#Rolling steel door service | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

swordgrace · 1 month ago

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❝ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆. ❞

KINKTOBER WEEK TWO.

⤿ pairing(s): halbrand!sauron x fem!human!reader.

⤿ word count: 4.6K.

⤿ warnings: smut (mdni), porn without plot, mild manipulation (it’s sauron), risk of getting caught, possessiveness, sex in a public location, fingering (fem!rec), heavy kissing, hair-pulling, scratching, begging, unprotected sex, p in v sex, breeding kink if you squint, sex on a table.

⤿ note: first time writing for sauron, please be gentle! mr. tolkien, so sorry for all of the despicable things I’m gonna be writing about your characters. ❤️ thank you all for reading! reblogs & comments are appreciated!

A salt-tinged breeze stirred through the forges, a welcome gust of relief amidst the heat that sought to blaze his flesh asunder.

In the silence of dusk, Halbrand found his solace with hammer and anvil, over that of indulgence of drink at some tavern.

Númenor proved to be the respite he desperately needed, running from a shadowed past. He worked tirelessly, through lengthy days and well into the night, his mind a tumultuous tempest.

The King of the Southlands — the ruler of nothing.

It was a mantle that wholly disinterested him, and despite his numerous protests to Galadriel regarding his supposed heritage, the she-elf refused to let it stay dead and buried. He was better off here, crafting works of art — blades, armor, jewelry.

There was nothing for him now, only threads of a plan that seemed to fall by the wayside. It was easy to disappear here, to fade away into the backdrop of the oceanside kingdom, allow himself to place all his efforts on smithing.

The roaring embers of the forge sizzled as he placed the partially-finished blade inside, molding metal to his skilled hand. There was no greater joy than that of creation — making something out of nothing, a tool to be used.

Halbrand’s gaze momentarily flickered toward the roll of parchment sitting along one of the many craftsmen’s tables.

You were an envoy of Númenor, the brood of a lesser House of Men, in-service to the Guild. It was you that had uncovered records of the Southlander line and brought it to Galadriel’s attention — a clever creature, you were.

In what handful of interactions he’d had with you, you were studious and well-mannered, far too intelligent for your station. You toiled in-service to lesser beings, when your potential extended far beyond their reach.

The scroll contained the very bloodline you had presumed he hailed from, as if you were dangling the proof for all to see. He cared little for it, preoccupied with the task at-hand.

If it were his choice, he preferred to stay in Númenor, learn their customs and assimilate into their culture. Galadriel’s stubbornness had the potential to win out if he weren’t careful, and Halbrand was not the subservient sort.

In the star-riddled dusk, Halbrand decided to break in his crafting, stepping toward a basin of water, letting the cool liquid wash away the perspiration dotting his brow.

It was better at twilight, offering a solace that one might not fully understand. He rarely slept, and when he did, he was often plagued by dreams of constant rage. Halbrand let the forge simmer down, opting to work on the still-hot sword.

A gentle tap of knuckles against the door did not alert him as much as you thought it would. He stood with his back to you, brows furrowed together in concentration. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” He questioned.

Greeted by the stifling, ember-fueled heat of the forge, you stood in the doorway, having abandoned your Guild regalia. “Good eve,” You mustered a smile, hands twisting together. “You are a stranger to rest, it seems.”

“As are you,” Halbrand’s steely gaze flickered from the blade to you, letting the hammer swing down upon forming steel. “Is it safe for you to be wandering about at nightfall?”

His sharp inquiry brought you pause, fingers idly toying with the fabric of your dress. Númenor was perfectly safe — safer than most kingdoms of Men. “Should it not be safe?” Countering his remark, you observed the rack of newly-crafted swords.

Halbrand did not offer an answer right away, turning the blade over, striking it again with his hammer as sparks flew. “There is no such thing as true safety, my Lady. There will always be something stirring in the shadows.”

You nearly laughed at his fearmongering — he sounded akin to an old maiden, weaving her intricate tales of fright to dissuade children from wrongdoing. “That is a rather dour sentiment. Are you often paranoid?” Your tone tapered off into one of mild amusement.

A sardonic scoff escaped him, lips quirking up only slightly, yet he did not seem offended by your retort. “Merely concerned with preservation — my own, first and foremost.” He replied.

He knew why you were here, even if it was an unspoken thing that you continued to dance around. You had come as a messenger on behalf of Galadriel, to make a valiant attempt of convincing him to return to Middle-Earth.

“The Guild is impressed by your craft,” Shifting the topic, you brushed your fingers over the horse-shaped pommel, the color of ivory. “Not that I should be divulging that information.” You mused.

Perplexed, Halbrand wordlessly observed you, cerulean hues studying the creases of your dress, a shade of mauve that only seemed to enhance your beauty. There was something forlorn simmering within him, feelings not often brought to the surface.

“Is that so? It seems that they’ve finally come to their senses,” He jested, earning a pointed look from you. “It took a beating to do so.” Halbrand placed the unfinished blade beside the dying embers of the forge.

There was still mild bruising around his nose and mouth, heated transgressions that earned him the ire of Númenor. He seemed unperturbed, seizing a rag from the edge of an anvil.

“That could’ve been avoided,” You murmured, tracing a digit around the ivory head of a horse before stepping away. “You are fortunate that they did not toss you into the seas for your rancor.”

“That would be rather unfortunate, being tossed back into the ocean when I had worked tirelessly to claw my way out of it.” He quipped, moving about the forge as he hung up his tools.

A soft sigh escaped you as you shook your head, peering outside towards the night skies. “If you wish to stay in Númenor, you must cease drawing attention to yourself.”

Halbrand chuckled, the sound devoid of any mirth. It was a steely sound, more sardonic than genuine. He wiped away at the soot and grime of the forge, leaning back against the sturdy table.

“Is this amusing to you, being tossed into a cell and brawling with the locals?” The sharp bite of your inquiry could’ve been mistaken for the edge of a knife. “You are above that.”

“And if I am not?” He was equally as sharp, that of a longsword, tarnished and worn yet still able to cut with ease. Halbrand’s countenance seemed unmistakably soured by your comment.

Taken aback, you turned to face him fully, canting your head to one side. It was not mock frustration that you found in his features — it was true. “What do you mean?”

“You continue to place me upon some pedestal,” Halbrand scoffed, peering elsewhere, gazing at the hot coals of the forge. “What if I am not what you think me to be? What if I am simply a Man with not a drop of nobility to his name?”

With a furrowed brow, you folded your hands together, studying his visage. He seemed frustrated yet forlorn, as if he were remembering something — lamenting, perhaps. “Then you are a Man.”

In the time that you had gotten to know Halbrand, standing alongside Captain Elendil on the ship back to Númenor, he was something of an enigma. Charming and charismatic with a great love of disobedience, but he possessed a veiled depth.

Galadriel seemed far more preoccupied with returning to Middle-Earth and hunting Sauron, making Halbrand a ruler over considering his feelings. If he wanted to stay in Númenor, craft a new existence — you did not blame him.

“And if I am not the man that you believe I am?” Halbrand pressed, as if seeking a certain answer from you. Some sliver of his being wanted someone to tell him that they cared little about his past, what he used to be.

“Whatever you are insinuating, I care little for it. Your past does not make you — only what you do from this moment forward,” You replied, mustering a gentle smile. “You are Halbrand — that is enough for me.”

If the She-elf had it her way, she would drag him back to Middle-Earth, writhing and screaming. In his own web of schemes, it was what was necessary — but time was infinite.

There was a peculiar gleam within your eyes, one that possessed a warmth and understanding that he was vastly unaccustomed to. “Hm,” He sighed, turning the cloth over within his hand. “Thank you.”

A brief laugh tore past your lips, one that seemed to bring the tension to a momentary heel. “What, for dissuading you against further scorn by the local populace?” You mused.

Halbrand happened to chuckle at that, a warm sound that made residence within your stomach, butterflies following suit. “For understanding, for your kindness,” He replied, his tone softening. “Not many possess your tenderness.”

Growing silent, you nodded, attempting to mask the brief glimmer of surprise that fluttered across your features. You were often regarded as level-headed and sage, yet soft when it mattered most.

“I do not wish to see you thrown in a cell again, or exiled from the Guild when you clearly possess a wealth of talent,” Your motives transcended that — part of you liked Halbrand. “I would do the same for anyone in your position.”

“Would you?” Halbrand’s inquiry, whilst outwardly inquisitive, seemed tinged with something unfamiliar — something amorous. Your nerves became set ablaze, skin uncomfortably warm.

As you swallowed the growing lump within your throat, Halbrand straightened, copper-hued locks framing his rugged face. He was handsome — statuesque, clearly carved with the frame of a warrior and a smith.

“Yes,” Hoarse and pitched with the sudden swell of nervousness, you idly toyed with the sleeves of your dress. “If you are to stay in Númenor, I would hope that you only continue to thrive with your craft.”

This craft was of little interest — Halbrand knew what he wanted, starting with you. Malleable like the finest metal, as beautiful as a glittering opal socketed into that of a signet.

“Is that what you want, for me to stay in Númenor?” Seas help you — this was madness. Halbrand’s poignant question made you wonder what exactly was about to happen, gooseflesh icing your spine, prompting you to shiver.

“What I want matters little,” There was a noticeable lack of conviction within your tone, as if you were convincing yourself of that very fact. “You are free to choose your destiny.”

You were fighting against the urge, the untoward craving that began to settle within your bones. It wasn’t proper nor appropriate of you to even consider wanting Halbrand, a man whose fate seemed far more important than your own.

To ask him to stay in Númenor, abandon the Southlands — you did not have the heart. It was born of greed and desire, wanting to keep him close to your chest.

“It matters to me,” Halbrand murmured, brows creasing together as he glowered down upon you, close enough to touch. “What do you want?” The malignant force deep within him begged to bring you into his stead.

Whatever perceived darkness hungered within you, it also screamed within him, with a shadow far more powerful than your own. Greed was unbecoming of you — you were meant to serve the people of Númenor, never yourself.

Whereas Galadriel possessed a fierce heart and unending thirst for vengeance, you longed to be free — no longer under the thumb of lesser Men, to lead and to be revered.

To be loved, to be coveted.

“Do not leave,” A plea, beseeching him to stay in Númenor, to stoke whatever flame was stirring between the both of you. The intensity of his longing stare nearly made you collapse. “Stay here, in Númenor.”

A hitch formed within your throat as his calloused fingertips graced your arm, tracing over the sea of mauve gossamer that clung to your form. Halbrand took your silence as something contemplative, afraid to make your true feelings known.

Again, he pressed closer, looming above you, caging you in against the table. You could feel his heat, smell the coal and metal, taste the fantasy that swirled within your mind’s eye.

Roughened digits caressed across your throat, over your slender neck, your collarbone. His touch was like that of a fire, a burn so wonderful that you would beg for it if you had to.

“Halbrand,” Barely above a whisper, your tone seemed strained, as if fighting against all of your baser urges. A peculiar heat raked its way across your flesh before settling within the pit of your belly. “I shouldn’t.”

“Do you think that you are the only one who possesses desire?” His wanton confession made your knees buckle, lips parting just enough for a soft gasp to escape you. “When my eyes found you upon that ship, I wanted — more than I have for some time.”

Words turned to ash upon your tongue, dying then and there within your throat. There was a fire within Halbrand’s eyes, one that sought to burn you, too. You felt the small of your back dig into the table, warmth licking across your spine.

Each breath felt labored, a dizzying sensation taking hold of you, as if this were more dream than reality. Yet, Halbrand remained close to you, chest-to-chest, digits finding the swell of your hip through the sea of violet fabric.

Instead of vocalizing your festering worry, you rocked up upon your toes, pressing your lips against his own. It was disarmingly gentle, a sheepish kiss that did not waste a second in becoming heated and charged.

He reciprocated with a blinding intensity, arm hitching around your waist, calloused palm spreading out against your back. Halbrand lifted you closer, his kiss inherently greedy and covetous, as if you belonged only to him.

His mouth swirled with wildfire, tasting of smoke and a hint of Númenorian stout, stubble scratching against your soft skin. Your hands found their purchase against his chest, able to feel the taut muscle beneath.

Hardened was a good way to describe him — rugged like the uneven ridges of tanned leather, swathed in heat. He cupped your jaw with his hand, reveling in the sensation of your flesh, akin to a plane of silk.

The state of dishevelment he was in mattered little to you — the soot upon his tanned flesh, the specks of dirt, garb somewhat tattered. You could not recall the last time you had yearned for someone so terribly that it ripped your heart into two.

Each clash of your lips evoked a pang of excitement that struck at your stomach, exhilaration pumping through your veins. Halbrand was a vigorous kisser — passionate and swift, stealing the air from your very lungs.

His palm slowly caressed from the small of your back toward your derrière, strong digits melding themselves into your clothed flesh. A hitch formed within your throat, anticipation mounting as the tension began to cloud the room.

Your digits possessed a mind of their own, climbing towards the nape of his neck, threading themselves through his bronze tresses. Halbrand kissed you again — softer this time, yet not without his domineering edge.

Lips bled into one another with an outpouring of want, a long-repressed sentiment caged within both hearts. Halbrand wanted many things — yet, what he did not expect was to crawl after you like some starving beast.

Every sensible thought seemed mulled, draped in this haze that clouded your mind. As you slowly recoiled from the kiss, you keened into the rough embrace of his palm, his digits cupping your cheek.

As much as you longed to continue, the locale seemed impractical, if not somewhat reckless. If someone were to catch you, you would never hear the end of it. Even then, you did not want to let fear drive you this way.

“Must I profess my desire once more?” Halbrand murmured, warm breath fanning across your visage, tinged with smoke. There was something tantalizing and enigmatic about him, swirling with some edge of mystique.

“I wouldn’t protest,” You whispered, which earned you the beginnings of a smile. He swept your tresses aside, bearing your neck to him as he bent in to kiss the soft flesh there. “Halbrand.” A low whine escaped you.

Stubble prickled and bit at your neck, yet you reveled in it, clutching at his shoulder as he pressed heated kisses to your throat. He was not hesitant in the slightest, letting you writhe and moan, plead for him to continue.

It was then that he began to gather your dress with one hand, firmly gripping at the mauve fabric as he inched it upward. Exhilaration struck at you again, the buzz of excitement, a thrill that you hadn’t experienced before.

There was not an inkling of hesitation from you, with little sign of stopping his advances. As he guided the gossamer along your legs, one palm snaked forth, calloused digits embracing your thigh, as smooth as silk.

He held little recollection of the last time he had touched something so delicate, as if you were some splendid jewel to be cradled, coveted. Halbrand kissed his way toward the curve of your jaw, searching your visage for a reaction.

As he parted your legs with his frame alone, your breath hitched, an audible noise that he found to be delicious. You were akin to some startled rabbit, ensnared within the jaws of a predator disguised as a friend.

Whatever smallclothes you wore beneath were of little consequence, giving way to that of his possessive embrace. Your hand flew back to grip the edge of the table, nails digging into splintered wood as he sought the heat between your legs.

Anticipation swelled within you, teetering on the edge of unraveling as you felt his digits ghost across your aching cunt. It was feather-light, intended to torment you — and torment it did.

“Halbrand,” A desperate gasp tore past your lips, needing him in a way that you hadn’t desired anyone else before. “Please, please touch me.” Your breathy pleas did not go unheard as he planted a kiss against your neck.

“Is that what you want?” A sultry purr rumbled from the depths of his chest, tone adopting a rather promiscuous resonance. He watched you nod several times over, fingers pushing past your petals as he touched your core.

A hand held onto his bicep for stability, the other haplessly fisting at the wood behind you. A moan emanated from you, desperate for anything he would give you.

Much to his delight, he found that you were shamelessly wet between your thighs, a nectar that refused to cease. “You are beautiful like this.” He murmured, fingers toying with your slit, eliciting another strangled moan from your lips.

Halbrand’s forehead brushed against yours, hawkish gaze absorbing the look of pleasure upon your face. He began to find a steady rhythm, worn digits sliding along the length of your cunt, letting you hold onto him as much as you pleased.

Any scrap of friction you received drove you mad, desperation climbing to new heights as your hips rocked forward into his hand. His stare became half-lidded, drinking you in with unabashed greed, longing to consume you.

Sighs of wanton passion drifted from you in droves, legs parted as he pressed his thumb to the pearl of your cunt. It was easy to evoke a reaction from you, the constant writhing, gasps and whines, the look of complete and utter bliss.

In sluggish circles, he caressed your clit, causing you to twitch again. “Halbrand,” A moan tore past your lips again, his name becoming a melody from your mouth, to be sung over and over again. “Do not stop, I beg you!”

“As you wish.” Halbrand’s voice raked hot embers over your body, reaching a salacious octave that turned your insides to molten liquid. He continued to touch your nethers, two digits sweeping toward your entrance.

An impenetrable heat swallowed your body whole, skin feeling damp with perspiration, somewhat in-part of the forge’s dissipating warmth. He continued to circle your clit, fingers lightly prodding at your cunt in an attempt to seek entry.

Rough lips fell to your neck again, gowns having slacked enough to give way to your shoulder and collarbone. You clawed at his bicep, rolling your hips again as you rocked yourself upon his digits, much to his delight.

With a brusque tug upon the collar of his tunic, your lips clamored for his, longing to feel his mouth. His kiss left you breathless, teeth scraping against your lower lip, bringing you to heel.

Heat pooled between your legs, coalescing upon Halbrand’s fingers as he teased your core, thumb working around the pearl of your cunt. A soft gasp tore through your throat, a moan escaping you into the passion of your kiss.

Again, your hips rolled into his hand, craving him in a way that resembled that of an animal; carnal, ravenous. A fire danced within his eyes, one that seemed to reflect the sentiments that festered within you.

“Give yourself to me.” Halbrand sighed, timbre trembling against the underside of your jaw before he looked upon you, unraveling from his touch. Need stirred within him, coupled with the swell of possessiveness.

He searched your countenance for any hint of hesitation, flicking his thumb across your clit once more. “Please.” You pleaded, waves of bliss rolling across your body, bringing with it a feverish heat that made you want him all the more.

Halbrand heeded your breathy plea, reaching for the leather ties of his trousers, wanting nothing more than you be inside of you. His cock twitched with amorous intent, muscles coiled, prepared to grab you.

His hand recoiled, leaving you with an aching emptiness that caused your cunt to clench pathetically around nothing. A hitch formed within your throat, words turning to ash as he lifted you onto the table.

Calloused, careworn palms kneaded into your haunches, grasping at your pliant flesh in fistfuls as he pressed his lips to your exposed shoulder. Rucking your gown up to your hips, Halbrand appraised you with a thinly-veiled lust.

There was no flesh as soft as yours, untouched — belonging to him. Anticipation churned within the pit of your stomach, lips agape as he unraveled the front of his breeches, freeing himself from its confines.

Flushed with a rush of ecstasy, Halbrand dragged you closer, hands traveling to cup your hips. He guided his length to your cunt, letting the tip of his cock linger there until he pushed forward.

“Halbrand!” You moaned, hand reaching to grasp at the nape of his neck, nails raking across his coppery tresses. The other seized his bicep, digging inward as he slowly rocked into you.

Nearly chest-to-chest, there was little room for discomfort, letting lust and urgency guide his hand. He huffed, steadying his ironclad hold upon your hips, fingers pressing hard enough to leave behind bruises.

His pace was agonizingly sluggish at first, drawing out each thrust in an effort to let you grow accustomed. Hot sighs of passion fluttered between the both of you, lips brushing over one another as he rolled his hips forward.

There was something exhilarating about coupling with you, the warmth of being alive, savoring the guise of mortality. Halbrand could see the attachment brewing within your stare, the glint of affection intermingled with desire.

The still-burning coals of the forge provided enough illumination for him to see you bathed in fire — and you were breathtaking.

Your heart pounded within your ribcage, so powerful that you thought it might burst through. His stubble scratched against your cheek, providing a pleasant burn that let you know that this was reality. “Move,” You moaned. “Please.”

Inclined to obey, Halbrand let his yearning for you show, as plain as a summer’s day. He began to thrust into you, hunching in and over, stabilizing himself with one palm flat atop the table.

The other squeezed incessantly at your hips, cock rocking in and out of you at a steady pace, yet the fervor was steadily increasing. Your head spun, clouded by lust as your paramour ravished you in the way that you deserved.

His countenance echoed your sentiments, shadowed with the haze of lust, a carnality that clawed at your very soul. You let your forehead press to his, brows screwed together in a state of bliss, grasping at his tresses.

Halbrand grunted, the low noise rippling through his chest as he held your thigh, digits clamping down to keep you firmly in-place. His cock throbbed with an ache of urgency, hips snapping forward as he filled you completely.

A moan erupted from your lips yet again, nails forming crimson crescents against his bicep, occasionally lurching forward to meet his thrusts halfway. His pace became somewhat erratic as he coaxed you to lay back.

Your back hit the wooden surface of the table, the uncomfortable bite of it all softened by parts of your dress. Halbrand hunched in over you like a wolf towering above prey, palm flat beside your head.

The groan of sturdy wood beneath your entangled bodies resonated throughout the forge, the heat beginning to dissipate. The warmth between breath and body kept you feeling feverish, and you hitched one leg around his hips.

It evoked another growl from his lips as the smith pounded away at you, keeping a firm and steady pace. Halbrand was rougher than some, but never enough to cause you discomfort or harm. He was invigorated, driven to madness by the sight of you.

He kissed you again, feeling your desperation through joined lips alone, your hand grasping at his toned forearm. Arousal mounted within you, as thick as honey oozing between your thighs.

Passion bled into need, the two tangling together into some fervent amalgamation. It showed in his movements, continuing to thrust into you, feeling your cunt clench around him. You were made for him, with a heart that he found as malleable as metal.

The arch of your back signaled that your release was swiftly approaching, keening into his embrace instead as you moaned. You did little to temper your volume, mouth agape, head rolled back — you were the picture of grace, now tarnished.

His name escaped your tongue like a wayward prayer, over and over again until it was the only word you knew. As his cock hit you again, sending shockwaves throughout your body, you came undone.

Your leg squeezed at his hips, feeling his own resolve crumble at the sight of you, disheveled because of his doing. Halbrand let out a sonorous groan, body nearly blanketed over yours as his cock slapped into you again.

The warmth you provided was enough to make him stay sheathed within you, spilling himself inside of you without thinking. It only served to fuel his possessiveness, as dangerous as a growing wildfire.

Rocking himself inside of you once more, you let out a strangled whine. Through labored pants, you slowly regained composure, feeling his hot breath fan out across your visage.

Halbrand pulled himself out of you, leaving behind the visceral remnants of your lewd exploits, the sheen of it coating the inside of your thighs. He noticed your sheepish expression as you corrected your garments.

“There isn’t anywhere you can go that I would not follow.” He uttered, fingertips tucking strands of hair behind your ear. As you moved from the table, the smith reached for something within the pocket of his trousers.

“Halbrand,” You began, knowing that asking him to stay in Númenor was not fair — to either of you. Perhaps you could enjoy what comfort he brought, for the time being. “I shouldn’t ask it of you.”

“No matter what destiny entails, know that you belong to me.” There was something strangely dark within his tone, disguised as affection — you were oblivious to it. He placed something into your joined hands.

Touched by such a sentimental gesture, you flourished in the aftermath of your coupling, feeling his rough lips press against the curve of your jaw. You shivered, feeling the weight of a trinket within your palm.

Your lips sought his, the kiss lingering, enough for you to feel it burn within your very soul. There was nothing that could describe whatever it was you felt for him, felt with him.

“What is it?” You inquired, warmth raking along your spine, faces brushing against one another. Halbrand lingered pensively, a smile tugging at either corner of his mouth.

“Consider it a gift.”

#halbrand x reader #sauron x reader #annatar x reader #halbrand x you #lord of the rings #rings of power #lotr x reader #the rings of power #rings of power x reader #kinktober #kinktober 2024

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couldsewyouastitchandsavenine · 8 days ago

Text

Simmer — Javi Peña

pairings: modern times chef!javi x f!reader

word count: 4.2K

a/n: so this happened... been obsessing over javi peña as a head-chef for a long, long time. anyway, hope you enjoy it. huge shoutout to @pedroschka for reading the very first draft of this and to @iamasaddie for NOT being immune to my dad jokes. babes, this one is for you. like, share and subs— *runs out of the room*

warnings: javi peña AU, explicit smut with a bit of angst, closet sex, sneaking around, unprotected p in v., fingering, dirty talk, javi is an asshole (just a little), obligatory use of cariño (sue me!)

The air shimmers with heat as you push through the double doors into the kitchen, the weight of the produce in your arms making your muscles burn. Sweat beads along your hairline, trickling down the back of your neck to soak into the collar of your already damp shirt. You grit your teeth against the discomfort, blowing a stray tendril of hair out of your eyes with a huff of irritation.

It's too goddamn early for this, but the dinner rush waits for no one. Least of all you.

Lost in thought, you navigate the familiar maze of stainless steel countertops and simmering stovetops on autopilot. Your mind is already ten steps ahead, running through your prep list and mentally cataloguing what still needs to be done before service. So preoccupied are you that you don't notice the solid wall of muscle looming in your path until it's too late.

The collision sends you reeling, the crates tumbling from your arms to hit the floor with a dull thud. Produce scatters in every direction, onions rolling underfoot and carrots skittering across the tiles.

A large, calloused hand closes around your elbow, steadying you before you can add your body to the mess on the floor.

“Easy there, hermosa.” The low rumble of Javier's voice washes over you, his amusement evident in the way the endearment drips like honey from his tongue. Cloying. Sticky-sweet. It raises your hackles even as your traitorous pulse kicks up a notch at his proximity.

You jerk away from his touch, your skin scorched where his fingers branded you. Heat crawls up your neck to set your cheeks ablaze as you force yourself to meet his gaze head-on.

Javier's lips twitch, a ghost of a smirk playing at the corners. The urge to slap it off his face is nearly overwhelming.

Because honestly, it unsettles you—the way he can peel you open with a glance. The way he seems to see through you, right down to your core, to all the secrets you keep buried deep. It makes you want to squirm, to hide. To lash out just to prove him wrong.

But you don’t. You never do.

Instead, you swallow hard. Ignore the way your tongue suddenly feels too thick and clumsy for your dry mouth.

"I'm fine," you rasp eventually, wincing internally at the breathless quaver in your voice.

He says nothing, just raises his hands in mock surrender and takes a deliberate step back. You tell yourself it's relief that shivers down your spine.

You're lying.

Determined to put some much-needed distance between you, you bend to start scooping up the wayward produce, dumping the armload of carrots and onions onto the counter with more force than necessary. It’s childish and it’s petty, but you have no other way to fight it. Because Javier’s gaze is still on you, a leaden weight between your shoulder blades.

So, you do the one thing that seems to be the solution. You run. Whirl on your heel and stalk towards the walk-in cooler without a backward glance.

The cool air that hits your overheated skin as you step inside is a balm to your fractured nerves. You suck in a shuddering breath, relishing the way the cold sears your lungs and clears the haze from your head. But it does little to quell the restless energy thrumming through your veins, the ache of of want that sinks its hooks into you whenever Javier is near.

With a low growl, you drag a hand through your hair, fingers snagging in the wild tangle of knots and snarls. You tug until your scalp burns with pain. Grounding you.

God, what the hell is wrong with you?

It must be the heat outside because you can’t seem to remember the last time everything felt slightly off-kilter as today. As if the whole world is just slightly out of focus, and with Javi’s dark eyes tracking your every move and that knowing half-smile playing at the corners of his unfairly distracting mouth under that ridiculous moustache, you half-wonder if you’re are caught in some strange waking dream.

You half expect to blink and find yourself waking in your own bed, tangled in sweat-soaked sheets. Alone. Untouched. Wanting.

But no, this is real. The chilly bite of the air, the clatter of pots and the hiss of the grill just beyond the fridge door, the ache in your shoulders from too many hours hunched over a too-small apartment stove—all of it is real.

And Javi. Javi is real. Had been for a year now, ever since you started at Ríncon as his saucier. His presence is as tangible as the stainless steel counters and the scuffed tile beneath your feet, as constant as the ebb and flow of orders and the controlled chaos of the dinner rush.

He’s real and so is the memory of that night. The ghost of Javier's lips on your neck, hot and hungry as he backed you into the shelving. The rasp of his stubble against your jaw, the slick slide of his tongue against yours as he swallowed your needy whimper. The way his big hands flexed on your hips, yanking you flush against the hard planes of his body like he could fuse you together through sheer force of will alone.

And you’d like to say that you put up some token resistance that night. That you were the kind of person who had self-respect and standards and lines that couldn't be crossed.

But that would be a lie. Because the truth is, you’d spun in his arms and yanked him closer, hands fisting in the front of his chef’s jacket. The truth is, when he'd walked you backwards until the shelving bit into your spine and sealed his mouth over yours, you’d whimpered embarrassingly into the kiss.

The truth is, you’d wanted it.

Afterwards, once you’d righted your clothes and avoided each other's eyes, shame and exhilaration warring within you, he'd cleared his throat and said gruffly that it could never happen again. That it was a one-off, a momentary lapse in judgement. Nothing more.

And you had agreed. Had nodded. And then went on with your life as you normally would.

Except you couldn’t. Not even a little bit. Because that one slip had been like a crack in a dam and now the want was flooding through, unstoppable.

And so it happened again. And again. Stolen moments, illicit touches. The slam of your back against the walk-in door, the cold metal a stark contrast to the fevered heat of his skin. His fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise as he hitched you higher, urged your legs to wrap around his waist. Frantic coupling in the alley behind the restaurant, brick rasping your palms as you braced yourself against the wall, biting your lip till you tasted copper while he drove into you hard and fast.

Once, memorably, he’d taken you in the backseat of his car after a late catering gig. It was graceless, awkward, his elbow jabbing painfully into your kidney at some point, but God, the way he’d felt inside you. Like he was trying to crawl beneath your skin; possess you from the inside out. Like if he just fucked you hard enough, deep enough, he could leave an imprint. A mark. Proof that you were his, even if neither of you would ever say the words aloud.

And you know it's fucked up. Know that despite the dark thrill, the toe-curling pleasure, this thing between you is a disaster waiting to happen. One of you will get careless, too drunk on pleasure to maintain discretion, and it will all blow up in your faces. You’ll be the one to lose your job, your reputation in tatters. He'll be the subject of high fives and envy in the kitchen, just another conquest to boast about.

You know this. You really do.

But when he looks at you like he does, all your good intentions seem to crumble to ash. He’ll crook a finger at you, head cocked towards the storage room, and you’ll follow. You always fucking follow. Because for those stolen heartbeats when he’s buried inside of you and his hands are branding your hips, you can pretend it means something. That you mean something. To him. That you are more than a convenient warm body. More than a willing repository for his lust and stress and pent-up frustrations.

It's pathetic. You’re pathetic. Panting after him like a dog whining for scraps from the table. But self-awareness has never been much of an aphrodisiac.

So you hide.

In the walk-in where the frigid air can leach the fever from your skin. Where you don’t have to see the way his throat works when he swallows or the flex of sinewy forearms revealed by rolled up sleeves. You hide until your nipples are hard from cold instead of shameful arousal and your chest no longer feels like it might crack open from the strain of containing your idiotically rioting heart.

Sucking in a fortifying breath, you push off the shelves. Run damp palms down your thighs, thankful for the wicking fabric of your chef's pants. You just have to get through service. Keep your head down and your knife steady. Just a few more hours and you can escape to the sanctuary of your shitty apartment. Where you absolutely will not fuck yourself on your own hand to the memory of his low groan in your ear. Again.

You’re fine. It's fine. Everything is fine.

The fridge door swings open with a gust of frigid air, startling you out of your spiralling thoughts. You twist around only to find Javi leaning against the frame, arms crossed over his chest. There is a smudge of flour on his cheek. You want to lick it off.

Instead, you curl your hands into fists, nails biting into your palms. Swallow hard around the knot in your throat.

“You plannin’ on hiding in here all day?” His voice is light, teasing. But there's an undercurrent of something else, a tension that crackles in the air between you.

Straightening, you tug at the hem of your tee. A nervous habit, one you can’t seem to break. "Just needed a minute."

He nods, dark eyes watching you. Seeing too much, as always. The silence stretches, heavy with all the things you don't say. All the things you can't say, not without shattering this fragile truce you’ve built. This careful dance of almost, maybe, not quite.

Clearing your throat, you drop your gaze. Fix it on the collar of his shirt, the sliver of bronzed skin at the hollow of his throat. The thin gold chain resting against his collarbones, glinting in the harsh fluorescent light.

The same chain you sometimes catch between your teeth when you’re tangled together in the dark, skin slick with sweat and hands grasping, claiming. When you’re biting back the obscene sounds that claw up your throat, desperate to hold on to some shred of control even as he takes you apart with clever fingers and wicked tongue.

Heat flares low in your belly at the memory, prickling across your skin. You shift, restless. Aching. "Well, I guess I should get back to it."

You move to brush past him, to escape the charged air of the fridge and the wanting that coils like a snake in your gut. But he's too quick, too close. Long fingers wrap around your wrist, calluses dragging against your racing pulse.

"Wait." There's a rasp to his voice, a rough edge that sends a shiver skittering down your spine.

You go still, hardly daring to breathe. This... this is new. Uncharted territory. You don't linger in each other's space like this, not when you're both fully clothed and clear-headed. It's too dangerous, too much like tempting fate.

"What is it, Javi?" It comes out softer than you intend, almost breathless.

He sighs, a harsh exhale through his nose as he drags his free hand through his hair. The dark strands fall back into artful disarray almost immediately. Everything about this man is effortless, from the way he commands a kitchen to the way he commands your body. Confident. Self-assured.

"Nothing, just..." He trails off, shaking his head. Something flickers in the depths of his dark eyes, there and gone too quickly for you to decipher. Frustration, maybe. Regret. "Nothing. Never mind."

And then he's gone, shouldering through the door and leaving you standing there, stomach twisting with that all too familiar mix of frustration and anticipation.

So you return to your station. You chop and sauté, season and taste, hands moving on autopilot as your mind wanders. Steve, the sous chef, drops by your station to crack a few jokes, his easy smile and laid-back demeanor a welcome distraction from the tangled knot of emotions in your chest. He updates you on his ideas for the new tasting menu, shares a bit of gossip he heard from the chatty sommelier—anything to fill the charged silence of the kitchen.

But even as you nod along, making all the right noises in all the right places, you can't ignore the shiver that races down your spine every time Javier passes behind you, his arm brushing yours as he reaches for a pan. Can't seem to tune out the low, authoritative cadence of his voice as he calls out orders to the line, each word wrapping around you like a physical touch.

It doesn't help that he's foregone his usual chef's whites today in favor of a thin grey tee, the worn fabric clinging lovingly to every curve and plane of his torso. So it isn’t much of a surprise that by the time service ends and the last of the dishes are washed and stacked, you’re wound tighter than a clockspring.

—

The dishrag makes a damp squelch as you wring it out, the white cloth slowly soaking up the smears and crumbs littering your workstation. It's mundane work, the kind that usually lets your mind drift, but today all your senses feel heightened, electrified. Because you can feel him behind you.

Even without looking, you know exactly how close Javi is standing - mere inches away, his body a live wire of coiled energy. The hairs on your neck prickle to attention as his breath washes over your skin, his low rasp sending a shiver down your spine as he murmurs, "Storage room. Five minutes."

And then, just like that, his warmth is gone. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch Javi shrug off his apron, the stained fabric hitting the hook with a dull slap as he strides purposefully towards the back.

"Fuck." The curse is barely a whisper, more a shaky exhale that you didn't realise you'd been holding in.

Your pulse pounds in your ears as your gaze darts around the bustling kitchen. Steve is leaning across the steel counter, flashing the cute new pastry chef a crooked grin as she carefully pipes delicate swirls on a tray of mille-feuille. Over by the sinks, a trio of line cooks laugh uproariously, their voices bouncing off the tiled walls as they no doubt swap exaggerated tales of culinary glory.

No one is paying you any attention. It would be so easy to slip away unnoticed, to grab your bag and walk out into the night, pretending you never heard Javi's summons. The rational part of your brain screams at you to do just that, to put an end to this dangerous game before someone gets hurt.

But even as the thought forms, you know you won't do it. Can't do it. Because as much as you hate to admit it, you crave this — the illicit thrill, the rush of sneaking around, the electric snap of connection that sizzles between you and Javi. It's a drug, and you're addicted.

Suddenly, your hands are way too clammy so you wipe them against your pants, the rough fabric scratching your skin. Then, with a last glance around to make sure no one is watching, you slip out of the kitchen and down the narrow hallway.

When you reach the storage room door, you pause, palm hovering over the knob. From within, you can hear Javi moving around - the clatter of bottles, the scrape of crates across concrete…

This is it. Your last chance to turn back, to walk away and pretend this never happened. You close your eyes, inhaling deeply. You think of Javi waiting on the other side of the door, all coiled intensity and wicked smiles. Of the way his hands feel on your body, the rasp of his stubble against your throat. The broken sound he makes when he comes undone.

Fuck it.

Twisting the handle, you take a deep breath and step inside.

Javi stands in the center of the tiny room, a bottle of sherry vinegar forgotten in his hand as his gaze rakes over you. And then he’s setting the bottle down with exaggerated care, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Lock the door."

“Already did.”

Though it's unnecessary, you take a lean into the solid wood at your back. Your already racing heart kicks into overdrive as Javi stalks towards you, his movements fluid and predatory. He cages you in with his arms, his body a hot, hard line against yours. This close you can see the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw, the fan of his lashes against his cheek.

His lips hover a hairsbreadth from yours, his breath a feather-light caress. "We shouldn't," he murmurs, even as he rolls his hips into you.

"I know." Your hands come up to map the broad expanse of his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his tee. "But I don't care."

Javi makes a low sound, almost pained, and drops his forehead to rest against yours. The rasp of his stubble ignites sparks across your skin. "Me neither."

Then he's kissing you, deep and hungry, and whatever lingering reservations you had melt away like spun sugar. You open to him eagerly, hands fisting in his hair as you arch into the cradle of his hips. He licks into your mouth, hot and filthy, while his hands skim down your sides to cup your ass and pull you impossibly closer.

It's too much and not enough all at once. You hook a leg around his waist, desperate for more contact, and he growls into the kiss. His fingers dig into your flesh hard enough to bruise as he grinds against you, the thick ridge of him hitting you just right through the layers of denim and cotton.

You tear your mouth from his with a gasp, head tipping back as he blazes a trail of open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat. "Javi, please..."

He shushes you gently even as he walks you backwards, only stopping when you hit the edge of the stainless steel prep table. The cold bite of it against your overheated skin makes you hiss, but the sound is swallowed by Javi's lips as they find yours again. His clever hands make quick work of the buttons on your fly, and then he's gripping your hips and hoisting you up onto the tabletop like you weigh nothing at all.

His fingers are on you before you can fully process what’s happening, pressing against the damp cotton of your underwear. Helplessly, you buck against his hand, head falling back and eyes rolling in their sockets.

"Always so fucking ready for it," he rasps, fingers skating over the heat of you. "So wet for me, cariño."

You mewls, hips canting frantically as he circles your clit. "Please, Javi, I can't—"

"Shh, I've got you."

He sinks two fingers into you. Crooks them just right and just like that you’re gone, the tension and the waiting too much to handle. You clamp your hand over your mouth to stop yourself from screaming out, your body spasming and shaking. Javi just grins slowly as he wraps his other arm around you, gentling his touch before bringing his fingers to his mouth to lick them clean.

“Want me inside you?” he asks and there’s that smirk again, tugging at his lips, but you’re too preoccupied with the need and want to care. So you nod, frantically. “Well, then, turn around. Hands on the table.”

You scramble to comply, anticipation zipping down your spine as you flip over and brace yourself against the cool steel.

This is wrong, some distant part of you whispers. It's reckless and stupid and is going to blow up in both your faces. But as Javi steps in close behind you, the hot press of him against your back and the whisper of his breath on your neck, you find it impossible to care.

“Ja—” you bite out as he nudges his thickness against your entrance.

“Say you want it,” he rasps, bending over you, lips brushing the shell of your ear. One hand slides around your hip to press against your belly, holding you steady. "Say you want me to fuck you."

"I want it," you gasp, pushing back against him. "Fuck me, Javi, please—"

He doesn't make you ask twice. With a growl that vibrates through you, he snaps his hips, sheathing himself in your heat with one hard thrust. The breath punches out of your lungs, fingernails scrabbling against stainless steel for something to hold onto.

Dimly, you register the harsh screech of the table beneath you, the way it shudders with each slam of Javi's hips against yours. But it's distant, drowned out by the roar of blood in your ears and the filthy litany falling from Javier's lips.

"Fuck, you feel incredible." His chest drapes along your back, damp with sweat, as he mouths at the side of your neck. "So tight. So perfect."

He snakes a hand around your hip, fingers seeking out your aching clit. The first rough press of his fingertips against the sensitive bundle of nerves has you jerking in his hold, a high, threadbare sound tearing from your throat.

"That's it, baby." Javi's breath is a humid rush against your ear, his words nearly lost in the damp tendrils of your hair. "Let go for me. Wanna feel you come on my cock."

It's like a tripwire snapping. Your orgasm crashes into you, a tidal wave of sensation that obliterates everything in its path. You're vaguely aware of Javi cursing, of his thrusts losing their rhythm as he chases his own release. Then his body goes taut against yours, a low groan rumbling through his chest as he spills himself deep inside you.

For a long moment, there is only the ragged sound of your breathing and the rapid thud of your heartbeat. Javier doesn't move, his forehead pressed between your shoulder blades, his softening length still nestled in the clutch of your body.

And then he's pulling away and you can only push yourself upright on shaking arms, biting back a wince at the protestations of your muscles. Behind you, the rustle of fabric tells you Javier is making himself presentable, but you can't bring yourself to turn around.

When you finally do, he simply hands you your clothes without a word. You take them, grateful for the excuse to keep your eyes averted. The silence stretches, thick and cloying, as you both dress with perfunctory movements.

This is always the worst part. The part where reality reasserts itself, cold and unforgiving. The part where you're forced to confront the stark truth of what you've done, of the lines you've crossed.

Your fingers fumble with the buttons of your trousers, clumsy and numb. Across the cramped space, you can feel the tension radiating off Javier in waves. See the rigid set of his shoulders from the corner of your eye. Your chest aches with a nameless emotion, the jagged pieces of your heart grinding together like broken glass.

This has to stop. You can't keep doing this, can't keep tearing each other apart in dark corners and hidden rooms. It's not sustainable, this twisted thing between you. Sooner or later, something will give. Someone will give.

And you're terrified it will be you.

"Javi..." The word feels too loud in the oppressive quiet. You swallow hard, dragging your gaze up to his face. His expression is carefully blank, but you can see the tick in his jaw, the way he won’t meet your eyes.

He cuts you off before you can continue. "I'll clean up in here." His voice is rough, scraped raw. "You should go."

It's an out, and you're too much of a coward not to take it. You nod, more to yourself than to him, not trusting your voice. Then, on numb legs, you slip past him into the deserted hallway, the snick of the door closing behind you sounding like a gunshot in the hush.

The back alley is blessedly empty when you stumble out into the balmy night air. The rough brick of the restaurant's exterior scrapes your spine through your thin shirt as you sag against it, eyes squeezing shut. You breathe deeply, trying to will away the hot press of tears, the yawning emptiness carving itself into your chest.

This has to stop. It will stop.

The lie tastes bitter on your tongue.

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the-californicationist · 9 days ago

Text

Through a Glass, Darkly

A new priest is assigned to your remote abbey, but when you go to him for confession, you realize you are kneeling before the Devil himself.

Anonymous asked: Hiya Cali, crazy thought but happy october 🎃 brain worm, think about mirror sex with vampire!Price / 141 and the absolute flith that would pour from his mouth as he watches you stretch around seemingly nothing…

———

TW: vampirism, blood play, priest abuse of power, heavy religious imagery, fem!reader, rape/noncon, virginity loss, corruption, mind breaking, historical fantasy au, father/my child/sister religious titles, fully adult characters

You’ve been warned, and I don’t wanna hear it. Your click, your fault.

For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known. — 1 Corinthians 13:12

—x—x—x—

When Mr. Hawthorne arrived that morning with fresh milk, eggs, and a cart full of potatoes and turnips, you thought you would forget yourself and fling your hands around his fat neck. It had been weeks since supplies had been delivered, and although you lived in what was probably the smallest abbey in the world, you were just thankful that you had not been completely forgotten.

“Oh, thank you, Mister Hawthorne! We are so grateful for your service. The Lord rewards the generous,” you praised him.

The plump man’s face flushed red and he took off his sweaty cap, holding it limply in his hands,

“Tha’s alright, Sister. I had a good yield this season. You send a letter over to us if you need anything more. Hopefully that new priest will be arriving soon. Margie said she spotted him at the inn yesterday afternoon.”

“New priest?” You asked, wholly unaware of your abbey receiving an actual man of the cloth.

“Yes, Sister. He looks a little rugged for a holy man, but she said he was wearin’ the collar, clear as day.”

“Oh,” you mused, unsure of what to say.

“I’ll take my leave of you, Sister. Hope he’s a good one. It’ll be nice to have services back in the old church.”

“Yes, it will. Take care, and safe travels, sir. May God bless your next harvest.”

You watched as his rickety cart, pulled by an equally rotund mule, delivered the farmer away from you and your tiny sanctuary. As soon as he was out of sight, you rushed back through the wooden doors of the abbey to find Sister Ruth and Sister Sarah to tell them of the news.

They were both as shocked as you were. You had all three been convinced that the good Pope had completely forgotten about your little sect, and no letters had come for months. But, a new priest in this parish would bring much needed governance to the provincial people of your small village, and you needed to prepare.

You and your fellow nuns cleaned, cleaned, and cleaned some more. By nightfall, the abbey gleamed anew.

As you were preparing for bed, you heard the whinny of a horse outside of the abbey doors. You looked out into the corridor, and Sister Ruth was peeking out as well. Arming yourselves with long, steel fire pokers, you made your way to the entrance. Ruth nudged you with her elbow, encouraging you to call out. So, you said,

“It is past hours. Please come back tomorrow!”

“I’m Father John Price, and unless I’m mistaken, this is my abbey,” a deep, gravelly voice called out to you, seeming to flow and roll through the door with a convincing ease.

You cracked the wooden portal and looked out.

There, holding onto a frothy, exhausted steed was the most handsome man you’d ever seen. He wore an all-black capello romano on his head, towering above you by at least a full cubit. His face was pale, protected from labors under the sun, but his hands looked like they had certainly known the true meaning of work. His body was well-muscled and immense. Even in the midst of his flowing black robes, you could see the bulging form of his shoulders stretching the fine fabric. Around his thick neck, his white clergy collar sat dutifully under a jutting Adam’s apple and a proud chin, shaven although the rest of his beard was trimmed to full length.

But it was his eyes that unnerved you. For all of his brutish form, the look in his gaze made your blood run cold. There was something hypnotizing about the pale blue irises. It made him seem almost inhuman.

That deep, purring voice returned, and he stepped closer to you, threatening your threshold with white, sharp teeth pulled in a tight smile,

“Aren’t you going to invite me inside?”

“Forgive me, Father. Please, come in. Sister Ruth will take your horse to the stables. Allow me to take your bags and show you to your chamber.”

He followed behind you at a close distance, studying the abbey’s courtyard and walls, judging its worthiness. You were proud of the work you had done to keep it in good working order, but you knew it was in desperate need of repairs.

As you walked, you tried to make small talk to ease the tension,

“I have been in prayer thanking God for your arrival, Father. It has been many years since we have been blessed to house a priest within our abbey walls. Our parishioners will be filled with joy to return to their pews.”

“Mm.” His hum was polite but noncommittal, so you gave up on the niceties.

Finally, you reached his cell, you pried open the door and allowed him to enter before you. He studied the spartan room with the expected amount of enthusiasm, and watched you lay his bag down on the small chair at his desk. You straightened out the Bible that lay on the table, making sure the corner matched up with the edge of the table, placing it just so.

“Will you take supper, Father Price?”

“No, I am not hungry. You will find that I eat very little, in fact,” he said, taking off his cloak and laying it on the freshly-made bed. He hung his hat on its hook and tried to straighten his hair.

“Should I have a mirror brought in for your cell?” You asked, thinking that he may need to look presentable. As a nun, you never used a mirror as a rule, but you were willing to accommodate your new steward as best you could.

“Do you use a mirror, my child?” Price’s voice deepened and smoldered like a bundle of kindling, threatening to burn. He stepped toward you, using his size to impose himself upon you in the small space.

“N-n-no,” you stammered, “Of course not, Father. But I am not in a position to be perceived such as yourself.”

“Recite Proverbs 31:30, my child,” he commanded, stepping closer to you, slowly creeping into your personal space, close enough that you could smell the scent of the sun and the grass on his robes, mixing with the sweat of his skin.

You swallowed, clearing your throat, and obeyed,

“Yes, Father. Favour is deceitful, and beauty is vain: but a woman that feareth the Lord, she shall be praised.”

“Good,” Price smiled, using his finger to lift your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes, “We must not succumb to vanity, my child. A dutiful disciple is one who serves others, yes?”

“Yes, Father,” you said, stepping backwards, away from his touch, hanging your head in reverence.

“In fact,” he purred, “It is James 1:23 which reminds us that those who look into the glass will be blinded by their own desires, only seeing themselves, incapable of suffering God’s divinity. It is the good works done that are worthy of praise, my child, although…”

He stepped forward again, grabbing your chin in his huge hand roughly, clutching the very bone of your jaw, making you gasp,

“Our Lord has taken special care to display his almighty talent in your face, has he not? Such delicate features. Like an angel.”

His mouth was so close to yours that you could smell the heady scent of iron and musk on his breath. His piercing eyes never left yours, pinning you in place.

Then, he released you, and you left the room without being dismissed, closing the cell door behind you and rushing back to your own cloister. You rushed into your room, locking the door fast, and knelt at your altar to pray for forgiveness.

Except… you were not asking to be forgiven for suggesting vanity to your new priest. No. You were asking to be forgiven for the warm, wet lust that was smearing across the crease of your thighs. Father Price had awakened strong feelings in you not of enlightenment, but of lurid desire, and you begged to be cleansed.

The next morning, Father Price called the abbey together. Yourself, Sister Ruth, and Sister Sarah reported to the small courtyard, along with two young pilgrims who had lived there since the past summer, Timothy and David. You and the nuns had suspected them as runaways, but they pledged themselves to the cloth and took care of the manual labor around the premises since you lacked any monks to speak of. They were well into their young adulthood now, and they would become apprentices to Father Price, if he saw fit.

You tried to put what had transpired between you and the good Father out of your mind, but seeing him in the cold light of day did nothing to quell the sinful desire you felt towards him. The way he had grabbed you…

“Good morrow, everyone. I ask that you will join me in our Biblical studies every morning. I find that the word of God helps me put the rest of my day right. I want to begin at the beginning, yes?”

He looked around at all of your faces, as if anyone would protest against his power, and then he continued,

“What does Genesis 4:7 tell us, Sister Ruth?”

“Speaking to Cain, the Lord said: If thou doest well, shalt thou not be accepted? and if thou doest not well, sin lieth at the door. And unto thee shall be his desire, and thou shalt rule over him.”

“Sin lieth at the door,” Father Price mused, then, as if shaking himself from his thought, he said, “Please continue, Sister.”

“And Cain talked with Abel, his brother: and it came to pass, when they were in the field, that Cain rose up against Abel, his brother, and slew him. And the Lord said unto Cain, Where is Abel thy brother? And he said, I know not: Am I my brother's keeper?”

“You are,” the priest’s voice rose in his chest, startling Sister Ruth and silencing her words. He began to pace back and forth, slowly stalking through your small ranks, “You are your brother’s keeper. You are more than that. You are keepers of this entire parish, are you not?”

“Yes, Father,” you all said in unison.

“There will be a reckoning in this parish,” Price snarled, “I will not lead a flock of demons disguised as sheep. If any of you hear witness or see evidence of sin, deliver it to me at once. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Father,” you repeated.

“I will now take your confessions. I understand that it has been a number of years since you were cleansed, so be prepared to repent lest you allow the Devil into your soul.”

“Yes, Father.”

The day dragged on through the gray clouds, and Father Price had taken his time with the confessions of the members of your abbey. Sister Sarah had gone into his cell after the boys, and she had emerged with red eyes full of tears. You had comforted her in hushed whispers in the corner of her cloister, asking her what he had done, thinking it was something even more awful that how he had accosted you last night.

“He…” Sarah sobbed, “He made me kneel on sharp stones while I recited my prayers. It hurts so much, Sister.”

You breathed a sigh of relief. Although sharp stones were not a gentle punishment, they were at least devoid of physical contact. He had not taken a hand to her. But, Sister Sarah was young. She had avoided some of the harsher training practices of the more traditional members of the church. You knew that there were a bevvy of punishments that would make kneeling in discomfort feel like a blessing.

Sister Ruth also came out sniffling, reporting that she had fifty lashes across her palms for the sin of plucking figs off of a nearby tree owned by the neighboring farm.

Again, you sighed and thanked God that he had a little mercy within him.

His cell door opened, and Father Price locked eyes with you and demanded,

“Come, my child. It is time for your confession.”

“Yes, Father Price,” you complied, taking your leave of the other nuns and following him into his cell.

Inside of his room, a shaft of sunlight cut across his face, illuminating his eyes and stunning you, keeping you from moving forward.

“Shut the door, my child,” his timbre was ominous, and you tried to hold yourself together.

“So far,” he rose from his seat and walked over to you, “I have cleansed the souls of a nun who is a thief, another who is a sloth, a young man who is a liar, and another who is filled with pride. It seems, Sister, that you have allowed the Devil through the door, indeed.”

“Forgive me, Father. I knew not of their wicked ways, nor have I your wisdom to correct them.” You stared at the stone floor. It was easier than looking at him.

“I do not believe that the wickedness was borne within them,” Father Price mused, tapping his finger on his lips as if deep in thought, “Because I discovered this beneath your mattress, and so I know the evil is inside of you.”

In his hands, Father Price held up a square, familiar, looking glass. You trembled, watching as your own reflection met you back. You could see the fear spread across your face, and you were disgusted by it.

“Tell me, my child. How did you use this mirror?” He asked sweetly, but as he watched you think about how best to answer the question, his voice became hot with fury and he snarled into your ear, “And don’t you dare lie to me. I will know your deceit.”

Your heart was banging in your chest, and so, beyond your better judgment, you told him the truth.

“I used it to… examine myself, Father.”

“Show me,” he commanded.

It was as if his whole cell bent and bowed under the weight of his authority. Your body began to move against your own will, relenting to his instead. Without thinking, you pulled back your habit and let your hair fall down your back. Then, you began to peel away your robes. Underneath, you untied your shift, and you allowed the fabric to pool on the floor at your feet, staring at yourself naked in the glass.

He watched you in silent awe, his pupils darkening, his mouth parted at his full lips, his chest heaving as he watched you make yourself bare before him.

“Go on,” he said, knowing that you were not finished with your demonstration.

You felt yourself obeying him helplessly, and you performed the same inspection that you did in private in front of him.

“I wanted to see how God hath made me, Father. So, I looked.”

“Where did you look, my child?”

“Here,” you raised your hands to squeeze the supple flesh of your breasts, showing him how your nipples were bouncy and puffy until they turned stiff and tight.

“And here,” you allowed your hand to fit itself between your thighs, spreading your labia, covered in dense hair, until your pliant lips revealed a shining, smooth center, wet and ready for pleasure.

“Now that you have examined the Lord’s fine works, what did you do with this knowledge?” Price asked.

“I would touch this part of me, Father, and I would let it bring me to Heaven.”

“I would like to know Heaven, my child. Turn around.”

You tried to stop yourself, but he was using his power to bind you. You were nothing more than a toy, helpless to his every whim. You turned, your back facing him, and he set the mirror on his desk so that you could see yourself within it. Then, he moved in front of you and his body blocked your view, reaching down to grab your chin like he had the first night he arrived, raising your mouth up to his.

You thought he would kiss you. His lips were just within reach, but he commanded you darkly,

“Confess.”

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” you recited dumbly, “It has been three years since my last confession. In that time, I have…”

His mouth covered yours, kissing you deeply, feeding you his long tongue and eating up your words before you could say them. Then, you felt his hands on your breasts, squeezing them cruelly, pinching your nipples to make them ache and sting. You couldn’t help the lewd sounds that escaped your throat, but he didn’t seem to care to stop you. Finally, he pulled away, and when you looked into his eyes again, the bright blue had been replaced with a Hellish red.

You gasped, and he grabbed you tighter, pulling you towards him by the soft meat of your breasts, making you cry out in agony. That noise seemed to please him because he smiled down at you, and you could see that his teeth had grown into long, wolf-like fangs. He chuckled,

“My pretty little sinner.”

“D-d-demon!” You cried breathlessly, shaking from fear as he held you to his body.

Price bared his fangs at your assessment, hissing from the title,

“Yes, and you have invited me in, so eager to be corrupted.”

Releasing you from his grip, he held you around your waist with one arm, and he used his free hand to dip between your legs, discovering your wetness there and sighing from it.

“Mmm… Let me taste your sweet, little Heaven, Sister.”

He knelt on the floor in front of you and held onto your wide ass cheeks in each hand, forcing your hips to tilt toward his face. You looked down and watched as his impossibly long tongue flicked against your swollen bud. His wide tongue parted your lips to drag wetly between them. You tried to hold back your cries, but you’d never known such pleasure, so you could barely keep it in. You prayed for forgiveness as you came apart against this demon’s mouth, succumbing to his vileness.

Then, you glanced into the mirror, and you noticed that you couldn’t see his head. Only the collar and robes were visible in the glass. All you could see is how your lips were being spread apart, seemingly on their own.

He had no reflection.

“You… you’re…” You couldn’t say the words, but Price knew what you meant to call him.

He looked over his shoulder, using his thumbs to spread your lips wide apart, gazing at them in the glass and smiling even though he didn’t have a reflection to smile at. Then, he looked back up at you, a sick grin spread across his lips,

“Cain, yes. The immortal wanderer, cursed from the earth which hath opened her mouth to receive my brother’s blood. And I have not tasted food, for it becomes ash in my mouth, just like He promised. But, blood… I can taste blood just fine.”

He planted the softest kisses between your shivering thighs, sucking on the thin skin, and then, after slaking his thirst with your sticky center once more, he sank his fangs right in the inside of your thigh, making you howl with pain.

His eyes were locked on yours, watching you writhe in agony, your nerves sensing his venom coursing through you as he sucked the life from your veins. You watched yourself in the mirror, seeing the puncture wounds, watching as blood spilled out across your skin, smearing and being licked away by his greedy tongue. Finally, he released you, and the poison of his mouth took effect. You became deeply fatigued, and you could barely stand on your own. He had to hold you in his arms to keep you in position.

He stood, smiling down at you, his mouth caked with your dark blood, his teeth stained red,

“What a blessing you are, my child. Such perfect innocence tastes so fine, so… pure. I almost hate to sour your ripe little fruit, but that will be sweet in its own way, yes?”

You watched as your demonic priest yanked at his collar, popping it from his neck. Then, he pulled off his robes, tearing away at his layers until he was as bare as you, both of you fully naked and pressed together, joined in a crash of skin and heat, his mouth painting your body with your own blood as he kissed and licked your breasts and belly, teasing you with his tongue as he explored you.

Then, he stepped around to your back, and you caught sight of his heavy cock as it swung between his legs like that of a rutting beast. You tried to fight the black spell you were under, but it was no use. You were trapped in his thrall.

“Watch yourself in the mirror, my child,” Father Price commanded you, grinning as you immediately obeyed, “Come and behold the marvelous works of God.”

You couldn’t turn your eyes away. You were alone in the mirror, and yet, your breasts were being crushed by invisible fists, your nipples tormented between unseen fingers. Then, you felt Price fit his phallus against the entrance of your sex and press it into you, stretching you wide across his prodding cockhead. You saw how your body was being invaded by him, pulling itself apart to allow him inside. The dark hole of your quim opened like a toothless maw, drooling and starving, hungry to take him deep within you, welcoming him up to your womb.

You sobbed at the strain, and then you felt something give way sharply inside you, and he had a much easier time of filling you with his engorged length. As he fucked himself up into you, he was grunting like an animal, praising you in your ear, telling you his own confession,

“Forgive me, my child, for I am sinning. Right now… I am sinning with you, and it is so sweet. God has made you for me. What a gift you are. See?”

He used his hand to swipe at your gaping hole, bringing his hand in front of your face so you could see the bright blood that coated his fingertips,

“You have broken so easily for me. The Lord knew you needed me to come and serve you. He brought me to you, my child. You welcomed me inside, didn’t you? Spread these lips for me, invited me in… Didn’t you? Say it.”

“Y-y-yes, F-father…” You whimpered, tears dripping down your chin and onto your bare chest.

The loud slapping of skin against skin filled the cell, and you watched as your hole spread wider and wider, taking more of him with each punishing thrust.

“Louder, my child,” he hissed in your ear.

“Yes, Father!”

His hand was playing in your slippery folds, massaging your hidden bud and forcing you to clench hard around him from the pleasure. In the glass, you could see your hole trying in vain to twist itself shut, pumping him in a steady beat.

“Didn’t you pray to God for a prick like mine when you touched your filthy quim in your mirror?”

“Yes, Father!”

It was true. You had touched yourself, hoping that you might one day know the pleasure of being taken by a man. You had watched the mating of cattle in the field next to the abbey many a summer past, hanging clothes and sheets on the line, and yet all the while looking into the grassy glade, staring at the bull who would mount his cow and thrust his turgid rod into her to breed her deeply. And she would croon for him, and when he left her, the spent seed would hang in long, thick strings from the head of his phallus, making him wet and ready to sink his sword through its next sheath.

“And the Lord answered your prayers, did he not? Begging him for someone to breed you like this, isn’t that right?”

“Yes, Father!”

Price was the bull, and you would be bred by him, and you would be cast out of God’s mercy forever. Ruined. Steeped in sin and tainted by lust.

“You smell like a ripe plum, my sweet child, and you’re just as soft in my mouth,” Price began to lick your neck from your sloping shoulder all the way to your earlobe, over and over, letting his spit cover your flesh. Then, he sank his fangs into your vein and began to drink from you in long, slurping sucks, swallowing your blood into his throat in audible gulps, moaning with each mouthful of your essence.

The venom of his demonic bite made your head cloudy and your will compliant.

“Touch yourself, my child,” he mumbled, quickly returning to his feast on your flesh.

You had no choice but to obey. You felt him increase his pace, his long cock bottoming out inside of you with each thrust, flinging his weight into you like a hammer. You began touching your breasts, pinching yourself gently as you watched your ruination unfold in the looking glass, helpless to stop it.

Then, you began to touch your rigid nub, taking over for him as he continued to drink from you. You made achingly slow circles around your most sensitive spot, and because you were so wet, you were able to go faster without any discomfort. You made yourself come quickly, jerking your hips against him as he fucked you, listening to him groan from the feeling of your tight hole trying to squeeze the come out of his body.

“Beg me for my seed, Sister. Beg me to spill it in you,” Price murmured, licking your neck in the spot where he had bitten to rub the taste of your blood across his tongue.

“Father, please… Please come in me. Spill in me… oh!”

You felt him jerk inside of you, and then you heard his growling orgasm rip through his body, his cock pulsing wildly, shooting ropes of creamy seed all over your walls, bursting through your tight, virginal core.

“So perfect for me, so perfect…”

Price caught his breath while he was still inside of you, panting and smiling against your neck before he pulled out of you, watching his invisible shaft slip through your cunt in the mirror, the gaping hole slowly shrinking before your eyes. As he retreated, you saw large strings of come drip out of you, white and endless, flowing out of you and onto the floor of the cell.

Father Price dressed himself in front of you, leaving you standing where he had last commanded you to be, admiring your ruined body. Once he clipped his collar back under his shirt and cloak, he stepped in front of you to pinch lightly at the tips of your nipples again, making you whimper like a hungry mutt.

“For all your virtues, Sister, you are prone to sin. An innocent such as yourself must be trained to resist the Devil. Come to my cell for confession every morning and every night. I promise,” he stroked your cheek and then your neck, right where he’d bitten you, “I will put my goodness deep inside of you, my child. Right here.”

His other hand came to touch your bare belly, gently caressing the skin and flesh that protected your womb.

“Yes, Father,” you said, trying to avoid his furious gaze, shaking with pure, gut-wrenching terror, understanding that for you, there was no escape. You were under his vampiric command, and if he wanted you, your body was going to obey. You’d taken the Mark of Cain on your neck, and the only hope for you now was to beg for his mercy.

“Take this mirror with you, my child. I want you to kneel in prayer over it, spread those plump legs wide, and I want you to watch my seed drip out of you. With every drop, you will thank God for me and my prick. When the Lord answers our prayers, it is our duty to be grateful.”

“Yes, Father,” you said, pulling your robes back on and adjusting your habit.

He handed you the mirror, and you took it with a crushing amount of shame, feeling his come still seeping in a steady stream out of your well-used hole.

As you left his cell, he smiled down at you, carefully petting your cheek,

“Don’t worry, my child. Your next confession is in only a few hours. You will feel the warmth of the Lord’s forgiveness again very soon.”

—x—x—x—

Reblogs and comments deeply appreciated!

AO3 Link

#call of duty fanfic #read at your own risk #vampire priest price #captain john price #cod mw2 #call of duty #cod #john price #cod mwii #captain price #captain price x you #captain price x reader #x female reader #x fem!reader #dark price #dark fantasy #priest kink #vampire au

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orshii · 3 months ago

Text

Highway to Cloud Nine

🏍️ Pairing: biker! Kim Hongjoong x mechanic! female reader 🏍️ Word count: 12,8 k 🏍️ Warnings: cursing, mentions of alcohol use, smoking, shotgun, cheating (not by Hongjoong), angst, suggestive 🏍️Trope: Brother's best friend

🏍️ Summary: The car service you run with your brother, Jongho, is rather challenging, especially in his absence when you must manage everything on your own. Kim Hongjoong, your brother’s best friend, needs urgent repairs for his bike only complicating everything more for you, however, some tension also arises between the two of you as you notice a shift in your dynamic.

San, who is your ex, only makes everything more complicated when he reappears in your life. You’re faced with two choices now: you navigate your life the way you want it or you let the fear of disappointing your brother consume you.

🏍️ A/N: Hello there! Here I am again because suddenly I became obsessed with biker Hongjoong and I can't get over it. Nice! And I just love the brother's best friend trope. This story popped up in my mind in like 15 minutes and I don't know when I was able to write this much only in two days, lol. So yeah, I hope I managed to convert what I wanted, (sorry Sannie), and I hope you enjoy hehet! (this Hongjoong is so HOT I want to be the MC.) Byee! (divider)

The loud banging on the door coming from the garage under our flat disturbed my evening as I watched a TV show, tired of the day full of chaos. I stood up annoyed, thinking who was coming at this hour when we were closed for the day. I went to the stairs that led down to the car service we ran with my brother Jongho, who was away for a trip with his girlfriend. We named our service, Limitless and it has been almost ten years since we led this business. I grew up with cars and bikes and fell in love with fixing the machines and just admiring some expensive collections that some rich people owned. I already finished college and until I found what I wanted to do for a living, I decided I was going to help my brother out for a while as he was capable of overworking himself. I convinced him to get some rest because he needed a little break from the nonstop work in the garage. Our parents were long gone out of our lives. Our mom died and our dad was nowhere to be seen since then. We remained alone and Jongho took care of me since then. And I couldn't be more grateful for him, so this is why I told him I could manage the garage for a few days and he didn't need to worry about a thing. It was hard managing alone but I needed to do this for my beloved brother because he deserved a break.

I went downstairs as it led to the garage, the familiar smell of oil and steel hit my nose and the banging on the garage door did not stop.

"Coming!" I said annoyed by the loud noise.

I unlocked the door and saw a frustrated Kim Hongjoong standing in front of the garage. His biker helmet in his hands, his dark red hair falling onto his forehead a little wet from sweating, his undercut barely in sight. He was wearing his black leather jacket a white T-shirt under it, his pumped-up chest on the sight, paired with black skinny jeans that were ripped on the knees. As I saw it was him, I rolled my eyes annoyed, because I hated this guy. He was a walking red flag with his red hair that screamed he was a bad guy from far away. He was Jongho's best friend and he was a daily guest in our service. He always annoyed the shit out of me and he seemed he did not like me as much as I didn't like him.

"We are closed Hongjoong, what do you want?" I asked still holding the door, ready to slam it into his face.

"Where is Jongho? He didn't answer my calls." He asked running his fingers through his wet hair.

"He is on a trip with his girlfriend so don't disturb him." I deadpanned as I was ready to slam the door. But Hongjoong's hands prevented it.

"When is he coming back?" He seemed desperate.

"Tomorrow night."

"Fuck!" He shouted out loud stressed as he buried his face into his hands.

I sighed annoyed. I did not start to pity him; I was just curious. "Why?"

"Something happened with my bike and I have an important race tonight. I pushed my bike all the way here because it won't start no matter what I do. But now I'm fucked." His gaze bored into mine as he sighed.

I looked behind him, where his big dark red motorbike was standing waiting for a hand to repair it. "It doesn't get fuel?"

"I don’t know, I'm not a mechanic." He said looking over his shoulders at his beloved bike. "But I really need it for tonight."

I sighed for the thousandth time this evening. "Bring it in. I can fix it." I mumbled annoyed. Yes, I might have pitied Hongjoong, because he seemed so desperate and it seemed it was really important for him. Fixing cars—and bikes apparently—was my job and I just couldn't resist my passion, which helped me through tough times. Fixing cars helped me organize my thoughts and to even not think at all. So, I offered my help.

Hongjoong seemed quite surprised at that as he raised his eyebrows. "Seriously?"

"Come before I change my mind."

Hongjoong did as told and pushed the bike into the garage as I lifted the door up. His bike was a shade of dark red, with some black colors appearing on the sharp features, the lamp on the front was sharp and it looked like sharp eyes, which reminded me of Hongjoong’s eyes. I prepared some tools I needed to fix the bike. As I analyzed it a little and tried to start the engine, I already knew what was the problem and it wasn't that big of a deal. The fuel just couldn't reach the engine, because a part of the engine was slacked and it didn't let the fuel flow into the engine. I felt Hongjoong's gaze on me the whole time as I crouched down next to the bike so I could repair it.

"Can I help you with something?" He asked a little embarrassed as he scratched the back of his nape.

"No, just sit and let me work." I deadpanned as I looked up at him as he was standing next to me.

So, he sat down and silence fell over us. I was curious so I asked. "So, again those illegal races? I thought you stopped."

"I need money." He stated.

"For what?"

"It's none of your business."

I scoffed as I tried to screw a clamp into its place. "Okay, big boy."

"Can you just do your work?" His voice came out frustrated.

I stopped, as I looked at him in disbelief. I couldn't believe this guy. "I'm making a favor for you, so shut the fuck up!" I started to get angry.

He laughed. "Oh sorry, princess for disturbing you." His voice sounded sarcastic and annoyed.

I really tried to stay calm, it was in both of our favor. "Don't call me a princess!"

"Don't be mad, princess." He always did this, to annoy my shit out and today was not the day when I let him do it.

So, I stopped what I did and stood up with a scoff. "You know what? Go fuck yourself and your bike. It's not my business as you told me. The door is that way." I pointed towards the door as I dropped the spanner on the dusty concrete floor and turned away to leave him there. I just lost my patience and was under pressure the whole day, he needed to step over it, because he didn’t care.

Then he grabbed my wrist and whirled me around to look into his eyes. He was hovering over me with a deadly stare, his lips in a thin line, his red hair messy. "No, you fucking get that spanner and fix my bike, because I need it!" His face was close to mine, I felt his heavy breathing on my cheeks.

"Fix it yourself, the tools are there." I pointed at the ground towards his bike.

"Stop this shitty attitude of yours, Y/N! I really need to win this race tonight, please!" He seemed like he was near dropping to his knees and begging for me.

"Oh, you can say such things as well like, please? I'm surprised" I said as I pushed him away from my face, with my hands on his chest. I needed to show him, that he couldn't just control me and to be unrespectable with me. I couldn’t let that, I fixed his beloved bike so he was going to disappear as quickly as I wanted because I did not want to see his face.

And when I finished his bike and started the engine, it lighted up and it was ready to race for whatever reason it needed to. When Hongjoong left he mumbled something that sounded like a thank you and that he was going to arrange the price with Jongho. Like my brother fixed it…

Then I went upstairs, the quiet of our flat reminding me of how tired I was from working all day. So, after a short shower, I collapsed into my bed, trying to compose myself for another tiring day without Jongho as I fell asleep finally, an annoying face with red hair popped up in my dream that turned out to be a nightmare.

It was the middle of the night when I got a call. I groaned in frustration as I hated it when I couldn't get my well-deserved beauty sleep. It was still dark outside as my room was in complete darkness, my phone on the nightstand the only light in it. I reached for my phone; I just couldn't imagine what was so important that couldn't wait until the morning. When I grabbed my phone, it lit my face and I squinted my eyes from the sudden brightness, couldn't even read who was calling me, I just answered.

"Y/N! Thank God you picked up!" Comes a familiar and annoying voice from the phone.

I looked at my phone to check the time and I grew more annoyed when I saw that Hongjoong's name was looking back at me. "Hongjoong, it's 3 in the morning what the hell do you want?"

"I know, I'm sorry. But I think I need a little help." His voice seemed a little sheepish. Like he was embarrassed for calling me—as he should be.

"What the hell happened now?"

"I crashed with my bike…I need help in carrying it away…Please, I swear I'mma pay you back, but the police can't find me, I'mma be in big trouble if they do."

I squeezed the bridge of my nose in frustration as I shot my eyes closed. "Where are you?"

He mumbled something about being next to a factory on the edge of the city and thanked me at least a thousand times. I sat up with a groan, I couldn't believe myself, why couldn't I just say no to him? I was even surprised by myself. Then I sat up in the black Jeep we bought with Jongho together, the trailer hanging from behind as I was on the way to save Hongjoong's ass, the second time in like 10 hours—he was going to pay for this for the rest of his life I'm going to make sure about it.

When I was reaching Hongjoong's location my eyes averted around the surroundings, trying to find him. It seemed it rained a few hours before because the asphalt was wet and slippery. Then suddenly he appeared in front of my car and I almost hit him, I stepped on the brakes quickly and cursed. The sight in front of me was like in the movies. Hongjoong was standing on the road, the car's lights illuminating his face, some shadows lurking on it, making his features sharper, where some blood was flowing down from his temple. His red hair was damp I assumed from the rain, it was sticking to his forehead, some red wet drops flowing down his face that came from the red dye, mixing with his blood. He was wearing blue jeans that were ripped but not intentionally as his knees were bloody as well. On top, he was wearing a colorful shirt unbuttoned and a white T-shirt under it. I saw his bike which was lying on the ground crushed. It was a miracle it didn't catch on fire.

"Shit," I mumbled to myself as I stepped out of my car.

"What the hell happened Joong?" I walked towards him, as his expression told me nothing.

"The road was a little slippery from the rain and the police came after the race ended. I needed to get away from there quickly. And this happened." He pointed at his motorbike which was nothing like a few hours before.

"Oh my God Joong…" I ran my hands through my face frustrated, the sleepiness long gone from my eyes.

"Let's just get this shit away from here." He walked towards his bike in pieces, almost mourning his beloved bike.

Then we somehow managed to lift the bike to the trailer, collecting the broken pieces from the ground, and with that I drove back to our car service with Hongjoong sitting on the passenger seat.

“Did you at least win the race?” I broke the deafening silence in the car as I looked at the road ahead.

“Of course I did.” He leaned back against the headboard and looked out the window looking sad.

When I parked in the garage, it was already 5 in the morning. Hongjoong sighed as we both stepped out of the car and he sat on the old couch that was pushed against the wall, serving perfectly when we needed a little break from work. I closed the garage door and sat next to him, my head on the back of the couch as I closed my eyes with a sigh.

"Don't tell anything to your brother, please." I heard Hongjoong's tired voice from my side. "He is going to fucking kill me."

"I bet," I said with my eyes still closed. Then silence and I opened my eyes to look at Hongjoong whose eyes were already on me. His eyes were sharp and looked at me a little angry.

"Okay, I won't tell him anything." I lifted my hands giving up. "But what about the bike?"

He sighed as he leaned forward supporting his head on his arms. "I have no fucking idea." He buried his face into his hands, he seemed a little panicked. I just looked at his figure that seemed lost and little now, and there it was again. The feeling I hated so much. I just wanted to help him again, and I truly hated this feeling.

"I can't believe myself," I mumbled to myself as I sighed. Hongjoong looked up at me with a confused look. "Jongho is coming back tomorrow night…I guess we can fix that shit until he arrives."

I had never seen Hongjoong this surprised as his eyebrows disappeared from how high they were. "Seriously?"

"Yes, but I'm gonna need your help too."

He set up straight as he turned towards me on the couch. "I'm here, whatever you need, princess." He smirked as he leaned closer to me. I rolled my eyes and stood up waking to a cabinet where we held the first-aid kit.

"But first put yourself together, because you look like shit." I threw the box towards him and he caught it immediately, looking down at it with a frown as he opened it. He looked up at me with child-like eyes. Then I looked at him with my eyebrows furrowed.

"You are seriously like a child," I stated as I sat next to him growing more annoyed as he just didn't know what to do with the thing, I just gave him.

Kim Hongjoong then pouted—I say it again pouted at me—as I grabbed the box from his hands and took the cotton from it with the alcoholic liquid—at least this is going to hurt. His face was full of blood strings that flew from the wound on his temple, his lips were also cut somehow just like his right cheek. I reached the cotton with the liquid towards his temple, where a serious-looking wound was. "Did you drive without your helmet or how did you manage to do this?" He hissed when the cotton touched his temple.

"Nah, the visor of my helmet broke when I crashed and it cut me. I didn't even notice…" He mumbled as he grabbed my wrist, trying to prevent me from touching the cotton to his skin again.

"Stop, it's going to infect you if you won't let me do it," I stated as Hongjoong was looking at my concentrating face from close. Then his lips were the next, the bottom of it cut as the blood was already dry. He parted his thin lips when I traced the cotton slowly on his lips. He hissed at that again but grabbed my waist squeezing it as the liquid stung his lip. I looked up into his eyes and I saw something unusual of Hongjoong. It was something like caring and something I couldn't recognize. I couldn’t read much into it, because he came back to his senses and let my waist as he took the cotton from my hand and started to trace the cotton on his face looking at the little mirror from the box. I was stunned for a moment; I couldn’t process what just happened but I just let it go. It was Kim Hongjoong after all, and he made my next day miserable.

We didn't even sleep as we worked from there, trying to put the puzzles of the motorbike together. It seemed like a mission impossible; the bike was almost a dead duck. But there wasn't something I couldn’t fix, at least if it came to fixing machines. Fixing my problems, however, was beyond my capability. Just as the next problem came in line. We managed to put the pieces of the bike together somehow, working on it without stopping, only when we were too hungry to even lift something. But the engine was completely gone. And it needed a replacement. Was there anywhere you could find a brand-new engine in just a few hours?

Sadly, there was. And it was my ex-boyfriend's workshop, where he sold parts of motorbikes and cars. He was my only way of finding a new engine in a few hours, for this specific motorbike and it sounded like the worst of my nightmares. Asking for a favor from my ex whom I broke up with six months ago was shit. I didn’t want to do it, but it was already midday and Jongho was coming back at night.

My ex-boyfriend was Choi San. We were in a happy relationship, we really did. I thought we were going to be together for good. I already imagined my life with him, marrying him and having kids. I loved him, truly. But six months ago, it turned out he cheated on me. And it hurt. It broke me, I didn't even recognize myself back then. My worst nightmare came to life, which was not knowing San by my side anymore. He was the pillar I needed in my life to keep going. But when that pillar collapses into ashes, what was the reason to keep going with life?

I even considered letting it go and just forgetting about what happened and letting San come back to me because I didn't want him out of my life. But my brother was by my side the whole time and helped me through it, he hit some sanity into me—not literally—and talked me off of going back to him. San was Jongho's best friend. It was difficult for him too, having to choose between us, but he chose me. I knew Jongho was hurt by losing a friend, especially since he had warned me from the start that he didn't want to be forced to pick sides if we ever fought. In the end, he had to, and I felt guilty about it. I never imagined that San and I might break up one day.

He didn't even have a normal explanation. He just said it happened he was drunk and he can't go back in time to undo it. It was so disappointing hearing those words from him and more heartbreaking when I broke up with him but still loved him. It was already six months ago but I couldn't state that I didn't love him anymore. So, this was the reason it was hard for me to call him. But it needed to be done.

"It's Choi San's workshop, what can I do for you?" I heard his voice and I hoped it wouldn't make me feel anything, but it certainly made my heart beat faster. I was leaning against the receptionist's table in the garage, and Hongjoong sitting on the couch as he was smoking a cigarette.

"Hey, San. I'm Y/N. I need a favor from you." I said to the phone without any emotions.

"Oh, Y/N, hi. It's a surprise hearing from you." His voice was low and sweet like the San I knew from the beginning. "How are you?"

"I'm fine, I just need a favor it's important."

"Okay…what can I help you with?"

"I need a Honda CBR engine as soon as possible," I stated.

"How much is as soon as possible?"

"Like…right now?"

"Mhmm…" He hummed at that. "I don't know babe, what are you going to give me in exchange?"

My heart was beating faster as I grew angrier. "Money? What else could I give you San? Please don't make it harder, I just want to do business with you nothing else."

I saw as Hongjoong snapped his head up as he was still smoking his cigarette. I just averted my gaze from him as I rolled my eyes.

"Okay, okay relax babe. I'mma need at least an hour to bring it to you." San said through the phone as I ignored him calling me like that on purpose, I just wanted to get over it as soon as possible but I felt a little scared because of seeing him again after a long time.

"Thank you," I said before ending the call abruptly.

"The new engine is gonna be here in an hour. I think we can fix it until Jongho arrives." I said looking at Hongjoong a little frustrated from the call.

Hongjoong just nodded and he just stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray, but I saw on his face something was bothering him.

One hour later as promised San came into the garage with the engine on his blue truck. "It's good to see you, Y/N." He welcomed me sweetly as he walked to the rear of the car and opened the door so we could lift the engine off. I hated seeing him but it made my stomach twist without me wanting it. He hadn't really changed since I last saw him, his hair was still black, his muscles were still pumped, and he was wearing a black sleeveless top paired with beige oversized pants and his working black gloves. He was the same yet, everything changed between us.

Hongjoong helped him lift the engine out of the car, and together they carried it into the garage. As they stood next to the bike, Hongjoong and San made small talk about what had happened to it. They knew each other well—we were all part of the same friend group—but San had stopped showing up when we invited him, for obvious reasons. Hongjoong was the only one who still kept in touch with him. Watching them chat, I couldn’t help but think, What the hell? We don’t have time for chit-chat.

"Okay, we don't have time for chatting, thank you San I'm going to send you the money." I stood in front of them folding my arms as they both looked at me surprised, I was there.

"Chill, babe I was just curious about what happened to Hongjoong." San walked closer to me and placed his hands on my waist, leaving a sweet kiss on my cheeks. I hated him so much; I could've punched him in the face. "You look good, Y/N, I hope to see you again." He whispered into my ears as goosebumps ran through my body, but it was because of the disgust I felt towards him. Yet, I couldn't do anything just stand there and let him kiss me and brush my cheeks after. I wanted to throw up. Then for my luck, he disappeared after shaking hands with Hongjoong.

I was just standing there a little stunned. I hated myself for letting him crawl into my head again. I hated him for behaving like nothing bad happened between us. And I hated Hongjoong for witnessing all of that.

"Is he still bothering you?" Hongjoong asked sheepishly as he looked at me.

"It's none of your business, yeah? Let's finish this up, 'cause I'm tired." I started without any emotions. Hongjoong was the last person I wanted to talk to about my feelings towards San. Everyone knew the story of ours, but the details were a mystery for everyone. He had secrets. So, did I.

With that, we worked all day to somehow put that engine in its place, without saying any words to each other, because I just wanted to finish this and be alone a little. I started to feel overwhelmed and the only solution for this was being alone on my own and somehow organizing my thoughts, or letting them drown me. It was whatever.

Then we finally finished and I collapsed on the couch when we heard the bike's engine fire alive. I was kind of proud of myself, I never really fixed motorbikes, my knowledge stopped at cars but I assumed they were similar so I had no problem in doing it.

"Thank you so much Y/N," Hongjoong said as he was sitting on his bike the helmet on already, a few strings of his red hair falling onto his forehead. "I really own you one…or two. I'mma pay you back I promise." He said as he closed the visor on his helmet. I just couldn’t say anything as I just watched him rolling out of the garage, the sound of the bike hearable even when he was long gone. The tiredness hit me at that moment as I was barely capable of going upstairs after closing the garage and collapsed into my soft bed like somebody just knocked me out.

Jongho returned and I was so glad to know him by my side again. Managing Limitless without him was tough but I knew I would do it again if it meant him resting a little. And I thought it was time for a little partying for myself as well after this tiring week. My best friend called me and told me her boyfriend, Seonghwa was holding a party at his house, as the end of summer was near. So, I accepted the invitation gladly because I really needed a break from everything.

I quickly got ready for the party, dressed up in my black leather jacket a white top under it, with a black skirt and black boots, along with some silver accessories and I made a black eyeshadow as makeup. I was quite satisfied with my appearance when I heard a honk coming from my best friend's car, as he said she was going to pick me up so I could drink.

When we arrived at Seonghwa's house, it was already full of people that I knew from college or from Limitless as the majority of the city came to us to repair their machines. It was great for our finances, which we definitely needed. We were heading straight to the drinks as we walked through the people somehow the music throbbing loudly in my heart, almost deafening. The living room was lit with different colors, making the dancing people disappear into the mixture of colors.

After pouring some drinks for ourselves we walked back to the backyard, where our friends were sitting. They were sitting next to a table with only a few seats available. Everyone was there, my brother, and his girlfriend who was sitting next to him leaning on his shoulder. Seonghwa, my best friend's boyfriend as she sat straight into his lap without thinking. And there was Wooyoung, my other best friend who was a goofy person, we always bickered or made fun of the others together. Then there was Mingi and Yunho, the boyfriends as they had been together for almost five years. I always envied their relationship because it was so honest and just looking at them made my heart beat with happiness. They beamed happiness all the time. And there was Hongjoong, wearing his usual biker jacket, his red hair now pulled back a few strings on his forehead only. Our eyes met and I quickly averted my eyes off him as I sat next to Wooyoung hugging him comfortably.

We haven’t met with Hongjoong since I fixed his bike, he just sent me the money for the service and the engine and that was all. I wondered if he told Jongho what happened.

Then lastly San was the only one who was missing from our friend circle and yes it was my fault, I did feel guilty, but it wasn't only my fault. He played a part in it as well, everyone started to hate him after what he did with me. They wanted to apologize to San, and they waited for an apology from him as well, but he simply never showed up when they invited him and slowly, they just let him go.

As the night got deeper and chillier, a lot of drinks came to our table as well, and we just chatted with the others, not bothering to dance inside. The host was with us the whole time as well, not even caring what was happening inside his house. It was a habit of ours as we went to house parties. We just needed a table to sit at and a few drinks and the night was gone with us having fun and bickering around. The alcohol slowly started to get up into my mind and I started to feel a little drunk, but it was a good drunk. I just felt happy being around my friends.

When we got bored of sitting in one place everyone seemed to disappear. The couples needed their own time as well—disgusting—and I found myself on the backyard bench alone as I looked up at the sky, where the moon was shining back at me in its full form in a shade of light blue. It was mesmerizing, I could look up at it for hours as I sipped from my drink occasionally, my legs pulled up to my chest. I didn't even notice how much time passed by as I was wandering around my thoughts when someone sat next to me. I looked to my side when I saw Hongjoong sitting next to me, the last person I was thinking about. Then I just ignored him and sipped from my drink looking up at the sky again. His gaze followed mine.

"The moon looks beautiful tonight." He started looking up at the sky.

"I know," I mumbled a little annoyed.

Then he didn't say anything and just pulled out his cigarette from his pocket and lit one up. He reached the pack towards me offering me one as I shook my head. He just shrugged and pocketed the rest of the cigarettes with the lighter. He leaned back on the bench and sighed as I looked at him, his eyes were closed facing the sky. The moon lit up his features, the shadows lurking on his face, making it look more intimidating, sharper. His eyelashes touched his face, the cigarette between his thin lips as he inhaled it, then exhaled it and it into the chilly air, as it flew up towards the blue moon.

"What are you doing here by yourself?" He broke the silence as he opened his eyes and met mine that were already on him. I quickly narrowed my gaze away from him as I got caught.

I just shrugged. "Drinking, thinking about life."

"What are you drinking?" He asked taking the alcohol from my hands as he sipped from it without my permission. He squinted at the taste of it as I watched him struggle. "Ew, how can you drink this?" He handed back the glass.

"It's like water for me, dude," I said sipping from it again.

I saw as he furrowed his brows. "Dude?" He gasped as he acted surprised his hands on his heart.

"So, we are friends now?" He asked.

"No, dude, we are not."

"What a shame, you have no idea what you're missing out on," he said with a slight giggle. He seemed drunk too.

"Trust me I do know." I looked at him with a knowing smile. "Is your bike working still?" I asked him curious.

"Yes, it's better than before. I won already a few races with it." He said proudly. It was obvious how passionate he was about his bike and racing.

"Why do you race?” I asked suddenly.

"I fell in love with bikes a long time ago, and when I discovered racing, I just couldn’t stop. Also, I need the money too.” He said his gaze on his hands.

"Will you tell me why? Or it’s still not my business?” I looked at him tilting my head.

His gaze remained averted as he said sincerely, “My mom needs it. The company she worked for let her go due to having too many employees. I want to support her until she finds a new job."

"That's really kind of you," I said sincerely. I would never have guessed that he needed the money for such reasons, rather than trouble with the law or something like that.

He just nodded as a comfortable silence fell on us. That I would've never imagined besides Kim Hongjoong.

"Do you want to shotgun?" He broke the silence again as I looked at him frowning. He seemed serious with his unserious question.

"Yeah, why not?" I answered and it surprised the both of us. I was just drunk and I was curious how his lips felt against mine.

Hongjoong chuckled at that, not waiting for agreement as an answer. He studied me thoughtfully, as if unsure whether I was serious. "Are you scared or something?" I teased, raising my eyebrows.

"Not at all." Then I watched as he reached the cigarette between his fingers to his lips that slightly parted and inhaled the toxic smoke deeply, as it went straight into his lungs. Then he quickly leaned forward and cupped one side of my face under my jaw as his lips were almost touching mine. My heart rate was as high as the sky as I looked straight into his eyes when the smoke came out from his lips as he exhaled it straight into my parted mouth, his lips brushing against mine slightly.

At that moment I felt like my heart might just stop. Might just say “Hello I'm moving out because I can't handle this guy.” Something was weird in my chest, something that I couldn't name, couldn't compare. The smoke was long gone as I inhaled it deeply into my lungs as it disappeared there. But Hongjoong did not pull away and neither did I. We were just frozen as we were still looking into each other's eyes like we were locked there into a framed picture. Then Hongjoong's eyes narrowed from my eyes to my still parted lips as I breathed out, a barely visible smoke coming out. I saw in his eyes he was thinking about his next move a lot as he tried to close the distance between our lips and I just couldn't insist. Just until this weird bubble of ours exploded.

"Hongjoong." I heard a familiar voice coming from Hongjoong's side. It was my brother and I just wanted to dig myself deep into the soil. I wanted to be anywhere but there at that moment. Jongho approached us with a smile, his focus solely on Hongjoong. "Oh, you're not alone—sorry for interrupting," he said, lifting his hands in a gesture of apology. But as he took in the scene, he noticed me sitting next to Hongjoong. His expression shifted as he recognized me, his sister who had already played this game with him. I felt ashamed. Embarrassed. Jongho's smile just vanished, like it was never there. "You've got to be kidding me." He scoffed and then turned away from us walking towards the house madly.

"Fuck," I said standing up from the bench, where a frustrated Hongjoong was still sitting like he didn't know what to do.

"Go tell him that there's nothing between us and nothing ever will be," Hongjoong said his voice going quiet at the end. I won't say it didn't hurt. It did, but it was nothing compared to what I felt because of Jongho. Because he was disappointed in me again. My plan was not to make his life harder than it is. But I always failed and failed.

I chased after him, stumbling through a sea of unfamiliar and familiar faces, desperately trying to locate Jongho in the crowd. I felt like I was in a dark and all-the-time-changing maze. Then I went out the front door and I just saw Jongho heading towards his car.

"Jongho!" I screamed his name to stop. He did not stop.

"Jongho, please hear me out! It's not what it looks like!" I shouted after him, my voice breaking slightly.

Then he stopped in his tracks and turned around to face me with a furious expression his brows furrowed. "Don't tell me it's nothing when you just can't do other things than fucking with my best friends. So, when they are going to break your heart, I have to fucking choose between you or them. I'm sick. I'm sick of your games, Y/N.

I thought after San you learned your lesson, but I guess you are just into this shit of getting together with my best friends so in the end they are going to fucking disappear from my life for good after breaking your heart. I had enough of this shit. I won't repeat this scenario again…" Meanwhile, he spoke I was just frozen in place as tears rolled down my cheeks. I wanted to say a lot of things to him, to scream at him, Hongjoong meant nothing to me. But words just couldn't leave my mouth they were stuck in there, almost not letting me breathe.

"There's…there's nothing between Hongjoong and I, Jongho. I swear to God there's nothing." My voice came out weak as I somehow managed to let those words out that hurt like hell but history simply just couldn’t repeat itself.

He just looked at me like he couldn't believe me anymore but seemed like he accepted it for now. "Let's just go home." He sighed as he said.

I just nodded and sat in the back seat of his car as Jongho went back to get his girlfriend as well. The way home was silent as the only noise was the night radio that was playing some romantic melodies and my eyes averted in front where Jongho was holding his girlfriend's hands on the gear stick as they looked at each other sweetly for a moment. A few tears just flew down my cheeks because I thought I was never going to experience love that is not only one-sided. Love that is on the same level as mine. A partner in crime who calms you down in this cruel world. Love, love, love. I couldn't believe in experiencing true love for the rest of my life. I just simply gave up and signed up for the dark side.

Since that night, Jongho's behavior wasn’t the same. He was cold and barely talked to me. I couldn't blame him, because I truly deserved the silent treatment. Hongjoong did the same. He hadn't even come to Limitless since then and pretended like he wasn't about to kiss me that night. It was shit and I just wanted to forget it. Everything was good a few weeks ago. But Hongjoong needed to appear at my door to help him, then I needed to call my ex-boyfriend.

It seemed he took it as a sign that I might let him back. Because he was constantly annoying me, calling me at night drunk and telling me he was still loving me and shit. If he would've said this four months ago, I would've let him come back to me without any thought. But now it was different and I didn't even want to hear from him. Yes, I was scared a few weeks ago when I called him, because I was terrified, I might feel something for him still. I have to admit perhaps a part of me will always love him, it's the curse of a first love. But talking to him and even meeting with him, kind of led me to the conclusion that I was ready to let him go for good. It was for the better.

I was in the garage, sweeping the dusty concrete floor, ready to close Limitless for the night, when I heard a car's engine sound that stopped, then a knock on the garage door. I sighed again as I was the only one home for the night. I opened the door and I saw Choi San standing in the door with a flower bucket in his hands.

"San?" I was so confused, what the hell did he want from me?

"Hey, babe, brought you some flowers." He said casually leaving the flowers in my hands, as he stepped closer to me pecking my cheeks and letting himself inside. I was just too stunned by his actions; I scoffed in disbelief turning towards him where he plopped down on the couch.

"San what are you doing?"

"I came to see you. Is that a problem?" He asked like there wasn't a single problem with it.

"Yes! It is, what the hell are you thinking right now? I called you to do me a favor and now we are back together? Are you delusional?" I asked him getting more and more angry as I threw the flowers from my hands at the floor.

He looked down at the flowers and he seemed hurt at that. He stood up and started to walk slowly towards me. His expression changed entirely; it became serious like no one was allowed to speak to him like that. "I know you still love me, Y/N." His fingertips traced through my cheeks, looking almost psychotically at me.

"No, I don't love you anymore! Just get the fuck out of here I don't want to see you San!" My voice raised as I pointed towards the door putting a little distance between us.

He tilted his head to the side still looking at me. He looked like a tiger that was going to hunt you down in a blink of an eye. He started to step closer to me as I stepped back. We played this game until I was pushed against the wall, his broad figure hovering over me. That was the moment I felt terrified. I was caged in between his arms; I had no way out of there.

"Stop lying to yourself and come back to me, babe." His fingertips were tracing down my neck, then up to my lips, my cheeks, like I was an art in a museum and I was allowed to be touched. My body started to tremble.

"San, please just go away!" I sounded desperate like I would've done anything for him to leave.

"What if I don’t want to, my love?" He smiled at me with an evil smile I just couldn't think anymore.

"Get your hands off her, San!" A familiar voice came from behind San when all I saw was him being dragged away from me, as I finally was able to breathe. I saw Hongjoong's figure as he held San by the collar of his shirt. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" Hongjoong hissed through his teeth.

"It's none of your fucking business, Hongjoong. What? Did you two fuck? Does Jongho know?" San sneered his only intent to provoke. The words struck a nerve in Hongjoong, and before I knew it, he landed a punch squarely on San's face, nearly knocking him to the ground.

"Fuck you, San. You're a fucking nobody. Why can't you just leave Y/N alone? Hasn't she suffered enough because of you?" Hongjoong spat, pointing at me as if I were just an object, devoid of emotions. But his words hit home, and I was taken aback by how much he seemed to understand my feelings.

San just spat blood on the floor as he lurked forward and sent Hongjoong to the floor and he started to punch him. But Hongjoong was quick and prevented San from hitting him more in the face and quickly turned them around, so now Hongjoong was on top, hitting San in the face with his full power. "You fucking bastard, Jongho trusted you but you betrayed him. What is wrong with you? I don't recognize you anymore." Hongjoong mumbled in between hitting San, then he just held down San's arms strongly and looked down at him with a furious expression. Then San taking advantage of this, tried to hit Hongjoong again, but he dodged quickly.

"You guys left me alone, I knew I wasn't welcomed there, so I didn't go." San gritted through his bloody teeth as he dodged one of Hongjoong's hits.

I knew the fight wasn't just about me. They were friends as well, but San became so arrogant everyone started to leave him.

Along the way, everything happened so quickly I couldn't react in time. When I realized what was happening, I went next to them and yelled as much as I could. "Stop fighting for fuck's sake!" I pleaded. "Please, Hongjoong…" My voice became softer as I placed a hand on his shoulder. His fist hung in the air, but he froze, glancing up at me. The skin around his left eye was already reddening, a cut had opened on his right brow, and blood began to trickle down, matching the wound on his lower lip. I just couldn’t look at San's face because I knew he was covered in blood just like Hongjoong's fist that was full of San's blood.

Hongjoong stood up and lifted San. "Get the fuck out of here and I don't want to hear from you again!" Hongjoong stated to his once best friend as San just left without any words, but I saw in his face a burning desire for revenge in his eyes. And I knew it wasn't the last time we saw him.

"Are you okay?" Hongjoong then suddenly cupped my face, his sweet scent embracing me. My body was still shaking, I just couldn't believe that was the man I loved so deeply. San showed a new side of him and I just couldn't recognize him anymore.

I breathed out slowly as I closed my eyes for a second, taking in the warmth of Hongjoong's hands. "Yeah…" I whispered as I held his hands to push him away. I walked to the closet again, like we were at the beginning, and took the first aid kit. Hongjoong was just looking at me the whole time and when I signaled him to sit down on the couch, he obeyed without a word. He leaned down on the way to take his black cap from the ground that he lost between fighting with San, he wore the cap backward, pushing his red hair back from his forehead. He was wearing a black and white T-shirt with grey sweatpants and white sneakers. He sat down and I followed him as I opened the box. History repeats itself.

We were quiet the whole time as I traced the cotton with the liquid on his eyebrows as he just stared into my eyes the whole time not even hissing from the pain. Then I went down to his thin rosy lips the blood already dried.

"You always take such good care of me..." Hongjoong whispered, his gaze locked on mine, his red hair damp and clinging to his forehead.

"Because you need to be taken care of. You're like a child," I teased, a small smile forming on my lips as he pouted slightly in response.

Then I looked down at his hands and lifted it between us as I traced the cotton on his bloody knuckles as well. The air between us was thick and the tension was growing higher and higher.

Hongjoong looked down at our hands and without any thought he took the cotton from my hands, putting it down, then his hands traveled to my waist and lifted me to straddle his lap. My body felt hot and as I looked into his eyes, I felt woozy like I was drunk suddenly. I couldn't think clearly, my hands were on his shoulders and the eye contact was so deep I found myself in Hongjoong's mind and him in mine. Then I bit my lips because I felt so nervous I felt like it was the first time someone ever touched me. His eyes averted to my lips then his hands on my waist that pulled me closer to him left burning flames behind, making my body catch on fire from the sudden desire I felt. Then he leaned his forehead against mine as we both breathed heavily. Both our desires were blocked by an important reason. We both closed our eyes taking the other's presence in.

"We can't do this Joong," I whispered as my lips almost brushed his.

"I know," His lips were even closer as he almost whispered it into my mouth.

We breathed heavily against each other's lips, our chests moving in synchrony, our eyes taking in the other as we both saw the burning desire in each other's eyes. I fought so hard against this feeling, and so did Hongjoong. But…

"Fuck it!" He said as his lips crashed against mine suddenly and the air from my lungs was suddenly knocked out as I started to move my lips against his. It was rushed, harsh, teeth and tongue tangling with each other, as his hands traveled down my thighs, tracing them slowly as they went back to my ass, as he pushed me closer to himself.

My breath caught in my throat as he groaned, sinking his teeth into my already bruised lips from the rough kisses. My sanity just left my body and I gave in to the desire I felt towards him. But then…something hit me in the gut a feeling that was called guilt. And I pushed Hongjoong away my hands on his chest.

"Let's stop, please. I can't do this." Suddenly my eyes watered from the emotions that were bombarding my already breaking walls. I knew I wanted him, but I just couldn’t. The thought of seeing the disappointment in Jongho's eyes again held me back.

"Y/N…" He whispered as he leaned his head against mine.

"No, Hongjoong. I don't want to run through the same road once again…" I said as I stood up from his lap, it felt like I left a part of me with him.

He stood up too and took my hands into his. "I want you, Y/N. You have no idea how much..." His voice seemed desperate and honest.

"You were the one who told me to tell Jongho that there's nothing between us and never will be," I said, pulling my hands away from his. "And you were right—there is nothing, and there never will be. We both knew it; we just didn’t want to admit it."

"Jongho would understand it." Hongjoong seemed hopeful, but I long lost my hope along the way.

"No, he wouldn't. He is just afraid he might lose another friend because of me. And he is right. It might be that just desire speaks from you…" I looked down at my hands, not daring to look into his sharp eyes that changed all of a sudden.

"How the hell do you know what I feel when I didn't even have the chance to tell you?" Hongjoong stepped closer to me and lifted my head holding my chin. "Look at me and tell me you don't feel anything towards me and I'm walking out of that door." He stated as my eyes locked with his. I wanted to cry so bad, he couldn't say that, he couldn't just tell me to choose between him and my brother. I just looked at him as my eyes watered.

"Or do you still love that fucker who hurt you?" His expression turned furious as his fingers around my chin tightened.

I simply couldn't say anything, I tried, I tried to say anything, to say no I hated San with my whole heart, and yes, I felt something whenever I looked at him. I felt my stomach twist and like my heart wanted to stop all the time. But I just couldn't say anything, I went silent as he read my eyes that probably didn't say the things that I wanted to tell him, because he scoffed, his eyes dark with fury as he looked into mine one last time. "You're a fucking coward." Then, he turned and slammed the door shut.

Those words pierced right into my heart, reopening the cracks that had just begun to heal. My heart shattered again into pieces of hopelessness because he was right. I was a coward.

I felt like I was a robot that was programmed to do some things. My feelings were long gone and I wasn't myself these past days. Jongho was still kind of ignoring me, we were working together but the communication was shallow between us. Hongjoong was in the garage a lot recently. It turned out he was working in the garage, helping for Jongho, so I didn't have to help that much. It seemed like they both wanted to close me out and it hurt. So much I couldn't even think. Hongjoong didn't even look at me whenever I was in the garage like I didn't even exist. So, I just let it go, I figured they didn't need me in their life as their friendship was so much more important than me. I accepted it, I let them be and I started to deal with my own problems. For example, studying. My dream was always to be a doctor after my mother died from a cruel disease. But as our father left us, Limitless was left for us to handle. So, I left my dreams behind and started to work in the garage. Working on cars is a lot like being a doctor. As a car mechanic, I diagnose and fix problems with vehicles, much like a doctor diagnosing and treating diseases. It's about diagnosing the issue, repairing the damage, and putting everything back together.

I started to go to a class that trained nurses. I had to start somewhere and I liked it. Jongho didn't even know about it. I started to question his behavior. We didn't even speak with Hongjoong yet he still closed me out like I wasn't even his beloved sister.

Weeks later I had enough of Jongho ignoring me so I had to speak with him. I went downstairs on a Friday night when I saw Jongho and Hongjoong fixing a black Maserati, that was lifted to the air.

I approached them. "Jongho, can we talk?" He looked surprised by the voice coming from behind. He was wearing a blue overall, his chubby cheeks a little smashed with oil. Then I narrowed my eyes at Hongjoong who was wearing the same blue overall with a black T-shirt, his face full of black patches, the usual black cap on his head turned backward.

"Yeah, give me five minutes." His hands were behind the car's tire as he was searching for something behind.

I just nodded and sat on the couch to wait for him. I just wanted to tell him that to stop this childish behavior because I won't steal his best friend, and it was supposed to be clear for now.

As I was sitting on the couch lost in my thoughts, I felt as if someone had come into the garage. I lifted my head and it was San. My heart started to beat fast as my body shivered remembering the last time I saw San. His face seemed normal; it didn't seem like he came to get some revenge because of what happened. His face screamed that he felt guilty about it.

"Y/N, can we talk?" He asked as he didn't even dare to come close to me.

Two heads peeped out under the car hearing the voice of someone. When Hongjoong saw who was it, he quickly swooped forward and pushed San against the wall grabbing the collar of his shirt. "How the fuck do you dare to come back here?" He hissed through his teeth his face close to San's.

"Fuck off you dog!" San pushed him away by the chest. Then I quickly slipped between them facing San.

"What do you want San?" My voice came out straightforward not even trembling for a second.

"I want to talk to you and apologize, please Y/N." His eyes were soft and he seemed desperate.

"What the hell is happening here?" Jongho's voice came from behind as he wiped his hands with a used cloth.

San's gaze locked with Jongho's. The once best friends were now at the same place and I felt like I shouldn't be there. "I just want to talk with Y/N, that's all," San said his voice low and determined as his gaze never left Jongho's.

"She’s not going with you!" Jongho stated firmly.

"That’s not up to you," San retorted flatly.

"She won’t go with you," Hongjoong’s voice cut in sharply.

"Stop talking like I'm not fucking here," I snapped, glaring at the three of them. "You all need to sort this out because you're acting like children. It's pathetic." I pointed at them, my frustration growing. "Let’s go, San!" I grabbed his hands and tugged him away.

"Y/N! Don't you fucking dare to go with him!" To my surprise, it was Hongjoong's voice. I stopped in my tracks at that.

"Or what? What are you going to do?" I looked at him questioningly. "Are you going to beat him again?" Jongho's brows furrowed at that.

Hongjoong looked speechless. "That is what I thought," Then I turned to leave him there with Jongho so he could explain what he did.

I sat in San's car and told him to take me away from there. I was just so mad at my brother, at Hongjoong, I couldn't even look at their faces anymore.

San took me to a random park, we didn't even have any connection with the place. He could've taken me to the place that was our favorite to go together, but he didn't. The reason was because we both sought closure and it needed a new place. So, we sat down on a bench and we talked about how we felt. He asked for an apology from me and I accepted it because there was no point in tiring the other out. We both needed to move on and this talk helped us go through it. It wasn't good when we broke up and it affected our friends too. I wanted San back in our friend group because he deserved to be there. And I knew the others wanted him to come back as well. Lastly, I hugged San and we both agreed on a distanced friendship. As I prepared to step out of his car, parked in front of Limitless, I noted that it was already late into the night. I suggested to San to talk with Jongho and even Hongjoong because their friendship needed fixing—these guys could fix any cars and bikes but they couldn't fix their friendship…

After talking with San, I headed upstairs, passing by a concerned Hongjoong who scanned me with his eyes, checking for any signs of injury. Then I encountered a furious Jongho, who I assumed was aware of the confrontation between San and Hongjoong. I chose to ignore both of them, closing the door behind me with a weary sigh.

After speaking with San my head was a little clearer as I finally felt like I could think clearly and analyze the emotions I felt. My feelings towards San were deep but I could find the bottom of it, it was clear to me now that it had an ending. We just weren't meant to be and it had to happen like this. We can learn even from the heartbreaks; it makes us stronger and more experienced if we get into a new relationship.

Then Hongjoong came into my mind and I wanted to face the fact I did feel something for him, I couldn't deny that. It's hard to say but these emotions towards Hongjoong were deeper than what I felt for San, it almost felt endless, like it had no bottom. And I would've never imagined one day I'm going to say something like this.

But I might have fallen for Kim Hongjoong.

After what felt like an eternity, being drowned in my thoughts, I heard a low knock on my door as I was sitting in my bed and Jongho's head peeped into my room.

"Hey," I said.

"Hey," He sat down on my bed and started to adjust the sheets carefully avoiding my eyes.

"Hongjoong told me some things…" He started. "Why didn't you tell me about San?" His brown eyes met mine.

"There was no point, Hongjoong was there at the right time, it happened and that's all. You ignored me anyway so…" I shrugged.

"I'm sorry, Y/N. I was just so frustrated at the thought we have to go through the same road as half a month ago." His eyes were sincere and emotional.

"I get it, seriously. But after you saw we didn't even talk with Hongjoong you still ignored me. Why?"

He just shrugged. "I still thought something was happening behind my back…even though you didn't show it in front of me, I just felt it."

Guilt crept up my body. "Actually—" I wanted to tell him. No more secrets.

"I know. Hongjoong told me everything." He didn’t let me say anything.

My heart started to race I analyzed his face, searching for some signs of anger. But there was none. "Aren't you like…mad?"

He sighed as he ran his fingers through his brown hair. "No, I—Look I'm not mad, Y/N, I never was. I just wanted to protect you from another heartbreak. I just wanted to act like your big brother who protects you from anything…" He looked down at his hands, he looked so small like this.

"Jongho…" I reached for his hands and took it into mine. "I know you want to protect me; you really did our whole life and I am so grateful for that. But…you can't save me from the feelings I feel and the heartbreaks that are written for me. And I know that your friends are in this story and that is also a sensitive topic. But I didn't mean to fall in love with both of your best friends." Tears welled up in my eyes as this sentence sounded too deep and fragile. "I—I never said you had to choose between me and your friends and I would never ask you that. I would be glad if San would come back to our friend group like in the old days. It would be weird but it's not like I can't be in the same place with him.

"Okay, not anymore…but we talked and we are fine now. At least we can tolerate each other."

Jongho seemed like he was proud of me for being so collected.

"I'm going to talk with San, I promise," he said earnestly. "And about Hongjoong… I won’t get in your way. If you two have feelings for each other, then I shouldn’t stop you just because I’m afraid of losing you and my friends." Jongho spoke with a vulnerability that made his eyes well up, revealing his emotional struggle.

"You won't lose us. We are always going to be by your side, this way or another but you can't get rid of us." I pulled him closer as I hugged him strongly.

"I would never want to. I love you!" Jongho whispered as the room slowly embraced in darkness.

"I love you too, and thank you!"

"You should talk to him."

"Where is he?" I asked.

"He has an important race and he was so stressed when he left. I didn't want to admit it but I think he needs you." Jongho said as his lips curved up a little as I stood up. I quickly walked towards my closet to get my black leather jacket as I was wearing black ripped jeans with a black top.

I hugged Jongho one last time before I stepped out of my room to run to my car and get to Hongjoong before he started the race.

When I arrived at the location Jongho told me the race was going to be held, it was full of people. It was at the top of a huge parking lot in the heart of the city, where they could easily run speeding races. I was amused by how they held something illegal in this part of the city. We were late into the night already as the city lights were shining from up above. Colorful and upgraded cars were parked, and people looking at them like they were a work of art as I passed by them. Then there was a part where only motorbikes were and after parking my car, I walked towards it as I took my surroundings in. The music was beating through my heart as I walked past a car that had installed subwoofers. Everything was strange for me but I always wanted to come to races like these, it had a quite good atmosphere, and everyone seemed excited for the upcoming race.

I reached the motorbikes, there were a few types of bikes standing. They were so beautifully shaped and the colors highlighted its sharp features. I was searching for Hongjoong's red Honda in the eternity of bikes. I looked around, my eyes narrowing through the people who passed by me when someone grabbed my hand and pulled me along. I saw Hongjoong in front of me as he led us to a quieter place, which was the end of the parking lot.

He stopped and turned to face me. "What are you doing here?" He looked stressed like he didn't know where his head was. "You have to get away from here, it's dangerous here Y/N!" He snapped his head from the crowd back to me, looking like a maniac with his wide pupils and eyes nearly completely black. He wore ripped blue jeans and a leather jacket, his red hair disheveled from frequent, stressed attempts to comb it through.

"I came to watch you race and I wanted to talk to you." I stepped closer to him. I needed to calm him down.

He froze at that. "About what?"

"About us."

The crowd was cheering loudly when he said. "I have to go." He looked behind me at the crowd and then back at me like he didn't know what to do.

"Then go!" I nudged him.

He still wasn't himself as he just nodded his lips in a thin line. I stepped closer to him and looked up at him my eyes beaming sincerity. I brushed a red hair string away from his forehead as I whispered close to his lips. "Win this for me." Then I leaned closer to his face and left a sealing kiss on his parted lips. This seemed to bring back Hongjoong to the real world because his eyes were now full of sincere emotions and the burning desire that almost lit his eyes up.

"I will." Then he grabbed me by my waist and pulled me close to his body, his other hand cupping one side of my face as he crushed our lips into a quick chaste kiss, as he kissed me passionately telling me everything, he couldn't with it. Then he slightly pulled away leaving one little peck on my lips as he leaned his forehead against mine.

"I'm so sorry, Y/N…the things I said…" He whispered against my lips.

"Go, Hongjoong!" I chuckled and pushed him by his chest as he didn't want to release me.

"Okay," He left one last kiss on my mouth. "Wait for me, I have a race to win for my princess." He smiled at me, and there was the Hongjoong that finally didn't seem lost. He was full of life and that made my heart full with fuel that is never going to run out.

I stood beside the starting line, watching as Hongjoong pulled up on his dark red bike. His black helmet was on, but I could still feel his intense gaze piercing through it as he twisted the throttle, preparing to race against the competitor beside him. Then the guy in the middle counted back and all I saw was smoke that came from their tires. Whoever was faster won. It seemed like the guy was faster than Hongjoong at first and my heart was racing along with Hongjoong as I prayed for him to win this. Then it seemed this was all the guy could pull out from his bike because Hongjoong flew through the finish line in a blink of an eye.

I saw as he stopped and bumped his fist into the air. I smiled he looked so cool from far away. As Hongjoong turned to come back to me on his bike, red and blue lights started to blind the people who were standing on the roof of a parking lot. The police were here.

I started to look around because I lost Hongjoong as the crowd started to run haphazardly panicking not to be caught by the police. Then a familiar bike pulled next to me and I felt relieved as Hongjoong offered his hand with a helmet. I saw his sharp eyes as he lifted the visor of his helmet, the red and blue lights dancing on his face.

"Come on, princess," He mumbled through his helmet. I accepted his inviting hand and took the helmet as I settled behind him on the bike. Hongjoong took my hand and pulled me close to his back as I wrapped my arms around his waist and leaned my head on his shoulder. I smiled even though we probably needed to get away from there as soon as we could. But it was an adventure just as everything with Hongjoong. I knew if he was there with me, life just couldn't be boring.

Hongjoong rolled through the people carefully and when we managed to get out of the parking lot where I saw the police caught a few people, we finally speeded through the highway. The city lights faded into one thin line as we passed by the big buildings. I never felt this free, I suddenly understood why was Hongjoong so passionate about biking. It gave you the free will, the power to just disappear between the city lights. As we speeded through the highway, I raised one of my hands into the chilly air and chuckled. I just felt so happy the world just stopped for a moment and it was just only us; Hongjoong, the bike, and me. I looked up at the sky, where one side of it was black as the night and the other side was a shade of orange as the sun just started to rise. It was so beautiful.

When Hongjoong stopped at a parking lot as we passed some mountains and drove through some windings the view was more beautiful. Mesmerizing if I may say so. It's hard to describe something like this. We were in the middle of a mountain and at the edge of it all I could see were clouds. The city was covered in white clouds, the sky still painted bright yellow and orange, with a little hint of red that reminded me of Hongjoong's hair. It was like we were three meters above the sky.

We were still sitting on Hongjoong's bike both of us were just mesmerized by the view, only bothered to take off the helmet as we switched places and Hongjoong hugged me from behind, his head on top of mine as I leaned against his chest, his legs were balancing the both of us on the bike. We were sitting there in a comfortable silence as we took in the view in from of us, melting into each other’s presence. Hongjoong nudged me to get off the bike, helping me dismount before stepping off himself. He took my hands in his, lifting them to his mouth to place a gentle kiss on my knuckles.

"Forgive me for being an asshole. I just—after our kiss…but to be honest way before that…I just couldn't get you out of my mind." He stated sincerely as his eyes sparkled with hope. "When I saw, what San was doing to you, I could have killed him right there. But even after everything, you still went with him yesterday. I'm not going to pretend it didn’t hurt, but I guess I deserved it..." He looked down at our hands, gently tracing my knuckles with his fingers.

"I needed closure, Joong. I couldn’t move on until everything with San was cleared up. That’s why I needed to talk with him. It’s done now." Hongjoong lifted his head, a sense of relief evident on his face. "And about Jongho…"

"I talked with him, I told everything to him, about the fight with San, about our kiss afterward, that I have feelings for you, I told everything and he understood it." He seemed desperate, afraid of me stepping back again because of my brother.

"I talked with him too. He told me to go to your race because you needed me." I smiled sheepishly looking at our hands. Suddenly I felt as my cheeks started to blush.

"He was right. My mind was a mess. I wasn’t sure if I could win this." He admitted.

"Did you like it?" He asked with a beaming smile, his perfect-white teeth showing.

"Very much," I said feeling excited as I smiled. "But it was better riding with you through the city."

"Yeah?" He stepped closer to me as he hovered over me, his hands on my waist as he turned me to lean against his bike that was standing still. "Do you want to repeat it?" He asked as he leaned down his lips brushing slightly against mine.

"Definitely," I started looking up at him with sparkling eyes.

"Anything for my princess." His lips curled up as I rolled my eyes at the nickname, but I didn't have the time to complain as his lips were on mine in no time. It felt so good and so right. The passion I felt towards Hongjoong was beyond the universe. His lips moved against mine as I wrapped my hands around his neck, my fingers traveling up on his nape into his red strings as I brushed my fingers through it. He deepened the kiss by cupping one side of my face into his hand and lifting my head so he had better access. Sudden fireworks erupted in my chest, the burning desire igniting and exploding within my heart. Then his hands traveled down to my thighs as he traced his hands through them, then to the back of my thighs as he slowly lifted me to his bike so I was at the same height level as him. I wrapped my legs around his torso as his lips still moved against mine. I couldn't breathe anymore but I just couldn't stop because it was addicting kissing him, I felt like I never wanted to stop because if I did, I might disappear. It didn't feel real. He groaned lowly when his tongue got free access into my mouth, discovering every inch of my mouth. His hands were on my waist holding me still, afraid of falling off his bike. When he finally pulled away, after what felt like an eternity but still wasn’t long enough, he rested his forehead against mine and whispered.

"Let me take care of you now. Let me give you what you deserve."

(Ateez masterlist)

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lou-struck · 3 months ago

Text

Time to Cool Off

Osamu Miya x reader

~ Osamu knows that a busy dinner rush can make even the most experienced workers run hot. That’s where you come in.

W.c: 1.9k

Warnings: Karens, Swearing, The Service Industry

a/n: This one goes out to everyone who has ever had to cry in the walk in (I know I have)

It's one of those cool summer evenings where the sun has been hidden behind the clouds for what seems like hours. The pavement is no longer warm as you stroll down the familiar sidewalk path to your favorite spot in the city.

Like every other Friday night, Onigiri Miya is absolutely packed. Seeing your fiancé's restaurant succeed fills your heart with joy, but this is ridiculous. By the time you manage to squeeze yourself into the waiting area by the front counter, you cannot tell what customers are in line waiting to order and what customers are standing by waiting for their food. Even the dining area is at capacity as servers are frantically running around trying to take care of their many tables.

Through the chaos, however, you do see that there is a bit of organization with the staff, who are more than used to a busy evening.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see an outstretched arm swinging towards you. Dodging throws you a bit off balance. But at least you managed to avoid receiving an accidental black eye from the woman in front of you.

"This is insane," you mumble to yourself. It's not safe for you to be standing in such a large crowd of hungry people. You eye the stainless steel kitchen doors and zero in on your Target. Osamu is in there, along with a plethora of personal space for you to enjoy.

You weave through the crowd of customers gently. Avoiding all sorts of outstretched arms, legs, purses, and those dangling wallet keychain thingies like you are fresh out of the matrix. You're almost free when a large hairy arm stretches out in front of you, stopping you in your tracks.

You turn and see a middle-aged man glaring at you, an irritated expression on his face as he looks you over. "Oi, who do ya think ya are cutting in line."

You shoot him an apologetic look and raise your hands innocently. "Oh, I'm not putting in an order; I'm just heading back to the kitchen to~."

He cuts you off with a venomous look in his cold, dark gaze. This gentleman is clearly past the point of hangriness and now evolving into a full-blown Karen. "Likely story," he spits, reaching for your wrist. "But I don't think so~"

A familiar-looking body steps in between the two of you, and you take a slight step back. "I wouldn't touch them if I were you," your future brother-in-law says with a smile. The friendly face comforts you, and you flash him a thankful smile.

Atsumu may have is hands full with his volleyball career, but he still tries to make time to help out at Osamu's restaurant whenever he has a chance. Unlike his (slightly better-looking) brother, the setter is a klutz in the kitchen, so he is usually confined to the front-of-house duties such as ringing in take-out orders or seating parties.

"And what are you gonna do about it?" He quips, not realizing he is vaguely threatening a professional athlete.

The faux-blonde man with almost the same face as your fiance grins and rolls up his sleeves, nonchalantly revealing the product of years of hard work, his biceps.

Karen dude pales in fear as he becomes aware that he has bit off far more than he can chew and takes a frightened step back, nearly knocking over another customer in the process. "Whatever, I'm leaving. I'm sure I can find some better stuff to eat than this place." He spits, turning heel and scampering away with his metaphorical tail between his legs.

With the troublesome customer gone, you breathe a sigh of relief and turn your attention to Atsumu.

"Thank you for stepping in; I'd hate to think what your brother would've done if he had to deal with serving that asshole." You smile, glancing just beyond the counter and see that the restaurant is even more packed than you thought it was. "It's crazy busy tonight, isn't it?"

At your comment, he lets out a long sigh, "Ya have no Idea. I was just bored at home, so I came in to make some just came in to help out since he was bored at home, but if he knew how crazy things were gonna be, he would've just stayed away."

"Is Samu in the back?" you ask worriedly; these crazy dinner rushes are a lot for anyone to handle, especially someone as passionate and thorough as he is.

Atsumu's eyes widen a bit as he nervously glances back toward the kitchen with a gulp. "Well…Samu is struggling a bit tonight."

"Oh, I see…" you frown, and your body moves toward the kitchen unconsciously. "I better go check on him."

You push open the door, and a rice ball misses your head by an inch. You are too scared to scream as you watch it splatter against the door. Your eyes widen as your head snaps to the source of your assault to see Osamu, you're handsome, loving fiancé, having an irritated conversation with a waitress.

"What do ya mean her onigiri is the wrong shape? It looks the same as the hundreds of others that have passed by her table tonight."

"That's just what she said, sir," the waiter huffs. And you feel his pain; people are crazy tonight.

Osamu just sighs and turns toward the countertop to make a new riceball. A clean hand plunges into a pot of still-steaming rice and pulls out a handful. You wince as he frustratedly shapes a new ball, but the tension is running so high he doesn't even flinch from the pain. He prepares it in his usual practiced motions and sets it down on a new plate to hand to the now-sunned server.

"Give 'em this one. And if they have anything else to say, jus grab me, don't waste yer time talkin to these idiots." he sighs as the waiter goes on their way.

They slip past you in the doorway, and Osamu finally notices that you are here, in his kitchen. His tired eyes light up a bit as his lips curve upwards in a weary smile. His broad shoulders slacken as you step into his open embrace and he holds you tightly.

He smells a bit like smoke and onions, but you don't care at all; he needs this hug. "Busy night?'

"You have no idea," he murmurs, burying his face deeper into the crook of your neck. "Is it a full moon t'night cause people are actin crazy?"

"Actually, that would explain a lot," you mumble, reaching into your back pocket to grab your phone. When you check your weather app, your face falls, and you flash him the screen, illuminated with a big, blue supermoon."

"Well, shit. What the hell is a supermoon?" he grumbles. His strong face looking adorable in his exasperated little pouting situation he has going on.

"I guess it's like a full moon but more super." you chuckle, patting his back. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Jus keep me company," he smiles, "Ya do more than enough as is."

Although his words are sweet, you aren't buying any of it. This isn't your first time working at his restaurant, and it certainly won't be the last. With a quick wash of your hands, you turn your attention over to the to-go orders. There are several that are completed and waiting to be packed up and sent out.

Osamu sees you already hard at work and lets out a chuckle, "What would I do without cha'?"

"Suffer." you tease, boxing up another order.

The two of you get into a steady rhythm; he works his way through the mountain of tickets, and you box up the ones that you need to. Everything is going great until you are interrupted by a frazzled looking Atsumu.

"Hey Samu. I got a coupon here that won't work; what should I do with it?"

Osamu's head snaps toward his brother with lighting fast quickness.

"What coupon?" he asks, taking the piece of paper from his brother's outstretched hand. As he reads the paper, you see his body go rigid. And you place a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"TSUMU, THIS IS A COUPON FOR 25% OFF A BUSHEL OF YARN DOWN AT THE CRAFT STORE! WHY DID YA THINK I WOULD ACCEPT THIS?" he snaps. "ARE YA AN IDIOT?"

Atsumu's eyes turn glassy as he takes the paper back from his brother. "B-but the lady said it worked for her last time."

Osamu sighs deeply and pinches the bridge of his nose. "No, it didn't,"

"But the customers.." he starts to say and you feel your body tense up as he begins that dreaded slogan.

"Can be idiots," Osamu finishes. "Jus give the lady her coupon back and tell her that the only coupons he will accept are the ones printed for this restaurant."

Atsumu frowns and walks back into the dining room, armed with the knowledge that the customer is not always right. In fact, sometimes they are just idiots. As Osamu slumps back over to his workstation, he accidentally knocks a frying pan off the counter.

It hits the ground with a deafening clatter, and he completely loses his shit.

This is the Straw that broke the camel's back.

"Goddammit," he grunts, kicking the fallen pan across the room with all his might as he returns to furiously start chopping vegetables.

Angry chopping is never a good idea, so you gently grab his arm to still his movement before he loses a finger or worse.

"What are ya doin babe?" He asks, looking up at you with a mixture of confusion and a bit of despair.

"You need to go and cool off before you hurt yourself," you say calmly.

"I-i can't jus take a break; i-its the dinner rush." he stammers in disbelief as you pry the kitchen knife from his grasp and tug him into the walk-in freezer.

"Don't care," you reply, yanking open the large door. Your hand comes to rest on his chest, and you feel the ferocity of his heartbeat through the muscles of his tig ol biddies and shove him into the cold room before he can react.

Shutting the door behind you, you only need to wait a few seconds before you begin to hear him scream out muffled profanities. He continues this little screaming fest for a few minutes as you wander about the kitchen, making sure that none of the food he has been cooking burns.

It's not cruel, it's necessary. If Osamu is going to finish this shift in one piece, he needs a moment to himself to just cool off and collect his thoughts.

Suddenly, the canary is no longer singing.

Cautiously, you open the door and see a slightly chilly-looking Osamu staring back at you. His gray eyes are filled with warmth as he steps out of the freezer and wraps his arms around you. You squirm from the sensation, and he smirks, his good humor still intact.

"Feeling better?" you ask, shivering as his cold hands send goosebumps up your spine.

"Much better," he breathes, pressing his cold lips to your much warmer ones. "I really needed that."

Tagging: @sleepyyshroom, @isaacdaknight @qardasngan

#haikyuu x reader #osamu x reader #miya osamu x reader #miya osamu #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu!!#osamu miya #haikyuu #Osamu Miya x reader #x reader #hq x reader

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swordsandholly · 8 months ago

Text

Steel Magnolia

Part 1 - paused

Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!plus size!reader

No use of y/n

Rating: Mature/MDNI

Word Count: 2.1k

Author’s Note: I just recently got back into fandom spaces and reading fanfic again and looooove the uptick in fat Y/N characters. Ofc as a big girl myself I wanted to try my hand at writing one too.

Hopefully I’ll post this on AO3 soon. Whenever I get my invite so I can make an acc.

“Oh! Darlin’, did ya see those boys next door?” Mrs. Duprey gasps as you swipe the last of her Bubble Bath OPI polish across her fingers.

“Next door?” You cock an eyebrow. “No one’s been next door since Adam and Eve.”

“I saw them on the way in!” She grins, the corners of her eyes wrinkling pleasantly. “Strappin’ young men - y’should talk t’ ‘em.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m sure I will sooner or later, ma’am.”

“You’ve been single too long.” The nosey old bat contributes. As much as you love her she truly cannot leave well enough alone.

“And I’m perfectly content as such.” You give her your warmest smile.

The trailer home across from you has remained empty for as long as you can remember. It’s well kept - sometimes you see random gardeners mowing or going in an out with tool bags - but no one lives there permanently. You’d think in a beach town it would at least belong to some snowbirds. A timeshare, maybe. It’s none of those things, though. Just a well-maintained, perfectly empty husk.

There’s a metaphor in there somewhere, probably.

Sure enough, as you walk Mrs. Duprey out of your little single wide trailer, you spot a black SUV parked out front of the neighboring double wide. One that is definitely *not* a repair man or worker’s vehicle. She coos at you to make sure to talk to them before waddling off to her own car. She really shouldn’t be driving at her age. You wonder briefly - futilly- if she’d sell you her car in exchange for rides.

You suppose she’s right - even if it is for the wrong reasons. You’re not particularly interested in flirting with the new neighbors. After all, don’t fuck where you eat is a saying for a reason, but it wouldn’t exactly be neighborly to not introduce yourself. Especially with all the people coming and going from your home for your nail tech services. The old Yankee’s catty-cornered from you still believe that you're a drug dealer. At least they only come down for a couple months of the year.

Despite your staunch decision not to flirt, you still find yourself adjusting your clothes. Maybe the sports bra as a top is a bit much…

Fuck it. If they live here now they’ll see you in worse.

You fix your lipstick and throw on your platform sandals. The ones that clip-clop as you walk. Maybe it will help announce your presence.

The screen door wraps quietly as you knock. You take two steps back on the front, wooden porch so as not to come off too aggressively. As the seconds tick by you debate on knocking again. Maybe they’re out. Or busy. They did just move in today, most likely. Maybe you should-

The door creaks slightly as it opens. A very, painfully handsome man pushes the screen door until it clicks in place. “Afternoon, lassie.”

You blink stupidly as he crosses his strong arms and leans on the doorframe. His eyes are a striking shade of blue - somehow both sharp and soft. His dark hair is shaped into a slightly grown-out, un-styled mohawk. It fits him oddly enough.

“I, uh,” you take a deep breath. Christ you need to get laid if just *looking* at a hot guy has you this off kilter. “I live across the way. Just wanted t’ say welcome t’ tha neighborhood.”

That lopsided smile on his face grows into a grin. You don’t miss the way his eyes catch on your chest. “Aye? Nice tae meet ye. Names John MacTavish. M’friends call me Johnny.”

He gives your hand an extra little squeeze after shaking it. That accent might as well have you on the floor. You continue to blink dumbly, watching the at the scar on his chin stretches as he speaks.

Christ almighty, you’re pathetic.

“Nice to meet’ya.” You give him a warm smile, tilting your head to the side slightly. “Ya’ll here for vacation? We don’t get many Europeans ‘round here.”

He chuckles. It’s low and rumbling and would probably feel wonderful with your ear pressed to his chest. “Little bit o’ business, little bit o’ pleasure. This an’ tha’.”

“Hello, there.” Another man pops up from behind Johnny suddenly. Fucking hell, he’s gorgeous too. Older, for sure, with a uniquely cut beard that would probably look rather silly on anyone less handsome. At it stands, he manages to make it appear dignified.

“Ah, jus’ about tae call fer ye, Cap. This is our neighbor.” Johnny gestures toward you.

“John Price.” The man steps forward to shake your hand. It’s firm and professional and thank god your grandad made you practice a good handshake as a kid or you’d be painfully embarrassed.

“Are all UK men named John or is this just some sorta cult?” You blurt, unable to stop yourself from snickering at them.

Older John chuckles at you fondly, his facial hair giving him a pleasant U-shaped smile. “Be easier to remember that way, wouldn’t it? No, we’re with two others. Kyle and Simon. They’re out at the moment.”

“Kyle and Simon.” You repeat, nodding. Johnny, John, Kyle, Simon. “Are y’all in town long?”

“Indefinitely.” Is all Price gives you. It’s a tone that even someone as dense as you can recognize as ‘don’t ask more.’

You clap your hands together and smile a little wider, ready to make your exit. “Well, I’m not here t’be a bother, just wanted t’ welcome ya and, uh, let y’know that I have a lot of people over throughout the day - I’m a nail tech. They shouldn’t bother ya but y’know.”

“Ye can come bother us anytime, bonnie.” The Scot hits you with that grin again and your face suddenly feels far too hot.

A loud, whining screech sounds off from down the road. You check your watch. Holy shit, three-thirty already. You begin to back off the porch. “Ah, nice t’ meet ya again! See ya ’round!”

As you jog down the little dirt road of the trailer park another black car passes you. It’s smaller, a sedan. You make very brief eye contact with a blonde wearing a surgical mask and another man with the sharpest golden eyes you’ve ever seen - even through the tint of the window.

*Kyle and Simon,* you think.

You make a mental note to greet them at some point and continue down the street. The school bus slowly stops at the entrance and you take up your spot in the small crowd of parents. IT’s a shabby old bus - chipping paint and break pads that sounds like they’re about ready to snap. It’s all they’re willing to send out to your little section of the city, though.

Shelby meanders over in your direction, her usual Camel Crush lit up in one hand and the other teasing her already well-lifted hair. “Afternoon. Saw there was some new folks across from ya.”

“Hm?” You keep your eyes on the bus. “Ah, yeah. Just vacationers, I think.”

“Lookers, though.” She chuckles.

“They’re from the UK.” You offer.

“No shit!” Shelby stamps out her cigarette as the bus doors open. “Accent and all?”

“Yep.” You grin.

Shelby tsks and fiddles with her hair again. “I best go over an’ make myself known, then.”

“There’s an older fella with a neat beard. Think you’d like ‘em.” You snicker.

She hums. “I’ll bring a pie.”

The children practically burst out of the bus doors, as always. Ready to be home and shuck off their backpacks to their respective adult. Shelby’s son almost knocks her over, offering a little “Good afternoon, ma’am!” to you before heading off with his mother.

You nod to him, shoving a hand in your pocket as you wait for yours. She’s always the last. Always caught up in a book or something and doesn’t realize it’s time to get off of the bus. Sure enough, the driver has to call back to her before the little girl comes dashing out. She jumps off of the bus steps, despite being told time and time again not to, and kicks a rock on her way toward you.

You bow low for her. “Welcome home, Lady Sophie.”

She giggles, dark curls bouncing as she skips over. “Ni-ni!”

You take her bag from her. The thing really does dwarf the poor six year old. Her hand slips into yours easily. Soft and round and somehow always so much warmer than yours.

“My nail color chipped!” She announces, holding up her ring finger on the opposite hand.

“Oh! Now we can’t have that. I’ll fix it tonight.” You smile, waving at old Mr.Chester as the two of you pass.

“Well now!” He calls. “How blessed am I to see two such lovely ladies!”

You both giggle, continuing on your way. He’s a good landlord - spotted you more than a few times when Sophie was a baby and you couldn’t work consistently. Honestly, as you look around, the little community that he’s managed to build in this shitty corner of the world should be praised. Housing just enough snowbirds to cover his property costs while keeping rent low for the full time locals. Maybe you could convince Natalie at the paper to run a little story on it or something.

As you pull up to your own home, the blonde man is outside leaning on the front of their double wide. Seeing him standing at full height makes your blood run cold. The man is built like a damn barn - tall and wide. Beyond solid. *Brick shithouse*. It’s a bit weird that he’s covered in clothing head to toe but whatever. Weirder things have happened before. The mask still covers his face, you wonder if he had taken it off before you came up or just flipped it up to smoke.

“Sophie, head on in. I’ll catch up.” You push her toward the door. She scampers in, the screen door slamming behind her as you march up to the brick shithouse of a man in front of you.

“Which are ya? Kyle or Simon?” You smile, holding out your hand to shake.

Dark eyes rake over you, stopping briefly on your hand, before moving back to meet yours. He stomps out the half smoked cigarette. “Simon.”

You let your hand drop. Bit rude, this one. “Nice t meetcha.”

The other man pops his head out of the trailer. Kyle, you assume. “Oh. Hello.”

“Hi.” You smile as warmly as you can, giving your name. “I’m assumin’ yer Kyle.”

“Yeah.” He chuckles. “I’m guessing you’re the neighbor Price mentioned.”

You nod, about to speak again but Simon shoves past you, marching his way up the steps. “Let’s go.” He grunts, pushing the other man back into the trailer despite his protests.

You wrinkle your nose at him. What an asshole.

“Who’s tha’?” Sophie asks over the back of the old, worn couch as you let the trailer door slam behind you.

“New neighbors.” You say simply, glancing out the window. “Don’t go over there without me, yeah?”

“Okay!” She agrees, sitting back on the couch and bouncing, beginning her usual post school chant. “Bluey! Bluey! Bluey!”

You drop her backpack down beside the small coffee table. “After yer homework.”

“Nooo!” She pouts.

“Then no Bluey.”

Sophie pouts harder but crawls down in front of the coffee table and pulls out her little work sheets. At least the school doesn’t over run them too terribly with homework toward the end of the year. You glance at the calendar. Wednesday, May 22nd. Damn, she really only has about a week left. Though, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t looking forward to this summer break with her. She’s old enough now that you can take her places like the arcade without having to wait on her so much. You’ll actually be able to play some of the two-player games.

Plus, this year, you actually have a little more pocket change to make it fun.

You turn to look out the window once more at the new neighbors. Their curtains remain closed, cars neatly parked out front. The door opens slowly, the hot Scot and rude blonde wander to the Sedan. Simon’s shoulders shake at something Johnny said - you think he’s laughing but its hard to tell with that mask. Johnny’s head turns, blue eyes meeting yours through the shitty glass windows of your trailer. You squeak and duck to sit next to Sophie, praying that he didn’t catch you staring.

#simon x reader #fanfiction #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #fanfic #call of duty #plus size reader #fat reader #ghost cod #cod x reader #cod mw2 #holly writes

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j-k-writes · 1 month ago

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The Bronze Targaryen - 7

Summary - Ten years after the marriage of Prince (Y/N) and Princess Rhaenyra, Prince (Y/N) Royce, Lord of Runestone has returned permanently to Kingslanding.

Warnings - childbirth, childhood bullying, general HOTD warnings, fighting

“Keep breathing.” The midwife instructed Rhaenyra. “And push.”

Rhaenyra clutched (Y/N)'s hand tightly as she did, and (Y/N) just rubbed his other hand up her arm, murmuring words of encouragement to his wife.

“And again.”

Rhaenyra groaned, turning away from (Y/N) to face the midwife on her other side. She was breathless as she spoke, “I can’t.”

The babe held no regard for their mother’s feelings as Rhaenyra cried out once more, squeezing her husband impossibly tighter as she pushed. (Y/N) closed his eyes at the sounds of his wife’s cries, repeating a mantra of soothing and encouraging words as she labored.

“A boy, your graces.” (Y/N) opened his eyes as the piercing cries of a babe echoed through the room.

Rhaenyra breathlessly chuckled, releasing (Y/N) to reach for the babe, “Healthy?”

“Kicking like a goat, princess.”

(Y/N) beamed, pressing a kiss to his wife’s sweaty forehead as she held the babe. “Well done, ñuha jorrāelagon.

The peace did not last more than a moment as soon Elinda was bursting through the door, Rhaenyra and (Y/N) turned to look at her as she paused in front of them. “Princess, the Queen has requested the child be brought to her…immediately.”

“Why?” Elinda did not answer, only bowing her head and (Y/N) pitied the poor girl. He felt Rhaenyra move to get up beside him, and he grabbed her, mindful of her recent labor and the babe in her arms. “I’ll take him myself.”

“You should remain abed, Rhaenyra-” (Y/N) protested.

“Yes, I should!” She snapped at him, before sighing and turning to her handmaidens. “Help me dress.”

(Y/N) opened his mouth to protest more as Rhaenyra handed the babe off to him and a fresh dress was brought over to her. But she just shook her head, “I must bring him myself, (Y/N), or she will not be satisfied.”

(Y/N) scoffed, but turned his attention away from the stubborn princess as the babe began to cry. He gently shushed him, bouncing him lightly up and down. He watched as Rhaenyra birthed the afterbirth, and she did not meet his stern gaze as her maid’s finished cleaning and dressing her. Rhaenyra took the babe back, despite (Y/N)’s protests, as they exited the chambers.

“Will you at least take my arm?” (Y/N) grabbed the arm she held out as she slowly limped through the halls. She paused at the start of the stairs, bending in pain. “What? Rhaenyra what is it?”

“Fuck,” She whispered, before holding her head high and steeling her expression. “Just walk.”

(Y/N) lifted the front of her dress with his free hand, “This is ridiculous. What could she possibly want?”

“You know what she wants.”

“I thought we were past her attempts at undermining your position.” The only response Rhaenyra gave was a wince and they continued up the steps.

“Princess, Prince (Y/N), it is a privilege to be amongst the first to congratulate you.”

“Thank you, Lord Caswell.”

“If I may be of any service.” (Y/N) rolled his eyes at the lord.

“The day may yet come, my Lord.” Rhaenyra responded, wincing only a few steps later and once again bending in pain. (Y/N) caught her, holding her upright.

“That’s enough.” (Y/N) said, making to turn around. “We’re turning back. Alicent can come to us if she wishes.”

“No.” (Y/N) scoffed, but Rhaenyra continued. “Not unless you wish to carry me down those fucking stairs.”

(Y/N) looked at the babe in Rhaenyra’s arms, and just shook his head. He gathered up her dresses again and helped her finish her walk. “This is absurd, Nyra.”

Rhaenyra just made a noise of agreement limping stone faced to the Queen’s chambers. Ser Criston Cole was stationed outside the Queen’s door, and (Y/N) glared at him as the knight bowed and opened the door for them both. Alicent was standing, waiting for them, as they entered. She turned to look at the parents, feigning surprise at their presence.

“Rhaenyra!” Alicent said, “You should be resting after your labors.”

(Y/N) scoffed, rolling his eyes at the woman before guiding Rhaenyra to sit.

“I have no doubt that you would prefer that, your grace.”

“Talya, fetch a cushion for the Princess.”

“There’s no need.” Rhaenyra said, but (Y/N) saw the way she winced at the small movements she made to get comfortable. The maid positioned the pillow under Rhaenyra anyways, and Alicent dismissed her handmaidens. Before she could speak, however, Viserys entered the chambers, a smile plastered on his sickly face.

“What happy news this morning.”

(Y/N) smiled, “Indeed, your grace.”

“Where is he?” Rhaenyra handed the babe off to (Y/N), who turned toward his uncle. “Where is my grandson?” (Y/N) placed the babe in Viserys’ arms, smiling as his uncle cooed over the boy. “A fine prince. Sturdy, he will make a fearsome knight.”

“Does the babe have a name yet?” (Y/N)’s smile immediately fell at the sound of the Queen’s voice, turning to face her.

“We have not-”

“Joffrey.” (Y/N) paused at Rhaenyra’s words. She smiled at him as she continued. “He’ll be called Joffrey.”

“That’s an unusual name for a Targaryen.” Alicent’s mouth curled up.

“He is a Royce,” (Y/N) said, unable to keep his disdain out of his voice. Alicent had never been kind to his sons, spreading ill rumors about the source of their dark features as if their father wasn’t a Lord of the Vale.

Before anyone else could respond, Viserys spoke once more, “I do believe he has his father’s nose.”

(Y/N) smiled, and Alicent rolled her eyes. Clearing his throat (Y/N) tore his gaze from the Queen turning toward his uncle. “If you don’t mind, uncle. Your daughter has exerted herself heroically and should rest.”

Viserys nodded, and Rhaenyra stood up with (Y/N)’s help. But before they could take the babe from the King, Alicent stepped in front taking him into her arms. Both (Y/N) and Rhaenyra tensed as they watched Alicent with Joffrey, as Viserys approached his daughter (Y/N) followed after the Queen.

He watched her carefully, motioning for her to give his son back to him. She smiled at him as she handed him back, although it did not reach his eyes. “Do keep trying Prince (Y/N), sooner or later you will get one with your eyes.”

(Y/N) returned her false smile, “He has the eyes of my ancestors, Queen Alicent. It does not matter which ones.”

“I do not understand why you must always respond to her, (Y/N).” Rhaenyra said as they walked side by side back to her chambers. “You are only giving her the satisfaction of angering you.”

“Should I just stand back and watch as she makes vile accusations about our sons.”

Rhaenyra rolled her eyes, limping ahead of him. “You seemed content with watching for the first ten years of our marriage.”

“Rhaenyra,” (Y/N) picked up his pace to catch up with his limping wife. “My absence was necessary.”

“Yes,” Rhaenyra did not meet his eyes. “Certainly necessary in Alicent’s plan to undermine me. It was after all your continued absence that let the rumors spread so far.”

Rhaenyra continued the walk in silence, and with that (Y/N) knew the conversation was over. She reached the chambers, where Jace, Luke, and Harwin were already waiting for the couple. Harwin stood at the sight of them both, which in turn caused Jace and Luke to notice their presence.

“Mother,” Jace stood, rushing over to a pot placed upon leather on the table. “Look.”

“We chose an egg for the baby.” Luke spoke.

“Ah, that looks like the perfect one.” Rhaenyra smiled, as Harwin helped her lower herself into a chair.

“I let Luke choose.”

“Thank you, Jace.”

(Y/N) smiled, walking slowly over to Ser Harwin. “That was kind of you, Jace.”

“Not every day an egg leaves the Dragonpit, your graces. I thought it best to escort the lads.”

“Rhaenyra and I thank you, Commander.” (Y/N) smiled, holding Joffrey up for Harwin to take.

Harwin smiled, taking the bundle gently from (Y/N)’s arms. “Another boy I heard. What a fine knight you are going to make.”

“His name is Joffrey.” Rhaenyra said, and Harwin hummed, bouncing the babe. (Y/N) smiled at the sight of the two of them, looking over to Rhaenyra who met his gaze with a smile of her own.

“Father,” (Y/N) turned just in time to catch his two eldest before they ran right into Harwin. “Please may I hold Joffrey.”

Luke and Jace both reached for the babe, who Harwin dutifully held out of their reach. “No, no. You two must go back to the Dragonpit.” The boys groaned, making their father laugh as he gestured for the kingsguard outside their door to escort them. (Y/N) shut the doors behind the boys as they left, hearing Harwin speak to Joffrey behind him.

“You’re asleep in front of the Commander of the City Watch.” Harwin mused. “Terrible lack of respect.”

“A certain insolence runs in the family, I’m afraid.” Rhaenyra smiled, shooting (Y/N) a look as he took a seat next to her.

He blinked, “What?”

Harwin laughed, “Nothing, love. Nothing at all.”

(Y/N) frowned, leaning back into the cushions of the seat. Rhaenyra let her head fall on his shoulder, and his hands found their way into her messy hair. “I left you two alone for too long, you’ve teamed up against me.”

“Did you give your cousin a pig?” (Y/N) asked, already knowing the answer by the look on the two boys' faces. Viserys had come to the Lord of Runestone with his wife’s worries earlier that day, and (Y/N) had just sighed, promising his uncle he would deal with it.

This was not the first of these types of incidents, however, it was the first (Y/N) was present for; only having returned permanently to Kingslanding three moons prior. Rhaenyra had written to him of the boys’ behavior multiple times throughout the years and during his visits to Kingslanding he had addressed it with them, but his lectures never seemed to take hold in his sons’ heads.

Neither boy responded, and (Y/N) pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. He desired Rhaenyra’s presence, the boys more inclined to listen to her, but Rhaenyra was busy with the king’s council. So while his wife was busy fixing the boys’ mistakes in court he was left to fix them here.

“Do you have nothing to say for yourselves?”

Jace frowned, and Luke slowly dragged his gaze from the floor. He spoke softly, “It was Aegon’s idea.”

“Luke!” Jace shot his brother a dirty look.

“Enough, Jace.” (Y/N) snapped, causing the boy to shrink in on himself. “Is what Luke said true?”

Jace nodded.

“Do you always follow your cousin blindly?” (Y/N) asked. “With no thought toward the consequences of such actions?”

The boys stayed silent, and (Y/N) sighed. He kneeled down to their level, “Boys look at me.” They looked at him, and (Y/N) continued. “Jace, one day you will be heir to the Iron Throne, and you Luke, you are the heir to Runestone. Your cousin is none of those things. He may be older than both of you, but that does not mean you should be following his lead. Especially in matters like this.”

“We understand, father.” Jace said, and (Y/N) nodded. He stood up, bringing the boys toward him. He pressed a kiss to the top of their dark hair.

“I want to hear no more about these types of incidents.” (Y/N) sighed, releasing them. He urged them toward the door where he knew there were kingsguards waiting to escort them toward their lessons. “Go to your lessons, I will see you after.”

(Y/N) watched as his sons walked away, collapsing into the chair behind him. He sent a silent apology to his mother in the afterlife, and he knew she would find joy in his sons’ antics after everything he put her through in his youth.

Rhaenyra was pacing the room as (Y/N) entered the chambers. Joffrey was gone, most likely with his wet nurse, and Jace and Luke had yet to return from their lessons.

“What is wrong?”

Rhaenyra paused, worrying at her bottom lip. “Harwin attacked Ser Criston in the yard.”

“What?”

“Ser Criston made…unflattering comments about his relationship with our sons.” (Y/N) huffed, turning on his heel but before he could go anywhere Rhaenyra grabbed his arm. “Do not. Harwin is in enough trouble, do not make it worse.”

“I simply wish to hear what unflattering remarks Cole made.” (Y/N) seethed, and Rhaenyra laced her fingers through (Y/N)’s. “He should not be allowed to speak those lies so blatantly, Nyra.”

“Right now we need to worry about the consequences of Harwin’s actions,” Rhaenyra rubbed her thumb in soothing circles on (Y/N)’s hand. “You can deal with Cole later.”

(Y/N) deflated, Harwin’s father would not take kindly to Harwin’s actions. His position as son of the Hand would not be enough to save him from the repercussions of attacking one of the kingsguard, as loathed as Cole was.

“Come.” Rhaenyra led him to the back of her chambers, pushing open a loose piece of the wall. (Y/N) followed his wife into the corridor, giving her a questioning look. “Your father informed me of these.”

“Of course he did.” Prince Daemon, corrupter of young princesses.

Rhaenyra smiled at his tone, although (Y/N) could tell it was only half-hearted. (Y/N) followed her throughout the corridors, both walking silently as they went. (Y/N) held his breath as the sound of the Hand’s voice carried through the corridor, inching closer and closer to the room.

“It fills me with unrelenting shame.”

“So that’s what this is about then?” Harwin scoffed. “Your shame.”

“Our shame, Harwin!” (Y/N) flinched at the volume of the Hand’s voice, and Rhaenyra grabbed his hand, squeezing it. “Shame on the whole of House Strong.”

“What? Because I laid my hands on that insufferable Cole, the son of a steward?”

“He is a knight of the kingsguard now-”

“He assailed Prince Jacaerys, the future heir to the throne.”

The sound of shouts from both men was too loud for (Y/N) to make out any words, but he could hear and see items being thrown across the room. He’d thought he escaped this type of arguing when he left Runestone, but it seemed even Kingslanding was not safe from petty infighting.

“You have laid us open to accusations of an uglier treachery.” He heard Rhaenyra’s breath hitch next to him, and (Y/N) frowned.

“And what treachery is that?”

“Don’t play the fool with me, boy. Your intimacy with the Princess Rhaenyra, not to mention Prince (Y/N),” (Y/N) winced, “Is an offense that would mean exile and death for you, for them, for the children!”

“It is rumor only. Spun by the Princess’ rivals.”

“There are people in this court who believe otherwise. You are lucky His Grace the King does not accept these rumors, it is his belief alone that stands between you and a headsman.”

“I wish my father affected a similar belief.”

“Have I not these many years? And yet today, you publicly assaulted a Knight of the Kingsguard, knowing the rumors, in the defense of the children of your-”

Rhaenyra turned away, covering her mouth as she started her descent back to her chambers. (Y/N) watched Harwin’s reaction to his father’s words, unable to help the small smile that graced his face at the commander’s response.

“You have your honor and I have mine.”

By the time (Y/N) returned to the chambers, Rhaenyra was sitting on the couch, her head in her hands. (Y/N) walked up behind her, he placed his hands on her shoulder rubbing her back in an attempt to comfort her. He placed a soft kiss on the back of her neck.

“We will figure this out.” (Y/N) whispered. He could tell Rhaenyra did not believe his words, in truth he didn’t truly believe them himself. He had hoped when Gunthor left Runestone, finally allowing him the freedom to leave Gerold as his steward as he left for Kingslanding, that he had left this type of drama behind him. But it seemed he’d forgotten the Queen and her sworn protector seemed desperate to undermine Rhaenyra, her children, and those around her at any chance they got.

(Y/N) sighed, walking toward the door. He opened it enough to speak with the guard outside. “Can you please summon Ser Harwin?”

The guard nodded, bowing before walking off. Harwin walked through the doors only ten minutes later, sighing at the sight of the two royals as he entered. Rhaenyra did not speak as he entered, but (Y/N) stood.

“What were you thinking?” (Y/N) seethed. “Did you really think you could get away with assaulting Cole in the middle of the yard?”

“He insulted your boys. I did nothing you yourself would not have done if you had heard that bastard. I view those boys as my own blood, (Y/N), and I will not tolerate insults from Cole, or anyone, against you or them.” Harwin spat back, immediately deflating after hearing his own tone. (Y/N) clenched his jaw, unable to stop his anger at Harwin from disappearing. Rhaenyra looked up at the both of them, motioning for Harwin to join her where she was sitting.

Harwin took a seat next to Rhaenyra, and she grabbed his hand. (Y/N) spoke as it seemed his wife did not feel up to the effort. He stood in front of the knight, “There are other ways to deal with such insults, Harwin. You should have come to me instead of attacking Cole.”

Harwin smiled up at the man, “I do not work in the shadows as well as you do. I am a Strong we fight our battles in the daylight.”

(Y/N) frowned, grabbing Harwin’s chin. “This will not go unpunished, especially by your father.”

“He has already expelled me from the City Watch, but I’m sure that will not be enough for him.”

(Y/N) sighed, looking at Rhaenyra but she just looked defeated. “I just returned to Kingslanding. I have spent years away from you both, and now we must be separated again?”

Rhaenyra finally spoke, “We do not yet know if Harwin will be sent away.”

Harwin and (Y/N) made eye contact, both knowing the truth Rhaenyra was denying herself. Lord Lyonel Strong was too much of an honorable man to take this type of action lightly. At the very least, Lyonel will send Harwin away from court in an attempt to put an end to these rumors once and for all.

(Y/N) decided to let his wife have her small comfort. He pressed a kiss to her head, “Of course. We will just have to see.”

“Be good to your mother lads. I’ll visit when I can” Harwin spoke to the boys. “But that may be some time”

(Y/N) watched as Jace ignored the man, practically running to him and Rhaenyra.

“Jace.” Rhaenyra said softly, and (Y/N) gently ran his fingers through his son’s hair. Harwin approached the three, four counting Joffrey asleep in his mother’s arms.

“I will return.” Harwin promised, taking Jace’s chin in between his fingers to force the boy to look at him. “I promise.”

He looked to (Y/N), who bit his tongue not trusting his voice enough to speak. (Y/N) just stared at the knight, hoping his expression would convey all the emotion he seemed unable to be able to put into words. Whatever Harwin saw in the prince’s face seemed enough for the man as he turned to Rhaenyra.

He bent down, pressing a kiss to Joffrey’s forehead. “I will be a stranger when we meet again.”

He looked up, making eye contact with Rhaenyra. Rhaenyra’s eyes were watering, and she bit her lip as the knight looked at her. Harwin sighed, “Princess.”

He turned to (Y/N), “My Prince.”

Harwin gathered his things walking out of the room. (Y/N) felt Jace lunged forward, and the boy escaped his grasp before the man had a chance to stop him. (Y/N) ran after him, Rhaenyra following close behind. Luke seemed almost indifferent to the whole event watching everything from his place on the floor.

Jace stopped just outside the door, stepping away from both his parents as they approached.

“We will exchange letters by raven won’t that be fun?” Rhaenyra said in an obvious attempt of an olive branch.

“Is Harwin Strong my father?” (Y/N) tensed at Jace’s question. “Are the rumors true, am I a bastard?”

“No.” (Y/N) said, grabbing the boy’s shoulder. “You are a Targaryen and a Royce, what they say does not matter.”

He kissed his son’s forehead, and Rhaenyra ushered Jace into the room. She turned to (Y/N), watching him as he looked down the now empty hallway. She opened her mouth to speak but (Y/N) cut her off.

“I am going to the yard.”

Rhaenyra watched as her husband stormed off, sighing and taking Joffrey back inside the room.

She found (Y/N) hours later, he had upgraded from abusing the straw men of his youth to abusing the poor knights in the yard. She watched him knock down two knights before approaching. The third knight that (Y/N) had taken an interest in paused at the sight of the princess allowing (Y/N) to knock him to the ground.

“A word?” Rhaenyra said, and (Y/N) paused, turning to face his wife. Breathing heavily the Lord of Runestone walked over to her. “We’re finished here, we're leaving.”

(Y/N) furrowed his eyebrows,“What of your offer? Jace and Helaena?”

“I have been undermined and made a spectacle. They whisper about us in the corridors.” Rhaenyra said, “Well, let’s leave them to it.”

(Y/N) nodded, “Dragonstone or Runestone?”

“Dragonstone.” Rhaenyra said, and (Y/N) nodded again. It would’ve been easier for the prince to have his family at Runestone, so that he did not have to leave them to check on the castle and its holdings, but Runestone had enough trouble holding Vermithor. (Y/N) doubted it could hold four, five when Joffery’s egg hatched, dragons. “We should’ve left years ago.”

Rhaenyra turned to leave.

“What of your position?” (Y/N) asked, and Rhaenyra paused, turning to him. “We have always known if you were absent from court she would pour her poison in your father’s ear.”

“Our absence is necessary if we wish to spare our boys more pain.” Rhaenyra said, smiling at her husband before walking back into the keep.

(Y/N) smiled as he watched her walk away.

---

Translations -

Ñuha jorrāelagon - My love

#x male reader #house of the dragon #house of the dragon x male reader #x reader #x y/n #daemon targaryen #house of the dragon x y/n #rhaenyra targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen x male reader #rhaenyra targaryen x reader #harwin strong #hotd x reader #hold x male reader #hariwn strong x male reader #jacaerys velaryon #lucerys velaryon #joffrey velaryon #why is joffrey's name the same idk plot reasons #also it is technically a name used in the vale so

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trashmouth-richie · 1 year ago

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𝚍𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚜?

summary: just a summer day with your best friend, his girlfriend and his best friend.

A/n: I think I’ve written shy and awkward Eddie one other time but I just love him. He’s a little shy in this but the other chapters he’ll be very awkward

Eddie x fem! Reader, best friend! Gareth

18+ fluff, sweet + shy Eddie.

part 1/?

pt. 2: my ties are severed clean

pt. 3: so I turn back the time

“C’mon princess, the water isn’t that cold.”

“Wanna play mermaids?”

—

The van skid to a stop in the parking lot of Benny’s. Clouds of dust circling in its wake. Loud, mind splitting music blaring from the speakers, turning heads in the diner to glare out the filthy fog stained windows to see who would cause such a ruckus on this beautiful Sunday afternoon in the cozy sleepy town of Hawkins.

Your bestfriend since kindergarten, had called you earlier today, begging you to go to the pool with him and a friend.

“Aren’t we a little old for that?” You protested, balancing the corded phone between your ear and shoulder as you tie the pink apron strings around your waist, “besides Gare, I gotta work today.”

Even though his pleads and promises to make it worth your while peaked your interest, you still turned him down. Rent was due in the next week and you were short.

So you went to work, waiting tables and slinging pieces of cherry pie to the cheerful families after Sunday service. A smug hint of regret on your customer service smile.

It was 91° outside, making the diner feel like a special secret layer of hell that only existed in Hawkins. The itchy starch of your uniform clung to your skin and, sweat pooled down your back and made your hair limp. You took orders while fanning yourself with a menu.

Rubbing a sweaty glass of tea on your neck to cool yourself down, you had already replaced your usual bubblegum with ice cubes, melting too quick on your tongue to make it worth it.

By 2 o’clock you were tired and uncomfortable from being hot and sweaty. A combination mixed with irritation as one of your regulars yelled at you for forgetting ketchup. And when you slammed down a bottle on his table and cracked a half wit here you are, the bell above the front door dinged to alert you another no tipping customer came in for their dinner.

You stretch your lower back with both hands on your hips slightly, you call out behind the faded white swinging doors welcoming whoever to Benny’s and that you’d be right with them.

Straightening your hair and grabbing a few menus and napkin rolled silverware, you hear a familiar voice.

Not knowing him on a personal level, just from afar. Always with Gareth and the boys, the lead singer of their Hawkins famous band. The long curly haired, mysterious, Eddie Munson stood at the door.

He was leaning against the door frame, an unbuttoned flannel flapping gently with the oscillating steel blades of the old fan. The prettiest grin stretching his face into a sweet smile.

You didn’t have time to address him before his face turned into a makeshift look of worry. Big doe eyes glistening with eyebrows pulled upward into that mess of curls

It’s Gareth, there’s been an accident.

Without thinking, you throw the menus down on the nearest shelf and run to tell Benny you have to leave. Grabbing your purse and keys.

Gareth was always fucking around, taking his skateboard behind Jeff’s car, lighting fireworks off in the barrels behind the mall— it could be anything.

The tears are still fresh in your eyes when the seatbelt clicks into place, followed by a pair of warm hands covering your eyes, the faint familiar smell of camel cigarettes and chips.

Eddie speeds off from the parking lot and you gasp and turn around to hear the giggling boyish laugh of none other than Gareth.

Sitting smug with a cigarette tucked between his lips, his girlfriend Molly sitting next to him, a small smile on her thin lips.

After punching your friend and listening to the two rowdy boys laugh loud at your tears you explain through a pout that you don’t even have a suit.

Of course the shared 5 brain cells left between them already had that covered.

So here you were, ass pinched in the plastic chairs at the Hawkins Community Pool. The mothers of young children flocked to their reserved seats positioned carefully beside the wooden lifeguard perch. Eager for the brainless attention and smug mustache grin from the mullet wearing asshole that was Billy Hargrove.

When arriving to the pool, Eddie and Gareth tore off their shirts and shoes, both wearing cut off jeans into the cool water. Diving into the deep end despite the whistles from the sour faced lifeguards that forbade them from running.

Heels over head back-flips, cannonballs that sprayed the sidewalk, Olympic style dives from the high dive, throwing kids in the pool who came back for

more—they hadn’t stopped since getting here. Eddie’s soft brown curls hung wet—almost straight down his back and floated in the cool water as he climbed the steps up from the deep end.

Molly rubs another layer of baby oil on her legs and lets out a big sigh, her tortoise shell sunglasses sitting perched on her button nose. “It was Eddie’s idea, believe it or not.”

“What was?” You question, trying to adjust the skimpy borrowed red string bikini around your boobs.

“Picking you up,” she answers, a smirk in her lips, “he’s been begging Gareth all summer to give him the okay to ask you out.”

Eddie Munson?

“Nah uh..”

There was no way.

“Swear on the Bible, babe,” Molly grins, and she flicks the lighter against her pall mall.

“Gareth told me he was dating that girl who works at the Hideout, the one with the big tits?”

She rolls her eyes, “Gareth just didn't want his best friend dating his other best friend, he wouldn’t be able to choose sides if you guys broke up.”

“I barely even know him,” you say slowly, suddenly feeling a swarm of butterflies tickle your tummy, “he was older than us in school and I wasn’t in Hellfire.”

Flashes of your high school years blur before you, when he wasn’t making an ass of himself in the lunch room, Eddie was quiet, small laughs with his friends and completely enamored by D&D.

“Well according to Gareth, he’s been wanting your number for years, but was too shy to ask.”

You caught his eye a few times since getting to the pool. A shy glance here or there, dark eyes peeking over from the crest of the water to check if you had seen his cool trick from the high dive.

Eddie Munson had a crush on you.

“Babe!” Gareth calls from the side of the pool, his mop of scraggly curls dripping, “get in the water with us.”

Molly pushes her sunglasses into her thick blonde hair, “absolutely not, I didn’t come here to play.” you both giggle at him as he pouts and you almost jump out of your skin when Eddie looks directly at you.

“What about you?” he asks, splashing a handful of water up at you, the droplets hit you like lightning.

A small squeal leaves your lips as you wipe the water off your warm tanning skin, “fuck! that’s freezing!”

“Oh c’mon princess,” he purred, ignoring Gareth’s eye roll and wiping a hand down his slightly sunburnt face, “the water isn’t that cold.”

His smile warms your insides and sends an ache to your core. Lowering your chair you lay flat on your back, tossing a middle finger to the two boys floating in the deep end, a small victorious smile on your lips as the sun shines on your face.

You didn’t remember ever seeing Eddie with a girlfriend, and from the lies Gareth told you about him being a ladies man, you figured maybe he just didn’t date.

A shadow is casted against your stomach and face and you peek open one eye to see Eddie standing before you, dripping chlorine water down his tattooed chest. His cutoff black jeans hanging heavy on his hips, the black boxer briefs sitting dangerously low on his hip dips. His large hands thread through his hair wringing out the dark curls onto the concrete.

Your thighs clench at the sight and your breath hitches in your throat.

“Don’t make me pick you up and toss you in, sweetheart.” he says all too smooth, shaking his head like a dog. A toothy grin plastered on his ridiculously good looking face.

You put a foot onto his wet chest, stopping him in his tracks and wiggling your painted toes against his tattooed skin, “you wouldn’t dare.”

And what is meant to stop him only drives his want further. Before you can figure out what is happening, Eddie has you scooped up in his arms and is tickling your sides.

“No no no! Eddie, please!”

Your kicking and giggling falls on deaf ears as his cold wet skin seeps into your swimsuit, the ends of his hair bead water onto your chest as you cling to his neck.

Standing on the edge of the pool, his back facing the water, the browns of his eyes lighten in the sun, and his eyelashes kiss together as he squints.

He licks his lips, and you see the flash of what looks like a small metal ball on his tongue, “d’you trust me?”

Scrunching your nose you close your eyes and nod, you hear a laugh erupt from his chest as he falls back into the water with you.

The water was freezing. And Eddie’s hair covered your face like silky seaweed. Opening your eyes under the water, you see Eddie smiling at you, bubbles encasing him. He grabs your hand and you both break the surface of the water.

“Eddie, you jackass!” Molly yells from her chair as Gareth takes comfort in your chair next to hers, “you could have hurt her.”

“She’s in good hands,” Eddie yells, his eyes never leaving yours as he treads water in front of you.

You blush under his stare, the butterflies taking over and fluttering wildly, you feel like a teenager.

And you’re almost embarrassed when you blurt out, “wanna play mermaids?”

And more surprised when Eddie only laughs and says, “teach me?”

Your sides hurt from laughing, legs ached from playing like kids with Eddie. Just when you’d think he would want to stop and sit out, he’d come up with another game.

Sharks and minnows: he volunteered to be the shark each time just to be able to chase you around the pool.

You had repeated diving contests off the high dive: where he waited for you in the water raising up his fingers in numbers to every single dive you performed as if he was a judge at an event, his smile wide and cheery.

He laughed at the way you asked him to do George Washington style hair dos, but dunked his head into the water to proudly show his new hairstyle, trying not to melt at your little giggle and the feel of your fingers in his hair, pushing his bangs back into submission.

When the pool was nearly empty and a sunburnt Molly and Gareth took the van to go get Aloe Vera before Melvald’s closed, Eddie closed you in around the edge of the shallow water during a game of Marco Polo.

His voice low and velvety when he answered. Your eyes pinched shut as you reached for him and he closed his fingers between yours.

“Got ya,” you whisper, opening your eyes and seeing Eddie staring down into your face. Small freckles dot his nose and upper cheeks from the day in the sun, “you lose.”

Eddie’s playfulness is gone, he’s all serious behind the depth of his coal eyes, “you sure about that, babe?”

“Is that a thing of yours? Pet names for all the girls?” you tease.

His eyes soften and his thumb traces your chin, “and if it was?”

The sun is behind his head like a halo, and god he looks like a fallen angel.

Your tongue darts out to wet your lower lip, the astringent taste of chlorine bitter on your tongue. Eddie’s eyes follow, and you see the silver jewelry again in his mouth when he repeats your actions.

The thought of that steel ball hugging and sweeping against your lips make you shiver.

Before you can answer him, all the lifeguards blow their whistles and announce the pool is closing.

But Eddie doesn’t budge and neither do you. His thumb sweeps against your cheek and you buckle under his touch.

“Hey assholes!” A loud booming voice full of too much testosterone and choked balls from the worlds tightest swim trunks echoes across the concrete pool, “we’re closed, get the fuck out!”

Eddie rolls his eyes up at the mullet wearing douche, and plants his hands on the edge of the pool, jumping out. Water splashes around his feet as he extends a grin and a large hand down to you, “c’mon princess, i’ll walk you home.”

#eddie munson #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff

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wynnyfryd · 8 months ago

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Trailer park Steve AU part 61

part 1 | part 60 | ao3

cw: mentions of canonical minor character death

Chapter 14

It's twilight by the time they make their way to Rick's place — gnat clouds swarming, sun dipped low, Lover's Lake an inky smudge beyond the blur of passing pines. Steve’s not totally sure how they got here, this dusty service road that's more pothole than pavement; one minute he's bitching about doomed love and double VHS, the next he’s taking the scenic route to a drug den.

There were some important moments in between, he’s pretty sure.

He’s also pretty sure he blacked out somewhere around the moment the morning news reported that an-unidentified-Hawkins-student-who-very-well-could-be-Eddie-Munson was found dead in his fucking trailer.

Kinda difficult to resurface from that one.

Feels like his soul’s got swimmer’s ear.

Even hours later — after Dustin and Max burst into Family Video talking a mile a minute about how Eddie was alive and they needed to use the phones; after Ernie stupidly gave a reporter Steve’s name, swearing up and down on the TV that his neighbor Steve Harrington was an upstanding young man who would never do something like this; after they spent an agonizingly long afternoon lying low and taking backroads to avoid the cops because the cops probably suspect Steve of murder now, oh god—

“It’s this next right up ahead,” Max says from the back seat. There's a map spread over the bench between her and Dustin, and Steve blinks himself awake; gives her a nod in the rearview.

Beside her, Dustin’s munching on Twizzlers he stole from the store — window down, easy slouch, just way too chipper for the situation at hand. "So Steve," he says conversationally, "now that you're a fugitive, does that mean—?"

Steve cuts Robin a pleading look.

Robin reaches back and smacks the little twerp upside the head.

"Ow!" Dustin whines.

"Shut up, please," Robin smiles.

Max makes a sound like she's trying not to laugh and checks the map again. "Right here," she says, pointing. "After that weird tree stump."

They turn onto another road that could be generously described as paved, once, several decades ago, and eventually, the winding path lets out onto a slightly nicer street. Aging but cared for, Holland Road is a crowded row of little lake houses, trailers and shacks with manicured shrubs and chipped fence paint, weeds growing through the sidewalks beneath pristine American flags. Steve pulls into the driveway of #2121.

It looks abandoned. Dark inside and out, a truck parked on the curb that's likely been there for a while, its tires sagging in a mulch of old wet leaves. There’s an autumn wreath on the front door.

“You sure this is the place?” he asks as they climb out of the car.

Max sasses him for questioning her navigation skills, Dustin unsuccessfully tries to land a revenge slap on Robin — a move that earns him a retaliation wedgie and a wrestling match he was never gonna win — and Steve pops the trunk and feels a hundred years old. Feels every bit the exhausted dad trying to keep the family road trip together as he grabs his nail bat and slings his duffel over his shoulder.

"You planning to spend the night?" Dustin teases from Robin's armpit, still bent double where she's got him in a headlock.

"No, just-" he drops the bag at their feet with a grunt, “doesn’t hurt to be prepared.”

Dustin’s eyes bug out. “Is that a can of goddamn bear mace?”

“Keep your voice down!” Steve hisses.

“You keep your voice down!”

"Should I just go ahead and choke him out?" Robin offers.

Steve considers it for a second: knock 'em all out, stuff 'em back inside the car. Go do this shit quietly by himself.

He rolls his eyes and puts his hands on his hips.

"You're no fun," she pouts, but she lets Dustin go.

Dustin grabs flashlights and walkies out of the bag, passes them around the circle. They take a moment to steel themselves — huddled together in the dark, shoulders tense, the creepy house looming ahead. Sharp shadows stretch toward them. Croaking sounds creeping from the edges of the lake.

Robin puts her flashlight under her chin like she's about to tell a scary story. "Alright, kiddos," she says in a deep, ominous voice. "Let's go rescue Steve's ex."

Stunned silence in the sudden vacuum her words create. Steve lets out a tired sigh. Dustin’s jaw is on the curb.

“His WHAT?” Dustin shouts.

Oh, my god. “He’s not my ex."

Robin rolls her eyes and says ‘sure’ under her breath, and Max turns to Dustin, laughing. “You didn’t know they were a thing?”

“We’re not—” Steve tries again.

“What were you trying to get them back together for then?”

She seems genuinely curious. Dustin seems three seconds from spontaneous combustion. “What was I WHAT?!” he yelps, limbs everywhere. Reminds Steve of Eddie so bad it hurts.

“Okay,” Steve interrupts, clapping them both on the shoulder; drops his voice to a harsh whisper. “In case you two forgot, we’re here to rescue Eddie.”

“Who you’re dating.”

Dustin’s voice is small, disconnected, his gaze far away. Like he’s shellshocked.

“Jesus Christ.” Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. “I— Yes. No. It’s complicated.”

Max snorts at his answer, Dustin makes a series of faces like he's gonna need seven years to process, and Robin interrupts his crisis by waving her flashlight like a traffic guard, walking backward up the hill as she directs them toward the house.

“Why don’t we just go find him first?” she suggests, making a rainbow with her hands, flinging light through the grimy windows. “And then Stevie here can answer alllll your big gay questions.”

Steve glares at Robin. Dustin glares at him, narrowed eyes for a full ten seconds like 'yeah, you fucking better,' and then he takes off up the driveway hollering Eddie's name.

—

part 62

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

#trailer park steve au #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #max mayfield #dustin henderson #reefer rick #my writing #my fic

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milf-murdock · 7 months ago

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Hi!! I love love love your writing! Especially your 141!Reader series <3 I don't know if you take requests, but your last post about Simon and baby Joseph made me so angsty and I would love to read more angst from you. Could you please write about Simon thinking 141!Reader was KIA on a mission? Thank you!!!

Anon....who....who hurt you???? I’m kidding 😆 mostly 👀 But for real, this one HURT. Like. OUCH. This man has been through so fucking much…but let’s put him through a bit more 😈😈😈 also, I did very much hurt my own feelings with this one. So I’m thinking we might need a part two reunion because I don’t know if I can leave our Ghosty boy in shambles like this

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The rain patters against the window in a steady rhythm.

Simon watches the fat raindrops roll down the small window pane, one foot anxiously tapping against the concrete floor. He didn’t know why he was called to Price’s office, but there was an ominous charge to the air. Call it a premonition, or maybe an instinct, but he knew in his bones that something was wrong.

The click of the door handle pulls Simon from his thoughts as Price enters the office, a heavy silence filling the air.

“What’s happened?” Simon's voice has a hard edge to it, cutting straight through the bullshit. Watchful eyes appraise every detail of Price’s body language, and Simon notes the deep sunken look of his captain’s eyes accentuated by a somber expression.

Price avoids Simon's gaze, staring down at the oak desktop before him as he takes a seat. The captain wasn’t one to mince words or beat around the bush, but even he was having a hard time wrapping his mind around the situation despite his many years in the service.

Simon's heart hammers in his chest, every second in the unknown feeling like an eternity. This isn’t right, he thinks to himself.

Price steels himself with a deep inhale, pulling his gaze from the desk to face Simon head on, looking past the mask, speaking to the man he knew laid beneath.

“I wanted you to hear this from me, son. You…deserve to hear this from me.”

Simon stops breathing.

With practiced determination, Price continues his speech, having rehearsed the words in his head the entire walk down to his office.

“Reconnaissance mission, Operation Blackout, suffered multiple casualties after a long-range detonation by enemy action. There’s been no contact with the team, and rescue attempts were unsuccessful due to the extensive damage caused by the explosion. All team members are presumed KIA. The official course of action…”

The rest of Price’s speech is drowned out by the dull roar in Simon’s ears; his blood runs cold, his rigid body barely breathing.

This can’t be happening. Not again. Never again.

Simon's thoughts grip him by the heart, squeezing painfully.

I can’t do this again.

He had already lost everyone once. Had built impenetrable walls, designed to protect him from this type of pain.

But you. You and your goddamn charm, and your soft smiles, and your relentless fucking attitude. You broke down those walls brick by brick, made Ghost–no, made Simon– feel more like a man than he had in years. You slipped past his ironclad defenses and took his heart without him even realizing it.

And just when he had finally opened up, just when he had finally convinced himself that maybe he could be happy–that you could be happy together. It all came crashing down.

In the distance, Ghost could hear shouting. A chorus of denials piercing the air, heavy ragged breaths filling the silence between.

A heavy hand fell on Ghost's shoulder and he found himself back in his body, looking up at Price, voice raw.

With a stark realization, Ghost realizes it was him. He was the one shouting, the one gasping for breath.

The world tilted out from under him.

____________

Ghost left Price’s office a different man–a mere shell of the man who entered. With every step he took, he felt himself slipping further and further into the familiar safety of Ghost, an unpierceable facade moving through the world.

Everything felt wrong. Every step. Every breath. He felt like he was moving underwater, every action taking twice the effort it should.

The next few hours pass in a blur. The official order that he was being sent on leave. The ensuing argument with Price over the orders. He eventually just gave up. Leave, no leave, it didn’t fucking matter.

None of it fucking matters.

Johnny tries to see him before he leaves, meeting Simon on the tarmac. He tries to be there for his lieutenant, his friend.

The red rim around Johnny’s eyes reminds Simon that he wasn’t the only one who had lost you. They had all lost you. But even that which should have been a comfort, a sort of kinship in the grief, meant nothing. Simon didn’t give a singular fuck. He turned away from Johnny mid-speech, leaving the Scotsman to sit in his grief alone as he watched Ghost disappear into the aircraft.

____________

It takes every ounce of strength Ghost has to make it through the flight. To make it through the drive back home. To make it through that door.

Keep it together, soldier. Don’t you dare fucking lose it, Simon Riley. Just a bit longer.

His belongings crash to the floor as the door slams shut behind him. He doesn’t even bother turning on the light, instead using the faint glow of the moonlight through the curtains to guide him to the cabinet.

Ghost pulls the bottle of bourbon from its resting spot, not even bothering with a glass as he pulls off the corked top and takes a hearty swig.

The burn of the liquid is invigorating, filling Ghost with a quiet simmering fire.

He takes another drink. And another.

He walks through the flat in a daze, the amber liquid dulling his senses, sending him even deeper into the haze of his grief.

Ghost finds himself in front of his dresser, staring at the wooden drawers.

Taking another drink, he steels himself as he yanks open the top drawer. Rummaging beneath the pile of socks and t-shirts, Ghost digs out the small velvet box. He grips it tight in his hand, the small object groaning in protest as waves of rage and pain overtake Ghost, threatening to pull him under. Hot tears slide down his face, but he doesn’t even notice.

With a roar he throws the velvet box across the room, the impact fracturing the drywall. Ghost’s knees go out from under him and he crashes to the floor, his heart shattering into a thousand pieces. There would be no repairing this. No amount of time could heal this type of heartbreak.

You were dead.

And as far as Ghost was concerned, Simon Riley died with you.

#y'all I'm so sorry this one HURT #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon riley imagine #simon “ghost” riley x reader #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #cod ghost #ghost riley

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the-marshals-wife · 10 months ago

Text

New Horizons (Arthur Curry x Reader)

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⋅☆⋅ 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

A/N: Requested by @dantes-devil-huntress. I can't believe this is my first Aquaman fic! This was so much fun to write, I hope you enjoy!

Premise: Trying to figure out his place in the world as the newly crowned king of Atlantis, Arthur meets someone who may just help him find the answers he looking for.

Description: Arthur Curry/Aquaman x Fem!Reader (Human), meet-cute fluff! | Warnings: alcohol, mild language | Setting: AU w/o Mera endgame, before The Lost Kingdom | Word count: 3,468

Edit: here's my Orm Marius x Reader fic for my fellow Orm girlies ;)

Gif credit: user jasonmomoaonline

Imagine Arthur giving you shelter when you're stranded in a storm, and discovering his true identity

Getting stood up for your date had been the worst part of the night, until the moment you got into your car. Instead of the engine turning over and sputtering to half-life like usual, it only stalled.

"You have got to be kidding me," you say, gripping the steering wheel and turning the key until you thought it might snap, "Come on, come on, come ON!"

Throwing open your door, you pop the hood and stumble back out into the chilled night. You mutter curses under your breath as you survey the labyrinth of steel and hoses before you.

"At least nothing's on fire this time," you mutter, rolling your eyes.

You step back and stare at the bucket of bolts the salesman had called "like new." Besides coming to this bar, buying this car was quite possibly your biggest regret. It wasn't quite a lemon, but it wasn't a Rolls either. And most of all, it was all you could afford.

You exhale, glaring up at the flickering light of the bar's neon sign. The last thing you wanted to do after waiting nearly two hours alone like a fool was show your face inside again. You retrieve your phone from your back pocket, just to see the blinking bars in the top corner. No service.

"Wonderful," you groan.

Like a bad joke, thunder rolls in the distance. You look up to see the lightning flashing on the horizon across the bay. The brisk, salt air rises up from the water and cuts right through you.

"Could this night get any better?!" you lament, an angry shriek escaping your lips as you kick the front tire.

"Excuse me, Miss?" a voice from behind interjected.

You jump and turn to see a man approaching, nervous smile on his bearded face. You appraise him wearily: tall, dark, and not at all lacking in style, clad in both leather and jewelry. He looked a sight better than the drunken fishermen you'd observed stumble about the bar, which you concluded was about ninety-percent of the clientele. Even from where he stood, he certainly seemed to smell better.

"Uh, I don't mean to interrupt, but you sound like you might need some help," he offers hesitantly.

Despite your initial scare, something about him puts you at ease.

"Oh, um...yeah, actually" you smile embarrassed, tucking your hair behind your ear, "My stupid car won't start. Again."

"Mind if I take a look?" he asks, pointing.

"Would you? That would be great, honestly," you say, folding your arms against the cold, "I just had it in the shop last week. I have no idea what's wrong now."

He pats the fender as he circles around to the front, "Let's see what's got you all clammed up here, buddy."

"Your guess is as good as mine," you say exasperated, stepping to stand behind him a ways.

He chuckles and pushes up his sleeves, ducking underneath the hood. You take note of the intricate tattoos, realizing this friendly stranger was becoming more interesting by the minute.

"Hmm, nope. Not that," he says, craning his neck, "Not that either."

You bite your lip and sway on your feet, silently praying he could find the source of the problem. Any easy fix was probably too much to hope for, but your fingers stayed mentally crossed nonetheless.

"Ooh, maybe- no, definitely not," he says, followed by a clinking sound, "That should not be there."

"I really appreciate this," you say after a moment, peering over his shoulder, "I can change the wipers and put on a spare if I have to, but that's about the extent of my car expertise."

"No shame in that," he grunts, his voice strained, "Oof, now that might be a problem."

"Did you find something?" you dare to ask.

"These spark plugs are kaput. Like, 'not even a necromancer can bring them back' kind of kaput."

"The guy said they were fine!" you exclaim, "I knew I shouldn't have gone back to that place. Probably just took my money and laughed."

The man finally stands up and winces.

"And your alternator is on its last leg," he says with a grimace, "Even if you could get it to start, I wouldn't go more than five miles in this thing."

"Great. That's just wonderful," you sigh, shaking your head, "Well, thank you for looking. It'd have taken me forever to figure that out. Google only goes so far."

"No problem, wish I had better news for ya," he says, wiping his grease-tinged hands on his jeans before extending one towards you, "I'm Arthur, by the way."

"I'm Y/N. Nice to meet you, Arthur."

"Nice to meet you too."

Despite your frustration, you couldn't help but grin. As Good Samaritans go, he was quite a handsome one. Something in the back of your mind whispered that you had seen his face before, but you couldn't place when or where.

Before you could speak again, a bolt of lightning strikes just across the harbor, followed swiftly by a crash of thunder.

Arthur looks off to the darkened horizon, his expression souring with concern.

"Storm's coming in fast," he observes, the sea breeze blowing through his long, sun-kissed hair, "Do you have someone you can call to come pick you up?"

He turn back to you, and only now do you notice just how rich and golden eyes his eyes are. For a few dizzied seconds, you forget to answer.

"Uh, not really. I'm pretty new to the area. I don't know very many people," you reply, feeling shy all of a sudden, "I can just call a Uber or something. If my service ever picks up."

"Yeah, definitely," he nods, clearing his throat, "They have a phone inside."

"Thank you again for helping me, Arthur," you say, starting to walk towards the door.

"I didn't really help, though..." he trails off, disappointment in his voice as you step past him.

Your hand is almost on the handle when he pipes up.

"Uh, look I know you don't know me, but my dad's place is just down the road from here. He's the lighthouse keeper. Him and my mom are actually away on little retreat, and I'm watching the place for them," he explains, "It's dry, warm, and definitely has a lot less drunk guys. You could wait there while the storm passes, if you wanted."

You turn back to him, trying to conceal your renewed hope, "I couldn't impose on you like that."

"Oh you wouldn't be. It's just me and the dog. He's probably getting sick of me at this point. He could use a visitor," he chuckles, "But I understand if you'd rather stay here. Strange guy at a bar invites you to a lighthouse on a dark and stormy night. Sounds like a horror movie, I know."

You laugh, and so does he, bringing some much needed levity.

"I'll bring you right back if you change your mind, just say the word," he adds, sounding truly sincere.

Almost everything in you was saying not to trust a man you'd just met, but your gut was telling you otherwise. There was more to the warmth in his eyes than just the color.

"Well, it does sound like the dog could use some company," you say thoughtfully.

Arthur smirks. "Oh yeah. There's been a Hell's Kitchen marathon on for days, and I'm pretty sure he's sick of listening to my Gordon Ramsay impression. I can't resist, love that guy."

"I might have to hear that for myself."

"Let's get you out of this weather, and we'll see what I can do about that, then," he says with a wink, "My ride is just over here."

Not even the chilled wind could overcome the warmth of your cheeks. The excitement in your chest grows with every step as you follow him across the sandy lot. The ride in question, however, soon comes into view, and the knot in your stomach tightens all the more.

"Oh boy," you say, staring at the motorcycle.

"You're not scared of bikes are you?" he questions, stepping alongside it and reaching into the black saddlebag.

"Not exactly," you hesitate, "I've just never been on one before."

He pulls out a red, half helmet and offers it to you.

"Don't worry, I won't let you fall off," he replies, amused.

You look between him and the headgear a moment before taking it.

"Besides," he says, swinging his leg over the seat, "All you have to do is hang on."

With no argument to make, and rain drops beginning to sprinkle down, you pull your hair back and fasten the helmet on. You nearly lose your balance trying to throw your leg over, having to grab his shoulder to steady yourself. He didn't seem to mind; you could have sworn you heard him snicker. You settle into the seat, heart racing from being so close to him. More anxious than ever, you lightly place your hands on his back.

"All good back there?" Arthur asks, a smile in his voice.

"All good," you repeat, unconvincingly.

"Alright then," he says, turning the key.

Seconds later, the motorcycle roars to life as he revs the engine. Arthur eases the bike back slowly, pivots out of the lot, and eases it up to the main road. The instant he accelerates, the force kicks you backward. You throw your arms around his torso, pulling yourself against him. Over the noise of the machine, you weren't sure if the rumbling in your ear that followed was thunder or laughter, but you figured was the latter.

With the bar now behind you, and the rain coming down harder with the increasing speed, you bury your face into his back and hold on tightly.

♆

The lighthouse comes into view just as the skies open up. Arthur maneuvers the bike up the slippery, sand driveway and quickly shuts it off. He gives you his hand as you climb off and leads you toward the house.

The helmet offers some protection from the downpour, but the wind blows the spray into your face as you squint to see. Lightning above illuminates the world like daylight as you scramble up onto the porch.

Arthur throws the front door open and lets you in first as you stumble inside the dark house. You take a few blind steps forward as he slams it shut behind him, thunder making the windows rattle.

"Man, someone must have really pissed off Thor," he laughs. His relief, however, is turned to exasperation as you hear a clicking sound followed by a sigh.

"Power's out. Awesome."

Still trying to catch your breath, you pull out your phone, struggling with wet fingers to use touchscreen. Finally the flashlight turns on, and Arthur throws his hand up over his eyes as you accidentally shine it right at his face.

"Sorry," you pant, pointing it down.

"No worries. That's a good idea, actually. I always forget about this thing," he remarks, grabbing his own phone and doing the same, "One second, I think Pops has some candles in the kitchen."

You nod as he disappears into the next room. Now remembering the dripping helmet on your head, you release the strap with your free hand and set it down on the mat beside the door. A shiver goes through you from your soaked clothes. You point your phone about the shadowy room to get your bearings, admiring the otherwise cozy living area. As you sweep the light downward, something large and metallic glints on the coffee table in front of the sofa and catches your eye. You move closer to get a better look, and then your heart drops to your feet. Lying beside a bag of jerky and the TV remote is a massive, gleaming trident of gold. A memory flashes through your mind of an article you'd seen weeks ago, with a fuzzy photo of an alleged aquatic hero holding a weapon just like it. The pieces come together all at once as you realize the identity of your host.

The very next second, you hear Arthur's approach. He returns with a lit candle in each hand and a blanket under his arm, only to find your expression of complete and utter shock.

"You...you're..." you stammer.

"Oof, I knew I forgot to put something away," he cringes, "My bad."

"You're the Aquaman," you gape, finding the words.

"Surprise," he says in a sing-song voice, flashing a nervous smile, "Yeah, I never really know how to bring that up.

You stare at him dumbfounded as he places the candles on the coffee table. "I can't believe it. Aren't you supposed to be like...well, in Atlantis or something?"

"I was, earlier this morning. Just about died of boredom in council meetings," he says matter-of-factly, proceeding to talk as if he had a desk job, "I'm kinda part-timing right now, between land and sea. It's complicated. I'm still new to the whole 'king' thing. Don't have all the kinks worked out yet."

"I'd imagine," you breathe, your mind still reeling.

"Here, figured you need this." He holds out the blanket, completely unphased by the previous subject, "Do you drink tea? I can make some for you."

You take the blanket and chuckle in bewilderment. "Um, sure. That would be great," you answer, "Thank you."

"One tea coming up," he smiles, "Uh, just make yourself comfortable, I'll get the fire going here a minute, after I find the dog. Pretty sure he's hiding under Pops' bed upstairs. He's terrified of storms. Ironic right? Lighthouse keeper's dog afraid of a little water."

"I don't blame him this time," you say, wrapping the blanket around your shoulders, "I think you were right about Thor."

As if on cue, another boom of thunder shakes the walls. You both burst out laughing.

♆

A few minutes later, you find yourself sitting on the floor in front of a roaring fire with a warm mug in your hands, finally beginning to feel dry. Having been unsuccessful in coaxing the dog into joining him downstairs, Arthur settles down beside you crossed-legged, damp hair tied up, trading the tea for a can of Guinness. Your thoughts rage like the storm outside as you stare into the flames, agonizing about what you should say.

Arthur speaks a moment later, saving you the trouble.

"Sorry about the power. I'll call you that cab as soon as it comes back."

"That's okay, I'm not in a hurry," you reply.

You look over at him hopefully, meeting his piercing gaze for as long as you can. Mere seconds pass before you bow your head, heart racing while you repress a smile.

"I'm uh, sure you've got some questions about all this," he ventures, rubbing the back of his head.

"Honestly, with the night I've had, meeting 'Aquaman' is par for the course," you smirk.

"I didn't mean to spring it on you like that. I guess you can understand why I don't lead with the whole King of Atlantis thing. Kinda makes it hard to keep a conversation going once people know you 'can talk to fish.' They don't really see you the same after that."

"Yeah, I think I'd probably keep that to myself too," you agree, the awe returning full-force, "Still, it must be amazing. I mean, you're basically ruler of the ocean, right? Or is it just Atlantis?"

"Eh, I mean there's the other kingdoms-"

"There's more?!" you blurt out, wide-eyed.

"Oh yeah. Xebel, the Fishermen, the Brine, a couple of defunct ones no one wants talks about. We got a few."

"And you're the ruler over all of them?"

He shrugs. "More or less. I mean, they each have their own ruler. But then I'm also over them? Kinda? I'm still figuring crap out, they didn't exactly give me a rule book on my first day. Plus I have to answer to this royal council and they've got sticks up their butts about everything I do and say," he groans, rolling his eyes, "I like to consider myself more of a 'protector of the deep' than a ruler. Sounds more cool, and less like an old fart with a crown."

You giggle, hanging on every his every word.

"And with this bad boy right here," he says, reaching behind him and patting the trident, "I command all life in the sea. The animals anyway. Between you and me, that's the best part."

"You definitely have a cooler job than me," you beam.

"It definitely has its perks. But most of the time, I'd rather be here," he sighs, punctuated by a swig of his beer.

A visible sadness washes over him as he looks into the fire.

"You aren't from Atlantis?" you question.

"No, I was raised by my father. My parents met on accident. My mother was queen of Atlantis, and she ran away from her not-so-nice guy fiancé. She got lost in a storm, and my father rescued her. They've always said it was..."

Arthur stops and turns his gaze towards you, realization in his eyes.

Your heart skips as you understand. "Fate?"

He nods thoughtfully. "Something like that."

You blink, letting him go on.

"Anyway, I know I have a calling to the sea, but the land is always going to be a part of me, you know?" His expression softens. "Here, I've always found everything I need."

His words linger in the air between you. You look down at your hands, your chest pounding.

He clears his throat. "Sorry, I know that was a lot of info."

"Just a little bit," you reply teasingly, "But your secret's safe with me, Arthur. I promise. I've got no one to tell anyway."

"Don't worry, I trust you," he says, waving his hand, "It's actually nice to have someone else to share it with."

"I'm honored that you did. I know it's not the same, but I do understand what it's like to feel that you don't belong," you confess, "I didn't fit in my 'kind' either. Moved out here to start over. I guess you could say I'm still trying to figure some crap out too."

He pauses in thought second before responding, "Do you mind if I ask you something, Y/N?"

"After everything I've asked you? I'd say it's definitely your turn," you chuckle, taking a sip of your forgotten tea.

"I saw you at the bar before you went outside. I couldn't help but notice that you were there by yourself..."

"You noticed correctly. I was supposed to meet someone for a date, but after saying he was on his way, he never showed. I tried to text him, but he blocked me. I don't even know why."

"Nothing like being stood up at some backwater bar," he concludes, frowning, "Well, screw that guy. He's a bum."

"Yeah, I figured that out too late," you agree, then give him a knowing look, "The evening wasn't a total loss. I did meet you, after all."

"That's true," he concedes, playfully stroking his beard, "I may be a half-breed rookie king, but I'm not a bum."

You snort and gesture to the television set on your right, "So much for your marathon though, huh?"

"Ah, that's alright. They were all re-runs anyway."

You raise your eyebrow. "Think I could still hear that impression?"

He holds a finger to his chin in mock deliberation, "Hmmm, have I had enough to drink for that?

"I don't know, have you?" You lean in with anticipation.

He flashes a sly grin. "Of course I bloody have," he declares in the most hackneyed attempt at a British accent you'd ever heard, "And you better listen up, because I'm about to tell you everything there is to know about how to cook a bloody good flounder."

Your sides ache with laughter as he continues to go on a tangent about how to properly sauté shallots and season the perfect demi-glace. The voice sounded nothing like the infamously tempermental chef, of course, but you still thought his attempt was cute. By the time he was yelling at his invisible staff for serving him raw fish, the storm outside had passed, and neither of you noticed.

As Arthur went to light the stove to warm up some "gourmet" SpaghettiOs, still boisterously carrying on as Chef Ramsay, your excited thoughts returned to the story about his parents. You couldn't help but wonder about your own stormy night, the man you had met, and how much of a hand fate had played in it. The horizon seemed so much brighter than before, and for the first time ever, you were grateful to have bought that car.

#arthur curry x reader #aquaman x reader #aquaman imagine #arthur curry imagine #aquaman and the lost kingdom #jason momoa #arthur curry #aquaman 2 #aquaman fanfic #my writing #request

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dronebiscuitbat · 5 months ago

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Oil is Thicker Then Blood (Part 45)

“Sooo Hal, what exactly do I do here?” N asked nervously, twiddling his thumbs as they walked through the halls.

“I’ll be giving you a shortrange frequency that you’ll monitor, our office takes reports from concerned citizens, and Khan, Dale and I take the ones most suited for our respective teams.”

“Crime here is usually pretty tame, petty theft, b and e’s, vandalism. Occasionally we’ll get more serious calls, domestic violence, occasional homicide, though that’s gotten rare thankfully, or an odd “crime of passion”. Hal continued, N listening intently, he understood most of that, but “crime of passion” seemed to escape him.

“Crime of passion?”

“Couples getting too frisky and damaging one or both of them. Usually young ones who dunno what their doing. Most of the time they just dunno how to disconnect and panic, not too big a deal.”

Except N was still lost, he knew what all those words meant separately, but together they made little sense in his processors. He blinked. He wanted to ask what he meant by “disconnect” but at the same time it felt like a private question, not one he should be asking to his boss on his first day of work. Maybe he’d ask Uzi, or Thad, whichever was less embarrassing.

“How’s your daughter doing by the way? Khan mentioned she was having mobility problems when she was first transferred.” Hal asked turning yet another corner to go down yet another hallway, it always surprised him how large the bunker actually was, even if over half the rooms seemed to be empty. A pang of guilt entered his core, how many of these empty rooms were his fault? Or V’s?

“She’s fine now, she was just a little stiff, now she’s clinging to Uzi like a little monkey.” N gave a soft laugh thinking about his family at home, he always missed the both of them even if he wasn’t gone for very long, he supposed that just came with having a job though.

“Ah, yeah, sometimes that happens… when my son was printed into his toddler body we had to take him to the medical wing and they had to do surgery on his neck for him to start moving.”

“I didn’t know you had a son, I’m sorry, I’m sure that scared you both.”

Hal seemed to slow down for a moment, like he just caught himself doing something he shouldn’t before sighing.

“I did have a son. He’s… agh, nevermind that, we’re here.”

He banged his fist on the steel door, sending the grating noise through the hall, they waited for a few moments, only for nothing to reply back.

“She probably has her damn hearing aid turned off again.” Hal grumbled, before knocking as hard as he could, enough to send a vibration through the floor that N could feel through his feet.

“I heard you the first time! Go away!” A croaky, static filled voice called back, sounding irate and just a little bit scared. Hal rolled his eyes.

“It’s Hal, Mrs. Hopkins, you called us in to check out a break in.” Hal put on a very practiced customer service smile, N felt a minuscule shiver go up his spine, being reminded slightly of J, before it dissipated, here, it actually made sense for someone to have that kind of forced smile, and it wasn’t being used exclusively to make him uncomfortable.

The door opened quickly, the drone responsible being so old her casing had started to yellow, her eyelights were white, behind a thick pair of glasses. And she leaned on a cane, she shook with just the effort it took to stand and she adjusted her glasses as she looked at them.

“Good morning Mrs. Hopkins, what seems to be the problem today?” The way Hal asked the question alluded to his multitude of visits, she didn’t immediately answer, instead looking up at N squinting.

“You’re a tall one. Are you new?” She asked, prodding him in the stomach with her cane, he grunted, still trying to keep his polite smile even as he glanced over at Hal for assistance.

“She can’t see very well” He whispered up into N’s audio receptors, covering his mouth with his hand. “Probably a good thing, don’t give yourself away.”

N nodded and smiled again, extending his hand to shake the old woman’s hand, having to crouch down slightly to do so as she was hunched over her cane. She took it, her casing was freezing and felt like sandpaper, N made a internal note to not live this long.

“Hello Mrs. Hopkins, I’m N, it’s nice to meet you ma’am.” He said, and the ancient drone looked at him again, before her face grew into a kindly smile.

“How polite! And such a handsome young man. I hope Hal here doesn’t ruin you.”

The man in question’s eye twitched, before the moment was gone and he cleared his throat, clearly wanting to be done with this as soon as possible.

“You called us in for a break in?”

“Hmm? Oh yes! I was woken up last night by some footsteps. Above me! Someone was clearly trying to steal my fortune!”

N looked around her apartment, the couch was antique, plush and covered in so many blankets and throw pillows that it was hard to see the color of the actual seating underneath, the coffee table was decorated with a lattice of lace, making using it as an actual coffee table near impossible. The same could be said for most the the apartment, nothing here screamed “valuable”.

“Right, okay.” Hal replied, tense but still playing nice, N decided to help him out, he may have been tired of dealing with this lady, but N wanted to make a good impression, to both his superior and this lady.

“Where did you hear the footsteps Mrs. Hopkins? I could go and check for any signs of forced entry.”

“In my bedroom of course, how else would I hear it?” She answered, and N nodded, turning to Hal who seemed to be asking what he was doing, N gave him a smile before leaning over to whisper at him.

“Even if nothing happened, she believes something did, let me just check out her bedroom and the vents, then we can tell her that nothing was there.”

Hal nodded, seemingly agreeing with this plan, he sighed, before adjusting his posture.

“Well we take every report seriously, may we investigate?”

“Be my guest, and if you find the little hoodlum, tell them to get lost!”

Both officers made their way to the bedroom, which at first glance, had nothing amiss. Aside from the abundance of rather creepy porcelain dolls, all staring at them from various angles, N felt unease, and also the need to voice it.

“Whyyyyyy….” He whispered under his breath, just loud enough for Hal to hear it and he snorted in response, giving him an amused smile.

“I’d be paranoid too with all these eyes on me while I slept.” Hal whispered back, sighing and scanning the room, running his hand over one of the only clear spaces on the large wardrobe that held the vast majority of the dolls.

“Seems clear to me, any difference on your end son?”

N scanned the room in both infrared and thermal, but neither showed anything out of the ordinary, but even still his eyes locked to large vent in the corner of the ceiling, he didn’t know why something felt off with it, but it was giving him some weird vibes.

“Lemme check the ventilation, she did say she heard it above her.”

Hal nodded, looked into the doorway to ensure Mrs. Hopkins hadn’t entered the room and have a thumbs up to N, who let loose his wings and zipped up the shaft after carefully removing the grate in his way.

He had always hated climbing through the vents, not only was it dusty and he’d have to spend an hour cleaning out his olfactory and audio receptors later, but it was a tight squeeze, even without his wings, his shoulders scraped the sides of the ventilation shaft uncomfortably.

It was almost impossible for a normal drone to get up in here unless they had a ladder or also had the ability to fly, so he doubted he’d find anything accept a colony of robo-roaches.

When he got further in however, that feeling of unease watched over him again, like something or someone was aware of his presence and he was disturbing them, but rationality still won out, the chances of somebody being in these vents were astronomically low.

Then, the vent opened up a little, allowing him to crouch instead of crawl, to his left was a slowly rotating fan, his front the vents continued forward, but to his right, there was indeed something out of the ordinary. Caught on one of the seams of the welded metal was a ripped piece of red cloth, stained with multiple layers of oil, the freshest layer though, smelled of iron, and seemed to create a glaze of crimson on top of the multiple layers of dried oil. Blood.

He plucked it from its resting place, dread mixing in with confusion, the oil made some sense, maybe whoever had been here had been injured and using this scrap as a bandage, but the blood made less sense. The only time he’d seen blood recently was when that weird fleshy thing under Doll’s bed bled when he poked it, well, and Uzi’s… head… injury.

He looked back down at the red strip, before he remembered what Doll usually wore, that red cheerleading outfit.

His dread grew, becoming a cold weight around his core, Doll was here? In the bunker? Sneaking around the vents doing who knows what and clearly some type of organic based on this blood. What did he do? V was here, she wouldn’t be expecting Doll if she just dropped down from the ceiling one night and tried to off her. And what about Uzi? She was home alone most of the day, taking care of Tera. Oh Robo-God, Tera, she’d be completely defenseless if the Russian decided to come after her as well.

You must go home, your family is in danger!

He wanted to, his worry sinking it's claws deep into him, but he couldn't just leave, Hal was still waiting for him, and he was on the job.

Who cares? Their safety is more important!

The voice was loud and demanding, far more then it had ever been before, it caused ringing in his ears, but still he had to control himself.

Then he got an idea.

He simply called his girlfriend, he was a phone. And even though his hands were shaking and the urge to go home was strong, the voice ceased, seemingly content with his choice.

“N? Why are you calling me through my system? Are you okay?” At the sound of her voice his worry lessened and his core soared, she was okay, Doll hadn't already come for them.

“I-I found a scrap of cloth in the vents. It's Doll's. S-she's somewhere in the vents, please warn V.”

There was silence on the other end, enough of it that he could hear his daughters light giggling through the other side.

“I fucking hate it here!”

Next ->

#murder drones #biscuitbites #nuzi #uzi doorman #serial designation n #n and uzi #oil is thicker then blood #tera doorman #N finds something #its not good #Uzi's kinda tired of things happening.

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nanamineedstherapy · 5 days ago

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Velvet Sin & Clandestine Vows - Getting *ahem ahemed* by Nanami in a bathroom at a billionaire's party!

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Minors DNI/Implied Cheating/Shameless Smut/My First Smut

Summary: Nanami X F!Reader Porn with plot if you squint Nanami at a bougie party? Weird. Nanami getting dragged into a bathroom with a woman who isn't his wife? Even weirder. What’s hotter than luxury, mystery, and terrible decision-making? Spoiler: nothing. Let the chaos (and a closet with better taste than Gojo) ensue. Or Getting Railed by Nanami in a bathroom at a billionaire's party! This fic started as a joke & spiraled into a mix of billionaire aesthetics, deadpan sass, & unhinged party vibes. Buckle up—it’s classy, messy, & totally Nanami-approved. 💅 #Rewritten since I hated the first draft. TW: Maybe Cheating

A/N: This is my first time writing smut of any kind so let me know if it hits the spot ( ✧≖ ͜ʖ≖) Y’all, I swear, Nanami is loyal as hell, but who doesn’t love a little tension and mystery? If you’re living for the luxury or just here for the smut, drop a comment or a kudos—your chaos feeds mine. Cheers, besties! 🍸

The road twisted like a serpent through a dense forest, the towering pines stretching skyward, their shadows merging into a dark canvas under the fading sun. As Nanami’s Aston Martin DBS Superleggera glided past the last cluster of trees, the view opened into a scene pulled from the pages of an expensive dream.

The estate stood by a tranquil lake , its surface a sheet of liquid sapphire, mirroring the golden hues of the evening. The mansion, impossibly grand, didn’t merely rise—it commanded the horizon, almost otherworldly.

Towering walls of smooth stone enclosed the property, their minimalist design interrupted by intricate wrought-iron gates that whispered exclusivity rather than screamed it. AI-quipped security cameras, seamlessly embedded into the structure, blinking like mechanical sentinels, their presence a silent testament to caution wrapped in discretion. Guards in impeccably tailored suits patrolled the perimeter, some with guns, some with drones, some with androids, some with canines, their demeanor more akin to that of secret service agents than traditional staff.

The driveway stretched before him, a sleek ribbon of obsidian stone that gleamed like polished onyx under strategically placed lighting. The circular courtyard at the end was a gallery of excess : a Koenigsegg Jesko , a Bugatti Chiron , a Maserati Folgore , a Mercedes-Maybach S-Class , a Cadillac Celestiq , and a Rolls-Royce Phantom sat gleaming among other cars, their black, forest green or electric blue flawless exteriors reflecting the golden glow of vintage lampposts.

The lawns rolled outward like an emerald sea, interrupted by marble fountains with sculptures so detailed they seemed to breathe. At the edge of the estate, a private dock cradled a yacht —a floating palace that promised indulgence on the water. Above, the faint hum of helicopter rotors signaled rooftop landings, where multiple sleek, futuristic aircrafts waited in perfect formation.

The mansion itself was a contradiction brought to life. Its towering facade bore sharp lines and elegant curves, an architectural ballet where glass and steel met aged stone and brushed brass, each material woven into a seamless tapestry of power and refinement. High ceilings soared above, the kind that made you feel small without making you feel insignificant. The structure breathed genius—an intellect so vast it had turned ambition into reality.

As Nanami pulled up, the double doors opened before he even stepped out, as though the house had been expecting him. Inside, the ambiance shifted into a warm, inviting opulence. The grand hall shimmered under crystal chandeliers that fractured light into golden rain. Polished marble floors reflected the glow, amplifying the sense of space, while floor-to-ceiling windows turned the lake into a living painting framed by midnight silk drapes.

Walking in, he adjusted his Tateossian 18K gold cufflinks out of habit, the gold gleaming briefly in the chandelier light. The fabric of his Tom Ford silk Charmeuse shirt cooled against his skin as he rolled up his sleeves neatly, a testament to effort without indulgence. His tailored Mohair trousers—his entire outfit, his wife’s suggestion—fit him perfectly, a fact he acknowledged with a silent nod to her exquisite taste.

He knew she had spent more time selecting them than he ever would. She had an eye for these things, a maddening precision that made him trust her implicitly. He'd let her spend a good amount on tonight's party outfit to blend in with his office crowd, even though price tags were the least of his concerns. His wife, however, was a different story. Her taste was so particular that she rarely found anything worth buying at a store. But once she did, if it was casual, it would likely be inexpensive. However, if it was anything work- or party-related, it would undoubtedly carry a hefty price tag

The party coursed through the mansion like a heartbeat. In one ballroom , laughter mingled with the clinking of glasses as soft jazz played from hidden speakers. A smaller, more intimate space pulsed with energy, decked out like a private nightclub , where a few couples swayed to Spanish music under the prismatic glow of lights. Staff moved seamlessly among the crowd; their movements choreographed perfection, while their uniforms—a balance of practicality and haute couture—highlighted the wealth that surrounded them.

Each corner of the estate exuded thought and precision. From the soft, ambient lighting casting shadows on minimalistic art pieces to the way every surface seemed untouched yet lived in, the house wasn’t just a home; it was a living entity—one that whispered of brilliance, extravagance, and untold secrets.

Soon, before he knew it, corporate small talk had already grated on him; he’d barely resisted the urge to check his watch. Conversations about ‘exciting’ fiscal projections felt like sandpaper on his nerves, but years of navigating boardrooms had honed his stoic armor to perfection. He tilted his head just enough to feign interest in a junior analyst’s enthusiastic recounting of how they saved 0.5% on operational costs last quarter.

“Impressive,” he muttered, his voice so flat it was unclear whether he meant it or not. The analyst beamed anyway, oblivious.

His whiskey remained mostly untouched, a mere prop for these tedious rituals. He glanced down at the gold trim of the glass and thought fleetingly about hurling it through one of the massive floor-to-ceiling windows—not out of anger, but for something more stimulating than listening to Steve from Compliance recount his golf trip.

“Nanami-san!” Steve called out, loud enough to turn heads. “What’s your handicap? Bet you’re deadly on the green.”

Nanami turned slowly, blinking once as if the words needed extra time to register. “I don’t play golf, Steve,” he replied, deadpan. “I have a job.”

Steve’s laugh was loud and awkward, his ego crumpling in on itself. Nanami allowed himself a flicker of satisfaction before turning back to the entrance, silently daring someone interesting to walk in and save him.

A marketing executive drifted over, a glass of champagne precariously balanced in one hand, their other already extended for a handshake. “Nanami, old sport!” the exec crowed, as though they’d survived war trenches together instead of working in adjacent departments.

“Hardly,” Nanami said, shaking their hand briefly before folding his arms, an unmistakable signal that the conversation was over before it began.

Then the intern appeared like a fly buzzing near a fresh wound, her enthusiasm bordering on suffocation. “Nanami-san, you look great tonight,” she gushed. “Is that Tom Ford? I could tell from a mile away!”

He resisted the urge to roll his eyes the moment he saw her making her way towards him from the other corner of the room. Her extremely short gold dress barely covered anything, highly inappropriate for co-worker parties. Where was HR when you needed them?

He regarded her with the kind of cool detachment that made people second-guess speaking to him in the first place. His response was little more than a nod, a gesture so dismissive it might as well have been punctuation. “Yes,” he replied curtly, sipping his whiskey for the first time just to end the interaction. The burn of alcohol was preferable to enduring another comment.

“I’ve never seen you in anything so... relaxed ,” she added, eyes wide as though he’d arrived in a Hawaiian shirt instead of a $25,000 ensemble.

Nanami considered a sarcastic remark— yes, I’m positively unhinged tonight with my gold cufflinks and tailored trousers —but decided against it. “Enjoy the party,” he said instead, his tone as warm as a January morning.

Her persistence, however, was unwavering, her enthusiasm grating on his last nerve. She was the type who delivered coffee he never asked for, lunches he didn’t need, flushed cheeks, and doe-eyed stares he couldn’t unsee. What he had initially dismissed as professional eagerness was now so obviously a crush that even the office ficus had likely noticed. He didn’t mind admirers so long as they kept their distance, but this one was suffocating. Tonight, he had a plan: feed her to his wife .

He let her ramble, tuning her out while his colleagues began their usual background drone: glowing self-praise about the last quarter’s financial performance. Occasionally, Nanami nodded, just enough to seem engaged while maintaining an expression that screamed, I’d rather be anywhere else .

Then a peer from Finance leaned in, his smirk as oily as his hair gel. “You’re quite the magnet tonight, Nanami. What’s your secret?”

“Competence,” Nanami replied, without missing a beat.

The peer’s laugh faltered into a cough as he quickly excused himself. Events like this always managed to sap what little energy he had left after work. First, they stole every waking moment with deadlines and deliverables, then they expected polite socializing in his so-called free time. It was, in his opinion, borderline sadistic. He took another sip of his whiskey, wishing—not for the first time—that he hadn’t shown up. He didn’t much care to mingle, despite appearances. These events were breeding grounds for insincerity, where pleasantries masked ulterior motives. His colleagues jumped him, juniors seeking advice on everything from office politics to investment strategies, while his peers probed for weaknesses under the guise of camaraderie.

Then, previously flanked by armed bodyguards, she walked in.

He felt it before he saw it—the slight shift in the room’s energy, the way conversations seemed to falter for half a second. When his eyes finally found her, it was like everything else dimmed in comparison.

Time didn’t stop—not in some romanticized way, but it slowed just enough to emphasize her entrance. Classy, confident, and untouchable. The sound of her heels on marble cut through the hum of conversation, subtle but commanding. The red rubies on her dress flowed like molten lava, catching the chandeliers’ light with every step. The slit revealed long, toned legs that seemed almost deliberately designed to catch the attention of every person in the room. Her movements were languid but purposeful, as though she were fully aware that the entire party had turned their focus toward her and didn’t mind in the slightest. The siren-like glint in her eyes warned anyone brave enough to approach.

Nanami’s grip tightened imperceptibly on the whiskey glass, his chest rising and falling in a controlled breath. His gaze locked on her instantly, though he couldn’t pinpoint what drew him first—the way her dress hugged her or the quiet authority in her stride. One moment, he was half-listening to his coworkers drone about quotas; the next, he was captivated .

“Who is she?” The intern whispered, her tone laced with poorly concealed jelousy.

Nanami didn’t look away, his gaze steady and unreadable. “Trouble,” he murmured, his voice low and even.

She didn’t need to seek attention—it sought her. Women flocked to her, showering her with warm greetings and effusive compliments. She reciprocated their affection with gracious smiles and her charm disarming even the iciest socialites. The men weren’t as brave, unsure whether to admire her or cower under her gaze—her siren-like aura daring any man to try their luck.

Except for one idiot.

Fucking Gojo.

Nanami’s jaw tightened as his white-haired colleague made a spectacle of himself, wrapping his arms around her from behind like an old friend reunited. Her face scrunched in irritation, a flash of disdain that Nanami couldn’t help but savor. But then she turned, her expression softening as she saw who it was. To his dismay, she hugged him back.

Nanami’s fingers curled harder around the glass of whiskey, the gold trim biting into his palm. Jealousy wasn’t his style— not like he wasn’t already married . But Gojo was a different story. The man had a knack for testing limits, his arrogance as boundless as his charm.

She, on the other hand, was the embodiment of contradictions: sharp yet soft, fun yet untouchable, her elegant demeanor veiling something far more dangerous. As if on cue, her eyes scanned the room lazily, not in search of anyone but allowing people to search for her.

And then their gazes locked. Her lips quirked into a knowing smirk, a silent dare.

Nanami’s breath hitched. Her smile—a challenge, a tease, a warning. His pulse quickened, a subtle betrayal against his otherwise calm exterior.

The intern beside him shifted uncomfortably, clearly feeling the weight of the unspoken connection between the two. Nanami almost pitied her. Almost. Definitely not.

His focus remained on the woman; she approached the bar with the kind of confidence that made the world rearrange itself around her. Even the bartender seemed to straighten his posture, offering her a champagne flute without so much as a question. Her long fingers, adorned with a curious glove-like jewelry piece , brushed the glass as she murmured her thanks, her tone effortlessly polite but laced with disinterest.

He didn’t notice the minutes slipping by; time blurred under the soft hum of chandeliers and the muted conversations he was no longer part of. Her every movement consumed his attention, the sway of her hips in that red silk dress a calculated provocation.

When she slipped through the gilded archway leading toward the bathrooms, his decision was already made.

Keeping his drink down, Nanami barely registered the figure stepping into his path until he heard the familiar sing-song voice that grated worse than nails on glass. “Nanami! Where’s your wife? Haven’t seen her yet tonight,” his rival cooed, wearing his trademark smug grin that Nanami fantasized about erasing.

“Still at work,” Nanami replied smoothly, his tone devoid of emotion but cutting enough to silence further prying. He didn’t slow, leaving behind muttered speculations about his sudden interest in someone other than his wife .

The hallways had the richness of the place amplified. The further he moved from the party, the quieter it became, the noise receding into a distant hum. The mansion’s grandeur became starker in the silence. High ceilings arched above, their ornate crown moldings gilded with gold that caught the soft light of sconces. The black marble floors shimmered under his polished shoes, stretching endlessly toward the private quarters. Staff passed like shadows flitting through the ethereal glow of this labyrinthine estate.

He paused in front of the bathroom door, glossy black with intricate gold fixtures, left slightly ajar as though inviting him in. The faintest sliver of light spilled out against the marble.

Knock. Knock. Two taps. Firm. Purposeful.

The response was immediate. The door cracked open, and before he could utter a word, her hand shot out, grabbing his shirt and yanking him inside with a force that surprised him.

The door closed behind them with a soft thud as he was shoved against it, followed by the decisive click of the lock. Her scent lingered in the air, both grounding and intoxicating, cutting through the bathroom . Then her mouth was on his, hot and demanding, leaving no room for hesitation.

“Not even a hello?” He murmured against her lips, his tone low, strained, yet laced with wry humor.

“Hello,” she whispered mockingly, her voice syrupy sweet, before pulling him back down. Her nails grazed the nape of his neck, sending an electric jolt through him.

Oh, she was definitely a siren. He thought as she drew him in with effortless ease, leaving him half-convinced she could drag him into the ocean and he’d thank her for it.

Her fingers worked at the buttons of his shirt, deft yet impatient. When one refused to cooperate, she let out a soft growl, yanking hard enough to send buttons scattering across the tiled floor.

“They’re custom,” Nanami deadpanned, his voice thick with effort. “My wife chose them.”

“No wonder they’re ugly,” she shot back, her smirk as sharp as a blade. “Send me the bill.”

Her sass drew a low chuckle from him, the sound reverberating deep in his chest. She was cutting through his composure so easily, leaving him disarmed in a way he hadn’t thought possible.

In a swift motion, he flipped their positions, pinning her against the full-length mirror. Her front hit the glass with a muted thud, the chill drawing a sharp gasp from her lips. For a moment, he held her there, his gaze sweeping over her—flushed cheeks, swollen lips, pupils blown wide with a mix of defiance and desire.

His reflection caught his eye in the mirror—a man undone, his hair disheveled, his usually sharp expression softened by raw hunger. He barely recognized himself, and for some reason, that didn’t bother him.

“Temptress. You’ve already got me obsessed,” his voice dark as he leaned down to press his lips to the curve of her ear.

“Stop talking,” she countered, her tone dripping with impatience. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling just hard enough to make him groan softly.

He obliged.

The kiss turned feral, finesse abandoned in favor of raw, unfiltered need. His hands roamed, the fabric slipping against her skin like water.

Once she turned in his arms, more of his buttons clattered to the floor, the sound echoing in the small space as she ran her fingers on his chest then abs. The room filled with their gasps and whispered curses, the sterile luxury of the bathroom a backdrop to the pandemonium unfolding. She took off her handpiece, chucking it on the counter just to feel his skin against her fingertips unhindered.

Her scent was everywhere now, filling his lungs, embedding itself in his memory. It was familiar in a way, like déjà vu dancing on the edge of recognition. Unsettling, magnetic, and impossible to ignore.

“Careful,” she murmured against his lips, her voice teasing. “You might just fall for me.”

Nanami pulled back slightly, enough to meet her gaze, his expression a mix of annoyance and reluctant amusement. “Highly unlikely,” he replied, deadpan, though the corner of his mouth betrayed the faintest smirk.

“Your loss,” she quipped, her voice light, but her hands circled around his shoulders, pulling him back toward her.

Whatever this was—whatever dangerous game they were playing—Nanami knew one thing: he didn’t want it to end.

The bathroom’s air carried a subtle mix of sandalwood, bergamot and cedarwood, understated yet lingering—a scent that seemed designed to make every breath feel curated, the kind of understated opulence that whispered money rather than screamed it

Yet for all its grandeur, it wasn't the decor that took center stage. It was the mess unfolding next to the countertop, where passion replaced polish.

Nanami now had her pressed against the large, mirror-backed counter, its polished surface now marred with the aftermath of their urgency—smudged fingerprints, scattered toiletries, and the faint condensation of their mingled heat. The cool marble against her back seemed to amplify the fire between them.

His grip was firm yet restrained, one hand steadying her thigh while the other trailed upward, tracing the daring slit of her dress with deliberate slowness. His fingers paused at the neckline, the silk sliding under his touch like water. His hold spoke of possession, but his eyes, half-lidded and burning, betrayed something deeper—curiosity, defiance, and a hunger he rarely let surface.

She kissed him again, her lips a demand he had no intention of denying. Teeth scraped against his lower lip, the sting pulling a soft groan from him that melted into a low chuckle. His hands roamed with precision, finding her waist, her hips, her breasts—each touch firm, unapologetic, and met with a sharp inhale or muffled moan. Every touch was a battle for dominance, each moment teetering on the edge of control and disarray.

He lifted her with ease onto the countertop in one fluid motion. The chilled mirror behind her elicited a gasp as her dress slid higher at her thighs. Her legs tightened instinctively around him, pulling him closer.

“Not bad,” she teased breathlessly, her voice a mix of amusement and provocation.

Nanami’s lips quirked into a rare smirk as he leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. “I aim to impress.”

Her laugh was soft, intoxicating, and far too knowing. “You’re getting there.”

Her scent enveloped him now—a crisp, briny ocean breeze tinged with something wild and woody, a sharp contrast to the muted, earthy warmth of the bathroom. It was a siren’s scent, designed to disarm, to enthrall, and it worked far too well.

The sounds of their frenzy filled the room, chaotic yet rhythmic. Her nails dragged along his back, leaving faint crescent imprints as if marking her territory.

Then, with a devilish smirk, he dropped to his knees, his large hands splaying across the backs of her thighs.

“On your knees already?” She started, her voice faltering as he pushed the fabric of her dress higher. His lips ghosted over her inner thigh, his breath warm and teasing.

“You talk too much,” he murmured, his tone flat but edged with mischief.

Her laugh turned into a gasp as he tore through the delicate lace of her underwear with his teeth, the sound of ripping fabric punctuated by her sharp intake of breath.

His mouth found her core, hot and demanding; his tongue moved with deliberate precision, drawing broken whispers from her lips. Her fingers tangled in his hair, long nails digging into his scalp as she arched into him, every nerve alight with sensation.

Each touch was a battle for dominance, each moment teetering on the edge of control and chaos. His fingers dug into her hips, holding her steady as she raised her head, her eyes wide at the sight of him.

When his fingers joined the fray—one, then two, then three—she let out a muffled cry, her hands trembling as they gripped his hair tighter. The rhythm turned torturous, each stroke a ploy to keep her teetering on the edge.

“Quiet,” he murmured against her, though the command was half-hearted at best.

Her laugh, shaky and breathless, cut through the haze. “Make me.”

He obliged, taking off his shirt & shoving it into her mouth to muffle her moans.

The room, a masterpiece of design and decadence, bore silent witness to their undoing. The perfection of its lines, the care in its curation—all of it had melted away, leaving only raw, unbridled chaos in its place.

When she finally collapsed against the mirror, her breath came in uneven bursts, fogging the glass behind her. Her flushed face, her dress still bunched at her waist, chest rising and falling as aftershocks wracked her frame left her looking like Mayhem personified. Still, he didn’t stop, his tongue lapping up every drop of her release like she was the finest wine.

Her body trembled, hips bucking against his mouth. His tongue and fingers were moving in perfect harmony. Her mewles grew higher in pitch, her body arching further as the tension began to pool in her belly.

Nanami’s grip on her tightened, his fingers digging into her hips to hold her steady as her body trembled beneath him. Her moans, muffled by his discarded shirt, vibrated against his chest as he felt the waves of her release pulse through her. She clawed his scalp, a claim he wasn’t entirely sure he didn’t enjoy.

Few moments passed, & Nanami stood, brushing the back of his hand against his lips, catching the faint taste of her. He was the picture of disheveled restraint—his hair tousled, his chest bare, and his trousers hanging low on his hips. The hunger in his eyes, however, was anything but restrained.

His gaze lingered on her as he reached for the straps of her dress. Tugging them down, he exposed her bare chest, the fabric sliding away like water until it pooled uselessly at her waist. Her breasts bounced with the movement, drawing a low growl from him that rumbled deep in his chest.

“Perfect,” he muttered, his voice gravelly as he leaned down. His lips closed over one breast, flicking her nipple with his toung, while his hand found the other, his touch alternating between firm and teasing. She gasped, her back arching off the mirror as he bit gently before soothing with his tongue, leaving her gasping & mumbling incoherently, her voice ragged but threaded with laughter—the kind that would have thrown a lesser man off balance. “You’re enjoying this way too much.” She spoke against the fabric in her mouth.

He paused, lifting his head to meet her gaze. “You started it.”

She smirked, sharper than the edge of the counter, biting into her legs. “And I’ll finish it.” She gestured.

Her hands fumbled with his waistband, still trembling but determined. The flicker of impatience in her eyes was oddly endearing, though he’d never admit it. Nanami stepped back slightly, watching as she struggled with his belt, her fingers clumsy but relentless, then the same belt clattered to the floor, the sound echoing in the small space.

When she finally freed his cock, her hand paused holding it, her eyes widening as her lips parted slightly.

“Cat got your tongue?” He teased, his voice dropping into that smooth, sardonic tone.

“Shut up,” she muttered, voice muffled by the shirt.

He bit down lightly on her neck, one hand busy kneading her breast, while the other left faint crescent moons in the flesh of her ass.

Despite her reservations, her hand moved, slow at first, tentative strokes exploring him with a curiosity that bordered on reverence. The low "fuck" that escaped his lips emboldened her, and her fingers became bolder—squeezing at the tip, letting her thumb tease the slit, earning sharp hisses from him.

His control, usually ironclad, wavered, catching himself before her touch unraveled him entirely.

“Enough,” he growled, his hand wrapping around hers as he guided his cock to her.

She braced herself, her legs parted further instinctively as Nanami growled, guiding his cock toward her slick entrance. She mewled softly as he deliberately didn’t push in, instead teasing her, the thick head of his cock gliding against her swollen folds. The wet slide was maddening, the tension building as he refused to give her what she wanted. Her breath coming in shallow bursts as the tension coiled between them like a spring wound too tightly. Her eyes flashed with impatience, and the look of anger made him smirk through his own restraint. Then she hissed something, muffled, her voice low and threaded with irritation.

Nanami’s smirk was infuriating. “Patience.”

That patience didn’t last long. With a sharp thrust, he pushed inside her, his jaw clenching as she clenched around him, her walls tight and pulling him deeper. He moved slowly at first, letting her adjust; the intensity of the moment mirrored in their matched gasps and muffled curses.

Once he was fully sheathed, the restraint snapped. He withdrew almost completely before slamming back in, forcing a loud, uncontrollable moan from her.

His pace turned brutal, his hips slamming against hers with a force that made the marble countertop tremble beneath them. Her cries morphed into curses, each one sharp and biting, and directed at him with a venom that only fueled his hunger.

“You—oh my God—” she let out a muffled gasp, head falling back against the mirror as he drove her higher.

Nanami leaned down, yanking the shirt from her mouth as he captured her lips in a messy, heated kiss. Her teeth immediately bite his lower lip, drawing blood, but he didn’t care. Their tongues clashed, the kiss more battle than affection, each one pushing and pulling, neither willing to yield.

Breaking away to catch his breath, Nanami's thrusts didn’t falter.

“Still talking?” he muttered against her lips.

“Shut up,” she replied, biting him again, the taste of him & herself lingering on her tongue.

His hips slammed against hers, forcing cries from her throat. Her nails raked down his back, desperate, as though she needed them to fuse on a molecular level.

Despite his relentless pace, his lips softened, trailing kisses along her jawline, down her neck, and finally to her breasts. He nipped and sucked at the delicate skin; his attention split between breaking her apart with his cock and worshipping the parts of her he loved most.

The sound of skin meeting skin filled the room—a brutal rhythm that matched the pounding of her heartbeat. His hands roamed over her body, his nails leaving faint crescent moons in her thighs, her back, wherever he could reach.

Her body arched into him, trembling & walls tightening as another wave of pleasure threatened to overtake her. He knew she was close; his hand slid between them, his fingers finding her clit and circling it with a precision that left her gasping.

Her reaction was instant as she came with a sharp, keening cry, muffled when he cupped a hand over her mouth, entire body clenching around him as her nails dug into his shoulders.

“She’s sucking me in... so tight,” he murmured, voice hoarse, as his control finally broke. Movements turning erratic as he buried himself deep, his groan muffled against her neck. His eyes fluttered shut as his own climax surged through him, leaving him breathless and trembling. He barely managed to catch himself before collapsing onto her as the aftershocks rolled through him.

Two forces of chaos colliding. Neither of them moved, just staying for a bit; she rubbed his back as they caught their breaths, the occasional tremor running through her as she adjusted to the lingering sensitivity.

The bathroom was a battlefield of indulgence and chaos. Perfume bottles lay toppled on the black marble counter, the delicate crystal shimmering under the ambient lighting. A faint mist lingered in the air, clouding the oversized mirror that stretched from floor to ceiling, capturing distorted reflections of disheveled hair, flushed skin, and heat that had yet to fully dissipate. The mingling scents of bergamot, cedar, and salt—the sharp tang of the ocean—clung to the air, layered with the undeniable intimacy of their aftermath. Despite the mess around them, the silence between them felt clean, untouched by the outside world.

Soon her fingers were idly tracing patterns on his back, grazing over faint red marks she’d left moments before. When she finally broke the silence, her voice was teasing but warm, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Your technique hasn’t changed.”

Nanami froze, the words cutting through the lingering haze like a cold blade. He pulled back just enough to study her face, his brows furrowing. “What?”

“You heard me,” she replied, her tone deliberate and light as she brushed her fingers along his jaw. Her touch was deceptively soft, almost disarming.

Before he could spiral into overthinking, she laughed—a sound both melodic and cutting, slicing through his composure with surgical precision. “Relax, Mr. Nanami,” she teased, her lips curling into a smirk. “I’m just grateful for the first million you invested in my company when no one else would even hear me out.”

The tension in his shoulders eased as realization dawned, corners of his mouth twitching into the faintest smile. “Mrs. L/N,” he said dryly, his voice laced with equal parts amusement and exasperation. “Should I prepare my chequebook again?”

“Always,” she quipped, her smirk softening as she leaned up to kiss him. Her lips brushed against his with a familiarity that belied the game they’d been playing all evening.

“You’re still mine, Kento,” she murmured against his ear—almost biting them, her voice dropping to a whisper that sent a shiver down his spine.

Straightening himself, hand lingering at her waist, he pulled her closer to hold as the reality of her presence grounded him. When they finally pulled apart, her tone shifted. “Nice house, by the way.”

“Thank you, Mrs. L/N,” he replied, his thumb brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. The simple gesture felt intimate, grounding, a contrast to the disarray they’d left in their wake. He arched a brow, a wry smile playing on his lips. “Though I do have to ask—what was the dress for?”

Her smirk deepened, her silence deliberate.

“Y/N,” he pressed, his voice carrying a mix of affection and exasperation. “You planned this, didn’t you?”

“I was informed that you looked miserable out there,” she said simply, shrugging with nonchalance that only made her look more self-assured. “Your coworkers are vultures. I couldn’t just stand by and watch you suffer.”

His exhale was slow, measured, but his forehead dropped against hers, his voice softening. “I owe you one.”

“You owe me plenty,” she countered, her hands sliding over his chest with a teasing confidence. “But I’m not done yet. My company just hit a billion-dollar valuation, which means—"she smirked, her tone mock-serious—"you can finally quit working for those corporate overlords. Effective immediately.”

Nanami blinked, her words settling in slowly. Just as he opened his mouth to protest, she cut him off with a single raised finger.

“And don’t start with the ‘backup plan’ speech,” she added, rolling her eyes in dramatic exasperation. “I’ve secured enough for the next fifteen generations to sit around and squander. You’re free, Ken. ”

He let out a long exhale, relief washing over him like a tide pulling him out to calmer seas. His hands tightened gently at her waist as he pulled her closer, his forehead brushing hers again.

“I can finally retire,” he mused, a rare chuckle breaking the steady timbre of his voice. “What a dream.”

Her grin was wicked and teasing. “Don’t worry, I’ll deck you out with butlers, drivers, private pilots—the works.”

He shook his head, laughing softly. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it,” she said, her voice lighter now, pressing a quick kiss to his jaw before stepping down. She fixed her dress, the fabric shimmering under the soft lighting as if it had never been touched. After quickly rinsing & drying her hands, she shuffled for something in the drawer below the sink counter, then gestured Nanami to turn around, who obliged and then winced as she sprayed antiseptic healing spray on her nail scratches on his back. Then, putting it back with one hand while she rubbed his shoulder with the other, soon she adorned her handpiece again.

“Now, pack your bags. We’re going on a month-long vacation. We’ve barely seen each other this quarter.” Her tone practical, though the playful glint in her eyes was still sparkling while Nanami, who knelt on one knee to zip up her askew heels with a gentle touch. This was a stark contrast to his usual stoic demeanor; he radiated a quiet eagerness to serve her, even if she had never asked for it—or even forbade him from kneeling—for anyone, including herself. His care for her was unwavering, as he found joy in these small devotions.

Raising up to his full height, Nanami tilted his head, arching a brow. “When do we leave?”

“An hour.” Her smirk was maddeningly smug, the kind that always made him want to both kiss her and roll his eyes. “Don’t worry about clothes—we’ll buy what we need when we get there.”

His frown deepened slightly, his gaze flicking toward the door. “The house is still full of people.”

She waved a hand dismissively, her confidence unshakable. “The white-haired menace can handle it.”

As if summoned, a sharp knock echoed against the ornate black and gold bathroom door.

“Nanami,” Gojo’s unmistakable voice called out, muffled yet infuriatingly cheerful. “I know you told me not to disturb you, but if you want to leave on time, you should probably come out now.”

Nanami groaned audibly, burying his face in her hair. “I hate that he knows us so well. Or worse, that he was probably hovering outside.”

Her laugh bubbled up, light and unrestrained, as she turned to press a soft kiss to his nose. “Good thing no one will know,” she teased, her tone laced with mischief as she nodded toward the party still raging beyond the door.

“Small mercies,” he muttered. His hand reached down, scooping up her ripped panties. He shoved them into his pocket—a gesture equal parts practical and ridiculous. Housekeeping didn’t need to discover that.

He reached for his ruined shirt & still-ok belt while his cufflinks were probably lost to the similarly colored lines in the bathroom floor’s marble. Sighing, he shrugged the shirt on. With most of the buttons broken, the fabric barely clung to him, but he managed enough to appear vaguely presentable, then did his belt & washed his hands. Before stepping out, he winked at her, his rare smirk making her laugh again as she leaned on the counter, ogling him.

Walking out of the bathroom, Nanami was immediately engulfed by the sheer scale of the mansion. The vaulted ceilings soared above him, an intricate lattice of brass and black lines reminiscent of sharp geometry. Recessed lighting cast a warm, almost ethereal glow over the polished marble floors, their obsidian surface streaked with veins of gold that seemed to shimmer with every step.

Security was seamlessly integrated into the decor—discreet cameras nestled within decorative sconces, motion sensors hidden within the intricate carvings of doorframes, and biometric panels that blended effortlessly with the black lacquered walls.

Gojo leaned casually against the wall near the bathroom door, his smirk as sharp as the lapels on his bespoke electric blue suit. “Well, well,” he drawled, his tone dripping with amusement. “Looks like someone had a productive break.”

Nanami cast him a withering glare, brushing past him without a word.

“Don’t worry,” Gojo called after him, clearly undeterred. “Your secret’s safe with me. Well Mostly .”

Nanami strode into his bedroom, its absurd luxury understated yet undeniable once he unlocked it’s door with his thumb. Warm recessed lighting bathed the space in a golden hue, highlighting the polished marble floors and the California king bed draped in silk sheets that whispered decadence with every subtle fold. The walls were a study in contrasts—one side a sweeping expanse of black glass overlooking the estate, the other adorned with minimalist art deco patterns in gold and dark maroon.

A walk-in closet occupied one corner of the room, its glossy black doors sliding open with a faint hum. Rows of designer suits, pressed shirts, and tailored trousers moved along tracks, neatly organized by color, fabric, and season. It wasn’t just a closet—it was an AI-driven sartorial fortress.

Gojo trailed behind Nanami, Martini glass in hand, his ever-present grin practically glowing under the warm light of the bedroom.

Nanami shrugged off his ruined shirt, revealing faint nail marks trailing down his back.

Gojo’s exaggerated gasp was immediate. “Knew you were freaks,” he declared, grinning like a cat who’d just discovered a fresh bowl of cream.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Nanami replied, his tone dry as he waited for the first shirt the AI closet presented.

The automated system whirred softly, its sleek black panels sliding open to reveal a neatly arranged selection of tailored clothing. The closet’s AI chimed in, its voice smooth and masculine: “Good evening, Mr. Nanami. May I suggest the Maurizio Miri blue Sam Arold , double-breasted blazer for optimal sophistication?”

“No, a white shirt will be enough for now. Thank you.” Nanami replied smoothly as the closet handed him the shirt.

Gojo’s eyes lit up. “Hold up, your closet talks?”

Nanami buttoned up the crisp white shirt, the fabric molding to him like it had been made yesterday, which it probably had been. A subtle reminder of how far he—and this house—stood from anything resembling average. “Of course it talks. Everything here does. Wife is particular about it,” he muttered, casually pulling out a certain incriminating piece of fabric from his pocket & tossing it into the hidden incinerator bin while Gojo eyed the AI.

Then Gojo leaned closer to the closet; his curiosity piqued. “Hey, Mr. Closet—do you take orders? I need something that makes me look like a billionaire without actually trying. Extra points if it comes with a holographic logo of the Gojo Clan.” Gojo didn’t have such bad likes; he just enjoyed being a menace.

The AI responded without missing a beat. “My name is Winston, & I’m sorry, sir. My services are exclusive to Mr. Nanami. While I assure you, no attire could enhance perfection.”

Nanami’s lips twitched as he fought back a smirk. “Even the closet knows you’re insufferable.”

“Hey, I like this guy!” Gojo shot back, pointing at the sleek black panel like it was a long-lost friend. “At least he has taste.”

The AI, apparently more than willing to engage, added, “Taste, sir, is precisely what you lack.”

Nanami turned away, struggling to suppress his laughter, as Gojo gawked. “Traitor! I’m officially boycotting this brand,” Gojo declared, though his curiosity kept him glued to the closet. “Btw what brand are you.”

Nanami smacked his arm. “Do you forget my wife invents AIs for a living, among other things?”

Gojo shrugged, “I didn’t know it was one of hers.”

As Nanami folded his sleeves up again, Gojo shot one last look at the closet. “You’re lucky I’m a forgiving man, Mr. Closet-Winston. Once I babysit this house, bet you’ll miss me when I leave.”

“I highly doubt that,” the AI replied, its tone impossibly smooth.

Gojo huffed, muttering something about finding an AI closet with better taste, while Nanami finally allowed a small smirk to surface.

Once out of the closet, Gojo chirped, “Aren’t you going to thank me for organizing this amazing party?”

Nanami took the whisky glass Gojo handed him, savoring a slow sip. “Thank you, Gojo, for organizing this party,” he said, his voice flat. “It’s not like we paid for it or anything.”

“Fair,” Gojo replied, recovering quickly with a shrug. “But I still expect to cash in the favor someday.”

Nanami nodded, flooding his sleeves with practiced precision before striding back toward the party.

Gojo followed on his heels like an overenthusiastic puppy, Martini in hand. Then looking back at the sentinel closet, he mused. “I need one of these. Think the wife will help me place an order?”

“She’s not your wife,” Nanami deadpanned, savouring the whisky burn as he sipped.

Once they had stepped into the grand ballroom, Nanami’s gaze swept over the room. Gojo, meanwhile, leaned in conspiratorially.

“So,” he began, his grin as infuriating as ever, “how was she?”

His gaze immediately found her. She stood along the far wall; an expansive bar carved from obsidian and gold stood like a centerpiece, its surface laden with bottles of rare vintages.

He didn’t falter in his reply, expression flat. “She’s a woman, Gojo. Not a secret.”

Gojo smirked as Nanami ignored the conspiratorial knowing smirks and whispers that seemed to surround him.

His gaze lingered as she laughed warmly, her head tilted slightly, the sound unguarded and genuine. She was speaking to two women he vaguely recognized as the CTO and CFO of her company, their expressions a mix of respect and admiration. For a moment, he simply watched. Despite himself, Nanami felt a rare sense of pride.

Just as he was about to make his way to her, a voice sliced through the moment.

“Nanami-san! There you are!”

The same intern with an unfortunate crush on him had caught sight of him again, waving over one of her equally annoying cohorts, a smug backstabbing bitch of a coworker Nanami didn’t even bother to remember the name of. They approached like vultures, the intern’s over-the-top enthusiasm clashing painfully with the coworker’s grimey smirk.

“Nanami-san!” she chirped, clasping her hands together. “This house is incredible! You must feel so inspired here.”

“I feel inspired to have another drink,” Nanami deadpanned, raising his glass slightly before taking a sip.

The coworker, clearly fishing for gossip, leaned in. “Yeah, no kidding. So, where’s your wife we’ve all heard so much about?” He practically sang the last part, his tone dripping with mockery. “Must be so busy to miss an event like this.”

Listening to this, Gojo moved closer to Nanami’s side like chaos incarnate, throwing an arm around his shoulder. “Oh, you haven’t met her yet?” he asked, his grin practically weaponized. “Tsk, tsk, Nanami, keeping secrets from your best friends .”

The coworker scowled at the jab.

The intern blinked, momentarily stunned into silence. Nanami bit back a smirk, swirling his whisky lazily in his glass.

When the intern finally recovered, her tone turned defensive. “Well, he’s never mentioned her to me!”

Nanami’s expression darkened, his patience stretching to its breaking point. One thing he wasn’t—had never been—was unfaithful. And this implication, no matter how cluelessly delivered, crossed a line.

Yet Gojo wasn’t finished. He turned his full attention to the intern, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper loud enough for everyone to hear. “You know, he does talk about her all the time. But I guess you two must not hang out much, huh? Just acquaintances, then.”

“Excuse me?” Nanami’s voice was sharp, each syllable cutting.

The intern, oblivious to the shift in tone, pressed on. “You never mentioned you were married—”

“Please,” arching a brow, he interrupted, his expression one of detached amusement. “Do not imply that I’ve hidden my marriage. I’ve been married for years and have never avoided speaking about my wife when asked. If you’re unaware, perhaps that says more about you than it does about me.” Each word measured and sharp. It’s not like he cared to keep his job anymore anyway.

The intern blinked, stunned into silence.

Gojo erupted into laughter, clapping him on the back. “Kento, you’re killing it tonight. Who’s next on the chopping block?”

Without waiting for a response, Nanami brushed past them, his focus already shifting back to her. Gojo, naturally, wasn’t done yet. Turning back with a smirk, he delivered one final dig.

“He talks about her all the time with his friends. Trust me, I’d know since I’m his best friend. I know all his secrets ,” he said lightly. “Guess you’re just colleagues.” Nanami could hear the mockery directed at his coworkers, with a hint of possessiveness over their friendship in Gojo’s voice, along with the intern’s sputtering, behind him.

Once he approached, his hand slid around her waist, the gesture subtle yet unmistakable. It wasn’t a public claim so much as a quiet reassurance, a tether grounding him in the chaos of the room.

She turned to him, her smirk softening into something more intimate as she acknowledged the unspoken exchange.

“Hello,” he murmured, inclining his head with a faint smile toward the women she’d been speaking with. They were better than his coworkers; hence they were hired.

As Gojo approached them behind Nanami, she introduced him smoothly, her tone warm yet commanding. ��Ladies, my closest friend, Gojo Satoru.”

Gojo’s professional smirk slipped into place with practiced ease. “A pleasure,” he said simply, his arm resting on Nanami’s shoulder again.

The conversation progressed for a bit before the sound of glass clinking drew their attention.

“Everyone!” Gojo’s voice rang out, cheerful and uncontainable. He was sitting atop the bar, manspreading, grin wide enough to rival the chandelier’s glow. “A toast to the lovely couple!”

Heads turned toward them, though many had already been stealing glances at her all evening while others were glaring daggers at Nanami.

Nanami cleared his throat, voice steady, effortlessly commanding the room. “Thank you all for coming to our housewarming party,” he began, his tone formal but with a warmth that felt uncharacteristic. His hand rested securely on her waist. “For those of you who don’t know, this is Y/N L/N. She’s my wife. She’s the one who bought us this house.”

A ripple of polite claps followed, though Nanami wasn’t finished.

“She hasn’t visited my office because she’s been working tirelessly on her company, Curse Cop, which, as of today, has officially reached a billion-dollar valuation.” He paused, his voice softening as he glanced at her, unguarded admiration flickering across his face. “Please, drink to your heart’s content, because starting tomorrow, I’ll be on vacation with her—and I’ll also be stepping down as Finance Director to spend more time with my wife, as I promised her.”

The room erupted in applause and a few ‘awws’ from mostly female guests, though Nanami barely noticed. His focus remained on her as she looked up at him, her expression a blend of amusement and affection.

From somewhere behind them, he heard whispers, envy poorly concealed.

“How’d he even get with her?” one muttered.

“It makes sense,” another replied begrudgingly. “He’s the kind of man every woman wants.”

But none of it mattered. Nanami leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to her lips, as if the room around them didn’t exist.

For him, in that moment, it didn’t.

Soon the evening had progressed—Nanami was comfortably leaning against the bar, whisky in hand, Gojo, still on top of the bar, flanking him as usual, when the intern caught sight of Y/N between them.

She stumbled her way toward her, clearly drunk, with newfound boldness, her barely-there dress doing little to enhance her sense of professionalism. Nanami’s lips twitched as he watched the scene unfold, hiding his amusement behind his glass. He wasn’t much for unnecessary public fights, but he was waiting for this one since she had really become a nuisance for him over the months, hence the reason she was invited today.

“Y/N,” Gojo whispered, sidling closer to her as she inquired about the launch of their latest multiplayer game with the COO of her company. “See that girl over there?”

Pausing, she glanced over, her brow arching slightly as she clocked the intern making a beeline toward her.

“That one’s been after Kento for months,” Gojo murmured, his grin wicked. “Unrequited coffee deliveries, surprise lunches... the works. You’re about to have front-row seats to her grand finale.” He had noticed it all while visiting Nanami’s office, along with Nanami’s look of frustration when she wouldn’t take the hint and leave him alone.

Y/N didn’t miss a beat, her expression remaining poised as she turned fully to face the intern. The air around her seemed to shift, her unapproachable aura sharpening to something razor-edged.

The intern, blissfully unaware, extended a hand, her confidence teetering on arrogance. “Hi! I’m Nat. I work closely with Nanami-san in finance. It’s so great to finally meet you.”

Y/N’s gaze flicked briefly to the outstretched hand before returning to the intern’s face, her expression neutral but distinctly unimpressed. “Oh?” she said coolly. “And what are you to him?”

The intern faltered, her hand dropping slightly. “I... like I said, I work with Nanami-san! He’s been so helpful to me in the office. Such a great mentor.”

Turning his head from his vantage point, Nanami’s smirk widened as he took another slow sip of whisky. He had actively avoided helping her since he discovered her hidden agenda.

“Is that so?” Y/N replied, tilting her head slightly. “And what exactly have you learned from him?”

The intern brightened, eager to elaborate. “Oh, just... everything, really! He’s so dedicated and focused. I can see why you married him.”

There was a pause—a beat of silence that stretched just long enough to become uncomfortable. Then Y/N smiled, and it wasn’t kind.

“I see,” she said, her tone dripping with polite venom. “And yet, here you are, at a party in our house, introducing yourself to me like you’re a stranger. How odd for someone who claims to work so ‘closely’ with my husband.”

The intern’s expression wavered, a flicker of panic breaking through her confident facade. “Oh, I didn’t mean—”

“Didn’t mean what?” Y/N interrupted smoothly, her smile widening. “To sound presumptuous? To overstep? Or to assume familiarity where there is none?”

Gojo, now openly laughing, gestured to Nanami, “Remind me never to piss your wife off.”

The intern stammered something unintelligible before finally scoffing & retreating, her confidence crumbling as she melted back into the crowd.

Y/N turned back to the COO, now flanked by CTO and CFO without so much as a backward glance as they dragged her off to introduce a potential investor, the conversation resuming as if nothing had happened.

Turning straight, Nanami finally let his smirk show, raising his glass toward Y/N in a silent toast.

She caught his eye, the faintest curve of her lips betraying her amusement, before she returned her attention to her companions.

“Worth every penny,” Gojo muttered under his breath, clinking his glass against Nanami’s.

“Agreed,” Nanami replied, his tone calm but his eyes glinting with mirth.

A/N: You thought Kento would cheat huh ☜(ˆ▿ˆc) Thanks for diving into this tangled mess of lust & love. If you caught the twist & liked it (or even hated it), drop a comment. I live for your chaos & crave your feedback like Nanami craves his wife. 🖤

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