#if you talk to me you have a side hustle you want your job to pay for or you fucked up SO royally

[notbecauseofvictories]

working in healthcare can be funny, because sometimes family members will call and ask, "hey, I'm looking for a doctor who specializes in x, who would you recommend" and I have to remind them that I deal almost exclusively with doctors who want contracts signed and/or break the law

[featherandferns]

daylight - one

jj maybank x fem!reader | part 1 of the daylight series | read prologue here

content warnings: none

word count: 3.5k.

blurb: when your car breaks down in the middle of nowhere, a stranger stops to help. It isn't until later that you realise why he seems so familiar.

It’s dusk, around eight at night, when you’re driving home. The dying sunlight is compensated by sparse street lamps. There weren’t many people in this area: houses or shops or anything of the sort. You glance down at your satnav. Still new to the area, all the streets look the same. All the houses do too, for that matter - at least those on the Cut. You’d ventured into Figure Eight last week on foot, camera in hand, and promptly turned back around. The Kooks were far from inviting; eyed you up like bait, practically snarling under breath at the sight of you. The houses were huge, stupid things compared to the two bedroom shack you and your parents had moved into. No, the Cut felt more welcoming. The people were genuine and real. Friendly and helpful, even if they had an edge.

“So…” Your friend Mimsy’s voice through the hands-free speakerphone brings you out of your daydreams. “How is it? Found any hot surfer bros yet?”

You laugh. “Sorry to break your heart but no, not yet.”

“Girl! What the hell have you been doing?” Mimsy scolds. 

“I’ve been busy!”

“With what? Wallowing in self pity? Pining after my company?”

“Oh my God, how did you know?” you sarcastically return. “My life is just empty without you around, Mimsy.”

“Damn straight it is,” she mumbles. 

Rolling your eyes, you continue down the street. “I’m looking for a side hustle to get some extra cash.”

“God, you’re so boring sometimes, you know that?”

You snigger. “How else do you want me to afford flights to Vancouver? It’s my only way to get back there and see you again. Unless you want me to hitchhike.”

“Nuh-uh! I just listened to the craziest story about hitchhiking! It's this guy called the ‘Glove Guy’ who roams Halifax and–”

“Mimsy,” you interrupt, “what’s our agreement?”

She’s quiet a moment, sighs and says, “one true crime story a day.”

“Mhm. And didn’t we already talk about Ted Bundy?”

“...yes.”

“I rest my case,” you say. 

“Look, I’m just saying that if you have to get a job, maybe try and be the official photographer for the lifeguards or something.”

“Mimsy…”

“Then you can ogle at hot guys all day, catch a tan and get paid for it!”

Through Mimsy’s chatter and your stifled laughter, the engine makes a troubling rumble. With that, the whole car shudders. The steering wheel shivers in your grip and your stomach drops, panic rising. Smoke pummels out the hood. Clouds your vision. 

“Oh fuck!”

“What? What is it?”

“I gotta call you back!” you blurt, hanging up in a hurry.

You take a fleeting glance in the mirrors and swerve off the road, shutting off the engine. The smoke makes you cough, catching in your lungs. 

“Oh shit! Oh shit!” you continue to cuss, grabbing your phone, scrambling to get your keys out the ignition. Swinging the door open, you throw yourself out of the car and run away, scared it might catch on fire or even explode. 

As you gape at it, chest heaving, you’re relieved to see the smoke is dying down with the engine shut off. Sighing, you plant your hands on your hips and look up and down. Nobody. Nothing. Not a gas station or a shop you can dash in for help. Hell, any shops would probably be closed either way. You reply to Mimsy’s frantic texts with a brief explanation and then contemplate calling your parents. Before you can, the sound of another car approaching catches your attention. It’s a campervan. Brown paint which is mostly chipped and peeling; stickers decorate the sides and windows. It’s well-loved and well-worn. There’s a guy driving, about your age from the looks, and he’s slowing down at the sight of you and your abandoned car.

He pulls up. Your skin prickles nervously. It’s lonely around here. The engine shuts off and you watch as he jumps out the car and saunters over, hands in his short pockets. 

“You a’right?”

“Yeah,” you lie.

He quirks a brow and glances at your still steaming vehicle. “You sure ‘bout that?”

“I, uh,” you follow his line of sight and flail your arm uselessly at it. “Well, no. I kinda broke down.”

“Ah.” He wanders over to your car and whistles. “She’s smokin’, huh?”

“Yeah,” you nervously laugh, following. You keep a comfortable distance between the two of you. 

He heads to the car hood. Glancing at you, he asks, “you mind?” whilst gesturing down to it. You shrug yes. He pops the hood and laughs through his coughs, fanning his face free of the smoke. 

“Goddamn. The hell happened?”

“I don’t know. It just blew up on me out of nowhere,” you reply, coming over. 

He pulls a rag out of one of his pockets and wafts it over the engine. As he checks out the engine, you do the same to him.

Donned in a grey t-shirt, graphic decal on the back mostly faded, and a pair of black cargo shorts and boots, he looks the image of Kildare County. His dark blonde hair is kept under a red cap. It’s fraying on the lip. A shark tooth necklace hangs around his neck, rings decorate a few of his fingers, and several string and beaded bracelets adorn his left hand. He’s good looking, even in the low visibility of the night. There’s also something strangely familiar about him. Almost like you’ve seen him before. 

He meddles with something, nodding. You snap your eyes back up to his face from his well-kept figure just in time as he looks at you. “It’s the radiator. Seems to have overheated or detached or some shit. I mean, whatever happened has completely busted the thing.”

You raise your brows. “That supposed to mean something to me?”

Laughing, he shrugs and gestures at the mechanics. “In simple terms? The thing’s a goner. You’re gonna need a new part on it.”

“So I can’t drive it?”

“Nope. Not ‘til you get it fixed,” he replies. 

You pinch the bridge of your nose and exhale deeply. “Fucking great.”

“I mean, there’s a garage not far from here. They’ll probably fix her up for you no problem. Have her good to go for Tuesday.”

“Tuesday!? I thought you said it just needs a new part?”

He takes off his cap, revealing a head of messy hair. Raking a hand through it, he says, “well, yeah, but you’re gonna need the part first. They might have to order it in and stuff.”

“Well, great,” you grumble. You pace away from the car and take your frustrations out by kicking the tyre. “That’s just great.”

“Look, if you want I can give you a tow.” Looking at him, he shrugs. “The garage ain’t far so it’ll be fine to take it using the Twinkie.”

“The who?”

He laughs at himself, shaking his head. “Sorry, uh, that’s what we call the campervan.”

“Oh. Right.”

You look around and take in the situation. It’s dark, isolated, and your phone is on 5% (thanks for that, Mimsy). Calling insurance and a tow company is only going to bump up your bill. Besides, this guy seems genuine. Non-threatening. You can practically hear Mimsy screaming at you from across the continent: so was Ted Bundy! Eyeing him up, you assure yourself you could probably take him if you really had to, and trust your female intuition and gut. 

“Alright. Only if it’s close.”

“It is, I swear. I know the owner, Barry," he says. He pulls out his phone and types something on the screen. Then, he approaches with maps open, showing the garage. It’s true: it is nearby. Ten minutes max. “I mean, if you prefer I can just call you a tow or a cab or something.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” you say. You close the hood shut and shake your head, laughing. “Can’t believe my Goddamn luck.”

The guy laughs too. In your peripheral, you see him extend a hand to you. “I’m JJ.”

Shaking his hand, you introduce yourself. Then the two of you spend the next five or so minutes sorting out attaching your car to his van. He does most of the heavy lifting, almost jumping at the chance to flex his strength (not that you were complaining) and you do as he asks. Fasten this here; steer this whilst I push. Eventually, you’re good to go. He offers you the front or the back and you opt for the front. Mimsy is probably having an aneurysm about now. 

The campervan smells of weed, damp and a dying air freshener. The front seats are red leather. It’s soft and supple and comfortable, and you hitch a leg up and rest one arm on the window ledge, watching the world pass by as JJ drives. The radio is humming out a Mac Miller song and it fills the semi-awkward silence. 

“So, what’s with the accent?” JJ asks. 

“What’d you mean?”

“I mean, you ain’t from round here, right?” JJ asks, glancing between yourself and the road. 

Smiling, you reply, “Yeah, I’m not.”

“Where you from then? Midwest? East Coast?”

“Vancouver.”

“Vancouver? As in Canada Vancouver?” JJ checks, eyes growing wide. 

You laugh quietly and nod. “Yep. As in Canada Vancouver.”

“God damn. You’re pretty far from home,” he laughs. 

“Well, not anymore,” you reply, voice turning sombre. “We moved here.”

“In May? Pretty shitty time to move.”

“Tell me about it,” you mumble, looking back out the window. It hadn’t been your idea. In fact, you’d protested loudly against it. 

“So, how you finding Kildare so far? Wait, scratch that - how you finding North Carolina?”

“Um…alright. You guys have pretty good waves here and the weed’s pretty good so at least there’s that.”

“Now you’re speaking my language,” JJ grins.

You laugh at that, feeling yourself relax more and more as the conversation continues. “Yeah, I think it’s the only thing getting me through.”

Love Lost fills the quiet that comes. You glance at JJ. He drives with one hand on the wheel, holding it by the top in his fist. The streetlamps sneak through the windows and highlight his features in flashes. And it’s in one of those flashes, when his handsome profile is illuminated, that you suddenly realise why you recognise him. 

The kegger. 

You quickly look away. Your eyes grow wide. Did he recognise you? Did he even remember that? 

“I heard Vancouver’s pretty as fuck though,” JJ says, unaware of your quiet panic. “Pretty gorgeous scenery and shit, right?”

“Mhm,” you hum, heart ticking nervously. “You ever been?”

“Nah. Never left the States before.”

“Not even Canada?”

“Too far,” he shrugs. “Couldn’t dish out that kinda cash.”

“I hear you,” you say. “My friend Mimsy really wants me to go back this summer but I don’t know if I’m gonna be able to make enough in time to afford flights and stuff.”

“That blows,” JJ mumbles. 

The conversation comes to a natural close when the garage comes into sight. Its neon sign shines bright in the dark like the beacon of a lighthouse. JJ pulls in and shuts off the engine. You linger in the car a moment to catch your breath whilst he looks at unhooking the tow gear. 

It doesn’t seem he remembered you or that mortifying moment at the kegger. At least, if he did, he’s acting like he didn’t. So…That’s good, right? You can just move past the whole thing. Besides, it’s not like you were doing anything that weird. You took plenty of pictures that night (though everyone else was in pairs or groups) and it was a public get-together. It wasn’t like you were halfway up a tree and peeping through his window. 

You jump at the sound of rapping on the passenger window. JJ’s stood there, frowning in confusion. 

“You comin’?”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah,” you mumble, unbuckling your seatbelt and climbing out the van. You follow him into the shop. 

A burly man sits behind the counter. He’s watching a sports game on a crackling television, drinking a beer shamelessly on the job. At the sound of the bell chiming above the door, he glances over. He seems to recognise JJ. 

“Hey, Barry,” JJ grins. 

“Hey there, kid,” Barry's gruff voice returns. 

They share a bro-style hug and you awkwardly side by him near the counter. JJ plants a friendly hand on your shoulder.

“My friend here had her radiator blow-up on her just now. She needs it fixing up stat. Any chance you could get a push on it?”

“Just the radiator?” Barry checks, glancing between yourself and JJ. 

JJ nods. “Yes, sir. I checked it out and it’s just overheated or some crap. A new one and I swear it’ll be good as new.”

“Hm…” Barry contemplates. He glances at the clock and the sports game and cringes. “I don’t know, kid. It’s late and I’ve had a long day. It’s a lot of extra work that I could just get done tomorrow.”

“Oh, come on, Barry,” JJ argues cordially. “How many times have me and my old man helped you out?”

“Your old man stole fifty bucks from me,” Barry grunts. 

Your eyes dart down to the floor, lips pursing. Yikes. 

JJ falters for only a moment. “Alright, well, forget that then. How many times have I helped out? I mean, I’ll pick up a shift or two if you want? Get you some new parts or something?”

Barry sighs. He looks to you again and you smile politely, hoping your nerves don’t show. He’s a scary looking guy. He could probably crush you with one fist. Both his arms are covered in sleeves of tattoos. He’s missing several teeth and there’s a teardrop tattooed below his left eye. 

“She’s new to the County,” JJ feels the need to add. “Gotta show some good hospitality, right?”

With that, Barry relents. He gets to his feet and trudges to the window to eye up your car. 

“What kinda car is it?”

You tell him, reeling off as much information as you can recall. He nods, back to you, and sighs again. 

“Well, I think I do got a part back here for that, actually. I ain’t making any promises though,” Barry says. He heads into the back with that, leaving you and JJ in the store. The moment the older man is out of sight, JJ grins at you. 

“Am I good or what?”

“Why are you helping me so much?” you find yourself asking. 

JJ seems surprised by the question but not offended. “Dunno, really. You seem nice. And I always kinda wanted to be a knight in shining armour.”

“So that makes me, what? The damsel in distress?” you joke. 

He paces the store leisurely, eyeing up car parts and accessories. “Suppose so. You’re from a far away land so you’re already half way there.”

You laugh. Glancing around the store, you find yourself drawn to the pinboard behind the counter. It’s cluttered with posters, deals, business cards, receipts, reminders and a calendar. Amidst it is pictures and thank you notes from children. One picture catches your eye. It’s of Barry, a few years younger, with a little girl. 

“She’s cute,” you smile. 

JJ joins you and follows your gaze. He smiles too, though it seems sad. “Yeah, that was his kid. She died about a year back now.”

“Wait, really?” you frown. 

Sighing, JJ nods and looks to you. “Freak car accident. Poor kid drowned. Her mom too. Lost his wife and kid in the same day.”

“Shit,” you whisper, looking back at the photo. Your heart tugs at the thought and you feel guilty for judging him by his cover. You had your problems with your parents but you couldn’t imagine them gone from your life. 

Barry returns to the store, car part in hand. JJ clasps his hands and tosses them above his head. 

“Barry, you fucking g.”

“Alright. Alright, don’t kiss my ass too much, Maybank,” Barry quips. He heads for the door. “There’s soda in the fridge. You kids help yourself.”

With that, he grabs his toolkit and heads out to your car. JJ doesn’t need to be told twice. Whilst you feel rude for intruding on this man’s evening, JJ is happy to revel in the hospitality. He tosses a can at you before grabbing one for himself. You follow him out the back. The light from the store overflows onto the sheltered concrete. There’s two plastic garden chairs back here with a busy ashtray on the floor. JJ relaxes in one of the seats and you copy. 

“You known Barry long?”

“Him and my dad go way back,” JJ replies, sipping his soda. “I used to come here all the time as a kid.”

“Sounds like they’re not on great terms right now, huh?” you say. 

JJ sips his drink and shrugs, looking out to the abyss of greenery surrounding the garage. “Pretty standard for my dad. Kinda his M.O.”

You get the feeling that you hit a sensitive spot. Sipping your soda, you switch topics. 

“So what do you guys do for fun around here, then?”

“Surf. Fish. Smoke,” JJ lists. “Sometimes we go to a kegger at the beach and stuff. You been to one yet?”

You wonder if he’s trying to rat you out but when you look at him, you see no sign. “Yeah, I went to one. I didn’t stick around very long though. Didn’t know anyone and felt kinda awkward.”

“That’s fair,” JJ says. He pulls a vape out of his pocket and takes a hit, and it’s like the nicotine gives him an idea. He turns to you, renewed energy. “Oh shit! You should come with my lot!”

“Hm?”

“My friends. You’d get along great with them, swear down,” JJ tells you. “You fish?”

“I can but I don’t exactly relish the opportunity.”

“Alright, well, that’s gonna change,” JJ says, making you laugh. “You surf too, right?”

“Mhm,” you nod. Vancouver had a good surf scene. You and Mimsy used to spend hours on the beach and in the waves, although part of the appeal for your friend was the surfer bros. They were her kryptonite. 

“Well, it’s settled. You’re coming to the next hang we have,” JJ tells you with a grin.

He relaxes back in his chair and takes another hit of his vape. It smells like blue raspberry. As you watch him, you find yourself laughing. 

“Alright, seriously,” you say. “Why the hell are you being so nice to me?”

“I told you: you seem nice.”

“Okay, but seriously,” you repeat. 

JJ studies his vape for a moment and a knowing smile comes to his face. Chuckling, he sighs and relents, looking back to you. “Alright. You’re fuckin' hot. Sue me.”

You bark out a laugh. JJ cracks up too. 

“What!? You asked!”

“No, no, I did,” you laugh, catching your breath. “That’s fair. I had that coming.”

“It’s just like you’re exactly my type. Kinda freaky really,” JJ continues. It seems that now the cat is out of the bag, he might as well let it roam free. “Like you’re smokin' hot and you surf and shit. And you got a dope accent, it's kinda exotic.”

“Since when was Canada exotic?” you laugh, rolling your eyes. 

JJ shrugs with a boyish grin. His eyes stay trained on you. “I dunno. Since I met you, I guess.”

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t affected. JJ’s attraction hadn’t passed you by and, in truth, he was just your type as well. Confidence that borders on cocky: handy and hunky, but not in a steroid-style way…Maybe Mimsy wasn’t the only one who had a thing for surfer boys. To cool yourself from the intensity of his gaze, you take a sip of your soda. 

“I just weren’t gonna say anything cause, you know, I didn’t wanna freak you out,” JJ admits. 

“Freak me out? How so?”

“Random guy, random area. Alone?” he replies. Sheepish, he shrugs. “Might be kinda creepy.”

You catch his drift. Shrugging, you flash him a smile. “Nah, you didn’t freak me out. You’re not too bad to look at yourself.”

“Gee, don’t hold back,” JJ sarcastically returns. You laugh. “Look, you ain’t gotta say anythin' about it. I think you should still come hang with me and my friends, whether you’re madly in love with me or not.”

“Wow, are you confident?” you chuckle incredulously. 

JJ grins. “Charming, ain’t it?”

“One word for it,” you return. You debate his offer and come to a conclusion pretty quick. Lord knows you could do with some friends, and if his gang were anything like himself, you could see yourself getting along just fine. “But yeah, I’d be down to hang with you and your friends.”

“Sweet.” JJ holds his can out for a toast. “Then let me be the first to say, welcome to Kildare.”

You clink your can against his with a small laugh and the two of you drink. Maybe your new life won’t be as boring as you first thought. 

read part two here!

taglist:

princesssuki21 |

[nottsangel]

i fear camgirl would persuade artrick to become camboys...

— camgirl!reader

and i fear you’re right… i have already talked about artrick persuading reader to let them join, now let’s talk about the alternative version, as this aligns more with how i envision camgirl!reader. when they first tell her that they know about her side job, i can definitely see her trying to convince artrick to join her streams…

the moment art and patrick came to your dorm to tell you they found out about your little secret, you initially were shocked and panicked slightly. however, the endless possibilities this new situation gave flooded your mind quickly after— you just had to approach this the right way.

“what patrick is trying to say, is that, uhm… we know about your… how do i say this… side hustle.” art explained nervously, discreetly wiping his clammy hands on the fabric of his shorts as he quickly glanced at patrick, who nodded along.

“oh, you do? huh.” you reacted indifferently, completely opposite to their expectations, as you continued touching up your makeup, causing your best friends to exchange confusing glances while sitting on your bed. “you don’t… you don’t care about us… knowing?” patrick questioned, scratching the back of his head, while art furrowed his brows and shot patrick a puzzled glance.

“well… there’s nothing i can do about it, can i? i mean, let’s be real here. obviously you guys have watched me and—”

“wha— no, no, no, we haven’t! i promise—“ art tried to deny but was quickly cut off by you as you swiftly turned around in your seat. “oh, please. you’re trying to tell me that both of you knew about me being a camgirl, and weren’t curious enough to watch?” you glanced at them with a raised eyebrow, but both of them were unable to meet your gaze as they awkwardly shifted in their seat. “yeah, that’s what i thought”

“okay… yeah, maybe— maybe we did. but just once! right, art?” another lie. “y-yeah! i promise we will— uhm, we will delete the website from our laptop and never visit it again. i mean, we… we already forgot the name anyway!” you chuckled, knowing damn well that they’ve memorised not only the website name, but probably your entire streaming schedule as well— you knew your best friends.

“hmm. no, i got other plans— better plans.” they now finally mustered the courage to meet your eyes, their curiosity taking over. you rose to your feet before standing in front of them with your arms folded, your gaze alternating between your friends. “i want you to join me. both of you.”

now, both boys had completely different reactions— patrick began laughing in disbelief as he shook his head, while art remained completely frozen, his blue eyes wide and staring back at you without blinking. you raised your brows as you eagerly waited for their answer, which deep down, you already knew— they could never say no to you.

art was the first to break the silence, blinking erratically as he snapped out of his trance. “you… you… want us to—” “join me, yes.” you impatiently tapped your foot on the wooden floor, watching patrick nod slightly to himself now with a grin on his face.

“we’ll do it.” “what!?” art blurted out, instantly turning towards patrick as a sly but satisfied smile spread across your face. “yeah, i mean, why not?” patrick paused before meeting meeting your gaze. “we’ll do it, we’ll join you.” art blinked a few times, trying to process patrick’s words before a disbelieving chuckle escaped his mouth, baffled by his next words, an inquisitive smile on his face. “i— uh, yeah… okay, we’ll join, i guess?”

ੈ♡˳

[synthetickitsune]

Milk Swirls Of Destiny ✧ y.jh

Pairing: Yoon Jeonghan x reader (gn) Genre: coffee shop au, fluff Summary: Yoon Jeonghan is mildly inconvenient at best and infuriating at worst. He's somehow the worst and the best coworker you have. Definitely the most annoying. Word count: 6.8k Warnings: food mentions A/N: he just lives rent free and his pretty best friend too and @hanniedream is holding me hostage in brainrot (aka being my partner in crime and emotional support and muse here) [series masterlist] [next chapter - wip]

“Aaaah… I see now. Hm…” Jeonghan swirls the cup slightly, a look of concentration on his face.

“What- what is it?” the girl standing on the other side of the counter stumbles over her words. She’s looking at him with bated breath. Her hands are clasped together as if she was praying. As if she was looking at something holy. You scoff quietly and roll your eyes once you turn your back towards them. Like there’s not enough work to do.

“Look here,” Jeonghan says and points to the squiggly line where he messed up the milk pour for a flower design. His face is the mask of seriousness. “See the waves? Clear sign of turbulent times ahead. But it smooths out eventually - it looks a bit like a star here, see?”

No. No, it doesn’t.

“-That means you’ll succeed. Just hang in there.”

The girl seems on the verge of tears as she takes the cup from Jeonghan, clutching it with both hands as she thanks him relentlessly. It’s only after a couple minutes that she finally walks off with what has to be a cold and disgusting latte. 

You understand trying to predict the future from coffee grounds, tea leaves, whatever, but to do so from a milk pour in a latte made by a barista who couldn’t pour a heart if his life depended on it? 

“You’ll scare off the customers with that sour face,” Jeonghan nudges your ribs with his elbow once he comes stand next to you and finally starts helping you with the backed up orders.

“Yeah, and the thin ice you’re dancing on will break under you one day when the customers start complaining about their coffee being cold by the time you’re done with your little fortune teller charade,” you snap back. He snickers.

“Someone’s grumpy,” he hums, “I’m here now, we’ll have these done in no time.”

You’d like to believe him. You really would. But you’re annoyed and you know it’s only a matter of time before he runs off again.

It’s not his fault that the new guy called in sick last minute. The boss knows that it’s better to have at least one more person behind the counter whenever Jeonghan is working - partly because he’s busy with his fortune telling side hustle and partly because he brings in a lot of customers. A lot of customers. And without fail all of them become annoyingly obsessed with him, it’s only a matter of time. It’s fine as long as they only come in and stare at him, it’s the ones who have to have their coffee made by him and have him read their fortunes. Like he’s not just making shit up. You’d swear you saw some fan pages dedicated to him online. 

You guess the traffic he brings to the cafe is the only reason the boss is okay with him doing his thing and leaving the rest of you to struggle.

For now though, you work efficiently and neatly together. Working with Jeonghan, when he is doing his actual job, is always smooth. You don’t need to talk to get the orders to the waiting customers fast. At times like these you only have half a mind to cringe at the winks and apologetic smiles he sends to his flock of lovesick fans. Sometimes you want to tell him he’d get even more tips - like he’s not already getting a ridiculous amount - if he let his fingers brush against theirs, but whenever you open your mouth to do it, you can’t. Your stomach twists when the words make it to the tip of your tongue. It must be because you couldn’t witness that without gagging.

“See? We’re doing so well,” he hums proudly, and you fully intend to give him a genuine smile back. You really do. That is until you see the customer he’s handing the cup to. He frowns a little at the way your face falls and your lack of reaction. Before he can say anything, though, the girl squeals: “You’re the one who can read the future, right?”

It honestly looks like she’s meeting an idol. To be fair, Jeonghan has all the predispositions to be one and has the professionalism to match. You’d think the flustered but excited smile he gives the girl is genuine if you didn’t know any better. He always gives them conspicuous smiles like his role is a secret between the two of them. Like he feels seen by them. You sigh, your smile purely professional while you hand the glass to the other customer and simply motion towards the straws and sugar packets. And then you rush to work on the next drink.

Jeonghan breaks character for just a second to give you an apologetic smile - which you pointedly ignore. You’re too busy. Just one scan of the growing line and pool of waiting customers is enough to tell you Jeonghan won’t be helping you any time soon.

And eventually, any time soon turns into well after rush hour, with the most dedicated - and delusional - fans forming a line of their own just to get the most useless fortune reading of their lines. 

It’s honestly admirable in its own way that he acts with the same dedication with all of them, no matter how many there are. Right now though, you finally get to sit down and can’t be bothered to try and think anything good about him. You feel abandoned. Betrayed.

You know you’re the one being dramatic now, but you can’t help it. Your social battery is drained. 

You didn’t even get to go on lunch break - you couldn’t leave the other newcomer, Chan, there alone. No way he could handle both taking and making the orders. He hasn’t even been properly trained for that yet. And it feels like Jeonghan slacked off the whole time. Honestly you had no idea how this could be profitable for the owner but hey, it’s her business and not yours.

You’re still sulking when you finally take off the apron and your work shoes. Even walking to the station and walking home doesn’t seem appealing right now, but you really need a nap. And a nice warm meal. Still, you can’t find the energy or will to pack your stuff, so you’re just zoning out for a couple minutes. Which turns out to be a mistake.

The door flies open to reveal a disheveled Jeonghan. His hair is a mess, like he’s been the one getting through the rush. Once he sees you, however, he breathes out seemingly in relief and smoothes down his birdnest of a hair with his free hand. In the other he’s holding a cup of something iced. 

“I thought I didn’t make it,” he smiles at you, carefully coming closer. You heave a long and exhausted sigh.

“Leaving all the work to the others again?” you say, and although you try to sound unbothered, there’s a bitter edge to your voice. He frowns a little, turning his head towards the door for a second.

“I made sure no one was there when I left,” he shifts his weight, “And I just wanted to bring you this. As a thank you and a sorry.”

He offers you the cup in his hand and you take it. Or you’d like to before he steps a little closer and his eyes fill with that mischief you’re so used to seeing during his interactions with the customers.

Not this again…

“If you look here,” his finger draws a swirl above the transparent lid, “See how it looks like those curls want to tie together? A clear sign someone’s trying to court you. And they must be close.”

While he explains, Jeonghan keeps his eyes on the coffee but once he’s finished he looks at you. His gaze is so hopeful, so so hopeful, and you remember it working on you the first couple tries. It gets old after a while, though.

“Yeah, thanks for the coffee,” you shut down his efforts and take the cup from him, “For what it’s worth, I’d prefer for someone to have my back when it’s busy.”

“I’m sorry,” Jeonghan blurts out. He frowns again when he sees how resigned you look, licking his lips uncertainly. “I’m sorry I made you do all the work. I didn’t mean to.”

“Yeah, I bet you didn’t. Like you didn’t mean to on Monday, or last week, or literally any other day we were short on people,” you roll your eyes. Finally you get the motivation to take your things from the locker and leave. 

“Arguably, the cafe being short staffed is the issue here,” he says almost sheepishly - and visibly regrets it the moment you scoff and set the coffee down to cross your arms on your chest. “What?”

“‘Being short staffed is the problem’ yeah - yeah you can argue that and lose the fucking argument because we only need the extra person because you’re no fucking help,” you snap at him, throwing your bag over your shoulder and slamming the locker shut after hurriedly throwing things in. Jeonghan opens and closes his mouth, the corners of his mouth downturned and eyes wide. “Goodbye Jeonghan. See you Friday.”

You push past him and leave, waving at the poor cashier left stuck here with him. 

Jeonghan looks after you until the door closes and the loud noise makes him jump. He looks at the cup left behind, dripping water on the bench. He groans, sitting down with his head in his hands. He rubs his face, knowing he shouldn’t linger here. You might be gone, but his chest feels tight anyway. Now more than ever, like he’s just proving you right by wasting his time here where he is of no help to anyone.

He picks up the cup sadly and takes a small sip. It’s the best one he made, it shouldn’t go to waste. It’s just the way you like it, your favorite he thinks, yet it doesn’t make him feel any better or like you’re still here with him. 

When he returns to the front, a customer has just finished ordering - an older man, and Jeonghan immediately proceeds to prepare the order. His mind is blank but his heart feels heavy. You didn’t even taste the drink…

“Did you seriously just disappear to the back to drink your coffee?” Chan whisper-yells at him after he hands the order to the customer. Jeonghan is about to argue but then he realizes how pathetic he’d sound and just laughs.

“Eyy, I returned just in time, didn’t I?” he bumps his hip against the newbie’s. 

“Dude, you’re just flirting the whole day. Me and y/n did all the hard work, do you really think you’re the one who deserves a coffee break?” his coworker sighs and takes a rag to wipe down the counter. His smile falls immediately and suddenly it’s hard to swallow.

Way to go, Yoon Jeonghan…

Although you don’t work with Jeonghan again until today, you can’t say you feel any better. It’s not like you hate the job - actually you quite like it. The pay’s decent, the boss is fine for the most part, and your coworkers are all nice people too. At the same time you’d lie if you said you wouldn’t rather stay home and sleep and that your stomach doesn’t feel uncomfortably nauseated just thinking of another shift with Jeonghan. Your only hope is that it’s Friday and those usually aren’t as busy in the area. And it’s your last shift for the week. You can do this.

You wash your face and pray. There’s not much else you can do.

The least you can do is to use your limited control over the situation to take the last possible bus so that you make it in time. So you do. Every minute of peace counts. And although it does make you anxious to imagine being late, it’s not like you come late regularly - you never did, actually. So not a big deal. Maybe it’d show Jeonghan what it feels like to be all on his own.

For a while longer, you let the world fade into the background with music blasting in your headphones. It’s easier to ignore people if you can’t hear them. You push it, only giving Chan and Joshua behind the counter a friendly wave to greet them while you pass them. 

You push it further, opening the door to the staff room. You keep the music on until the last moment, until you open your locker and pull out your shoes and stuff your things in, and then you have no choice but to turn the music off and return to reality.

The first sound to reach your ears is annoying high-pitched whining complemented by a fluff of blond hair buzzing around you.

“You’re so mean,” Jeonghan complains, “Are you ignoring everyone today or just me?”

The temptation to just keep your mouth shut is so strong but you never learn. You still have hope that today will be better. And then you’ll need to get along with him. You’re closing the place together too…

Luck seems to be on your side for now, however, and lets you keep him waiting without any need for an excuse.

“My condolences, y/n. He’s so annoying today - he kept bugging us at the front before you came,” your savior, Joshua, declares right as he comes in and heads for his locker.

“Hey-”

“Are you leaving Chan there alone?” you quirk a brow at the newcomer while you change your shoes and throw on a fresh apron. It’s mostly just an excuse to ignore Jeonghan for a bit longer. But also it’s not like Joshua to skirt his duties.

“He can handle himself for five minutes,” he shrugs, “He’s a quick learner and it’s basically empty.”

You hum and snicker, “So was Vernon and you know how that went.”

Joshua shakes his head with a laugh while Jeonghan, very much cosplaying a fluffy and persistent bee, hovers closer to you at the edge of your vision.

This is a conversation he could join in but he doesn’t want to join in on a conversation you have with Joshua - he wants to talk to you! Alone! 

“Aren’t you supposed to be clocking out?” Jeonghan snorts in the direction of the other man. Joshua smirks, leaning against the lockers.

“Aren’t you supposed to be clocking in? I bet there’s already a line waiting for you,” the other never backs down from whatever Jeonghan throws his way. It’s impressive. It’s what he likes about the guy. It’s a challenge and he enjoys one. Even now, he’d bite back - oh, he would. But from the corner of his eyes he can see how your face falls just a little.

“Well, they can all wait because first, I’m gonna do a very exclusive reading for our dear y/n here,” he can’t let you see him weak and he can’t lose, and by changing the direction, he’s definitely not-

“Nah, thanks, I’d rather Shua does it,” you smile at the other man.

Now it’s turn for Jeonghan’s face to fall. Not like you will notice.

(It feels like a dagger to the back. The boss had this big idea of having more people on rotation for those readings, and with his acting skills and similarly mischievous personality as well as good looks, Joshua was the obvious choice. Jeonghan poured his heart into teaching him. Their back and forths were on another level, Joshua truly was the perfect student and the only one who could possibly match Jeonghan’s skill. Unfortunately, Joshua is also fucking crazy and his readings were anything but the wholesome, uplifting messages meant to comfort and heal that Jeonghan is trying to hand out. So in the end, Jeonghan alone is the chosen one.)

Joshua laughs back, throwing out a casual “anytime” that makes Jeonghan gag.

“y/n,” he whines, propping his chin on your shoulder - and he knows it’s just the surprise that stops you from immediately shrugging him off but whatever - “But he’ll just tell you you’re gonna grow a third eye or something. I’ll give you the truth.”

“If I had a third eye, I’d be able to see when we’ll get busy so I can, I don’t know, slip and break my leg and go home,” you roll your eyes and now you shrug him off and he pursues his lips more. 

Is it really that bad?

“We’d miss you here, you’re one of the good ones,” Joshua smirks at you and checks his watch, “Time to go! Good luck, both of you.”

Jeonghan hears you grumble something along the lines of ‘like he needs it’ way too clearly. He lets you walk in front of him, so he can sigh without you noticing. Joshua pats his shoulder while he passes him and gives him a kind smile. He hates how easy it is to like the guy.

Fortunately the cafe remains virtually empty when you come out, so you greet Chan again but with a genuine smile for a change. He seems to notice and beams at you too.

“Shua said you did well today,” you hum, trying to warm up to the newest addition to the team. Safe for the dude who’s still sick and you haven’t seen before. You don’t even remember his name.

“You know Shua, he’s just kind,” Chan dismisses, but there’s a happy sparkle in his eyes. One that is very much missing in Jeonghan’s - a fact which goes unnoticed.

He goes through the motions of cleaning the counter even though it’s sparkling clean. He refills the beans even though the container is full. He checks the labels and everything is in order…

“What’s up with him?” the cashier nods towards him. You shrug.

To be fair, Jeonghan works hard. Usually he’s pretty cheerful too, but now he’s just a lifeless husk and you wonder if it has anything to do with you basically ignoring him. Maybe you were too harsh on him when he was just being friendly.

“Anything needs a refill? Do we need anything from the back?” you slide closer to the man in question and take the rag from his hands. He looks surprised but before you can even blink, he’s smiling at you and smirking mischievously.

“Are you hinting I should go get it myself? That’s so mean,” he grumbles. He’s giving you a very convincing kicked puppy look but it’s not like there’s anything he needs to convince you about. Safe for his competency maybe, but that would take much more than him acting cute.

“I’d do it myself. This is just me giving you a chance to pull your stuff out.”

He grimaces a little, as if he forgot about it. Still he thanks you quietly. This one you can’t blame on him; it was just another of your boss’ bright ideas.   

‘Jeonghan’s stuff’ is really just a cloth, a nice deep shade of purple with golden embroidery of sun and moon and some more astrological motives that he spreads out on the area of the counter where he does the readings. It’s also an assortment of crystal candy handmade by Minghao.

(Minghao is only a part-timer and has the least hours of all of you, and occasionally you somehow go the whole month without seeing him once. You wonder if it has anything to do with the time he needs to make the candies.

They don’t match the cafe’s vibe - they look too luxurious, especially next to the plain looking macarons, roll cakes, cookies and other goodies - but they do fit Jeonghan’s vibe.

They’re delicious too, so you hope that whatever is Minghao’s contract doesn’t change. Although he could give out employee discounts.)

Anyway, Jeonghan’s corner isn’t much, and thank god it’s not flashy, but it’s a little extra something for whenever Jeonghan’s working. You usually notice some of his groupies peeking in through the front window to check if his stuff is out. It’s also a good way to tell if the day will be a good one or not if he’s in.

“Found something we need from the back?” Jeonghan joins you right as you’re finished going through the supplies.

“No, I think we’re good. Shua usually leaves everything ready for the next shift anyway,” you hum, double checking the dates on everything just to be sure. Not that you expect to find anything amiss.

“You’re so nice to him.” You roll your eyes at him before you can stop yourself, which Jeonghan takes a personal offense to. “I always do my best too!”

“Yeah, but Shua is just more reliable,” you shrug. Unswayed by his sulking, you keep working around Jeonghan, who follows you while listing all the nice things he’s ever done for you. You catch Chan watching you from the side and laughing. 

“If you have nothing better to do-”

Just as you’re about to find a task to give to the youngest, the doorbell rings and in walks a pair of friends. Their giggling and badly hushed squeals tell you everything you need to know.

“Better get in the character,” you say, already giving up, and move on to the cake display and check the temperature. The display cooler is new, but after the fiasco that was the last one you want to make sure.

“What do you mean by character?” he puts a hand over his chest. He’s already acting, though. “I just have powers nobody can explain.”

You scoff, almost bumping into him while he keeps shuffling on the floor. He’s just doing it to get on your nerves at this point.

“What the hell?” you hiss at him quietly.

He looks at you for real. The look in his eyes is close to desperate when his gaze flicks towards the girls and then back to you, standing conveniently between them and him. You only laugh a little. It’s ridiculous how dramatic he’s being, and you wonder why he has to be this eccentric all the time.

“Not ‘hell’, they’re powers from a higher good! And I wasn’t kidding yesterday,” he remains serious - whatever his version of serious is anyway, “There’s someone really close to you who’s interested in you.”

You don’t really want to indulge his delusions but since he’s still behaving like a child seeing his least favorite relative and the girls are taking ages ordering, you decide just once won’t hurt.

“Yeah? Tell me more,” you say simply.

At this point he’s basically cornered against the counter and the girls keep looking your way. There’s very few options left how he could cower from them. He seems more focused on you, however, delight written all over his face.

“Literally so close that when you realize you’ll feel so stupid you’ll want to bang your head against a wall.”

“Already do,” you sigh.

You might say that but there’s something charming about the way Jeonghan tenderly holds onto your sleeve, the way his head isn’t buried in your shoulder but you feel his every breath on your skin anyway. He’s careful not to press himself against you and you appreciate that, even though you’re long since you used to people being squeezed together behind the counter on the busier days. His current position makes your work much harder nonetheless. Though you suppose you’re just making yourself look busy at this point.

Not that you’re not grateful to Joshua, but damn, couldn’t he leave at least something for you to do without customers around?

“Yeah? Any guesses who could be your secret admirer?” Jeonghan whispers. The girls are paying already and you have no idea what he's hoping to accomplish. They’ve seen him already when they walked in and they see him now.

Fortunately they sprint over before the silence after his question gets long enough that it’d demand you to answer.

Like somebody flipped a switch in Jeonghan’s brain, he springs us from behind you and greets the girls at his corner, asking them for just a moment to let him work his magic.

You join Chan in Jeonghan-watching while he works after he sends you away to prepare the order himself. Not that unusual, although you’d like to have something to do so that the shift passes quickly. It always pleases the fans, though, and this time too it doesn’t fail to make them swoon over his long fingers, his tongue flicking out to wet his pretty lips, or the bow tied on the small of his back that looks so cute and accentuates his slim waist. It’s always this way. You think you learned what they’re into quite well. And it’s not difficult to see. 

You’re just more used to it now.

“Do you think my training could include some one-on-one with him?” Chan whispers to you, “I mean I have no problem getting a date if I want to-”

“You must be really against dating right now then,” you can’t resist teasing him. You have no idea if he’s dating or not, but you suppose if he wants Jeonghan’s help of all people, he must be desperate. Then you remember he’s just a newbie. He doesn’t know him well yet.

“Hey!” he punches your shoulder lightly, “It’s just- He’s on another level, okay?”

“I guess,” you murmur, “But he’s still as single as us, so he must be a loser beyond getting a number.”

“You think so?” he tilts his head, “Makes sense.”

“Yeah, so you just do you.”

Fridays tend to be slower, what with most of the students from the nearby university preferring a club to a small cafe by the time the end of the week rolls around, but it’s just as well. At least you get to show Chan how to do things properly whenever a learning opportunity comes around and for once it’s Jeonghan who has his hands full with work. So much so that both you and the cashier help - at least when all the customers are waiting to get their coffee and reading.

There’s not much you can do to actually help, but whenever you slide the plated desserts on the counter, ready to be matched with the coffee, prepare the boxes for the takeout orders, or you hand him a cup only waiting for him to mess up the milk, he gives you a grateful smile. You think that when your fingers brush occasionally, he might be doing it on purpose - occasionally here being an understatement, but it doesn’t happen all the time either. Whatever, you suppose that’s his own way of saying thanks. 

Slowly, though, even that crowd starts to thin out. 

Back when he used to work here, Seungkwan would always say that seeing Jeonghan and getting a cake were both a sweet treat for the students coming here on Friday evening. 

You wonder if they’d think of him as sweet if they were forced to work with him and deal with his whining.

It’s not that you want to entertain his quirks when you let him rest his head on your shoulder after the place empties. It’s just for now. And when you pet his hair whenever he sighs deeply, you’re just being a supportive coworker. It’s just that he really did work hard.

Jeonghan’s other shenanigans and the shit he puts whoever is unlucky enough to be on the shift with him through make it easy to forget the effort he puts into what he does. All the talking, making stuff up on the spot, the creativity that requires. You don’t think you could ever match that - especially with your social battery being as faulty as it is. And whenever he can, he insists on preparing the orders entirely by himself - and whenever he abandons you to the rest of the orders, even this is a big help. He never really complains either, his sighs and whining are mostly for attention.

Perhaps you’re too harsh on him sometimes. He doesn’t have it easy, just the same as you. 

“We’re almost done,” you pet his hair one more time and wave goodbye to Chan. For the remaining two hours, it’s gonna be just you and Jeonghan. The man on your shoulder doesn’t bother to lift his head and blindly waves as well.

You look around the cafe, empty safe for a single man at the table in the corner. He looks like he’ll be leaving soon too. It’s a relief, especially after the catastrophe that was your last shift together.

It’s been a while since you last closed with Jeonghan, however, so you can only hope that in the little time you have left he won’t do anything that would sour today’s experience. 

“If we start now, we’ll be finished sooner,” you whisper to him, and finally he raises his head. Over the couple months you learned that nothing motivates him quite like the prospect of going home soon. At least one thing you have in common.

“Do you want to do the clean up here?” Jeonghan suggests, but his tone couldn’t be more hopeful that you’ll say no. You huff and shake your head.

“It’s fine, I’ll just do the lobby and help you out when I’m done,” you grant his wish. Truthfully you don’t really care either way. And at least on lobby duty you get to have some space and walk around.

He thanks you cutely, promising another free reading just for you - which you immediately decline, but you know better than to expect him not to go through with it.

The time you have left passes in a breeze. Barely anyone comes in and when they do, they usually take their coffee to go. Stars really must have aligned for you today. Thus you get to wipe down the tables and the counter, clean the bathroom and sweep the floor before it’s officially closing time. You’re so excited by how lucky you’ve gotten that you don’t mind Jeonghan’s victorious smirk when you automatically take over some of his tasks once the clock strikes the closing time. After all it doesn’t matter that he gets to go home sooner when it’s a win for you too.

Once again you’re amazed by how smoothly you work with him. It’s an effortless flow without the need for words. Sure, the tasks you’re capable of doing on autopilot, but whenever you help out the others, it’s never this simple. 

“Thank you,” Jeonghan smiles at you once everything is done and you join him at the back after checking again that you haven’t forgotten anything. 

“Don’t mention it,” you return the smile and stretch your arms above your head, closing your eyes in bliss. You can’t wait to be home.

“No, I will - I promised, didn’t I?”

You don’t like his tone. You really really really don’t like his tone. Allowing your arms to go limp, you let them hang beside your body. Your eyes stay closed.

“Come on, it’s nothing bad,” his voice softens. Maybe you get why he’s so popular. Or maybe it’s late and you’re tired.

When you open your eyes, there’s a small cup of ice latte being held out to you. You frown but he just chuckles. “I kept it in the fridge.”

“And I was wondering why you were acting so weird,” you sigh but you take the cup - or try to, only he doesn’t let go. “Not again.”

“If you look here,” he dismisses your protests. His fingers are cold against yours. “That line and this line are almost one, see? Your secret admirer is closer than before. You should take your chance.” 

You try not to smile but you do anyway, tired and resigned to your fate. “Anything more?”

“Yeah, actually if you follow this… You’re not listening, are you?” Jeonghan pouts when he realizes that you’re not looking at the coffee at all. He holds your gaze.

“Thank you, I really appreciate this,” you finally manage to slip the cup from his hand. You immediately take a long sip, you need something to get you through the way home. It’s good, great, but that’s no surprise. He might not be trained in latte art, but he makes good coffee.

“What are you going to do about your admirer though?” he wiggles his eyebrows at you. You give him a long look and note the discrepancy in his body language and his voice. He sounds playful, the upward curl of his lips give off that feeling too, but he seems tense otherwise. His eyes seem nervous. The late hour must be getting to him too.

“Wait,” you shrug, then elaborate when he gives you a confused stare, “I’m not into this kind of game, Jeonghan. If someone likes me, they shouldn’t be hiding it.”

He looks caught off guard, his mouth hanging open slightly.

“That is - if there was a secret admirer. I’m not buying your nonsense,” you push his shoulders and turn to your locker with a satisfied smile to take your things and stuff the rest in. Finally you silenced the great charlatan Yoon.

“Hey, my predictions always come true,” he bounces back quickly, “The customers tell me all the time.”

“You literally tell them the most generic shit,” you roll your eyes, shutting your locker, “Look, it was really nice today, so let’s not fight.”

He opens his mouth with, displeasure tugging at his lips. There’s a moment of tense silence before he eventually settles on a short dramatic monologue about never being taken seriously by close minded people like you. You watch him while you sip the coffee and check your watch. There’s enough time before your bus comes and now that your last shift of the week is over, you feel relaxed enough not to mind his company.

You make sure to lock up the place and have Jeonghan check that it’s actually locked. Just to be sure, despite the teasing that follows. There’s no malice in his voice, if anything he looks fond and nudges you with his elbow, reassuring you that he only finds it cute.

Sipping on the coffee while you walk, you enjoy how peaceful the night is. The street is empty, safe for the two of you, but you know it’s not gonna be that way once you reach the main road. For now, though, you actually feel quite comfortable chatting with Jeonghan. He's good company when he’s not infuriating.

“So anyway, I won them the whole game,” Jeonghan finishes boasting about his recent outing with Joshua and the new guy you have yet to meet - apparently he’s called Jun and is hopeless at basketball.

“Sure you did,” you snicker. Just to see him whine and try to persuade you he’s not lying. Although unexpectedly you have to admit that seeing him act out some complicated moves without the ball is both amusing and strangely impressive. He never striked you as someone as athletic as he seems to be. 

“Alright, alright, I believe you. Don’t hurt yourself, you’re working the weekend, aren’t you?” you laugh, holding him by the elbow to stop him from more demonstrations. 

“Yeah, jealous hm?” he frees his arm from your hold and throws it around your shoulders. You scoff and shrug him off. 

“Not really, the older I get the more I value my free time over money,” you push him away when he moves too close again. He just laughs at the annoyed glare you give him.

“You know I think your secret admirer is tied to the cafe, so maybe you should come in. Make sure there’s someone to grow old with you,” he hums thoughtfully, but the look in his eyes lets you know he actually means the suggestion.

“No thanks, I’ll be happy not to see the place for a few days,” you wave him off. The ice clashes together as you shake the almost empty cup. Just in time. The main street is already in sight and with it, the bus stop too. Only a few minutes now and you’ll be on your way home, spacing out with your music. “Also you’re more obsessed with this idea of a secret admirer than me. Maybe you should confront one of yours.”

“What do you mean?” he stops walking suddenly. You stop too, your brows furrow on their own. He looks the most serious you’ve ever seen him. Actually serious.

“Your army of fans, duh,” you shrug, keeping your tone playful to hopefully lighten the atmosphere, “I bet every single one of them is in love with you. They’re not exactly discreet.”

He puts his hands on his hips and takes a deep breath, then exhales just as slowly. If it wasn’t him, if you didn’t know him as well as you think you know him, you’d be scared. Even so you watch him warily.

“I don’t care about them,” he says plainly, “It’s fun for the job, but I don’t care about anything beyond that.”

You swallow uneasily, watching him stare at you with an unreadable expression.

“I was just kidding. I’m sorry,” you apologize. He must notice how uncomfortable you feel because he runs a hand through his hair and gives you a small smile.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he catches up with you, “I just take my magic very seriously.”

You burst out. You’ve had people call latte art magic. Never the fuck ups. At least Jeonghan seems relieved to see you laugh too and you can continue the walk comfortably again.

For someone who spent the day making shit up, he has enough inspiration to keep going. By the time you reach the stop and the bus comes into view, you have tears in your eyes as Jeonghan keeps exaggerating and telling you, very seriously, about the inner workings of his magic and deals he had to make with different deities to acquire his powers.

He only shuts up when the bus stops in front of you and the doors open.

“Thank you for today, Jeonghan,” you babble through fits of laughter, “It was great.”

“Thank you too,” he smiles gingerly, “And don’t laugh at me. Or you’ll make some powerful enemies.”

“I don’t doubt that,” you shake your head, “Bye now.”

“Bye.”

You get on the bus and take a seat by the window. Jeonghan doesn’t move from his spot, you see him get smaller and smaller as the vehicle takes off. 

Despite the coffee, you feel tired. Tired but happy, you realize. You wipe your eyes and chuckle. If only every shift could be like this.

You keep grinning even as you put on your headphones and start the music. The glass is cold against your forehead and you hope it’ll keep you from falling asleep. Although you suppose it wouldn’t be so bad now that you feel this content.

The weekend passes by way too quickly. The bed remains unmade and the couch remains a messy nest of blankets and pillows, although that’s hardly surprising seeing as that’s where you spend most of the time. Some chores got done, some didn’t, but you tell yourself that’s fine. You’ll just do them before or after work, it’d be pointless to waste your completely free days on things like that. Starting on Monday sounds better than starting on Sunday night.

Some part of you feels guilty about not being more productive, but when you lay down in bed, you realize that you hold no tension in your shoulders and you remind yourself you’re not a machine. You need to rest too. Chores will wait. Being productive will wait. What needs to be done isn’t going anywhere - the time you get to spend on your hobbies is.

You settle in bed and set up the alarm for tomorrow. You don’t work until afternoon and you’re going to bed early, but you’d rather be safe than sorry.

Staring at the ceiling, you don’t think you’re gonna fall asleep any time soon, but that just can’t be helped. Just closing your eyes should provide some rest, and who knows, maybe your body will surprise you.

It’s hard to keep track of time with your eyes closed and your mind racing. You’ve already thought of six sick burns that you wish you had ready when you needed them, you’ve won two philosophical debates, and you were about to invent a life changing knick-knack if only your phone didn’t light up and didn’t alert you to a new text message.

You consider ignoring it. Nobody really texts you, so it’s most likely just some spam or they got the wrong number.

But then it rings again.

And again.

You pick up the phone and squint at the screen.

The messages keep going.

[luvyeni]

❛BAD FOR ME❜ ( y. jeongin )

💬nias note: im still not over this look , this was sitting in my drafts for a minute...

p. toxicbf!jeongin x toxicfem!reader w. 2.7k+

— 𖦹 warnings. toxic relationships , reader gets into a fight, unprotected sex, oral ( m. receiving ), dirty talk, rough sex

— 𖦹 ( both of you know you're bad for each other but you can't help it ) !

“Are you going to the party?” You turned to your friend confused — the hell was she talking about? “Who’s party?”

Your friends furrowed their eyebrows in confusing. “Chan's having a coming home party, are you not coming?” You were even more confused. “Who came home?”

“Yah.” Your other friend said. “You know you don’t have to lie, we assumed you both got back together again.” The gears turned in your head again — then it finally hit you. “Jeongin.”

He got out? And he didn’t tell you? Was he serious, after everything you both went through he had the audacity to not tell you. “When did he get out?” You said, they were now confused. “You didn’t know he was out?” The look on your face was telling. “Y/n he’s been out for like 2 weeks.”

You were pissed off — you and jeongin’s relationship was rocky to say the least. You guys met almost 3 years ago, he worked at a tattoo shop you and your friends visited while drunk and stupid — a hour later you had a random heart tattoo on your thigh, but that’s a story for another time.

He was cute , and you were drunk and horny — that’s how you ended up fucking him in the closet of the shop, your relationship went from there.

Turns out that cute face was simply just a façade — turns out that tattoo job was a side hustle, a front if you will. Jeongin often made his money in illegal street racing and selling drugs with his friends. When you found out you weren’t upset — yeah you wished he would have a regular nine to five, but your liking for the boy triumph that.

Maybe that was a sign for you to run — to leave the boy alone, but you didn’t, and then how you found out how popular your boyfriend was in the scene.

You and jeongin both had jealousy issues, which wasn’t good and often left one of you being pulled off of someone at a party, yelling profanities at each other — usually ending up in a breakup. The breakup never last long though, it’s usually about a week before he’s climbing through your window because you refuse to let him in due to your stubbornness or you texting him under the impression that you want him to come get his shit out of your house, but he knows it’s  just your special way of saying come home and fuck me.

Was it toxic? Yes it was, but it was like you both couldn’t get enough of each other, both of you love to piss the other off, and then fuck each other like wild bunnies while getting high in the back seat of his car.

Coming back to recent times, three years later jeongin was still doing illegal shit — you told him he’d get caught up and get himself arrested, but he told you that you were being paranoid, so you let him be, not only a week later him and his friends were being dragged into the police station for street racing.

Right before then you both had gotten into a normal argument due to the fact that a girl who clearly knew you were together couldn’t keep her hands off him — which ended up with you throwing your drink in her face, dragging jeongin away. He yelled at you for being jealous, and you both went back and forth before chan ran over dragging the boy away, not before you slapped him telling him to never contact you.

That was 3 months ago, and normally that would answer your question on why he didn’t let you know he was out— but you knew how you and jeongin worked, and that’s what pissed you off, because you also knew who was doing this on purpose — to get a rise out of you.

“Y/n? you listening.” Your friend finally pulled you out of your rage filled thoughts. “I’m listening.” You said, trying to stop your eyes from twitching. “So are you going?” Your friend asked. “It’s at chans house later this evening.” You nodded, of course you were gonna be there. “Yeah i'll be there.”

You got dressed in your best — one of jeongin’ favorite, a short grey dress with a deep v cut, and accentuated your waist perfectly. You did your makeup, not much though, knowing regardless of what happens tonight it was gonna get messed up.

You waited for your friends to pick you up, climbing into the car, driving over to chan house where the party was. “It’s pretty crowded, I guess everyone missed them.” Your friend said, all three of you climbed out the car. “They’re drug dealers, if the drug dealers are in jail there’s no drugs — half the people here don’t even know who’s coming home party it is, they’re here for drugs and drinks.” You and your friends make your way into the house.

“You wanna get a drink before you go kill jeongin?” You made your way into the kitchen, the counter filled with many bottles of alcohol. You grab a random vodka bottle, pouring it into a cup. “You think you could keep it in the cup tonight?” You heard a familiar voice. “Fuck you seungmin.” You sneered.

He laughed, you rolled your eyes. “Why are you mad at me, what did I do?” He questioned, you scoffed. “Really, you’re gonna play dumb with me right now?” You said. “Chill don’t throw your drink on me, you guys business is none of my business.” He stepped back. “You still could’ve told me he was home.” You walked past him, bumping him on purpose. “Always such a dream to talk to.” He yelled back to you.

You were too fueled on anger as you go searching for him, drink in your hand. “Oh hey y/n.” Chan offered you a warm smile. “Where is he?” He frowned. “I told him to tell you I did, but you know how he is.” He said. “Where is he chan?” He pointed — you followed his finger, blood boiling at the sight. Jeongin stood against the wall, the same girl from the race standing in front of him, feeling up his arm.

He looked good, blonde streak in his curly hair, white tank top— your main weakness and denim shorts. He chewed on his lip ring, while drinking something from his cup, listening to the girl talk. “Is he fucking serious?” You were fuming, how fucking dare he? First he not tell you he’s home, now he’s all close with the girl who told him to stay away from multiple of times. “I’m gonna kill both of them.” You left chan alone screaming at much like seungmin. “Please don’t break anything again, please!”

Jeongin knew you were around here somewhere, word had gotten to him then moment you walked through the door — he was full on ready to find you so you both could go have angry makeup sex like always, you’d probably slap him for not telling you he’d been let out of jail and then you’d enjoy the party before going back to your house.

But he wanted to drag it on just a little longer, just to get back at you for not calling him while he was in jail and breaking up with him right as he was getting arrested — childish he knows, but so are you.

“Jeonginnie.” Hannah the girl whined, pulling on his arm. “pay attention to me.” He sighed,  looking at the girl trace his tattoos, it didn’t feel the same as when you did it, the way your stiletto nails dug into his skin. “Sorry.” He said.

“I finally got you away from that bitch and all to myself.” He rolled his eyes, if only she  knew he had no intention on leaving with her — not when his girl was here. “Yeah?” He played along still. “Yeah, im so glad you didn’t go back to her, and called me to meet you here.” He chuckled taking a sip of his drink. “You never know, she may be here.”

Before hannah could even say something, jeongin felt a tug, and suddenly hannah was on the ground. “What the fuck!” She shrieked, you stood above her, staring the boy down. “This was a new dress bitch.” You turned to the girl — he smirked taking a sip of his drink, just as he seen your hand go up, your drink being thrown into the girls face.

“How many times have I told you to stay away from him.” You climbed on top of her. “how many times do I have to beat it into you.” There was a crowd now, jeongin saw chan rubbing his temples, knowing who was in the center of the crowd — your friends close by just in case.

Jeongin loved when you got like this, it was sick but he didn’t care, he couldn’t help but get hard watching you claim him in front of everybody. “Jeongin.” Changbin called him, he laughed knowing what he wanted — he finished his drink, sitting it down on the table. “Okay that’s enough.” He picked you up, pulling you off the girl. “She’s bleeding, calm down psycho."

You felt your body being lifted up, and jeongin’s voice — adrenaline still flowing through your veins, you turned around slapping him right across his face. “You asshole.” He grabbed your hand. “somebody help her up.” He said before yanking you up the steps, away from everyone into a room.

“What the fuck is your problem.” He spat, you scoffed. “My problem? My problem, first you don’t tell me you were released, I had to find out two weeks later, then I find you cuddled up with that bitch, and im the one with the problem.”

“You told me not to contact you.” He said. “I told you to stop fucking racing also and stop talking to other bitches who clearly want to fuck you, but you don’t listen to that.” You snapped, he usually never let you go on this long, but he was just getting hornier and hornier as you fussed and cursed at him — your hair was as tussled, and your dress was bunched up due to your fight, your panties almost on display, chest was heaving up and down.

“Fucking asshole, you aren’t even listening.” You scoffed. “Fuck you.” You said about to walk past him — he grabbed you, slamming you up against the wall. “Fuck baby you’re so hot.” He said his voice low. “move jeongin.” You pushed him, but he grabbed both your arms. “Im done.”

He chuckled. “Yeah we both know that’s not true.” He said. “If it was you wouldn’t be so  pissed that I didn’t text you about my release.” There he went , chewing on the lip ring again. “nor would you have just beat a girl within a inch of her life for nothing if you were done.” He laughed.

“Just say you missed me.” He said, still holding your hands down. “Fuck you.” You spat, he rolled his eyes, he should’ve known you’d be like this. “Fine you want to be a bitch.” He let your hand go, grabbing your hair. “Guess I gotta fuck this attitude out of you, put you back in your place.”

You pushed at him, he jus tugged at your scalp, signaling you to stop. “Get on your fucking knees.” He pushed you down to knees, his hard cock straining against his shorts. “I swear if you fucking bite me again.” He undid his pants, pushing them to the ground alone with his underwear — his cock almost slapping you in the face.

“Be lucky if I don’t.” You hissed, he grabbed the base of his cock, slapping it on your lips. “open your fucking mouth.” He pushed himself into your mouth, groaning out in pleasure. “Fuck that’s it, suck my fucking cock.” He moaned.

He let you bob your head up and down on your own first — you moved slowly just to piss him off more. “Do it fucking right.” He pushed you all the way down on his cock. “Fuck, im gonna fuck your face.” He held your head steady, snapping his hip. “Shit.”

He moved his hips vastly, his balls slapping against the chin as you gagged and gurgled around his cock, drool spilling down your chin as he used your throat. “Look at you , making a mess on my dick, that’s all I had to do to shut you up is stuff my cock down your pretty throat.”

He groaned, throwing his head back. “fuck im gonna cum, gonna cum down your fucking throat.” He held your head down, your nose pressed against his pelvic bone, cumming down your throat. “Fuck take my cum down your throat.”

He let your hair go, pulling you off his cock. “Missed your mouth baby.” He said pulling you up. “Spent months just thinking about your mouth.” He tapped your thighs signaling you to jump. “Good because you’ll never get it again.” You still were a bit feisty, but he could tell you were horny and were doing this just to fuck with him.

“Please we both know you’d die without my cock.” He pulled your panties to the side. “That’s why your pussy is fucking sopping right now, you’re so fucking wet.” You bit your tongue, not giving him the satisfaction of hearing you moan. “Such a fucking brat baby.”

He pushed himself inside of you, he moaned out. “Sh-shit.” He cursed, he missed this, your cunt squeezing him. He was only in jail this time thankfully for 4 months, but 4 months without your sweet cunt felt like years to him. “Fuck!”

He held you up against the wall, fucking into your cunt. “come on.” He ran his lips against your neck, his lip ring running along your jugular. “Stop fighting it baby, you know you want to scream my name.” He chucked into your ear, before giving you one sharp thrust. “You know you missed, screaming my name, so scream.” He gave you another thrust — you whimpered, he smiled. “Scream.” He thrusted again, and this time you couldn’t hold it. “Jeongin fuck!”

He fucked into you, you gripped his shoulders, nails digging into his skin — he hissed at the pain, but it went straight to his cock. “That’s it, scream my name like the slut you are for me.” He growled. “My slut.”

You really missed this, the way he fucked you, those 4 months were painful without him, and getting yourself off with the fingers wasn’t enough. “Je-jeongin fuck, so fucking good.” He huffed, your cunt was tightening around him. “Yeah I can tell, your cunt is sucking me in.” he groaned.

“You go gonna cum?” He moaned. “gonna make a mess on my cock?” You nodded. “Yes.” You tugged at his hair, he groaned . “Never gonna get arrested again, I miss this cunt too much when im away.” He said. “Can’t be away from you for too long.”

“Jeongin -fuck- im-im gonna cum!” You shrieked. “Cum, cum so I can fill this pussy up  with my cum.” He groaned, you felt the band in your stomach tightening, then snapping. “FUCK!” you screamed, cumming.

“This pussy is mine, nobody is allowed to touch you.” He groaned. “I don’t care how much we fight, you’re my girl, you will always be my girl.” He moaned. “Fuck- go-gonna fill this pussy up.” He gave you a few more thrust, his cum flooding your womb. “Fuck, take my cum.”

You both were a breathless sweat mess. “This was such a welcome home.” You slapped his shoulder  “Fucking leave me like that again and don’t tell me you’re back, and I’ll cut your fucking dick off.”

He smirked, letting you down. “Yeah sure, you’d suffer right with me.” He said as you fix your dress. “And you didn’t have to beat that girl like that.” You rolled your eyes. “now she’ll have a black eye to remind her to stop fucking talking to you.”

“You’re bad for me baby.” He kissed you, you smiled sweetly. “Let’s go home and smoke.” You said taking his hand into yours

“So fucking bad."

©️LUVYENI

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

The Meet Cute - Law's Story - 4

Source for pic

The Great Pretender 4

Word Count: 5946

Tags For The Whole Story: Fem!Reader; Law is a soft dom; you have bratty tendencies (not all the time); voice kink; praise kink; cursing; very suggestive behaviour and innuendo from the start; sexual tension; teasing; so much flirting; romance; slow-burn; fluff; slight angst; mature audiences (though explicit NSFW moments will be properly tagged on the chapter); possessive Law; protective Law; soft Law; teasing Law; manipulative Doflamingo; inappropriate Doflamingo; fake relationship trope; only one-bed trope; reader has some anxiety issues; reader is a control freak and perfectionist; modern day AU

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: After moving away from the hustle and bustle of Grand Line City to help your father around the property following a horse-riding accident - and in the hopes of healing your broken heart after your asshole ex-fiancé cheated - you settle into the country calmness of the Calm Belt. You and Law (your father's doctor) start to build a flirty friendship because of your father’s procedure. So much so that when he’s invited to Baby 5’s wedding (his cousin), he asks you to be his date. His uncle Doflamingo - who is filthy rich - is very adamant on finding a suitable wife for him. Seeing as he wants to avoid that, he asks you to pretend to be his girlfriend for the weekend.

Notes: Oh... chapter 4 is so much fun... My favourite so far, please enjoy! Special shout-out to @jintaka-hane for showing me a fanart of Law with the cute Bepo pen! I HAD to add it to this chapter!

Tag List: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz @baby5555 @hopelesslover06 @mars-mizuko @sleepykittycx @nerium-lil

Masterlist

|Chapter 3| | |Chapter 5 🔞|

Law took you up on that promise for the second-best coffee in town, using the excuse that he had some free time and wanted to check on your father. It didn’t really matter that he barely took five minutes to assure your father was fine before you two talked for almost two hours over coffee about books. 

You also used your father as an excuse the same week, when you visited Law at the clinic saying that you weren’t sure about one of the pills he had to take, because it made him droopy and sleepy. You knew it didn’t matter and Law assured you his medication was fine but if he was uneasy about the side effects of that pill, he could take a different one - which he prescribed. And then he took you out to coffee - the best in town - and you talked for another hour before he had to get back. This time he shared a bit about his hobbies and you shared yours. 

Kaya had an insufferable dreamy look on her face when you went back to the clinic with Law because your car was parked there and you had forgotten to validate the parking ticket. You couldn’t help the creeping blush on your cheeks as she, Penguin and Shachi watched you both arrive at the clinic together, looking fresh out of a coffee date. 

Penguin and Shachi made smooching sounds at Law and you were pretty sure, based on Law’s pulsing jaw, that they would both be on the receiving end of his anger soon enough. Kaya, instead, decided to take all the fun out on you. “How was your date?”

“Not a date! Please, Kaya, validate the ticket. I need to get back to my dad.”

“Sure, sweetheart, sure. I’ll see you soon. I’m not sure the two of you can stay apart from each other until Monday.” Rolling your eyes to the back of your head, you tell her goodbye and turn to leave, but she doesn’t let you go easily. “I’ve never seen him this happy in years, honey!”

You don't turn back to her, but you can’t help the silliest grin ever from forming on your lips. 

About a month rolls by slowly. Your dad is perfectly fine now, though he’s still not allowed to lift heavy things; your part-time job has a fairly good chance of turning into a full-time one with more responsibilities and an increase in your salary; you haven’t thought about your dumb heartache in forever and…

Well you and Law keep having little coffee dates. The tension between both of you is becoming increasingly larger and much more charged. He was away for about a week at a medical conference, and you suffered from withdrawal. You both texted, but you didn’t want to bother him and he was pretty busy, being one of the main speakers - man’s a genius!

Kaya keeps pestering you about how perfect you both are for each other and now that you’ve met Usopp - her fiancé - he says the same. And the way he says it makes everything sound even more romantic and story-like than when Kaya does it. You’re confused about the way you feel about the doctor, but you can’t help the little jumps and pangs in your chest whenever you’re together. 

So today, as you stand in front of the mirror adjusting some of your cutest clothes, you can’t help but feel butterflies in your stomach. Law texted you saying he needs to speak with you urgently. You’re beyond curious as to what he means by that and your mind has already conjured about fifty different ideas of what it could be. Your anxiety is already building, making plan after plan about what he’s going to say, how you will respond and all the possible outcomes. About half of your thoughts end with you two making out. The others are terrible scenarios about complications with your father’s exams or the possibility that Law is moving to a different country. 

You’re not in control. And you hate it.

Sighing you grab your jacket and sunglasses and tell your dad you’re going out and don’t know when you’ll be back. You manage to ignore his smirk, but can’t ignore the ‘Tell Law I said hi!’ he sing-songs to you as you leave, though you never told Shanks who you were going to meet.  

Law told you to meet at Sanji’s, but when you arrive, he’s waiting by the door with two cups of coffee in his hands, and you realise he doesn’t want to hang around the café. Before you open your mouth, you have to swallow the hard lump that’s formed in your throat. A simple week of absence made the eyes grow fonder! You know that’s not the saying, but damn, the hot doctor looks even hotter now. He’s wearing his scrubs, but instead of the white doctor’s coat, he has a long black coat over them.

“Hi.” You whisper as he smirks at you, his eyes taking you in, making you realise you made the right choice of outfit.

“Hello, you look as gorgeous as ever.” You can’t hide the pink in your cheeks. It’s something you should’ve already grown accustomed to. Law always praises you, telling you how beautiful you look and what good taste you have. As if that weren’t enough, he pulls doors and chairs for you, he’s a gentleman. Though he doesn’t often show it, since, to almost everyone else, he’s just a moody, broody, stoic doctor. But he makes you feel special.

From your talks, you know he had etiquette lessons growing up with his uncles. Though he never cared for them, Law couldn’t help but absorb the lessons like a sponge. He told you that’s how he knows so many things. He just absorbs information, even useless stuff. 

And at least now, as he claims, he’s putting those etiquette lessons to good use, because you melt every time he treats you like you’re the only person in the world. And he seems to enjoy leaving you speechless in his presence.

“Thank you. So we’re walking?” You ask as Law hands you the coffee.

“Yes, I need to ask you something and I’d rather not be too exposed to do it.”

Oh? What does he want to ask you? You can’t help but make more silly little scenarios in your head and get overwhelmed by them, but then he softly nudges you with his shoulder.

“Relax. Let go. You don’t need to be in control all the time, we’ve been through this.” He smirks at you and you chuckle back at him. He can always read you so well. He’s teased about what he could do to make you surrender control to him. He’s never been too explicit and you were always too afraid to ask.

But you know what he means. He’s talking about intimate settings, where you can let him take charge. And you can’t deny that it’s an alluring thought, to just let go of being responsible, of always having to be in control, of constantly needing to know what happens next.

But is it a door you really want to open?

“You’re doing it again.” He states, deadpan, and you sigh.

“I can’t help it. It’s stronger than me.”

“Right, I’m aware of that.” He leads you to the park, to a more secluded bench, where you both sit down. You sip your coffee in silence, waiting for him to speak, and you’re grateful you grabbed your jacket, as the weather has turned chilly. 

He seems to be debating something in his head, opening his mouth and closing it again, perhaps unsure of how to approach the subject he wants to tell you about. 

Until he sighs and finally does it.

“Remember when I told you about my uncles?” You nod. “Well, my uncle Doffy has an adoptive daughter - Baby 5 - and she’s getting married next weekend.” He sighs and you nod. You already knew Doflamingo had a daughter and that she was beautiful - Ichiji had made sure you knew, trying to get a rise out of you while blatantly flirting with her.

“Doflamingo he… well he’s always taken a special interest in me. He made sure I went to the best schools, had the best teachers and received the best education possible. He polished me to follow in his footsteps, to take over his enterprise as an heir. I never showed any interest in it.”

Interesting. “Why not have his own daughter take over the company?” You blurted out before filtering the question through your brain. Maybe he didn’t want to share more details than he was willing to give.

“Ah, because my cousin is very fickle with her affections… she loves too hard, too fast. She’s always willing to accept any proposal from any man who dares to stare at her a moment too long. This is her third attempted marriage, actually - Doffy called off the other ones before they went through.” He chuckles, clearly understating his cousin, and you can’t help but be surprised. “So my uncle can’t risk some man telling Baby 5 she’s beautiful and getting her to sign a prenup that takes away the company.”

You nod in understanding and take another sip of coffee.

“Anyway, I never meant to take over his place and, for now, he doesn’t press the subject. He knows I want to practise medicine. Though he makes sure I know everything that happens in the company - which I do - and he keeps me on the board. Unfortunately, Doffy also thinks he has a say in who I date - or eventually marry - even going as far as setting me up on dates with ‘possible candidates’.”

“That seems a bit controlling…” You mumble.

“It is. Doffy is many things, and controlling and manipulative are some of them.” Law takes a long sip of his coffee until the crinkle between his eyebrows relaxes and disappears. It’s the second time you’ve seen him rattled beyond his mask of perfect control. And Doflamingo always seems to be behind it. “I’ve avoided bringing any girl back to his house because he can be very inconvenient. But I know that if I show up to my cousin’s wedding without a date, he’ll want to introduce me to every eligible young lady he deems fit to welcome into the family.”

Controlling seems like an understatement, then. 

“That sounds terrible, Law.”

He agrees with a nod and the crinkle is back. You feel the urge to smooth it out with your fingertips to help him relax. Or maybe by pressing your lips to it. 

You drink your coffee instead. 

“It is. That’s why I’ve been thinking and… well I’m going to bring a date to the wedding. A perfect date. Someone he can’t manipulate and someone he won’t be able to find fault with. She and I will seem so much in love that he’ll be forced to ease up on his agenda and let me be for the whole wedding weekend. Doesn’t that sound perfect?” He smirks at you, the crease disappearing when his eyes meet yours. 

You’re suddenly a bit jealous, though you really have no right to be. But who is this girl? Why is she so perfect? So much in love? Why haven’t you ever met her?

“Sure, seems perfect. Flawless plan.” You whisper, barely able to shake the frown from your lips.

“I’m glad you agree. Because you’re her.” His smirk turns into a grin as you cough and sputter coffee everywhere, barely avoiding staining your outfit.

“What do you mean?” You ask, accepting the tissue he hands you with a gruff ‘thanks’ and wiping your mouth. 

“We're friends, we get along well and… we can't deny this… tension between us.” He smirks as your cheeks warm. “I know we can pull off looking like a couple in love.”

The way your breath hitches in your throat has nothing to do with choking on your coffee, and everything to do with the implications of what he said. 

“I know we're capable of doing this. I've planned the outcome. It's flawless. The thing is…” He scratches the back of his neck, his amber gaze fixed somewhere far away. “I also know I'm being selfish. I want to do this for my reasons alone. But to do so, I'll have to drag you into this mess. I've considered the implications, and if you say yes, you'll need to be aware of some things, but…” His sigh comes from deep within, from a place he's not yet intent on showing you. “I don't want to do this with anyone else but you. And I can't miss this wedding. And I definitely can't be paraded around like a prized pig.”

A strained chuckle escapes his lips as he tousles his dark hair again. “It's a damned if I do, damned if I don't situation… what do you say?”

You've been quietly sipping the rest of your coffee, trying to ignore the tightening in your chest at his words. A fake relationship? It does sound simple. You know him well enough by now, he's right, you're friends. He's also right about the tension between you two, and you could pull off being completely enthralled by each other without much effort. You wouldn't even be faking the attraction. 

But what does he mean by the implications? Something about his family? Or the forced connection between the two of you? 

Maybe both?

“I'm considering it. I want to help you, you're my friend.”

“But?” He asks while raising an eyebrow. 

“What are the implications?”

The crinkle in the middle of his brow is back and before he even speaks, you already know it’s about his family. 

“Doffy isn’t easy to deal with. He'll be imposing, inappropriate and most likely, manipulative. He'll want to know all about you and will probably test you, push you, to see if you're really interested in me.” He lets out another one of those deep, soul-shaking sighs. “I really didn't want to drag you into this, but I can’t take another family function meeting women I don't care about and never will.”

You can handle some probing. Hell, you went through the same thing when you and Ichiji made things official. How different can Donquixote Doflamingo be from Vinsmoke Judge? Probably not too different - same cold, smug look, same indifference… probably! 

Seeing the slight distress in Law's eyes only strengthens your resolve. “I'll do it.” You give him a strained smile as he raises his eyebrows. 

“Are you sure?”

“I’d never let a friend down, Law. Besides, how bad could it really be? Free food, dancing, pretending to be your girlfriend… I can think of worse things! A girl can be spoiled sometimes.”

He chuckles at your silliness, but the tension in his brow remains. “My uncle can be a handful… he… there was…” He looks like he's about to tell you something important but quickly shakes his head. “Never mind. As long as you're sure.”

You nod, finishing your coffee, and take out your trusted notebook. “But I'm not going in blind, mister. We'll need to learn everything about each other. If we're doing this, we're going to be superstars at it!”

Finally the crease between his eyebrows softens as he watches you with a flicker of amusement, a slight easiness overpowering his usual scowl. “I knew you’d say that.”

You grumble through your teeth, too focused on trying to find a pen in the chaos that is your purse, but you must have misplaced it because there’s nothing there. “Do you have a pen?” You gesture to his pocket, seeing some sticking out.

Sighing, he reaches without looking and gives you the first thing he grabs. As the pen touches your hand, you raise your brow. What the heck? Your eyes go from the pen to Law and from Law to the pen, an amused smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. 

“What?” He asks, taking another sip of coffee.

“This is freaking adorable. I’m dying. Trafalgar Law, the moody, broody, humourless doctor has a teddy bear pen. I might need to take a photo of this.”

Law’s ears turn slightly red and he purses his lips, but he tries to look unaffected. “So what?” He reaches, trying to take it back. 

A giggle escapes your lips before he can snatch the pen from your hands. “It’s too much to handle. I never thought you would have anything like this on you!” You keep deflecting his moves so he doesn’t grab the pen and you can almost see smoke coming out of his ears.

With a low grunt and a quick move, Law grabs your chin and moves his face closer to yours, a glint of amusement and impatience in his eyes. “I like cute things, obviously.” He says as his eyes give you an appreciative once-over and you blush. “Is that a problem?” You can barely think with his face in front of yours, so you don’t say anything. He smirks, tilting your head higher. “Didn’t think so.” Then he snatches the pen from your hand with a quick gesture. “Stop being a brat.” His tone is sharp but his gaze is playful. 

When he releases you, searching his pocket for another pen, you have to swallow hard and take a deep breath before you can remember why you needed the pen in the first place. As he hands you the other pen, he watches you with an insufferably smug look. “You were making notes about what we needed to learn…”

“Right!” You exclaim, feeling your cheeks flare up and start scribbling furiously. 

He tilts his head to spy what you're writing and can't hide another smirk from overcoming his lips. “Favourite music, colour, movie, place… is this fifty questions type of thing?”

You don't stop your furious scribbling and you don't need to meet his eyes to know he's staring at you with mild amusement. “I told you I'm not going in blind. We need to cover everything. You've got work today?” He nods and you hum in disappointment. 

“Tomorrow?” He says tentatively, not knowing where you're going with this. 

“Yes. Only in the afternoon, though. Can we meet at your place?” You've been at the door of his apartment but you've never crossed the threshold. Are you being too forward? 

Heck, nah! You're going to be his girlfriend for the weekend anyway! 

“Sure. What do you have in mind?” His voice deepens as he raises his hand, placing his arm on the bench behind your shoulders, his hand caressing your hair softly as if by accident. Your pen drills a hole in the notebook and you curse and clear your throat. 

“Studying. I'll compile this list and then we're going to answer these questions and learn everything about each other.”

His smirk only deepens as he hums even lower. No matter how much time passes between you two, his voice is something that always makes you shiver. “Studying each other sounds great.” You make another hole in the notebook and he chuckles again. “You're trying to be in control of everything again.” He says deadpan. 

“I know! Let me cope, Law. It's the only way I know how to do this.”

He hums and you can almost feel the way he's trapping more words behind his tongue. He wants to say something else, but he just raises his arms in the air. “Fair enough.”

And then, to indulge you, he throws in some more topics you should cover before heading back to work. 

After this interaction you're left thinking that this will either be the greatest time you've had in your life, or the worst. 

-*-

During your free afternoon, you compile the list on your laptop, complete with a spreadsheet so you can note down Law’s answers and your own. You’ll then share the list so you both can study and leave nothing to chance.

You arrive exactly on time and by the second knock, Law opens the door to his apartment to let you in. He must’ve come directly from the clinic - or the hospital - with barely time to change, because he’s still in jeans and a dress shirt - with half the buttons undone, showing off his amazing chest piece.

As you stare at him from outside his apartment, a definite blush on your cheeks, as you feel yourself burning up, he leans his arm against the threshold while the corner of his lips slowly curls up. “Hi.” That low timbre in his voice has you gulping in no time. His amber gaze shifts to your laptop and he lets out a low chuckle. “You came fully prepared, I see.”

Clearing your throat, you manage to let out a pathetic ‘yes’ to accompany your nod and his grin intensifies. “Come in.” He slurs, barely moving so you’re forced to brush against his body to enter his apartment. 

You immediately remove your jacket upon entering - the heat is already overwhelming. As you take a look around you notice he really is someone who’s always in control. His home is minimalist - at least the living room! Who knows if he has a hidden room where he hoards comics or coins or something like that - and everything’s in its rightful place. He has taste, the furniture is beautiful, but it doesn’t scream opulence. 

“Nice place.” You say genuinely while removing your shoes by the entrance.

“Thanks.” Law says as he closes the door and gestures towards the couch. The small end table has an assortment of cookies and two cups of steaming coffee ready for you. 

“Third-best?” You ask as you approach the refreshments, pointing at the coffee.

“I’m aiming for second. I bribed Sanji to point me to some tastier beans than the ones he showed you.” Your grin matches his.

“Competitive much?”

“You have no idea.” The intensity of his gaze doubles as you both sit on the couch. “So,” he starts while changing the subject, “what’s this all about? Fifty questions turned to one hundred?”

He’s joking, but he’s also right, so you give him a strained smile while you open your laptop and set it on your lap. “Something like that. Get comfortable.”

With a groan he picks up his coffee mug and lets himself slide down the couch while you giggle. 

-*-

“Okay, that about settles tattoos and marks!” You don’t really have any more clothes to remove, as you’ve already stripped down to your simple dress, yet the heat remains unbearable. Law’s torso is still bare, since he showed you all his tattoos, and, even though you already knew they were sexy as hell, you were still unprepared. “Now…”

“There’s more?” He interrupts, another muffled groan escaping his lips as he puts on his shirt but leaves it open. “I refuse.” He closes your laptop as he sits down near you, the gesture earning him an indignant gasp.

“Law!”

“You’re too much in control.” He says your name sternly. “This is looking like an interrogation. What happened to talking and doing this the normal way? Where’s the spontaneity?” He adds cheekily, his arms resting behind his neck as he leans back, his chest muscles rippling with the gesture. 

“There can’t be any. We need to be thorough, we need to sell this act! How can we do that if we don’t know everything there is to know about each other?” You spent hours on this list - even though you didn’t tell him that - this is the one thing, the only thing you can control because all the variables of the wedding in itself are daunting and terrifying.

You can’t control who will believe or doubt you, you can't control how Doflamingo will act with both of you, hell, Law doesn’t even know who all the guests are! What if any of the Vinsmokes are there? What if Ichiji is there?

Too many things can go wrong!

“We can very well sell this act on actions alone.” His voice promises more. Your heart hammers against your chest as your pulse quickens. The idea of not having control over the situation is still too overwhelming. 

“That’s impossible, Law.”

“It's not.” He leans forward, leaving just a breath of space between you, his amber gaze locking you in effortlessly. “If you think that knowing my favourite book or food is going to be the only thing that convinces people - especially my uncle - you’re dead wrong.” His soft breath tickles your eyelids, he’s that close. He might be trying to make you flinch, or pull back. To challenge you and see if you recoil from his proximity.

You don't.

You stand defiantly, your eyes never leaving his gaze. Even if you're burning up, heat pooling somewhere in your belly, turning into an ache between your legs. “It’s not completely about what we say or how we say it. It’s about how we act. But mostly…” His hand moves, brushing a strand of hair away from your face and you tremble slightly. “It’s about how you react to me.”

You fight to regain control of your breathing, but then you counter his gaze with a mocking grin. “You think a few light touches and a piercing gaze have any effect on me, Law?” You try to scoff but the sound comes out weird and high-pitched. “I think you’re underestimating my self-control.”

“Really?” The huskiness in his voice sends shivers down your spine.

“Hmm, hmm!” Is your clever reply. You’re bluffing and he knows it.

“Then why are you clutching your laptop so tightly?” He raises an eyebrow as your eyes dart downward to your hand. Your knuckles are already turning white from gripping the laptop and you curse, trying to play off your gesture with a slight shrug, but he’s seen through you.

His other hand grazes your bare leg, starting at the knee and climbing up, a phantom touch, a mere whisper of his fingers against your skin. Your breath hitches as he locks your eyes with his gaze again. “You don’t need to control everything, all the time. I’ve got this. I’ve got you. It’s not a list that will make us believable. It’s this.” He leans slowly forward, his lips brushing ever so lightly against the corner of your own as his fingers graze the inside of your thigh, leaving a trail of warmth behind. 

Your gasp turns into a soft moan-like sigh and you almost melt into his touch as your body gives in. How can something so trivial as a light touch feel so damn good?

“There. People will believe that.” He smirks, satisfied, as he leans back against the couch, leaving you breathing hard, trying to regain composure, as if he hasn’t completely aroused you with just a touch and a few words. “Is this enough for today?”

You get up, leaving your laptop on the couch and start pacing back and forth, hands wringing together, trying to regain feeling in your limbs. How could he affect you so much with a few touches? A few words? One glance?

What’s this hold he has on you?

“No.” You find your voice after clearing your throat and try again. “It’s not enough. We need to know how to behave as… as boyfriend and girlfriend. Like you said, we need to have knowledge about each other, but we need to get accustomed to each other’s touch.” A sigh escapes your lips. This is dangerous territory. “To… kissing…” His eyebrows raise but you pay it no mind as you continue, already rambling a bit. 

“I don’t have a lot of experience with boyfriends…” A crimson blush spreads across your cheeks. “My ex… well when we were out in public, at big events, he tended to ignore me. He liked to showcase me as a pretty thing dangling from his arm, but then he didn’t really care much about me, drinking with his acquaintances, not caring about where I was or what I was doing… He barely touched me. Just enough so people knew we were together, but that's not going to cut it if we want to fool your uncle. I don’t really know how we should act and-...”

“Okay.” Law stands up and takes a step closer to you, making you stop pacing. His presence becomes suddenly overwhelming and commanding. 

“Okay, what?” 

“Okay, I’ll show you how I would behave with you in public, so you get used to it. I would never, ever ignore you. You’re too special to be left alone.” A flicker of something primal touches his eyes. A sort of possession in his gaze. “And I wouldn’t barely touch you.” His smirk makes your breath hitch. There, this right here is dangerous territory. 

But it's necessary. 

As you nod, he steps even closer. His hand reaches as he places it in the small of your back, his fingers clinging to you as he pulls you nearer. His eyes never leave yours, though the amber is slowly giving way to a darker shade, his pupils dilating. “If this were real, I’d keep you close to me, so people would know we were together.” You swallow a lump as he pulls you even closer, showing you how he’d stake his claim on you, a bit possessive, but nothing aggressive, just a statement. 

“And if this were real, I’d steal light touches, to keep you focused on me.” His other hand traces the curve of your neck and shoulder, slowly trailing down your arm and stopping at your wrist, his thumb brushing small circles against the sensitive skin. You can feel your heart beating erratically against your chest, his voice enveloping you in a thick haze: commanding, seductive, enthralling. You try to focus and remain composed, but he’s making it so hard.

The fire in your belly stirs and ignites again. The embers turning bright and stoking the flames of desire within you. 

He tilts his face, his soft lips grazing your earlobe and his whisper creates goosebumps on your neck. “If this were real, I’d have you in my arms all night, to remind everyone that you’re mine.” His hand slides up your side, his thumb grazing the underside of your ribs, just barely brushing against the curve of your breast. A fleeting touch, a feather-like graze that sends a tingling sensation through you, making your breath catch in your throat as a hiss escapes your lips. 

The flame roars, grows and spreads its tendrils through you.

Law’s lips brush against your collarbone, sending heatwaves down your chest that pool in your stomach. Your hands clench, aching to touch him and pull him closer, but you remain firm, grasping the last bit of control you think you still have. “If this were real,” he whispers against the hollow of your throat, then pulls slightly back as his thumb brushes against your jaw, tilting your head upward so you can meet his gaze, “I’d make you beg for my kiss.”

You can barely breathe. Law’s presence is overwhelming, he commands all your senses, there’s nothing you can think about other than his voice, his lips, his touch. Every other thought, every other worry is erased from your mind. All you can think about is that you need his lips against yours; you need his touch. Now. 

Is this what he meant by helping you let go? Surrender? 

Somehow, you find a semblance of strength to speak. “I don’t beg.” Your voice comes out ragged and hoarse, charged with intensity, pure need and unbridled desire. 

Law’s smile widens, lending him a sort of unhinged - but still very much in control - look that makes you weak in the knees. “No?” He murmurs, his voice filled with amusement. “Are you sure?”

His lips graze against yours, not a kiss, barely even a touch - just a tease. His hand slides back down to your lower back and he pulls you impossibly close to him, his body heat radiating from his bare chest and pressing against you as you tremble and squirm under his touch. 

“Look at you,” his voice is tantalisingly low, slurred and full of promises, “I barely even touched you and you’re already a mess, sweetheart.” His fingers keep tracing your arms and neck, his lips taunting and teasing your most sensitive spots. You’re trembling and squirming under his caresses, hot, hard pants leaving your lips, your breath slipping away from you in ragged gasps. 

You are a mess. 

“I want to hear you ask for it. Beg. Tell me what you want.” He whispers in your ear, his thumb brushing against your lower lip and you close your eyes, whimpering involuntarily as your body responds to every touch, every teasing word. He’s right, he’s so right. 

He hasn’t even kissed you and you’re already falling apart. 

“Just say it.” He urges you.

You clench your fists, trying to regain control, trying so hard to win back something you never had to begin with. But it’s all too much. It’s too overwhelming and you need some sort of release.

“Please…” Your whisper is barely audible but you know he hears you. He tilts his head to lock his gaze into your eyes, his hand on your neck, holding you and tilting you towards him.

“Louder.”

If you had any thoughts left in your mushed brain, you wouldn’t be able to hear it because the pounding of your heart reverberates against your ears. “Please.” You repeat, louder this time, your voice trembling as you succumb to that final loss of control. “Kiss me.” 

To the final surrender.

Law smirks, satisfied and pleased with your response, his teasing successful. “If this were real,” he starts again as his lips brush ever so slightly against yours, “you’d be begging like this all the time.”

He’s still not kissing you. He’s a breath away and not giving you the release you crave, the one you so desperately need. “Please, Law!” You beg again, a muffled hiccup leaving your lips. His jaw clenches slightly and he grunts - that primal sound that makes you roll your eyes in anticipation - before he leans in and captures your lips with his, his hand pressing on your neck, tilting your jaw as he pulls you closer. 

He starts slow as you moan into the sensation, but soon his hands grip you tighter and he deepens the kiss, his mouth claiming yours with fierce intensity. He dominates the kiss, holding you against him as his tongue slides against yours in a wordless claim.

You whimper again as you dig your nails into his bare chest, holding on for your sanity and trying to ground yourself as your body and mind unravel for him, surrendering completely to his hold, to his control. He kisses you as if you are truly his. His touch, his scent, his presence: it’s all overwhelming and intense and you want to give all of yourself to him, because this sensation is freeing.

He pulls away too soon and you’re left trembling. Ragged breaths escape your swollen lips and you can feel your cheeks burning. You’ve never felt this way before. Your eyes widen as you stare at him, dazed and completely undone. 

You’re at his mercy.

“If this were real, I’d kiss you like this every time.” 

You can only nod, your head still dizzy as you try to regain control. Your mind is still too addled from the way he made you fall apart without breaking a sweat. His gaze softens somewhat as he pats you lightly in the head and gives you a smug smile. 

“Good girl.”

|Chapter 5 🔞|

[thewertsearch]

GA: I Woke Up A Long Time Ago GA: I Had Trouble Sleeping When I Was Young [...] GA: And When I Was Supposed To Be In My Cocoon I Would Often Wander Out To The Desert GA: Where One Day I Was Visited By A Stranger Who Dressed And Spoke In White

Oh, for the love of peace. Is there anyone that this globe-headed chucklefuck doesn’t have in his pocket?

GA: He Put Me To Sleep And I Awoke On Prospit […] GA: He Said He Was My Guardian GA: And Though He Visited Rarely I Did Regard Him As That GA: Then Later He Stopped Coming

This one might not be so bad, actually. Scratch seems curiously uninterested in Kanaya, and she bears none of the telltale signs of his manipulation.

Maybe these visits were actually just part of his day job. As Alternia's First Guardian, Scratch might be obligated to protect the Frog Temple and its associated Player, just as Bec did on earth.

GA: In Time I Began To Believe He Was A Figment Of My Mind […] GA: But Then While Playing Our Game I Learned He Was Real […] GA: And Had Been Manipulating Us All To Advance His Schemes

Bad news like Scratch gets around - but not as much as I'd like it to. Kanaya views Scratch as a menace localized to Alternia, and seems unaware that he's involved in Rose's fall, too.

GA: It Was Saddening To Learn My Fortuitous Awakening Had Been The Product Of A Nefarious Ploy GA: Youre Lucky That Your Awakening Probably Had No Such Entanglements

No, Jade's awakening was part of Vriska’s nefarious ploy. She might be a bit of a loose cannon, but I'd take her over Scratch any day.

GA: I Feel A Bit Silly That It Took Me So Long To Engage With The One Corresponding Closely With My Role GA: It Must Be A Certain Madness Im Afflicted By GA: To Orbit Those More Reckless And Dangerous Than I And More Daring For It GA: I Guess I Want To Help Them But They Never Can Be Helped It Seems

GG: are you saying rose is reckless and dangerous? GA: Yes Definitely GA: We Have Our Share Of Dangerous Players Who Seem To Do Nothing But Cause Problems GA: I Believe She Is Yours

I think it’s a little unfair to tar Rose with the same brush as Vriska - or even Terezi, for that matter. It's not like Rose has actually killed anyone, and she's generally a lot more sensible than-

...alright, touché.

GA: And If Her Insane Plan Wasnt Alarming Enough GA: She Has Been Communicating With The Stranger I Mentioned GA: And Unsurprisingly She Has Not Been Forthright About The Nature Of Their Conversations

Wait, so she does know that Rose has been talking to Scratch?

That means that Rose is almost certainly aware of the mayhem Scratch caused on Alternia. It was probably the first thing Kanaya told her, when trying to warn her - and yet, Rose is completely unfazed. When questioned, Scratch undoubtedly provided the perfect excuse.

I’m coming to realize that we probably can’t outmaneuver Scratch -at least, not while we're playing by his rules. If we really want to pull ourselves out of the web he's woven, we should focus on exploiting his 'dark spots'. Both the Scourge Sisters are aware of them, but I don't know if they've told anyone else.

GA: And Hes Not Merely A Guardian GA: Im Very Sure He Is A First Guardian GA: Like Your Lusus Was […] GG: im not sure why, but the sound of that makes me really nervous GA: I Feel The Same Way About It

I hate to tell you this, guys, but First-Guardianing is just how he pays the bills.

It's his side hustle you need to worry about.

[roadkillremi]

DuckTape 1

FP Jones X F!Reader

Masterlist

A/N : This was slightly rushed sorry.. but there's more to come!

Summary: After 5 or so years of dating FP you left due to his downfall. You told Jughead to call if he needed anything. And he called asking for your help with FP... (Reader is the age 25+) ((I might have messed with the plot line, I don't regret it))

Warnings : Mentions drinking, Mentions FPs "side hustles", Language, Angst.

One might had called it a cliche love story. FP fell in love with his neighbor at the trailer park. He'd watch her hang dry her clothes on Sunday mornings. He'd tell Jellybean to go over to get her attention. 5 year old Jellybean walked over pulling on your shirt going.

"My daddy thinks you're pretty.."

You'd blush and look down at the girl. You held her hand walking back to the trailer. FP answered the door with a smile.

"Sorry! Her mom lets her roam around the front yard at her house. And uh I guess she got out...".

"You sent me out here-" Jellybean whispered. FP just looked down and then back at you.

That was the beginning of the tragic love story of you and FP. He didn't make enough money to help out with jughead. You tried to help and eventually just moved in. Jughead became fond of your company. He liked your view on things and your stories. For once it seemed like the Jones had a legit family. But FP started having drinking problems and got in and out of jail. You told him you couldn't stay until he cleaned up his act. That was 8 months ago..

"My dad said he'll give your dad a second chance. But only if FP wants it." Archie looked at Jughead intensely. Jughead shook his head, "he won't listen to me...".

"What about Y/N?" Archie asked softly. Jughead stopped in his tracks and looked at Archie.

"Maybe.". Jughead moved to the side of the hallway. He dialed your number and tapped his foot waiting. Archie watched over his shoulder. Jughead brought the phone to his ear, "Y/N?".

"Hey, Jughead! What's up?". Jughead took a deep breath, "I need your help talking to dad.". It went silent, "About what?".

"Getting a job... Getting his life together. He's been a mess..since you left.". Jughead glanced up at Archie.

"Don't pull a god damn parent trap on me, Jughead." You softly warned. There was a soft laugh, "No. But I know he'll listen to you..".

"Okay. Only this time.".

"thank you..".

Which leads you here, waiting in your parked car in front of FPs trailer. Jughead went in to talk to him, he told you to give him five minutes. You sighed getting out of the car and walking to the door.

"Why not?! Maybe Y/N will come back.. and mom will let jellybean visit.."

It went silent. You knocked on the door putting your hands into your pockets. There was scrambling before FP opened and Jughead watched from the side.

"Y/N..." FP looked at you intensely. He studied you up and down, he moved to the side to let you in.

"Jughead you can go..." You say softly. Jughead nods and leaves slamming the door behind him.

"FP... This place is.. a wreck.." you looked around the living room. The trash and beer bottles flooded the ground. Dishes piled up on the counter, FP looked at you.

"Nice to see you too." He muttered. You sighed, "Jughead sent me. He uh.. wants me to convince you to get the job with Fred.".

"No." FP stared into your eyes and then went to get beer.

"FP. This isn't negotiable. Your son needs you! He can't couch surf!"

FP laughed taking a sip of his beer, "why do you care? You left.". You put your hand on your hip, "Because before... Before that night of fighting... I loved you. And we were happy."

"And broke-" FP fussed.

"All you care about is money!" You argued. You shook your head, "Just get the job. And sober up and.. we can talk about.. us." You stormed out the trailer towards your car. Jughead leaned against your car, "Did it work?".

"Give it an hour." You tried to smile.

You drove back to your apartment which was still south of Riverdale. You sighed as you entered the bare apartment. You dragged yourself to the shower hoping it would clear your mind. The hot water rolled down your body. You wanted to give him another chance. You sighed, grabbing your towel to dry yourself off. You walked into your bedroom and checked your phone. You received a message from Jughead. 'Hey. Dad got the job and we're going out to Pops. You're invited.'

You sighed contemplating your choices, you really did miss FP. You missed the two of you cuddled up on the couch. He'd stroke your hair gently and laugh loudly at the jokes in the movie.

'I'll see you there.'

You sat in the parking lot of Pops. Your heartbeat intensed as you looked at the Diner. You found the courage to go inside and look to find the Andrews and Jones. Jughead waved you over, you smiled waking over.

"Hey. I hope I'm not intruding.." you smile glancing at them.

"Of course not, Y/N!" Fred smiled. Jughead scooted over for you giving you a seat. You sat down in front of FP you looked at him before looking over.

"Wow Archie! You look so grown.. I haven't seen you since you were 13.. 14?". Archie smiled, "Thanks.".

"You're embarrassing him." Jughead joked. Fred cleared his throat, "how have you been, Y/N?".

"Uh.. good. I got an apartment. South of Riverdale..." You nodded, "I got a job at a mechanic shop.".

"wow that's great!" Fred smiled.

"Yeah. Real great" FP said looking at you. You glanced at him, "Well you already knew that.. didn't you, FP.". The two of you stared at each other for a moment.

"But jughead called me. He said he wanted me to give FP a talking to. Since he's stubborn as a bull." You smiled. Fred laughed, "You're telling me!".

"so uh, Jugs? Do you still write?" You looked over at him. FP leaned forward, "Yeah! You always were reading a book or typing away!".

"Like that time he took my laptop! He wrote tons of stories on it. And he felt so bad when I found out.".

"Yeah I remember that...". FP studies you.

"He writes for the school paper with Betty." Archie smiled slightly. FP leaned forward, "Betty?" he started tapping on the table.

"Whose Betty?" He asked, "your girlfriend?". Jughead went silent, you gently rubbed his back.

"Don't pry, FP.". Jughead cleared his throat, "Y/N do you still play the drums?". You looked down, "It's been a good while but yeah.".

"You know we have a drum set at our house.. why don't you guys come over for a jam session?" Archie asked. You looked up at FP, "Sure.. why not?". FP grinned, you looked down at the table.

"Y/N do you want anything?" Fred offered. You shook your head, "Oh, No.. I shouldn't-".

"Get her a banana milkshake and she'll be your best friend." FP teased.

"Banana milkshake?" Jughead asked looking at you. You sighed, "It's my favorite milkshake. When I was little on Fridays my mom would let me get a milkshake. But only if I got a decent grade in my test. And so banana is my favorite and i never tried any other flavor.".

"what a touching... Odd story" Jughead grinned.

"Hey, uh Pops?!" FP called. Pops looked up from the counter, "Can you get us a banana milkshake?". Pops nodded, you glared at FP.

"What was that?!" You fussed as you walked towards your car. FP followed you, "A peace offering.". You turned around, "A milkshake is a peace offering for putting a snake in my apartment?!". FP sighed, "I was drunk...".

"As always.." you muttered. He sighed, "I.. I'm driving to Archie's for that jam session. Do you need a ride?". You shook your head, "No.. I can drive myself..".

You all jammed out in Archie's garage. After FP put the guitar down, "You're way better than your dad, Archie.". FP then looked at you, "You were great as always, Y/N."

"Very sweet of you." You say looking at the drum sticks. Archie stood up, "No, you're really good! Do you think I can record you uh playing for some of my songs?". You shrugged, "Sure!". FP walked over to the cooler, "Does your dad keep beer in here?". You tensed up and looked up at Jughead.

"Uh, it's getting late dad.. don't you think?"

FP glanced at you, "Yeah probably.". You started to relax again, "Mr.Jones? What happened between you and my dad?". You glanced over at FP, Jughead whispered to Archie. You closed your eyes bracing yourself.

"Uh.. Me and your dad started Andrews construction. But he wouldn't say we were partners."

"here we go." You mumbled. FP glared at you, "We were broke and i needed some jobs. And those jobs got me in hot water.".

"FP." You warned. He kept complaining about his past, you put your face in your hands. You tried to tune him out but failed.

"FP! Stop!" You yelled. He looked over at you, "You have no one to blame but yourself.". FP took a sip of his flask as a response. You stood up, "Archie it's been great but I think we over stayed our welcome.". FP nods, "Agreed.".

You and Jughead carried him into the trailer. You both laid him down on the couch.

"I got it from here, Jugs." You smile. He nods before leaving, FP sat up lazily.

"Y/N..." You sat down on the edge of the couch. He drank himself to waste in the drive back to his trailer. You sighed and started to help him take off his shoes.

"FP.."

"I'm gonna fix it.... Us.. me.." he mumbled. You glanced at him, "Are you staying?... Please stay.". You sigh, "I don't know.".

"I'll sleep on the couch..". You looked at him, "Jellybean called me the other day..". He looked up at you, "what'd she say?".

"She uh... She misses our game nights.." you softly said. Tears built up in your eyes, "She.. said she wants us to get back together. So her mom will let her spend the night.". FP sat up a bit, "She says she misses our playlists in the car. And she still listens to Pink Floyd." You wiped your tears away. FP just stared at you, you sniffled softly.

"Remember how... You'd cheat in Monopoly?" You smiled. FP nodded, "Yeah..".

"It made Jughead so mad..." You laughed softly. FP smiled, "I.. I miss you..". You looked at him, "You're drunk.".

"I.." he sighed and leaned to the side on the couch.

"I really miss you... You made our family complete.." he dozed off. You stiffened, "our family.". You stood up, "Night FP.".

You left the trailer, Jughead stood by the trailer waiting. You glanced at him, "Good try. Not happening.". You walked towards your car, "Y/N.. I'm not saying what he did was right. But.. he said he's gonna try.".

"I told you no parent trap shit, Jughead.". You said unlocking your car door. Jughead stood there, "So you're leaving?! What about me?".

"Jughead.. I'm not your mom..." You softly say. He tensed up, "But you're the closest thing to a mom I have!". You glanced over, "Jughead.. FP.. he's a mess.".

"You think I don't know that!"

"I'll talk to him tomorrow when he's somehow sober." You sighed.

[princessbrunette]

okay but why are we all sick rn. calling for the absolute princess treatment john b would dose out when reader is sick. i also think rafe would FOLD!!! like wdym all the tests at the doc are coming back negative and they dk why his princess is sick ??? - 🍓

ugh right !!

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

john b is the king of princess treatment it’s true :(( but ugh thinking bout rafe in this situation, complying and helping you because wtf :( you don’t deserve to be sick :( hustling you to the doctors office n sitting on the cold plastic seat next to you with you curled into his side or even on his lap with your eyes closed cos you feel so rough :( and he’s starting to shake his head n dramatically check his watch at how long they’re taking to call you in, and if they tell you there’s gonna be a bit of a wait he’ll head right up to that front desk and lean his elbows on it, talking to them using the quiet intimidating ‘do you know who i am’ voice ‘til he gets you seen by someone 🙄

he’d probably do all the talking in the appointment too, brow creasing as he listens to the doctor who seems to not really know properly what the problem is, which frustrates rafe cos he’s worried :(

“wh—what so you’re tellin’ me it’s the 21st century n’you don’t have the resources to figure out whether this is a stomach infection or something worse?” he squints and you put a hand on his arm tiredly, rasping out a ‘rafe’ to stop him.

“sir, we have taken her vitals and they are fine. best thing we can do is send her home with a generalised prescription and you can call up if things get worse.” the doctor explains calmly as rafe shakes his head, mouth turned down as if to say ‘nope’.

“nah, nah here’s what’s gonna happen. you’re gonna run some more tests, and figure out the problem. shit, call in a professional i don’t care. just figure it out, alright?” he was so rude, and you turned your cheek against his arm to face the other way in embarrassment, knowing the doctor was just doing his job.

eventually, after rafe gets what he wants — you get sent home with a more targeted prescription, rafe carrying you to the car and into the house whilst you doze off.

“okay, there you go.” he sets you down on the bed, huffing out a sigh after the long day of arguing he’d had. he brings you a glass of water, hand cupping the back of your clammy neck as he brings it to your mouth. you groan and he raises his brows, concentrating on not spilling it. “drink.” he demands quietly and you do, before pulling away and wiping your chin from a little spillage, sleepily wiping your wet hand on rafes shirt. he only shakes his head slightly in acknowledgement to this before pulling your blanket off you when you try to snuggle up.

“hey, no— can’t have this, okay? you’re burning up still.”

“but i’m cold.” you complain, curling into yourself miserably.

“i know, kid.” he sighs out his nose, watching you for a moment. “you want anything?”

“you.” you pout.

“i’m already here. anything else?”

“no thank you.” your eyes flutter shut, feeling the exhaustion (and medication) take over your system.

“alright, sweetheart. rest up, yeah?”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

[babyleostuff]

hi! how are you doing? i hope you’re having a great day :> can i please request boyfriend joshua? ty🤍🤍

hope you have a great day as well! here is your joshua request <3

JOSHUA AS YOUR BOYFRIEND

genre | a lot of fluff

author's note | if you want me to write this with any other member that I haven't done yet, let me know <3

𓆩♡𓆪 certified husband material (shocker)

𓆩♡𓆪 you doesn’t even have to ask him, he’ll help you with your chores either way 

𓆩♡𓆪 and if you’re sick or unwell, he doesn’t let you leave the bed and does all the chores by himself, not letting you lift a single finger 

𓆩♡𓆪 he loves cooking for you, but most importantly he loves cooking WITH you 

𓆩♡𓆪 it’s one of his favourite ways of spending time with you - being domestic together 

𓆩♡𓆪 because despite all of the hustle and bustle due to his job, he has you by his side to keep him sane 

𓆩♡𓆪 is the softest with you, he always has this little smile on his face when looking at you 

𓆩♡𓆪 never raises his voice at you, not matter how angry or annoyed he his (he can’t even imagine raising his voice at you)

𓆩♡𓆪 he just doesn’t see the point in screaming at each other and having big fights, when you can simply talk things out like normal human beings  

𓆩♡𓆪 he would rather spend his time loving you and spending quality time, than having screaming matches 

𓆩♡𓆪 always has his arm around your shoulders or around your waist, when you’re in big crowds of people 

𓆩♡𓆪 Joshua wants you to feel safe with him and he won’t risk losing you

𓆩♡𓆪 usually his go to type of affection is hand holding 

𓆩♡𓆪 it’s low-key and not that noticeable, but you are still next to each other, holding each other close 

𓆩♡𓆪 and he can gently run his thumb across your knuckles 

𓆩♡𓆪 he also loves to give and receive cheek kisses 

𓆩♡𓆪 you just woke up? Cheek kiss. You have to leave for work? Cheek kiss. You visit him at the company? Cheek kiss

𓆩♡𓆪 gets quite shy when you kiss him though, but it only makes him even more adorable 

𓆩♡𓆪 even though he is not the most affectionate person out there, he never declines your affection

𓆩♡𓆪 if you come up to him and hug him, he always hugs you back. If you kiss him on the cheek, he always kisses you back. If you sit next to him on the sofa and put your hand on his thigh, he covers your hand with his

𓆩♡𓆪 he wouldn’t allow you to think that you’re clingy or “too much”

𓆩♡𓆪 always gives you his jackets, when he notices that you’re cold 

𓆩♡𓆪 even if you decline, he will find a way to give it to you 

𓆩♡𓆪 one of the few people (except for the boys) whom he feels like he can be his true, dorky self 

𓆩♡𓆪 does the most random and questionable things out of the blue 

𓆩♡𓆪 and even though most of the people would be like ???, you always join him in his silly actions 

𓆩♡𓆪 that’s one of the reasons why he fell so hard for you 

𓆩♡𓆪 you never judge him for his behaviour and character, you accept every part of him

𓆩♡𓆪 you’re the couple that people turn to when they need advice or guidance 

𓆩♡𓆪 because despite you’re goofy nature, you’re also very mature and you are the best with balancing those traits 

𓆩♡𓆪 so you are like the therapist couple, even though 90% of the time you’re not really sure what you are doing 

𓆩♡𓆪 Joshua always adds “but I don’t really know, though” at the end, just in case 

𓆩♡𓆪 you become his passenger princess, period

𓆩♡𓆪 drives you anywhere you want, no matter how much you convince him that you can drive alone (except for when you REALLY want to drive somewhere, he will let you do that of course)

𓆩♡𓆪 being part of the vocal unit obliges him to sing to you before bedtime (not that you mind)

𓆩♡𓆪 sings you “Sunday Morning” if you’re in a bad mood, because he knows it always makes you laugh when he sings it 

𓆩♡𓆪 will make a goof of himself to see you laugh or even smile 

𓆩♡𓆪 because there is nothing more precious to him than your smile and happiness 

𓆩♡𓆪 a bit cliche, but I feel like he’s the type to pull you by your waist and start dancing in your kitchen at 2 am

𓆩♡𓆪 you rest your head on his chest or shoulder, while he has one of his hands stroking your head and the other on your waist 

𓆩♡𓆪 while soft tunes of your favourite tracks play in the background 

𓆩♡𓆪 and it’s all illuminated by the moonlight 

𓆩♡𓆪 (a girl can wish)

𓆩♡𓆪 will always make you feel like you’re the most special person on the planet

your messages <3

[margowritesthings]

Vedova Nera

pairing: Dutch van der Linde x f!reader

summary: You've been Angelo Bronte's live-in assassin for years now, going undercover to kill those who have wronged him. Your next job seems rather simple: eliminate the outlaw Dutch van der Linde. What could go wrong?

word count: 5710 words

warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, PLEASE READ WARNINGS BEFORE READING, I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR MEDIA CONSUMPTION, violence, mentions of sex as part of a job, breath play, reader is an assassin, rough sex, choking, attempted murder, angelo bronte being a creep, sexual themes, cunnilingus (r receiving and giving)

a/n: this was a request from my beloved @cowboydisaster and god was it a wonderful prompt. I LOVED writing this, so thank you for the inspiration darling. So so glad to be publishing after such a long break, and I want to thank any and all of you who have stuck around to wait for me <3 love y'all, here's some filthy Daddy Dutch smut!

beta read by @cowboydisaster

taglist: @cowboydisaster @inkandbloodbound @beea-nie @cloudynoiire @punctillous @dutchysoriginalwife

support me by buying me a coffee!

When the sunlight streams through the gap between the red velvet curtains, peacefully stirring you awake, it feels like any other day. The silk sheets seduce you to stay, the feather pillow beneath your head luring you into five more minutes of dreaming, despite the noises of the hustle and bustle of Saint Denis penetrating the peace through a crack in your bedroom window. You really could stay here all day, cocooned in luxury while the staff serve your every whim.

But you can’t. The second your lashes flutter open and your eyes land on the dress hanging from your wardrobe, you’re reminded exactly why. While the fact that somebody must’ve delivered it to your room while you slept churns your stomach for a moment, you can’t deny that it’s an exquisite piece. The silk falls from the hook like a crimson waterfall and you know it will hug your body just perfectly by the way it hangs. You’ll look perfect tonight at the party, even if you will be draped on his arm. 

Urgh. The frown on your face is quickly pushed away at the sound of your door knocking. Nice of them to knock this time, though you’re sure it’s only because they know you’re awake and would knock whoever is brave enough to sneak into your room on their ass in seconds. 

“Miss? Mr. Bronte would like to see you.” The voice is somewhat muffled by the heavy wooden door, but your orders are clear as day, no matter how politely they’re worded. You’re to be downstairs in no more than five minutes. You huff, the only response you’re willing to give to the poor, innocent henchman at the other side of the door. Well, not exactly innocent, but who are you to talk? 

It doesn’t take long for you to brush your hair out of its braid with your fingers, the curls freely cascading down your back, get dressed, and find yourself knocking on the open, ornate door leading to the parlour. Bronte is waiting for you, arms stretched out around the back of the couch, taking up far more room than he deserves to. When he lays his eyes on you, he stands, reaching his arms out, palms upturned as he grins at you.

“Ah, il mio poccola ragna, how are you?” 

It feels like you’re being doused in lukewarm grease, but you allow him to hold your hands in his, pulling you just close enough to kiss you on the cheek, “I’m fine. Thank you for the dress, it’s beautiful.”

“And you will look stunning in it tonight, cara mia. Nothing but the best for la mia vedova nera.” 

You raise a brow, knowing that Angelo only calls you his black widow when he has a job for you. Of course he does. Nothing comes free in this world, and you have a deal. Bronte gives you a roof over your head, that plush bed you’ve grown awfully fond of, and all the luxuries a man of his stature could offer. In return, you work exclusively for him, as opposed to the freelance assassinations you used to offer to anyone with a fat enough wallet. In its simplest terms, that is your agreement with Angelo Bronte, but that doesn’t stop his wandering eyes, sickly terms of endearment and clammy hands wherever he can get them.

“It is with only the deepest regret that I shall not have you on my arm tonight, but alas, I have a job for you that requires a certain distance between the two of us, amore.”

It takes a level of restraint to not physically sigh in relief when you learn you won’t be spending the evening performing as Bronte’s woman, but your intrigue grows ever stronger when your curious gaze falls to the wanted poster laying on the table next to you. A sketch of a man steals your attention, and his intense stare threatens to never give it back despite being mere charcoal. Instinct tells you to reach out and run a finger lightly over the crumpled paper, tracing the man’s strong jawline, though you’re not quite sure why. You’ve never seen him before, nor have you heard his name: Dutch van der Linde. The poster isn’t from around here, it’s from Blackwater. You can tell, because you’ve seen your own face staring back at you on one just like it before finding yourself under Bronte’s protection. 

“This the guy?” You ask quietly, still entranced by this stranger etched into coffee coloured paper. Bronte doesn’t seem to notice, already leaning back into the loveseat.

“Sí, bella. He is new to town, he does not know of my vedova nera, and we must keep it that way. He dishonours me, dishonours my city. He will be at the mayor’s party tonight, but he will not see tomorrow, will he, cara mia?”

It isn’t a question, but you nod anyway.

Dutch van der Linde will not live to see another day. 

═══════☆═══════

Some consider this, the pomp and performance of high society, a gilded cage, forcing man into superficial roles to play and stripping him of any true freedoms, but you’ve learnt to see the beauty in taking advantage of it. You’re more than happy to put on a pretty dress and play pretend, laughing along to terrible anecdotes with a drink in your hand and a smile perfectly crafted on your reddened lips. After having truly nothing, living at the very bottom of the food chain, putting up with this farce is a small price to pay for a little security. Besides, drinking champagne while rich men call you beautiful is hardly a sacrifice. Most of them are old and rather greasy, but you’re more than capable of holding your own. They’re just microscopic cogs in a grand plan they’ll never even know about, orchestrated by someone they overlooked because of the way they look. Your greatest asset, you’re sure.

You reach for the champagne flute at the very top of the sparking pyramid, the bubbles dancing on your tongue from the first sip. When you make your way upstairs to the balcony, every tiny bubble rising to the top of your glass reflects the illuminated string lights wrapped around the iron gazebo and every pole in the perfectly tended garden, casting the who’s who of Saint Denis in a warm glow. From your spot on the balcony, you observe all, searching for your Dutch van der Linde. You can see your host, mayor Henri Lemieux, engaging in what could only be considered ‘schmoozing’ with a group of men in top hats by the fountain, and although you can’t see every face, you somehow know that none of them are the one you’re looking for. Those piercing eyes are sure to come with a presence to match, and you can’t feel it yet. 

That is, until the french doors into the house are opened and the hairs on your arm stand up straight. You blame the cool breeze that is pushed into you by the swing of the door, though that doesn’t account for the quickening pace of your heart. You rarely get nervous for a job, why would you? It’s all you’ve ever known. 

So why this one?

The thought falls down your spine with a shudder, and you try to shed your doubts quickly with a rather large sip of champagne that seems to numb the sharp edges to smooth curves just slightly. Your hand rests gently on the balcony, maintaining a facade that you’re looking out into the crowds below instead of listening in on the conversation between the group of men just feet away from you. In your peripheral vision, you spot him, dressed in a suit that simply must have been sewn around his body with the way it perfectly fits him. He wears a top hat, a large cigar burning between his gloved fingers. He takes your breath away upon first glance, your cheeks flushing when your eyes meet. You offer a small smile, before looking back over the ongoing party and finishing the rest of your champagne, leaving a red stain on the lip of the flute.

Now, you wait, hoping you left enough of an air of mystery and allure for your target to approach you. Bronte is with the group of men attending with Dutch, but neither of you acknowledges the other to maintain appearances. Definitely something you could get used to. 

Twirling the stem of your flute between your nimble fingers, you watch the crystal carvings refract and scatter beautiful dots of light over your dress as you listen in to Dutch, Bronte, and another man you’ve never seen before talk over their cigars. It’s all bullshit, Bronte bragging that the whole town fears him while he acts overly friendly to the man he has hired you to murder tonight, and it takes all the restraint you have to not visibly roll your eyes. You lift your glass to your lips again, before realising it’s empty. As you turn on your heel to head back to the drinks table, you’re met with an outstretched, gloved hand, bubbling flute presented to you in its grasp. 

It’s him.

Up close, you can see how beautifully he’s cleaned up from whenever he was sketched for his poster, his moustache gelled in an upward curve, his eyes a deep auburn that a charcoal sketch could never truly capture. He’s magnificent, his presence drowning you, and you’re sure even without the formalities he’d be just as stunning, a roughened cowboy with a drawl to send you weak in the knees. 

“For you, my dear.” He offers, watching intently as you take the flute between your fingers.

“Why, thank you, sir. I never knew they hired such well dressed gentlemen at these events.” You joke, smiling almost mischievously at him before taking a sip, “You surely can’t be a guest here, they’re never this kind.”

“Afraid so, miss. Dutch van der Linde, at your service.” He takes your free hand in his, lifting your knuckles to his mouth to kiss them tenderly. The sensation travels up your arm and sends a little flutter through your stomach. Quite the gentleman, it seems.

“A pleasure, Mr. Van der Linde.”

“Please, Dutch is fine. And the pleasure is all mine.”

You offer your name in return and a shy smile, the one that often has your victims bowing to your every need while they imagine you writhing beneath them, and by the way Dutch watches you, he’s no exception. 

“Tell me, Dutch,” you oblige, “what is a fine gentleman such as yourself doing at an event like this? Are you a friend of our host?”

“No, I am a guest of Mr Bronte’s, attending on a personal invitation.” You instantly sense it, the displeasure hidden in amongst the pleasantries. You’re not at all surprised, Angelo is hardly a likeable man. 

“Ah, I see.” “You know him?” “Not personally, no,” You lie, glancing over to the man in question, who appears to be boring the ears off Dutch’s abandoned friend as he downs his near full glass of whiskey, “But everyone who’s anyone in Saint Denis knows of him. He’s… real somethin’.” You match Dutch’s indignation with an expert precision, and you don’t need to pretend one bit. 

Dutch laughs, a hearty one at that, using the gesture to take a step closer to you, “Now that we agree on, my dear…”

A comfortable silence passes between the two of you and a waiter arrives, passing Dutch a rich amber drink that he thanks him for. You grab the waiter's attention, asking for a bourbon of your own. It doesn’t go unnoticed that Dutch looks impressed.

“I can admire a woman who appreciates a fine whiskey.” He remarks, tipping his glass to you and you smirk, raising a sharpened brow,

“I can appreciate much more than a fine whiskey, Mr Van der Linde.”

The air between the two of you is electric, charged with something inexplicable yet maybe the most powerful energy you’ve ever felt.

“Is that right?” It comes out almost a growl, which you feel deep in your core. The way he’s looking at you… it’s inevitable. Mission accomplished.

You lean in closer, glancing down to the snow white flower pinned to Dutch’s lapel. Your eyes linger on the thing, so stark a contrast to the jet black suit he’s wearing, so delicate a symbol for a hardened criminal you’ve been hired to murder. 

There’s little space between the two of you now, far less than is proper, but Dutch closes it, his hot breath tickling the lobe of your ear as he whispers to you,

“How about we get a real nice room somewhere and I show you just how much I can admire a woman who appreciates a good whiskey?”

═══════☆═══════

Sending Dutch back downstairs to the saloon for drinks gives you opportunity to reach under your skirts, pulling the dagger from your crimson garter and stashing it between the bed frame and mattress. It’s a simple routine, one that works every time to not only allow you time to prepare for the job, but to prove just how wrapped around your little finger your victims always are. Ever the gentleman, as you’re learning, it only took a simple comment of thirst and a bat of your thick lashes and Dutch was out the door. He returns to you quickly, hands full with two identical glasses of neat bourbon, the door shutting behind him with a satisfying click.

“Here we are, the finest this establishment has to offer.” He says, with just a touch of bravado as he goes to hand you the crystal glass. Your hand brushes with his own skin, tanned from what you assume to be hours out in the sun, and a jolt of electricity shoots up your arm, scattering your whole body with goosebumps. With strenuous effort, you collect yourself fast enough to thank Dutch, before letting that comfortable silence settle between the tiny space between your two bodies again. You’re so close to him you can smell the distinct cigar smoke and liquor burn on his breath, feel the energy buzzing off him. One deep breath and your supple chest would be pressed right against his hardened one. 

The golden liquid burns over your tongue and down your throat, but not nearly as much as your skin does under Dutch’s touch when he runs a thumb over your bottom lip. It feels as though your entire body heats from the contact, the only respite from the fever his contact elicits being the golden rings adorning his fingers, pressing up against your jaw when he cups the side of your face. It stops your heart, you’re sure of it.

“You, my dear, are exquisite.” He whispers tenderly.

In your line of work, there is violence. There is pain and fire and yes, sometimes passion, but never tenderness. But when Dutch van der Linde’s eyes roam over you, it feels different. Like he sees you, instead of seeking for whatever it is he’s looking for. They’re all looking for something, and they all seem to think you have it, but not Dutch… even if there is the most devilish grin tugging at the corner of his lips and a glint in his eye that tells you to be careful.

Your lips don’t meet, they collide, with a deafening crash that vibrates the earth below. Both yours and Dutch’s glasses are discarded on the table beside the four poster bed as you require both hands to grasp at his satin waistcoat while he reaches around your waist to pull you flush against him.

Every inch of him is solid, his hands moulding you around his frame as his tongue requests- no, demands entrance to your mouth. You’re happy to oblige, parting your lips so that he can run the muscle along your bottom lip, eliciting a real, sensual moan from deep within you. Most of the time, you feign interest and want and pleasure, using every tool at your disposal to have your victims as putty in your hands. Tonight, it would seem you have to fake nothing, feeling more like putty yourself, folding and sculpting around Dutch’s thick, strong fingers. 

Dutch growls, low and gravelly, and you feel it vibrate every part of you, leaving little cracks all over the shields you’ve grown so used to wielding. The tremors reach your knees and you have to put extra effort into not letting them buckle. He invades every sense, a smoky, powerful force that for a moment you worry you’ll never be rid of. It’s normally so easy to detach yourself from these men, seeing their demise as the only thing standing between you and the continuance of the life of luxury you’ve grown so accustomed to, but right now it takes everything you can to not fear a future haunted by Dutch’s ghost. It’s… strange, this attachment formed so quickly, so unexpectedly that you’re almost certain the only way to prevent it is to kill him now before anything else can happen. But you just can’t bring yourself to do it… you need him in this moment, need to take something from a man for yourself for once, instead of for your slimy Italian master. It’s a mistake, you know it is, but it’s one you can’t stop, like a train barreling towards you with broken breaks. The collision is going to hurt, but you’ll be damned if you don’t bask in the feeling of every bone in your body shattering for this moment, every speck of your being destroyed just for an evening. If your blackened soul must be broken, at least it’s your choice. And this is your choice. Dutch van der Linde is your choice.

His hand burns through the silk on your back, searing your skin that itches for a release of its confines. He never breaks your hungry, needy kiss as his expert fingers make quick work of your bodice, pushing your dress off your shoulders until it falls at your feet like a scarlet pool of blood. Your chemise is just as deep a red as your dress and the stain covering your lips, as is the garter squeezing your thigh. Dutch takes a step back, drinking you in like a fine glass of wine. Under his gaze, you burn all over again, feeling the heat pulsing in your very core, your clit throbbing and cunt weeping for him. You’re not sure you’ve ever felt a yearning so intense that you feel you might combust if you don’t have this man inside you soon. 

“As I said…” he growls, tongue licking over his own bottom lip this time, “Exquisite.” 

Your exhale is shaky from the sheer effort to stay still, to not pounce on Dutch and take him. Somehow, you take a steady step towards him, out of the pile of silk discarded on the floor, reaching back to the buttons on his waistcoat to pull them apart. Your neck cranes up slightly to meet Dutch’s intense stare, catching him flick his eyes down to watch you undress him. Your bodies are so close now you can feel his hard cock pressing against you, branding you, even hotter than the rest of him. Even through his breeches, his size is evident. Intimidating, but you can all but feel yourself drooling at the thought of taking him all. Patience growing thin, your fingers speed up to finish their job, pushing both waistcoat and crisp shirt off Dutch’s shoulders and onto the floor, revealing a strong, sturdy chest underneath. You run both hands over it with a featherlight touch, feeling him shudder at the contact. 

Looking back up to meet his eye, tracing gentle circles over his skin, you whisper, “As are you, Mister Van der Linde…”

“Oh, my dear,” Dutch catches your chin between his fingers, squeezing gently to pull you closer, until your lips are just a hair away from each other. Your breath hitches in your throat, lips parted and waiting for him. A gasp escapes when he runs a finger of his free hand up your inner thigh, pressing firmly against your slit through your lingerie, the sensation shooting up your spine, “I think we’re past the formalities, don’t you? Dutch is fine.”

You swallow down the moan building deep down, attempting to hold onto whatever little decorum you can before you crumble beneath this outlaw. When Dutch removes his finger from against your heat, it takes everything to not whimper from the loss of him. Still holding your face, he presses a kiss to your lips, inhaling you in through his nose before pulling away, glancing down to the space between the two of you.

“Kneel for me, beautiful.”

It takes you less than a second to obey, feeling the plush of the carpet against your knees. Your hands are instantly on Dutch’s belt, unbuckling it with hands that are almost vibrating with anticipation. His trousers don’t even fall past his hips before his cock springs out and you almost gasp again. It’s huge, thick and long, twitching and pulsing all for you. A beautiful sight, truly. 

Both hands look tiny in comparison, wrapping around his base with a slight squeeze that has Dutch groaning already. Your eyes lock onto his, never leaving them as you lick a line up his shaft all the way to his rosy head, the salty spend dancing on your tongue a sure sign he’s as desperate for you as you are him. When you take him in your mouth, cheeks hollowing as you get as much of his length in as you can, Dutch grips into your hair, cursing through his teeth as you start to bob up and down. 

Using your mouth and hands in tandem, you work up and down his shaft, licking across a protruding vein that causes another growl to leave Dutch’s lips and charge the air with a near blinding want. His cock pumps and swells even more so in your mouth, and when you take a deep breath and push all of his length in and down your throat, Dutch lets out a visceral groan sure to reach the ears of the devil himself.

“Fuck, just like that, angel, just like that…” He whispers to you, watching as little tears fall down your cheeks, mixing with the spit escaping the corners of your lips. Dutch holds your face between his large palms, fucking into your throat. It isn’t until your lungs are burning for air that he relents, his cock sliding out of your mouth soaked in your saliva, a bead still clinging to your chin. He wipes it away with his thumb, guiding you to your feet with an extended hand. You gasp as he lifts you into the air and all you can do is wrap your legs around his waist. His cock nudges against your lingerie, the thin, scarlet silk the only barrier between the two of you. You’re writhing, desperate for him as his tongue licks the roof of your mouth, dominating you. 

Dutch throws you onto the bed and you land with a squeak, spreading your legs wide to allow him to crawl over you, propping himself up on his elbows. His eyes roam over you, pulling the straps of your chemise down to expose your breasts. He continues to undress you, each second stretching out to an eternity until you’re bare underneath him. There’s a fire burning in his eyes and it scorches you. You feel the fire spread over every inch of you, especially when he dips down to lick a line from your nipple, across your chest, down your stomach until he is hovering above your cunt. His breath tickles your soaked skin and it takes everything you have to restrain and be patient. The devil is merciful, and after torturing you for what feels like hours, watching you writhe and whine, Dutch delves into your folds, taking your clit in his mouth and sucking on it gently. You scream, hands instantly raking into his jet black hair, nails scratching his scalp.

He hums in content, as if tasting a delicacy, and it vibrates your inner thighs. Your eyes roll back, jaw dropping as your back arches for him. 

“Oh, God…” you moan, relenting your grip just a little when Dutch stops to look at you, eyebrow raised and smirk tugging his glistening lips,

“Now, dear, I said Dutch is fine.”

He doesn’t give you much time to digest his cocky words, plunging a finger deep inside you, finding that spot that makes you go dizzy and curling against it. You whine and purr, bucking your hips up to show Dutch what you need. He takes your silent command and submits to it, bowing his head to take your clit in between his teeth. It tethers you between pain and pleasure, threatening to tear you apart from the inside out. One finger becomes two, pumping into your core and you feel yourself hurtling towards climax faster than you ever have in your life. There’s a burning on your inner thigh from his moustache while he laps up your juices, kissing and nipping and sucking until you’re sure you’re going to break and shatter all over the hotel room floor.

“Oh, God, Dutch- fuck, Dutch, yes Dutch- I- I’m gonna-” 

The whine you let out when Dutch withdraws his fingers from you is downright tortured. You look up at him, the question of why written all over your face. He simply smirks, sliding those glistening fingers in between his lips and licking your juices clean off them. 

“Tell me what you want, beautiful.” 

The sweet endearment softens your frown, his demand driving you even wilder. It isn’t a matter of want anymore, you need him. Right at this moment, you’re gasping for air, and Dutch van der Linde is your only oxygen. 

“Everything,” you breathe out, “God, Dutch, I need you, please…”

You earn a satisfied grin as Dutch begins to crawl over you again, the length of his body consuming you wholly. “Hm… I like it when you beg for me, my dear.” 

When he lines himself up to your entrance, the feeling of his tip brushing far too gentle past your clit, you’re truly dizzy with need. You reach up to Dutch, nails digging deep into the flesh of his shoulders as if he's your only tether to the earth itself. Your mewls guide him in like a siren's call, filling you more than you ever thought possible. Though slowly, Dutch slides all the way in, until you’re connected by the pelvis, the head of his cock prodding gorgeously into that swollen sweet spot of yours.

“F-Fuck…” you gasp out, concurrently to Dutch’s carnal groan. He fills you to the brim, and you squeeze his throbbing cock perfectly. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt, breaching past the barriers of what you once considered sex to be. When he steadily withdraws, pushing all the way back in, you see stars, scattering across the ceiling of the hotel room, falling into the faint freckles you’re sure nobody ever notices on Dutch’s cheeks. The pure lust ignited in his eyes burns hot as he begins to move, thrusting in and out at an excruciatingly deliberate pace.

When he picks up a little speed, you feel his hand brush against your cheek, finger tracing your jawline from ear to chin and back again. His expression as he fucks you is so intense, and there’s a certain darkness clouding it all that scares you. Dutch is otherworldly, and your mind briefly casts to under your back, where that little knife lays waiting. Your confidence in completing your mission is faltering, picturing golden ichor bleeding from Dutch’s chest in lieu of blood. He is so far removed from anybody Bronte has ever had you kill, so divine an energy that you’re starting to wonder what your failure would mean for you. It has never been an option before, but the possibility wanders into your mind as if it belongs there. 

Your whines and moans harmonise with Dutch’s groans and curses, the room filled with purely obscene, visceral vibrations. He fucks into you, one hand gripping onto the sheets, the other cupping the side of your face, slowly snaking downwards to cover your neck. He doesn’t put any pressure on yet, but can surely feel the thrumming of your pulse against his palm. The possessive way his hand covers your whole throat makes your heart skip a beat, your now untouched clit twitching at the thought of Dutch restricting your airways. 

“God, you are so beautiful…” Dutch purrs, teasing a hint of pressure on your jugular. He’s getting faster now, just faintly more erratic. That darkness is flaring in his eyes, spreading over his whole expression as he begins to squeeze at your windpipe. It's gentle at first, just slightly cutting off the blood flow to your head, making your cheeks flush red. Your lips part in gasps, less than an inch away from Dutch’s as you feel your orgasm building again, no external stimulation needed. You’re so close now, nirvana within reach, Dutch’s hold getting ever stronger. 

“So beautiful… such a shame.” He growls, not relenting his now iron-grip to give you the air to consider what he just said. You try to speak, try to ask what he means, but you suddenly can’t. He’s clenching too tight on your neck. It hurts, but coupled with the dizzying lack of breath, it’s only furthering your journey over the edge. Your vision is blackening at the corners, an unknown fear striking you in the chest. He isn’t letting up, and you’re not sure if you even want him to, but you have no idea where this is going now. The energy in the air is changing faster than you can keep up with, your chest feeling hollow as your futile attempts at breath go ignored.

“A-A shame?” You just about manage, Dutch still pounding relentlessly, gloriously into your tight cunt. 

“Oh, my dear…” he squeezes once more, a bruising grip, and it hurts so much that your hands fly up to claw at his wrist. It’s unavailing, Dutch far too strong to be deterred by the little scratches your nails are leaving on his skin, “That you’re trying to kill me, darling.”

Your eyes fly wide open, pupils shrinking to barely a drop in a sea of panic. Your hands barely make it an inch towards reaching for the dagger under the mattress before Dutch grabs them with the hand not already holding you, pinning both wrists above your head. He’s still fucking you hard, and it still feels incredible despite the pure terror coursing through your veins. 

“Oh, little vedova nera, did you really think it would be so easy?”

It’s hardly even a struggle, your scratching is no match for Dutch’s strength. You can’t move, can barely breathe, and you’re genuinely terrified he’s going to kill you before you even get the chance to fight back. His grasp relents, just enough to allow a small, struggled gulp of breath, but it’s seemingly only so you can hear his next words before blacking out.

“Now here’s what's gonna happen…” He growls at you, not once faltering from his pace. Despite everything, you’re still so close, on the verge of a blinding climax that may actually kill you. “That pretty little pussy of yours is going to cum all over my cock, and then you’re gonna go back to our friend Mr. Bronte and tell him just how well Dutch van der Linde fucked his woman and lived to tell the tale. Got it, my pretty little thing?”

Your heart is pounding, and you’re certain you only have seconds of consciousness left in you, but you manage a frantic nod, your nails leaving reddened crescent moons all over the skin of Dutch’s wrist. You’ll do anything, the terrifying part being that you’re not sure if you’re begging for your life or your death, your petite mort, if you will. 

“Good girl.”

He releases your throat, instead squeezing your cheeks together harshly, forcing your lips into a pout. The blood rushes everywhere, sending you hurtling over the edge, clenching on Dutch’s cock and keeping your promise and then some. Tears are streaming down your cheeks from the intensity of everything, screams falling from your lips as best they can through Dutch’s hands. He’s groaning loudly, vibrating your being as the two of you cum together, Dutch pumping rope upon rope of his spend deep inside you. Time stretches, seconds becoming minutes becoming an eternity falling through the stratosphere as waves of white hot pleasure mix stunningly with the pain you feel all over. 

Dutch finishes with one last thrust, so hard you’re sure you’ll never recover from him. You’ve never felt anything like this, never felt an orgasm wrack through every atom like this one, pumped through your body with a heart running on pure fear. 

Mere seconds ago you were convinced Dutch was going to end your life, but when he pulls out of you and removes all contact from your panting body, the loss is immense. By the time you manage to come around, your arms finally having enough integrity to prop yourself up, he’s already dressing himself, pulling up his pants and buckling his belt. You can’t think, let alone speak. What would you even say? The tear marks falling down your cheeks are inky black from your makeup, but you let them fall as the realisation of what just happened hits with enough force to shatter you, just as you predicted. 

You’re both silent as Dutch dresses, and all you can do is sit and cover yourself with the sheet on the bed. When he reaches the door, he stops, hand resting on the doorframe as he glances over his shoulder to you, “Tell Bronte I said hello, won’t you?”

And he walks out of the hotel room, leaving you alone, dripping with his spend, wondering what the hell you’re supposed to do now.

[strangebiology]

"How do I do your job as a side hustle?"

[Excerpt from Authors of Nonfiction Books in Progress]

Recently I talked to someone who wanted to get good at social media. When I told her I have 315k followers across platforms, she said, “How do you do that!? Teach me your ways!” She was interested in making money from social media. I was also invited to lead an online course on social media or book writing as a side hustle.

It reminded me of all the times I’ve heard, “How do you find so many bones?” or “How did you get that award?” or “How do you get a book deal?” or "How do you make money from writing?"

I LOVE talking about this stuff. I WILL talk about these topics for hours. And I LOVE the implication in the conversation that I'm good at something.

I also really respect the positivity in general that comes with someone asking if they could do that. It is good to ask how someone does something rather than resigning yourself to "I'm not good at that stuff." (AND the people who ask me are polite and respectful of my time! So no hate at all!)

BUT! I realized that people aren't liking the answers I give.

I used to enthusiastically give detailed tutorial answers to "how do you do that?" I often got interrupted when I did that. “Yeah yeah yeah, I don’t have time for that!” People don’t have 60 seconds to hear a summary of steps of how to do something, but they think they have time to learn to do it well? It can take years.

I realized people expect me to advise some quick tips they can employ over the weekend, and they’ll have the skill/award/grant/contract in a couple of days with no previous relevant experience. Or maybe there’s a website where they can download these skills, like in The Matrix.

Now I try to find one-sentence answers that imply a huge amount of homework for them. How do you get a book contract? “Build a writing career.” How do you get a lot of followers? “content is king, audience is queen.” How did you get that award? “Do something that would win that kind of thing.”

(Also, I don't make much money on social media, so I don't have advice for making it a side hustle.)

I asked other science writers if they often get asked how to make their career (science writing, book writing, social media, etc) into a side hustle, wondering if I'm wrong to say "I don't recommend it as a side hustle." The professionals I talked to agreed that they would say the same thing. Some said they feel it's a bit ignorant and disrespectful to think someone else's career is something anyone could do, and profit significantly from, after a 1-minute conversation and little work.

Even people who have been writing for years are struggling to find work in this field. It's hard. I have an MS in Science Journalism that I will likely never finish paying for--I'm not saying everyone needs that, or even that it's very common in this field. It's not. But geez, if science writing were a skill you could get in a 60-second phone call, I would have done that!

Imagine if I said to you, "I've got some free time on Thursday, I think I'll start doing your job on the side. How hard could it be?"

It can certainly be worth it to learn these things, and there are some things you, personally, might be 90% of the way to achieving! So, maybe a 10-minute conversation can help you start the process of capitalizing on your existing skills! I just encourage you to realize the answer to “how do you achieve X” is almost always “a ton of work and practice.” 

Maybe ask more specific questions after you've already done significant Googling. For example, “What’s the title of the award again so I can look for it?” “What science writing communities do you recommend?” I can answer those.

PS. I'd love to hear if you've had similar or different experiences! *Is* your job something you recommend to anyone as a side income? Or are you constantly battling that assumption?

[writeforfandoms]

The Name of the Wind 2

Find the series masterlist

A new day brings more talks and planning for the future. Oh, and dragons.

Part two of my submission for the Alejandro challenge hosted by @glitterypirateduck This chapter I used "Nothing is ever that simple."

Warnings: Swearing, black humor, lil bit of politics/social norms, fantasy au, fantasy au rules.

Word count: 1.8k

Eventual Alejandro Vargas x f!reader

Fortunately, you were already awake and ready when someone came to get you in the morning. The young woman wore the same kind of dark, simple clothes that the riders here seemed to favor, black hair braided back away from her face. Her smile was kind as she led you to the dining hall. 

In the daylight, the dining hall was bigger than you remembered, with several rectangular tables and benches providing plenty of places to sit. Alejandro waved to you, seated at a table in the middle of the room. The others around him moved over to make a space for you. Someone set a clean plate in front of you, while others passed dishes of food around again. 

“Good morning,” you greeted a little cautiously, overwhelmed at the casual kindness. 

“Did you sleep well?” Alejandro's eyes twinkled in the morning light, like he found you amusing. Better than annoying. 

“Very well. Thank you.” You managed a little smile, trying not to gape at the food. This table alone held much more variety than you were used to seeing. 

“Some of my riders,” Alejandro told you, motioning to the men and women around him. “Rodolfo will be with us today.”

You nodded to Rodolfo, who looked more stoic than Alejandro. At least for now. He returned the nod, giving you a quick, assessing once-over. You were getting used to that. 

“After breakfast, we will continue discussing your circumstances.” Alejandro held your gaze for a moment, waiting for your nod, before he picked up a mug and took a sip. The conversation around you resumed, discussions of training and rotations. You let the words wash over you - you didn’t know any of the names, so a lot of it meant nothing to you. 

No sooner had you pushed your plate away than the riders around you stood. You scrambled to your feet as well, looking to Alejandro for guidance. He let the others go first, and then guided you out of the hall. Rodolfo fell into step behind you, his steps nearly silent. 

“Still wish for a job here?” Alejandro asked as he walked. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” You smiled rather wryly. “Walked all the way here.” 

“You did.” He turned down a different corridor, this one leading further away from the natural light. “Were you followed?” 

“In that downpour? No.” You shook your head. “Everyone sane stayed where it was dry.”

He flashed a grin at you, sharply amused. “And this should make me want to let you work here?” 

You huffed a little laugh. “Maybe not,” you admitted. “But I’ve seen harnesses before. Even with regular care, they take a beating.” 

Alejandro nodded. “You are correct,” he agreed, even as the roof started to rise and the passageway opened up into a cavern. “They do. You would not have a shortage of work here.” 

Your eyes went wide as you craned your head back, trying to see the top of the cavern. You couldn’t. You could see how smaller spaces honeycombed the inside of the mountain, sunlight bleeding through some of them. But Alejandro didn’t pause, and behind you Rodolfo had to clear his throat to get you to hustle after Alejandro again. 

Alejandro moved to the far side of the cavern, the light growing brighter as he walked. The cavern lowered again, still much taller than you but not so enormous anymore, until morning sunlight nearly blinded you. An easy exit. 

But Alejandro didn’t quite go outside. He turned and went into a room just off to the side, nearly hidden by the brilliance of the morning. 

“A few of the harnesses,” he told you, motioning to a series of pegs on the wall holding up connected straps of leather. “These need repairs. We have extras.” 

You nodded, tipping your head as you examined the one nearest you. Honestly, you weren’t sure how it worked, but you could learn. That much you were confident about. “Once I know how these work, I can repair them.”

Alejandro chuckled. “Your confidence does you credit,” he agreed. “But that’s not all.”

“What else?” You turned to look at him, curious. 

“The dragons, of course.” He grinned again, striding out of the room. Rodolfo sighed with amusement but motioned you out first. 

A little wary and a little curious, you followed. 

Alejandro walked fearlessly up to an enormous brown dragon, the color of rich wet earth. The dragon lowered its wedge-shaped head, one big eye blinking down at the rider, and made… a noise. It was deep and rumbly, but beyond that? You didn’t have the words to describe it. 

The dragon made Alejandro look small, standing more than twice his height at the shoulder, wings folded neatly against its back. 

“This is Caba.” Alejandro patted the dragon’s massive jaw. 

You stopped well back from the dragon, leaning much more towards wary now. That was… a lot bigger than you thought. Oh, sure, everyone knew dragons were big, but… It was very different standing this close to one. 

“Go say hi,” Rodolfo murmured from behind you, amusement clear in his voice. You cleared your throat, nervous, but stepped forward slowly. Alejandro watched you, mostly suppressing his grin. 

“Hi, Caba.” You really weren’t sure what you were doing, so you stood awkwardly, eyes wide. The dragon was somehow impossibly bigger from this close. 

The dragon peered down at you, blinking slowly. Then it huffed out a breath. 

“He is nearly the biggest in the garrison,” Alejandro told you casually, as if you weren’t still reeling from being this close to an actual dragon. “But you would still need to make repairs for all the dragons here.” 

Ah. Yes. That was an excellent point. “I can do it,” you reiterated stubbornly, even though the thought of being so close to dragons often made you nervous. You’d just… muscle through. Figure it out. You could do that. 

Still better than marrying a man you suspected would be your death. 

“Good.” Alejandro grinned. “We’ll find you a permanent room and give you the rest of the tour, then.”

You blinked. “Just like that?” 

Alejandro shrugged, hand still on the dragon’s jaw. “Nothing is ever that simple,” he said, looking past you to Rodolfo. “If your would-be husband discovers you are here, he could cause trouble.” 

“If,” you grumbled, looking down. “Nobody knows where I went. I left no note.”

Alejandro hummed but seemed content to drop the subject. “Come,” he said, giving Caba one last pat to the jaw. “I will show you the rest of the garrison.” 

He was as good as his word, personally taking you around to show you everything. Well. Most everything. He didn’t take you up to the dragons’ sleeping area, nor did he show you the riders’ quarters. But he did show you everything else, from the kitchen to the bathing facilities to the overlook. 

The overlook in particular was your new favorite spot. Sure, it was a bit of a hike up to it, but well worth it. 

A space had been cleared using the mountain as a natural shelter to provide half-walls and a ceiling, while a thick wooden door blocked the stairway from the cold air. Two chairs seemed to have permanent residence in the overlook. The rest was open to the elements, which made for a cold but beautiful viewing area. From there, you could easily see out over the river valley, the river swollen from the recent rain. The valley stretched for a long ways, the far mountains distant and bluish. 

“How far away is that?” You asked, hushed despite the fact that it was just the three of you up there. 

“Not so far as you think,” Alejandro answered, leaning one hip against the half-wall next to you. “Less than an hour on dragonback.” His gaze clouded, anger burrowing his brow and twisting the corners of his lips. “Less, for a wyvern.” 

You nodded slowly. You'd never seen a wyvern either, and you knew exactly why that was. Because of this garrison. The first line of defense against the wyverns. “What lives in that valley?”

“Deer, rabbits, other game. Various birds. Sometimes we see larger animals, but not often.” Alejandro didn't look at the valley, though, gaze still focused on the distant mountains. 

“Is someone up here all the time?” You shifted your weight, the weight of Alejandro's anger making you… almost nervous. On edge. 

“No,” Rodolfo answered this time, from behind you. “We have rotating watches elsewhere. This was carved out long ago, but seldom used now.” 

You nodded, chewing lightly on your bottom lip as you looked between the two men. They both seemed focused on the distant mountains, and you wondered briefly if they could see anything more than you could. 

“Do you see wyverns a lot?” The question passed your lips without permission, leaving your face warm under the weight of two stares. 

“Depends on how you define ‘a lot’,” Alejandro said with a little huff, dryly amused. “More than most. Not daily. Not even weekly. Sometimes it's months in between attacks.” He shrugged once before crossing his arms over his chest. “But if you stay, you will see them.” He turned his gaze on you again finally, unwavering and hard. Warning you, you realized. 

He wasn't just showing you the view. He was reminding you the purpose of this garrison, what you'd be risking if you stayed. 

Your lips quirked in something like humor. “Still better than dying on my way to the coast,” you quipped. You could handle this. Sure, it was a bit scary. But you could do this. 

To keep your freedom, your passion, you would. 

Alejandro nodded once, approval in his eyes even as he stepped back from the wall. “Good.” He smirked faintly, motioning you to follow again. “What other supplies do you need?”

The question made you pause at the top of the stairs, a considering hum leaving you. “I brought some tools with me. I'd need to see what else you have here.” 

“Easily done.” Alejandro didn't pause until the three of you were back in the main hall again. “Take the rest of the day. Get used to being here. Tomorrow, I expect you ready to start.” 

You smiled, feeling more secure than you had since your father died. “I'll be ready.” 

It wasn't until you watched the two leave, footsteps nearly perfectly in sync, that you breathed out slowly. 

Okay. You'd make things work. This was your best choice, your best option. 

Alejandro paused at the end of the hall, those dark eyes holding your gaze for a long moment before he was gone. 

New plan. 

You'd make things work, and not find Alejandro attractive.

[queen-of-the-avengers]

His Healer

Pairing: Mob!Loki Laufeyson x Nurse!Reader

Word Count: ~1.7k

Warnings: fixing an injured loki, mentions of al capone, fluff mostly

Summary: Your paying job is working as a nurse in a local hospital. Your side hustle is being a doctor for the mob boss, Loki.

Squares Filled: 1920s au (2021) for @lokibingo

Author’s Note: any and all comments are appreciated <3

x

“Alright, Mr. Sanchez. How do you feel this morning?” you ask as you pull back the hospital curtain.

“Better now that I get to see you.”

“Keep talking like this and your wife is gonna think you have a girlfriend,” you say.

“We wouldn’t want that, would we?” he chuckles.

You grab your stethoscope and place it over his heart to listen to it. Next, you check his pulse and blood pressure. His pulse is a bit high but with the medication he’s taking, it’s not surprising. His vitals are looking strong for someone who had hip surgery, and you write them on the paper chart you have hanging off the end of his bed.

“Keep this up, Mr. Sanchez. You’ll be running marathons in no time.”

“I hope so, dear,” he smiles.

“Okay, time to get those muscles moving. I’d like to see you make it to the couch this time.”

“I’ll try.”

You help the older man sit up in his bed when your coworker comes into the room.

“Y/N? There’s a call for you. I can take over.”

“Okay, Mr. Sanchez. Elizabeth is the best besides me, of course,” you wink playfully. “You’re in good hands.” You leave Elizabeth and Mr. Sanchez alone while you head to the phone that’s on the wall. There is a receiver and a transmitter connected to the base of the phone. Both ends are on tubes that you can move around so you’re not stuck to the wall. You place the receiver to your mouth and the transmitter to your ear. “This is Y/N.”

“899 E Logan Boulevard. The boss needs you.”

“I’m at work. You can’t just--”

“The boss needs you.”

“Repeat the address, please,” you sigh. You set the receiver down and keep the transmitter to your ear while you write down the address. You pick up the receiver when you want to talk to him. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

You hang up both ends of the phone and find your boss who is filling out paperwork at the desk.

“Mary, I have a private client who news me right now. Elizabeth is covering for my patients. May I leave? I’ll come back once I’m done.”

“Yes. Make sure you follow up with Elizabeth about your patients.”

“Of course.”

You leave the hospital and to the car that the boss gifted you. He’s always giving you presents for your services on top of the money he pays you. You’re not sure where he’s staying, so you grab your navigation watch to put in the address you were given. This watch has saved you in more ways than one when you’ve gotten lost in the bustling city of Chicago.

The map is where the face of the watch would normally be found. The direction of the maps is wound around small wooden pegs like scrolls that could be switched out of the wristband depending on the route needed to go. You take out the map you were using before and put in the new one. Once you’re ready to go, you head toward the house.

Well, mansion is a more accurate description. Take away the hedges and big trees, this place looks like half the size of the hospital you work at. There is a steel gate at the front of the property with two armed guards standing outside of it. They’re immediately put on alert as soon as you pull up but you’re not afraid of their big guns.

“State your business,” one of the guards says in a deep voice.

“I’m the doctor for the boss.”

He nods to the other guard who opens the gate for you. You drive down the long driveway to the front of the house where half a dozen guards with guns are posted outside of it. Even if you’ve never been here before, you’ve always had to have a guard lead you through whatever place the boss is staying in. You get out and grab your medical bag from the back.

“Right this way, ma’am,” one of the guards says.

If you thought the outside was heavily guarded, then the inside is just ridiculous. More than two dozen guards are keeping watch or just wandering around protecting the place. You should get used to this because you get dozens of calls a week from the boss. This place is just beautiful and you’d love to live here if it were crawling with guards.

The floor is marble, the walls are dark grey, there are lights on the black walls that give them some kind of light, the archways are high with chandeliers coming down from the high ceiling, and the windows stretch higher than you can reach. It makes sense why the boss would live in a mansion like this. The guard takes you to a room with two guards posted outside of it, and one of them opens the door for you.

There on the bed lies the boss, Loki Laufeyson. The blankets have been stripped from the bed so he’s only lying on the black sheets that are stained with his blood for sure. He has an enormous gash starting from the top of his chest down to his hip. There is a towel covering the area that is dark red, and you don’t think it was that color when he placed it there.

Loki is well known across all of Chicago as one do the deadliest mafia bosses. He works very closely with Al Capone which is why he gets injured all the damn time. Loki found you in a bar one time with a deep cut on his cheek. You told him how to best take care of it without scarring since he has such a pretty face.

If you knew who he was before you talked to him, you wouldn’t have done it.

He took a liking to you and always came to you whenever he had even the smallest of injuries. You’re the only one who caught his attention so he wanted you around him as much as possible no matter the reason. The more you took care of him, the more your feelings for him grew. You’re not going to tell him that, of course. It would only go to his head.

Seeing him in so much pain breaks your heart.

“What did I tell you about getting into fights?” you ask and approach the side of the bed.

“I need to take care of business, love,” he laughs but groans in pain.

The bed is low enough to the ground so that when you pull up a chair next to it and sit down, you’re at the perfect height to fix his wound. You peel back the towel to see what you’re working with and more blood comes rushing out.

“It would be better if you were in a hospital with equipment and blood.”

“You know why I can’t go there.”

“You’re bleeding all over your bed.”

“I’ll get a new one,” he shrugs.

This isn’t going to be pleasant but the wound needs to be cleaned. You have a water bottle that will be used to flush out the wound while gauze will be used to clean the edges. You gently pat the area around the wound to clean the blood up and Loki closes his eyes in pain. Once you’re satisfied, you take the water bottle and begin flushing the wound.

“Fuck!” Loki shouts.

“If you can handle getting a wound like this, you can handle a bit of water. Stay still.”

When you’re done with that, you grab new gauze and pack it inside the wound so blood doesn’t spill over. There is a numbing cream that you use to spread on the outside of the wound because you need to stitch the wound so it can have a chance to heal.

“This is gonna hurt,” you state. “Even with the cream.”

“As you said, I can handle it,” he chuckles.

You take the needle and stick it through one side of the wound and thread it to the other side of the wound. You pull it close and tie it multiple times before cutting it. One down, many more to go.

“You know, this is gonna scar.”

“Good. It’ll give me some character when I’m handling business.”

As you’re stitching the wound closed, you notice his bare skin on display for you to see. It’s so pale. It’s like he hates going outside and getting some sun.

“You’re so pale. Getting some sun every once in a while isn’t gonna kill you.”

“Yes ma’am,” he drawls. A blush makes it way up your neck and to your cheeks at his accent. “I’ll go outside if you come with me.”

“I’ve already told you why I can’t,” you whisper.

Loki turns his head away from you and coughs causing more blood to rush out of his wound. When he turns his head back, his hair has fallen over his eyes. You reach up and move his hair away without touching his skin.

“I’ll change for you.”

“Al Capone will let no one go. You know this.”

It doesn’t take long for you to stitch the whole wound shut, and you use your water bottle to clean the site from his blood. You grab some more gauze and lay it over the entire wound and a big bandage that you lay over it to give it another layer of protection.

“I hate seeing you like this, Loki,” you sigh.

“I’ll try better next time,” he promises. “Thank you for being such a great doctor.”

A smile breaks through which makes him smile.

“I took time out of my very busy day to be here. How will you ever compensate me?”

Loki reaches up and grabs your neck gently and pulls you down to him. He slants his lips against yours and gives you a kiss that takes your breath away. This isn’t the first kiss you’ve shared with him and it certainly won’t be the last.

“I’ll have one of my men pay you most graciously, love,” Loki whispers against your lips.

You have to get back to the hospital so you pull away from him and gather your medical supplies. You put your hand on the doorknob but don’t turn it yet.

“Don’t get into any more fights, Loki.”

“How will I ever see you if I’m not injured?”

“You know where I live,” you smile. “All you need to do is knock.”

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[starrwrrld]

thank you for the tag leo @saviour-of-lord <3

Do you make your bed?

95% of the time, yes.

Favourite number?

Seven

What's your job?

Freelance tutoring as a side hustle (full-time student)

If you could go back to school, would you?

NO

Can you parallel park?

No

Do you think aliens are real?

Yes

Can you drive a manual car?

No

Guilty Pleasures?

Ice cream in the middle of the night (?), splurging on books

Tattoos?

None

Favourite Colour?

Black

Favourtie type of music?

I honestly listen to anything and everything but I think alt. rock is my top genre rn.

Do you like puzzles?

Depends

Favourite childhood sport?

Football

Do you talk to yourself?

To the point of insanity

Tea or coffee?

Coffee

First thing you wanted to be when growing up?

Ever the over-achiever, i wanted to be a writer and a pilot at the same time.

What movies do you adore?

Anything with a good plot fr, but i do love gory, dark ones that have warm elements like found family and unexpected friendships and relatioships in the midst of all the chaos.

tagging further: @bumblewyn @perhapspen @v5ttels @trishsweetener @f1-giuki @souvenir116 @toppamplemousse @moonlight0starlighte @iamred-iamyellow @maxcuntstappen @kimis-gloves

No pressure tho!

(You can also send it to me if you have done it? I'd love to get to know each other like this <3)

[idyllcy]

from one admirer to another : fried?

pairing: leon kennedy x reader || masterpost: from one admirer to another

synopsis: from one admirer to another, an online penpal service, allows for two people with common interests to write to each other without ever revealing their actual address! Luckily for both you and Leon, you get matched up! What do eggs and Christmas even have in common anyway? sure hope it's that modeling business and NOT that Ada Wong addiction.

featuring: reader as scrambled eggs // leon as christmas

Dear scrambled eggs,

Happy Paris Fashion Week. I'm walking this year (finally???) but not the same show as Ada. I ended up cast by a different brand than her, which makes sense since we don't exactly share the same genre of face. Also, she's in Paris for shoots while I'm here to walk. Women and men's fashion week aren't even the same week. I found that a little sad. Also, my agent got me on some sort of makeup from my makeup artist and somehow he's made me look 29 like hello?? I am a literal child ?? (I'm not. but im still in my early twenties).

My letter this time is going to be short (again) mainly because I need to mail this internationally and I'd like for you to send me a letter to my airbnb (the host gave me the keys).

I speak Spanish and literally no French, so when a lady in a shop was talking to me I could only shake my head and tell her no in Spanish and I still have no idea what she wanted. I guess we'll never know.

Right. The last walk was alright. I got to walk with the model, but I got a death glare from their friend bc I swear I felt my soul slip out of my body. Like, sorry your friend is hot??? Sorry I'm no better??? :((( What's it take for a guy to score a date these days? I ALSO did not get their number again. Can you believe that? I turned around and they disappeared into thin air! AUGH.

Anyways, I'm sending you one of the luxury-brand paris postcards I received as a small gift. Hope you like it.

What are you up to the month that I'm stuck in Paris? Christmas

Leon finishes walking his show, backstage with a handful of models he's met here and there, mainly sticking with the group of raccoon models. Everyone's sharing the same Airbnb. It should sound like hell, except most people have their own room, and somehow it's the greatest blessing on earth because he knows Ada would ruin his life if he even thought of asking her about you.

His letter is mailed out first thing, shitty translator in hand as he's told Reverso is the better of translators for French, and he gets it mailed out with a quick wink from the old lady at the post office. He's sure she did it because he's on the more attractive side and not the fact that he's sending a letter to his penpal like some middle school boy. He should get over that crush on you too.

He starts his last walk of this fashion week, meeting new people to have a quick talk to, adding private accounts and getting to know a handful of other Ada fans at his last walk. It's the only one where he even gets to see Ada, and her walk is... no joke. Hatred be dammed that woman can strut. He wonders if there's another universe where he didn't accidentally get shot through the heart the first time he met her best friend.

The more Leon paid attention, the more he seemed to understand that one of the main reasons your contract got off so easy was because Ada had requested it. Some people even call you a result of nepotism. Well, not that you seemed to like the job all that much. Dare he say it, to you, modeling was just a side hustle.

How nice it must be to be in a position like that.

When the models finish up at the show, Leon's told he has a shoot the next day, and then a handful of shows scattered nearby. They're making him go to Spain for a handful of days for a photoshoot with Ashley, and then he's practically free for the rest of the time. He's sure it's because his manager's girlfriend wants to hang around the city. Leon's more than fine with staying in the city. It'll be a good break.

Shame though, he misses Sunny.

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