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urdailybs · 3 years

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that one cracky zhongven fic

Summary: Jean gets alerted that there's a possible child predator in the city and takes it super seriously and then... the "child" in question is her god. Her 2000+ yrs old god and the "predator" is his 6000+ yrs old boyfriend.

Anna had been near the fountain, swishing her hands through the crystal waters as she watched the people of Mondstadt do their daily routines.

The guards were around the gate, Carol was at her merchant stall, some little kids were playing around with the stray dogs. Overall it was a very peaceful day, most days were since Storterrors defeat and Dvalin’s rise.

Lord Barbatos must’ve blessed them, she thought. The weather was just right, not too hot nor too cold. It cooled everyone’s skin nicely and everyone seemed to enjoy their day. Perhaps the lord was in a good mood himself, maybe this was his way of forgiving them for treating the Dvalin situation so horribly. Lord Barbatos was never rumored to hold grudges long.

Anna smiled to herself, joy creeping at her sides. How fun, she mused. But something bad is bound to happen. Maybe that Bennett boy would come in and ruin their luck once again, trouble seemed to follow the teenager and it just so happened he liked to take his daily stroll around this time.

She suppressed a groan. If he were to appear today would be rather eventful. She does not think that it would sour the mood of the Mondstadt citizens, maybe even make them laugh at the child’s poor luck but that didn’t mean the boy would feel the same.

Her grin morphed into a frown at that thought but she shook those thoughts away. Better not dwell on a future that wasn’t set in stone.

Anna’s head roamed around once again, maybe she’d see someone she hasn’t met yet.

But instead, her eyes landed on the local bard, Venti, she recalled him calling himself. According to her brother, he played at Angel’s Share frequently but also went around telling tales of the gods around Barbatos statue. He was a traveling bard, if asked he could probably sing you a song about the Dendro archon.

She stood from her spot on the edge of the fountain, patting down her dress to go greet the teenager, ask him how his day was. Venti was known for being very conversational after all. She started heading over, a grin on her face. Maybe she'd be able to convince him to play her a song, she doubts he'd protest.

Anna walked around the fountain, making sure she didn't trip over any pebbles before looking up again. But now there was someone at Venti's side. The man was tall in stature, with long limbs that had some obvious muscle on them. She hesitated in her steps, perhaps it was a bad time. But Venti didn't appear as if it was, instead he had a bright grin as he looked at the elder.

She wasn't in hearing distance, and even if she was their voices would probably be drowned out by the crowd and the happy shrieks of Mondstadt's children.

So, Anna watched. She wasn't necessarily concerned, it was probably an uncle or a family friend. Yeah, that's right.

Venti's hands traveled to grip the elder man's hands, in a firm but gentle grip. The young bard bounced on his toes as he talked avidly to the man who in return smiled down fondly at him. Unease crept into Anna's gut but she stood where she was and continued to watch.

The man's hands also wandered, moving from Venti's grip to tug on the strands of his braids that framed his face. Venti giggled at the elder but continued to talk, moving his hands to wrap around the man's neck.

Anna frowned and shifted in place, something was wrong, she just couldn't put her finger on it.

After moments of just talking and Anna's feet shifting is when they kissed. It took a moment but the elder man pressed his lips to Venti's, quickly shutting up the young teenager. Anna let out a gasp and moved her eyes away, not being able to see Venti's reaction. This was obviously some sort of child predator situation and she should tell the acting grandmaster immediately.

Running for the stairs she ignored the concerned call of her brother, Anthony, and wasted no time to tell the nearest knight she could find.

Jean sighed into her palms, rubbing at her temple. A frown rested on her lips as she stared at Lisa who sat next to her. "What do I do? Miss Anna didn't provide much information." She could tell the woman was panicked, fearful for the teen she brought up but she could've at least mentioned some names. All Jean had managed to get out was that fact it was a bard and a man in Liyue-styled clothing.

Her wife, Lisa, didn't offer much help but that didn't mean Jean didn't appreciate her appearance, nor did it mean that Lisa did not care. "There are so many bards in Mondstadt, Lord Barbatos encourages the sound of music so much that nearly anyone native to Mondstadt can play an instrument." And many have made a career out of it, she did not say. It was no use worrying herself further. She should just get to the bottom of this as fast as possible.

If there was a child predator in Mondstadt, only the archons may know how many kids he may go after next. Lisa rubbed at her leg in a comforting manner, providing as much calm as she could. "She mentioned she saw them near the fountain, no? Perhaps they're still there."

Jean nodded. Sometimes she forgot Lisa was just as much of a knight as she was. "You're right. I'll go check, stay here."

Her wife nodded, giving her a soft smile. "If you need me I'll be here." Jean smiled at that and pressed a quick kiss to her lips before heading out the door, making sure to grab her sword on the way out. Even if she didn't wish for it, things may get violent.

Huffing, she brushed past her fellow knights, ignoring Kaeya's good afternoon. She'd have to fill him in later, she's sure he'd understand.

Running into the plaza, she caught her breath leaning up against a wall. She couldn't see any sight of a bard or a man in Liyue clothing, so it was best to ask questions. Walking over to a nearby shop-owner she asked and asked but only got shakes of heads and a 'sorry' in return. She was fast to reassure them that it wasn't their fault for not noticing.

She paced across the stairs and hummed in thought. Usually bard's play in taverns, more likely the most popular ones.

Jean smiled at her lead, time for an impromptu visit to Angel's Share.

The door to Angel's Share burst open and Diluc nearly screamed. He really hoped he wouldn't need to get it fixed. Turning around he was surprised to see Jean, a determined look on her face as she walked up to him. "Diluc," She said seriously, forgoing his title. They were friends after all, and her tone was quiet enough for nobody else to hear so it wouldn't raise suspicion. "Have you seen a man in Liyue clothing and a bard around?"

Diluc raised a brow. "Do you mean Venti and Zhongli?"

Jean blinked at him. "What? No? Who even is Zhongli?"

"What do you mean 'Who is Zhongli'? He's Venti's boyfriend or whatever." He's also the geo archon, went unsaid but still heard.

He watched as confusion, shock, understatement, and relief crossed her face, all in a span of two minutes. She looks ready to cry, he thought. Good or bad he did not know.

Slowly a laugh bubbled out of her and she slammed her hand down on the bar table, making a customer next to her jump in surprise. "Of course," She muttered under her breath.

Seemingly have sensed her presence (Diluc wouldn't be surprised if he actually had), Venti walked over, Zhongli trailing after him. The elder man looked very out of place due to his clothing but did not seem to realize the stares he attracted.

"Is everything alright over here?" Venti asked with a smile before looking at Diluc and sliding over some mora. "Also, can I get another Dandelion wine? I finished my previous one like ten minutes ago."

Sighing, Diluc took the mora and went to grab a cup but kept his ears strained for the conversation.

The acting grandmaster was exhausted. Now she wasn't one to be vulgar but tonight was an absolute shit-show and she never wanted to repeat it (though she had a feeling something similar will happen, eventually).

Lisa looked up from her book when she walked in, quick to rush over and give her a gentle hug. "Did you catch the perp?" She asked.

The blonde laughed and for a second she feared she may have had one too many drinks after her realization. Could you blame her though? She deserved that wine.

"I wouldn't say I caught anything." She started, watching a grimace cross Lisa's face. "It was actually a false alarm." She didn't know how to explain it to her wife without spoiling Venti and Zhongli's secret. How shall she do this?

"What do you mean?"

"Well, turns out this 'teenager' is actually a very old adult and so is the other adult. Miss Anna had just mistaken him for a minor." She ended up saying.

"Oh! How unfortunate for the couple than, I believe it'll be a little hard to display affection in public if one is that easy to mistake as a child."

"Yes, I suppose so."

#zhongli #zhongven #zhongli x venti #zhongli genshin impact #venti #venti genshin #genshin impact #genshin impact morax #barbatos genshin impact #rex lapis

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raiseyourcups · 4 years

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I Love You a Latte pt.2

A Modern Coffee Shop AU part 1 over here

Pairing: Din Djarin x Reader Warnings: an absolute tooth-rotting amount of fluff (hey remember that time I used to write nothing but angst?) Word Count: 2.2k of Christmas fluff

Summary: Detective Din Djarin and his son come back to your cafe with a single question in mind: What are you doing for Christmas Eve?

You struggled to close the back door of your car, arms full of presents and cookies. You knew you had gone a little overboard but you hadn’t been able to stop yourself. It was Christmas, the first one you were officially spending with Din and Grogu. Sure, they had come into the shop before to exchange small gifts with you but this was different. A smile crossed your face when you recalled how nervous Din had been when he came in after picking Grogu up from school for winter break.

He had once again timed it just right, the afternoon rush over and only a few people working in the book shop section. Most wearing headphones to block out everything so they could finish last minute projects. Grogu came rushing to the counter first, ears of his beanie flapping like usual, and placing down a card he had made for you in class.

“Whoa, look at this!” You had exclaimed, picking it up to admire it. It was a cute little card with a Christmas tree made of paper strips on the front with little pom poms as ornaments. The inside simply said Happy Holidays in Grogu’s handwriting but you loved it all the same. “This is so nice, thank you!”

“You’re welcome,” Grogu said quietly and you couldn’t hold back the smile from appearing on your face. He looked up at his dad with pleading eyes, gently tapping on the glass of the dessert display. Din pretended to think about it before nodding and gesturing for Grogu to head for their usual table.

“Let me guess, a hot cocoa with whipped cream and cinnamon sprinkled on top with a Christmas tree cookie for Grogu and a black coffee with a pump of vanilla syrup for you?” You asked with a smile still on your face as you placed the card Grogu made you on the counter top so everyone would be able to see it.

“It still amazes me that you’ve memorized our order,” Din said, a smile on his face as he let out a huff of surprised laughter.

You looked at him from across the counter with a sly smile, “I thought we established that I only do this for my favorite customers?” You pulled a tray you had prepared beforehand, hot cocoa and coffee ready to go minus the whipped cream and cinnamon. You opened the dessert case and pulled out a cookie, placing it onto the tray before reaching over for the whipped cream. You put slightly more whipped cream than you usually would before shaking cinnamon on top.

“I can take it to the table,” Din said, already reaching over to take it before you could stop him. He was walking away from the counter before you could say anything and you pouted even as you placed your “taking a break” sign on the counter. You would’ve made yourself a drink too but you had already had plenty of coffee to make it through the day.

You sat down across from the pair and watched as Grogu blew on his cocoa before taking a large sip. It was another reason you had made it before they came in, so it would still be warm but not too hot that he couldn’t drink it.

“So I know you two didn’t come in just to bring me the card and get free stuff in return,” you teased, looking at Din with a raised eyebrow.

Din took a sudden interest in his coffee, taking a sip before setting it back down. You tilted your head when you noticed that his hand was slightly shaking. “Um, I-we, I mean, we wanted to invite you over for Christmas Eve and I know you probably have family to go visit and it’s okay if you can’t-”

“Din, calm down,” you said, reaching over to place a hand on his arm. You had finally gotten used to small touches like this. You also had no idea how a detective could be so nervous asking you a simple question. “I wasn’t planning on leaving to visit anyone so I would love to spend Christmas Eve with you.”

Which is what leads back to you struggling with your arms full, walking up the steps outside Din’s house carefully so you didn’t slip. It had snowed earlier and the steps were still a little slippery.You would admit that you hadn’t been expecting to see a row house painted yellow with green trimming but you also knew that this was a historical district. Din couldn’t paint it even if he wanted to and you knew Grogu probably loved it anyway. You already did.

You lifted an arm carefully, hitting the doorbell with your elbow and waiting for someone to come open the door. You thankfully didn’t have to wait long before the door was pulled open and a gust of warm air met your face. It felt amazing in comparison to the chill in the air.

“Hey, hi, um come on in,” Din stuttered, pulling the door open more so you can shuffle in. “You didn’t have to bring anything.” He helped you out, taking the tray of cookies that you had brought with you. You were thankful because those had been balancing precariously on top of the presents.

“I wanted to, besides it’s Christmas,” you said as you walked over to the tree set up in the living room. You smiled when you took in the obvious space theme that was going on with the ornaments as you placed the presents underneath the tree. You looked back at Din who simply shrugged with a smile on his own face. “Grogu picked the theme, I presume?”

“You would be correct. Are you sure I’m the detective?”

“Oh you definitely are, I could never chase down a suspect. That’s what you call them, right?” You asked as you took off your coat to hang up on the coat rack back at the doorway.

Din laughed at your comment, the sound making warmth spread throughout your chest. “Yes, but I don’t do much of the chasing down anymore. I leave that to the cops on the street level.”

“Ah, so that’s why people think all you do is sit around and eat donuts,” you teased, laughing out loud and dodging away when Din tried to playfully swat at you. Once you two were done laughing, you took the tray of cookies back from him and followed him to the kitchen. You took in everything, from the way the place was decorated with pictures of Grogu along with his artwork from school. The warmth that had started in your chest moved throughout your whole body like it did every time you saw just how much Din loved his son.

“Where’s Grogu?” You had noticed the boy’s absence as soon as you walked in despite the TV in the living room on and playing a Hallmark movie. You knew Din had been letting Grogu watch all of the new ones, probably even the terrible Netflix ones too.

“Upstairs, he said he had just one more decoration to make,” Din replied, shaking his head in amusement. He nodded for you to follow him and you did with matching smiles on your faces. You two had just gotten to the bottom of the stairs when Grogu called out to you both causing you to both look up.

You let out a surprised laugh when you saw Grogu at the top of the stairs, holding what looked like a fishing rod over the edge. There was mistletoe attached to it and hanging over your heads. “What did I say about those Hallmark movies?”

“You know the rules,” Din shrugged before turning to you with a smile. He didn’t look too put out for being outsmarted by his own son and you wondered if he had planned this out before asking you to come over. Not that you really minded.

You shrugged your own shoulders, “You do still owe me for past orders and your time’s almost up.”

Din laughed loudly, shaking his head before pulling you into a sweet kiss. It was much too short for your liking but Grogu was still there watching you two. He let out a happy sound before you finally heard him rushing down the stairs. You let out a content sigh as you and Din separated, no matter how many times you kissed it was just as good as the first time. Grogu took your hand and led you back towards the tree before you could say anything.

You nodded and made comments for every ornament that Grogu pointed at, telling him which was your favorite one. He approved of your choice before pointing out his favorite. Neither of you noticed the look Din was giving you from his spot against the couch. Just pure love in his eyes as he smiled at the two of you under the lights of the Christmas tree. It just made him more determined to ask the one question he had wanted to ask after the first time you had treated Grogu like a normal kid. Or maybe it was when he had seen that you had changed your shop’s bell when you noticed how much it hurt his son’s ears.

“Anyone ready for some food?” Din asked, finally able to pull himself out of his thoughts.

The rest of the night went by filled with laughter, more cookies than were healthy, and a Christmas movie that didn't come from Hallmark. You had convinced Din to put on a classic from your childhood and even he had to concede that it was a good choice even if Grogu kept getting up to dance along with all of the characters. Eventually the hours and dancing wore Grogu down and Din was carrying him upstairs to his room with you following after.

"How many more sleeps?" Grogu tiredly asked after you finished reading the book you had brought with you.

"Just one more sleep 'til Christmas," you answered before tucking the blanket around him and giving him a small kiss on the forehead. You once again didn't see the look that Din was giving you and his son so you didn't know it matched the one you gave him when he leaned in to do the same. It didn't take long for Grogu to be completely asleep leaving you and Din trying to sneak out of the room as quietly as you could.

"Do you want a glass of wine?" Din asked, as he quietly closed the door though he left it open a little just in case Grogu woke up.

"Yes, please."

You and Din were curled up on the couch, fireplace still going and Grogu asleep in his bed. You were glad that he had enjoyed the book you had bought from the shop. You understood the hilarity of paying yourself for a book but when they had come in for the Christmas display you had just known that you needed to get one for Grogu. And you had been right, he loved the book after all.

“This was nice, thank you for inviting me,” you finally broke the peaceful silence that had fallen over you two. “I would’ve just spent the night drinking wine or something.”

“Couldn’t have that, no one should be alone on Christmas Eve.”

You smiled up at him before you glanced down at your watch and your eyes went wide when you saw the time. “Oh wow, I hadn’t even realized how late it was. I should, uh, probably get going?”

“Stay.”

“What?”

“I, um, that is-if you want to spend the night. I have a guest room or maybe, never mind." Din cut himself off, cheeks warm from the embarrassment. This was the first time he was even thinking of asking someone this question, you were the first person since he had adopted Grogu to even accept them as a package deal.

"No, Din, ask me." Your heart was pounding in your chest and you hoped you weren't reading things wrong. You knew you weren't, it wasn't like you were planning on doing anything other than sleep but you still wanted to hear him ask.

"Move in?"

You blinked a few times in surprise. That hadn't been what you had expected him to ask. Your brain took a moment to catch up with your mouth but eventually you replied, "I...yes?"

"Really?" Din breathed out, a disbelieving smile crossing his face. You found yourself falling a little more in love with him at the sight of it.

"Yeah, yes, I would love nothing more," you said. You didn't even care that you two had only been sort of dating for a month or so. You had been in love with him since the first time he smiled at you across your countertop and you had only fallen deeper in love as you watched him with his son.

Din let out a laugh and pulled you into a kiss, this one deeper than the one you had shared under the mistletoe. It was made better by the two of you laughing into it.

"This is the best Christmas present just so you know. Nothing will ever top it." You laughed out, laying your head down on Din's chest. You felt more than heard his answering chuckle.

"I don't know cyar'ika. I could have a few more surprises in a year or two."

"We'll see about that."

#din djarin x reader #din djarin imagine #din djarin AU #the mandalorian x reader #mandalorian imagine #mandalorian AU

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platypanthewriter · 3 years

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Dildos and Hayfever

Harringrove April prompt day 13, Hayfever. Detective Billy Hargrove's had a rough time lately, and Captain Hopper assigns him a partner who'll either make everything worse...or everything better.

“All you need to know is he’s the commissioner’s son,” rang in Billy’s head as he stalked down the hall. Hopper had followed up with “I told him you were fresh out of rehab,” and “I’m sure you can remember enough of the ropes to show him, right, it’s not like he’s gonna be doing the work anyway,” and Billy gritted his teeth, punching the elevator buttons with a vengeance.

The light flickered, worsening the headache that always came on in the spring when all the flowers bloomed, and every tree on every sidewalk in the city shot its rocks off in midair—or when he had to walk into the office of the captain. This morning, to his utmost joy, he’d had both, and he took the opportunity of alone time in the elevator to blow his nose, hard.

Captain Hopper meant well, probably, Billy told himself, and set his shoulders.

He found the right building because of the smoke pouring out half the upper windows, the six fire trucks, and the EMTs coming out with the victims—a nice brownstone, before. Billy looked—somewhat hopelessly—for an elevator, sighed, and hauled himself up seven flights of stairs, sneezing.

Police Commissioner Harrington’s son was interviewing witnesses. Billy’d seen him before—always with his own office, always flirting with whoever worked reception, always with his uniform tailored. How he’d brokered a transfer to Major Crimes was a riddle Billy couldn’t wait to ask about—though if he was absolute dead weight, Hopper would probably come up with another solution to Billy’s bullshit, and kick Harrington back onto a desk somewhere.

Harrington was on an upper landing, listening to a black lady and her husband. They looked in their...seventies, maybe, well-off, both crying, and clutching tabby cats. “I can speak to you later,” he said gently, “—if you’d like to—” but the woman shook her head, grabbing his hand.

“He’s a good boy,” she said, sniffling, “—and you better catch whoever did this. Anyone who could do this. There aren’t many young men ready to haul an old lady’s groceries up nine flights, or open her pickle jars, either. Anything we can tell you—”

The man nodded too, holding her hand, and Harrington crouched, jotting down their story, while Billy showed his ID and ducked under the crime scene tape into the half-gutted apartment. He listened as he pulled the whole crime scene kit on, his gloves, mask, booties, and haircap and all.

It smelled horrible, still thick with greasy smoke that clung to the inside of Billy’s sinuses, and he was grateful for the mask.

The parts of the apartment that hadn’t caught fire were nice—nicer than he could afford, certainly—with art everywhere, photos, paintings...and a floor-to-ceiling, sculptural mobile he couldn’t help thinking looked like a cock. He surveyed the scene—a coffee table with wine glasses for two, chocolate-dipped strawberries, and chocolate dick-shaped marshmallows, in front of a couch with penis-shaped pillows.

There was a spray-painted ‘GOD HATES F—’ on the wall, the last word obscured by char from the fire, but Billy honestly wasn’t sure it was new, given the decor in general, and the adjacent broken glass glued to the wall in a penis shape. He leaned in and sniffed it, and he could still smell the fumes of the paint. He snapped a few pictures of it, for later.

When he backed up to get a wider view, his shoulder thumped into someone. “Sorry,” said Harrington, and then, showing why he’d made detective, “...that huge thing on the ceiling kinda looks like a dick.”

“A lot of things in this apartment do, you’ll find,” said Wheeler, the lead CSI, raising her eyebrows at Billy with a smirk. He tensed, a little, but she just started giving him the report, and he nearly shut his eyes in relief. “Including the weapon.” She waved at a bagged, cement dong sculpture that looked like art deco. “It probably didn’t take any prints,” she said, sighing, “—with a gritty surface like that.” Harrington grimaced, wincing, and touching his head.

“The victim will probably regain consciousness,” Wheeler went on. “He left the windows open all along that side of the apartment,” she pointed, “—and with as windy as it’s been today, it sucked the fire away from him, so he didn’t get much smoke inhalation.”

“What even...robbery?” Harrington asked, then, “Domestic violence?” and she grimaced, clicking around on her tablet.

“From his phone, it looks like a first date. We’re going over it with a fine-tooth comb, though,” she said, frowning at Billy, then down at her tablet. “Since the assailant obviously wanted the crime scene burned to the ground.”

Billy nodded, his eyes watering either from the fumes, or the pollen count. He sneezed inside his mask, and grimaced as it stuck to his face wetly. “Who is the victim?” he asked, sighing, and wrinkling his nose.

“Ishaq Hill,” Harrington put in, glancing between them. “Profession, camboy. Posted photos and videos of himself, pinup style mostly, artsy, sometimes naked. Neighbors don’t think it was stressing him out any, though, he just talked about being single a lot.”

Wheeler raised her eyebrows. “Because of the head trauma, they’re keeping him in a medically induced coma, so we can’t ask him what happened at least until tomorrow. But look,” she said, leaning between them to flick between photos on her tablet. She zoomed in on the victim’s crotch, and Billy automatically shot an alarmed glance at the nearest human, who happened to be Harrington, his brown eyes frowning back.

“Was there evidence of sexual assault?” he asked, and Wheeler shook her head, waving him closer.

“No, no, look,” she said, zooming it in further. “It’s hard to see, but look, the harness. The color, there, against his white vinyl? It’s a leather harness, dyed rainbow tie-dye. The straps are cut—and it’s empty.”

Billy stared at her. “...you’re saying the victim is trans,” he said slowly, making sure he had it right, “—and the attempted murderer stole his dick.”

“What the hell,” Harrington breathed.

She raised her eyebrows, waving her arms in a dramatic shrug. “I have no idea! But go look, there’s another one in the bedroom—” she pointed, and then bent back to sweeping something into a tiny ziploc bag.

In the bedroom, Harrington pointed at the waist-to-hip sculpture of a man, used to demo, apparently, turquoise leather straps similar to the rainbow straps they could make out in the photos. This one had a securely-fitted glass dildo in it with a whole blown-glass coral reef inside. Harrington bent close to stare at the cock made of tiny jellyfish and anemones, while Billy took in the display on the dresser—a whole array of fancy condoms and butt plugs, with decorated stands, and nameplates.

“He must have used this stuff in videos,” Harrington said. “Like, you know, unboxing.”

“I think he probably filmed less taking them out and more more putting them in things,” Billy muttered, as Harrington snickered, and then waved at the small, rhinestoned pastry stand labeled ‘God <3 Fags’. It was empty.

He looked over to see whether Harrington had noticed the empty stand, but he was fiddling with his phone. “...doesn’t look like he had any nasty public messages, or anything,” he said, frowning. “I’ll look through his account when we get back—”

“I’m gonna see where he gets all these dildos,” Billy said, frowning at one with what looked like birthday candles, and ‘Ishaq 23rd’ floating inside. He pulled a drawer open, and found a few boxed vibrators, and a lot of lingerie. “Some of this stuff has to be custom. Maybe they’ll know which one got stolen.”

“Oh,” Harrington said, brightening. “Good idea!”

“You can call around,” Billy told him, and Harrington shot him a sideways glance that made Billy wonder if he was gonna be a shithead about his dad being the commissioner, but he just nodded. He dropped into a chair at a desk out on the floor like any other cop when they got back to the precinct, searching up both Ishaq Hill’s social media, and local sex shops.

Billy went to find coffee and gossip, avoiding the old guard—his father’s friends.

“Steve’s all right,” said Holland, another CSI he thought he could trust, since she was friends with Wheeler. She considered, crossing her arms. “Everybody figures he’ll be bad at the job, so he gets all the desk work, and he’s kind of obnoxious, but he’ll get down and dust vac a bloody trunk, if you need him to.”

Hagen in Vice sneered, and yelled for everyone to come say hey to Neil Hargrove’s son, back from rehab, and Billy turned on his heel and stalked back to his own department, his heart racing.

He returned to hand Harrington a vending machine coffee, and Harrington looked grateful, toasting him in the air as he talked on the phone. “No, ma’am, I’m not trying to make any trouble. No, it’s nothing like—” he groaned, leaning his head against the handset, then sipped his coffee, and hit redial. “Hey, I’m looking to buy custom, handmade dildos. I’ve got a—” he grimaced at the wall, screwed up his face in thought, and then shrugged, glancing at Billy, and grimacing as he sighed. “I’ve got a highschool ring I wanna put in a dildo. Uh, go 2011!” He listened. “Oh, you do? Oh, thanks so much,” he said, writing down a phone number, and mumbling more thank yous.

“What’d you get?” Billy asked.

“Just another store to try,” Steve muttered. He kicked the desk, and rolled a couple feet closer to hand the post-it note to Billy. “They don’t want to talk to me until I want a weird sex toy,” he said, flushing a little, but laughing. “I’ve looked for one with plastic dinosaurs in it, a butt plug with my old glass eye—”

Billy snorted his coffee, coughing as Harrington scrambled up to pat his back.

“I think one time I maybe said moose antlers,” he muttered, counting off on his fingers. “That one must think I’m pretty weird.”

“Not the eyeball one though,” Billy choked out, trying not to die. “The fake eye ass plug store thinks that’s normal as shit.”

“I just mean,” Steve said, blushing, and waving his arms in a vaguely antler-like shape from his head, “—moose antlers wouldn’t probably fit in my ass, you know?”

“Jesus H. Christ,” Billy gasped, wiping his eyes, leaned in to where Harrington had brought up Hill’s social media, and scrolled.

“What’s all this shit about the Westboro Baptist Church?” he asked.

Steve was mumbling and scribbling, and then he hung up. “Oh,” he nodded. “They’ve been spamming ‘God Hates Fags’ on all his sites. He’s been doing a big photoshoot with teasers, kind of...at them? He kept tagging them. It’s gone viral.” He held out his phone, and Billy was treated to a lock screen of their assault victim on his knees, arms out like he was singing, his glittery dick spurting a cartoon rainbow.

“...sorry, that’s not very professional,” Harrington said, grimacing, and yanking it back. “I’ll change it.”

“Did you see this at the crime scene?” Billy asked him, yanking his phone out and showing Harrington the spray-painted ‘GOD HATES F—’ he’d found on the wall.

“Holy shit,” Harrington said. “Eugh, imagine them knowing where you live. Shit, I didn’t even notice that.” He sighed, and Billy kicked his chair, lightly.

“Kinda busy walls in that place,” he pointed out, and Steve shot him a smirk.

“Hargrove!” a familiar voice yelled, and Detective Holloway ran up and gave Billy a hug. “You look so good!” she told him, and then nodded at Harrington, and smiled back at Billy. “We found the guy the date was with on Grindr. They’re bringing him in.”

It was nice to have somebody happy to see him, even if her face made him kinda uncomfortable, knowing she’d been the one to catch him drinking in the supply room after all the—after.

“Make him wait,” Billy said, considering. “I wanna go through the conversations on Grindr. He can work up some nerves first.”

“He’s ex-military,” she said, grimacing. “His CV says his last job was as a ‘fully armed and trained combat specialist’ who did security for diamond mines in war-torn areas. I don’t think you’re gonna make him nervous.”

“Eugh,” Harrington said, making a face. “I can see why that date didn’t go well. He probably dresses like a supervillain.”

Holloway’s look at him was a little withering, and he shut up, turning back to sit at his computer. “Lemme know if you need anything,” she told Billy, frowning into his face, and he pushed her shoulder away, quirking his mouth.

“...I’m okay,” he told her, and she didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t hug him again, at least.

“How are you doing?” Harrington asked, after she’d left, and after swallowing half the cup of coffee in one chipmunk-cheeked slurp. He wiped his mouth, blinking wide brown eyes up at Billy, and Billy groaned.

“Look, about what the captain—”

“I know the story,” Harrington said, tossing back the rest of the coffee like a bathtub drain. Billy reminded himself to make Harrington pee before they got in a car together, like a little kid on a road trip. “My dad’s the commissioner, I know the whole...thing,” he said, grimacing. “You shoulda got a commendation.”

“...he was a dirty cop,” Billy grunted, hunching his shoulders. “It’s our job to make sure—”

“Yeah, it is,” Steve agreed, nodding at his screen, and Billy relaxed a little, out from under the weight of sympathetic eyes. “It’s our job, but not everybody does it. And you knew what it was gonna be like.”

“I did,” Billy said, grimacing. “I thought I did.”

“Hey, they let me into Major Crimes for this,” Harrington laughed, unhappily. “Even if my police work isn’t up to scratch, they won’t try anything on you if I’m standing there.”

Billy watched him, and felt a kind of brotherhood, suddenly, looking at Harrington’s tight smile, and tense shoulders. “...police work’s been okay so far,” he said, and Harrington shot him a startled grin. “I’m gonna go...call the hospital,” Billy told him, suddenly needing to be somewhere else. “Maybe swing by and take a look at our victim.”

“Oh,” Harrington said, nodding.

Billy had a few more pictures of the harness sent over—Wheeler was right about what it was, at least—and then they brought the ex-military Grindr date in. He didn’t look that intimidating, actually—his huge biceps were flexed as he held kleenex over his nose, sneezing so hard every few feet he staggered, and he was wearing a t-shirt with a badly-designed logo for a Queer Youth Charity Marathon.

“Hey,” Harrington whispered, touching his shoulder just before they went inside. “Uh, there’s a lot of hate on there from the Westboro Baptist Church. Like, they were getting specific, said someone doxxed him.”

In the interrogation room, their person of interest sneezed so hard snot dangled from both his nostrils, like a drooly dog. Steve snorted a laugh, and walked off to lean against another detective’s desk—Carol’s, Billy thought.

“Can I bribe you for some of that kleenex?” he asked, leaning in like he was flirting on a movie poster, and Carol laughed out loud, and hit him with it.

“Take it and git,” she said, and Steve ran back, grinning.

“Here we go,” he said, handing one to Billy. “One for you, the rest of the box for him.”

“I didn’t even stay for the whole date,” said Braxton Haglund, 34 years old, dark haired and caucasian, with a tattoo Billy could see peeking from under the sleeve of his t-shirt. Haglund blew his nose, again, and the kleenex was so wet it made a noise as he dropped it against the table. “He’d left the windows all open. I walked up so many stairs—” he sneezed, miserably, several times, wadding handfuls of kleenex under his nose, and wiping his eyes.

“God,” he mumbled. “If I didn’t have hayfever, I’d probably still have been there when...whatever happened,” he said, between sneezes. His wide shoulders were hunched despairingly, and even Harrington had a sympathetic grimace. “Dunno if I’d have been much use, though.”

“Did you see anyone as you left?” Billy asked, and Haglund thought, taking deep breaths between blowing his nose.

“...nobody that stood out,” he said. “Some neighbors, maybe. Think I walked into somebody, once, my eyes were watering.”

He hadn’t seen anybody going in, either, so after they let him leave, Billy spent a while scrolling through all the victim’s media accounts. Harrington stayed doggedly on tracking down the dildo maker—Billy nearly felt sorry for him, except it was giving Billy such a good read on what to expect—and he was coming up with a continuous stream of weird sex toys to be in search of. “I’m an author,” he told one. “I want a dildo containing the pen I wrote my first book with.” He jotted down another number, called it, sighed, and tried again. “Uh, I want a dildo full of baby teeth—” he started, and then stopped, frowning at the phone. “They hung up,” he said, sounding betrayed.

“Wouldn’t you?!” Billy asked, smiling despite having to see comment after comment by the Westboro Baptist Church. He found further reasons to hate them, but nothing specifically actionable, so he finally stretched and grabbed his jacket. “I’m done for the day,” he called over the other empty desks.

“Go ahead,” Harrington said, frowning at the screen. “I won’t stay much longer. How the hell hard can this be, really?”

He was there before Billy the next morning, his jaw set, with dark shadows under his eyes. Billy detoured to the coffee machine first, and plonked it down in front of him, and Harington rewarded him with widening eyes, and then a bewildered stare.

“...thanks,” he said softly, then smirked up through a yawn. “Heard back from the arson investigators, and guess what? The fire looks accidental.” He bounced a little in his chair, and Billy wondered whether he was really into murder mysteries, or whether he was just trying to stay awake. “There was a pan on the stove, some kind of chocolate fondue, they think. Just caught fire, and with Ishaq unconscious, nobody turned off the stove.”

“...lucky bastard,” Billy said, grimacing, and Harrington raised his eyebrows.

“You think? Oh, also, guess what—I found her. Our dildo artist. She’s not all that local, but she did send me a few pictures of the dildos she’s made for our guy.”

“Had to track her down eventually,” Billy said, sipping his coffee, and then caught the way Harrington just bit his lips, his jaw tensing.

“Good job,” Billy told him, feeling a little...stupid, like he was praising a dog, but Harrington brightened, smirking up at him again.

Billy studied the printouts, as Harrington spun around on his chair, guzzling down coffee, and explaining his triumph. “She says that photoshoot that had the Westboro Baptist Church up in arms? Upcoming? Get this,” he said, getting up to lean over Billy’s shoulder. “—they’re pissed because our boy was staying at a hotel once with the new leader, Steven Drain. He pretended to be maid service, snuck in, and took the guy’s wedding ring, and made it into a dildo. He describes it as ‘surrounded by rainbow unicorn confetti and delicious queer flesh’. Our victim stole his wedding ring,” Harrington cackled, beaming. “I’m subscribing to his...everything.”

“Lemme see if any of these comments can be traced to Steven Drain,” Billy said, heading off to ask someone to do computer magic. Steve hopped up and came with him, which was kinda weird, but it was nice to walk down a hall without people shoulder-slamming him like he wasn’t there.

“Hate that he has my name,” Steve muttered, as they walked back. “Drain’s got restraining orders for beating up and threatening two young teenagers his daughter talked to, it’s on the public record. We could see what kinda injuries they had,” Harrington said. “...imagine taking down the whole Westboro church.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice,” Billy laughed, dropping into his own chair as Harrington got more coffee, then called around and discovered the assailants had both been right-handed.

“Get this,” he said excitedly, “—Steven Drain is in town. Gay soldier’s wedding, they’re planning to picket it and scream at his widower, you know, their whole thing, but he flew in the night before the assault.”

“We should talk to him,” Billy said, most of his brain on the photos of dildos and butt plugs.

“Can’t we just drop a piano on him?” Steve muttered, and Billy snorted, flicking back through, and trying to figure out what was bugging him about the dildos. There were lots of them, more than Billy’d seen in the victim’s room, and Billy stopped, squinting at his phone screen at one that looked like it was full of tiny antique coins. “...wait,” he muttered. “Where did you say she lived? Dildo lady?”

“Upstate,” Harrington told him, blinking up at him, as he held his pen on the list of neighbors he’d called to ask whether they’d seen anyone that looked like Steven Drain.

“I need to talk to Dildo Lady,” Billy announced, and Harrington blinked at him, then glanced at his screen and back to Billy, waiting. “...we should go talk to her,” Billy amended, and Harrington grinned, grabbing his jacket.

“Should we talk to Drain first?” he asked, “—since he’s local?”

“Let’s wait and see the CSI reports,” Billy told him. “We’ll be on a lot firmer ground if he clipped his nails after he clocked Ishaq Hill upside the head.”

“Hard to believe somebody that loud went down quietly,” Harrington said, nodding. “There’ll probably be hair or something. Even if he doesn’t wake up and tell us. I called this morning—he’s out of danger, it sounds like,” he said, grimacing, and Billy nodded.

“Nice if we can tell him it’s all handled, though,” he said, and Harrington laughed.

“That’s a definite yep.”

Billy led the way to the level where his car was parked, and then stopped.

His car had dead rats on it. He walked closer, and there was a scratch where somebody’d jimmied his window, and tossed more rats inside, and suddenly he longed for a drink.

“Shit,” Harrington said, putting an arm around his shoulders to steer him away, and whipping out his phone. “Yeah, hey—”

“Stop,” Billy hissed, grabbing for it. “You’ll just make it worse, don’t tell your fucking dad—”

“Wheeler,” Harrington said. “Mmm, yeah, you know you said you had some CSI training to do? I’ve got a, uh, little crime scene in the parking garage. Could you get your most annoying rookie to come down and—yeah. Yeah, blue Camaro, license plate PCE 235.” He listened for a long second, and then thanked her again, tucking his phone away.

“...shit,” Billy sighed, as Harrington manhandled him to a different car.

To his relief, Harrington didn’t say anything sympathetic. After a few minutes, driving at a snail’s pace through downtown traffic, he took a breath, and Billy’s hands twitched. “Huh,” Harrington said, glancing down, and then biting his lips in a cartoonishly intent face.

“...jesus, just say whatever it is,” Billy told him, snorting a laugh, and sipping his coffee.

“Sorry your dad is a bastard asshole shithead,” Harrington said, wincing, and Billy choked again, coughing and spluttering coffee down his shirt, but he hadn’t been able to laugh about it before, ever, and it felt good, even if he tried to breathe coffee, and couldn’t stop coughing.

When he could finally draw breath, he sighed contentedly, leaning his head against the window. “...he is, isn’t he,” he said.

“He is, and so are most of the officers he came up from the academy with,” Steve said, clenching his hands on the steering wheel. “My dad too. He didn’t—ugh.”

“What?” Billy asked, curious, suddenly, about Steve Harrington, instead of just the commissioner’s son.

“He didn’t want me to transfer,” Harrington muttered. “He said Major Crimes doesn’t need the dead weight. Hopper had to kinda go out on a limb. I fuck up and I’m kicked all the way down to traffic, I think.”

The thought that the commissioner had stepped in to help Billy, Detective Neil Hargrove’s son, had gotten Billy through some long nights in rehab. He drew a long breath, realizing he was even more alone than he’d thought. “...shit,” he said softly. His eyes stung.

“It’s fine,” Harrington said. “Hopper’s got your back. There are enough of us. I’ll lean on Hagen some, I think I can talk him around. It’s good you turned your dad in. You did a good thing, and everybody shit on you for it,” he growled, glancing over. “I’ve got your back. Jesus, man, don’t cry.”

“It’s the pollen,” Billy said thickly.

“Yeah, sure.”

“I have hayfever,” Billy hissed at him, rubbing his face.

The Dildo Lady looked about sixty, Pakistani probably, and wore a hijab. Her name was Faiza Khalol, and she was delighted to tell them about her work.

“Do you have any better pictures of these?” Billy asked her, showing her the one with the coins in it. “Or could you describe them?”

She could, as it turned out—and even better, when she’d asked about them, Hill had given her one, and she handed Billy a tiny silver coin which, after some googling, he thought might be an Athenian drachma.

“Oh,” she whispered, her brows drawing together. “Um, is it valuable?”

“I have no idea,” Billy told her, but flicked to another picture. “But these are, I think.” The clear butt-plug was full of greyish crystals, with a huge one where it would show.

“I didn’t see these in his dresser,” Harrington said, leaning in warmly against him, and Billy annoyed himself by shivering.

“No. These are uncut diamonds, I think.” Faiza and Harrington gasped satisfyingly, and Billy grinned. “Ishaq Hill stole more than a wedding ring, I think. We’ve had the wrong motive.”

“Braxton Haglund guarded diamond mines,” Harrington breathed. “He’d probably recognize them. Did Ishaq post pictures with these?”

“He always put up pictures of my latest work,” Faiza said, covering her mouth in horror. “Do you think…”

“I think we better talk to Braxton Haglund again,” Billy said, reveling in Harrington’s impressed grin.

“You’ve got duthing on be,” Haglund gasped, blowing his nose miserably. “You gan’t brove I saw ‘s pictures. You gan’t brove anything.”

Billy tried to parse that for a long second, and then, for Harrington, who looked bewildered, said, “Oh, that’s not all we have. Have you wondered,” he said, turning to his partner, who grinned back, “—how anyone could come in to Ishaq Hill’s apartment, clonk him from behind with a dick sculpture, then search his apartment, and not notice he’d left chocolate heating on the stove? Chocolate burns fast,” he said, raising his eyebrows at Haglund. “How did you not notice the smell?”

“His hayfever,” Harrington breathed, his eyes widening at Billy as his cheeks flushed, and Haglund slammed his fist on the table, opened his mouth to yell, and then stopped to blow his nose, and sneeze.

“Also while you were waiting,” Billy told Haglind with satisfaction, “—we searched your apartment. The warrant judge was convinced by our diamond-and-hayfever argument, and guess what we found?”

Haglund’s eyes widened in horror, and his back thudded against his chair as Billy shot Harrington a grin, and Harrington smirked back. “Good job framing a hate group for the crime,” Billy said, his grin widening, “—but why were Ishaq Hill’s dildos on the table in your front room?”

The other Harringrove April prompts I’ve done

#Harringrove April #harringrove #Ridiculous #Billy and Steve like each other more than they thought #=D

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dapandapod · 4 years

Link

Also posted (by me) on Ao3! ~~~~~~~~~~***~~~~~~~~~~~ Jaskier sits at the local tavern. It’s their second night there, it’s a decent place. Comfy beds, clean rooms, locals… not unfriendly. Which is nice, for a change. He didn’t even have to sweeten them up with his amazing bard talents to get them a room. And for once, Geralt didn’t mind sleeping indoors instead of outdoors. Even though it’s a mild, dry autumn night. Also nice. But weird. They don’t even have a contract here. Perhaps Geralt worked one previously and was successful? If so, he failed to mention. Jaskier watches him from his place at their table, which for once is not located in the innermost corner against the wall. All his alarm bells are ringing, but Geralt is calm. Content, one might even say if one knew him. Jaskier is pretty damn sure he knows him. Or at least he was sure, until now. Jaskiers eyes narrow, but all Geralt does is talk to the barmaid and puts coins on the counter. He can’t hear them talking, but he can hear her laugh. Wait. Are they flirting? No, can’t be. She might be flirting with him but Geralt wouldn't…. Would he? She is awfully pretty, with big blue eyes, a soft body and a bright smile. Not an ounce of fear from what he can see. Well, he is glad for Geralt, who now is smiling at her. Weird. The witcher grabs the tankards the barmaid poured for them, and with a last smile over his shoulder walks over to Jaskier and hands him one of the tankards. They have a normal and pleasant conversation, Jaskier doing most of the talking as per usual and Geralt contributing with his usual “Hmm”s and grunts. Everything is normal. Suspiciously so. Jaskier keeps an eye on that barmaid as she walks around the tables, pouring drinks and serving customers. Not sure what’s irking him. When she approaches their table a small flare of irritation blossoms in his chest, and he honestly can’t tell why. She smiles brightly at them, a little brighter at Geralt, if Jaskier is any judge. “You’re a bard right?” She fixes her blue gaze at Jaskier. “Would you do us the honor of a performance?” This is not weird. This happens all the time, earning them coins and boons, and so he obliges. Because this is a normal night, even though nothing is normal about it. He grabs his lute, sips his drink to sweeten his moneymaker, and starts his performance. His audience tonight is kind, appreciative and generous. They toss coins at him and send wine and beer to his table. And that is when Jaskiers eyes return to Geralt. His eyes do that, from time to time. It is almost out of his control, but it is his muse and whom many of his best songs are based on so it is reasonable to keep a lookout. What is not reasonable however, is that bright barmaid sitting in Geralt’s lap. With Geralt’s arms around her. Jaskier almost drops his lute. That irritation returns, he feels it like a stab, like a burn, like a fucking dagger. What the hell Geralt?! He never does that? Jaskier knows his witcher, knows his habits concerning this kind of escapades. He is usually more discreet! This was, if he is honest, more something Jaskier himself would do. So he can’t really judge him. But what the fuck? He finishes his performance, trying to keep up a pleasant expression. It gets increasingly harder as the barmaid leans in against Geralt, pressing her breasts against him in the process, and whispers in his ear. Jaskier approaches their table and sits down. They barely notice him, her hand stroking over Geralt’s chest, pulling at the collar at his tunic. Jaskier has never seen Geralt allow that, so he just waits for him to pry her hand off. But he doesn’t. Jaskier nods at one of the patrons who paid for his drink and sips at it. The red colour identifies it as wine, but he can’t taste it. He can only feel that uncomfortable churning feeling in his gut as he waits for the pair on the other side on the table to notice him. When he puts down his drink a little harder than probably necessary (Jaskier is not good at not getting attention) they finally do. “Oh, hi Jaskier.” Geralt hums at him from behind the barmaids softness. His yellow eyes twinkle in the dim lighting, which is hella weird. Is he under some spell? Because that looked like mischief, and that is a look he never saw on Geralt’s face before. “Oh, that’s a big bite Geralt.” Says the barmaid in Geralt’s lap. Her fingers are now inside his collar, probing a scar at the side of his neck. “That must have hurt.” Now, Jaskier is well versed in Geralts scars, and how to get him to talk about those he was not there to witness. It is not easy to coax it out of him. She will get a grunt, or a “Hmm.” if he’s generous. A “Fuck off, bard.” if he woke up on the wrong side of the bedroll. Which is more often than not. He smiles into his drink in anticipation of what’s to come. “Yeah, I passed right out from that one. A striga took a chunk out of me as she turned back to a human.” What the actual fuck. Jaskier had to DRAG that from his evil, traitorous, selfish lips that would not share a thing if not threatened with getting his hair cut off! The betrayal. Jaskier and Geralt are FRIENDS. He slaps his hands on the table in indignation. How could he do this to him? Jaskier prided himself as one of the few privileged with this information, relayed to him in trust and …. well, threats with scissors, but those stories are HIS. Not some… some barwench flimsily touching his, HIS witcher. And that puts a halt on all thoughts for a while. Geralt is not his. Not like that. Even though the thought MIGHT have crossed his mind a few times (a day), there is nothing like that between them. He studies the wooden veins in the table, tracking them absently with his finger, lost in thought. He barely registers their continued conversation. When he snaps out of it, Geralt’s eyes are on him. “You okey Jaskier?” “Hmm.” Jaskier finds himself grumbling before he can stop himself, but nods yes. “Uh, yes, yes, I’m fine. Just… tired. Might go up to our room soon.” he grumbles. This is jealousy he realizes. And that’s not good. Because that means HE wants to be the one in that muscular lap. Damnit. The antidote for this normally would be to find some handsome bloke or… a pretty barmaid. And with a barmaid on display like that he is very much not up for it. “Im… Yeah, I’m just gonna go to our room.” Dropping our room makes him feel just a little better. With a tiny (tiny) spark of hope he looks at Geralt. “You coming?” But Geralt, damn that evil bloody witcher, just pats the bright barmaids bum (she fucking giggles!) and shakes his head. “I’ll stay here for a while longer.” Jaskier tries so hard not to show his jealousy, trying not to glare at the offending, boobwearing monster that put his claws in Geralt, nods, and walks off to the stairs. Definitely not pouting. ~~*~~ When Jaskier is well out of sight, the barmaid Bella, as her name is, sighs and shakes her head. “That poor boy.” She says, looking back at the stairs. “Well, as nice as it was seeing you again Geralt, but I really must get back to work.” Geralt releases Bella from his arms and she gets up, patting down her dress to straighten nonexistent wrinkles. She snorts suddenly. “His face when you told me about your scar!” she smirked. “He will be pouting for days.” “Counting on it.” Geralt smirked back. “But maybe that will teach him not to bring his conquest of the night to the table.” Bella studie him as she reaches for the empty tankards. “Or, you know, you could just tell him you want to fuck him over the table. Because clearly I was only here to make him jealous.” Geralt is a very, very controlled man. He does not blush. He does not splutter. He does not appreciate it when someone (other than Jaskier) can read him. Geralt splutters. And blushes furiously.

#the witcher #the witcher netflix #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #geraskier fic #Geralt being rude and making Jaskier jealous #Bella doesnt mind #gerlion #my fic #ao3 #ao3fic #poor jaskier #flirting #but dude you're flirting with the wrong person!#my writing #dapanda writes

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babyflossy · 4 years

Text

club coartada | m.l

gif credits to owner

in the daytime part 2! you can read part one here!

pairing: mark x reader

summary: you meet a kind boy named mark who seems to be the only source of comfort in your drug-fueled pity party.

genre: gang au

warnings: swearing, unedited (i’m gonna edit it in the morning)

word count: 2.9k

a few weeks later and the pencilled list hidden under your floorboards was now finished. every name had been scribbled out, leaving you over half a million dollars richer but bored. originally you had planned to leave the city as soon as the list was finished, but the dark alleys and neon lights had made you strangely sad to leave. so, you stayed; finding that beyond the city's carefully structured facade, gang crime and paid killings were rampant, perfect for you. it took no longer than a day for your next client to get in touch with you, a disgustingly rich businessman who needed someone to deal with a mole in his company. you didn't think twice before accepting the job, arranging a meeting.

club coartadawas hidden away in the city centre, nothing but a small sign and a steep flight of stairs separating it from curious onlookers. with a cautious state of mind, you slowly made your way into the club. meeting with new clients was always tense, neither side fully trusting the other. the stairs led to a heavy metal door home to a tall muscular security guard that stared you down as you tried to enter.

"id?" he demanded as a darkly clothed arm reached out to barricade you in the stairwell. you jumped slightly, the sudden movement startling you. the ghoulish smirk that settled on his face made your stomach drop and you avoided his eyes as you pulled out your work id card. lia kim was written clearly next to your photo on the id, claiming you were from london. in reality, you had never even visited london before, but you doubted anyone believed what they read on id cards at places like this. the bouncer nodded at you and handed it back, pulling open the door for you, his greedy eyes following you as you moved beneath his arm.

the club was grander than you had expected. a large circular room with shimmering gold walls greeted you, the metallic smell of money mixing with what you thought was champagne. a wine-red bar covered the circumference of nearly a third of the room, bartenders busily mixing drinks for the customers lounging around. dark suited men stood periodically around the room; eyes focused on the people loitering around, discreetly listening. the one closest to the door nodded at you in acknowledgment, reading through a leather book on the table next to him. he seemed to be trying to figure out who you were from the list, you spied small descriptions next to the names. seo younghowas written at the top, the accompanying description read tall, dark hair... the book slammed shut before you could read anything more, the worker's eyes boring into yours.

"miss kim lia?" you nodded once at him, watching the way his eyes skirted around the room, surveying the atmosphere before he left his post and started walking towards the only other door in the room. "right this way." a white gloved hand pushed a combination into the keypad too quickly for you to remember and you sighed in disappointment. the hand pushed the door open for you and you didn't bother to thank him as you walked through.

beyond the door was a simple corridor, identical metal doors lining the walls. out of the dozen doors only four of them were open, the chatter spilling into the hallway. you were led to the furthest door from the entrance, your shoes clicking noisily on the stone floor. halfway to your destination, a door to your right swung open violently and you jumped back to avoid being hit. you smiled politely at the men exiting. a tall man with dark hair – you wondered if this was the seo young ho from the book but dismissed it as you realised many people here would be described as such – walked quickly out the room, a slightly shorter man with lighter hair following swiftly behind, a smug expression over his face. you froze as you saw the last man exit. smaller than his predecessors but still towering over you, you met mark's eyes before looking away immediately.

praying that he hadn't recognised you, you tried to slip past the door, but mark's voice stopped you. "y/n?" his voice was hushed, and you looked back to see the men he was with had left already, not waiting for him. "what are you doing here?" he looked unbelievably confused and you wanted nothing more than to evaporate on the spot.

possible outcomes shot through your mind. he had used your real name, you couldn't admit to being y/n, you had to pretend to not know who he was. you schooled your expression into one of impatience before you replied. "sorry, do i know you? you must have me mistaken. i'm lia, not y/n." the doubt that flashed across mark's face was reassuring. deep down, you knew he understood what you were doing, and you were thankful when he apologised politely and started down the hallway again.

letting out the breath you didn't realise you had been holding, you were led into the meeting room with your client. the room was more lavishly furnished than the bar you had passed through earlier, deep purple couches surrounded a modern glass coffee table. a glittering crystal chandelier hung low over the table, casting reflections onto the walls creating an almost magical effect. the man on the farthest sofa stood when you entered, an impish smile on his aged face. his hair was shining grey in the warm glow of the chandelier. he waved off the workers in the room, his watery eyes never leaving you. he gestured to the couch in front of him, holding a glass of what looked like champagne out to after you had seated yourself. the velvet was soft under your hands and you toyed with the edge of the fabric as the man introduced himself.

"my name is dr. kil si'u, but you can call me simon," his voice was gravelly but not unkind. he watched you take a sip of what you were now sure was champagne before continuing, "and i already know who you are." he spoke with a gentle pleasantry unexpected from someone ordering a hit on an employee.

"i assume you have the file i requested?" you prompted, reaching your hand out when he produced a brown paper envelope from his jacket pocket. you slid your thumb under the seal and pulled out its contents. photos of the man in question adorned the glossy paper. in the office, on his commute home, an up-close photo of him on a phone call. flicking through the pages until you found his personal information, you displayed the rest on the coffee table in front.

the victim's birth name, age and workplace were written in clear black ink at the top of the page, followed by more personal information, like his home address, the name of his wife, the location of his local golf club. hwang seojun stared back at you from the pristine papers. you eyed the man in front of you carefully. he had given you all the information you required and more, you wondered if he either really wanted this man dead, or this was his first-time ordering a hit on someone.

"why?"

he looked almost surprised by the question and waited until he had sipped his own champagne flute a few times before answering. "he's been leaking information to the authorities, important information that could be detrimental to our welfare."

"what type of information?" you disguised your curiosity by claiming this was necessary information for the case. truthfully, anything other than the victim's name was to satisfy your inquisitive nature. simon's eye narrowed marginally and he took a moment to ponder over what to reply, you watching his reaction carefully.

"you're in this line of work," he started, index finger dancing lightly around the rim of the glass he was still holding. leaning back into the couch you waited with his response. a knock at the door distracted him and he waved the server away distractedly. "we work closely with people who do horrible; however immoralthey may seem to outsiders, they're necessary, they happen all the time. you of all people should understand how dangerous the police meddling can be."

"if you're asking me to kill someone working with the police, i'll have to raise the price," simon's eyebrows raised slightly in shock, but you continued. "these jobs are dangerous; the police often offer protection to people who give them information. it means i'm more likely to be caught, therefore i'll have to raise the price."

"by how much? name the price and i'll pay." that little sentence reminded you so fully of why you loved working with businessmen. they really had no idea what they were agreeing to.

"115,000 dollars," he whistled lowly in appreciation. were you overcharging? yes, massively so. but why wouldn't you if they always pay. "i operate on a half now, half later basis." you raised your eyebrows expectantly.

he seemed to think about it for a moment, weighing up the pros and cons. "will i get photo confirmation?"

"certainly."

"very well, let's do it," you shook the hand outstretched and watched in glee as he called for his assistant, a heavy black leather brief case appearing on the table between you. once clicked open, you saw it was completely brimmed with green paper notes. the assistant pulled on a pair of white gloves and offered you an identical pair. you pulled them on in delight. carefully the man pulled out twelve blocks of notes, taking the rubber band off each one and expertly counted them in front of you. 120,000 dollars sat in front of you and you looked up in question. "i'll add an extra 5,000 for a rush on this, yes?"

"it's been a pleasure doing business with you."

down the scope of a psgi sniper rifle, hwang seojun was getting out of his car. a sleek black convertible, showing off his status to the deserted suburban street. he raked a bare hand through his bleached hair, pushing his sunglasses on top of his head. you watched him pause in front of a parking metre, resting his hand on top, giving you an unobstructed view of his torso. perfect, you thought, steading your hands and aiming the gun directly at his head.

it was a warm night, the absence of a breeze making your job just that little bit easier. the only thought crossing your mind as you pulled the trigger was the second instalment of the payment, thinking in elation of the things you could buy now. after hwang seojun's lifeless body hit the pavement, you lowered the gun, instead picking up the camera next to you on the rooftop. you zoomed in until the features of the body were visible, ensuring to get his car's registration plate in the background for extra measure. the photo would be sent by midnight, the rest of your money hopefully following shortly.

you weren't sure if it was the hefty sum of money you had received, or the ease of accepting that made you meet dr. kil si'u again, but you found yourself reclined in the same luxurious room less than a week after your first meeting with him. dressed in a dark blue suit that aged him unforgivingly, he handed you an envelope almost identical to the first. "after seeing how affective you were with our last deal, i'd like to offer you a similar price for another hit."

inside the envelope glossy paper showed you a woman, dark eyes but light hair with a dazzling smile. she didn't look ten years older than you, some of the photos were her latched on the arm of the man who had been on the other end of your sniper rifle. you assumed it was his wife, the matching wedding rings glinting under silver lights. your suspicions were confirmed when you saw the information page. hwang yeri was beautiful in every outward way. white teeth and a perfect nose made you unsurprised she was married to such a rich man.

it wasn't a question of whether you would accept or not. it would be an easy hit, dr. kil si'u having already proved to be a reliable client. the meeting was short and sweet, leaving the room with 50,000 dollars in cash stuffed into bag. the doors were held open for you as you walked back down the corridor to the entrance. you flickered your eyes around the circular bar one last time, admiring the gold encrusted tables and marble bar top. watching the customers as you opened the door to the street, your heart dropped into your stomach when you saw the man sat at the end of the bar, talking to the bartender. his eyes crinkled at the corners as he laughed at whatever the bartender had said. even in the crowded room, his laughter was as clear as the crystal champagne flutes. you thought you could make it outside unnoticed, but as if the universe was laughing at you, the familiar eyes locked on you. you took the stairs two at a time, darting across the street and into an alleyway, scared of him following you.

you knew your luck had run out when you heard fast footsteps behind you. scared to look back, you kept your head firmly forwards until a warm hand clasped around your shoulder. mark spun you around to face him, breathing heavily from running after you. "y/n." it wasn't a question.

"hey, mark," you avoided his eyes as you spoke.

he tried to meet your eyes, but you resisted, instead focusing on a point behind him, surveying the street. "what were you doing in there? who were you meeting?"

taking a gamble, you opted for telling him the truth, slightly. you weren't sure of the other meetings that went on in that club, but you prayed to any higher being it wasn't just illegal mis happenings. "i was meeting with a client." your voice was quiet, and mark had to strain to hear it.

"a client? for what?" you finally looked at him and you were taken straight back to the night on the balcony, thinking about how soft his lips looked.

"for work, mark. why are you asking so many questions?" running away crossed your mind and you weighed up the chance you could outrun him. he looked quite athletic, however, and you knew your chances were slim.

"are you a hitman? or a drug dealer, then? those are the only meetings that happen there." well, shit. so much for being covert. he seemed to notice your panic and his jaw slackened. "you're a fucking hitman–"

"don't say it so loudly, jesus christ!" his voice was muffled as you slapped your hand over his mouth desperately, eyes flitting around you to see if anyone had heard. mark wrapped his hand around your wrist and pulled you into an empty alleyway, safe from prying ears.

"i didn't peg you for a hitman, to be honest," he didn't look as disturbed as you would expect, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes.

"stop trying to peg me, then." the words slipped out before you realised the double meaning and you felt your cheeks blaze. mark sputtered out a laugh, checking again to see if anyone else was in the alleyway. there was a lonely restaurant at the far end, all the tables outside empty and rusted. it looked like they hadn't been used in decades.

"i'm not gonna sell you out to the cops or anything, don't worry." you resisted the urge to laugh at him. if you had even a shadow of doubt in him, he would be dead by now.

"what were you doing in there anyway?" the question made the smile dissipate from his face, his voice careful when he spoke.

"meeting with a dealer, there's a big order coming in soon, i needed the final details."

after finding out what mark did for a living, you spent an unhealthy amount of time scoring the internet for any trail of him. he had mentioned others he worked with, and you suspected the two men you had seen him with would be part of that. you weren't a computer expert, but you had managed to access the security cameras pointing at the club. playing it in reverse and speeding it up, you watched yourself walk backwards into the club, the door swinging open on its own.

it took a while, but you finally found mark's face, accompanied by three other boys. they looked slightly younger than mark, only seeing glimpses of their faces on the screen. caramel hair falling over honey skin, the shortest one made direct eye contact with the camera, as if he knew you were watching. your heart stopped momentarily. the tallest boy had dark brown hair with sharp eyes and harsh jawline. he was whispering into the last boy's ear as they walked out of the club. the last boy looked the happiest, an easy-going smile accompanied and perfectly coiffed blonde hair, two strands of blue framing his face. you committed their faces to memory, determined to find out more about the boy you met at the party.

a/n: i wanna do some nct one-shots but i’m not really sure what about, so send in requests! as always, thank you so much for reading!

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artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

The Scent of Your Rose Perfume (Nicky x Jaida) - Chae

A/N: I’m not dead! I’m so sorry Chapter Five of ViP has taken like a whole-ass month to update, it should be coming… soon-ish? In the meantime, I have a couple Oneshots/super short multichaps planned to take a break and fix my writers block. I am apalled that there isn’t more Jicky literature in this world, they literally act like a couple irl. When Nicky was crying about you-know-what the other day, I was inspired to write this, so blame her haha. Anyways, enjoy! (I also have an AO3 now!)

Summary:

Working at a Chanel store was supposed to be a high class gig. What Jaida Essence Hall was not expecting was the presence of a tall, blonde, drop-dead-gorgeous shady-ass-whore named Nicky Doll, who has a particular interest in being a total bitch.

aka

I was soft for Jicky and my friends helped me come up with this (hiiii 💯)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24474904

—–

Working at Chanel was supposed to be a high class gig.

Beautiful fancy women selling you purses and shoes in a power-cleaned sparking storefront? That sounded like the perfect way to make money to Jaida, and once she walked in for the job interview, it was over; her looks alone could have made her manager of the whole store on the first day.

What Jaida Essence Hall was not expecting was the presence of a tall, blonde, drop-dead-gorgeous shady-ass-whore named Nicky Doll. She fit right in at a first glance—French accent, smooth voice, looked like a fashion model—but was severely juxtaposed by her superpower to read a bitch down for filth while taking a hit from her juul in the back. Nicky was an enigma— a glorious, sexy enigma.

And she was a total bitch.

Exhibit One:

“Good afternoon ma’am,” Jaida smiled at the customer. The woman was wandering aimlessly around the huge store. She seemed like a nice lady, not experienced with the Chanel brand but not clueless either. “How may I help you?”

“I’m actually wondering if there’s a way I can buy clothes from those mannequins?”

Jaida raised an eyebrow. She must have been really rich if she was asking about actual garments. “Yes! You can. What were you interested in?”

“The striped pants, although, I’m not sure they’d look very good on me.”

The honey blonde pursed her lips. “Don’t say that sweetie, do you want to try them on, maybe?”

The customer laughed nervously. “Mmmm, I don’t want to ruin them, you know?”

And before Jaida could tap into her motherly and caring nature, a voice rang out from behind her.

“Those pants will match perfectly to the shirt under your jacket, madame. You’re not going to find ones like those anywhere else,” Nicky carried a purse in her hand, probably on the way to help someone buy it. But, of course, she couldn’t mind her own damn business.

Jaida glared at the platinum blonde, who just smirked back at her through her cherry red Mac lipstick. And then she did the unforgivable:

“I can help you check out, cherie .”

The unsuspecting woman nodded and trotted after the French Fiend, leaving Jaida to stare holes into the back of Nicky’s perfectly ironed blazer.

Exhibit Two:

“Jaida, the sales you’ve been making are insane!” Jackie scanned the documents. “You really are a valuable member of this team, and not just because you’re the prettiest.”

A shit-eating grin smeared itself on Jaida’s face when she turned to Nicky, who just raised a perfectly arched eyebrow.

“Hear that, Nicolette? I’m the prettiest.”

“For an American.”

Jaida scoffed. “Chile, tell me that when you do better than me.”

“I am doing better, right Jackie?”

The persian manager looked up from what she was doing. “By a little, but you two are our top sellers.”

Nicky looked at the older woman coyly. God, Jaida wanted to punch the expression right off her perfect face. How could someone so disastrously beautiful be such a jackass? Jaida was constantly asking herself, Do I want to kill her, or kiss her?

Meanwhile, Nicky congratulated herself on upsetting and flustering the prettiest girl in the world, again.

Exhibit Three:

Of course Nicky was also friends with Jaida’s friends. Was the older woman expecting for the blonde to hug Heidi and Jan familiarly when they arrived at the bar? No. Did she? Yes.

“Nicky! Wow, when Jaida mentioned your name I didn’t know it was you!” Jan exclaimed when the Frenchwoman air kissed her cheeks.

“Well, there can be only one of me!” Nicky waved, turning to Jaida. “So, you do talk about me.”

“Yes, I talk about how much I hate you,” she rolled her eyes.

“She talks about how she hates you so much she wants to give you a big ol’ smooch,” Heidi teased.

Nicky’s eyes widened, looking at Jaida from across the round table knowingly, sipping her rose wine with a small smile.

“You know what, Heidi? Fuck you!” Jaida could feel her cheeks warm when she shoved her friend in the arm, taking a long swig of wine.

“No, you want to fuck Nicky, not me!”

The other girls, Jan, Jackie, and Crystal, burst out in laughter. Through her embarrassment, Jaida even thought she could see Nicky turn red, too—but of course she’d never admit or show to that. Jaida wasn’t going to admit anything either; she hated Nicky, and that was a fact.

“Jaida, take an Instagram story with me!” Nicky grinned evilly, standing up from her seat and wrapping a skinny arm around the shorter girl’s shoulders. Of course, Jaida forgot that Nicky had amassed quite an Instagram following that didn’t quite match her old-lady job, and mentioning Jaida (who too, was considered a ‘baddie’ and almost matched Nicky’s follower count—) would be good for her brand.

“Whatever you say, chile,” Jaida complied when the other woman turned her camera to themselves. Nicky pressed their heads close together and Jaida could smell her rose perfume and coconut shampoo as they made cute faces for the screen. And then, because of course she did, Nicky placed a ‘friendly kiss’ on Jaida’s cheek, garnering chuckles and ‘awws’ from their friends.

Jaida absolutely despised her.

But damn, she was hot.

——

It was just about time to close up the store, and it was Jaida’s job to check all two floors of the building and help/kick out whoever was left.

Soft music echoed through the little hallway leading to the stairs as Jaida’s heels clicked on each step. The familiar smell of rose perfume filled her nostrils when she approached the second floor, and her eyes darted around to search for a familiar shock of platinum hair.

Near a display of mannequins and a luxury couch is when Jaida spotted Nicky absentmindedly toying with the sleeve of a jacket and humming. She looked beautiful, as always, but there was something about the way her eyes were glassed over and the way she looked so deep in thought that made it impossible for Jaida to look away. Add on the fact that Nicky had such a pretty singing voice—she was a vision.

It took a few moments for the Frenchwoman’s icy blue eyes to meet Jaida’s. Pretty, perfect Jaida. The one who always got mad at Nicky in a way only someone like her would find cute. The one who always spoke her mind and knew exactly what to say and when to say it. The one who Nicky just had to do better than because her face and body were already so perfect, there was not much the blonde could do to one-up her.

Nicky smiled, and Jaida cursed internally when she felt herself get hot again.

“Nobody’s up here, right?” the dark-skinned woman took a tentative step forward, her arms crossed in front of her.

Nicky exhaled a laugh. “No, just me and you.”

“Right. Well, let’s close a few minutes early, then.”

“Mhm,” the blonde nodded, walking towards the other woman in what Jaida thought was her exiting the second floor. She was mistaken.

The taller woman walked straight at Jaida until her back was pressed on a wall, Nicky blocking a view of the marble stairs. Before Jaida could protest, Nicky traced a hand along the side of her cheek and the shorter girl was acutely aware of how she felt her perfectly long fingernail and how that feeling made her feel other things.

“What are you trying to do, Nicky?” Jaida managed to collect herself enough to ask.

“Nothing. I just like the way your face looks, mon chou .”

Jaida couldn’t help but snort and laugh. “You—you what?”

“You’re very pretty, Miss Hall,” her tone was serious, almost sultry.

“I know I am, now-” she paused when Nicky grabbed her chin. “Now, what is this?”

“What is what?” her eyebrow was raised playfully.

Well fuck. Fucking fuck. After all this time of Nicky being a bitch—a beautiful, funny, stupid-ass bitch—Jaida didn’t realize she was being that type of bitch. No, she couldn’t deny her attraction to the French girl, but she didn’t realize those feelings were reciprocated for anything else except teasing.

“Girl, I’m sick of you playing with me. I don’t know if you like girls or what, chile, just tell me.”

“I like you.”

“I like me, too. Now what?” the long haired girl straightened her posture, nearly reaching Nicky’s tall height.

Nicky scoffed, one side of her mouth curled up. “I thought you liked me.”

“Godammit Frenchie,” Jaida rolled her eyes, grabbing the short-haired woman’s wrist and dragging her next door to the dressing rooms. Each one was large, with faux-velvet couches, fresh white walls with black trim, and doors with locks that hit the actual ground. The shorter woman opened one of them, locked the aforementioned door, and gently shoved Nicky against the wall.

“I’m tired of this bullshit, Nicky. Give me everything you’ve got.”

“Merde , I’ve been waiting for you to say that,” Nicky licked her lower lip before roughly slamming her face on Jaida’s.

The first thing Jaida registered when their tongues met was how Nicky tasted like the rose perfume she always wore. The second thing was the release of tension that had built up over the two girls ever since they’d started working together, and god, that felt euphoric.

Nicky pressed their bodies even closer together, hands sifting through Jaida’s hair as she groaned into the kiss. Jaida slid her hands down the blonde’s back, further and further down until she could grope Nicky through the black fabric of her pencil skirt. She giggled in Jaida’s mouth, breaking the kiss to nibble on the shorter girl’s jawline. At that, Jaida squeezed her ass even harder, making Nicky tense up.

“That’s for making me look bad in front of Jackie.”

“Zut.”

“What’d you call me?” Jaida joked, pulling away.

“It means damn or shit, okay?!”

Jaida just kissed Nicky’s neck as a response, biting down gently on her pulse point and making her swear in French—again.

“If Jackie sees a hickey-”

Jaida bit down harder. “That one was for making me look bad in front of my customers.”

“ Jaida,” Nicky gasped.

“Can I take off this stupid uniform?” she fiddled with the buttons on the button up under Nicky’s blazer.

“Only if you do,” the blonde’s hands were at the hem of Jaida’s trousers.

And they followed up on their promises, finding themselves ass-naked on the couch with Nicky straddling Jaida, sucking on her face like she was sucking the beauty right from her mouth.

Jaida was the first to take Nicky’s breast in her hand, rolling the bud in her finger and drawing out muffled moans from the tanned beauty on her legs. She broke the kiss and placed a new one on Nicky’s other boob, swirling her tongue around her nipple in time with her hand. She looked up at Nicky, who was looking at her with the most beautiful expression she’d ever seen: eyes blown out, eyebrows curved upwards, mouth slightly open. When Jaida licked her collarbones and between her cleavage she turned her head upwards and bucked her hips into Jaida’s stomach, a murmured and closed-mouth moan escaping from her.

“Needy Nicky,” Jaida mumbled into her chest.

“What?”

“You tease me with all that, and chile, here you are begging for me?”

“Power bottom.”

Jaida laughed, leaving her breast with a pop and going back to kiss Nicky’s red-stained lips.

Her hand found itself in between Nicky’s legs, feeling the wetness surrounding her core. She gently stroked the folds of her labia, making the Frenchwoman moan quite loudly.

“Moumoune,” Nicky purred. “Go down on me.”

“Needy Nicky,” Jaida lifted the woman off of her, adjusting so that she sat between her legs and Nicky laid on the couch.

“Is that what you’re calling me now?” Nicky’s voice was breathy as Jaida kissed her inner thighs.

“If you get to call me all your weird French nicknames, I’m calling you Needy Nicky,” she bit extra close to Nicky’s core.

“Jaida, please, ” she pulled the beauty’s hair.

“Brat,” she smirked, drawing back. “Apologize for embarrassing me in front of my friends.”

“Jaida, you salope !”

“Hm,” Jaida nearly stood up before Nicky whined.

“I promise I’ll be nicer, ma cherie .”

“I’m holding you to that one,” Jaida continued her assault on Nicky’s legs. “What does salope mean, anyway?”

“Whore.”

Jaida bit skin again, Nicky yelped. “Jeez, I’m sorry! I’m sorry, mon chou .”

“I hope that means ‘darling.’”

Nicky said nothing, the only sound that could be heard was her heavy breathing as Jaida finally reached her center, licking a line up her folds.

“Fuck.”

“That wasn’t French,” Jaida mumbled, before circling her tongue around Nicky’s clit. The blonde arched her back at the touch, attempting to grip the fabric of the couch.

As Jaida flattened her tongue against Nicky’s entrance, the girl let out an uncharacteristically high-pitched sound. When she teased her hole, Nicky squealed more. It was probably the first time Jaida had heard her speechless.

The dark blonde wet a finger and gently placed it inside of Nicky, peeking up to check on her partner.

“God—Jaida, that feels-” she grunted as Jaida curled up further. “You’re so good.”

“You want more?”

“Yes.”

Jaida could have sworn the face Nicky made when she added another finger was the prettiest thing she’d ever seen—adding on the sound that escaped her lips, a sound Jaida could have probably listened to forever.

“Nicky, someone might catch us,” Jaida cooed. The French girl couldn’t choke out a response when Jaida rubbed a thumb over her clit, just another loud moan.

“But you don’t care, do you?”

She shook her head.

“If Jackie came up the stairs, you’d just keep fucking yourself on my fingers if I stopped, right?”

She nodded. For once, Jaida was in control.

The long haired woman’s mouth was back on the bundle of nerves at Nicky’s core, sucking and darting her tongue all over it. Nicky didn’t even recognize her own voice as she kept whining, knocking her head back as she felt the knot in her stomach glow unbearably tight.

Jaida could feel the girl tense around her, so she made sure to keep her steady pace when the sounds in the room turned into staccato yelps.

“Jaida-” was the last thing she whimpered before releasing on her fingers.

Just to smite her, Jaida took the opportunity to place her liquid-coated digits between Nicky’s lips, basically forcing her to lick them clean. There was something satisfying, sexy, exciting, maybe even sadistic, about watching the girl who’d relentlessly sexually frustrated her suck on her hand like a baby.

It took a few moments for the both of them to calm down, Jaida flopping on the couch right next to Nicky and resting her hands on her own chest to steady her breathing.

“So,” she finally said.

“So,” Nicky replied.

“That was good.”

“You’re telling me!” Nicky flipped on her side to face Jaida. “That was—wow.”

“Nice to know I can do something right with you.”

Nicky’s face shifted. “What do you mean?”

“Well you’re always one-upping me, bitch! Better sales, better hair, better face, stealing my customers, stealing my friends—”

“Jaida, I am so, so sorry. I didn’t…” Nicky bit her lip. “I didn’t think it would be that—that noticeable.”

“So you are a bitch on purpose! Chile, I knew it,” Jaida attempted to lighten the mood.

“Honestly, I do it all because I want to prove I’m better than you, when I know I’m not. I have to work my butt off to get all of the things you get by doing nothing, because you’re perfect.”

“Chile! Shut the whole hell up. I work just as hard, if not harder than you. You don’t know what I’ve been through. You see my perfect facade, Nicky.”

The Frenchwoman stared, then smiled. “Well. Can I get to know what’s behind your facade, Miss Jaida?”

She grinned back. “I don’t know, Ms. Doll. You’ll have to take me on a date and see.”

That evening, Jaida could still smell roses on her uniform.

#rpdr fanfiction #jaida x nicky #nicky doll #jaida essence hall #jackie cox #heidi n closet #lesbian au #smut #fluff #retail au #useless lesbians #the scent of your rose perfume #chae #concrit welcome #s12

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raphaelshusband · 4 years

Text

be a voice, not an echo | saphael one shot

I don’t know how collages works so sorry for any mistakes. Also sorry if it;s bad written buy I don’t have strength to check it. ;[

Simon woke up in the evening. He felt confidently rested despite his stuffy nose and the pain in his sinuses. He sat up in bed and looked around the room. The purple curtains were drawn apart, making the blue carpet shine with moonlight. He himself was lying on a huge bed among scarlet sheets, and a black canopy hung around him. He kicked himself out from under the duvet and got up from the bed. He left the room barefoot, admiring the paintings hanging on the walls.

He made his way down the stairs, noticing Raphael sitting on the couch with one leg over his leg and in the same robe that he have have in the morning. Mexican was holding a cigarette in two fingers of his right hand and a pen in the other. In front of him, on the table in he had some papers scattered and a glass of red wine stood in the corner. There was a Spanish series on the TV. Simon didn't understand anything, but at least he guessed it must be some kind of romance.

"And what are you going to do all night, huh?" Santiago smiled, inhaling the smoke. Lewis jumped up.

"I don't know.." he whispered, going down.

"Did you sleep well?" he released a puff of gray, then stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray.

"Okay.. I think.." The Mexican looked up at him.

"Your eyes are shining," he stood up and pressed his warm, smooth hand to his forehead. "Wait here."

"No! Raphael.. I'll be getting ready, really, I don't want to cause you any trouble.." the dark-eyed man put a finger on Simon's lips.

"You're not going anywhere. Go to the couch."

"Raphael.."

"No" he was already in the kitchen. Simon sighed and took a seat on the sofa, which was obviously to Amor's liking. He immediately jumped onto Simon's lap, hoping his owner would not order him to get down.

When Santiago returned with the silver tray containing the medication, Simon surveyed him again. He had to admit he looked really handsome. On his pale, angelic face, full red lips curled into a smile and black, natural curls fell on his forehead. He definitely preferred them to gelled hair.

"So" Raphael's voice sounded distant. "Have you made up your mind?" He put a thermometer in the younger boy's mouth.

"Not yet" oxygenated by the device.

"Relax. We have time," he said, taking the thermometer from his mouth. "You have a fever. Take your medication and under the blanket" Lewis knew it was no longer worth protesting.

After a while he was lying under the layers of thick blankets, with a cup of tea in his hands and a towel over his forehead, the Mexican laid it on the table, then turned off the TV and sat down next to him.

"What time do you usually go to bed?" He asked. The dark-eyed man laughed. "It depends. Usually at eleven o'clock, unless the papers are too big," he pulled out another cigarette from the packet. Simon found Santiago's laugh to be one of the most beautiful sounds he had ever heard.

***

Simon recovered after a week. He had good days with Raphael. Sometimes he also had nightmares or unpleasant dreams that made him mumble loudly and Raphael had to wake him up. Lewis made up his mind. He opted for both options He was supposed to work from Monday to Friday noon as a barista, on Friday evening he was supposed to keep the customers entertained with the guitar and he had the weekend off. The Mexican assured him that he would change him again as soon as he got into college.

Right. Collage.

Simon found the perfect university, close to the Santiago coffee shop. He was only half an hour away by bus, so he thought it was the right choice. The new recruitment season didn't start until January, so they had to wait.

They still lived together. Raphael managed to persuade his friend to return to his home to collect his belongings. He managed to take the guitar, which was the most important subject for him.

But Simon noticed there was something wrong with Santiago. Dark circles under his eyes and slow movements revealed that he was sleepy and tired. He was smoking more cigarettes than ever. Many times Lewis has seen him hiding his face in his hands and shaking his head, generally looking down on pressure and stress.

"Raphael are you okay?" he asked as Santiago sat tired at the table one afternoon. The man grunted and threw the papers on the table, inhaling the smoke.

"Yes, of course," he replied. He put his hand on the back of his neck and tilted his head slightly, squeezing his eyes shut. Then he moved his arms for a moment and resumed his activity.

"It hurts you?"

"Uh.. a little.." he rubbed his eyes. The brown-eyed stood behind the back of the couch, grabbed his shoulders and pressed him against the backrest. "Simon?"

"Relax," he muttered and began massaging. Santiago let out a soft sigh. "What's going on? Are you having a hard days at work? I didn't think you could have such a mess of time as a cafe owner," Raphael sighed.

"It's a family business. The premises are scattered all over America. There are plenty of papers," he relaxed. Lewis looked at his angelic face. The Mexican opened his eyes and they stared at each other for a moment, the brown-eyed came closer and after a while their lips met.

The kiss was slow and uncertain. The lips moved in a consistent, even pace. Lewis let out a satisfied sigh. But later he jumped back as if scalded.

"God, Raphael, I'm sorry! I'm sorry! No.. I don't know what got into me .."

"Simon!" The boy looked at him. "Calm down. Come here" he grabbed his hand and he walked over from behind the couch and sat down next to him. Raphael took his face by both hands. "Now listen to me. We didn't talk about such things. Remember when you came out of the closet?"

"Yes.."

"I was so damn proud of you and still am. We never talked about my orientation because I was still not sure at the time. I didn't want to burden you, so I talked to Magnus a lot. I'm bisexual, Simon.

"Re.. really?"

"Yeah.. well, there are more things I wanted to tell you but I was too scared," he took a deep breath. "I like you, Simon. As long as I can remember" Simon smiled.

"I like you too" Raphael leaned in and pressed their lips together in a deep kiss.

***

Simon applied to college. Now he has to wait. He collected every money in a bank account and tried very hard not to spend it.

They got together with Raphael and he was very happy about it. After all, after this unpleasant month, he could experience true, sincere happiness.

They spent the holidays together, celebrating them with both traditions - Christian and Jewish. There was still a menorah on the windowsill in the living room.

He was at work and finished his shift. He went into the back room, trading with his newly met friend Jace. He undid his apron, put on his jacket and backpack, then pulled out his phone and typed a short message to Raphael.

To: Rapha [16.36] I will be soon ;)

He said goodbye to the blonde and left. He headed for the bus stop. He waited for him for half an hour in snow up to his ankles and in frost, and by the way it got dark.

But at least he was home just in time for a warm dinner.

He sat down at the table when he felt a vibration in his pocket. He checked the display and almost choked on his food. He began coughing and Santiago slapped his back in terror.

"I.. it's okay! Don't hit!" He choked out and stood up quickly. "Got in! Got in!"

"Congratulations! I knew you would get in!" Raphael held out his arms and the brown-eyed man ran into his arms.

"I wouldn't have done this without you," he murmured. "Thank you."

#sapahel #oneshot #shadowhunters #simon lewis x raphael santiago #one shot #fanfic #fanfiction

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