#I reiterate... the au where I never wanted any of this. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

almostfoxglove · 25 days

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HOLD STILL

written for @punkshort's AU August Challenge

RATING: Explicit (18+) PAIRING: Bodyguard!Dave York x f!Reader WORD COUNT: 3.4k CW: Dave's filthy mouth, pwp, smut (cockwarming, unprotected piv, creampie, sorta soft-dom!dave but really he's just bossy, sorta praise kink, a couple pussy pronouns don’t look at me), and one nonsense tense switch just for the hell of it I guess.

SUMMARY: On your last night together, Dave agrees to compromise.

read on ao3 | almostfoxglove masterlist

You want him, but he won’t fuck you. Not once, not even quickly, not even with just his hands. Dave York—ever stoic, unflinching—insists on doing his job and his job alone. And you, as he so enjoys reiterating, are not his job. Protecting you is.

For three weeks you’ve smothered the calendar hung on the kitchen wall with another red X each morning, whittling the days until you give your polished testimony and say goodbye to him for good. Now the court date looms heavy on the horizon—it’ll rise tomorrow with the sun.

In the meantime—these last, dwindling hours—you roam the grand rooms of an apartment rented for your protection, your anonymity, at the very skirt of the city where you’d surely have lost your mind if not for him. Stationed diligently at your side, hand never more than a twitch from the grip of his gun. So many hours spent alone you've memorized his form: how he looks scanning the curtained windows for any whisper of danger. How he's never complained when you choose cheesy reality shows from the TV guide. Teaching you how to play Spades with a deck of cards soft and worn—from his home, maybe, though you never ask—and letting you win the first hand, lips quirked when you call him out on it, then unapologetically wiping the floor with you for the rest of your isolation.

Yes, you know him, though only in image. Broad and sturdy, shirts each neatly ironed and squarely tucked. The hard line of his jaw and the fullness of his bottom lip. His hair always swept neatly from his face, even when you know he’s recently woken up. Never scruffy, never stubbled. Clean shaven and the smell of nice hotel shampoo.

It’s wrong, how you try to prod him to no avail. No matter your efforts, he says nothing of the way you adorn your body: lacy slips and satin sets at night, hugging silhouettes during the day, hair always done, lipstick never out of place even though you can’t leave the apartment or stand too near the windows. Dave is the only one who sees you, save for the days or hours when he leaves you his clumsy understudy to step down from his post.

He must know you do it for him.

It’s wrong, but you asked once, early on. Tonight?

And Dave’s mouth pinched into a flat, polite line. Unreadable, his face drained of its emotion. His declination drawled deep and heady, a voice that curled your toes and more than once kept you panting alone in your bed that’s not yours at all, just two doors away from his, fingers needy and swirling. No, honey. Not tonight.

Repeated in your mind until it warped like an overplayed tape.

No, honey.

Honey.

Not tonight.

Tonight.

Tonight, he is gone—your last together before the trial—leaving you in the hollow apartment with his proxy, stung. Same dark clothes, same holstered gun, same little piece nestled in his ear, but not half of what you want. You want Dave: a man as solid as he is driven, immutable as he is tempting. Assigned to protect you until you deliver the account that’ll send a monster away.

Perhaps you’ve liked the game—how he watches you, but never gives in—but now it’s lost its shimmer.

Lights dimmed for the evening, all black curtains drawn, the vaulted ceilings of the kitchen feel miles high as you perch on a barstool at the breakfast counter to stare at the calendar taunting you across the quiet room. Beyond the pristine halls you’ve lapped all day like an anxious dog, the city serenades you. Traffic squealing through streets, sirens singing in the distance, the occasional shout of someone walking by outside, eight floors below.

You are not, at night, permitted to part the curtains, lest someone get a glimpse of your illuminated face, but you long to open one now, see if Dave is out there, returning to your little castle turret one final time. Because it’s possible he won’t come back at all—that his coworker will escort you between lobby and truck, between truck and courthouse, between courthouse and whatever comes next. Maybe home. That you’ll never see Dave again, let alone throw caution to the wind and ask once more, tonight?

And then, just then, as your stomach begins to sink with disappointment, you hear the sudden crack of the front door unlocking and the creak of its surrender. You’ve conjured him, somehow, past the stroke of midnight. Then low, rumbled whispers, the unmistakable tone of Dave’s voice mumbling to his understudy. Your heart speeds as the door closes again and his stand-in retreats into the hall. How dizzying, the sound of locks settling into their rightful places, turned by Dave’s unerring hands.

When he appears in the dining room behind you, bomber jacket hanging from one arm, he tucks a tiny apology into the twitch of his lips—or maybe it’s meant to be a smile. “It’s late,” he says, as your eyes drink him in. Polished as ever, despite the hour, not a stitch out of place. “Should be in bed.”

You shrug, hoping you might appear indifferent. “Couldn’t sleep,” you say, aware of how the satin of your robe slopes off your shoulder with no intention of righting it.

Does something darken in his face then, or do you imagine it? You can’t be sure, not in this umbra, at this time of night. Jaw ticking, Dave strides cautiously toward the dining table, drapes his jacket over the back of one glossy chair, and sinks into the seat at the head of the sleek table, same as usual. A quiet kind of reign, his claiming this position, always, for every meal. He scratches his cheek, slips the gun from the holster at his belt to rest on the table, and as he leans back you indulge yourself—how can you not—in the slight buck of his hips as he shifts to stretch out his legs.

“Need your rest,” Dave chides softly. No edge to his tone.

Sighing before you can stop yourself, disappointed all over again as his gaze draws off you to the windows and drapes. On duty, still. On duty, always. Not you. Not tonight. “S’the last night,” you reply, staring at the calendar again. One little red X to go. “You weren’t here.”

Behind you, his deep and measured breath. The shiver of that unflappable restraint, you hope, but you don’t yet dare to look back. He might spook.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

You don’t budge. Don’t move.

“You hear me?” Voice a little harder now, solidifying. When he speaks to you, you always look him in the eye—or you always have before.

Electric, your heart. Revving just a breath faster, just a hair harder, at the sound of him huffing in frustration. Your lips tick up in one corner, hidden, a secret meant only for you. When Dave says your name, your whole body purrs and you at last turn your head enough to let him glimpse your profile, still withholding your gaze.

“Pouting,” he scolds, this time meaning it. “That what this is?”

“Avoiding me,” you counter. “That where you were?”

Dave hmphs, darkness fading and softness returning to his tone. “Course not, honey.”

You look at him now, properly. Barstool spinning as you push off the counter to face him. Under the dusk of dimmed pendant lights over the dining table, Dave glows. In the time you’ve looked away, he’s unbuttoned his shirt one button lower than it’d been when he walked in.

One button lower than you’ve ever seen him wear before.

“Said I’m sorry,” he says again, head tilted. His foot comes out to nudge the leg of the chair beside his, angling it in your direction. “Come here.”

He means for you to sit, maybe play a hand of Spades, but as you slink off the barstool you have no intention of taking the seat. Warmth flushing in your chest, cool, conditioned air greeting your bare legs and collarbones, all the skin not covered by your sleekest sleep set. You swear he drinks the sight of you, for once, as you cross the kitchen toward him. Eyes dark not only from shadows, from the time. Or else you hope, as you come to a stop between Dave’s knees, that the way he’s not yet blinked means what you want it to.

Lips parting, a breath from speaking when you beat him to the punch and ask, “Tonight?” Your chin lowered and eyes searching his. It’s the last night. Might as well show your hand while you still can, before he slinks back into the underbelly of a city where you know he’s lived for years but you’ve never once glimpsed him, and not just because it’s busy.

Because invisible is what he’s paid to be, what he’s good at. Unseen until the fist of him is needed, the gun.

Pink striping his bottom lip, a swipe of his tongue, eyes boring into you. The slightest shake of his head, clean-shaven cheeks sharked in the shadow and golden light. “Honey.” Not a no, honey. Not a not tonight. Just honey, like you’ve imagined.

Emboldened, you caress of your fingertips across his shoulder, tracing the seam of his crisp, pale blue dress shirt. So handsome, always so handsome. A man who takes care of himself, who tidies and cleans without your needing to ask. Spotless, always. Reserved, always. Killing you, always, with every brush of his gaze.

You draw your fingers towards his shirt collar.

“Can’t,” says Dave, softer still. Breathy, almost. You pet the knife-cut of his pressed collar, the button just below it, and his Adam’s apple bobs slowly in his throat. Again, he shakes his head so slightly it looks more like a twitch. A reflex to say no. Not a desire to. “Can’t fuck you, honey. Wouldn’t be right.”

You bite your lip, brows drawing together, not lifting your hand from the button placket of his shirt. “Just tonight,” you breathe, and bat your eyes a little.

At last Dave’s dark eyes drop from yours, scanning the length of you above him with searing precision. Consideration. You slant your head to one side as his gaze slides back up, hesitating on your silk-draped chest, and you suck a sharper breath before it returns to meet yours. He cuffs your wrist with his hand to halt your teasing as he shakes his head once more, licking his bottom lip again with greater meaning. A glint in his eyes, lust finally flaring.

Pride swirls in your stomach, honeyed and wanting. Then he tugs you by the hips with such reflexes you hardly register the movement of his hands before you’re on him, straddling him in the chair, your thighs framing his hips. Held. Your robe fanning behind you, over his knees. Heart pounding dangerously close to a cardiac event.

Dave tsks softly, smirking when you whimper, trying to roll your hips over the heat of his crotch. Those careful, deadly hands lock them in a vice as he clicks his tongue. “Not gonna fuck you,” he murmurs, and you lean in to kiss him but he pulls his head away. “Not gonna kiss you either. Not right.”

You don’t care about right. Now you pout for real, forehead wrinkling, staring at his upturned lips. You feel the unmistakable twitch of him growing hard against you and your cunt throbs in reply, needy and slick. You try to wiggle again but Dave pinches your hips in warning. “Look at me,” he repeats, that edge to his voice that curls your toes, and your eyes snap to his.

“Good girl.”

You moan quietly, made liquid by the tender swipe of his thumb over the satin of your sleep shorts. Your eyes fluttering at such a tiny stroke, not even the meeting of skin.

“You can’t move, okay? Only allowed to sit.” When you don’t answer, too lost to the throb of his cock against your begging core, Dave pinches you again, voice gravelly in a way you’ve not heard before. “You hear me?”

Nodding, you hum. Can’t quite get out the word.

“Need to hear you, honey. Gonna hold still for me?”

“Mhm,” you whine, fighting your every instinct to grind down against him as you meet his lust-blown eyes. “Yes. Only allowed to sit.”

Dave puffs a hot breath out that sends a wake of goosebumps across your chest. “Good girl,” he coos, and your brows pinch at the praise. “Soaking me already, honey. Can’t sleep like this, can you? Just need to turn your brain off, hm?” The movement of his hips below yours is so slight you might imagine it, that tiny grind as his cock grows. You nod, whine softly, and both his thumbs stroke your hips gently before stilling again.

“Show me, honey.” So quiet. So little air between you, and yet too much.

You scan his face until he offers a small nod. Those brown eyes hooded by dark lashes, devouring you without need for the press of his mouth. It’d be soft, you’re certain. The caress of his lips. Maybe the rest of him is hard and deadly, but those would be tender, careful—they’d take you apart, breath by breath. With the same precision with which he darts between shadows and cleans his gun and beats you at cards and tucks your hair behind your ear when you’re falling asleep on the couch, he’d dissolve you kiss by kiss with a kind of grace.

It’s his lips on which you pin your gaze as you let one hand drift between your legs, dipping easily between silk and skin—your body made jelly so quickly and by so little contact, already wet. You pray you don’t imagine the sharpness of his breath when your knuckles accidentally graze against his slacks as you slip your fingers between dewy folds. Then: your hand rising in the dim light, shining, honeyed. Dave watching them, the corner of his mouth cracking just a little. Tensing into his cheek.

He grunts, good girl, and then he’s lifting you just enough to peel down the zip of his slacks, flick open the button, but when your eyes fall hopeful for a glimpse of him he tsks, hooks one finger beneath your chin to tilt your face up, whispers a soft eyes on me, honey as he pulls himself out where you can’t see.

As his knuckles brush against the wet gusset of your shorts, nudging them to the side. Finding no panties to move.

As the head of his cock—plush, warm, weeping—nudges against the ache of you, the thrum of your longing.

He grins, wicked.

Then pressure, a moan lost to the air you’re hardly conscious of and the stretch of him, the slow press in and the ache of your cunt swallowing his girth inch by inch. You whimper, eyelids shuddering like old film, catching only still frames of Dave’s expression as he lowers you gently, burying himself in your drooling heat until you come to rest at his base, flush and full.

So full. Light-headed, sparkling. Your hips must rock because he squeezes your waist. “Hold still, honey,” he coos. “Remember?”

The terms of his touch sounded alright just a breath ago, but now you can’t imagine how you ever agreed. How you’re supposed to stay still with him throbbing inside you like this, heavy and sweet, exactly what you need. A flicker in his eyes like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you, how he’s scrubbing out every thought in your head. Cocky, yes. But earning it.

“Dave,” you sigh, breathy and desperate. Your cunt clenching and squeezing and pushing out slick, probably ruining his slacks but he won’t let you look down, just tilts your head up gently every time it hangs slack. “Please.”

His breathing catches for a beat, then it’s steady again. “I know, I know,” he murmurs, keeping his finger under your chin to keep your eyes on him—but he hardly needs to. You’d swear the whole world drained away the second he slid into you. There’s nothing else past your bodies, past this one dining room chair. Everything else disappears like magic. The trial, the dread, the drone of city noise. The slow leak of your heart knowing this is goodbye—all of it. Gone.

You’d have sworn it impossible to come like this, with no movement at all, but you will. You do. And months from now—safe in the swaddle of your actual apartment that for weeks has stood hollow and dusty, plants withering sadly on their windowsills—you’ll lie in bed longing, missing, remembering. Trying to recreate the swipe of his thick thumb on your clit as you replay this moment in your head. How you whined, wanna take care of you when Dave still wouldn’t let you move, even when you were close, just swiped and swiped his thumb until you were something more than alive, transcending.

How his pupils had set ablaze with your whispered plea. How you’d realized that was the point, for him. The begging and the not giving in.

How he’d growled, “Taking care of you is taking care of me. You don’t think I’m gonna come the second this pussy strangles my cock? ‘Cause I am. S’all I need, honey, just give it to me—”

His voice the thunder to your body’s crackle and lightning.

“Let her take care of me, that’a girl, that’s it, just like that honey, she’s so tight—fuck—so fuckin’ tight around me, just squeezin’ me, gonna come when you do, pretty girl, let me have it.”

How it hit you like a white bolt of heat and light, every cell in you tense and flaming, then melting, boneless on his lap as he murmured sweetly, grunted, tried to lift you off him just in time and you’d finally, finally touched him—lucid in an instant, hands slammed down on the muscle of his shoulders. Mumbling amidst your aftershocks, inside, inside, inside. Eyelids stuttering again, back to picture frames as your cunt seized and begged in tandem.

The snarl of his upper lip.

His knotted jaw.

Tongue sucked against his front teeth, resolve crumbling.

The allowance granted to your hands to stay right there, fisting his shirt collar as his locked your waist in a bruising vice. His hips bucking only once, grinding the head of his cock deeper, deliciously, almost too good to take.

“Fuck, fuckfuck—yeah, that what she needs, honey? Needs me to fill her up?”

You’ll remember your own reply as you near a second-rate heaven in the nest of your duvet at home, all frantic hands and thrusting digits and eyes slammed shut, repainting him in your head. Golden in that gloomy light, hair straying out of position across his misted forehead for the first time. Yes. Please. Dave. Yes. Inside. Please—and his grunt, dark and sweet as caramel, as burnt brown sugar. That tiny grin dragging at his soft lips, pleased. You’d pleased him, surprised him maybe.

That can make you sparkle now, to remember.

“Okay, honey. Okay—shit—gonna give it to you, hm? Gonna give you all of it, baby—she’s squeezing me so goddamn tight, fuck, wanna stay here all night—”

Then the granting of a wish, the heat of him spilling into your cunt, the unmistakable slide of slick leaking between your thighs and onto his; you didn’t have to look to know. You could feel it, that wholeness overflowing. You can almost feel it now; three fingers might be a poor attempt at recreation, but you fall off the cliff all the same, his name on your tongue, a cry in the night, all the curtains dark and drawn as you come down breathless and drowsy, your whole body limp and spent as it’d been that night with him—when he’d tucked himself away and petted your hair back from your face, so gentle with you, cooing that you did so good, honey. Such a good girl. Gonna get you into bed now, hm? Need your sleep, honey. Come on.

Carrying you into your not-real bedroom, tucking you in so tenderly, like he hadn’t just taken you apart at the molecules. And Dave’s lips were just as plush as you’d imagined when they grazed your forehead, his big hand petting your cheek once more, then turning out the lights. That deep timbre whispering from the doorway, goodnight. The door clicking shut. All of it perfect. How you’d known you mattered more than a job for just one moment in time.

dividers by @saradika-graphics - tag list & some mutuals <3

@ak-vintage @thethirstwivesclub @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @hediondoamor-blog @harriedandharassed

@burntheedges @la-eterna-enamorada29 @goodgirlwannabe @guiltyasdave @for-a-longlongtime

@littlemisspascal @luxurychristmaspudding @tonysopranosrobe @evolnoomym @sweetpascal

@spacelatinos4life @sweetpascal @biggetywitch @wannab-urs @jolapeno

@pedgito @pastelpinkflowerlife @jessthebaker @rav3n-pascal22 @sixhours

@noisynightmarepoetry @clawdee

#dave york fanfiction #dave york x reader #dave york #dave york smut #pedro pascal #dave york x you #the equalizer 2 #dave york fanfic #au august #shortieswritingchallenge #punkshort #myfics #almostfoxglove #smut #one shot #fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #fic: holdstill #do not perceive me for 3-6 business days

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 11 months

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Black Metal and Bourbon (II)

AU MASTERLIST || PART III

PAIRING: Biker/Mechanic!Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Bartender!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 10.7k

WARNINGS: Alcohol consumption, smut, NSFW, sex & intimacy, praise kink, brief thoughts of exhibitionism, p-in-v, fingering, hand job, some sub/dom dynamics, sub!Simon for a bit, soft!Simon, property damage, bike crashes (wear helmets everyone), violence, past toxic relationship, sabotage, attempted murder, protective!Simon, etc. (18+ mini-series)

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Your fingers tighten around Simon’s waist, the helmet you’d been given pressed into his shoulder as the both of you slice through wind—an engine roaring below you from the Honda Rebel 500. The fit was a tight one, Simon not having a proper second seat beside the passenger kit he’d been quick to install not a few hours before when you’d hesitantly asked for a ride into a neighboring town. Your body was directly above the back tire, and Simon had been firm in his words when he’d been adjusting the back suspension in the bustling shop.

“You’re not lettin’ go until we get there, copy? I feel your grip loosen, I’m pulling over.”

You had begrudgingly agreed, needing the high-quality art supplies a twenty-minute drive away. The stores here didn’t have what you needed, and, not owning a car as this town was entirely walkable if need be, this was your only option.

Once you’d gotten on that bike though, Simon hadn’t needed to reiterate himself about holding on—you did that all on your own. Yet, that wasn’t to say you weren’t enjoying this.

Lips peeled back into a smile, your eyes stare out across the unfolding hills and mountains in the distance; fields of verdant grasses and trees. The vibrations of the Rebel left your head jittering, but this view was the clearest you’d ever seen.

Chuckling, the driver under your rib-cranking hold blinked at the nearly missed sound, only able to tell from the movement of your chest at his spine. Simon’s sunglasses glinted over the thin sliver of flesh that would otherwise be the only piece of his face visible, and his fingers twitched as he stared ahead at the open road. The man had given you his leather jacket, taking a spare of black coloring like an all-dark cat, his boots and pants matching the theme that carries over.

You shout above the whipping of the airways.

“This is amazing!” Simon puffs a laugh at that, though his heart patters ever faster like a dog at the turn of a key. He doesn’t answer, even if his lips itch into a smirk to tell you he’s appreciating the spinal re-adjustment you’re giving him.

Your laugh echoes out through the scenery, and your heart has never been more full.

It had been a decent amount of time since Simon and the others had come into town—three weeks since you’d been hired on your off days to go and paint the mechanic’s shop. A base coat had already been applied, then the secondary and the final with the help of a very animated Soap saying that no one could get to the tops of the walls better. Gaz had seen him hit himself with the soggy paint roller not five minutes later after trying to flip it, and that had been the end of the interference on your work.

All that was left was to start the mural.

There hadn’t been a peep from Graham or his goons—they’d even left you alone on your walks back home. As much as you wanted to be elated about it, there was a brief stint of paranoia in the days that had followed the party. Graham Whitaker was a coward, but he didn’t…let things go.

But holding onto Simon Riley as he pulled into the nearby town made that sharpness at the back of your mind flee in an instant. The mountains and fields dissipate to tiny houses and long stretches of connected businesses—sun-washed bricks surround you as Simon shifts the tires to dodge potholes.

His head moves slightly to the side, and you hear the call through your borrowed helmet.

“Where am I headed?”

“East side!” You rest the bottom of the helmet on his shoulder, seeing a sliver of his October browns through his sunglasses as he rips his eyes back to the road. “Look for the rose bushes!”

“Makin’ me go deaf,” Simon mutters to himself, but he does as you instruct. Parking in the street outside of the art shop, he moves out the kickstand with one foot—the other resting on the ground so you don’t tip. He gives you a look over his shoulder to get off first as the engine cuts and the jungle of keys comes to silence inside of his pocket.

Giggling, you let go of his hard waist and step out to the concrete of the sidewalk, turning around and fixing the strap of your carry bag with a hidden grin.

“I think I just found a new form of transportation.”

“Then you can forget about it,” Simon smirks, taking off his sunglasses and sticking them to the neck of his compression shirt. “Helmet, Sunshine.” He reminds, looking around for a moment.

You slap your hands to the side of the item around your head as you continue to giggle like a child, elated and feeling the throws of wanderlust—you’d never felt so alive than when watching the world pass by at your sides. How quickly you can form a routine of boring days, one after the other. You felt…light again.

A finger grabs at the visor, flicking it up as your crinkled eyes come into view for the gruff man and his raised brow.

“You drunk?” Simon stares, tilting his head as he looms closer, studying you up and down.

“No, Brown-Eyes,” you roll your eyes teasingly, waving his hand away as you unclip and pop the helmet off before it’s leveled back to him. He takes it and holds it loosely in one grip, blinking at you slowly. “I’m excited. Can I not be excited, then, huh? Not happy seeing me enjoy your company?”

“Let's get this over with, yeah?” Simon shakes his head but his amusement is heard, slipping past as you eagerly follow after, expression airy.

You hum, leaning into him and smirking.

“C’mon Simon, you’re completely taken with me—I can see it.” There was no question that the two of you had become close. There was rarely a night when he didn’t come to visit you at the bar; had even taken up walking you back home too, though there was little need to. Simon had said it was because he had nothing else to do, but you doubted it. Since the shop had opened, there had been no shortage of work.

The man grunts as he opens the door for you with a shoulder, sending you a blank eye. “Taken aback.”

“Fucking jerk,” you grin at him as you slip inside, face loose with banter. Simon chuckles lowly and follows, standing behind you as his boots clop to polished tile floors.

This place was exactly how you remembered it—holding an old feel with the beams in the ceiling and the raw brick walls. There are tables with paints and brushes, all neat and orderly with unique looks and designs to them, even the wall has shelves of old wood holding hidden nicknacks and unique wonders.

Simon gazes around with a glint of interest in his eye, understanding now that the painting was better off in your hands. He has to wonder how you managed to find a place like this.

“Over here,” you say. Walking to the very back, your hands are already reaching for the quality brushes you’d need for the mural. Simon’s hands slip into his pockets, stance casual in a way he’d thought he’d lost a long time ago.

It was no secret that Simon trusted very few people. It wasn’t just because of his past military experience, it was his life in general—each turn led to something that could go wrong like a gun in the hands of a criminal. But you had been nearly sly in the way you’d grown on him.

The quick-witted comments, the way you spoke and carried yourself; your light and unapologetic attitude. He was ashamed to admit how many times he’d stared at the bar from his shop’s garage—under the body of some car with grease up to his elbows, legs dangling as his back was on top of the creeper. Brown eyes that can pinpoint your form before his mind blanks and sweat pools at his collarbone.

It was something that Simon was afraid to name.

“Bloody expensive,” the man mutters in the present, fingers pushing at the price tag of some paints nearby. “You sure you need this shit?”

“It’s not shit, Riley,” you scoff, grabbing two large brushes and three smaller ones from wall buckets, pointing one at him. “But I have to agree on the expensive part. You should see how much I would spend when I was really into art. You’d puke your blackened guts up.”

Simon hums, giving you his attention as you peer at a table of rich paints in smaller cans a few feet away.

“Why’d you stop?” He asks, the soft tinkling of piano music coming from somewhere in the back.

You pause, your back turned to him as you look at the label of a small aluminum container of enamel paint for vehicle detailing. Licking your lips, you clear your throat and ease out a nonchalant, “Graham,” and end the conversation there with less blood spilled.

Your Ex had almost sucked all of the individuality from you—you’d barely made it out as you are.

Simon’s eyes darken, clenching his jaw after a moment as looks away. It's only when you put back down the enamel paint can that he speaks again.

“He wasn’t worth your time,” he eases out, giving firm advice like orders. As if he wants you to believe what he’s saying to the fullest degree. “You know that?”

You snort, turning back around. “Yeah, I know it. Why do you think I threw the guy out? He ran through women like a damn kid with a stack of new playing cards.”

Simon blinks from over his mask as you walk to the counter, putting down your brushes and adding in a few containers of nice pigment. As your fingers ding the bell up front, your free hand digs for your wallet.

Before you can pull out the wads of cash that you’d need to pay, smelling of booze and all, a credit card hits the table. You stare at it in silence for a moment.

“Simon?”

“You’re putting it on my wall,” he rolls his shoulders to dispel tension from the previous conversion as the employee comes out from the back. “M’not going to make you pay for the tools to get the job done. Not a fuckin’ heartless bastard.”

“Heartless? No,” you tease, though your face burns and crashes with a fiery inferno of adoration. Inside of you, your stomach flips and your throat tightens. Oh, it was coming on bad, wasn't it? “A bastard…?”

“Shut it,” Simon glares from the corner of his eye as you raise your hands innocently.

“Alright, alright. A very handsome and generous bastard, better?” You hear a hum, a huff of breath.

“Getting there.”

The ride back was much the same, but it still filled you with awe. Your hands were looser now, even with the added weight from your filled bag, but that didn’t mean you weren’t aware of Simon’s presence. Once more your helmeted head was set at his shoulder blade, resting as your lungs pulled in fresh air even if it was a bit heated from the barrier. Simon had pushed the thing back onto your head the minute your leg was about to straddle the bike, firmly grabbing your chin and tilting your face forward as he shoved it on.

“Safety first, Sweetheart.” You had sworn you nearly went weak-kneed at that.

But the sturdy presence before you made a very comfortable headrest even if the longer ride was beginning to make your legs ache and give you a migraine from the noise.

Your hand was flat to the man’s covered flesh, the oversized jacket around your frame, and in that moment you discovered that you were almost entirely submerged in Simon Riley until it became impossible to remember who you’d been before him. You were drowned in his scent—his presence an ever-present weight of purpose and prospect.

Blinking over the view and feeling Simon’s pulse under your fingertips, you realize with a start that Graham had never made your stomach fill with butterflies over a simple word; never made you pause or have to re-think your thoughts because you’d entirely lost them when he entered a room.

With so much going on, and at the same time so little happening…what exactly were you supposed to make of it? There was no question you liked Simon—there was no question he liked you, either. It was obvious by the looks Price would give the two of you when you came by with lunch for them all; free drinks.

How the both of you would sit and talk, exchanging stories while Simon showed you the adjustments he had made to his bike. The issue was that you and Brown-Eyes were stubborn. Pigheaded.

Emotionally constipated.

Your eyes drag along the view, but they always shift back to the body that’s stuck in your grip; how his heat moved through his clothes, warming your wind-beaten hands. You’re right there at his back, hanging off him and you feel…good.

There just had to be something to make one of you snap.

Entering the garage, Simon once more parks his bike and lets you get off first, and you unclip your helmet and slip the object from your head with a puff of air.

“Thank you, Simon,” you breathe, watching him stand. “Drinks on me tonight, okay?”

“No need for that,” his brows pull in, confused. “If I didn’t want to, I would have told you.”

Your hands pass the helmet, which he takes as your fingers brush one another's lightly. You repress a sharp inhale, scoffing playfully at him as your eyes soften.

“I’m not going to leave without saying thank you and you taking it, Brown-Eyes.”

“Well, then I just took it, Sunshine.” Simon motions his head outside. “Now get going ‘fore I come to my senses.”

Laughing, you shrug and take your leave, all of your items safe in your bag for a time when you could use them next.

“I’m already gone,” you breathe, and a soft brown gaze sticks to your form as you cross the street and slip inside to clock in.

A truck parked down the street has its window glinting in the sunlight. It seems to agree.

—

Simon tipped back the last of his bourbon and sighed, putting it down on the bar top as you polished glasses.

“Anything happen today?” He asks you as you put the sparking material to the light, tipping it to try and find smudges before it passes your acute inspection.

“Nothing interesting,” you respond, humming. “Had to kick a few guys out, but it was nothing big.”

Simon’s interest makes his eyes shift to you like a wave, head tilting to stare as the warm light cascades over your figure. He waits for you to continue, but when you don’t, he prods with a slightly concerned undertone.

“Why?” Your lips twitch as you turn to look at him, exasperated.

“Put a cork in it, Big Guy, it was just a few who had too much to drink—I cut them off and sent ‘em home.”

Simon grunts, “That’s a girl.”

You ignore the way your heart jumps to your throat and the tingling of your arms. “Anything with you?” Your voice is higher than it should be. “Beat off any bartenders from your property?”

“Can only think ‘o one,” he speaks slowly, his voice wafting about as the both of you were the only people here. Your chuckle makes his heart constrict in on itself.

“Oh,” you tease, face pulling in with mock confusion. Your body moves closer as it leans into the wood. Simon’s lips twitch from where they're visible, the fabric of his balaclava pulled over his nose. “Tell me about her.”

“Yeah?” He speaks in a low murmur, eyes half-lidded in that dead-and-buried kind of way—only he could pull that off and still look so handsome. You had said once that he felt like danger, and you suppose that had to be true. Simon Riley was danger, and you had taken those snake fangs and put them directly in between the cross-hairs of your neck and your pulse, waiting, wanting for that fatal strike.

You had bet that the sting of those fangs might just be the best pain you’d ever felt.

Simon Riley was unabashed freedom.

“She likes to think that she’s the bloody boss o’ me,” Simon grunts, scars, and tattoos on full display; there’s blackened grease on his fingers, under his nails. You listen with bated breath. “Comes ‘round all the time now, hangs like she’s under a noose. I can’t figure her out. Not for the fuckin’ life of me.”

Simon doesn't know what he’s saying, but he can’t quite help himself when you’re looking at him like that. Your eyes going wider, your usually snappy and quick tongue silent as you take his words in like law. It was addictive to see you gobsmacked—the man has to stop himself from thanking Graham Whitaker for being such a fucking fool even if the thought of ever being near that man again made him want to clench his fists.

“And?” You push, trying to force your mouth into a playful smirk, but anyone can see it for what it is. Your faked emotion falls short, leaving behind only that which Simon can claim to be the sole owner of.

Astonishment. Admiration down to its base form—a woman gazing at something that should not be, and yet is here among the ashes and ruins of broken earth and open roads. A sliver of sky between the rain clouds.

“And?” Simon mirrors, that numb mock.

The both of you are closer now, puffs of air hitting the other. Everything in this bar became a backdrop, shifting colors and images like some dream. The dart in the ceiling was nothing to you—the tables that needed to be buffed, the bottles restocked; even the trash that you usually took out at this time was only a shape in the corner of your vision. It all blurred around him, and while you spoke again, Simon understood that he had left the city for something new; something that he could revel in and worship like he had his guns and his duty.

Your sentence is whispered.

“Why did you come here?” To this town? There was no answer for that. It was picked at random—even Price knew that. It was nothing special, not even to the bugs. But here…

Simon parts his lips and utters on the lightning of the air particles, all rushing past as if he was still on his motorcycle with you—your hands around his waist and your nails digging into his flesh.

“For a bartender that keeps making my damn head spin.”

For a long minute, there’s nothing that happens. The AC whirs and the lights outside flicker over the stretch of the empty street. In your chest, your heart hammers with the strength of the Titans. A mechanic, a veteran; a man with broken, October eyes.

How could he be the one thing you were looking for?

Your eyes stay locked, those shredded flecks of color holding secrets that you want to know instantly—you want to learn his tattoos and the way he thinks, know Simon's dreams and aspirations. To you, that was better than any physical destination or journey because it was one in and of itself.

Simon was an enigma.

“Keep talking,” you mutter, lips so close now that they brush the man’s own. He doesn’t blink as he watches you, his lungs unsteady in his chest as he takes down a deep breath.

“Why’s that, Sunshine?” His voice is raspy, and his accent makes you shiver.

Simon’s tongue comes out to lick at the corner of his mouth, sneaking back in as your gaze flickers down to watch pupils blown. “Because I like it when you speak to me like that,” you have to admit, a whine trapped in your throat that you won’t let out.

There’s a low chuckle that makes your legs close together, moving like honey through your veins.

“Can do more than talk.”

This is a game—a test—can either of you go this far? Is it more than lust, is it more than some strange attraction between two people who don’t belong here? A relationship of need rather than want?

You don’t care enough to test it, because if there’s one thing that this town taught you, it's that you don’t need to worry about the future so long as there’s something promising right in front of you.

And Simon Riley was as promising of a man as you had ever met.

Your lips meet his, and his hand is eager to snap to the back of your skull, pushing you into him as your eyes pull shut and the edge of the counter digs into your guts. Air is exhaled from your nose, mouth heavy, and skin hot as it digs and molds to the rough scrape of Simon’s stubble. His fingers pulse into your scalp, waves of something sawing you open as he stands quickly from his stool and pulls away only to push right back in.

Your hands move into fists on the counter, stuck in this dance of wet lips and shaky legs.

Simon groans into your mouth, shifting his head as a purr emanates from his chest and makes you respond with a silent gasp that he takes advantage of. A tongue slips to run over your own as the lights glint outside, pushing itself in before retreating just as swiftly before teeth nip at your swollen bottom lip. Your eyes snap open, locking with deep wells of brown that seem more endless than the depths of space.

You both breathe heavily, the bar silent to the two souls that seep into one another. Not once do either of you look away from one another.

The man seems hesitant, and before he speaks, the rasp in his voice is felt as he blinks.

“These parts in me have been shuttin’ down, Sunshine.” Your brows slightly pinch in for a moment, confused at this turn in tone—cocky had gone to still-stone as if Simon had laid eyes on Medusa herself.

But you know what he means. You’d seen it in his stature and how he spoke to others; you knew nothing much of his past beyond a handful of stories from his service and none of them had been pretty. And of his childhood, you knew nothing.

You know it can’t have been good.

Your head softly tilts, a small, delicate smile forming the words of some long-lost deity.

“I’m sure you have the tools to fix them, Simon.”

He blinks at you, fingers still stuck to your head. “Don’t know if I remember how to use ‘em.”

Simon’s giving you a way out of this if you want to take it; you know that he thinks you should.

“...Then you’ll just have to teach me, won’t you?” You whisper, stubborn as always. “I told you I was good at keeping secrets, right?” He hums, eyes the most open and soft you’d ever seen them as he melts—forehead connecting to yours as your smile grows wider, truer. “Then I’ll keep yours closest, Brown-Eyes.”

You both kiss once more, more delicate as the man takes a deep breath of you. Your smirk pulls along his flesh like a brand as he holds in a quiver.

“What’s a bartender without a bottle of Bourbon on her shelf?” He growls into you, and not wasting a moment rips his lips from yours and wipes at his face with the back of his arm.

“Such a mouth,” he mutters, moving as you stand there to push open the half-door to let him get to you. You stand waiting, pulse wild and lips tingling. “Cameras?”

Your head shakes without you knowing it, and a finger is hooked under your chin, maneuvering it as he sees fit. Another grabs onto your hip, kneading it slowly as you melt into him. Your hands grasp into the back of his belt and his eyes spark—hips canting instinctually.

There’s a hard prod at your inner thigh.

“Only one at the door.” You set your chin to his chest, gazing up. “Back room?”

“Won't have you on the floor,” Simon says bluntly, unphased. Your core pounds, stomach tightens as you have a sudden need to get rid of your pants and touch yourself as dampness pools through your underwear.

“Such a gentleman,” you’re breathless, voice airy. “Guess I’ll have to be on top.”

Simon’s breath gets caught as you slip past him, sauntering to the back door and pushing it open as you slip inside. You had already started fumbling with the zipped on your pants as the man pushed on the barrier just before it could close, coming in and letting it slam behind him as the click of a lock could be heard.

With your shoes off, you can feel Simon’s eyes burning into you as your fingers send the zipper down your navel, the sound of the metal teeth being separated from one another a call to action. When your thumbs hook the top, ready to send the fabric down, you let the man watch before your eyes shift back up to lock together.

Simon’s gaze was intense—unblinking and unmoving beyond the slam of his heart and the pulse of the erection in his pants, begging to be palmed as you stood only feet away. The man’s hands clenched, knuckles going white.

While holding eye contact, you let the pants—and your panties—drop to the ground with a whoosh of fabric. Simon tenses, but doesn’t look away.

You smirk, taking a few steps forward.

“I’m surprised.” Your hand captures his waist, one moving to stroke along the prominent v-line that’s hidden by his shirt. Simon’s heavy breath meets your head as his blown pupils make his eyes look black entirely. He’s almost in a trance. “Usually I’d be having to snap my fingers.”

“Better than that,” he grits out raggedly. You have to agree.

Your mouth finds his neck as he leans back against the door, letting you do what you wish as his hands settle on your hips once more, rubbing up and down as your own eagerness drips from you. Simon clenches his jaw as you bite down, taking and sucking on the skin as he hisses when you give him hickeys, eyes fluttering.

“‘Such a mouth’ you said,” you comment, hand falling lower to hear the jingle as you unclip his belt. He stares off as your hand rests and cups him, sharply inhaling when you rub your palm over the large tent. Simon fights the sway of his hips, but the widening of his legs is telling enough, pelvis knocking forward as you groan, a line of slick falling down your thigh. “I’d bet you’d like my mouth, Brown-Eyes, wouldn’t you?” Your joke and your teasing of his dick—your hickeys and your sly eyes—they all at once snap something inside of him.

You find yourself manhandled with a squeak of shock and a jump in your gut as your legs dangle, moved back, and pressed into the very door where Simon had been moments before. Your feet settle as his figure descends.

“Your mouth, Sunshine?” Brown eyes glint, staring you down from where he taps your legs open to the air, kneeling with an open belt and pre-cum staining his pants. “Want to see what mine can do?”

There’s no more than a dangerous smirk before his face slots itself into the clutch of your pussy.

You gasp, hands going down to his covered hair as his nose slides along your clit, making lightning go up your spine as you push down on him, grinding as a long stripe is licked, tongue flattening out at the nerve before a loud groan makes Simon’s mouth vibrate as it attaches itself to you.

Giving you your own medicine, teeth lightly bite, tongue flicking as your cunt clenches over nothing, fingers grasping guilty as your head knocks back with a loud whine.

“Fuck,” you gasp, toes curling as your hips move back and forth.

Your body can feel his smirk, your juices leaking out to drip at his chin, falling down his throat as this beast of a man sucks and mewls around your clit like he’s possessed. Hands grasped your thighs, holding them open. Well, one anyway.

Lost in the movements of his mouth, cursing and gasping as he keeps trying to build you up to the point of rapture with every hard flick and measured nip, there’s no way your dopamine-addled brain can comprehend the fingers at your cunt before they’re already inside and curling outward.

You moan out his name pleadingly, the pace of your hips instantly increasing as Simon’s chuckle makes your lungs constrict. A separate heart-beat lives in your navel, skin sweaty and slick making its way down his fingers.

“Being so good,” your voice breaks as Simon’s wide eyes from below meet you as your head lolls forward. He stutters, hearing the wet squelching of your pussy as his movements cease for a moment. You whimper, face pulling in, and he instantaneously gets back to it with increased fervor and ferocity as if he’d never just felt his cock twitch in his pants and his abdomen bunch up.

Your eyes widen, rapturous moans falling from your lips in blown-limpness as his mouth and fingers do sinful things to you.

The sounds coming from below were feral and animalistic at best, sopping wetness and loud groaning—it makes it all so much better.

“So thorough for me, Simon. Making me feel so good Brown-Eyes,” you babble, tightening your core and palming hands shoving him impossibly farther into you. “Such a fucking perfect mouth—perfect fingers, knew you could make me cum on ‘em, please, Simon, fuck, oh God right there,” you break off of the praise into desperate whines. Your quivering body shakes and ruts faster, Simon’s stubble making it all burn in such a way that leaves you gasping, back begging to arch as everything comes to a tipping point.

Simon can feel it by the way your walls flex and pull in, how their slipperiness gets so loose it’s not even a problem to finger-fuck you even as your cunt bares down like a noose. Your fluids drip past his elbow, falling to his pants as his pelvis involuntarily tries to get friction from his zipper by humping the air in broken intervals.

He’s breathing heavily, but not as much as you are, broken up by groans, grunts, and his open mouth licking of your engorged clit. He’d never admit to you how much your praise was making him want to bust in his own fucking pants.

“S-Simon,” you knock your head back into the wall, eyes going glassy as the knot in your navel goes painful, a vile itching so very close as your spine begins to arch for the man’s viewing pleasure. “So close, oh God, so fucking good. Need it, Simon, need it from—”

Your breath hitches, fingers twitching into tight fists of fabric and the hair underneath as your walls clamp down.

Orgasm ripping through you, your voice lets out broken, airy, moans of Simon’s name like a prayer, hips continuing to spasm and toes curling inwards. Not letting up his assault, the smug man’s tongue and fingers draw the entire experience out until your legs are too weak to hold you, having to be pressed back into the wall by white knuckles and fingers stained with your cum. You hear it drip to the floor and see it when your half-lidded eyes blurrily make out the ragged appearance of an arrogant Simon, clear beads falling off of his chin and his lower face decimated by your pleasures. The bottom of his balaclava is stained—sopping with absorbed juices.

You both stare—you, lust-blown, and Simon, ready to grasp at himself and stave off the near-painful erection that needs to be taken care of.

But you’re true to your words.

Not seconds after your release had flooded him, your hands pushed at his chest and shoved him to the floor. Simon grunts but lets your hands quickly fiddle with his zipper and send it down. Not a moment is wasted, and the man’s hands move your hips higher as you pull his pants and boxers down just enough to let his dick spring free and slap his abdomen.

Your hand curls around it and he groans long, pushing up into your hand as you stroke him quickly and mercilessly with the spread of his weeping tip. Simon’s words come out as a way to steady himself, but the work of your hand is easy to get lost in as his voice is a growl.

“Tase so bloody good, Sunshine, yeah? Be needin’ that every day,” his mouth is taken in a kiss, and you tase yourself on his tongue as he shakes and his fingers flex into your flesh. “Fuckin’ hell,” he says as you lick his lips, panting below you as he quickly loses himself. “Not gonna…”

Simon’s orgasm builds incredibly fast—and not once does your hand slow in its course. He blinks in a blind panic, mouth letting off soft sounds of confusion as he looks down to see his red cock and how you play with it like a toy. You chuckle at him as his sounds get louder, legs rising, and the slapping of skin on skin addictive.

“You are good with your mouth—and your hands. Should have guessed really, you are a mechanic after all. Got yourself all worked up.” Simon's hand comes up to your head pressing your lips back to his as his abdomen tightens and quivers, thighs shaking as his hips try to meet your break-neck pace but just can’t.

What were you doing to him? Why can’t he last longer than a few mere minutes?

You break off and connect your forehead to his, brown eyes fighting to not go blurry and his mouth open with fast breaths. You push out as you feel his tip twitch and spurt prematurely, “Be a good boy and cum, Simon.”

He groans loudly, eyes fluttering as they try to stay locked to yours before the wet splatter of his rapid ejaculation layers yours as well as his abdomen sticky and soaked. It keeps going, not stopping until Simon’s eyes have come back down from where they had fled to the back of his head and his small grunted whine lets you know you should stop pumping him so violently.

You release his member and go to rub along his abdomen, massaging the skin and laying kisses on his clothed chest slowly. His hands loosen on your hips, thumb pulling back to carefully run circles into the flesh as you hum in appreciation.

Simon's quivering slows to a stop.

“You sure you only work a bar, then? Bloody fuckin’ hell.” Simon hisses, looking down at himself. “Made a fuckin’ mess, yeah?”

“Only fair,” you mutter, moving up to press your lips together as you both sigh. Simon’s breath hitches as your stomach rubs him. “I like having you under me. It’s nice to see you look confused.”

“Don’t get used to it,” he mutters, and a red sheen comes to his flushed face. “Won’t happen again.”

Your face goes mischievous, head tilting. Simon growls a weak, “Don’t.” You chuckle and hide your face into his neck.

“Don’t test it?” You ask into his flesh, your body still pulsing and needy at the display you’d managed to pull from the stoic man. Your tongue licks over your placed hickey with a newfound appreciation for the black and blue mark, blowing on it as Simon feels himself harden again. “Or don’t acknowledge that Simon Riley has a praise kink and when a woman tells him what to do he—”

Your spine settles to the floor, hands stuck on either side of your head and digging into the wood. Simon’s eyes glint primarily, and you keen to him as your arms move to wrap around his neck as your cunt tightens.

“Thought you said you didn’t want me on the floor?” He grasps your chin, moving his face to be above yours so he can speak plainly and dead-like. A surge of power takes over his voice, and you yield with a rising of your legs and a shiver as his fluid-slick abdomen slides over top of yours.

“That was before you made me cum in a matter of fuckin’ minutes by just stroking my cock. Now,” he breathes, “now I’m going to fuck you how you deserve.”

He grasps your legs and pulls them around his waist, locking them as he lines up his half-hard dick and bullies it inside of you, your arching back bends into him, but your shocked moan is cut off as Simon starts to move. The pressure inside of your pussy is tight enough to feel like it could snap—your gummy walls taking the curve of his veins and the grate of his head as the tip curves upward. On girth and size, Simon is the largest you’d ever taken, and your face pulls in with a mix of pain and pleasure before the latter takes over completely.

“Get me to be your toy, eh, Sunshine?” Simon keeps your chin grasped, not letting you look away as you try to garble words over the heavy slap of wet skin. “Keep me ‘ere so you can play with me like you’ve been doin’ from the start?”

“So full,” you seem to have lost that edge, staring up into brown eyes as your spine digs into the wood below you, your cunt taking the fast slaps of Simon’s prod as it reaches every part of you that you could ever ask. Every trust makes your legs tighten, clamping down to keep him there and ring pleasure like water. “Such a big cock, Simon.”

He huffs, but his pace increases, panting at you as your lips meet for a sloppy and slobbering kiss of teeth and saliva. Sweat falls from both of you, coating your faces and lower halves with more liquid to make this dance easier—staining already ruined clothes.

“Splitting you open, am I? So tight,” Simon grumbles, grunting as his elbows shift to stay beside your head. “Gettin’ me off so easily, need ta return the favor for making me feel so good, Sunshine. Bloody perfect cunt, takes my cock like it was made for it. Hear that?” Your skull moves to push into the side of his face as he bites at your neck, ravishing you as the forward and backward motion of his body makes your mouth hold back mewls of raw need. So many sounds—so loud and wet it was lewd, borderline obscene with every pump of the man’s hips that more just spilled out of you, pooling with every back and forth spreading of your hole.

Simon bites a long whine back and angles himself higher, making you shout and cry as a burst of white light explodes in your eyes.

“Making me want to fill you full of myself. Over and over, make you drip with it—go until you can’t walk. You’d take it too, yeah? You’ve got such a good look on your face, you bloody love it when I stretch you open like this—takin’ my dick so well, Sweetheart.”

You were both animals trying to get fix after fix—drunk off scent and a biological urge.

At the words, your pussy tightens around him even more, Simon holding back a loud groan and letting your little puffs of air grace his ears along with the ravaging dig of his fucking.

“You like that?” You whine, face burning as a hand descends to play with your clit. You gasp loudly and moan, not hiding the way your hips jump and rut and fight to keep Simon’s cock taking you raw.

“Simon!” You call loudly. “I like it—fuck I love it, Brown-Eyes. Keep touching me, please, please keep going. Keep talking, love it when you talk like that.”

“Makin’ fun o’ me,” he scoffs, “but the little temptress has the same bastard kink, eh? It’s alright, then. I’ll just help me get you off—”

The front door of the bar opens from beyond the wall.

The both of you stop all carnal desires instantly, wide eyes snapping back and locking with each other. A pin could drop, fast breaths and fast hips held back even as you both quiver and your nerves plead to keep going. The need doesn’t last long. Simon's fat hand covers your mouth as your eyes glint with panic before getting right back to it.

You try to speak, to get the words out that you should go out there, but it’s all cut off by the way he rubs you every right way. Your hand anchors to his back as someone walks around the bar, their voice muffled just like yours is, but this person has no idea you’re getting railed in the back room by the mechanic from across the street.

Simon’s eyes are dark and urgent, but his hands can't as the slap of skin that’s still incredibly loud, and the wetness that follows all but telling. Your moans and whines are hidden, kept back by a tight palm as he smirks down at you. His hips are bruising yours and you can feel the hard bone of his pelvis as it slots itself fully into yours.

“Good girl,” he whispers, accepting the words with hard thrusts that make you whine like a dog, pawing at his gargantuan shoulder blades. “Keep quiet. I’ll make you feel good.”

Your heart hammers, walls flexing and clamping at the words. Outside the walking continues, searching for you, no doubt. Simon's hips increase, almost cruelly, and your cut-off cries spill from between his fingers.

The bastard chuckles and watches, letting your hips meet his as your release builds with the added need to finish quickly.

It was rabid now your back arched, how the person outside mattered so little to you now, in fact, maybe you even wanted them to hear you like this—being fucked so perfectly to the point where you had tears in your eyes and your body was growing numb; mind blanking to only pleasure and the grating press of a foreign entity all the way to where it digs at your cervix and makes you see starts with every addictive thrust.

You can’t hear anything over the previous sounds, that and rough breathing are the only things in this hot room—the air tense and ready; anticipation a drug of the highest order.

“C’mon,” Simon grunts into your ear, hand flexing as his lungs burn. He wasn’t far away either. “Let me see it—how your face screws up all nice and pretty for me.”

Struggling to keep your eyes open, you can only stare at the ceiling as the door of the bar slams shut once more, whoever there leaving. Simon releases your mouth and you fall apart with a spine-breaking arch and a high, feral, keen.

Your release is subsequently followed by Simon’s own, his body spasming as he gives three more violent pumps before the warmth of his cum seeps into your womb with a loud groan and a pound of his fist into the floor. He grinds you both through the aftershocks, the sparks of electricity that make both of your hips jerk just a few more times before you fall limp and useless.

Simon stays inside of you as he shifts to the side, hooking one of your hips over his thigh as you stay face-to-face as your bodies gasp and pant for air.

When the two of you come back to yourselves, some delirious minutes later, the first thing that you both notice is the tightness of your clothes and skin. Glancing down at the mess you’ve made of yourselves, you both slowly look back into each other's eyes, pausing.

You’re the first one to snort, before you have to hold your loud laughs back behind your hand.

“Well, I sure do have some more secrets to keep,” you say through your fit, knocking your head to Simon’s chin. The man is smiling, his eyes crinkled and mouth jerking in a series of chuckles.

“Proper few.” The laughter died down to a simmering emotion of amusement.

You smile at Simon, and he stares back, a hand coming up to touch your cheek delicately before it traces the lines of your face.

“You know I meant it, right?” You ask him, and those browns blink at you in question. “What I said before we decided to fuck. About keeping your secrets.” Simon’s face gets slightly more serious. Your hand cups his cheek, feeling the stubble on your fingertips.

“Simon,” you say, “I don’t want this to just be a one-time thing, okay?”

He watches you for any glint of hesitation—of a lie. But there is none.

“Why,” Simon asks. Your answer is simple as you smirk, recalling words from a while ago.

“You’re just going to have to stick around to find out.”

Simon shoves his lips to yours and drags you back on top of him.

—

You both exit the back room two hours later, clothes ruffled and bodies far dirtier than ever. You have a limp in your step, a pulsing ache between your bruised legs, and yet you’d never felt better.

Simon presses a kiss into your temple.

“Walking you home,” is what he says, and you sigh through an adoring look. You were tired, incredibly tired, and you hoped that Simon would share your bed tonight so he could hold you like he did back there.

“Deal,” you wink, and the man huffs a chuckle, back to that same stoic mechanic that you knew.

It’s only then that you realize that Celina had never shown up for her shift. Pausing behind the counter, you blink and look around, confused as you flatten out your clothes. Simon catches on quickly, brows pulling in with concern.

“Something wrong?”

“Celina,” you tell him, “she never showed up.”

A beat.

“...Probably kept away,” Simon tries to lightly say, implication enough to make you scowl.

“No,” you utter. “She would have tried to break the door down if she actually came in. She never would have walked away.”

The man hums, pulling down his balaclava and looking about.

“What do you want to do about it?” It wasn’t mocking—he was being honest. Your lips thinned out in thought.

“Well…I can’t leave the bar unattended, she needs to be here in order for me to go home.” You motion a hand helplessly, shaking your head and walking forward. Through a sigh you grumble, “I guess I have to call her or I’ll—” A shadow darts from across the street and your head snaps to the dark window.

Words coming to a swift stop, you gaze outside with blank eyes, mouth open in confusion. Simon stands taller, not having seen the strange event but not liking the shock on your face as he pivots to the view to study it.

Brown darts over the street lamps and the closed body of his shop, along the sliver of the obsidian street and the tops of bushes in the plant boxes. But there was nothing there and Simon glanced back at you from over his shoulder with furrowed brows.

“Thought I saw someone in a…” you frown, eyes not leaving the window as your heart tightens. “In a mask.”

“Mh,” Simon watches for a moment before he grunts and tension seeps into his muscles. “Mask?”

“Like yours,” you say quietly, suddenly very still. “Without the skeleton.”

Simon moves back slowly, one foot backing up before he’s behind the counter again and shifting nearer to you—your eyes flicker upward but swiftly return to the view. He pulled out his phone from his wrinkled pants, and no sooner had he put it to his ear that you saw the individual again. This time it wasn’t just one shadow, it was three, and there wasn’t just a flash of black mist and then poof gone again—it was worse than some schoolyard prank.

There was a bat. There was the swing of a strong arm. The glass explodes with a resounding shatter and the shrill yell falls from your mouth not milliseconds later.

Getting tackled down, Simon keeps your head to his chest as he shifts to hit the ground first, body sliding slightly before you’re forced under him and protected by his bulk. Grasping at him, you clench your eyes shut as large projectiles are hurled through the broken window and make contact with the bar shelf right above the two of you.

But Simon doesn't move for a second. Not as the bottles shatter and drown him in alcohol and colored glass, not as the bricks fall back from gravity and strike his spine with a loud thump. He holds you to him, curled over your body as if in reverent worship, grunting as he takes the beating without thought to anything else but your safety. Loud shouts and laughter echo in from outside, but your wide eyes only stay and focus on Simon, his fingers gripping across your back and creasing your shirt. You flinch as a spec of glass knicks your arm, slicing through it with a sharp drag of an uneven edge.

Simon growls into your scalp, but as he attempts to squish you farther into him, the barrage, just as it had come, entirely stops.

Staying there, breathing heavily and your mind panicked, you have no time to think before Simon shoves himself up and snaps his enraged eyes forward. Like a large beast, his hands are in shaking fists, alcohol dripping from his shirt and glass pinging against the wood. You can smell blood.

“Simon,” you say in concern, moving to stand up quickly as you try to get your breath back.

What the hell had just happened?!

“Stay there!” he barks, eyes tight as they dart back and forth to nothing until they find something.

No one was there anymore, but in that absence, the true damage was brought to light. You ignore Simon’s words and shift until you can peek over the top of the counter, fingers shaking and mouth dry. The man beside you is stone-still, his darkened eyes lighting like fire and brimstone as the anger can all but be tasted in the air.

The mechanic’s shop across the street. Seen through the broken remains of the bar as if a tornado had come through on the dusty air.

It had been ransacked.

—

The illumination of the police lights takes over everything, pushing the dark away as Sheriff Russel tries to get statements from the two of you. But your attention keeps getting brought back to the stiff-standing presence of Simon.

He hasn’t spoken beyond clipped sentences, even when he’d called Price, Johnny, and Gaz to explain the situation.

“Can you explain what you saw?” The Sheriff eases, and your attention is drawn back.

“It wasn’t much,” you stutter, shaken. “Shadows—men wearing masks. One had a bat and hit the window before they started throwing bricks.”

Simon’s eyes shift over the damage, numb gaze finding more broken glass, thrown paint, and dents in the garage door. The front had been trashed with garbage, and the lobby was ruined—it was by some miracle that the bikes had been left alone for whatever strange reason.

It didn’t make him any less full of wrath.

Your hands are still shaking, and your arm still leaking small droplets of blood down your flesh. Simon’s injuries were worse; he’d taken the brunt of it, but he didn’t seem to care at all, even as the crimson liquid stains his wet back.

“Simon needs medical attention,” you speak lowly to the Sheriff, head moving forward. “Can we do this later at the station?”

“I’m fine,” the man in question grunts, voice deep with anger before turning and walking back to the two of you. Not once do his eyes stop searching the area; on high alert even now and not eager to be out in the open. Those old instincts were creeping back over him, and he wanted to get you somewhere safe so he could handle this situation himself.

It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know who was responsible and while property was one thing, your comfort was another.

How dare anyone do something like that to you.

“You’re bleeding,” you explain, eyes tight. A hand brushes over your arm, taking it up and inspecting the small cut that you wear.

Feet shift, and through a clenched jaw Simon utters, “So are you.”

“You know what I mean, Brown-Eyes,” you try to make him listen, but it’s fruitless.

“Don’t worry about me,” the Sheriff walks to assess the damage, letting the two of you speak in hushed whispers and firm looks.

“You sound stupid,” you hiss, and Simon’s fingers rub your skin softly, his study of your body taking place in a slow sweep. “Of course I’m going to worry.”

“Need to stop shaking.” Your face creases at the comment.

“I’m not shaking.” Simon grabs your hand and puts his fingers through yours, raising it between you so you can look. Your eyes shift down, and your limb can clearly be seen vibrating like an engine in his hold; the fingers unable to close fully.

Not speaking, Simon cups it with his other hand and presses, grounding you as your lungs take a deep breath before you can clear your throat.

“I’m fine,” your words barely make it to the air.

“...Now who’s sounding like me?” The man mutters eyes creased as he stares. “Breathe.”

You listen, taking another deep breath and staring at Simon’s chest.

“Up ‘ere,” a finger moves out to tap under your jaw, making you tilt your head up to lock with his browns. “There we are, then. Focus. M’right here.”

“You’re good at this,” you grumble, put off by your own separation from your body.

Simon tilts his head. “Had to be.”

You spare a strangled huff at that.

How quickly things could go wrong—you had thought that tonight would be the best night of your life, but now it was just one single instant that things had made sense, the rest a stain on your memory.

“You know it was Graham and his friends?” Simon nods, still watching you and making sure you’re calming down properly, waiting for that adrenaline crash. He knows. “What are we going to do about it?”

“Right now?” The man pauses. “Nothing. You’re coming down with me to the Bed and Breakfast. Staying there.”

So that was how Simon shifted his priorities, walking you down the road as more and more police showed up—there would be more talking in the morning, you had given them everything you’d known so far. It was also how you were mobbed by three more concerned mechanics as you entered their temporary living situation until houses were purchased, blue and brown eyes blinking at the two of you quickly.

“What in the bloody hell is going on?” Gaz had asked, but you were much too tired to speak beyond leaning into Simon’s shoulder and grunting.

“Steamin’ Jesus,” Johnny had muttered, only in boxers as he’d shoved out of his room. “Heard the sirens—what’s been happenin’ without me?”

Price had been the one to finally settle everyone and push out a stiff order to leave Simon and you alone for the night. With various glances and tense looks, you were both allowed into your room with little more trouble.

It was tiny but clean, and Simon had locked the door with a grumble and moved you over to the bed so you could sit, moving off to run a bath.

You heard the pipes squeak—the whoosh of water as it entered the tub.

Your mind has still not entirely caught up to itself as Simon leads you forward and begins undressing you; taking off your top and letting you shift out of your own pants. The bathroom tile is cold, and you wrap your arms around yourself when you’re entirely bare as you can’t find the words to speak. That is, before Simon takes his shirt off and you see the damage that’s been done.

You gasp, hand reaching out but stopping above the cut skin surrounded by a million bruises and large welts.

“Oh my God,” you whisper, delicately touching the skin. None of the slices were deep, but the horror was still there. “Simon…”

Brown eyes soften, and the balaclava is removed as well before a kiss is dug into your forehead. The shade of his hair matched his eyelashes, and now with the full picture, he was as handsome as you imagined him to be, though to all others the scars and the crookedness of his nose might be a shock. You hadn’t expected anything different.

“Just bruises, Love,” he pets your neck, thumb running over your pulsepoint.

“You’re all cut up,” your eyes water, but your stubbornness holds them back as you try to take everything in from his willingness to show you his face to the events of tonight. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t know that he would do something like this, really, he was always a jerk but he was never…never bold like this.”

Cupping his cheeks, you kiss his jaw, salty water tracking down your face as you hear Simon take in a breath. He pulls you closer and hugs you tightly, curling over you as if another barrage of bricks was imminent.

But there wasn’t going to be any danger here. Not with three other veterans down the hall.

“He ever…?” You shake your head, shakily uttering a quick response to Simon’s trialed-off question.

“No. No, I’d never stand for that.” The man’s broken body loosens, a long sigh exiting his nose in blatant relief.

“Good,” is all he says. “Deserve better.”

You sniffle, getting a reign on your emotions. “I’ve got better.”

During the shared bath, you clean the others’ wounds, your back to the wall as you run water over the stretch of Simon’s shoulders, washing away the blood. Your nails drag over his skin as he shivers, not looking back at you as he reaches behind and takes one of your hands into his. The black stain of his tattoos rubs along your bare arm as fingers intertwine, your limb moved and held to his abdomen as you kiss one of the knobs in his spine softly and hum to him.

“Thank you,” you whisper into his skin.

Simon doesn’t respond, only leaning back into you more.

—

Two days pass with no sign from Graham or his friends—Celine, either. Everyone in town was on edge, and in that time you’d been put on paid leave from the bar on account of your involvement and the potential involvement of your coworker. So, you spent most of the time at the shop with Simon, as he’d asked you to so he could keep an eye out.

You had thought that maybe this was a one-time event, and had believed it, as well. Graham had made a point, and being the idiot that he was, he’d pay for it. If he was smart, he’d be out of the country by now—there was no mistaking Simon’s vendetta now. Price had to reel him back in the day after the vandalism.

You’d woken up to an empty bed, having been fitted into one of Simon’s incredibly large shirts and sweatpants for pajamas, and heard arguing. Feet padding like a cat, you had pressed your ear to the door and listened with held-back breath, as if only a peep would make the heated conversation stop.

“He made her bleed, Price. He put her in danger!”

“Get your head on, Simon, you aren’t in the service anymore,” Price had hissed, shadows slinking along from under the door. “You can’t do anything about it.”

There had been a low growl, an aggravated breath.

“I can’t sit ‘ere when he’s waiting like a fucking robber. This is my responsibility— happened on my watch.”

“Since when did that fucking happen, Simon, eh? What’s been going on with you two?”

A pause. “...It’s complicated.”

“Then un-complicate it—you’re thinking like a damn soldier.”

So here you are, fixing the streaks of miscolored paint that had been spattered over the mechanic’s shop as Simon comes out, wiping his hands with a rag.

“Good thing I didn’t start on the mural yet,” you comment to him, stepping back and putting your roller down. The rag is offered and you take it with a small smile while you slide it over your fingers. “Else I would have tracked him down myself.”

“Would ‘ave helped.” October eyes flicker along the drying paint—the marks still visible. “M’sorry.”

“If you won’t let me apologize,” you raise a brow in challenge. “I won’t let you either.”

Simon’s eyes crinkle from behind a new balaclava, missing the skeleton details. “Cheeky.”

“It’s called being truthful, Riley.” You sigh through the tilt of your head. “But the bad news is that I had to use up the paint, and I’m not even halfway done with this. It didn’t help that they used a darker color than what I wanted as the backdrop.”

“Want to take a drive out, then?” The question is swift and honest as it's aimed at you like a distraction from the anxiety. Simon motions his head to the garage. “Got a bit before I’m needed, m’sure you could use a break, yeah?”

“You don’t have to,” you utter, moving to rest a hand on his bicep. He almost purrs at the touch, leaning in.

“Want to,” Simon grunts slowly. “Bikes are still good. Bastards knew I’d skin them if they touched ‘em.”

“I’m sure,” you chuckle, teasing him through a smirk. “Big Bad Simon Riley.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” he breathes at that, turning back around as you follow after, laughing.

You both get onto the Rebel, and the brown leather jacket moves your way along with the helmet, slipping it over your head not seconds later as Simon grabs his spare.

“Are you sure you shouldn't ask for another helmet?” You had brought it up the first time as well—the prospect of a crash.

“Only a small ride—I’ll go slow, Sunshine.” Knuckles tap the top of the helmet in reassurance. “Matters more that you’re the one wearing it.”

Your face creases up, but you sigh and nod, wrapping your hands around Simon’s waist and tightly holding on as the engine starts rumbling below you. Moving your feet up to the rests, you scoot closer as the man pushes off the ground, flipping the kickstand back up before he leans forward slightly and lets the bike do the work.

As before, the two of you get out of town and nature opens up—but as soon as you really start to let your worries slide away and focus on Simon’s pulse and the freedom he gives you, there’s a cold wind from the west. Coming up and dragging along with it, a dark rain cloud sits over you both about a seven-minute drive in.

“Should we pull over?!” You shout in question as raindrops begin to patter off your helmet. The bike makes a strange chirping sound, and you blink over Simon’s shoulder until your attention is taken away by his answer.

“Soon!” You nod, trusting him to know, and ease back. Your fingers trace the small bulge of scars at his waist, shivering.

One minute later, you’re about to say you can see the town ahead when that chirping starts again. Brows furrowing, you grunt in the back of your throat and yell, “What’s that sound, Simon?”

He glances back briefly, unable to hear you.

“The sound!” Simon’s fingers flicker, head moving down to the bike below him—the hum of the engine was too strong up here, he can’t hear anything out of the ordinary.

“What are you—?!”

There’s a great shriek of black metal, and the Honda Rebel 500’s front wheel breaks off from the motorcycle fork and the bike flips.

TAGS:

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flowerfreya · 2 months

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Did you want a picture?

Social Media AU based off of this post

Pairing : John Price x reader

John is a divorced dad with two teenagers and reader is a famous influencer think Victoria Paris , Jackie Aina , Monet McMichales type beat

John Price is a famous retired hockey player that played for over twenty years in the NHL. He’s always been a famous athlete despite all his attempts not to. He didn’t do any press and he only did a handful of sponsorships. No matter that, the fans loved him.

John Price was with his highschool sweetheart for a little over seventeen years with two kids now teenagers when they got divorced, the split was amicable understanding that they are just not in love anymore. His ex-wife means a lot to him , he still pays all the bills, she doesn’t work and he had to decide to be the one that moved out the house. His kids come to visit him all the time and with them being teenagers of course they are on tiktok and they think that it is hilarious when they record anything and it gets posted by every sports channel because they have never seen this side of him before.

John knows that he’s famous not just for being an athlete anymore but for being famous on social media as well. A lot more younger fans have come up to him asking for a picture than he’s gotten in years and at first it threw him off , but a year in he’s used to it now.

He’s see’s you walking down the sidewalk with pink headphones on and one of his older jersey’s , you're walking towards him , playing on your phone not really paying attention, and when you get close enough, “You want a picture?”, he ask.

“Huh”, you reply.

He reiterates the question and that’s when you take off your headphones and ask, “Where’s your phone for the picture”.

“Wouldn’t we use your phone”, he replies.

“I’m sorry but I can’t give you my phone number”, you smile back at him but it’s a bit strained, thinking that this weird guy wants your number.

“I think there's some confusion,luv”,

You tilt your head to the side, “Aren’t you a fan?”

“No I’m not a fan, are you ?”

“I don’t know who you are”, you say with a laugh and you start to back away obviously this is not an interaction you want to be a part of.

“Your wearing my jersey”, John points down at your shirt, which makes you look down,

“You’re the Rangers?”, you ask sarcastically.

“No, but I am the man on the back of the jersey”, he says with a smile.

“Oh, anyway, did you want a picture”, you ask him, kind of over this back and forth.

“Sure,luv”, John hands you his phone and you lift it up in a selfie motion and right before you take the picture , you hear him sniff and then moan, which causes you to turn your head and snap the picture.

When John gets home , he’s ambushed by his teenage daughter demanding what he does to you? He’s confused , he doesn’t even remember having had a long day with practice and then meetings after that.

“What are you talking about?”, he ask his daughter calmly. She explains that someone had recorded the whole interaction about worlds colliding and memes being made about mixing the friend groups, and opposites attract.

He mentions that he ran into you but didn’t know who you were. John’s daughter just about screams when she realizes that her dad met just about the most famous influencer , maybe not in the world but you're up there. His daughter gets an idea, her dad needs to met you again, she saw the connection between the two of you, she hasn’t seen her dad like that , well ever.

#influencer!reader #hockey player!price #task force 141 #john price x readee #captain john price #dad!john price

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kaitokitty19 · 7 months

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Pandora AU: Home pt.1

Snippet written for my Pandora AU where Kaito became immortal and he travels around with Hakuba. In the following part, Hakuba’s around his 40s.

———

"Don't you ever want to settle down somewhere?"

Right now, Kaito was curled up next to Saguru's body, which always generates heat like a furnace. It's chilling despite the heater. Kaito instinctively moved closer to the heat source.

In response, Hakuba only petted his hair absent-mindedly and gave a distracted hum. He was busy perusing the file marked "URGENT" Interpol had forwarded earlier that evening, interrupting their dinner. The file had been printed out into a thick stack of paper – getting along in his 40s, long screen time had started to tire Saguru's eyes out quicker; they’re always red and watery after staring at his monitor for a long case, hence the printing.

Always bringing murders and terrorists and whatnot horror into their bed, that bastard. But Kaito could hardly find it in him to complain; not when Saguru is this dastardly handsome with all his fine lines and glasses and laser focus. His juvenile cockiness might have dulled somewhat in age, but his eyes remained as sharp as ever. Kaito imagined he could be cut through with a look. God, he wish he could age with him.

"I already am."

"Huh?" Kaito startled, forgetting that it was him who asked.

"I said ‘I already am’," Saguru reiterated, eyes still glued to inked black and white and free hand waving vaguely around as if that alone should make sense, "settled, that is."

Kaito followed the directions of his wild gestures. Yes, their apartment is nice and all: a tasteful cream-colored motif, delicate plaster ceiling rose, high windows and ceilings, spacious, with a spectacular view of the Eiffel Tower. The Hakuba Corp spared no expense in making sure its young master was happy, and this was no exception. From the most cutting-edge technology to the most beautiful antique furniture, everything seamlessly pieced together in a coherent harmony of livable space. Everything was at his fingertips. Kaito could spend all day mopping around the place without feeling an ounce of claustrophobia. And he did, occasionally - on which days Kaito felt more like a spoiled cat than an actual person. That Hakuba would come home from whatever businesses he tended to, shrug off his trench coat and shoes before bending over the sofa and spoil him with indulgent kisses certainly didn't help the case.

Even if he were to nitpick, there was nothing to bemoan about. But they had scantly been there 5 months. Kaito was sure there were suitcases at the bottom of their closet that had yet been unpacked. 'Settling down' wouldn't be how he would describe it. Nor would it apply to any of their previous many relocations.

"That's not... I mean, don’t you get tired, of moving around like this? Hardly get to see your friends and family? Never allow yourself to take root somewhere? Isn't it suffocating building your life around me?"

This had Saguru's attention. He lowered the case file and turned those keen eyes onto Kaito. The way Kaito's breath hitched was completely involuntary.

"Does it bother you?"

"It doesn't matter, does it? I don't have a choice." There was no use talking around it. With Pandora, Kaito could hardly stay anywhere longer than a handful of years before his unchanging appearance raised a few eyebrows. "But you do. Wouldn't you rather have a home to come back to instead of hotel rooms and new fancy penthouses every other year?"

They were already getting looks as they were, from the way master Hakuba always had a young twenty-something draping over his arm. There had been hushes and whispers that Kaito knew that Saguru feigned oblivion to, only to quietly have them moved within the week.

He hadn't noticed he had been fidgeting until Saguru took hold of his restless fingers, the warmth of his hand effectively stopped his anxious tingle from spreading from his fingertips.

"Kaito," Hakuba sighed, exasperated but firm, like he had said what he was going to say next a thousand times before and had absolute faith in it. And maybe he had. Kaito just couldn't quite bring himself to believe him, "as long as I am with you, I'm already home."

#pandora #dcmk #hakukai #hakuba saguru #detco #kuroba kaito #magic kaito #kaitou kid #sagukai #白快 #au #detective Conan #fic #pamdora au #writing

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nanaminokanojo · 1 year

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THAWING ICE QUEEN (part 12)

–one night of fooling around with the annoying campus king gojo satoru (he thinks so), turns into...well, something else more long term

CHARACTERS: gojo satoru x you | geto suguru | jjk characters

MASTERLIST | CHAPTER INDEX

<<prev part 12 next>>

NOTE: This has narration in prose.

~*~

Gojo Satoru was one persistent man, you gotta give him that. When he said your wish is his command, he delivered, so you don't really have any excuses to further refuse him. He took your opinion on the contract seriously, passed it by you without fail and exceeded expectations. You had the choice to stop whatever madness the two of you were cooking up, so you had that as a buffer to see how things go.

It's a very different situation for the both of you. Neither of you had been in bed with the same person twice. You thought that was convenient, spares you from that awkward phase of having to deal with the messy things that come along with commitment. But regardless of how much you and Satoru reiterate on the point of having no strings attached, it was still a form of commitment. You didn't know yet whether you liked the nature of that bond regardless if it was limited to the physical aspect.

But it was convenient. You could admit at least that. If it's just sex, then you wouldn't have to go through the motions of meeting people, getting to know them enough to say they're not psychos and establishing that mutual agreement of never seeing each other again. Satoru was familiar ground for once, and you more or less knew what to expect from him with the security of a written agreement adding to your supposed security.

Now it was a game of waiting to see who is gonna crack first, but that's a problem for future you. It's arrogant to think that there are no consequences to what you are about to involve yourself in because there will be, and you knew neither of you are stupid as to deny that. Accepting that fact is the first step. You'll deal with the mess later.

Or maybe you two were really stupid to be considering it at all. Either way, you didn't really care about the intricacies of it as much as you were annoyed over the fact that Satoru was taking away what you wanted to be a peaceful afternoon. Tolerance sure wasn't his strongest suit as expected of a rich brat who didn't know how it feels to be denied and done have the slightest understanding of the word no.

"You're gonna make me neighbors think I got into a tangle with loan sharks, Gojo," you said the moment you opened the door for him, unable to help it but ogle him. He was clad in gray sweats, a black shirt that fit him so damn well, his platinum hair mussed under a white, Balenciaga baseball cap.

He looked at you from under his cap, those gloriously blue eyes twinkling as he broke into a grin. "Well, you do owe me kisses, sweetheart."

Rolling your eyes, you cocked your head to the side, inviting him in, prompting his next comment: "I see how you're related to Sukuna when you move like that."

You chuckled. "I know how you think he was raised by brigands." You looked over your shoulder with a smirk. "You can opt out of our arrangement now."

Satoru caught up to you, blocking your way to the living room. He bent down to your height, booping you on the nose with his index finger. "Is that a roundabout way of saying you want out? You haven't even signed yet." He waved the file he was holding in front of you. "Ammended and reviewed as you've requested."

You took it, pushing past him and plopping down on the couch. You patted the space next to you as you opened the file, startled when he jumped right onto the spot, also making you bounce on the plush seat.

You momentarily glared at him but he just scooted closer, pointing at the sheaf of papers. "The things you wanted added are highlighted in yellow."

You quietly read the things he indicated, rifling through pages with your eyes. All the while, you could feel Satoru's blue orbs on you, his fingers toying with the tips of your hair. From your periphery, you could see him breaking into a soft smile, so different from his cocky, mischief-filled cheshire grins. Your planned glance turned into a sidelong stare as you whipped your head to actually look at him.

To your dismay, his expression was replaced by surprise, making that smile disappear as if it hadn't even been there in the first place.

"What?"

You shook your head, thinking you probably just imagined it. "Where do I sign?"

You made quick work of that after Satoru indicated where you were to sign, handing him the pen and also watching him do the same.

"And that's a done deal!" he declared, slapping the pen on the coffee table before twisting on his waist to look at you. "Congratulations, I'm exclusively yours."

"Thanks for saying my line for me." You shrugged, feeling the awkwardness of the situation now that your "giggle fits" about the whole contract, as Satoru had termed it, had died down. "So..."

"May I kiss you now?" he interrupted your thoughts, invading your space as he leaned forward, his eyes shifting slowly from your eyes and your lips.

You didn't fail to notice how he emphasized on asking for your permission this time instead of asking whether he was capable of it. "If you're always gonna choose your words like this..." You knocked his cap off his head with one hand while the other glided up from his shoulder to his nape. You pulled him closer, your lips just millimeters from his. "...instead of being such a tactless bastard all the time, I might actually enjoy this more."

He looked at you with hooded eyes. He wasn't one to be distracted from his goals. "So, may I, sweet cheeks?"

"Yes, you mmph –"

Satoru's plush lips were on yours in a split second, pressing gently yet the fact that he was holding back was evident in the way he gripped onto your waist as if he was trying to tether himself to you. He moved his lips against yours in languid motions as if he was testing the waters. You let him although you wondered at that knowing how hungry and all-consuming his kisses can be from experience.

You didn't dislike it, even the way he would pull away in the smallest fractions to nip at your lips before he would give them tiny kitten licks. It was enticing watching him take his time, making you reciprocate in the same small actions but mostly letting him have at it. Satoru's large hands moved from where he was keeping you steady on your arms up to the sides of your neck, his thumb brushing against your jawline.

Just then, he wrenched his eyes from intently paying attention to your lips to meet yours, blinking slowly and absently licking his lips. Satoru looked at you as if he couldn't believe you were in front of him, again breaking into that genuine smile.

"You're so pretty, sweet cheeks," he mumbled, looking absolutely out of it.

You were tempted to snort at his compliment but at the same time, you couldn't, unable to extricate yourself from the moment. This was a new side to him you're seeing for the first time. "That's one kiss today, Gojo."

At that, the spell seemed to have broken as he placed his forehead on your shoulder, chuckling. "You're keeping count?" He blindly fished for something in his pocket before taking your hand in his and pressing something onto your palm.

Before you could look and ask what it was, his lips were on yours again, less experimental this time. He licked at the seam of your mouth, pushing his tongue into it and seeking yours. You gasped when he finally found it, groaning when you responded in kind. Your ears were ringing, your head filled with nothing but the way he tasted in your mouth and the way he was possessively holding you against his taut form while his fingers drew circles on the small of your back.

And just as you were getting used to him and what he was doing to you, he pulled away, your lips parting with a wet sound. You swallowed hard, startled by the sudden loss of contact, and quite frankly, pissed off as well.

He wrapped your fingers on the thing he put in your hand, realizing it was some sort of card. As if he read your mind, he said, "Your key to my private place in the city. I'll text you the address."

With one last peck to your lips which were slightly parted from being flustered, he stood up, putting on his cap. And then he turned to look at you. "Sorry, sweetheart. I have class in half an hour with Yaga." He grinned. "Don't look so disappointed now. I'll make it up to you tomorrow."

You scoffed, also standing up as you regained composure. "Who says I am?" You shook your head, catching sight of the contract on the table. "Take those with you. I don't need Yuki or Iori finding those here."

Satoru laughed, taking your hand and twining his fingers with yours before raising it to his lips and winking at you. "See you tomorrow."

~*~

TAGS LIST: @arxliana @neeneee @charlie-xo @aelynaneedsalottathing @arizzu @cloudxp

PHOTO/IMAGE/GIF/FANART CREDITS TO THE RESPECTIVE OWNERS.

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hcdragonwrites · 1 year

Text

Apple Blossoms (@journey-to-the-au What if AU fic)

A cute Haarini and Wukong fic that I’ve been dying to push out. God I love this pairing so much. Please ENJOY!

“How long do you think it will take?” Bajie, third disciple, was leaned against the monastery wall a frown furrowing his snout. The pig had just wanted Wukong settle their Master into an alcove in the room, set away from any windows or doorways. Of course Trip had asked Wukong to go begging for fruits- even though the monastery had given them a hearty course of noodles and steamed buns from the kitchens. Wukong had obliged his master, bowing low before seeking out her and asking her if she wanted anything.

“What do you mean?” Wujing was tending to some clothing, working a needle through the ripped and broken stitching along the edge of the fabric. The river demon didn’t seem to have a care in the world as the Stone Monkey leapt from the window and out into the afternoon light beyond.

“Come on Wujing!” Bajie stated exasperated. “ You can’t be blind to what’s going on…” he motioned with his hands to the open window where their brother had gone out and the silver form of Haarini who brought over the scrolls Tripitaka had requested from the monastery archives.

Wujing looked up from his stitching when Bajie have him a kick in his leg and blinked. It took him a moment between looking out the latticed window and to the silver simian beside their master to piece together what was bothering Bajie so much.

“Oh you mean between Wukong and Miss Haarini?” Wujing asked. He didn’t quite see the point his brother was trying to make.

“Yes. The ape is practically head over heels for her and he doesn’t have a clue!” Bajie fumed. He watched Haarini help lay out stones to hold the old and crumbling scroll open, setting a small red candle nearby so Tripitaka could read the fading letters with little strain. Bajie liked to think he was an expert on love and courtship. He had experience - albeit mostly rejections but he would never admit they were failures, just wrong girl wrong time scenarios- and had an eye to see that when Wukong looked at Haarini he had all the tenderness in the world.

“I think the young Miss is also in love with him.” Wujing commented softly. He was almost done fixing the hole in his spare trousers. Bajie whirled off the wall and gripped the river demons shoulders and gave such a violent shake as to send the needle flying out of his hand.

“So you see it too?!” Bajie ground his teeth. If he was a fire demon, steam would have been coming from between his teeth. “Why doesn’t Wukong come out with it and just say it?! It’s infuriating.”

“Infuriating that he’s clueless ?” Wujing bent down to feel for his needle, staying calm even though some of the stitching from his hard work had come undone. “Or is infuriating because Bajie is jealous that our brother has someone interested in him?”

The sly taunt pricked the pig just as Wujing found his needle again- only to loose it as his brother grabbed his shoulders and shook again.

“Wujing! I had a wife remember.” Bajie huffed. “ If anyone knows romance it would be me!”

“Keeping your wife locked up while your in-laws called you a monster?” Wujing pushed his brother off him and caught his needle up again.

“I plowed their fields! I harvested their crops! They should be thankful for such a good Son-in-law!” Crowed the ex marshal. Haarini peaked around at them from her place beside Tripitaka. They were making such a noise about marriage and the pat exploits of Bajie she couldn’t help but listen in.

“Tell that to your ex wife.” Haarini heard that and immediately turned back to the scriptures Tripitaka was gently explaining. Whatever the two brothers were talking about- she wanted nothing to do with.

“Why doesn’t he just say it?!” Bajie reiterated, setting himself back down and against the wall.

“Say what?” Wujing was already engrossed in his work again, having forgotten what point his brother was trying to get to.

“That he loves her Brother! That he is doting on her like a moon eyed dawn after its mother!” It was adorable to see the very cheeky and very sly monkey stumble over his own feet in the presence of a girl. It would give Bajie satisfaction- if it didn’t confound him that this monkey had gained the amour and fluttering lashes of a lady!! “He practically tangled tails with her at every moment!”

“Maybe Wukong doesn’t really understand why he loves her… or what he may be feeling.” Wujing observed.

“What do you mean Wujing? Are you hinting that … Wukong may Never have … felt love before?” The thought seemed so sudden, so alien to Bajies mind that he recoiled from it. Bajie had loved almost since the moment he could conceptualized the thought. There were a lot of pretty women in the courts of Heaven and across the cosmos. I mean… they were women! Pretty dainty things with lips and curves and they all smelled wonderful! To think Wukong had never felt love.. never trysted with another …

“He’s felt love.” Wujing amended. With a pull and tug, the thread came free of its binding in a nice stitch. The hole was mended. “I just don’t think he’s ever had a crush.”

Wukong traipsed through the grove of apple trees, smiling softly to himself. His basket was full of fruit from seven different mountaintops now. He had oranges, cherries, plums, peaches, strawberries, mangos and apples. An assortment of fruits he had to beg and somersault across ranges and deserts for, to hop and skip rivers and oceans just to get across.

Wukong wouldn’t range so far for several reasons. One was his master had a terrible stroke of misfortune that always plagued him to no end whenever the monkey was gone. One would think after so many kidnappings and snatchings, trickings and plyings with sly words, that his other brothers would become more observant right ? Wrong! Wujing could be depended upon, bless him. But Bajie? Sometimes Wukong wanted to peel those pig ears off his head and wipe that grin from his snout in frustration.

When it came down to seeing glamour Wukong was the best. No demon could hide from his discerning eye. His Master knew this- and still would be swayed my Bajies words to disbelieve the Sage.

Bajie had talked his Master into saving demonic women who could pluck the very souls from bodies. The pig had made arguments against Wukongs cautions when it came to a platter of fruits that smelled too sweet or tea that looked just a bit to colorful. And the third disciple ? He had a terrible and scary habit of falling asleep at any and all hours. Ba Longma, their second brother and disciple, had had to wake the pig on more occasions then not.

So the rest of Wukongs reasons? They solely fell on Bajies shoulders. The blame for Wukongs paranoia was at the pigs feet. However that had changed when she came to join them.

Haarini.

She was a flash of silver white fur that had taken him by surprise, knife held to his throat and her teeth flashing. “Who are you?” Had been hissed from a face full of violence and fear.

I am someone completely confused and surprised. Had been Wukongs first thoughts.

Wukong had knives, polestars, maces, bats, clubs, swords, halbergs, quarterstaves, fans, morningstars, greatswords, axes, arrows, tekko, butterfly swords, falchions, rapiers, katana, Dadao and all things sharp or meant for killing pointed at him along the journey. The people wielding them had been mortal and demon alike.

However none of them had been monkey. It was like … looking into the past. She resembled nothing of his people, nothing of his mountain. She wasnt him, had never been him.

Yet the fear… the tremble… Haarini had been in a state when she came to the group. It had taken communicating and gentle coaxing by all to get her to ease. And when she did ? She promptly fell to sleep like a stone being dropped in water. Wukong felt a smidge of something within him beginning to grow white hot. An ember of a feeling he had not been aware of missing.

He had been king of Flower Fruit Mountain longe before he had been imprisoned beneath the Five Phases mountain. Though he hadn’t acted kingly in quite a long time, Wukong felt himself beginning to slip back into that mantel.

Was he bossing anyone around and giving orders and such? No. Being a king was a bit more then that. Besides Bajie would probably disregard him as he always did if given an order. No this was the other side of Wukong that had been seen in glimpses and flashes, like a white Hart in the woods.

This was the part he had always at his core had been: loving. Caring. Compassionate. Wukong wanted the best for his people. He had been driven across the sea to find in in Sabhuti and learn of the art of eternal life. The monkey had cultivated himself for years- all in the name of seeing his people live long and happy lives. To forever live.

Wukong had seen what death did. It took the joy from the living, took a person they loved - wether it be mate or child, mother or sibling- and left nothing but the frozen form from whence their soul inhabited. A husk of the bright flicker that had been before. Wukong had seen his fair share of tears from his people when the first of their troop had died, heart giving out in the middle of festivities and livelihood.

He had tasted the tears of his people as they had buried the elder, the first death Wukong had seen so naturally snatched in the prime spark of life, thrown petals onto the body. Wukong had experienced his first burial. He had seen the mourning.

That sorrow had been a thorn in his foot, a bite from a bug he could not ignore. He worried at it, picked at it. Would he suffer the same fate? But if he did- who would be left to protect the little children,the elder mothers, the stubborn adolescents, from the things that prowled and saw them as nothing more then Monkeys?

They were more then Monkeys. Each of his people had a name. The elder, Sunrise, had been the first name etched into the stone monkeys heart. Wukong refused to forget his smile, the way he called the loudest in the halls during feasts, or how he liked to tell the little ones ghost stories and make the mothers box him about the ears.

Wukong had made a determination, a declaration to himself. That would be the last needless death.

He had not been able to fulfil it completely.

Wukongs own need to secure safety had lead to his rise in power, which had lead to Heavens notice of him. This had lead to the first incidence of scorn and contempt by immortals Wukong had ever experienced. From Humanity? He had learned in his time with Sabhuti that bot all the disciples there looked at him with fondness.

They were mortal men, unaccustomed to the long days of merriment and joviality that Sun Wukong had created in his mountain. Their time was fleeting in Wukongs mind- like grains of sand racing to the bottom of the glass. Wukong wanted to stop his own pell mell fall into that same trap- and had succeeded.

From immortals however ? Beings he had given respect to - as much as he could while also giving them a bit of cheek and teasing for that was his way, to tease and to teach- and had been full of wisdom to him?

They had treated him nothing like his people. Nothing like Sabhuti. Contempt and belittlement had been slung at him.

So of course he had reacted.

That had been more then Five hundred years go. Ages since he had last seen his people, the children, the elders of his mountain.

Flashes of his old self, of the caring free loving monkey king from before had been slow to come forward. Yes he was still a cheeky and conniving trickster. But the playful care ? The kind he would use to tease the children of the mountain into trying new things, or to encourage his generals into learning new maneuvers ? That came in rare flashes in the most secluded moments with Tripitaka, when his master was not breathing down his neck about the importance of every life.

The importance of every life is moot if your being picked out of some upstart demons teeth.

However… Haarini had woken something Wukong was not expecting to awake until he was home and back on his mountain. Care.

Wukong set the basket down in the dew speckled grass, humming as he leapt into the tree above. The cloud cover here was beautiful - frosted in the dying light of the sun and cold crisp scent of winter winds. Wukong was in a place that had longer winters and shorter summers, where the breath of winter was always a step from the door. But for right now the summer was warm enough to fight the chill winds.

Up among the twisting branches, blossoms and apples hung. The smell was soft and fragrant and numerous. The blossoms were small, delicate little things. Bees late to their hives still flitted over them. Wukong picked the best branches and gave them a fast snap. They came away like toothpicks, the blossoms hardly disturbed.

Wukong hoped down setting the branches in the top of the basket. His smile was soft. Warmth settled in his body as he placed the little cloth back over his findings. Then with a breath he spun away, up and over clouds in a somersault that sent him into the air and beyond.

Wukong was soon back at the monastery. The rooftile beneath his feet was still warm from the sun. Night had fallen fully, the blanket of stars in full display. Cicada’s and cricket song flooded the night. The monastery’s paper lanterns gave off a amber honey glow, the fluttering of moths casting large then life shadows across their surfaces.

Below the tiled roof came the comforting murmurs of conversation. Candlelight spilled from the latticed window below. Wukong could hear Bajie and Wujing arguing and the gentle tones of Haarini and Tripitaka in polite conversation. He pulled a bit of fur from his coat and blew, creating a woven basket. Wukong separated the fruits for his master and the little treats he had gathered for Haarini. There was a bit of honeycomb he had snatched, the apple blossom branches, the best Mangos and a few rich and juicy strawberries.

Once that was settled, Wuong felt his fur itch. The urge overcame him and he set to grooming- settling his orange and reddish fur back into place. Ears immaculate, clothes without a speck of dust, tail looking less poofy then before. Once his body stopped itching so terribly, Wukong rapped his knuckles against the latticework and gave a happy hoot. There was a silence then Haarini returned the greeting, musical voice answering his in greeting.

The frame was opened and Haarini stuck her head out, yellow eyes flashing in friendship.

“What are you doing out here? You can just come in.”

“I want to give you something.” Wukong waited eagerly at the edge of roof. He was leaning down looking at her, hands holding the tiles. Everything was cast in a sort of upside down view, the room beyond the window a mess of jumbled shapes. Except Haarini. The simians silvered fur was like a second moon in the light as she quirked a brow at him.

“And that cant be done inside?”

“Not with Bajie.” He peered a bit further and into the room. The third disciple was carrying on about his ex wife and how he was a great husband. Rubbish. He may have done the work of seven people and then some but he had kidnapped his wife first off. That was something no father in law would enjoy. Or mortal women.

“The pig will only ruin it!” Wukong decided to use his secret weapon- he pressed his face close to hers, blinking to make his eyes grow large. “Please Haarini it will be a good surprise.”

Haarini blinked then laughed, snorting in a way that set Wukongs spine to rippling in the most beautiful way. He loved seeing her delight. The Sage would become the greatest jester in all the heavens if he got to hear her soft laughter.

Wukong passed the basket through the window, the one containing the majority of the fruit “Here take the fruits to Shifu and then come back to the window.”

Haarini took the basket and disappeared from sight. With her gone the itching began again in Wukongs fur. He had to resist turning to it and grooming by biting a fang into his lip. It felt like ages bur it was merely moments before she reappeared. The silver monkey was back at the window looking up. Wukong offered her a hand and pulled her up.

He didn’t let go and neither did she. Haarini leaned in looking at the identical basket covered in cloth and back to his golden eyes. Wukong took that moment to try and regain some of his thoughts back. Her smell was in his nose, her hands were soft in his. The way the dim starlight caught in her fur and danced across it like an Arctic crest of permafrost… she was so beautiful.

He could get lost in those eyes… warm like nectar and soft in the light…

“You are eager to show me what you have.” She spun and now was holding both of his hands. She looked up at him, a smirk on her face. “It better not be a trick.”

“No trick. Just close your eyes.”

“Wukong if you put a frog on my head..”

“It was one time! One!”

“One too many!” Her laughter echoed again. Wukong felt his ears melt in the sound of it. He was egged on now, entranced and encouraged by her mirth. A bit of the old King slide out from that place beneath the mountain of memory. He laughed back, allowing that play to prance upon his soul.

“But the frog had the same color eyes as you- it was a comparison” He teased and clucked. The words had their desired effect.

“You cheeky furbag!” Haarini called, smacking his shoulder in mock battle. Wukong felt none of the slaps but felt the little free spark in his heart flair to a flame.

“I am no cheek!” Wukong said with all the mischief.

“You are full of yourself and you know it.” Haarini teased. “Is this why you didn’t want to go down with Bajie?”

“Bajie likes my good humour! He would laugh at my jokes all the time before you came along.” Wukong puffed. He crossed his legs and gently coaxed Haarini down beside him.

“Possibly because you threatened him with a smack between the eyes.” She gestured to his ear where he hid his staff and mimed pummelling someone on the head.

“All in jest. I promise!” He pressed a hand to his heart as she glared at him. He felt a prickle of worry, just a smidge, as he motioned again.

“No frogs just close your eyes. Please?” Baby eyes engaged once more, trying to coax her not to be suspicious.

Haarini reached up and tugged on his ear in play.

“Alright. But if what you give me moves, I will shove it down into your gullet.”

“I dont doubt that.”

He waited until she had closed her eyes. He tested it by waving first his hand then his tail in front of her nose. Her face remained impassive, calm. The Sage had to shake himself bodily to get moving. She just was so pretty in the starlight — it should be criminal to shine without stars.

Wukong turned back to the basket and set to work. He quickly took the branches and easily wove them together. He only lost a few petals from the precious flowers. The scent smelled wonderful, crisp and clear. Wukong felt his tail twitching in excited flutters. He almsot giggled and ruined the surprise. Then Wukong turned and, with delicate care, set the crown of branches and blossoms onto her brow.

“Wukong wha—“ she was a bit startled, opening an eye as the cheeky King sprinkled the last of the apple blossom petals onto her.

“Behold! The flower Queen!” Wukong gave a regal bow, hands swooping back and out as his forehead practically kissed the tiled roof. “All hail the queen of spring!”

“You made me a crown out of blossoms?” Haarini gently ran a hand up and over the little branches that Wukong had woven together. The pale pinkish white petals gave off the softest smell and made her fur look lustrous.

“I couldn’t get you a bouquet.” Wukong chuffed smugly - and with a little bit of mirth. “Those are in the cities and the last time i got you one you nearly bit my fingers.”

“Wukong,” Haarini reproached, “You didn’t get me them-you stole them.”

“I acquisitioned them!”

“You stole them!”

Wukong smirked down on her. And unfurled his hand.

He dropped more petals onto her upturned face. The petals brushed over her nose and lips and Haarini breathed in the pollen.

This elicited the cutest sneeze The Great Sage Equal To Heaven had ever heard. Wukongs eyes blew out as she rubbed at her nose. “Oh my…”

Of course poor Haarini was unaware of the fawning King. She simply rubbed at her snout, trying to gain some composure. The petals had spread their pollen right into her face and nose, setting her to a few more sneezing fits.

A few more adorable honks that had Wukong all but fallen into himself in the urge not to suddenly grab her. It was just so … cute!

Haarini grumbled about the unfair advantages he had, specifically the one where she had no petals to throw at his smirking face when she had been right in the argument all along.

“Wukong my nose is streaming do you have a—“ her eyes had cleared enough to notice how close Wukong had gotten. He was less then a handspan away. He was laying on his belly, feet kicked up over his back, tail curled in a crescent.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Cute.” Wukongs head rested on his two hands as he peered up at her.

“What?” Haarini felt her ears beginning to burn, her fur itching all over as this monkey looked at her like she was the moon and stars and heaven come all to earth. Her heart gave a leap and her emotions were off and running. She had never had anyone admire her like that- had never had someone jest and play and look with such golden eyes into her face …

“Super cuuuute!” Wukong called again, reaching out to tap her now blushing face with the pad of a thumb. Haarini felt steam leave her ears and her fur curl. That heartbeat earlier ? It was racing- galloping- full sprinting like an Arabian horse over the desert dunes.

Seeing him looking at me like that …. I want to —

“Stop it, it was a sneeze!” She slapped at his face, feeling the thoughts of her heart beginning to overwhelm her. Haarini had had bachelors court her. She had had bachelorettes try and weave flowers into her fur. None had ever tempted her eye or caught her heart. There had been handsome ones, kind ones, ambitious ones. As the next matriarch of her troop, Haarini had felt a pressure to perform- to love and to tryst as her mother wanted and secure a successor to the bloodline.

Love had not come into the equation of it.

She had never expected to find it here, leagues away from everything she knew and loved, in the form of a monkey whos eyes glowed like the desert sun, whos laugh made her bones shake in pleasure and whos hands held the gentleset touches. A warrior such as he touched with the softness of day blending to twilight. Subtle and gentle.

Like he was now against her face, holding her in his palm and she, leaning in like she belonged there.

“The most adorable sneeze ever!” Wukong chortled as Haarini regained her independence from her lovesick heart and growled. She gathered some of the fallen petals up.

“Lets see how you like petals in your face!” Haarini pressed them into Wukongs face just as the simian had opened his mouth. The poor King was set on a fit of coughing and sneezing that had Haarini in stitches- but also rubbing his back and apologizing. Wukong returned the favour however as he grabbed her and tugged her back down and into him.

Haarini valiantly struggled under the wrestling. It was like fighting to pin and flip a mountain. She could try all she wanted but each time she got some headway over the King he would simply topped her back onto him. Then under him.

They both lay on the tile for a moment, Haarini catching her breath as she laughed and Wukong hardly breathing as he stared down at her. She was flushed a darker shade- from exertion or laughter he could not tell- and it added a undertone that had him staring into her.

Each time I look at her its like seeing her for the first time. My mind just cant give her an accurate shape.

Maybe one day I can ask an artist to paint her portrait. I never want to forget her smile.

Wukong flopped onto his side beside Haarini, fingering a bit of her crown.

“You are so cute covered in flowers.”

“Shut up-“ her breathes came out a bit faster but with no serious reprimand in them. Wukong felt a bit of a thrill. He had won. “I hope you have more then flowers for me.”

“Of course.”

Under the starlight, in the casting of apple blossoms and the smell of ripe mango and strawberries, the two sat. Enjoying each others company long into the night- past when the cicadas stopped their singing, past when the sky began to grow warm like milk tea in the turning of the day. Haarini talked and teased to Wukong and Wukong listened and teased back. They didn’t realize they were leaning into and upon each other, tails curled and wrapped like vines. When eventually Haarini fell asleep, it was Wukong who curled about her. He grew in size just enough to shelter her from whatever wind came upon them. He slept light, the seeping warmth from the roof tiles lending a heat to wherever they pressed into. Bellies full of fruit and hearts full of one another, the bight passed in peaceful companionship.

A companionship blossoming into the petals of love.

#hcwrites #hcfanfics #writing stuff #a journey to the au fanfi #for journey to the au #HERE SHE IS #A BEHEMOTH #4k words i beleive #it is always the dialouge that makes it longer hehehe but i love this slice of love #YES I KNOW APPLE BLOSSOMS COME IN MANY SIZES.#but also some smell nice and i imagine Haarini in soft little white pedals #jttw au #sun wukong #what if au #haarini #jttw sun wukong #zhu bajie #tripataka #i like to think of Ba Longma as the second apprentice personally #I MEAN HE WAS HERE BEFORE PIGSY SO THAT TECHNIQULLY MEANS HES THE SECOND APPRENTICE #jttw fanfic #I HOPE I CAPTURED THE BABIES WELL #WEEEE #SOME FLUFF TO CHASE DOWN THAT BEAUTIFUL SORROW FLUFF GAVE US YESTERDAY MY GOD #THAT SHIT IS STILL LIVING IN MY HEAD RENT FREE #jttw tag #jttw fanfiction #I LOVE WRITING FLUFF OK #FLUFF MAKES ME SAPPY #I kept seeing that scene from walle when they hold hands with the music going in the background

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quills-of-freedom · 1 year

Text

Dream series ~

Porco Galliard

Okay so, I've upset myself writing this new chapter of Crossroads. How Isayama and other writers do it I will never know.

Anyway, it's prompted me to start the "Dream Series" where you're with your love in a modern AU and what happens to them in canon is just a horrible, horrible dream.

Requests for series are open

Female bodied Reader X Porco Galliard

Warnings: Fluff. Soft sex. Cockwarming. Praising (both ways)

Tag list 🐙

@greeniegreengreen

@dreamerdeity

@XOYOURONLYAMORRXO

@koo-detat

@5feetofwrath

@lilshades

Your eyes fly open to be greeted by a void of blackness, the dark room creating familiar yet fuzzy shapes as your eyes focus on the amicable furniture of your bedroom. The room you share with your love -

You bolt to a sitting up position as you gather your bearings, the dream you had feeling like it had gone on forever.

"...Babe?" Porco asked, opening one eye to look at you. The open orb is squinting through the dark, his vocals drawled and half-asleep.

You flick on the bedside light, heart still hammering and the wicked heat of panic surging under your skin.

Porco immediately flinches and puts his head into his pillow to shield him from the light. "Ah, a warning next time?"

If you were in your right mind, you'd apologise. But instead, all you can do is choke on a sob, burying your face into your hands, the light chasing any and all demons from the shadow realm of nightmares back where they belong.

Porco's ear pricks when he hears your broken sob, sitting up with his bed hair sticking here, there and everywhere - eyes still squinting as his large hand softly palms your back.

"Woah, woah... hey, what's wrong?"

Turning, you throw your arms over his bare shoulders, the solid muscles beneath his skin tensing as he embraces you, holding the back of your head as if he were cradling you.

"I had the worst dream. And it felt so real. Eren was this... monster. So were you, a-and Reiner. And you were all fighting. You got hurt. Real bad. Your head was half missing and you were eaten by a - "

"Hey..." He laughs softly. "It was just a dream. It's over now. I'm here with you now, right?"

You nod, withdrawing from the embrace, his head lowering to catch your gaze.

"It wasn't real." he reiterates, fingers now running through your hair.

Using his large thumb, he pushes your tears off your cheeks, his auto "man must protect" instinct clicking on like a light switch at how precious you were, crying and trembling the way you were.

"Come on, let's get you feeling better. You want a drink?"

You shake your head as you inhale deeply, pulling yourself together.

"Tea?"

"No, thank you."

"Hmmm....Soda?"

"No."

"I know, how about a nice cold vodka?"

A smile spreads across your beautiful face. "Ew, no Porco."

His heart warms at seeing you smile, giving your arm a little squeeze.

"Alright. Let's get you back to dreamland, missy."

He felt you tense, knowing you weren't quite ready to risk going back into the unknown sovereign state of your unconscious.

"Alright..." He whispers, his nose now nuzzling at your neck. "Let me make you feel better in other ways..."

You melt instantly as his lips caress your neck, his palm sliding down your arm. "Let me show you I'm really here..." He breathes, the feeling of your soft skin instantly stirring him awake.

He catches your mouth into a deep kiss, his eyes closing while that cute pink hue brightens across the bridge of his nose; no matter how long you'd been together, he always felt so privileged and lucky to be able to have your gorgeous form to himself. He'll never take you for granted.

He gently pushes down your form, grabbing the light switch on his way down, and clicking you both back into the darkness. "I'm here, baby..." He breathes heavily, vocals quivering as he meekly climbs on top of you, his sturdy arms keeping himself hovering above you.

You nod from within the black cloud, both pairs of eyes once again adjusting to the new spectrum of vision.

He paws at the thin strap of your tank top, pulling it down your arm and freeing a breast, his warm textured tongue running up your nipple before giving it a nibble with his teeth.

A gasp escapes you at the sensation, running your fingers through his bed hair; lavishing the fact that you're the only person he allows to touch his hair.

As his strong neck works his head across your breast, his hand then grips your bare thigh firmly, tugging down your tiny bed shorts and pulling them down your beautiful pins.

"Let me make you feel safe..." He whispers as he comes back up to your neck, licking it slowly - tasting your natural skin and pheromones. "I'll keep you safe..."

"Oh Porco..." You sigh, wrapping your legs around his waist and feeling his solid manhood standing to attention under his pj bottoms.

"mmm" He hums in between deep kisses of random parts of your neck and chest. "I love it when you get needy for me, gorgeous."

Your own sex is now heated up, pulsing and throbbing on its own accord as this beautiful man who absolutely adores you makes a meal out of your skin.

"You're so perfect, Porco." You whine as he now pulls your top off you entirely.

His heart skips a beat at your words, his form taking shape now your eyes have had time to become familiar with the dark, you see his pink hue deepen to red.

"I love you..." He groans, now kissing your low stomach with such passion, you almost felt that titan steam from your dream emit from his form.

Your nails sink into the sheets as he slowly and deeply starts making out with your slit, his brows sewing together as he pleasures his queen.

Your legs tense and shudder as he groans into you, his tongue now rolling over your sensitive spot.

"Porco, ah ~ you make me feel so ~ good..."

His whimper at your words tugs at your heartstrings. You need to let him know how much he means to you, how amazing he is.

"I need you..." You breathe.

Tearing himself away he sits up, drying his mouth with the back of his wrist before hovering over you once more.

"You've got me. Always."

He pushes himself at your sex, hunching over you and gasping as he slowly slides inside, clinging to you as if you were about to be blown away to another world. Your lips part and nails cling to his arms as his girth stretches you deliciously, his pathetic whimper once he reached the hilt like music to your ears.

He stays still, you can feel his angry cock pulsing within you as it begs its master for some friction. As bad as he is at it, Porco adores cockwarming you - but his self-control is null and void and he never manages to last long. Distracting himself, he paws your hair kissing you as if you were his last meal on this earth.

You bring your legs up in a bend, resulting in him sliding in deeper.

"H'nrgh..." He grunts into your mouth, a deep breath blowing you away.

"You're my every... ah ~ tsss... my everything..." He hisses as your constrictions spasm and flex tightly around his length.

"I love you, Porco..." You whine, trying your best not to buck your hips into his. "I'm all yours..."

Your tongues dance within one another's mouth for a small while, entwining and tasting the other, wrestling gently with adoration that pours from both of your entire beings. Immersing himself into your soul, he grits his teeth and places his head against yours, his hot breath panting and blanketing your face. He whines, he whimpers, he's at your total mercy; all from just reactively tightening yourself which was half an automatic response anyway.

"Never leave me." You whisper. "Don't let this be a dream."

"If I am... I'm waiting for you, somewhere." He replies with honesty. "If i'm a dream. If i'm a character from someone else's world... I'm here, waiting for you to meet me."

A single tear threatens your eye but you blink it away wrapping your arms around his shoulders and neck, closing your eyes as you cling onto his body. "I love you."

"I love you too, princess. Just.. wait for me, okay?"

You nod as he begins to slowly withdraw himself. Your breath is taken away as he firmly thrusts back inside of you. Once. twice. Then giving up all reservations and thrusting his cock into you at a nice rhythm and pace, your hips rocking with his movements.

One arm hooks around you, keeping your body pressed against his, the other on the headboard as he rocks himself in and out of your tight squeezes, his whimpering gathering volume as well as the ferocity of his movements.

You cry out his name as he chants yours in a groan, your breasts bouncing with each powerful hit, the hit that's taking you closer to your high.

"Ah ~ babe... you feel so good... fuck... I'm close... uhuh..." His voice breaks as you come undone, shattering and breaking but at the same time becoming whole as you share your orgasm with your lover, your reflexive insides pulling him in deeper as his thick hot nut bursts with force within you, colliding with your cervix.

You lie asleep, Porco watching your soft, satisfied smile as you're cradled in his arms. His small smile of pride is evident as he gazes at your form. Juvenile pride that he just fucked you happy, but also a deep routed sense of feeling proud, that you were his. That he had made you happy. His head then turns to gaze out of the window at the moon that is slightly in the view from a sliver in the drapes. His smile fades to a thoughtful frown.

What if this was some dream?

What if he were the dream, and when she slept here - that dream world is her real world and vice versa?

His brain started to hurt so with a shake of his head, he returned his gaze to his love.

Whatever the case, wherever you might really be... he is waiting.

End.

a/n: I found an audio thing that is the closest thing I could find to what Porco's moans and whimpers sound like when he is feral. WARNING: It takes you to a porn website (a safe one, promise) so keep that in mind, don't want to give you any nasty surprises.

Here it is here. This is so close to Porco when he's going absolutely nuts for you. Ignore the dialogue at the start though.

You're welcome.

#porco smut #porco x reader #porco x y/n #porco imagines #porco x you #porco fluff #porco thirst #snk x reader #snk x y/n #snk headcanons #aot

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xoxiu · 10 months

Text

my house of stone, your ivy grows - yoongi x reader

chapter nineteen (finale)

table of contents masterlist join the taglist discord

summary: yoongi carried himself with a sense of pride within himself and his belongings. he worked hard to get to where he was- ethically or not, it made him the man he is today. his latest toy, a young college girl from america, will become his magnum opus. he just needs to work out the kinks.

tags/warnings: mafia au, kidnapping, daddy dom!yoongi, smut, autistic!reader, spanking, stockholm syndrome, little!jimin, vminhope, drug mention, namjin, fluff, domestic discipline

taglist: @allamericanuniverse @llallaaa, @frieschan, @queen-klarissa

"Kiwo," Yoongi said, voice shaking from the panic and anxiety he faced. He immediately engulfed the cold, wet girl in a hug despite the mud puddle she sat in. Yoongi hated getting dirty, but he would do anything for Kiwo. "Oh, Kiwo. Never do that again."

The three trekked back to the house through the mud. Namjoon stood a few paces behind Yoongi as he carried Kiwo, taking a close look at the sight before him. Yoongi, understandably, was a mess of rage, fear, and relief. He held Kiwo tightly, afraid she would melt away from his arms somehow. Words of love mixed with scolding could be heard over the overwhelming sound of pouring rain.

Kiwo, however, looked out of it. She had not spoken a word nor let out a whimper since found, only capable of resting her head against Yoongi's shoulder. Her eyes remained on the ground, her body tense yet pliant, and her overall demeanor was of defeat.

Once they were within view, the group that remained outside ran up to Yoongi. Namjoon noted the two missing- Jungkook and Jimin. The younger must have taken the little inside once the rain had started.

Everyone had huddled together in a cold and damp embrace, cooing at Kiwo and scolding her at the same time. It appeared everyone had Yoongi's mixed emotions- happy she was safe, but disappointed over her stunt. Once again, Namjoon gave a good look-over at Kiwo- she still appeared deep in thought and out of the moment.

Yoongi picked up on Kiwo's demeanor, gently setting her on her own two feet. She started at the ground, eyes glued on her own two feet. Perhaps, Yoongi thought, she was only still frightened from her run.

Quickly, Yoongi pushed any sympathy he had for her aside. She ran from him, for God's sake! Kiwo was given the smallest ounce of freedom and tried to leave him behind. It was obvious now that any progress Yoongi thought he built with Kiwo was gone- all trust and confidence were thrown out the window.

Yoongi gripped Kiwo's shoulder tightly and marched her up the muddy hill. The rest of the group froze, wondering what caused Yoongi's sudden change in pace. Hoseok was the first to chase after them, placing a hand on Yoongi's shoulder.

"Hyung, what are you-"

"We're going back to Seoul," Yoongi said, dragging Kiwo further up the trail and back towards the house. The rage, the fear, and the panic Yoongi felt at that moment were enough to confirm his theory- Kiwo was not ready to be independent yet.

No one dared interfere with Yoongi and his rage. They all stood back and watched Yoongi shove the muddy Kiwo in the backseat of his car before speeding off.

———

Yoongi remained deathly silent as he sped through the countryside. Kiwo watched from the backseat as he clenched his jaw and tightened his hands around the steering wheel. Repeatedly she tried to talk to him, occasionally calling out his name. The man never responded.

"Did I do something bad?" Kiwo asked. Of course, she already knew the answer. But she wanted to hear Yoongi talk to her.

"Bad?" Yoongi reiterated, feeling the anger rise further within him. "After the stunt you pulled, you dare to ask if you were bad?"

It was Kiwo's turn to remain silent. She lowered her head, staring at her hands resting in her lap. Yoongi carried on with her scolding.

"Do you know how dangerous that was? This is a very steep area- you could have slipped and fallen off of a cliff!" Yoongi slammed his hand against the steering wheel. "Bad. You were very bad. You won't be leaving the apartment for a year-"

Flashing lights and sirens stopped Yoongi's ranting. Both of their hearts beat out of their chests- Yoongi's speeding had attracted the attention of the police. Not sure what to do, Yoongi continued for a moment before rationalizing that continuing to break the law wouldn't make the situation any better.

"Stay quiet. Not a single word," Yoongi warned her as he turned off the engine. The officer approached them, holding a flashlight to help him see through the heavy rainfall.

"You are aware how dangerous it is to be speeding in these conditions, right?" Yoongi silently nodded at the officer, quickly holding out his license to make the encounter go by quickly. The officer moved the light from Yoongi's face towards the backseat. Kiwo kept her head down.

All she had to do was look up and give the officer her name. She would be free then. Never again would she have to see Yoongi's face. She would be on the next flight home, reunited with her friends and family. All she had to do was look at the officer.

The officer did a double take. He moved the flashlight down towards the ground, before flashing it back towards Kiwo. She looked up.

"Sir, can you step out of the vehicle for a second?" The officer demanded, hand naturally reaching down towards his holstered gun.

It felt like Kiwo blinked and all of a sudden she was in the back of an ambulance. She stared blankly as she watched Yoongi being forced into the back of a police car- his face was calm. His composure never wavered throughout the entire encounter, and Kiwo swore she saw him smirk at her every once in a while.

"Kiwo, you need to answer our questions," an officer said. He followed her stare towards Yoongi before giving her a sad smile. "It's okay, he can't hurt you now."

The girl tugged the blanket wrapped around her shoulders tighter as she cast her gaze down to the ground. Yoongi never really hurt her. Of course, he punished her, but he only did that whenever Kiwo was bad and deserved it. But he never left any lasting wounds. Kiwo sighed. All she wanted was Yoongi.

———

There was no trial, contrary to what the detectives in Korea told Kiwo. Every day, she would sit at home waiting for the call saying that she would have to come and speak against Yoongi in court. Kiwo didn't want anyone to know what Yoongi did to her- she was too embarrassed. She was even more embarrassed to admit she missed him.

After all these months, Kiwo never said a single word about what happened to her. It was like her and Yoongi's secret. And Kiwo was good at keeping secrets. She hoped Yoongi would be proud of that.

Every day she would go through the motions of life- making herself food, small talk with her family, and therapy appointments. It wasn't actually Kiwo doing any of those activities, it was more like a ghost trying its best to adjust to life after Yoongi.

In her head, everything was Yoongi. School life was Pre-Yoongi, Yoongi, of course, was Yoongi, and whatever life she lived now was referred to as Post-Yoongi. This Post-Yoongi Kiwo wasn't Kiwo. The real Kiwo was still in Korea, cuddled in bed with Yoongi watching whatever Disney movie she wanted. While the real Kiwo mourned her Pre-Yoongi self, she could never imagine her Post-Yoongi life, because it would never exist. Her life was all Yoongi, and she herself was all Yoongi's.

Kiwo stared down at her phone. The victim's services website stared back at her in its bold white and blue color scheme. Raindrops fell gracefully down onto the screen, and she blamed the water droplets for entering Yoongi's name into the search bar.

'Status: Discharged'

It rained the day Kiwo was taken away. Just like that day several months ago, she felt cold. Winter passed in the months she was gone, but the chill of winter remained in the early spring air. She remembered that day well- how she froze as her life was torn away from her and packed into the backseat of a police car. Today, she wasn't numb and fearful of the future. She knew what she was doing.

Putting her phone in her jacket pocket, she crossed the side street toward the fancy high-rise apartment complex. The area felt like a warm hug in the chill breeze. Kiwo knew this area well. Her muscle memory led her up the stairs and towards the only door she knew. With every step, she walked faster in anticipation; she was going home.

Kiwo watched as her shaking finger reached out to ring the doorbell. So close, she was so close to being home again. Everything depends on whether or not Yoongi would open the door for her.

The buzzing of the doorbell died down, and shuffling footsteps could be heard quickly approaching the door. Kiwo kept her head down as tears threatened to overflow from her eyes. This was all too real, too crazy.

Yoongi opened the door to an unexpected sight. He smiled warmly down at the girl in front of him.

“Welcome home, baby.”

(a/n:

ahhhh there will be a sequel my angels dont fret)

#bts fanfic #yoongi x reader #min yoongi #mafia au #bts little space #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #jung hoseok #park jimin #kim taehyung #jeon jungkook #bts #vminhope #namjin #my house of stone your ivy grows

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soullessjack · 10 months

Text

so one of my other problems with babyjack is that the fandom just seems to have this sort of collective cognitive dissonance about it, in almost any context or discussion. like this post as probably my only standing example (bc it’s the only one to have gotten traction), there are all these tags about how babyjack leads to bad dean criticism, or how it’s nice in aus but they want canon complex jack, and like I’m not entirely disagreeing with that, but it is so fucking frustrating that people are still ignoring the actual problem with it and either only focusing on the most surface level issues that personally affect them or their corner of the fandom, or making up some point of acceptability for it that frankly isn’t theirs to make.

it’s the autistic experience of our struggles never being seen or cared about until they become other people’s inconveniences, and our voices being used to say something else entirely. when the main takeaway of that post is how the fandom’s treatment of jack being in a way he’s explicitly shown to hate being treated directly mirrors autistic people’s struggle for autonomy in the real world, I really do not need you to make it about how it makes your golden website boy dean look like a big meanie pants, okay? that’s definitely a part of it, but it’s not at all what we are talking about, and it 100% should not be the only reason you care.

and especially when the other takeaway is how this is just a smaller scale issue that comes from autistic infantilization, the absolute last take I want to hear is that you find that infantilization acceptable as long it’s an AU or something else separated from canon. believe me, I’m beyond glad more people actually prefer canon complex jack—like, I don’t think you guys understand that that is legitimately a rarity to find here— but the thing about babyjack is that the concept itself is inherently ableist, and directly relies on his complexities (and the representation he means for us) being removed and erased so that he can even exist in the context of those AU’s. It feels very… ‘have your cake and eat it too’ to me.

I’m trying not to sound angry or accusatory, but I am also tired of having to force civility on a problem that’s pretty much just an open secret thar everyone collectively ignores and beats bushes around solely because they prioritize #domesticdestiel over all. I mean, do you guys even hear yourselves sometimes? Like half of it just boils down to “Autistic infantilization is always bad, except for this one context where it makes my ship look domestic and redeems my blorbo,” and it’s getting really fucking annoying to have to constantly explain something that is not only painfully easy to understand, but is understood and actively ignored, and still play nice so that somebody out there might listen.

So many people will say they like canon Jack and want more of him from the fandom, and I more than agree, but motherfucker you have a blog! You have the tools! Be the change you want to see! He doesn’t have to be your fav or your blog thesis blorbo, but if you want it, you are literally fully equipped to make it! Write some meta, draw some fanart, whatever. Better yet, you could even stop engaging with and perpetuating content that actively pushes down on what you want and, I must reiterate, is actively harmful and ableist. If you want domestic silliness go right ahead, but you don’t need to resort to ableism to do it.

I don’t think I’m asking too much or asking rudely, and frankly I don’t even think I owe niceties to anyone when it’s a problem that has been openly ignored for 6 years and holds plenty of bearing in the real world concerning my identity and community and shit we face constantly. Outside of our screens, we are constantly fighting for autonomy and recognition and representation, and even to be seen as people. Online spaces, especially fandom spaces, are a huge source of escapism and support that we wouldn’t get otherwise. So for the love of god, please stop bringing that fight here.

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btsqualityy · 1 year

Text

Y.O.U (Years Of Us), Chapter 7: “Where’s your wedding ring?”

Jimin x half black/half Korean OC

Genre/Rating: 21+, established relationship, idol!AU, smut, angst, and fluff

Summary: The morning (or week) after.

Warnings: Brief mention of overdose and rehab.

WC: 2.2K

One Year Ago

“I’m so proud of you, you know that?” Kamaria gushed as her and Jimin sat together on the large wooden swing that was placed in his spacious backyard. “You fucking did it, baby.”

“I have to admit, there were days I didn’t think I was gonna be able to make it without the pills,” Jimin confessed. “But I’m happy to be out on the other side and in recovery.”

“I knew you could do it.”

“I think that’s a part of the reason why I was able to do it too,” he mentioned. “Knowing that I had you rooting for me and having your support when it felt like everyone else had turned their backs on me meant the world. Hell, without you, I would’ve never gone to rehab.”

“Maybe but it was your willpower that got you through it,” Kamaria tried to say.

“I’ll never be able to thank you enough for it, honestly.”

“You don’t have to,” she chuckled. “I did it because I love and care about you, not for any accolades.”

“Well, I guess you’re gonna think I’m a little extra for getting you this then,” he said as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small ring box.

“Jimin,” she whined playfully. “Come on. Just having you home is enough for me.”

“What if you could say your husband is home?” He questioned and Kamaria arched an eyebrow.

“What are you talking about?” She asked and Jimin answered her by sliding down off of the swing and getting down on one knee in front of her.

“Bubs, you are the love of my life,” he began. “When I think of my life, I can’t remember what it was like before you came into it and I don’t ever want to imagine what it would be without you in it. That’s why I was wondering if you would marry me?” He opened the ring box then, revealing the most stunning square cut diamond ring that Kamaria had ever seen.

This wasn’t the first time Jimin had asked Kamaria to marry him, nor the second or even the third. But unlike the other times, where she was happy and only turned him down because it was too soon, her heart filled with dread at what she knew she had to do.

“Jimin,” she began gently. “Do you really think that’s a good idea?”

“Do you not?” He chuckled.

“Baby, you just got out of rehab less than a week ago,” Kamaria reminded him. “You need to be focused on your recovery, not marriage.”

“Like I said, I wouldn’t even be in recovery if it weren’t for you,” he reiterated. “Not that I ever doubted it, but you being my side just proved how strong our love is.”

“I hear you Jimin, I do but I just....I can’t say yes,” she shook her head. “I want to but I can’t.”

“You can’t?” he repeated, his hand that had been holding the ring box slowly lowering as her words sunk in.

“I just want to make sure that you’re stable first,” Kamaria hurried to explain. “A lot has happened in the last few months and I just don’t think such a large life change like marriage is the best idea right now.”

“Ok,” Jimin murmured as he got up, closing the ring box and pushing it back into his pocket.

“I still love you, and that’s always,” she said and Jimin just nodded his head.

“I love you too,” he replied with a small smile before leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “I’m gonna head into the house, ok?”

“You sure you’re ok?”

“Yeah, just fine,” Jimin nodded before turning around and walking away. Kamaria couldn’t help it as tears began to well up in her eyes, making her smack her thigh in frustration.

“Fuck.”

......................................................................

A week after their unexpected “reconnection”, Kamaria hadn’t spoken to Jimin and she refused to. She couldn’t believe that she had sunk so fucking low, low enough to sleep a fucking married man. Granted, it was Jimin, the man she had been in love with for literal years and who loved her back just as much, but still, she felt wrong as hell for what she did.

Jimin, on the other hand, had been blowing up her phone ever since she made him leave the morning after their night together. Kamaria knew that she’d probably have to talk to him at some point and clear the air, but that was just not a conversation she wanted to have any time soon.

So she put it off. She put her head down and started spending more time in the studio, working on her album that was steadily coming together.

“You’ve been a fucking beast the past few days,” Nari noted as Kamaria let the two of them into her penthouse. After locking the door and removing their jackets and shoes, they made their way into the kitchen where Kamaria went straight for the fridge. “You’ve finished what, two songs?”

“Three and a half,” Kamaria corrected. “The half is my duet with Taemin, which I’ve finished writing my lyrics for.”

“Is he doing his lyrics on his own?”

“Pretty sure he is,” she nodded. “We have a studio session planned for next week so we’ll see.”

“You make my job so easy, you know that?” Nari sighed dreamily, making Kamaria laugh as she raided the fridge. As Nari moved to sit down on one of the barstools that was placed at the island, she noticed a gold ring sitting on the countertop. “Hey, is this a wedding ring?”

“Hm?” Kamaria hummed as she turned to glance over her shoulder. “Oh, yeah it is.”

“Who’s is it?” Nari chuckled. “And why do you have it?”

“It’s Jimin’s,” Kamaria announced as she moved out of the fridge, a container of pineapple in her hands. Nari choked on her own spit at the realization, her eyes widening as Kamaria casually grabbed a fork and popped the top off of the container in her hands.

“Ok,” Nari said slowly. “And again, why do you have it?”

“He left it here,” Kamaria shrugged before eating a piece of fruit.

“Why did he take it off? When the hell was he even here?”

“You’re asking a lot of questions,” Kamaria huffed in between chewing.

“Because I’m confused as hell!” She laughed. “Please, don’t tell me you did what I’m thinking you did.”

“If you’re thinking that he took it off when we fucked last week, then I’m not gonna tell you.”

“Kamaria!”

“Technically, I didn’t tell you,” she replied. “Just confirmed what you were already thinking.”

“Wha? How?” Nari stammered.

“It was on the anniversary of my mom’s OD and I was vulnerable and just wanted to feel good,” Kamaria explained. “I put him out so fast the morning after, he left his ring.”

“Have you spoken to him since?”

“No,” she shook her head. “I feel so fucking guilty over letting it happen.”

“Why?”

“Nari, he’s married,” Kamaria scoffed. “And regardless of our prior history and whatever pain I was feeling at the time, I should’ve respected that.”

“Kam, Jimin doesn’t even respect it!” Nari exclaimed. “He made that clear when he asked you to be his surrogate and by even coming over here that night!”

“That still doesn’t make it right,” Kamaria replied before eating another piece of pineapple and a few seconds of silence passed before Nari spoke up again.

“You should destroy the damn thing,” she suggested. “It might make you feel better, sort of like going to one of those destruction rooms with old computers and shit.”

“Trust me, I actually thought about it because looking at the fucking thing makes me sick,” Kamaria confessed. “But I know I’d catch hell from Jimin because he’d probably catch hell from Hye-ja.”

“I don’t know, I think Jimin would appreciate it if you did,” Nari joked. “Might make it easier for him to leave her.”

“In his dreams,” Kamaria huffed with a roll of her eyes.

......................................................................

Jimin felt like he was going to lose his mind. Kamaria wasn’t answering his calls, she refused to see him, and she had gone radio silent. If Jimin knew her as well as he know he does, he completely understood why. Kamaria was a woman with a pretty strong moral code and after the haze of drunkenness had worn off, he wasn’t surprised that she flipped out and pushed him away.

The thing was, he was tired of that. He loved her, so much that it felt like he was burning from the inside out sometimes, and he wanted nothing more than to be with her again. The way that they used to be. He understood why it couldn’t be that way but the man couldn’t help but to hope.

In order to keep his mind off her, he had been spending some time in the studio where he was starting to come up with enough material for the beginnings of an album. It had been over a year and a half since his previous one and he was itching to get back on the stage in front of the fans again.

“Ah fuck,” Jimin muttered to himself as he unlocked the front door to his house, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. As he toed off his shoes and set his keys down, he heard a familiar voice coming from the kitchen.

“Make sure to put extra green onions in it, ok?” The voice instructed and Jimin walked down the hall to the kitchen, his eyes widening when he saw Hye-ja and a chef moving around together.

“Hye?” Jimin called out and Hye-ja turned around, a wide smile appearing on her face as she rushed over to her husband and threw her arms around his neck.

“Hi baby,” she cooed, pressing a firm kiss to his lips before pulling back.

“What are you doing here?” He asked as he set his hands on her waist. “I thought you were in Osaka for your movie shooting.”

“Ugh, would you believe that the funding for the movie fell through at the last minute so they had to call off production?” She revealed.

“Aw, I’m sorry Hye,” he sighed. “I know you were excited about that script.”

“Ah, it’s ok,” Hye-ja shrugged. “I’ll have more free time now and the two of us can be together more. I always feel bad that we haven’t gotten the chance to be real newlyweds, with my busy schedule and you getting back into the studio.”

“It’s what comes along with the job,” Jimin chuckled. “So I get it.”

“I know and because you’re so understanding, I hired this private chef to make us a great dinner,” she revealed.

“And that dinner is just about ready,” the chef announced.

“Great,” Jimin smiled. After plating their dinners and allowing Jimin and Hye-ja to take a seat at their decorated dining table (courtesy of Hye-ja), the chef placed their food in front of them before excusing himself and leaving them alone.

“So, what have you been up to while I was gone?” Hye-ja asked him and Jimin just shrugged as he cut into his steak.

“Just been in the studio and here at home,” he replied. “Nothing amazing or interesting.”

“Songs coming together ok?”

“Yeah, I think so,” he nodded. “Hopefully, I’ll have the barebones of an album soon.”

“Good,” Hye-ja smiled. “Well, when I was gone, I’ve been doing some thinking of my own and I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“What about?”

“I know that I told you that I didn’t want kids anymore,” she began and Jimin’s head popped up at the mention of kids. “And I have to be honest about something.”

“What is it?” Jimin wondered.

“When I said that, it was because I had been worried that you only married me to repair your image,” she admitted. “You know, the whole ‘Seoul’s Bad Boy’ thing?”

“Don’t remind me,” he chuckled lightly. “But that’s not why I asked you to marry me.”

“I think I’ve always known that deep down but I just had to be sure because a baby isn’t something to consider lightly, you know?” Hye-ja explained. “The beginning of our relationship was kind of a whirlwind and I wanted to make sure we were stable first.”

“So, why not just say that instead of telling me that you don’t want kids at all?”

“Like you would’ve reacted well to me telling you that I wasn’t sure of the validity of our relationship,” she scoffed with a smile and Jimin shrugged before smiling himself.

“Point taken.”

“But anyways, what I’m trying to say is that I’m sorry and if you still want to, I’d love to have a child with you.”

“Hye, are you serious?” He gasped.

“Well, I wanted to talk to you about it first but yeah,” she confirmed with a nod. Jimin hopped up out of his seat then, making Hye-ja laugh as he stepped over to her and got down on his knees.

“My baby is gonna be in here?” He whispered as he set his hand on her stomach.

“Hopefully,” she giggled, setting her hand on top of hers. “So, you agree?”

“Of course I do,” he nodded before leaning up and kissing her firmly. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“There’s no need to thank me,” Hye-ja replied. “But I do have one quick question.”

“Anything.”

“Where’s your wedding ring?” Hye-ja questioned and Jimin was truly speechless, his eyes widening when he realized that his left hand was the one that was placed on Hye-ja’s abdomen.

Fuck.

......................................................................

Tag List: @dunixxd @namaslaylife @shabbamadapot @canarystwin

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lemonbooties · 10 months

Text

1. Blood Oath | Choso ੭﹕ ̊ ̟ ꒷꒦

by lemonbooties

Find my work on AO3, Wattpad and Quotev here!

Summary

You and Choso swear a blood oath to protect you and keep you happy as children. What you and Choso don’t know is that you accidentally made a binding vow due to Choso’s cursed body. Upon learning of this, you take advantage of his “blood oath” to you.

Slight AU where Choso is a Jujutsu Tech student along with Yuji and everyone. Choso was resurrected shortly before Yuji was born because Kenjaku, as Kaori, thought Yuji could benefit from a sibling. Since Kaori had a limited amount of time before Yuji was born and her resources were limited, Choso was accidentally born into a child-aged body instead of a fully grown body in the show. Kaori adapted to this change and convinced Jin Itadori to “adopt” Choso by introducing him as a orphaned family member of hers. We’ll just all be delusional and pretend Wasuke Itadori was left with Choso and Yuji.

*Kechizu and Eso are never revived as Kenjaku had no use for them at that time and was frustrated that Choso’s birth was a “failure” in her eyes.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Chapter 1: Confusion

You waited patiently for your best friend, Yuji Itadori, outside of the Occult Club classroom, rocking back and forth on the heels and toes of your shoes. You did this every day, your own club normally getting out a bit sooner than Yuji’s. You didn’t mind though, it gave you a bit of extra time to take care of any after-school business and say goodbye to your classmates. Yuji was normally done by the time you finished saying goodbye to everyone. Today, he was not.

Yuji’s older brother, Choso, was two grades above you. He would usually wait with you. However, Choso was already at the hospital with his and Yuji’s Grandfather, Wasuke Itadori. The school had granted him leave from club duties as long as he was caring for their guardian.

This had been happening the previous school year as well, right when their Grandpa’s health started declining. You and Yuji had been in Junior High when this happened whereas Choso was already attending High School. The school had been surprisingly accommodating to the Itadori family, much to Wasuke’s dismay. All he wanted was for the boys to enjoy their youth, never one for their doting.

Choso, on the other hand, was all about doting. You remember when you were children, you had fallen off of the jungle gym near your house. You scraped your hands pretty bad, blood pooling in your palms. You had cried and cried while Yuji and Choso tried desperately to calm you down. This was the first time your parents had allowed you all to go to the park unsupervised and they didn’t want to worry your parents.

Choso had done the most, putting on a brave face. He had pretended to defeat the playground before exclaiming, “No one hurts my family!” When he had wacked his toy sword against the metal structure enough to make you laugh, he told both you and Yuji that he would protect you both, no matter what. Yuji had smiled brightly, vowing to also protect you. You know now that he was just imitating his older brother but Choso had actually meant it.

Choso had held up his hand, a bit of blood trickling down his wrist. “Oops.” He had said, shrugging. “I must have held my sword a little too tight.” You laughed and said something about matching but Choso had taken your hand, gripping it tightly. “I swear I’ll protect you and make you happy, Y/N. Nobody hurts my family.” Yuji had piped up too, reiterating his brother’s sentiment. You all smiled for the rest of the day, Choso playing protector on the playground with you guys until it was time to go home.

You were brought out of your thoughts by the student council president storming down the hall. He gave you a curt nod of acknowledgment, you bowed slightly in response as he slammed open the classroom door next to you and began yelling.

“OCCULT RESEARCH CLUB!” He yelled, pushing his glasses further up his nose as if it was an intimidation tactic. After some ruckus in the classroom, Coach Takagi joined them and after some more yelling, Yuji, followed by everyone inside made their way down the hallway. Yuji yelled for you to follow. You had no clue what was happening but you figured it had something to do with Coach Takagi harassing Yuji to join the Track and Field team.

When you all arrived at the field, the whole team gathered around as Coach Takagi explained that he and Yuji would be competing. Yuji was competing to be in the Occult Club while Takagi was competing for Yuji to join Track and Field. Rather quickly, the crowd grew and watched as Yuji absolutely decimated Coach Takagi, winning the bet and was allowed to stay with the Occult Club. The look on Coach Takagi’s face caused a lot of students to laugh and take out their phones for pictures.

Yuji had a brief conversation with his Occult Club members before he noticed the time. “Y/N! We need to go!” He called to you as he ran to grab his bag from where he threw it before the throwing competition. He briskly jogged towards you, joining you as you both started to walk off campus. As you both walked out of the crowd, you noticed someone out of the corner of your eye.

Looking over, you met eyes with a kid, probably around your guys’ age. He had black spiky hair and was wearing a nice button up and slacks. He was pretty cute and looked a bit like Choso, his hair spiky the same way Choso’s was when he put it up. However, the sour expression he wore definitely turned you off of thinking he was cute. You wondered why he was scowling at you and Yuji but you just brushed it off, assuming he smelt something rancid or remembered something annoying.

At the gate, Yuji turned to you and clasped his hands together. “Would you mind walking home with another friend today? I’m running pretty late because of Coach so I really need to get home before going to the hospital.” He pleaded. Whenever Yuji wanted something from you, he pouted and looked at you with huge eyes. He started doing this when it worked once. It’s never worked since.

“Only because I respect your Grandfather.” You rolled your eyes. “I’m fine walking home alone today. But you better not be late.” Your pink-haired friend said a quick thank you before he fake saluted and took off. You heard someone call for him to wait and you looked to see the scowling boy running after Yuji. You thought it was super weird but it was almost dinner time at home so you started walking. He was probably just a fan of Yuji’s after that display with Coach Takagi.

Once home, your parents greeted you. Dinner wasn’t quite done yet so you went to your room before grabbing some clothes and a towel for a bath. Letting your parents know you were taking a bath, they told you that they had already ran a bath for you. Thanking them, you hurried to the bathroom so you could be done before dinner.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

After dinner, you had promised some friend’s in your club you would check out a CD they recommended. Popping it into your stereo, you played it as you prepared to start your homework. The first track was pretty good and you actually felt your head bobbing along with the catchy melody. You opened your bag and looked at the assortment of notebooks and textbooks inside. You always worked with your least favorite subject first before ending with your favorite. Pulling the math notebook from your bag, you decided to start with it.

The first few problems weren’t that difficult but you found yourself growing increasingly frustrated as they grew harder. Soon, you were angrily erasing your work for the third time, unsure of why this problem was so much harder than the rest. You desperately needed a break and stretched. Getting up, you gathered a water bottle you had on your desk before starting to head to the kitchen. You shot a quick text to Yuji to ask him about the homework, hoping he would answer soon and help you.

Heading down the hall, you hear your father talking to someone rather quickly. You can’t quite understand what he’s saying, partially because he’s talking so fast but also, he’s a little of out of your earshot. You walk further down the hall until you’re on the other side of the living room wall. “Please, I haven’t been active for years. I’ve done everything he wanted. Why is he doing this now? I have a family, a daughter. It’s been over fifteen years. I even suppressed his offspring’s cursed technique for 15 years. I allowed them to play with my daughter, putting her in danger her whole life. Why now?”

His words rang through your head. What is he talking about? Active in what? Cursed technique? Your heart started to pound in your chest. Was your father in a gang? You were about to peek around the corner when another voice caused you to stop. His words echoed through you, the overwhelming dread halting you.

“I’m just fulfilling a favor I owed him. He didn’t give any more details.” It spoke.

A million questions raced through your head, your heart beating so hard you thought it might explode. ‘Why am I so afraid?’ You wondered, clutching desperately at your chest to try and slow your heartbeat. Your heart was pounding painfully now, your body crying out for you to run. But from what?

After those words, a silence filled the space. You heard your father quietly sniffling. Was he crying? He was pleading, “please.” He cried, over and over until he was cut off by an unpleasant ripping sound. Your father screamed followed by a wet slosh and a splash. Running into the living room, you entire world shattered as you watched your father explode at the hands of a blue-haired man.

Your own scream alerted him to your presence and he whipped his head towards you. There were three lines of stitches on his face and on his neck. Other lines of stitching lined his body and his eyes were two different colors. He smiled maniacally, his face contorted in a sick display of pleasure. Did he enjoy what he just did?

Standing tall, he started to walk towards you but before he could close the distance, you both heard a car door close outside of your house. Both of you looked at the front door and time froze. This might be your only chance to not end up like your father. You gripped your phone and darted towards the front door, hoping whoever was here could help you. If they couldn’t, you’d at least have a chance to call authorities.

Throwing the door open, you practically flew out of the house and straight into someone. In an instant, you were shoved behind them as they entered your house to see what had you so frightened. You peered inside behind them and saw that the blue-haired man had disappeared, the only thing you could see inside was your father’s blood splattered against the wall. You forced yourself to look away, not being able to digest what happened just yet.

“What happened?” Asked the figure in the doorway. They turned around and you finally got a look at the man who possibly saved you. At the very least, he scared away your father’s murderer. He was big, his athletic frame donned with a dark tracksuit. His hair was short and spiky with the sides shaved. You couldn’t tell if he was even looking at you due to the sunglasses he wore. His facial features were sharp yet obviously aging a bit and he had some of facial hair.

You tried to find the words but only managed to ask, “Is my father dead?” His body relaxed a bit as he placed a hand on your shoulder. “Yes, it seems as if your mother was also involved. You have my deepest sympathy, your father was a good man.” Your body felt paralyzed. Your parents were dead. Your mother was killed while you sat in your room. You were listening to music, unable to hear the atrocity happening in your house. You were frustrated about math as your family was being slaughtered.

The man in front of you was talking but you didn’t hear him. At some point, you felt your legs give out. The man tried to help you stand but gave up and carried you to the car he arrived in. Once inside, you slumped into the seat, unable to understand why this happened. What was that blue-haired man talking about? Why did he kill your father? Your mother?

You felt yourself drift off, your body and mind absolutely exhausted from what just happened. You just had to trust that the strange man who may or may not be there to help wouldn’t kill you as you slept.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

You didn’t know what time it is when you woke up but when you open your eyes, you’re still in the car and it’s day again. “Good morning.” You look to the source of the greeting and see the man again. You nod in his direction before sitting all the way up and wiping the bit of drool at the corner of your mouth.

“Where are we?” You ask, not recognizing the passing surroundings. The man crossed his arms, “On the way to Tokyo.” He grunted. “Sorry, I never got the chance to introduce myself. I’m Masamichi Yaga, an old friend of your father’s”

“He never mentioned you.” You retort, a little upset about him bringing up your recently deceased father. You quickly glance at your phone, hoping to catch the time but a blank display greets you. Your phone must have died. You slightly curse yourself for not plugging it in when you got home but how were you supposed to know that you wouldn’t have access to a phone charger.

“It’s 7:13.” Yaga told you. “And it’s no surprise he didn’t mention me. He had a problem with my, um, lifestyle.” You really didn’t have the energy to deal with his explanations but you needed an answer. “What lifestyle? You ask.

“I’ll try to keep this short as I’ll give you a full explanation later, when we arrive in Tokyo. I am a Jujutsu Sorcerer.” Yaga paused and pushed his sunglasses up on his nose, giving you the perfect opportunity to ask, “Jujutsu?” He nodded.

“I’m taking you to my school, Tokyo Prefectural Jujutsu High School. I’m the principal and a long time ago, I made a promise to look after you in case something happened to your father.” Your head was spinning. So he did really know your dad, but how? And a school? What is this guy after?

“Why are we just now leaving Sendai? Wasn’t my family attacked last night?” You asked. Tokyo was about four hours from Sendai City, if you had left last night, you’d already be in Tokyo. “There was another situation I had to attend to regarding one of my students. I also had to make arrangements to clean up your house. I grabbed you some clothes and other essentials, I wasn’t sure what all you would’ve wanted but you wouldn’t wake up when we tried.”

“So my family…” You swallowed before asking, “they’re really gone?” Yaga took a moment to respond and when he did, he was quiet.

“Yes.”

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

#fanfic #fanfiction #Choso #jjk choso #choso kamo #choso x reader #x reader #reader insert #reader insert fanfiction #reader insert fic #female reader #f!reader #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk fanfic

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