when he lost control like that. No need for excuses about running into doors when he made sure you looked your best at family functions.

But the thought of breaking the uneasy stasis that Ransom had with the most significant member of his family made you want to vomit. There would be no coming back from that, and you knew better than to cross any line involving the great Harlan Thrombey.

You could call your friend--ex-friend? The one who didn’t block you or forget your number. You should. No, you will. Because what else do you have to lose.

But before you can bring up her number, you get a text--Ransom. It’s a photo and your curiosity gets the better of you as you click the notification.

“What the fuck?”

He’s sent you a photo of his car, trunk open. It’s filled with boxes, odds-and-ends. It’s filled with your stuff.

You text him: What??

He texts back: Hey. I’m in front of the hotel. Come out? Bring your suitcase. :P

It’s your stuff. It’s his car. He’s here. All reason is thrown aside as you grab your suitcase and purse and rush down the hallway, ignoring the owner’s confused response from behind his desk as you push open the front doors and look around the parking lot.

His car is parked to the side, not in front of the hotel’s glass double doors. He’s standing outside his car, leaning against it. He takes off his sunglasses and tucks them in his pocket when he sees you approaching, face confused and fuming all at once.

“What the fuck, Ransom, what the fuck is your problem--”

“Hey, hey,” he says, hands up in defense, “You’re not even going to thank me for picking up your stuff?”

You feel suddenly, impossibly rooted to the spot.

“What do you--what? You took my stuff?”

He shrugs. “C’mon, did you really think I’d just leave your stuff in some shitty storage unit? Someone would’ve taken it if I didn’t get there first.”

You swallow. “Why?” You ask, because Ransom never does anything for no reason. Or so you’ve learned.

His expression loses a bit of its cocky casualness. He tilts his head a bit, looking at you as if you’ve asked a particularly offensive question.

“Why do you think?”

To lord it over you? To make you think your stuff was gone and make you worried, sick, crazy?

“I don’t know,” is what you settle for in the end. “I really, really don’t. You--” You lick your lips, and try to calm down, calm the pitter-patter of your heart, and think before you speak. “You’ve done some pretty messed up stuff today. My job?” The last question comes out soft and pained, and you know your eyes are starting to tear up.

“Hey.” His voice is soft and placating and it makes your stomach flip as he approaches you, standing there on the sidewalk with your purse and suitcase. “Hey, c’mon. Don’t cry on me.”

You know this Ransom. The Ransom that holds you and pets your hair and offers to get Thai food delivered even though he doesn’t like it just to make you happy.

He puts his hand on your shoulder and you jerk it away. “Don’t.” That Ransom is a fantasy. Or an incomplete version, the version that pretends he doesn’t lie and cheat and hurt you in more ways than one. “Don’t you fucking dare, especially not after what you pulled today. My job? My job, Ransom? You’re a--a fucking asshole.”

He puts his hands up again, defensive, and takes a step back. But he doesn’t return to his car, and stays just a few steps in front of you.

“Look. Call me an asshole. Sure, fine, I can admit that. But do you know what else I am?”

He waits a beat, waits for you to look at him, before he continues. “I’m a realist. I like facts. And the fact is? You aren’t much without me. No job, no credit cards, no bank account. Without me, you’re just some broke chick scrambling to get an apartment in the shittiest part of town, working a dead-end job that don’t pay shit. With me though…. “

He leaves the words unfinished, but you know what he means. Flashes of your life, cocktails and smart business outfits and dinners at restaurants you didn’t even dream about attending before you met him. Phone calls with shakers in the industry and social media requests from people you’d never dream you’d meet. Connections that meant something, a career path, dinner parties with people who could offer tangible benefits to your career and your life.

It wasn’t that he spoiled you. He wasn’t a sugar daddy. You weren’t getting gifts for blowjobs. It was that his presence in your life boosted you, socially, financially, mentally, physically, in every which way possible.

His presence got you a job that you loved, which meant you weren’t burnt out when you came home, which meant that you had the time and energy to spend hours catching up on books or redecorating the house or watching movies. Good money meant you could order in whenever you felt like it, meant you didn’t have to worry if you burned dinner because you could just buy new steaks or order-in or go out, last minute, and still get a great table. It meant you had all the clothes you wanted, stylish and personally tailored; it meant you had easy access to a gym and exercise equipment and an indoor pool to keep you healthy. It meant you had a life that provided comfort in every way possible.

Being with Ransom Drysdale was like… like a little shot of privilege directly into your arm.

Privilege that he took away just as easily as he gave it. Just as easily as you took it. Just as easily as you took it and eagerly ignored the dark side underneath. Or maybe you didn’t ignore it. Maybe you liked it, maybe it reminded you of who you were underneath the designer clothes and expensive dinners.

Maybe you wanted to fix him, like he fixed you? He wasn’t totally bad, after all, he did make sure no one took your belongings. Maybe it was your presence that gave him the idea for that touch of sympathy, maybe with Ransom change was slow and muddled, not picture-perfect sweeping changes like the kind in movies.

“So?” Ransom’s voice cuts through your thoughts. “Are you going to come home or,” he waves his hands around dismissively, at the hotel, at you.

You feel very, very less-than right now. You look awful, your hair mussy and your makeup mostly melted off with sweat and sun. You probably smell more than you normally do, thanks to the lack of a shower. Your muscles, sore from the motel bed, ache for the large spa bathtub that Ransom had installed in the master bathroom just for you, stocked with bubbles and salts and overpriced bath bombs that were $10 a pop.

But your muscles had hurt before, when he pushed you against the dresser.

You have nothing, and no one. Except Ransom. Ransom who didn’t judge you when you instinctively saved plastic bottles and boxes, but merely nudged you towards recycling and took you out to splurge on a reusable water bottle and proper storage containers the next day. Ransom who asked you what sort of job you wanted, really wanted, and made it happen for you. Ransom who shrugged and wiped away your credit card debt without making you feel like shit.

Ransom who didn’t let you leave the house if your wrists were sporting fingerprint shaped bruises. Ransom who argued with you about talking to men, even men at work. Ransom who held you tight at night and said he never wanted to let you go, and wouldn’t you just make a fine-ass addition his crazy family. Ransom who took care of you, now that you had no one else.

“What do you want me to do?” The words feel slow, sluggish. Like they wanted to stick to the roof of your mouth and it took everything in you to get them out.

His voice turns low and serious as he stares at you with an characteristic expression. “Well, the first thing is to get down on your knees…”

You feel your eyes practically bugging out.

“What the fuck, Ransom?”

He laughs. He always did have a nice laugh.

“I’m just messing with you, Jesus. Take a chi-I-il pill. Just grab your purse and come sit your sweet ass in the front seat. Let’s go get some burgers, I’m starving.”

Your legs feel like jelly when you take that first step, and the sound of your roller suitcase as you pull it along seems louder than ever. Ransom pops the truck and you just manage to fit it inside with the handle closed, jamming it in between some boxes at an odd angle. The handle of the passenger side is familiar, warm from the sun.

You open the door and practically shove yourself into the seat, closing the door as fast as possible. You can’t do more than glance at him as humiliation and anxiety and just the smallest bit of relief washes over you. It’s been less than 24 hours since you broke up, and here you are--again.

He’s staring at you quietly, his expression difficult to place. He looks relieved. He looks annoyed. He looks like he wants to kiss you. He looks like he wants to slap you. Maybe he wants to do it all at once and can’t decide which to pick.

Instead, he puts his hand on your thigh. Gives it a squeeze. Hard, bordering on painful.  He’s staring straight ahead, at the worn-out sign on the hotel’s front door, one hand gripping the flesh of your thigh. He looks good in profile. “Don’t ever try to pull something like that again. I mean it. I really mean it.”

You turn, glance out the window, familiar tears at the edge of your eyes.

“I won’t,” you whisper, dreaming of the tub and bubbles and how good a warm soak will feel on your back, on your thighs, on your soul.

“Good girl,” he says, patting your thigh firmly. He plucks his sunglasses out of pocket and puts them on in a smooth motion. The car starts smoothly, its fine-tuned and expensive engine a familiar sound, and your hands feel robotic as you pull the seatbelt over your chest and click it tight.

“Let’s get dinner and get home. You have some unpacking to do.”