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meowzfordayz · 1 year ago

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shiny

Author’s Note: sooo this was supposed to be for a college au, secretly dating trope suggestion (as well as for an emergency request for fluff 😅)… but then The H*rny™️ hit 🥴, and uhh, it turned into its own lil thing. ��

shiny

Shinazugawa Sanemi x Reader

Word Count: ~2,200

CW: 18+NSFW, cream!pie, explicit language, Fem!Reader

~faqs~

“Sanemi, don’t you think she’s a little out of your league?”

Obanai’s stern tone does little to soften the reality behind his question, Sanemi once more reminded of why he can only watch—can only yearn—from a safe distance of ten physical feet, five invisible rungs on the social ladder, and one gigantic she-doesn’t-even-know-I-exist problem.

“Nobody’s out of my league,” Sanemi mutters, glare darkening with his trademark scowl, “She’s just shiny, is all. I’m easily distracted.”

“And that’s why you ignore me whenever she happens to be at the same dining hall as us,” Obanai snorts.

“Fuck-” Sanemi’s fork scrapes across his plate.

Raising an eyebrow, Obanai continues, “And also why you terrified those women away from their table.”

“-off,” fork stabbing loudly at his dry chicken.

“That just happened to be across from where she was sitting.”

“I said-” tearing sloppily into the overcooked meat.

Mask stretching as Obanai grins, he makes his final push, “And forgot to eat your food after she made eye contact with you.”

Mouth full, words muffled, “-f’ck ‘ff!”

“If nobody’s out of your league, then why don’t you say,”—in a breathy, squeaky voice—“Hi, I’m Sanemi!”

Swallowing his bite in a single motion, “I don’t talk like that,” Sanemi glowers, “Besides, shiny things lose their sparkle the moment you touch them.”

“Whatever man,” Obanai scoffs, “Shiny things also tend to hate crude assholes.”

“I’ll crude your fucking asshole.”

Eyes rolling, Obanai switches gears, “So Mitsuri and I-”

Only to be promptly interrupted, fork waved aggressively in his direction, “Don’t fucking start on your goddamn perfect love life.”

“Perfect?” Obanai huffs, whining now, “Dude, you know how long it took for-”

“If this is supposed to be a roundabout pep talk or offering of love advice,” Sanemi stands, half finished plate in one hand, steel grip around his glass with the other as he tilts his head back to chug the remainder of his lemonade, “Just fucking don’t.”

Waiting in lines isn’t your strong suit, fingernails rapidly tapping your lukewarm plate, droplets of water glistening under the too familiar lighting of the dining hall. You’d already scratched off the faint remains of someone else’s lunch, not bothering to search for a new, cleaner plate — they all had some sort of residue. Lifting your gaze to survey the people ahead of you, you’re immediately hindered by the tall, broad stature of a white haired man, the tension in his back muscles emphasized by the tightness of his moss green shirt. Sighing quietly, you notice his neck twitch, the curve of his biceps discernible as his arms—presumably—cross in front of him.

“Hey,” you say, chatter, clang, and hiss of lunchtime swallowing your attempt to get his attention, “Hellooo.”

Somehow, his biceps flex harder, fabric of his shirt’s armholes stretching to accommodate his strength.

“Um, alright,” you mutter, refocusing on your plate, fingernails returning to their tapping, “Never mind, I guess-”

“If you want, you can cut me.”

You blink, vision flashing to the Beautiful purple eyed man turning around to face you.

“Are they real?” you gush, cheeks warming, eyes squeezing shut before you can process any shame.

“Pardon?” a teasing, incredulous lilt lingers in his voice, “I can see, if that’s what you’re-”

“No, like, are they contacts?”

If it wouldn’t hammer the final nail on your coffin of embarrassment, you’d slap yourself right then and there.

“Open your eyes,” he speaks softer now, “I’m not wearing contacts.”

Eyes opening sheepishly, you stick out your free hand, “Nice to meet you, I apologize, you probably get the eyes thing a lot,” they’re too pretty for you to not.

“I’m Sanemi,” he responds evenly, your hand untouched as his jaw clenches, “Are you going to cut me or not?”

“Or not,” you reply quickly, nose scrunching as you glance away, hand dropping limply, “I can wait.”

“Your incessant tapping suggests otherwise,” he—Sanemi—grunts, “If you’re not gonna cut me, then at least be less annoying to everyone else in line.”

You snort, “Are you usually this combative?” pointedly ignoring his jab.

“Usually, I don’t offer up my spot in line.”

“So does that mean I’m special,” you grin now, eyes glittering at the way his brow furrows, “Or just extra annoying?”

“Extra annoying,” he deadpans, “Definitely extra.”

With a friendly pout, you lapse into silence, shuffling forward an insignificant amount, inwardly cursing whoever poorly planned the university budget to short staff the dining halls.

“Y’know, you look familiar.”

Sanemi shrugs, back turned once more to you, shoulder blades rippling with the motion, “Makes sense.”

“What, am I not original enough for you?” you grumble, cheeks warming again as he whips around to glare at you.

“Why are you talking to me?”

“I don’t know!” you exclaim, “To be nice? To be annoying? Because I’m bored and hangry and this line seems to go on for forever?!”

Lips twitching, he slowly gestures in front of him, still glaring, “Cut me.”

“No!”

“You’re ridiculous.”

Before you can protest, he maneuvers himself behind you, impatience radiating from his body, lean muscles barely grazing your bare arms, goosebumps raising when he crosses his own, the view so much more defined from your new perspective. You’re too busy memorizing his physique to notice his reaction to your careful attention; too busy uttering his name under your breath, committing it to heart, to see the blush creep up his collarbones, his neck, his earlobes; too busy finally getting food to catch him opening, closing, then opening his mouth, a hushed And what’s your name? caught beneath hesitation and loneliness.

“Thanks Sanemi,” you say, waving cheerfully, “Maybe I’ll see you around?”

His response falters in his throat as he watches you leave, gaze swiveling to eventually—reluctantly—make eye contact with Obanai. Good effort! Obanai gives him a thumbs up, just as Sanemi groans lowly, flipping him off.

“Sanemi,” you whisper, fingertips walking warmly across his scars, smooth and sensitive to the touch, his breath catching at the light pressure, “Promise me you were sober.”

Body vibrating with quiet laughter, he catches your hand, lips gentle and wet as he kisses each of your fingertips, “I don’t drink,” eyes flitting over to your haphazardly tossed clothing, “And you?”

“I had one,” you murmur, lifting yourself to roll atop him, straddling his waist, thighs sweaty and soft, heat stirring in his groin at the familiar position, “Way before you arrived.”

“Waited for me, hm?” he chuckles smugly, gripping your hips, kneading into your skin, a strangled hiss tightening his lungs as his cum leaks from your slippery folds to his stomach, “Didn’t think I’d see you at a party like this.”

“And I didn’t think you threw parties,” you quip back, reveling in the filthy squelch of your languid grinding, his rigid abdominals flexing shiny and divine against the bump of your clit, “Till your roommate introduced himself, invited me over,” draping yourself over his chest, tits heavy and warm on his sternum, voice promising and heady in his ear, “I didn’t think I’d be getting fucked tonight.”

“Me neither,” Sanemi rasps, cockhead swollen and smearing precum against the plush of your ass, erect again, “Didn’t think you’d show up on my doorstep,” grasping your jaw to present your neck to his bared teeth, nipping greedily, “Looking so fucking gorgeous, like you were begging for someone to devour you,” tongue swiping flat and messy at the hollow of your throat, his hips bucking upward for friction, “Good thing I found you first, hm? Good thing I got to your pretty mouth, to your beautiful cunt, before some other fuck.”

“Sanemi,” you whimper, tugging your head down slightly, just slightly enough to see the dangerous, hazy glint in his purple stare, “W-wasn’t here to f-fuck anyone.”

“But you did, didn’t you?” he teases lightly, releasing your jaw with a final, tender kiss to your chin, “Had me wrapped around your finger the moment I saw you, laughing with your friends in the dining hall, that incredible smile of yours knotting my stomach,” swallowing thickly, dangerous edge fading as quickly as it surfaced, feather soft confession taking its place, “I must’ve become absolutely insufferable,” snorting amusedly, “If Obanai intervened.”

“I forgot to tell you my name,” you admit sheepishly, beginning your own parade of sloppy, heated kisses across the sheen of his collarbones, exertion from his first orgasm still evident, “Thought I missed my shot,” reaching behind you for his cock, deft thumb circling his tip, grinning at his unabashed moan, “Wondered how I could possibly recover from such an encounter with your mesmerizing hair and brilliant eyes,” winking playfully as you squeeze his cock, earning a halfhearted scowl, “Your gentlemanly gesture of saving me from my hanger.”

“Want to feel you again,” is your only warning, and then he’s bullying his cock between your folds, whining sharply as his tip nudges in, rhythm shallow and wanton, gradually stuffing himself further and further into your honeyed, dripping hole, “Fuck,” he grits out, your ass so perfect and weighted atop him, “You feel so fucking good.”

“Is this all you want?” you ask quietly, question nearly lost in the broadness of his chest, pussy clenching tight and overwhelmed around him.

“This?” he manages to scoff, his exasperated, adoring eyes meeting your unsteady, wide gaze, “‘Course not, I want to get to know you, your favorite color, how you look in the morning, what buttons I can push, when to say I’m sorry,” repetitive, gentle grunts underlying his reassurance as he continues thrusting torturously slow, “I’ve got a devastating crush on you, you idiot, so why the fuck would this be all I want?”

“Well you did just call me an idiot,” you giggle, back arching into his movements, his eyes glimmering at the display of your breasts.

He huffs, “Learn it or hate it, but s’my love language.”

“I’m thoroughly enjoying this love language,” you drawl, grabbing onto his shoulders, sweat trickling shiny and subtle as you readjust yourself, “I guess I could adapt to ~odd pet names too.”

As Sanemi’s pace hastens, second climax coaxed harsh and unrelenting from your body, he slips one hand from your hip to your sex, palm pressing strong and intense on your clit, the most stunning wail tearing feral and needy across his bedroom as you cum on his cock, thighs squeezing the air from his lungs, fingernails digging deeply into his shoulders, neck faintly mottled with the aftermath of his love biting.

Sunlight glows weakly through his blinds, the quiet pulse of your breaths preventing Sanemi from wiggling even an inch, too afraid of shattering the stillness of his dream. Your leg’s slotted comfortable and trusting between his own, fingers pressing soft dots into his chest, a sensation he wishes he could bottle for a rainy day. Thankful for his lack of drinking, and thus, lack of a hangover, his eyes blink closed, basking in the recollection of your unexpected passion, the shine of moonlight on your naked figure, the curve of your smile, hot and welcoming against his mouth.

“So how do I look in the morning?”

Your sleepily murmured question startles him, the uptick in your breathing having gone unnoticed, too deep in his reminiscence. Head tilting to better see you, he smirks fondly, gaze more serene without the exhaustion of the day settled in yet.

“Like you just woke up,” he says nonchalantly, nevertheless breaking into an endeared smile, muscular arm tugging you closer to him, so close you can see the flecks of muted silver in his irises.

“Hm, thank gosh it’s Saturday,” you yawn, limbs stretching in his embrace, toes finding purchase on his ankles, “I definitely did not set an alarm.”

“What dumbass would throw a party on a weekday?”

“Not you,” you retort sweetly, dramatically batting your eyelashes, “You’re not a dumbass.”

“Fuck you,” he mumbles.

“Already?” you wink lazily, “Don’t men have a refractory period or something?”

“I only came once last night,” he nearly pouts, hiding his expression in your sunwarmed hair.

“Right,” you chuckle, tender memories of being carefully wiped clean, and then snuggling into him, promptly passing out, floating contentedly through your vision, “You’re amazing.”

“Amazing enough to do this again?” his voice hardens, somehow moving further from you even as his body doesn’t move.

“Didn’t I already ask you that?” you reply gently.

“Yeah.”

Nose crinkling, you poke at his cheek, humming confidently, “I may not have had a devastating crush on you, but I obviously I like you, idiot.”

“Yeeeah,” he sighs.

“So we’re doing this again,” you remark plainly.

“Good,” he finally grins.

“Good,” you grin.

“Ugh,” he scowls, pretending to push you away, only to quickly pull you back into his embrace, pulse thrumming at the momentary distance.

“You weren’t saying that earlier,” you singsong, lightly tucking a longer strand of his hair behind his ear, cooing at its immediate redness, “You think Obanai heard us?”

“Fuck,” Sanemi grimaces, suddenly dreading his next conversation with his best friend.

“Poor guy,” you laugh, tone laced with mock sympathy, “Probably regrets inviting me.”

Shrugging, Sanemi pecks your forehead, voice gravelly as he mutters, “Nah, fuck him.”

#sanemi shinazugawa #shinazugawa sanemi #sanemi x reader #shinazugawa x reader #wind hashira #one shot #college au #demon slayer smut #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer

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theteasetwrites · 2 years ago

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Merciless Beauty

Chapter 8: The Whole Truth Shall Be Seen

❧ Pairing: Knight Daryl Dixon x Princess Reader ❧ Era: Medieval fantasy AU ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: angst, violence, blood, injury, some scenes may be triggering for those who are sensitive to sexual assault/abuse, so tread carefully! ❧ Word Count: 5.7k

❧ Before You Read...

❧ Glossary

❧ In This Chapter: Captured by the Saviors, you awaken at the so-called Sanctuary, where Sir Negan greets you, though he is displeased by your grief after having witnessed the supposed death of Sir Daryl. His wrath does not spare you. Meanwhile, Alexandria has been ravaged by the Saviors and overtaken by the Dead, but the tide shifts when some unexpected visitors arrive at Alexandria's gates.

❧ A/N: Ok so huge disclaimer—Negan is pretty OOC here. I mean, he is a creep and a violent asshole in the show, but I ramped that up a few levels here. After all, this is medieval Negan we're talking about. Medieval men were assholes to women, that's just how it was, unfortunately. And also, I said that a new character would be introduced in this chapter, which is technically true, but also technically not true lol you'll see. Anyway, things are getting intense, and this chapter gets a little dark. You've been warned.

Many times in your life had you awoken from a terrible dream, only to come to the slow realization that none of it really happened.

But there’s still that sense of dread, those several moments during which your mind tries to put the pieces back together, still somewhere between reality and dream. At some point, relief would soon set in as you’d feel the warmth and comfort of your bed, and it would be clear that it was all some trick of the mind. Not long after that, your dream would become foggy, to the point that you could no longer even recall exactly what it was that had troubled you so. It became a distant memory that never really existed to begin with.

Now, though, you awoke without that relief. Now, you woke up to the realization that your nightmare wasn’t a dream after all. You were in it, and you were somewhere you did not recognize.

Beneath your curled up body was a large, plush feather bed, draped in the finest silk brocade duvet. Cushioning your head, at least three pillows of similar make. The room was dark, but for a dripping wax candle on the nearest nightstand and a roaring fireplace across the spacious room.

As your mind began to catch up with your eyes, you sat up quickly, a dizziness overcoming you. Looking down, you were above the covers, wearing the very same pink gown you recalled wearing last, though your shoes had been removed.

Despite your lack of clarity, the quickening of your shallow breaths and the jitter in your hand as you palmed at your forehead betrayed the subconscious anxiety that overcame you. What had happened? Where were you?

Questions you knew the answers to, but couldn’t bear to face. First and foremost, you’d have to act without thinking. Thinking would only make you have to process your last memories, and that would ultimately lead to a conclusion you did not have the heart nor the stomach to face. Not without him.

You did not waste another moment. Now fully awake, though still dazed, you lifted yourself from the edge of the bed, sprinting swiftly to the intricately carved wooden doors across the room. Locked, of course. Another more careful gaze around the room alerted you to a window—barred from the outside.

Dusk had stained the sky a deep, greyish purple. Out the window, you could make out a tall stone wall, not unlike the one surrounding your castle. It seemed to be an inner bailey, which meant you were somewhere inside a keep. When a flash of black and red emblazoned itself on the inside of your eyelids, you remembered just whose keep you must’ve been in.

Turning back to the door, a great anger overwhelmed you. The vile maggots who so pompously dubbed themselves the Saviors had invaded your home. They brought the plague to your kingdom, letting the Dead feast upon your people as they no doubt pillaged their homes and did God only knew what else to those poor people.

Worst of all, to you… You couldn’t even think of it, what you last remembered seeing. You did not allow the thought to come to mind, though the image was impossible to ignore. It was what so inflamed you, ravaged you.

Even if you couldn’t let yourself process it, you still knew. You could still feel that residual anger welling up inside you, the sparks from that flame scratching the back of your throat until you couldn’t keep the fire in you any longer. You raised both fists to slam them against the hard wood of the door, over and over again, as a ragged, bitter yell erupted from the pit of your stomach and expelled out your trembling lips.

“Negan!” you bellowed, voice nearly drowned out by the incessant banging of your fists. “Let me out, you… you wretched beast! I demand to be let out! I—I demand to be returned to Alexandria at once! Open this door, or so help me, I’ll… I’ll—”

A muffled laughter interrupted your tirade. It came from not far outside the door, but it did not belong to Negan. Guards. It must’ve been guards. Despite your fury, you could not bother with their laughing, you could only try to listen in, attempting to discern how many guards were stationed outside that door.

With your ear pressed to the wood, you could now make out heavy, languid footsteps, and a new laugh. A low, lazy chuckle. Negan.

You were pushed back by a sudden force from the opening door. Without hesitation, you flung yourself towards the opening, only to be caught in a pair of long, lean arms. Despite your frantic squirming, he was strong enough to keep you held against him, closing the door behind him, immediately followed by the sound of a key turning in the lock from outside. Realizing you were stuck in here again, you moved on from your attempt at escaping to the immediate opportunity that presented itself before you: Negan.

And all the hatred you had within you bubbled to the surface, stinging at the back of your throat like bile. Years of wanting to see the world, of dreaming of a place that was full of hope and kindness and love, made you believe that, somewhere, there was goodness. When you met Daryl, who came from the outside, you knew that to be true. There were good people in this world, people who embodied hope, kindness, and love. When you met Negan, you had met the antithesis of that—the representation of everything you had been told was bad about the outside world.

You knew this to be true the moment you saw him, and when he nearly murdered Elizabeth. You knew this to be true because of the way he believed he was entitled to you, and to everyone and everything. Above all else, you knew this to be true because he lied. Even corrupt men can keep their word, can abide by their own laws. This man had not even a crumb of honor to his name, and to you, there was no greater virtue than honor, especially for a knight.

He was no knight, though. You’d known a true knight. For all his lack of chivalry at times, Daryl had more loyalty, more honor, more virtue in his little finger than Negan or any of his so-called Saviors had in their whole bodies. And Daryl… Poor Daryl.

No, you could not think of that now. All you could think of was your anger, and you’d never been this angry before in your life. In fact, you’d never really been angry at all, until now.

“Let me go!” you screamed, flailing your arms in a feeble attempt to rid yourself of his grip on your wrists. He walked you backwards, upon his face a great big smirk, rippled by a slow, steady, chuckle that only enraged you more. Before he could set you down, you planted your feet with all the strength you could muster, and as his grip just barely loosened, you swung your balled fists at his chest, much to his amusement.

“Unhand me!” you cried out, hitting him as hard as you could, though even for a rather slim man, he remained sturdy, his chest puffed out and taking each of your wobbly blows. In a fit of rage, you felt hot tears begin to flow over the slopes of your cheeks, your composure completely obliterated when your blurred vision caught full view of his lips, which his tongue coated in a sheen of saliva as he watched you struggle to hurt him.

“Vile wretch!” you spat, such words having never corrupted the purity of your mild mannered tongue. A slew of other insults followed. “Wicked swine! Stinking, detestable brute! You repulsive bastard, y-you barbarous, vicious goblin! You… You ugly, motherless worm! Loutish pig! Why, you… You deceiver! You beastly, uncouth, dishonorable—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” laughed the man. “You’ve got quite the vocabulary, don’t ya, princess?”

As he slowly walked you backwards, you felt the back of your knees hit the edge of the bed. With one last missed swipe at him, this time aimed at his smug, arrogant face, you fell, your back onto the feathery soft surface of the luxurious bed. But you did not intend to stay there long, leaping up in an attempt to hit him once again, but he was faster, using his own body to weigh you down as he slowly crawled over you.

Panting and crying, you took advantage of the momentary space between your bodies to bring up your knee, using it to hit him in the groin before he could fully pin you down. The motion sent him stumbling backwards with a pained groan, allowing you to seize the opportunity to lift yourself to your feet.

Now, panting and crying, you met his gaze. What could you do now? There was no getting out of here. Even if you could get the door open, there were at least four guards outside, and who knows many other Saviors just around the corner. You could not kill Negan, no matter how much the idea tempted you.

It seemed there was no end to this powerlessness, this lack of control of the things happening around you that seemed to plague you with every step you’d take. Even now, especially now, there was no escape, and all you could do was watch it all fall apart right in front of you.

“Damn,” huffed Negan, adjusting the crotch of his black wool chausses, his lack of decency disgusting you. With a bite of his bottom lip and a backwards tilt, he laughed once more. “You’re a little firecracker!”

Ignoring his quip, you narrowed your eyes in an attempt to appear threatening, though you could not keep your voice from breaking as you spoke. “Where is my father?”

There was so much you wanted to say to him, to scream at him, to beg of him, despite all your composure telling you to never, ever beg to someone who surely thrived on the submission. You could not let yourself give into his sick desires—all you could do, as a princess, was demand the answers to questions you deserved to know the answers to. You deeply feared those answers, as the odds of them being the ones you wanted were surely not in your favor, but you had to know. It was the greatest agony to not know at all. You only hoped the silver-tongued deceiver before you didn’t mistake your poise for meekness.

The several moments Negan spent eying you up and down only contributed further to your frustration. “He’s alive.”

That’s it?!

“Well, as far as I know.”

You marched towards him with several aggravated huffs fueling you. “What exactly does that mean?”

Negan only seemed to be amused by your closer presence, leaning forward to the point that you could feel his warm breath on your cheek. “We left that place for the dead bastards. Last we saw of the king, he was fighting back pretty damn good. Looked like he was winning, too. He’s tough, I’m sure he’s fine.”

Negan’s answer only worried you more. He could’ve gotten bit, he could’ve gotten overtaken, like…

“But that knight,” chuckled Negan with a shake of his head. In his voice was joviality that frightened you, as you knew the kind of thing that Sir Negan found to be amusing.

“Knight?” you repeated, coming closer to him now. “What knight? Did you see him? Is he all right? What happened to him?”

Deep in your heart, you knew, once again, the answer would not please you. Just by the gleam in his eyes, the despicable curl in his lips, the diabolical lift of his brows. He found it all to be quite funny, but when he noticed your earnestness, his look of delight faded to a seriousness that matched yours, though his was not born of concern for your knight.

“Now, why would the Crown Princess of Alexandria care so much for the wellbeing of a useless knight?”

Useless?! You had half a mind to strike him across his insufferable, repugnant face, but you couldn’t let your anger overcome you when all you wanted was to know that your love was alive. You couldn’t bear to even think otherwise, not until you had some kind of confirmation. That confirmation would be the only semblance of comfort you could cling to.

“He is not useless,” you replied. “He was trying to help me. H-he was…” It hit you then. Was.

As you lowered your gaze to squeeze your eyes shut, compelling your tears to fall in the hopes that the vile man couldn’t see them, his tongue tisked at you, as if in disappointment at your sadness.

“Oh, my sweet princess,” he lamented, to which you squeezed your eyes even harder, as your fist balled in a tight clench around nothing. You strangled the air with your trembling hands, wishing it could be Negan’s neck. “You cared about him, didn’t you? Man… He went down. It was a bloodbath. I would not have wanted to be him, I’ll tell you that.”

As your knees weakened, you sat yourself down on the edge of the bed, grief finally overcoming your abject rage. Though you could not allow yourself to break too much before Negan, the man who had indirectly caused the death of the man you loved, you also could not bear to go another moment without weeping for him, that image of him surrounded by rotten gnashing teeth and cold, lifeless bodies that closed in all around him.

As you cried, it was as if you could feel your heart breaking in two, a sensation you hadn’t experienced since your mother’s death. It was a dull, lingering pain that sharpened with each deep, heaving intake of air, as if the simple act of breathing contributed a new crack to your already shattered heart. After all, why should you breathe? What point was there, without love, without him, who embodied love?

Living now, after you had sworn you’d found the other half of your soul, seemed selfish. Daryl had died being selfless. He had fulfilled his promise to you—he died for you. Not Alexandria, not the duke, not your father, not God. He died because of his devotion to you.

That only made it worse, knowing that you, in some roundabout way, had a hand in his death. If it weren’t for you, he’d be alive. He wouldn’t have suffered, dying in the worst possible way you could imagine. Thinking of the pain he must’ve endured, the fear in his heart… Oh, my love!

“There, there… Don’t cry.” The weight of Negan sitting beside you reawakened your rage, his voice grating as you shot up from your seat and glowered at him through wide, piercing eyes.

“Deceiver!” Your shaky finger accused him as you pointed his way in a frantic motion. “You lied! You said you’d return to Alexandria in a week’s time. You bring walkers to my doorstep, you steal from my people, you destroy my property—my home, and now you tell me not to cry?! How dare you! How dare you even speak to me at all! My knight is dead because of you!”

Standing to his feet, he matched your wide-eyed gaze with his own, though in his eyes was something far more sinister—a crazed fury that made you stumble backwards, nearly tripping on your heel.

“Your knight?”

The cold hard wall pressed against your shoulder blades, while Negan’s arms outstretched to cage you between his body and the wall behind you. Still crying, heaving, panting, you began to shake in fear. The man might’ve been smarter than you’d thought, if he had caught onto your love for Daryl. Your knight.

“Th-the knight,” you replied, attempting to appear innocent despite your quivering lips and beating heart against his chest telling a different story. “You got the knight killed.”

“No.” His voice was low, and much too quiet for comfort. You were used to him practically bellowing each word, not barely speaking above a whisper. “No, you said ‘my.’ Tell me… what is that knight to you, princess? You seem awfully saddened by his untimely demise. What makes him your knight?”

Your attempt to squirm yourself away from him was made in vain, your shoulders held in the grip of his strong hands, his curled fingers digging into your flesh.

“Nothing,” you replied. “Let me go.” The last three words went unacknowledged.

“Why would you cry for him, then?” Repulsed by his face just an inch or two from yours, you tried to turn your head, but his hand was faster. Squeezing your chin and cheeks was his hand, cold and dry. Despite your shaking, he held your face still, forcing your eyes to stay glued to his. “Tell me!”

In your fear, your voice collapsed underneath itself, though you still spoke, although your words were muddied by your tears. “H-he was my friend. Please!” Now you had to beg him, just to let you go from his painful grasp, which had lowered to the junction of your neck and your jaw. Any lower, he’d begin to restrict you of air, but he wanted you to speak. He could only strangle you enough to still hear you admit to the paranoia that had suddenly overcome him. He knew that knight meant more to you than what you said. “You’re hurting me!”

But he did not care, why would he? You knew all along that Negan’s desire to have you was not born of any kind of admiration of you, though perhaps the closest sentiment he held was lust. His lust for power, though, dominated any lust for you that might’ve existed in his cold, black heart. He wanted you as a trophy, as evidence of his conquest of the once great kingdom of Alexandria. He could hurt you now with no remorse, and no consequences.

After all, you were his now, as far as he was concerned. Little did he know that you belonged to someone else.

But he was catching on, so much so that you could see it in his eyes, feel it in the tightening of his hand as he threatened to crush your jaw. You’d never felt such strength like that before. The only other touch from a man you knew of was Daryl’s, and though you’d felt his strength, how firm his touch could be, but never like this. Never threatening, never anything to be fearful of, never painful.

“Friend?” he questioned, squeezing around the top of your neck, his thumb digging into your tensed muscles. “With a knight?”

“Yes! Please!” The pain only worsened as you spoke.

Negan pushed his face closer, so close that his heaving breath defiled your cheek as he whispered, “I don’t believe you.” His voice was calm, though, not tense. You almost wished he had screamed at you, instead of this strange, serpentine hiss that escaped from his lips, as if even the sound itself was disgusted by his mouth and could not stand to be trapped in there a moment longer.

Your whimpering and panting quickened as he loosened his grip on your neck, bringing his hand up to let his thumb brush over the apple of your cheek. The feeling made you flinch, your eyes squeezing shut as more tears were forced out. “You’re real pretty when you cry, you know that, princess?”

I hate you! The words were drowned out by your weeping, the lump in your throat pushing them down until all that you could muster was a strangled whimper.

“But, pretty as you are,” he continued, and though you could not see him, your eyes closed for fear of witnessing whatever he was going to do to you next, “I know a whore when I see one.”

With hardly a moment to process his words, your eyes shot open with the feeling of his knee parting your legs, and his other hand scrambling between your bodies to find the edge of your skirt. You wriggled in his grasp, but he only used his body to further press you against the wall, this time with a great slam.

“Told you to keep your purity for me.” You grasped at his shoulders, trying to push him away, but he was too sturdy on his feet, as he began to lift your gown. “Let’s see if you did.”

You were still squirming when you felt a hard, cruel clench around your bare thigh, moving fast to slither upwards till he groped you, causing you to cry out in combined pain and fear. While his body held you in place, he used his other hand to continue trying to lift your gown. What he wanted, you knew, was to see if your maidenhead was intact, and possibly worse.

Either way, you were going to suffer. If he inspected your womanhood, he’d surely find that you’d been deflowered, and for an unmarried woman in this world, that could mean death. You did not care now, though. Death frightened you, but there were worse things. For all your innocence, you knew that. All you cared about now was preserving whatever was left of your dignity.

In your panic, you managed to wriggle your arm loose enough to flail your hand with as much strength as you could muster, striking Negan across his face so hard that he stumbled backwards, though you did not move a muscle now. You couldn’t. His stare held you hostage, brown eyes narrowed with sharp pins for pupils. You could only tuck your hands behind your back as you straightened against the wall, wishing somehow that, if you pressed yourself into it hard enough, you could dissolve into it.

With each step he took closer to you, it seemed the ground shook under his heavy feet. In his gaze now was nothing short of pure, unadulterated fury. When he was close enough to reach you, he stopped to stare you down with an assault all on its own, but it did not prepare you for the blow.

“You bitch!”

Just as you’d struck him, he struck you back, only with the back of his hand, and with more intention. Your hit was practically a reflex, an instinct to defend yourself. Even if you’d hit him with more animosity than fear, you’d have been too weak to even daze him. His hit was of greater proportions, strong enough to knock you to the floor, where the first droplet of blood dripped from your nose.

Negan did not stay long to watch you weep, curled up into yourself as he turned to the door, storming out until all that was left of his presence was the burst of air from the slam of the door. A rattling of the lock from outside, and then his voice bellowed again.

“You’re staying in there until you learn some goddamn manners, princess!” His fist banged on the door, causing you to flinch and wrap yourself tighter in your own embrace. As his ranting voice faded and his distant footsteps whittled down to a silence, you were left shaking, bleeding, wailing—utterly alone.

“He’s waking up now… Get the king.”

For several moments, that voice was nearly drowned out by the deafening beat of his heart, and the faint remnants of snarls and groans that still lingered. The memory made him flinch, jolting his body awake as he sat up, already looking around frantically as his senses were thrust back into gear.

He did not recognize his surroundings, the low ceiling of stone propped up by stone walls, with pale streams of overcast daylight flowing in through the lone window. Though at first he could not notice the persons standing immediately beside him, he caught sight of several hay-stuffed beds, upon which were injured men, some even missing limbs with bloody rags wrapped around the stumps.

Not a good sign.

But he couldn’t fret for himself, not when the very last thing he recalled was his princess being dragged away.

“Take it easy.” Richard’s voice finally sounded clear as the knight sat up with a huff. If it weren’t for the duke’s grip on his bare shoulder, he would’ve been halfway out the door by now.

“Slow down.” The king’s voice came from behind Richard as he approached. Ezekiel looked tired, his once regal clothing stained with blood. “How is he?”

He wondered that himself. Looking down, his lower half was covered by a thin wool blanket, his top half bare but for a band of gauze wrapped around his waist, stained by a red circle of blood on his side.

Before Richard could even answer, though, Daryl attempted to stand again, his mind isolated on one thing. Turning to face the duke, he simply asked, “Where is she?”

By name, not the princess. Not her highness. Not even your name. She. She, the only she who mattered to him. His she.

Richard understood, of course. He knew not of the consummation of your love, but he knew the knight well enough to know just who was on his mind at all times, and that was you.

“Negan.” The simple utterance of his name was enough to have him back on his feet, much to the frustration of Richard, who pushed him back down, urging him to rest.

And then, he had to come to terms with the reality that was right in front of him—the grim truth. Having woken up after his last several moments of consciousness were spent surrounded by walkers, the worst case scenario was all too likely.

But he did not worry for himself now, no. He worried that, if he were bit, he could not fight—he could not bring you back to your home.

“Am I… Am I bit?”

Richard shook his head. Upon closer inspection of the usually clean-cut, well-groomed man, he looked the most disheveled and exhausted he’d ever seen, with once luscious curls turned into a frizzy, blood-caked rat’s nest, and pronounced bags underscoring his eyes. If the duke and the king looked like that, Daryl was afraid to look at himself.

“No,” replied the duke. “You’re not bit. You must’ve fallen on your dagger when you were in the herd. The wound is shallow, but you should rest. You were passed out from exhaustion when we got to you.”

“Nah,” he said, this time standing up without Richard’s intervention. “I don’t need rest.” Though his wound made him flinch in pain as he walked, he crossed the room to the small window, where outside he could see twenty or so men, some nobles, some peasants, fighting off walkers, thinning out the remaining herd in the castle’s courtyard.

The earth they stood upon was blotched in red and decorated with the decaying corpses of once half-living walkers. Leaning forward, he took note of the state of the barbican, where men in tattered rags and bloodied hands worked to close off the entrance. Shattered bits of iron littered the ground, where the inner portcullis once had been. They must’ve blasted through it with cannonfire, letting in the Dead once the fortifications were destroyed.

“The Saviors did not kill,” said the king. “The Dead did… The Saviors left them to turn. The damage to Alexandria’s outer walls was too severe to repair. The Dead now roam the streets, with the remaining population of my people taking shelter in the castle, here.”

“How many?” asked Daryl, turning back towards his bed to procure a fresh white linen chemise from the nightstand. As the restless knight dressed himself, the king did not answer, only exchanged a look of confusion with the duke. “How many people are left?” repeated the increasingly impatient knight.

Piping up from behind the king was Lord Constable Aaron. “One hundred and twenty-five accounted for in the castle,” answered the man. “But most of them are civilians. We only have a trained militia of forty or so able-bodied men. The rest are either infirm, elderly, women, children, or just simple craftsmen. Not enough fighters. Not enough defense to handle another herd.”

“And the cannonfire last night,” added Richard. “That’ll bring more of them.”

“State of the armory?” Daryl asked, choosing to ignore the less than hopeful rhetoric. “Blades, artillery, gunpowder… Weapons. We need weapons.”

“Very nearly depleted,” answered Lord Chancellor Gerald. “What the men have out there is all we have left. An abundance of dull blades and weak fists.”

As he sat to lace on a pair of brown leather boots, Daryl huffed a sigh. “And cavalry. The horses…” He feared the answer. Phantom, his steed, had been more than just a faithful destrier, but a friend.

“One of the few things we were able to protect,” replied the king, much to Daryl’s momentary relief. “They’re all safe in the castle stables. In fact, it’s our only recourse. Once the tunnels are cleared, our plan is to escape through there, on horseback, then seek refuge in a neighboring kingdom.”

That wasn’t good enough.

“And the princess?” Daryl met the king’s sturdy gaze, though it quickly crumbled as he processed the knight’s question. “What’s your plan for getting the princess back?”

“Daryl—” The duke’s voice was drenched in hopelessness, which the knight quickly shot down.

“No,” he replied sternly. “That’s the priority: bringing her back, killing Negan and every damn Savior we can get our hands on.”

A silence fell over the infirmary, with the king lowering his head, as if in shame. “We do not have the manpower nor the armaments to fight a force like Negan’s,” he said. “They rival our numbers by at least four times, and their armory is unmatched. We saw only a fraction of it last night. No one wants to get my daughter away from that… serpent more than I do, but it would be a lost cause, and we’d lose more people. Innocent people, people who cannot fight. We cannot send them into battle.”

“Then what will we do?” questioned Daryl, his voice raising enough to nearly echo in the small infirmary. “Every second she’s there, she could be…” As he trailed off, he stopped himself from continuing his thought, lest the extent to which he cared for you be revealed. “There must be something.”

I’ll go in there myself if you don’t have the balls, he wanted to say, but he’d already raised his voice at the king once today, and he did not want to bend his code of chivalry more than necessary. Daryl knew that King Ezekiel was a good man, a good father, a good king. You’d told him so, and if anyone’s word meant anything to him, it was yours.

He understood the king’s hesitation to lead the remaining able-bodied population of Alexandria into battle against the Saviors. He knew that it was a long shot, that the likelihood of saving you was one in a million. He knew, above all else, that King Ezekiel was only weighing the pros and cons of his decisions, doing what was best for the survival and longevity of his kingdom, his people. The king was simply acting upon logic, but Daryl was never particularly fond of logic.

Sensing Daryl’s distress, the duke pulled him aside, his hand upon the knight’s shoulder to offer him a semblance of comfort. Leaving the king and his advisors to speak, Richard held the knight’s gaze in the corner of the infirmary. “We’ll figure something out,” he said quietly. “But we have to wait for the right time.”

“I can’t wait,” he simply said. “I can’t.”

“I know, but you’re not going to be able to save her if you get killed the minute you get to the Sanctuary, and that’s what’s gonna happen. Hell, we don’t even know where the Sanctuary is, Daryl.”

I’ll find it. I’ll find her. I’ll find him. I’ll kill him.

But he only nodded solemnly, chewing his bottom lip as he tried desperately to come up with something he could do. There was nothing.

“Just… Just can’t let him have her. Not without a fight.”

The comforting weight of Richard’s hand upon his shoulder was a welcome feeling. “You’ve already fought for her, Daryl. You’ll fight for her again, but not now. Not until—”

“Your majesty!” One of the last remaining guards had thrown open the door to the infirmary, looking panicked as he cried for the king.

Ezekiel pushed past his advisors, approaching the guard with a hurred, yet somehow dignified, step. “What is it?”

The guard could only look at the king wide-eyed for several moments, until he began to stutter, out of breath and shaking his head as he tried to put into words what he had come into the infirmary to tell the king.

“Speak, man!” demanded Ezekiel. “I have very little time for this dawdling.”

“At-at the drawbridge,” he stammered, “there’s a… there’s a… man.”

“A man?” questioned the constable. “Who?”

“Well, many men. Many, many men.”

The king’s eyes widened. “Another attack?” he asked.

“Th-they claim to be… friends. The man leading them wishes to speak to you.”

This piqued the knight’s interest as he exchanged a look with the duke. There was tension in the air, but not the kind that preceded a calamity. It was the kind of tension that only uncertainty could conceive. Even in the best of times, there was no way to tell who really was friend or foe. Now, more so than ever, Alexandria was vulnerable. A friend, if truly a friend, could mean salvation for the kingdom, but a foe could bring it down in one fell swoop.

The king, naturally, had a few more questions before he agreed to meet these so-called “friends” outside his castle. “And who is this friend?” he asked. “And what does he want?”

As if in disbelief at his own knowledge, the guard shook his head once more. “I—I… He only said he wants to speak to the king, and he calls himself…”

Now frustrated, Ezekiel took the guard’s shoulders in his hands as he shook him gently, as if to rouse him from his stupor. “Calls himself what?”

The guard huffed, almost with a tinge of a laugh to his voice.

“Jesus.”

Thanks for reading! Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciated!

Series Masterlist Next Part ➳

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hisphoenixrising · 1 year ago

Text

You can run, but only so far...

Swipe. Swipe. Swipe. Swipe.

It's the only sound in the car, the radio barely a murmur at this point. I was home, could have easily shut off my car and walk inside. Where warmth waited for me, where comfort begged for me. And all of that? It didn't matter to me. I wanted to sit right there, scroll until my finger hurt or maybe my phone screamed that it's battery was about to die on me.

Heat spilled slowly out of the events, barely even noticable with the layer upon layer of clothes I wore. October was slowly dwindling away, fall had already come and so too did the weather. Crisp air took the heat to the curb, dead leaves littered the roads and sidewalks in vibrant reds and oranges.

I scrolled for a bit more, until..him.

I knew better, but I read it. Some party. Tons of rich assholes. I felt like Robin Hood scoping out the venue. Checking the comments to find his wife dotting on her "precious husband being so calculated". My face immediately scrunched up in distaste. How could anyone marry someone so...fucking eager. Despite having sworn him and his lifestyle off months prior, I needed something. Drama, the thrill.

Goddamn addict I was, huh?

I settled into my seat before checking the details. Masquerade, black tie. Perfect, I could slip and be unnoticed. I could get him to catch the hint, to back off and leave me alone. And to let his wife know that I wasn't phased by her lame attempts at being Queen of the castle.

But didn't that mean she won? He won? What did that mean, actually? Was there some sort of secret to it all? Was I weak? Or was it me that was calcuated?

....Shit....

Setting my phone down, I switch the car into drive and pull out of my driveway, pulling out onto the street. One hand on the wheel, the other rubbing at my temple. Eyes dancing over the fathers raking leaves, kids chasing each other through yards and giggling, moms gossiping with their PTA mugs, probably filled to the brim with pumpkin spice coffee. And then there was me, driving my Santa Fe through Suburbia, U.S.A. and contemplating infiltrating the man of my wickedest dreams' fancy event.

I don't dress for women

I don't dress for men

Lately, I've been dressing for revenge

Shifting slightly in my seat, I pull out onto the main road and let the wind whipping past my car to fill my senses.

Will I see you there?

The cheeky motherfucker, his text coming through and showing across the display. Fingers tightening against the leather wheel and turning my knuckles white. How in the fuck did he know I was even looking at the post? Had I pressed something without realizing?

Grabbing my phone, I simply text back...

And who is this? Sorry, got a new phone.

"..." flashes only for a second before it's gone again and I'm dropping my phone back into the cup holder. Hoping my luck was coming in clutch and I had nothing to worry about. I had everything planned out and in the matter of a few words, shot down. Who did he think he was? Crawling back into my damn mind and nestling himself there like a parasite?

And there I was again, begging that he'd send me another text. That'd he tell me to meet him after midnight in some desloate hallway so he could hold me again. I'd live some sort of Taylor Swift fantasy with him where we'd fight and break up, only to say 'I love you' and everything fall back into place again.

My eyes land on my phone, only for a second. Nothing.

Wishful thinking, Atlas. Wishful.

The King. The Queen. And the goddamn fool.

The city came into view way too quickly. Tall buildings shooting towards the heavens in reflective glass. Neon signs turned off but ready for the nightlife. Traffic to the Gods spilling out at every street corner. Taxis shooting middle fingers up out their windows and blowing their horns out of frustration. I loved the city...on a good day.

I find the nearest parking lot and pull in. Knowing it was easier to walk the city then it was to drive. The car shuts off, the cold already creeping in as I step out and let my feet touch pavement. I shut the door behind me and press the lock button, waiting until the horn beeped to let me know the car was secured.

Exhaust now filled the air, vendors trying to pull in willing customers, the incessant clacking of heels against the worn sidewalks and the stench of bakeries and coffee shops. I knew the store by look but the name? Couldn't remember. An ideal shop to go to for events. Having gone there many times for weddings, funerals. You name it? I probably spent way too damn much on a suit.

And almost like that? Instrincts comes into view, a huge store that looked more like a bank. Windows adorned in jewels and fancy suits and dresses. Marbled pillars lining the front of the shop. Smirking, I take a photo of the store before posting it, solely with the emoji of a mask. No need to let anyone know of my next steps. At least...not yet.

Stepping in, I'm greeted by a woman dressed in all black. Stunning like a Kardashian almost. "Anything you need help with?" Nodding my head, I slip my phone into my pocket. "I'm looking to ruin someone's evening. Got anything that fits the description?"

Her lips twitch into an all-knowing smirk before ushering for me to follow her.

Guess you could say I'm on my vigilante shit.

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visceravalentines · 2 years ago

Text

Fireworks

Dad's Best Friend!Dilf!Bo Sinclair x AFAB!Reader

3k words Part 2 here!

Smut for days, fluff for weeks. Age gap, dad's best friend, oral, dirty talk, praise, creampie, reader is referred to as darlin' and baby girl and pretty.

Yeah yeah, today's the 4th of July, cheesy title, whatever. THIS IS THE MOST FUN I'VE HAD IN A WHILE. In fact I loved living in this little tableau I've created so much I'm planning a sequel?? Fuck dude, I am down so stupid bad for this dumb idiot man.

Tagging a few people who I think might enjoy this as much as I did. @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better, @slutforguts, @brandnewhuman, @fluffy-little-demon

If there was one thing your parents did right every time, it was their big summer bash.

Every year, when the temperature really started to ramp up, they invited the whole neighborhood over for barbecue, drinks, ice cream, and yard games. Their backyard pool was filled with kids bobbing like apples. There was often a waterslide, a water balloon toss, and sometimes fireworks once it got dark.

You had missed it the last few years, busy with summer semester at school. This year, however, you found yourself longing for a familiar setting and comfortable traditions. Even the incessant questions from neighbors you barely remembered would be worth the opportunity to be somewhere stable. Your parents, of course, were delighted, and swiftly roped you in to helping plan the menu, buy food and supplies, and set up the morning of the big day.

Wearing a new bikini underneath a band tee, you helped your mom arrange watermelon slices on a large platter, nestled soda and beer into coolers full of ice, and walked up and down the deck steps innumerable times carrying everything outside.

Although the party didn’t officially start until noon, people always began trickling in early, especially people close with your folks. The Swensons next door with their four boys arrived at 10:30. Two women from your mom’s book club arrived around 11. And when you made yet another trip down the deck stairs, you saw your dad on a ladder hanging decorations with the help of a tall, sandy-haired man you immediately recognized.

“Hey Dad, Mom wants to know if you want the stuff for the grill outside now or if you want to wait.” The man looked over his shoulder with a curious expression on his handsome face. “Hi, Mr. Sinclair.”

He broke into a grin. “Y/N, is that you? I’ll be damned.”

“It’s me.” You smiled sheepishly. His Southern accent had been the source of much conversation between you and your high school friends. You’d even dated some asshole from Mississippi for a while just to hear that honey-sweet drawl.

Mr. Sinclair handed your dad the other end of the banner he was hanging and turned to you. Were you imagining his ice-blue eyes flicking down to your bare legs and back up to your face? “You look good, darlin’. How’s college?”

Oh, you had forgotten that. How had you forgotten the way he called you darlin’? “Can’t complain,” you said. “I’ll graduate in another year.”

“Y’got big plans after that?” God, those eyes. Had they always been so piercing? You felt seen in a way that was intense, but not unpleasant.

“Not really. I’m waiting to see what opportunities open up, I guess.”

“Well, you’re a smart one, you’ll figure it out.”

Your mom yelled your name from the back door. You excused yourself and walked across the patio. The weight of a stare on your ass was tangible.

Just before you reached the deck stairs, you turned and looked back. He did not even try to hide the fact that yes, he had indeed been checking you out seconds before. His gaze swept up to your face at the most leisurely pace possible and he flashed you a subtle smirk. You felt the heat of a blush and tried not to race up the stairs.

The backyard filled up quickly as people began to arrive. Music wafted from the speakers mounted beneath the deck. The shriek of neighborhood kids and the splashing of pool water rounded out the suburbia soundtrack.

You answered the same questions over and over from friendly neighbors, helped your mom stave off several low-stakes emergencies, finally managed to extricate yourself from all party business long enough to shed your t-shirt and slip into the pool.

The shallow end was for splash fights. The deep end was for the older crowd. The water was cool but not cold, washing the sweat from your skin as you let yourself sink all the way down to the bottom. The muffling of sound and the sensation of even pressure on your skin helped you relax, clear your mind, until all that was left was the thought of a mechanic’s rough hands.

You had bet on a lot of things, coming home for this event. Mr. Sinclair’s killer jawline was not one of them.

In one burst, you launched yourself back up to the surface. Wiping the water from your eyes and nose, you kicked to the wall, hauled yourself up and out of the pool. As you toweled off your face and arms, you scanned the crowd. Sure enough, you found him, barely a participant in the conversation at hand, gaze locked on you as he drained the dregs from his beer bottle.

He was going to need another, wasn’t he? You were sort of the host of this party too, right?

You wrapped the towel around your hips and snagged two beers from a cooler. You pretended you couldn’t quite hear Mrs. Swenson flagging you down and made a beeline for the tall man breaking away from the conversation.

“Hey, Mr. Sinclair,” you said, darting in front of him. The way he lit up upon seeing you made your stomach flip. “I grabbed you a beer.”

“Well ain’t you the sweetest thing.” He accepted the bottle from you and this time, there was no mistaking the way his eyes drank in your exposed skin. “Call me Bo, darlin’.” He took a swig. You tried and failed at not staring at his lips. “You enjoyin’ yourself?”

“Yeah, it’s good to be back. Summer on campus is boring.”

“Can’t help but notice you didn’t bring anyone home with you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Yeah…not a lot of luck in that department.”

He grinned at you. “What, a pretty thing like you? Now that’s a cryin’ shame.”

“Oh, believe me, there has been crying.”

His smile cooled, just a little. “Any o’ them kids hurt your feelings, darlin’, you give me a call. I’ll teach ‘em a lesson for you.”

Something told you he wasn’t joking. “Well, if you ever come across Bradley from Gulfport, you have my permission to kick his ass.”

He laughed. “Duly noted. What did Bradley from Gulfport have goin’ for him?”

You pinched your tongue between your teeth. “…a Southern accent.”

The smile this triggered sent a heatwave rolling beneath your skin. “That’s all it takes, huh?” You bit your lip and could not look at him. “You gotta watch out for those Southern boys, there’s only two kinds. They’re either gentlemen or scoundrels, every one of ‘em.”

You boosted your courage with a mouthful of beer. “Which one are you, Bo?”

He studied you for a long time before answering. “The kind who doesn’t want your daddy noticin’ the way I’m lookin’ at his daughter.”

You were wet, and it was not from the pool.

Clearing your throat, you said, “I think I’m…going to go change. Probably not getting back in the water.”

He nodded once. “Fair enough.”

You took two steps before adding, “I’ll be upstairs, if you need anything.” Again, shocked at your own brazenness, it took everything in you not to run up the steps.

The house was cold and quiet. You made your way down the hall, hung the towel over the shower curtain rod, nudged your bedroom door almost completely closed. Slowly, you undid your bikini, practically tingling with anticipation. Would he actually follow you up here? What if he did? You took your sweet time picking out a pair of underwear and a new t-shirt. You held off on the shorts and the bra. How long should you wait before you went back out there?

Just as you were about to give up and pull on the rest of your clothes, there came a soft rap on the door. You took hold of the handle and opened it just a little further, peeking into the hallway.

There stood Bo Sinclair, bold as brass, looking somehow both smug and earnest. “I missed you,” he said.

You reached out, grabbed his hand, tugged him into your bedroom and shut the door. With fluid grace, he spun you around, pushed you against the door, set his hands lightly on your waist. You were breathing hard already. “D’you want this, darlin’?” he whispered.

You nodded. “Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

He tilted your chin up with his thumb, kissed you with those lips. He tasted like beer and cigarettes and some indescribable sweetness. Your hands found his chest, still broad and muscular, and he felt hot beneath the fabric of his shirt. He broke the kiss, met your eyes, then kissed you again, deeper this time, his tongue playing at the edge of your teeth. A soft moan rose to your lips.

He pulled away again, looked at you seriously. “If you want me to stop, I’ll stop,” he said.

You shook your head. “No. I want more.” Your hand slid down his front, palmed at him through his jeans.

He cocked his head, a smile creeping across his face. “You’re a little minx, ain’t you.” He thrust his hips against you, pushed his knee in between your thighs. “Lemme show you a good time, baby girl.” He kissed down your neck, into the hollow of your throat, his fingertips brushing the skin just underneath the hem of your shirt. You arched your back, pressing against him, still caught up in a measure of disbelief that this was actually happening.

Bo took your hands and pulled you toward your bed. It was a full, barely bigger than a twin, hopefully big enough for two – you’d never tried it before. He sat on the edge, guided you onto his lap with your legs wrapped around his waist, showered you with kisses while he ran his hands over your legs, your ass.

You took hold of his shirt, worked it up his torso and off of him. His shoulders were dusted with freckles, soft blonde hair on his chest. His eyes gleamed. “Fair is fair, darlin’.”

You stripped off your own shirt, tossed it to the floor. Bo muttered an expletive under his breath. He traced his thumb over your nipple and it hardened instantly, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to your core. “You’re too pretty, baby,” he murmured. “I wanna wreck you.”

Wrapping your arms around him, you pulled yourself against his body, kissed his collarbones, his shoulders. You could feel him getting hard underneath you and you rolled your hips experimentally once, twice. He made a delightful sound in his throat, his grip tightening on your love handles.

“Let me worship you, darlin’,” he said against your temple.

“Please,” you breathed.

He twisted, laid you down on the bed, kissed you sweetly and then wandered his mouth down your body, little by little, until his fingers were tucked in the waistband of your underwear and his breath was warm on your lower stomach. His baby blue eyes, alight with mischief, locked on yours.

“Now, you gotta be quiet. Wouldn’t wanna get you in trouble.”

You nodded quickly, the blanket already balled up in your fists.

Bo eased your panties down your thighs slowly. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to steady your breathing, and when his tongue first slipped through your lips you let out an involuntary ohh.

“Ah-ah, what did I say?” You could hear the grin in his voice. “Be good for me or I might have to give you a spankin’, and it won’t be like the kind your daddy used to give you.”

You writhed. You disheveled the sheets. You bit your lip hard as he worked you over, sucking your clit, teasing your entrance. These were not the bewildered ministrations of a reluctant frat boy. This man was indeed worshipping you and doing it well, and the pleasure building steadily deep inside you was enough to make you want to scream.

Finally, when you truly could not take it anymore, you choked out his name, grabbed at his hair. He looked up, licked you off his lips, kissed the inside of your thigh. “What d’you need, baby girl?”

“I-I….”

“God, you look good.” He crept up the length of your body, cradled your head to bring your lips up to his. “Such a mess for me.”

You ran your hands through his chest hair. “Bo,” you whimpered.

“Yes, darlin’?”

“I need you.”

“You need me where?”

“I need you…to fuck me…please?”

He exhaled sharply. “You are hellbent on gettin’ me in trouble, ain’t you.” He trailed a finger down your breastbone. “Teasin’ me with that beautiful body…askin’ me so nicely.”

“Please, Bo.”

He pressed his lips to your forehead, nuzzled your ear. “Has anyone ever made you cum in this bed?” he whispered.

“No,” you whispered back.

“Mmm.” He cupped your breast, squeezed firmly. “I bet you’d look mighty fine on top of me.” He slipped away from you, pulled off his jeans and boxers. You made room for him on the bed, straddled his hips, eyeing his length. He folded his arms above his head and stretched languidly. “Take it slow, darlin’. I like the view.”

You rubbed yourself against him, your already-sensitive clit dangerously tender. The two of you moaned in concert, the friction between you intoxicating. He felt good between your folds, beneath your hands, his stomach firm under a cushion of fat. You canted your hips in a steady rhythm until he was slick with your arousal. With his tip at your entrance, you pressed down carefully, not quite enough to push him into you, and smiled at him, held him there.

“Wicked,” he scolded. “You bet your ass I’ll remember this for next time.”

“Next time?”

“Oh, there will most assuredly be a next time.”

This lit up your insides more than you expected and you lowered yourself onto him all the way in one smooth motion. You gasped. He groaned. His hands left their place on the pillow to take hold of your hips. He rocked you back and forth at an easy pace and you felt him flex inside you.

“Oh, Bo.”

“Quit.” He slapped the side of your ass. “My stamina ain’t what it used to be and if you throw that in the mix we are in for a short ride.”

You giggled, leaned back for a better angle, and sighed contentedly. When you opened your eyes, you found him staring at you with open admiration. Bending over his chest, you kissed him deeply, your skin alight with his touch. You rode him methodically for what could have been hours, hands on your breasts, biting back the little sounds he drew out of you.

At last he took your jaw in his hand, commanded your attention. “Now, darlin’. You’re gonna cum for me hard and you’re gonna look me in the eyes while you do it. Y’understand?”

Your breath caught in your throat. “Yes sir.”

He gave you a look. “I’m gonna remember that for next time too.”

He took a firm grasp on your thighs, adjusted his hips, and began to thrust into you with unexpected force. Your mouth fell open in an O and your eyes rolled back in your head. “Look at me, darlin’, look at me.” You refocused, teeth pinning your lip, his expression positively sinful. You felt yourself begin to come apart and clawed at his chest. “That’s it, baby, so pretty.”

You couldn’t keep back the whine bubbling up in your lungs any longer, keening helplessly, whole body a mass of snapping nerves. His long, soft lashes fluttered as he finished inside you with a low grunt, clenching your flesh hard enough to leave marks.

Panting, you sank onto his shoulder and he wove his arms around you. “You did so well for me,” he mumbled, kissing your brow. “Such a sweet thing.”

You curled into his side while he stroked your back, traced the lines your nails left in his skin. “You know…I’ve never….”

He grew immediately serious. “You’ve never what?”

“I’ve never had sex in this bed at all.”

Bo huffed out a sigh of relief. “Jesus Christ, Y/N, you’re gonna give an old fuck like me a heart attack.”

You giggled. “Sorry.”

“I can’t be goin’ around deflowerin’ young women, they’d kill me in the streets.” He gave you a tender kiss. “Probably kill me for this anyway.”

“Too bad, I’ll miss you.”

He gave your ass an affectionate smack. “Speakin’ of missin’, we’d both better get back out there before they send a search party.”

“When can I see you again?”

“In about five minutes when you put your clothes back on and get out there and pretend like you weren’t just fucked stupid by your daddy’s best friend.”

“That is not what I meant.”

“Oh, what’d y’mean?”

“When can I see you again like this?” You ran your thumb along his jaw.

“Well, how long are you in town for?”

“The rest of the summer.”

He let out a low whistle. “Is that so? Y’know, I’ve been meanin’ to hire some help at the shop. How ‘bout I pay you and let you fuck me?”

“Would that be weird?”

“You tell me, baby girl.”

“Nah, I don’t think so.”

“Well then I don’t neither.” He kissed you one last time. “Consider yourself hired. Great interview. Put your clothes on.”

You socked his ribs and wiggled away. He watched you dress and you slipped out of the room, sneaking back to the party well before he did. No one seemed to have noticed either of your absence, and you managed to play it cool for the rest of the afternoon.

When the sun fell at last and the streetlights turned on, everyone congregated on the front lawn for a fireworks show. Your dad always went for the ones that were technically illegal and to this day no one gave him grief about it.

With everyone’s eyes on the sky, you sidled up beside Bo, standing behind the crowd near the house. You didn’t dare take his hand, but you leaned against his arm, and a smile appeared on his lips, and that was enough.

#bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair fanfiction #dilf bo sinclair #slasher x reader #my writing #bo sinclair

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tomanpeach · 3 years ago

Text

the boyfriendification of ran haitani

a/n: 18+!!!! nsfw!!! this is exactly what it sounds like. i've been trying to write this for DAYS and HERE SHE IS tbh i could've gone on forever ran has moved into my brain and is living completely rent free please somebody get him OUT of there!!!

content: alcohol / drinking, smoking, fingering, nipple play, spanking, sex!!, maybe a little bit of misogyny? kinda?? some of the boys sanzu talk about girls a little crazy oy

word count: 7,114

it wasn’t the first time you’d been to octagon. your friends had dragged you to the fancy, new nightclub downtown for its opening weekend and had fallen in love with the gaudy atmosphere. they had gotten into the habit of splurging on a night out there whenever one of you was in need of a pick-me-up. a pick-me-up in the form of a lux night surrounded by rich assholes, bottle service, and flashing lights, of course. so no, it wasn't your first time at octagon, but it was, however, the first time you’d been bent over the counter top in its single stall bathroom while a gorgeous stranger took you from behind. definitely a first.

from the moment he'd locked eyes with you from his table across the dance floor, you wanted him. you had found him incredibly handsome, especially compared to the usual slimeballs that frequented the place. it wasn't a secret that most men went to octagon with the hope of their private table and bottle upon bottle of top shelf liquor being enough to win the attention and company of beautiful women, regardless of how old or gross they were themselves.

ran haitani was neither old nor gross. he seemed to be in his late twenties, tall and slim, with a cigarette danging from his lips. he held himself in a way that said i know i'm better than everyone here and it is fucking hilarious. he had an amused look on his sharp, angular face that never seemed to shake. he watched you with calculating eyes, as if deciding if you were worth the chase. and you were enough shots into the night that you decided to flirt and wink back at him, shaking your ass in his direction for just a moment before turning back to your friends to tease him. when two enormous hands firmly gripped your waist, you knew it was him. you allowed him to run his greedy hands up and down your sides, arousal beginning to pool in your panties as he danced closer to you. as you arched your back, you were met with the feeling of his hard cock pressing into your ass while those massive hands pulled you flush against him. the size of him nearly made your mouth water. it wasn’t much longer before his whiskey scented breath was hot at your cheek, a sensual rumble of a voice tickling your ear, “can we go somewhere to be alone?”

next thing you knew, you were locked in the bathroom, stuffed full of this man’s veiny length. one of his hands had tightened around your throat. the other came down onto your ass cheek with a sharp slap every so often, making you yelp. you could barely hear your own cries of pleasure over the booming bass of the dance music just outside the door. ran was pounding into you at a pace that made your legs wobble. thankfully, he had you pressed against the counter with a hand gripping your hip for support. the hand around your neck released to take a fist full of your hair and drag you up against his chest. “you’re so fucking tight,” he growls in your ear. “how’d i get this lucky? didn’t even wanna go out tonight but here i am with this tight fucking pussy squeezing the shit out of my dick.” you can’t take your eyes off the pornographic scene taking place in the mirror in front of you as he continues thrusting up into you.

ran is watching too, and he's desperate to see more of you. he uses his free hand to hike your dress up even higher until it’s bunched up at your stomach. you're completely exposed, tits bouncing freely, soiled panties pushed aside to make way for the intrusion into your slick heat. his size is making it impossible to stay quiet. you’re moaning and whimpering with every thrust as the head of his thick cock bruises your cervix. the pain and pleasure have become one and between that and the alcohol you’re feeling like you’re floating.

the way you’re wrapped so tightly around him, pussy swallowing him up completely and dragging him back in each time he pulls almost all the way out of you, ran can't get enough. he’s watching you hungrily as your mouth hangs open, a constant string of curse words and cries streaming out. his eyes lock onto the place where he’s disappearing inside you, the place dripping with your arousal and making a mess all down your thighs and onto his dark pants.

"tell me how good you feel, baby," his face is next to yours, talking to your reflection in the mirror. "s-so good," you sputter. sweat and tears have ruined your makeup and you look absolutely wrecked. it's fuckin beautiful, ran thinks. "lemme hear youuu," he whines, grin only growing. "come onnn. tell me you love this." "i love it, i really love it, fuck." it's not a lie, either. you can't remember ever being fucked like this in your entire life. he's hitting deeper than any guy you've ever been with, and with a girth that's stretching you to the point of almost being painful. but you love it, you really do.

you watch in silent desperation as one of his hands starts to snake down your thigh, long fingers beginning to circle your clit. the added stimulation has you screaming, orgasm approaching like a bullet train. "scream my fuckin name," he orders, teasing voice taking on just a hint of sternness. "ran."

you did as you were told, repeating his name over and over, louder and louder, drowning out the sound of his balls slapping against you, nearly matching the volume of the music outside. "that's right," he laughs, fingers speeding up as he feels your walls tense around him. "cum on this cock, gorgeous. let me hear you." you do, hard, eyes practically rolling back in your head. you cry out his name just as he had told you to, a few swears following as his hands grab onto your waist and starts forcing your hips down to meet his thrusts. he's groaning now, the way your orgasm has you fluttering around him bringing on his own orgasm. you feel the heat as he fills the condom deep inside you, arms caging you in as he grips the counter for support. he bucks his hips up a couple more times– both of you making desperate sounds at the overstimulation– and pulls out. he trashes the condom and tucks himself back into his boxers.

your knees threaten to buckle under you so you turn quickly to lean back against the counter for support. he laughs, leaning close to kiss you for what feels like the very first time that night. it's sloppy and a little rough, tasting like whiskey and cigarettes, but for some reason it exhilarates you. he pulls away and cocks his head to one side.

"what's your name, pretty little thing?"

you tell him and he grins, repeating it back to you slowly, savoring each sound. "you have got the absolute tightest, juiciest pussy i've ever put my dick in."

you wince a bit at his lewd words and how casually he's said them. you mumble a slightly sarcastic thanks and start to adjust your clothes, pulling the straps of your dress back over your shoulders, tugging the hem down to where it belongs. he watches you with amusement, that same smirk still on his lips. you wet a paper towel and lean in close to the mirror to try and wipe away your smudged makeup. when you turn back to ran you see him slipping your phone into your purse.

"hey!" you startle him but he just as quickly regains his usual expression. "what are you–"

"i'd really like to do this again," he cuts you off, checking something on his own phone with a satisfied smile. "pleasure meeting you." he tips your head up and kisses you once. you watch in stunned silence as he unlocks the bathroom door and exits. you catch a glimpse of a line that has formed just outside.

"oh, you've gotta be fucking kidding me," a voice groans seeing ran exit.

"someone sounds jealous!" a laugh follows ran's words.

when the door shuts again, you lock it quickly and pull your phone from your bag to see what he'd done. your screen lights up revealing that he had sent a text, presumably to himself. the message simply reads, "best fuck i've ever had"

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despite sending it to himself, it's weeks before ran uses your number. you had almost started to believe he would never actually text. which wasn't the worst thing in the world. sure, it had actually been the best fuck of your life, but you had decided that fucking strangers wasn't something you were into anymore. shortly after you'd met ran, you'd hooked up with a friend of a friend after a night out, and it had been one of the least sexy encounters you'd ever had. and then, a few weeks after that, sex with a guy from a dating app had ended with him crying on top of you, realizing he wasn't over his ex. yeah, hooking up with strangers was proving to be a dead end.

you were confident in your decision to stay away from all that. even when a text came through from an unsaved number, the only other message ever exchanged with it being best fuck i've ever had. ran.

remember me? :)

you stare at the message for a few seconds and locked your phone. you had just sat down in the corner of your favorite cafe with a latte and your laptop to get some work done and you weren't going to let mr. best fuck i've ever had derail your productive morning.

ignoring me? my feelings are hurt!

the message alarms you just a little. but before you can wonder how he knew you were ignoring him intentionally, you receive another text.

mind if i join you?

you look up as a looming presence arrives at the seat across from you. it's ran, looking just as you remember, maybe even more handsome than in your memory, now that you were looking at him with sober eyes. "so?" he smirks, quirking an eyebrow. you nod, motioning politely to the chair and he sits.

he's wearing a suit, or half of one. he's got on a crisp white button down and slacks with the jacket slung over his arm. the clothes fit him perfectly, every stitch and fold falling just where it should as if they were tailored just for him. which they probably were. over the collar of his shirt peeks the top of a tattoo that adorns his throat. you wonder why you hadn't noticed it back at the club. it was pretty hard to focus on anything other than his cock. you banish the thought from your mind. that was behind you. with his polished appearance, his hidden tattoos, and knowing smile, ran exudes an overwhelming aura of power and wealth. it's a bit intimidating.

"fuck, do i feel lucky to have run into you," he settles back in his chair, eyeing you mischievously. "what are you working on?" you notice his gaze on your laptop. "emails," you say simply, stupidly. he's hard to have a conversation with, you can't stop thinking about that word: intimidating.

"nothing urgent, i hope?" he sips his coffee, deep violet eyes flickering, hinting that there was more to the question.

you just stare back at him, waiting for it. "if you're free, why don't you come back to my place? it's really close to here."

"i'm not free," you reply evenly. "i told you, i'm working."

"oh, come on," he rolls his eyes petulantly. "you'd rather send emails than come with me and get the best dick of your life again?" you look away from him and open your computer, "sorry, i'm not interested."

he shuts your laptop with one large hand, leaning across the table toward you, "i don't believe you." his tone is still pleasant and lighthearted as it seems to always be, but he's clearly not used to hearing an answer that isn't yes. "you were begging for me at the club. don't you remember?"

"i do but–" you open your computer again and he shuts it abruptly. "i'm really not like that."

“like what?" his tone is changing, it's patronizing, belittling, an attempt to coax a yes out of you. "a horny little slut telling me how much she loved getting her tight fuckin hole filled in the bathroom of that club?”

"you got lucky," you bite back. "we're not in a club, now. i'm not fucked up, and i'm not just hooking up with you because you look good in a suit."

"you think i look good?" his smile grows, mocking.

“whatever, ran," you start to collect your things, suddenly frustrated. he'd shown up and interrupted your day, expecting you to just drop everything to go fuck him. not this time. "think what you want, but if you're really trying to fill this tight little hole again, it definitely won’t be like this.” you turn to walk away leaving him completely stunned and surprisingly aroused...

you're just starting down the sidewalk outside when the bell on the cafe's door chimes again behind you. ran's hand circles your wrist and pulls you to a stop abruptly. he turns you toward him.

"fine," his jaw is tight. "i'll play along. what do you want me to do? get you fuckin flowers or some shit?"

it's your turn to feel smug. as powerful as he seemed, as he carried himself to appear, there had clearly been a shift in the dynamic. the subtle annoyance you'd caused in the world's most easygoing man was thrilling. you felt like the ball was suddenly in your court.

"let’s get dinner."

"buy me dinner first," he mocks, putting on a high pitched voice.

"you’re the one begging to fuck me," you remind him sharply.

he quiets. “fine."

you're shocked he's agreed but try not to show it on your face.

"8?" he continues. "i’ll pick you up."

----------------------------------------------------------------

the sight outside your apartment stuns you into silence. ran, dressed in a dress shirt and slacks, the shirt looser and more stylish than the one he'd had on at the coffee shop, smoking a cigarette leaned against the hood of his car. with the first few buttons of his shirt undone you can see his tattoo clearly. just below his collarbone are a few dark swirls of ink, telling you there are more tattoos on his chest. you briefly wonder what they look like, what they mean.

he flicks his cigarette butt into the gutter before his eyes come to rest on you as you approach. the corner of his mouth curls up in a grin but he says nothing. "i didn't expect you to drive a batmobile," you say simply, gesturing to the sleek black car. ran laughs, loose and genuine. the sound somehow calms your nerves. "it's a bugatti. batmobile prob'ly woulda been cheaper, though." you laugh, surprised at his humor. but much to your disappointment, the car ride that follows is relatively silent.

the restaurant ran has chosen is a steakhouse, one of the finest in the city you learn from a quick google search as you exit the car. he hands the keys to the valet and you can barely make out a whispered threat of what he'll do if anything happens to his precious car. you watch a wave of fear wash over the young man as ran claps him on the back dismissively. "you scared him," you frown. "good," ran says casually. "that car costs more than he'll make in his entire life." you call him a number of mean names in your head. great date so far.

ran gives his name at the front, the host looking just as fear stricken as the valet as he leads the two of you to a table in a bustling VIP room. you sit down, eyes flitting from table to table, observing the other kinds of people with the same reservation privileges as ran. older men and women in expensive suits and cocktail dresses laughing and drinking wine, middle aged business men celebrating closed deals, and a handful of other couples enjoying each other on dates. "i hope you eat meat," ran smiles briefly.

the rest of the night passes with no more than 20 words exchanged between you. your displeasure is growing with each time ran checks his watch or rolls his eyes at you. as your plates are cleared, ran refills both your glasses of wine. you've convinced yourself you're calling a taxi home after this glass. you'd enjoy an expensive meal paid for by this mysterious, exorbitantly rich man and leave with your dignity in tact. you weren't going home with him, not after this pitiful attempt at a date.

"somethin wrong?" he asks with a patronizing tilt of his head.

"no," you lean in. "just wondering why you're choosing to be so insufferable."

ran's eyes narrow the slightest bit, "what ever could you mean, darlin?"

"you're acting like a child. i get that getting to know someone before fucking them is a brand new concept to you, but it's what we agreed on–"

"i agreed to dinner," he corrects, raising his glass to his lips. you want to reach across the table and slap the grin from his face.

"right, a dinner so i could get to know you," you're speaking through gritted teeth. "that was my only request, because i don't want to fuck a stranger–"

"honey, you already fucked a stranger and, if i remember correctly, you fucking loved it."

you blink back at him making a move to grab your purse.

"aww, come on," he chuckles. the sound feels like a punch to the gut.

his hand closes around yours on the table, his grip almost too tight. you look up at him, ready to protest, when you see that his eyes are dark, warning you not to leave. "i'm sorry. really. put down your bag."

for the first time all night there's not a hint of teasing in his voice. the sudden authenticity startles you enough to keep you in your seat. your eyes can't seem to unglue themselves from his. you feel your hand release your clutch, shoulders relaxing. the remaining shred of control you'd felt earlier in the day was completely overwhelmed by his commanding gaze. the tone of the evening had shifted.

"what do you want to know about me?" he asks, his usual smile back on his lips. his hand is still holding yours, thumb stroking over the back delicately.

there are a million things you want to know, each question seeming more important than the one before it as they bubble in your brain. you decide on something simple.

"what's your last name?"

his smile widens, "good question, baby. haitani."

"and what do you do?"

instead of answering, he takes out his phone and unlocks it. he hands it over to you on a new internet tab, "google me."

you hesitate but he seems insistent. ran haitani. search.

the first thing to come up are pictures of him. paparazzi shots, professional headshots, press photos at company events, something resembling a mugshot.

under the pictures are a list of links to articles mentioning his name. you gulp, trying to conceal your reaction to the headlines, and probably doing a terrible job of it.

"bonten inc. executive ran haitani could face criminal charges"

"ran haitani: genius business mogul or nefarious mob boss?"

"police commissioner assures no links found between bonten inc. and citywide gang activity following investigation"

"haitani brothers acquitted of charges following month long trial"

your mind had chosen to analyze the new information quite calmly. he was an executive of a huge company. that explained the money, the clothes, the attitude. gang activity. criminal charges. mob boss. you remembered the look of terror in the faces of the valet and the restaurant host. now that you thought about it, you had even seen it from other patrons when they risked a peek over to your table.

blame it on being naive, but for some reason, you didn't feel afraid of him. you pass his phone back wordlessly, noticing how carefully he was watching your face for some kind of reaction. "learn anything good?" he asks, sliding the phone back into his pocket.

you nod, "you have a brother."

his brows draw together for a moment, scrutinizing your expressionless face. you barely last another moment before you both burst out laughing. ran isn't sure why your reaction has him feeling so delighted, but it does. googling his name had been meant as a mean trick, a surefire way to terrify you and run you out of the restaurant. so for you to react with a joke of your own... had he met his match? he feels his cock twitch in his tight pants.

----------------------------------------------------------------

once all ran's cards are on the table, the whole night inexplicably shifts. you stay there much longer with him, actually talking, finishing the expensive bottle of wine he'd gotten together. a newfound passion seems to overtake ran as he tells you more about what he does (in slightly vague terms, for obvious reasons). even more surprising is how the things you tell him fascinate him, your world being so starkly different from his. it's intoxicating, the way you light up as you speak, hands gesturing and eyes sparkling. he thinks it's perfect that you work for a non-profit– something to do with helping kids in need– because after these few hours of being in your presence, he knows he'd donate millions if you asked.

"we should probably get going...?" you mumble when you notice that most of the diners have disappeared. ran feels a pang of disappointment, realizing the night may be nearing its end. what you see, though, is a casual smile and a nod as he stands up and offers you his arm. clinging to him, you let him lead you out of the restaurant. as you stand beside him waiting for the valet to get his car, he wraps his hand around yours wordlessly. the gesture is so small, so sweet, you wonder if he had even done it intentionally. nonetheless, you feel giddy, however out of character it was for him.

"how'd i do?" he asks quietly. you're not sure what to make of the question. "how was tonight?"

you try to hold back your smug smile. "well, you definitely don't feel like such a stranger anymore." he laughs, a soft exhale. you squeeze his hand to get him to look at you. "aren't you going to invite me back to your place?"

he gives in to the urge to kiss you, large hands cupping your cheeks, holding you in place as he bends to press his lips to yours. "you're a fuckin tease," he mumbles against your lips, making you giggle. "shut up and take me home," you smirk. the car pulls up and ran is feeling triumphant. he slaps a hundred dollar bill into the valet's hand, "thanks, man. g'night." the guy looks shocked to be receiving such a large bill, especially from someone who had threatened to gouge his eyes out with car keys just hours earlier.

"that was very generous," you note, once you're both inside the cavernous vehicle. "i'm in a good mood," he shrugs, smiling out at the road. the car zooms out of the parking lot with a roar, ran driving with one hand on the wheel and the other on your thigh.

as you pull through the guard gate and descend down the winding tunnel to the underground parking lot of ran's place, you start to giggle. ran glances over at you as you try to contain yourself. he gives your thigh a squeeze, "what's so funny?" you shake your head dismissively. pulling into his parking spot, he cuts the engine and turns to face you. another devilish giggle slips out and you know you have to spill.

sheepishly, you place your hand over his on your leg, tracing nervous circles onto the back of it. "fuck me here. in the batmobile."

"shit," ran snorts out a laugh, already pulling you over the center console and onto his lap. "whatever you say, baby."

as soon as you're straddling his hips, he slides the hem of your dress up your thighs, letting it bunch up at your hips and reveal your lacy black panties. "pretty," he grins, knuckles running over your clothed slit. "d'ya wear these just for me? pictured me taking em off you?" you whimper, already turned on by his feather-light touches and teasing words. as you fumble with ran's belt, his massive hands have each one of your tits in their grip, squeezing hard. "fuck," he breathes, finding the zipper at the nape of your neck and tugging it down. you slide your arms out of the straps so that ran can peel the bodice down toward your stomach, revealing your tits to him in their lacy confines. "look at these!" he sounds overjoyed, giving them another squeeze. he pulls the cups of your bra down at the same time. he meets your eyes before giving each of your nipples a firm pinch. you whimper, eyebrows furrowing. "aww, sensitive, huh?" he fakes sympathy, pinching again, harder. he rolls the hardening buds between his thumbs and forefingers, "i feel fucking cheated. i didn't get to play with these gorgeous tits last time. what do you have to say for yourself, hmm?"

you moan as his lips wrap around one nipple, fingers twisting and rubbing the other. "s-sorry," you whine. "sorry's fuckin right," he says, mouth full of your breast. as he releases it with a wet pop to move to the other side, his hand comes up between your parted legs. as he suckles at your nipples, fingertips nudge themselves under the fabric of your underwear. "please. touch me." in response he presses his slender middle finger into your already dripping hole. a second finger follows closely after. his thumb presses down firmly on your clit, running over it slickly using the arousal that's leaking around his fingers and pooling into his palm. "you're fuckin filthy," ran's tone makes it sound like something between a praise and an insult. "listen to how wet you are already. you just love havin somethin fuckin in and outta this little cunt, huh?" you nod desperately, burying your face in his neck as the squelching sounds of his fingers in your pussy fill the car.

a sharp slap comes down on your ass cheek and knocks the wind out of you. "take my cock out, baby. want you to see how fuckin hard i am feelin you leakin all over my fuckin hand." you had almost forgotten you'd started to unbutton his pants, before he'd shoved his fingers into you, that is. he spanks you again and you yelp, "too hard!" he chuckles darkly, but still presses a kiss to your temple and mumbles out a "sorry, baby." you finally get his fly down and he lifts his hips to help you tug his pants and boxers down to his thighs. his cock stands upright, angry red tip resting against the firm muscles of his stomach. because he'd taken you from behind in the club, you hadn't actually gotten a good look at his member. the size of it was shocking. "it fit?" you ask in disbelief. he strokes your cheek, smiling at you with amusement, "'course it did. you were such a good girl for me. gonna be a good girl again?"

you respond by lifting your hips and positioning yourself over his length. your hands grip his shoulders for support. he holds your waist in one hand and the base of his cock in the other. he runs the tip between your lips a few times, your arousal coating the head and running down his shaft. finally, he pulls you down, tip pushing inside your clenching hole. the stretch is a million times more intense when you're on top, you decide. as ran sheaths himself inside you in one swift motion, you feel as if the air has been stolen from your lungs.

before you've caught your breath, he's lifting you back up and slamming you down again. you can't help the yells, whimpers, and moans that fill the tiny space around you two. you drop your head to his shoulder as he thrusts his hips up into you. he takes your tits into his mouth again, "fuckin obsessed with your body. you feel so good, baby." something possesses you to say it back, "fuckin obsessed with your cock." the words send him into a frenzy. his hips speed up, the sound of skin on skin getting louder and more frequent as he pistons into your hole. you cling to him, fingernails leaving crescent shapes where they've dug into his skin.

ran pants an order, "touch yourself. wanna feel you cum on my cock." your fingers rub around your clit, bringing you even closer to the edge. "fuck, ran," you whimper, all the sensations becoming too much. "louder." "ran! fuck, oh my god, ran!"

you see stars as your high hits like a freight train. you're barely aware of how tightly your walls have clenched around ran, how they've drawn out his release, milking him of every last drop. he makes no move to pull out, simply lets himself soften while buried deep within your cunt. but you wiggle your hips, too sensitive to have him there much longer. "tsk," he shakes his head in fake disappointment and lifts you off of him. he keeps you in his lap, though, wrapped up in his long arms. he reaches into the back seat, grabbing the suit jacket he'd had on earlier in the day. you almost blush as he drapes it over your shoulders. you kiss him in thanks. the kiss turns into a few more kisses and soon you're straddling him again, looking into his face.

"was it really so bad?" you ask, teasing. "going on a date?" he lets his head loll back as your lips leave a trail of kisses from his collarbone up to his jaw. "not bad with you," he turns his head and catches your lips with his. he grips your ass in his hands to pull you closer. "and not after this." "worth it, right?" you giggle against his mouth. "i might even consider doing it again." your tiny gasp makes him laugh. "yeah, yeah," he chuckles. "whatever." cradling his face in your hands, you smile devilishly. "if you agree to another date, maybe we can go upstairs and do this again," you whisper in his ear. "fuck. deal."

----------------------------------------------------------------

"alright," sanzu calls attention to himself, a bit too loudly as usual, as he walks into the room. "strip club. on west 44th street. i bought it."

"you said you would and you did," koko nods, impressed. "good for you."

"thank you!" the pink haired man points at his colleague triumphantly. "we're celebrating the new ownership tonight, and i want you all there. got it?" the other bonten execs agree, nodding or chiming in from around the room.

"ra-a-an," sanzu sing songs, noticing his colleague's lack of a response. "complimentary lap dance from the bitch with the tittie piercings if you show up tonight. i know she's your favorite."

"pass," ran calls around a cigarette, absorbed in whatever he was doing on his laptop.

"you can't pass, dick, it's a big night!" sanzu retorts, clearly offended.

"i'm seeing someone tonight."

rindou scoffs and ran throws him a look.

“you’re fuckin pussy whipped, idiot,” rin rolls his eyes.

"no way," sanzu scoffs. "no way you're seeing that same fuckin girl."

ran is silent, he continues trying to drown out sanzu's voice. the truth is, he was still seeing the same girl. it had been nearly four months since you and ran had met at the club and, as out of character as it was for him, he hadn't been with anyone else. hadn't even thought about it. he really didn't mind going on dates with you, enjoyed them even. in the last couple weeks he'd even started trying to choose some of the outings so you wouldn't have to plan them all. unlike most of his past flings, you were worth seeing again. and again, and again, and again. he liked being in your company, had grown to enjoy and long for the times you got to spend together, even fully clothed.

ran was definitely not "boyfriend material" in the traditional sense. he'd never considered that he could ever be a relationship guy. his job was dangerous and demanding. it ran the risk of pulling him away at a moment's notice and keeping him off the grid for long periods of time with no explanation. it had shaped him into the man you met at the club, a man of strip clubs, hookers, and, yes, getting his dick wet with random girls in club bathrooms.

with you, ran had it all. someone to confide in, someone to be intimate with, someone that gave him a reason to make his free time non-bonten time. it had been less than 24 hours after your first date at the steakhouse that he had realized how fucking good and different it felt to be around you. after years of the same shit with bonten or all the gangs that came before it, of course he was going to pursue this new possibility.

sanzu takes ran's silence as an answer, "fuck, ran, is it??" he howls with laughter. “did you go soft on us, man? got wifed up and lost your edge or some shit?”

“first, shut the fuck up. second, you would be doin the exact same fuckin thing if you knew how tight that shit is.” the regret for his words comes instantly.

“alright, then help me understand,” sanzu teases. “you plannin on sharin with the class?”

something ugly starts to boils deep in ran’s stomach. he's never once felt this sort of annoyance– the kind that borders on genuine anger– while simply joking with the boys. he wanted to abruptly end the conversation, didn’t want a single other person thinking about his girl and her pretty lips and tight little body and perfect fuckin cunt anymore or ever again. it was for him, him only. he wanted to swing at sanzu, knock him out of his fucking chair and leave the room. but where the fuck was that coming from? it didn't feel like ran at all.

so ran pushes the feelings down and does as normal ran would, diverting sanzu's attention away from his changing persona and the woman who had caused it, away from his clearly shifted views on women, sex, himself. he snorts a laugh and mumbles a pompous, “you fuckin wish.”

----------------------------------------------------------------

a few more weeks go by and ran has successfully managed to avoid any further mentions of you with the bonten guys. he's more careful following the conversation with sanzu and, luckily, the topic doesn't come up again.

he's watching you intently from the bed as you brush your teeth in his bathroom. smiling to himself, he marvels at how differently your relationship has turned out from what he'd expected. it was like no other relationship ran had ever had, if you could even call his past conquests relationships at all... there was a private desire to always make you happy, keep you smiling. a constant need to make sure you were kept safe, far from bonten, its executives, and all its business. it had been such a drastic shift in him. honestly, ran couldn't remember the last girl he'd even saved in his phone with a name before you.

you meet his eyes in the mirror and grin at him. "who's got you smiling like that?" he calls, motioning you toward him. you pad across the room, climbing onto the bed and settling into his open arms. he holds you tightly against his bare chest, kissing your forehead fondly. you chuckle, "hey, when did you get so sweet, huh?" "m'not sweet," he says through a grin, squishing your cheeks between his thumb and forefinger and pecking your lips. "i'm a nefarious mob boss." you laugh at the epithet– your favorite from the tabloid articles about him– that had become something of an inside joke between the two of you. he can't help but join in your laughter, delighted just by seeing you so giddy.

a loud ding sounds from the nightstand and ran reaches across you to grab his phone. "what's wrong?" you ask when his brow furrows at the screen. "someone's at the door..." he clicks the notification and it brings him to the live video feed from his doorbell. there's a man smiling and waving into the camera, like a batman villain. his long hair is dyed pale pink, his mouth bookended by even lighter pink scars. "oh, you've gotta be fuckin' kidding," he grumbles.

"is it work?" your voice is tight. he realizes he's worried you and he hates it. kissing your forehead once more before getting to his feet, he reassures you that it's nothing, "i'll get rid of him in two minutes. promise."

before he leaves his bedroom he sends a stern look your way, "stay in here. okay?" you nod obediently and he moves through the penthouse toward the front door. "i'm off the fuckin clock," you hear him say as soon as the door has been yanked open. your eyes widen at the change in his tone. cold, all business.

"good news and bad news," sanzu is breathing heavily. "i got that info about the police raid. bad news is, it was not easy." ran notices sanzu is holding his side, notices dried blood under his coat. "you fuckin idiot," ran growls, grabbing sanzu by the back of his jacket and dragging him into the apartment.

"stay here," he orders, sitting his disheveled coworker at the kitchen table. "i've got bandages."

you stand up from the bed as ran bursts into the room. "is everything o–" he cuts you off, making a beeline toward the bathroom. "it's fine. you– fuck– please just sit down. stay in here." you follow him anyway, watching from the doorway as he starts pulling out drawers and rummaging around.

"what are you looking for?"

"first aid kit."

"it's under the sink."

he crouches, opens that cabinet next, and there it is. despite his frustration, he smiles up at you apologetically before rushing out of the room again.

"they had a fucking k-9 unit," sanzu groans, squirming as ran dabs his bloody, gashed flank with a peroxide soaked cotton ball. "isn't that fucked up?" ran sighs, nodding slightly. he's too tense to really listen. you're in the other room, listening to their every word, worrying about this dangerous business he was involved in. ran feels sick wondering how you'll react when you discuss it after sanzu leaves.

"oh, well hellooo." ran's head snaps up, following sanzu's gaze to something behind him. you're standing in the doorway, nervously holding a tube of antibiotic ointment in your hand.

ran's eyes bulge as they rake down your frame. your shorts suddenly seemed too short, your oversized pajama shirt bordering on see-through. he wanted to get up and shove you back into his bedroom, shut the door and keep you away from sanzu's gaze. at least until your long legs were covered up and you had put a bra on, but maybe not even then. he was reaching a panic as he considered the thoughts that might run through sanzu's filthy fucking brain about his girl.

sanzu nudges him, "who's this? you didn't tell me you had company! i would've gone over to rindou's to bleed out." the corner of your mouth twitches up at sanzu's words. you and sanzu exchange introductions. you can see ran's hands curling into fists, his jaw clenching. he's far from happy. you hadn't done as he'd instructed and now you were meeting one of the members of his company that he tries so hard to keep you so far removed from, too.

"this fell out of the first aid kit," you hand it to ran, letting your hand stay in his for just a moment longer than it needed to, hoping that it would calm him down a little. "i thought you might need it. nice meeting you, haruchiyo." sanzu nods politely, still smirking like he's just witnessed some big secret come to light. which, to be fair, he kind of had.

"so–" "shut up," ran bites. "i don't want to fuckin hear it." sanzu's smug expression only deepens, but he stays quiet. "and not a word to anyone else. okay? for my girlfriend's sake, be fuckin cool about this. i don't want her getting involved in anything."

sanzu agrees, "you got it, man. happy for you. she's as fuckin' fine as you– fuck, ran, OW!" ran presses the cotton ball sharply against sanzu's wound, effectively shutting him up. once he's bandaged up, sanzu produces a handful of painkillers from his pocket and swallows them down. "like a new fuckin man," he claps ran on the back. "i owe you one. say goodnight to your beautiful mrs. from me." ran shuts the door in his face.

----------------------------------------------------------------

ran steps into the doorway to his bedroom and lets out a heaving sigh. you scramble up from the bed and hurry over to him, hugging tightly around his middle. "i'm sorry," you mumble." he wraps an arm around you, kissing the top of your head, "don't be. that was just..." he shakes his head to clear it. "i wish you'd stayed put, honey."

"i know, i know," you frown. "i just wanted to help."

you're both silent for a moment. you step back to look up at him.

"so i'm your girlfriend, huh?" you raise an eyebrow at him teasingly.

"you were eavesdropping, too??" he fakes annoyance, shoving you back onto the mattress and climbing on top of you as you giggle. "you're in big trouble."

"nooo," you whine impatiently. "one time. for me. say that you wanna be my boyfriend."

his violet eyes soften, he cups your cheek. "i wanna be your boyfriend. real fuckin bad. alright?"

"alright," you grin and he kisses you, feeling like the luckiest man on the planet.

#RAN HAITANI #RAN #MFN #HAITANI #GET OUT ME BRAIN!!!!!!!#tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers headcanons #haitani ran #ran x reader #ran x y/n #ran x you #ran haitani x you #ran haitani x reader #haitani ran smut #ran haitani smut

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tsunderedoctor · 3 years ago

Note

Can I request some drinking with Doffy? Like you're mad at someone and you drink together alcohol

I'm going to do this more modern!au, so don't murder me lmaooo

Donquixote Dofamingo

Heading into the bar, you slammed your hand down at the table, letting the bartender know you wanted to be served. After ordering your drink, you huffed in annoyance, looking through your messages one more time, your now ex had decided to dump you over the phone, days before your birthday too! The asshole probably was just being stingy and didn’t want to celebrate your birthday.

Finishing your drink, the bartender came over with another, stopping you in your tracks. “Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t order two.”

Shrugging, he offered it anyway, before throwing his thumb in the direction to the back. “Boss said you looked pissed, it’s on the house.”

Confusion overtook you again as you looked around, the thumb pointed to a booth in the back, a group of women surrounded by a man who was drinking a glass of wine. Quickly the confusion turned to annoyance, so it was a prick?

Taking the drink, you lifted it to the man, letting him know you knew it was him, the only response you got was a wide grin, a creepy prick. The rest of the night went smoothly, you did your best to baby your drink, not wanting to get drunk or have the man buy you another.

Once again, the bartender came over with a new drink, his reasoning saying his boss wanted to show you something new. Annoyed, you headed over with the drink in hand, having enough of the asshole’s fun on your misery.

“Can I help you?” His voice was a lot deeper than you expected, sending unwarranted shivers down your spine as you tried to stand tall in front of the group of lookers.

“Yeah, can you stop eyeing me across the room, if you have something to say to me get off your ass and say it yourself, don’t send your lapdogs to do your bidding.”

Flickering the women to leave, you two were left alone as his smiled only widened. “You really are feisty, that’s cute, but watch your tongue, I’d hate to see it cut out of your pretty mouth.”

Alcohol dripped on the floor as you threw your drink on him, smirking at the flash of surprise on his face. “Sorry, I’m not a fan of this drink, try better next time.”

Heading out, the man was being cleaned by some show girls, his smile never faltering, oh he definitely will try better the next time he sees you, just wait.

#tsunderedoctor #ask #donquixote doflamingo #one piece doflamingo #doflamingo #doflamingo x reader #doflamingo x you #doflamingo x y/n #one piece #one piece scenarios #one piece comfort

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ekaterinatepes · 3 years ago

Text

Nothing but the Best

Author Notes: hello again my loves! Thank you for all your likes, reviews and specially your comments! I love it when you make questions and in general let me know what you think about the chapter. Thank you once more for all your support!

XII.

They say time heals all wounds, but there are some wounds that run so deep they refuse to stop bleeding.

https://youtu.be/s1tAYmMjLdY

youtube

A cold September afternoon welcomed the dying rays of the sun, the incandescent amber tones of the twilight illuminated the streets of Tokyo, ever so vibrant; full of life, people, delicious food, kaleidoscopic colors, laughter, children running…. Couples holding hands.

A tall man with a blindfold walked down a heavily transited sidewalk with his hands in his pockets and a small bag of pastries hanging off the side. Slowly, he made his way further away from the more concentric streets towards a park, he found a bench near a fountain and took a seat placing his bag right next to him.

The world remained the same and yet everything seemed to have changed, the days were now long and boring, conversations with people didn’t manage to hold his attention for long; missions were repetitive. Everything seemed… dull, opaque, flavorless, empty…

Everything, except perhaps his students who were the only sliver of hope he had left. Those kids would make it far in life, they were going to change the world and he was going to be there to help them along the way. A sad smile pulls at his peachy lips. You would have liked that. After all, the kids also enjoyed your company back in the day when you were still his. It was as if you had become their adoptive mother of sorts at some point. Your nurturing nature guided you to care for others.

A year ago when Yuuji was placed under his care and tutelage at Jujutsu High it had been hard for the boy. At the time the kid had just lost his only living relative and to top it off he also consumed the most powerful curse ever known to man kind.

He had so much responsibility on his shoulders Satoru couldn’t help but make the connection with himself when he was a kid his age. That’s how Satoru decided to take him home for dinner one night; he couldn’t have been more pleased with his decision. Of course, you adored Yuuji. His sweet snd enthusiastic personality, his polite manners and naiveté made him just endearing in your eyes.

Even Megumi, who barely spoke with his more taciturn approach asked about you. Satoru didn’t know how to answer. The dark haired boy would also come and visit your home to help you prepare some foreign delicacies you loved to cook. Sighing once more he ran his hands through his white hair.

***-Flashback-***

“So where’s Y/N-san? I haven’t seen her in a long time?” Asked Megumi right after Satoru returned from New York. It caught him by surprise

“She… she doesn’t live in Japan anymore” was all he said before changing the subject. Megumi looked at him with eyes wide open but decided not to pry.

Yeah… that probably was weird. Someone asks you about your spouse and you say they moved out of the country. It was pretty obvious what that meant.

***~End Flash Back~***

Sighing he opened the small paper bag containing his mochi, he loved his desert but lately he didn’t even have the will to indulge in sweets anymore. Satoru consumed insane amounts of sugar to stimulate his brain. The problem was that during the past year all that stimulation manifested in the form of vivid memories of you. Your voice, your smell, your presence. It was as if his brain chose to take him down the path to misery, as if to rub on his face what he could never have.

As of last week you were officially not Y/N Gojo anymore. He finally signed those blasted papers giving you your freedom and his capitulation.

It had been one of the worst days of his life.

After signing the divorce Satoru went straight to the liquor store where he found that exotic apricot liquor he liked in New York and bought a bottle. Once he made it back home he proceeded to get drunk out of his mind. The next morning he woke up by the pool, laying down on a tanning chair, wearing only a pair of boxers and hugging your wedding picture.

His head was killing him, at some point he had emptied his insides in the pool. A disgusted grimace reminded him he had to hire some help to take care of the house that was an absolute disaster, faithfully reflecting the state of its owner.

That morning, nursing a hangover he swore off alcohol for the rest of his life.

But hey! On the positive side he didn’t remember at all that night! Which means he ‘probably’ didn’t think about you (yeah right! As if he was ever not thinking about you) and how much he hated the fact you were not his Y/N Gojo anymore. You were not his wife anymore…

The memory made him want to cry like a baby. He lost the person he loved the most in his life because he had been one flaming idiot.

Despite all his efforts he could not forget you. Wherever he went, whatever he did… there you were, tormenting his waking and sleeping hours like his own personal curse.

He tried to get over you. He tried to be the asshole you knew him to be. He slept with so many women he couldn’t even count. But at the end of the night, in the throes of passion it was your face that he saw, your body that he craved, your flavor that he yearned and your name the one he called out when he climaxed.

He was absolutely fucked.

Revisiting memories of the last night he saw you he couldn’t believe how stupid he had been at the time. It took him so long to realize he had always been in love with you but Satoru, being well… himself, he didn’t want to see or admit that he had been head over heels, madly in love with you. He was a cynical bastard and that had cost him dearly. He chose to lie to himself thinking that THE Gojo Satoru was above all human weaknesses… including love. What an ignorant fucker he had been.

He wondered how you were doing and if you ever thought about him.

A frown made his handsome face look stern. Well… you were not alone anymore. Suguru also had stayed back in New York with you. After Satoru returned to Japan, Ijichi told him Geto Suguru wouldn’t be working out of Japan anymore. He had requested a transfer to the Americas.

Of course he did…

It had been one of the reasons Satoru fucked so many women. In his delusional mind he was ‘getting even’ with you for sleeping with Suguru. Not that he knew for a fact you were sleeping with him or not but… I mean….

Come on! It’s mother fucking Geto Suguru we are talking about here! 6’2 of pure sculpted muscles, tattoos and bad boy looks but with a Prince Charming complex. Yeah… Satoru was green with jealousy because he knew his former best friend was a better man for you than he ever was.

Looking down at his mochi bag he realized the small item had paid the price of his anger as he uncurled his death grip from the bag. Sighing he tossed the ruined pastry in the trash can to his left.

“Miss you….” He whispered to the wind.

———–

“I’m home!” You announced walking into your apartment. Setting you bag down as well as a couple of grocery bags “did you start dinner already?” You ask pleasantly surprised although you already knew the answer to that question since all the apartment smelled fantastic. Suguru walked out of the kitchen with a big smile wearing an apron that read ‘Kiss the Cheff’ nods “yes! I figured I would give you a hand tonight!” He answered as you walked to him to wrap your arms around his waist and give him a chaste kiss on his cheek “thank you Sugu. How was your mission?” You asked deciding to set up the table while Suguru finished dinner. “Not too bad actually, it was a special grade but nothing I couldn’t deal with” you returned a bright smile “I’m glad”

Your friendship with Suguru had slowly evolved into something else. You both spent all of your free time together. Your connection was deeper than mere sexual attraction. Suguru truly understood you, cared for you, shared your dreams and hopes. He was the type of poetic soul who would stay awake with you well into the night just to talk about the stars, the book you read that week that you loved, the new music you liked. It was wholesome.

On the more carnal side you desired Suguru and he desired you but you hadn’t taken what was going on between you two further than a few passionate make-out sessions and some cuddling.

After you last saw Satoru everything became worse before it got better. Suguru had been your rock, he had been there for the sleepless nights you spent crying. Without a word he held you in his strong arms and allowed you to let go. He knew you were deeply wounded, your emotions in disarray and your mental stability in peril. But Suguru never asked anything from you, he gave you the strength to go on. To take care of yourself, to keep going with your career. To have… hope.

It seemed like a dream to think that your life had changed so much in the span of a year. You weren’t able to recognise yourself anymore. Pain and duress molded you into someone new, better, more resilient, harder to hurt.

At this point, the only person you fully trusted was Suguru, he was always honest with you, no matter what happened or how much something hurt, he always remained true to himself and to you.

It was impossible not to love someone like him. He was the whole package.

Suguru was handsome, that was indisputable. But Geto was more than a pretty face. He was kind, truly kind! He did things out of the goodness of his heart, not because he expected anything in return. He was honest, Suguru Geto would never lie to you and THAT is what you loved the most about him.

He was patient.

He wanted you to be his but at the same time Suguru wanted you to heal, to have the chance to trust and love again, not as a means to forget about Satoru but because you wanted to choose a new path for yourself.

After diner you helped with the dishes and then settled on the couch. Suguru joined with a smile and two glasses of wine. He handed you one and sipped on the other one “what would you like to watch tonight Kitten?” He asked sitting next to you while picking a movie from the titles available on the screen of the tv.

“Anything you like! It’s your turn to pick” you said with a smile, leaning your head on his shoulder making Suguru smile. These tender displays of affection always made him feel so warm. Passing an arm around your shoulders he kissed your forehead.

You look up into his hazel eyes you blush. Suguru didn’t lose a second before he closed the space between your lips. The kiss was soft but meaningful, you didn’t hesitate to return it; wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to then climb on his lap straddling his hips.

The handsome sorcerer leans back, relaxing and running his hands slowly up and down your naked thighs covered only by the small fabric of your shorts, he strokes them softly leaving a path of warmth in the wake of his touch. Suguru deepened the kiss. His tongue delved in your mouth, slowly inviting yours to join the delicious dance. After a few minutes you pulled back, you are breathless. Your heart beats fast and the adrenaline was making you dizzy in anticipation.

Suguru looks at you, leaning his forehead against yours “I missed you” he ads before engulfing you in another passionate kiss, not even giving you the chance to reply. This time his lips are more demanding, his teeth nibbling your lower lip, requesting entrance. His tongue still tastes like the wine and you recognize his addictive flavor. Suddenly you find yourself laying on your back on the white couch, Suguru is on top of you and your legs are wrapped around his waist. Things are getting much more heated than you anticipated. Your hands roam the expanse of his back over hard muscles and warm skin covered only by the thin layer of his t-shirt. You know if you keep going this way you won’t be able to stop.

https://youtu.be/yBatuRGZAmA

youtube

A part of you doesn’t want this to end, you want to go all the way with Suguru. But… as much as you hate it, there is a tiny part of you that feels ambivalent about it. You wonder why is that you can’t just… do it!? You want Suguru! God! You desire him more than you can express with words, the growing wetness between your legs is evidence that you indeed were very much sexually attracted to him and yet your mind kept torturing you.

It was… complicated.

Your marriage with Satoru have been over longer than that piece of paper you got last week said. But erasing your feelings wasn’t something you could ever hope to do.

As much as you wanted to give yourself to Suguru it felt wrong that you were holding a part of yourself back. You wanted to give him everything, he deserved EVERYTHING of you. It wouldn’t be fair to just have sex with him when he deserved to be made love to.

You love Suguru, everyday that goes by your feelings for him grow and intensify, it was hard to even understand why would you hesitate and yet you did.

Your passionate kiss slowly becomes more tender until you are just sharing small pecks. Suguru pulls back with a little comforting smile; he felt the change in your body language, he knew what was going through your mind. You explained it to him before and he didn’t want to push you. He knew you needed to go at your own pace and he respected that.

“I’m… so-“ you starts apologetically but Suguru stops you with a little kiss “don’t… don’t apologize, I know baby…” he said reassuringly. Sealing his tender words with a kiss. When you separate again he asks “Alright little kitten, tell me… what’s it gonna be? ‘Dorian Grey’ or ‘Only Lovers Left Alive’?” Pulling you in his strong arms he cuddled with you on the couch, returning to the choices for movie you had.

You were so thankful for this man in your life “let’s go with ‘Only Lovers left Alive’”

With a last kiss he started the movie and pulled a blanket over you both.

He could wait, he would wait till the end of time. For you.

———-> Chapter 13/Part 1

Tags:

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@jxvajxy

@satoruhooraaa

@my-reality-is-in-my-head

@dok-ja

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@fiona782

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@tampon-earrings

@actualdeemon

#gojo angst #gojo x you #jjk #geto x y/n #gojo saturo x reader #jjk suguru #jjkgojo #Youtube

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dynananarmy · 4 years ago

Text

REPUTATION|| Min Yoongi

Summary:

You were in the top. There was no person in the world who didn't know your name, either for your success or your reputation, believing that the only thing you should do is smile, be a good girl, don't force your opinions on people, and NOT for any reason deny the dating rumors. But then a gummy smile and a sweet accent came to change all your believe system, from a friends with benefits to falling in love, you encounter a new fear: would he love you despite your reputation

Pairings: Idol!Min Yoongi(SUGA) x singer!reader

Warnings: distorted body image and unwarranted fear of gaining weight. Unhealthy habits like starvation, underage alcohol consuption. Mild smut and age gap (Yoongi is 25 and reader is 20) but everything is consensual). If i miss something please let me know.

Gorgeous

You should take it as a compliment That I got drunk and made fun of the way you talk You should think about the consequence Of your magnetic field being a little too strong And I got a boyfriend, he's older than us He's in the club doing, I don't know what You're so cool, it makes me hate you so much

You make me so happy, it turns back to sad, yeah There's nothing I hate more than what I can't have Guess I'll just stumble on home to my cats Alone, unless you wanna come along, oh

Anxiety was a familiar feeling, a daily occurrence even before you knew how to call it. The constant fear of making the wrong move, not filling everybody's expectations. But it never gets easier, walking a red carpet was nerve wracking at 20 like it was when you were 13, but expectations were higher, every single album need it to be different, different sound, different style, you need it to be more mature but not to sexy because then you were to provocative for kids who follow you, but not to demure because then you are a prim. And then, you were too fat, and then too skinny, or you would have the nice flat stomach that people expect but you didn't have the hourglass figure. So everything you stand in an outfit risky enough for you, you would shake like a leaf, praying that the apple and the water that you had eaten would not somehow make you look bloated. That you contour was blended, that the powder under your eyes would not flash in camera.

You were about to promote your second single of your album, a song who was for a ex manager and ended up seeing as a call out for war for a singer whom you were friends but ended up splitting ways when she started dating an ex boyfriend, an ex boyfriend that you don't actually love but it was still awkward going out with the new girlfriend of your ex. Your team takes it as publicity, even if there was not an actual feud, good or bad, publicity is publicity, and so the music video only seems to spark even more fire. Still you invited all of your friends, friends that you met through other friends, in fashion shows or while performing in lingerie runways, the kind of friends that you partied with in your mansion in Coney Island or the one in Malibu. But that only sends a spark of worry, appearing in a music video with models with perfect bodies only makes you even more insecure about your own, and you were scared about what people would think about it.

A tug in your arm pulled you out of the dazed of the camera's flash and your thoughts, Calum King was a producer, a handsome embodiment of masculinity, a strong build body, a short beard, barely there but enough to let you know that he was a man. He was older than you by a lot, not enough to be scandalous but enough to raise a few eyebrows.

He smile and you copied and hold his arm to the cameras, the lady assisting the red carpet gesture you to move and once you were out of the sight of the camera you let a shaky breath a pound in the head and the emptiness of your stomach make you feel dizzy and your publicist move quickly, holding a hard candy to you.

“Are you okay?” Calum asks, still holding you, you nod immediately and put the candy in your mouth.

“I´m good, the lights make me feel light headed but nothing that a little bit of sugar does´n fix” you say tasting the candy, feeling a little bit less tired, he nods but his sight was already far away from you.

“Baby, i´m going to say hello to a few friends, I¨ll see you in our seats, okay?” He doesn't wait for an answer, his manager following behind, you let a sigh of relief, relieved that you don't have to keep pretending anymore, Calum and you met a few months ago while visiting a friend of your to the studio, a paparazzi saw you having coffee and after that you kept seeing each other, he would be your date in events and to the world, you were official, but you didn't even be intimate,barely hold hands while walking in the streets, or kiss each other more than a few pecks when winning a prize, but even that, it felt forced. Your publicist looks away from her phone to look at you and gives you an indifferent look.

“A new korean band is in here, apparently they are very famous and are contending against you for one of the awards, maybe you should go and see them so people see that you support new talents”

Curiosity sparks within you “Korean band, is it BTS?” you asked, sipping your water you publicist arch an eyebrow

“Yes, did you know them?” she looks rarely interested, you nod reminiscing how a few weeks ago you had stumbled on a fan edit of you and one of the members titled “1997 golden babies” seeing the dark haired boy dancing and performing with that much passion caught your attention, looking at his name and thus his group, fascinated enough that you had expend a few hour looking at the music videos and some of their performances, a bubble of excitement grew in your stomach making you feel energized again and you started to walk knowing your publicist was going to take you to them, skipping to some people you got to the corner where a group of at least 10 men stand, you immediately felt short and tiny and intimidated but you put your confident face and wait for your publicist to talk with one of the men, who yo assume was their manager, he look surprised and his gazed fall to you where you standing sandwiched between your bodyguards, he nod and went to say something to the remaining men 7 of them wipe their heads instantly to you and you smile, you make the remaining and they scatter in formation, pushing the taller men in front, he gives you a smile and flashed with a set of dimples.

“Hii, is so nice to meet you guys” You break the ice, you scanned every single one of them, from the tall broad shoulder one to Jungkook, the one of the edit and then your eyes fall to one of them, instantly draw for the way he looks at you, like he knew something your eyes goes back to the taller guy as he start to talk.

“It's so incredible to meet, we are big fans of your music” he says, you had heard that a lot but he sound genuine and the rest of the boy nodded, your eyes went back to the guy with the feline eyes and you see something that you had seen before but rarely from another artist, admiration, but also understanding, like he understanded something and he was fascinated by it.

“Are you performing tonight?” you asked trying to shake the feeling that he was reading you like a book he understands the language.

“Ummm, no, not tonight, hopefully someday” he looked a little ashamed but that only made you feel more admiration for them, they are escalating little by little.

“Id watched some of your performance” a chorus of ¨whoas¨ breaks their silence and you smile wider “You would have made us look like kids beside you, you are truly amazing” you compliment, the words flooding with ease, all of them let a ¨thank you¨ and when you meet eyes with the feline eyed boy he gives you the most beautiful and shy gummy smile, something inside you felt warm and fuzzy and you enjoy it so much that you wish it never went away. Your publicist asked for a picture and you stand with them.

The flash was quick, you changed the pose and at the same time you felt a delicate brush of fingers in your back. Tingles run down your spine and your hair stands, how was it possible that a man could make you feel that way without talking, without knowing him? You didn't even know his name, or how he was, he could be an asshole.

The camera stop flashing and the warm fingers leave your trembling body (you didn't know if it was of starvation or the adrenaline running through your veins) You look at him, the man with the gummy smile, cat-like eyes and the rose petal lips, he bow and you did the same as a reflex, that make him smile fully and the giddy, warm feeling bubble in your stomach all the way up your chest. You broke eye contact and with warm cheeks you went to hug the taller guy hugging all of them (not without almost melting in gummy smile boy, and breathing deeply his mainly citrus smell).

Your entrance was cut out by your manager, who led you backstage and you hope you bump into them, to talk to him, to hear him and let his fingers pay with your skin, but you were immediately trap in the changing room pulling other set of clothes and when you get out your publicist was waiting with a mint and a glass of ice you chew while letting the makeup artist retouch your makeup.

You had already stood up 5 times to receive an award and Top Social Artist was the last nomination before going to change for your performance. Sitting on the front row with Calum on your side being the perfect supporting boyfriend and with Zendaya on the other side beside her a bunch of other models friends, big names in the industry who appeared in the music video that had already premiered a few awards ago. And although you should've be worried if you would win the category you were already seeing black spots, nausea and heavy eyelids accompanying, and sitting beside with the most beautiful, tallest, slimmest, women of the moment didn't make you feel better, you could barely hear anything but the sound of blood pumping through your ears but after hearing your name and the loud cheers of your fans a smile appear in your clammy face, you wonder if you could even stand to get the award if you win, a louder cheer broke in the arena and looking to the screen you saw the south korean band announced and when it disappears it took a few seconds for the screams to stop, the announcers opened the envelope, two seconds of silence in the speakers and then...“BTS!” You jump clapping finding strength out of nowhere and with a smile you saw the band walk in front of your eyes with wide eyes, open mouth and smiles, a single hand sticking out for you and knowing who it was you brush his hand with yours.

Then you turn back and with a bodyguard in front and another in your heels, you walk into the main stage of the arena.

Everything was blurry, you followed the guard into the hallway and crouched to get in the elevator, holding the mic and letting your head go over the choreography. And when the voice in your in ear says “one”you feel the lift move and stand.You felt like you were going to faint, but still make your moves as smooth as possibly, it felt like forever but when you give the final move and look at the camera you give the most convincing smile ever. Wait for the count to end and the light to ade out to let your body fall to the ground. But the light did not fade, and the camera was still on you.

The host appeared to your side to announce that your music had already broken a record and that you had won another 2 awards. You accept the award and let the host hug you and unintentionally your body stumbles, your eyes give a turn and feel almost lost conscious.“It's okay” you said to the man and pulled out with a smile, looking to the worried crowd,”It's okay” you repeat in the mic ” I very excited, to be here and to win this awards, thank you to everybody that make this possible, my fans, my family, my team, everybody that listen my music and the art i make, thank you so much, i love you” You said, making well rehearsed words leave your mouth, you leave following the lady with the awards, numb.

The act seemed innocent and so quickly and random that nobody should have noted, but it set something, pieces clicking in place, for you felt illicit, scandalous, it ignited something that you have never let your body cave in, lust. A sin so impure that only thinking about it makes you flustered, but it only took a couple of glances, some brushes of skin and a hug for you to continue the seduction game he started. And you wanted him to win, to ditch all the circus and let him take you to the hotel, seeing him all in black contrasting with his soft creamy skin, a fallen angel.

Wanting to feel something, did you deserve the awards? Your music had moved so much from your original goal that you barely felt it was good. So you didn't feel proud, and you did not feel happy, or sad, or angry. You felt hungry, and tired.

How dare he be so cool? With the glinting earrings and the necklaces and the deep voice and side smile, a dream, you never thought he was just your type. Was it possible for you to have him? A quick internet research let you know his name, his position on the group and his age, he was a little over five years older than you, younger than your “exes” but so much different, he felt real, a real man, but at the same time he was surreal, to perfect, to gorgeous. And you wanted to know all about him.

You sit alone in the buffet of your hotel, with other people who also went to the awards, munching on a chicken salad with some delicious sauce and bread sticks and a glass of orange juice. Your orange juice, of course, was spiked with alcohol by your manager, a way to make you last giggly and awake for the rest of the night. Feeling already full with your second plate and with already a certain amount of alcohol in your system, you felt better, enough to keep looking at the table in front of you. Where 7 boy sit holding a camera laughing at one of them knocking the glass with the camera gummy smile boy who had, just like you, been looking at you smile with you and you hold the big stack of tissues at him, he walk to you and brushing fingers he take it from your hands “thanks” he said with a deep voice, one that you had already heard in his music videos but never compared to the real thing.

It took you 30 minutes to shower, dry your hair, put light makeup and a flowy black dress, that fall above your knees, do a quick google research of what to expect at losing your virginity and chugging the mini bottle of wine of your mini fridge, cleaning all of the clothes on the bed and quickly fix it. And when you thought that he wouldn't come a knock was heard. You look for the last time in the mirror and open the door.

And he was there, his hair now completely straight and soft looking and his face was bare, no necklace and simple cotton shirt and black cargo pants. Like he couldn't be more gorgeous. Oh wait, he could, looking at you with the damn smile. “Hi” you said, already losing the game “Hi”, deep voice and cute accent, you can't help but giggle, boozing alcohol in your veins.

“Please, please come in” You open the door all the way “ I´m y/n, by the way” you said and he looks at you, “I know, I´m Yoongi” he says laughing “I know” you respondHe lifted an eyebrow “you do?” he said with a smug smile, “of course i know, i'm not that dump to hook up with a guy i don't even know the name of” you widen your eyes and blame the alcohol by your blunt remark, but feel relieved when he laughs. He let you lead the way to the living room and when he sits on the couch he notices the object on the coffee table, an unopened copy of BTS 'latest album you had.

They said goodbye and you broke contact, gulping the last of your orange juice and immediately got replaced, you looked back at your manager and publicist, talking to their manager, using the translator that look flustered, and you knew why, after yourself had talked with your manager about your request, voice confident but cheeks flushed, your manager didn't even had to approach BTS manager before he was already on his way, at that you felt a weird feeling, a territorial frown in your eyes, but you couldn't blame him. Every celebrity you have met has done this. A simple deal, a way for celebrities to keep their affairs as private and publicly clean, both sides agreed to keep it quiet and not slip ups. When they finally look at you, turn again to him, his manager walking to him, and slipping a black plastic card. A key to the room to one of the suites. Your suite.

“I thought you could signed for me” you explained with a shy tone “I found it on the airport bookstore and since i kinda collect music album i thought it was a nice addition”

He grabbed it “can i open it?” he said with the cute accent, you nod excited and he carefully start to unwrap you sit by his side to get a better look, when he finished it, he looks at you

“it has a photocard” he explains and you giggle again at the way he pronounce the last word, feeling the warm feeling in your stomach and he send your favorite smile at you.He opens the book and stop at the page with the card stuck to it “It's random so is a surprise, go, turn it around” he gesture to the book, you grab it and turn it around,

“Oww” you let out a disappointed sound when you look at the man that clearly wasn't your Min Yoongi, he laughs and you pout “what can i do if i want one of you?” you ask with a distressed look. He dares to look flustered and he reach to his neck and the his hair, you wanted yours in its place, you licked your lips and look at lis face, “You could buy lots of album until mine come out” hmmm

“That's a good idea” his stare became intense and his eyes darken, his tongue brushed his bottom lip and someone must move forward because your lips replaced his tongue was now kissing his lips.

Your fingers grab his shirt while his palms was cupping your cheeks, thumb brushing against it, the darkest desires in your mind, the need to be touch to be taken care of,taking his hand in yours you put it on your thigh, where your dress had lift and he complied to your silent request, pushing the fabric up and caressing your skin, but not where you need it him.

You lean in the couch bringing him with you, but he pull from the kiss, leaving you gasping, “are you sure?” he ask, with his soft, dark eyes, lips swollen and flushed cheeks, you nod, but he shakes his head “are you sure?” he repeats, you think for a second looking at your giddy, boozy brain, “yes, i'm sure” you said with the most confident voice you could muster, he kiss you again and then its your turn to pull away from the kiss ”wait, wait, i, i haven't, i never have i ever before, i mean, i never had done this before” you confess and he looks at you still panting, he nods, and ask again “are you sure?” and you are.

He didn't let you lay in the couch.

He let you run your fingers through his torso and take his shirt off.

You let him pull down the strips of your dress.

He let you know how much he desires you.

You let him touch for the first time against the wall, making you see stars and blow away in a climax.

He takes to the bed, carrying like you were a leaf.

You let him stole sweet moans out of your mouth

He takes it slowly, touching skin like you were fine china.

You feel like a confident woman when you whisper “you are so gorgeous, I can say anything to your face.”

He lets a deep chuckle and gives a deep thrust making you scream of pleasure.

A mix of sloppy kisses, discreet love bites, nails against skin and pasional hip thrust between the sheets you let yourself think for a second that is not a one time thing, that euphoric feeling you were experimenting and that it was the most happy you had been in years was going to finish the moment he finish panting against your neck.

You tried to not look disappointed when he stood up and walked to the bathroom, closing your eyes, letting yourself feel the remnants of your climax.

He came back a few minutes later, cleaning between your legs and leaving a soft kiss in your thigh before slipping your underwear in its place, holding you in his arms.

You cried for the first time in front of a person.

He tells you that he knew you were hungry, he had felt it before. Not by his own choice.

You tell him about the empty feeling in your stage while on stage.

He kisses your face while rubbing circles in your back.

When the morning sun came up you watched his sleeping figure, his back up and belly down, face facing you and his arm around you.

You mindlessly start writing invisible letters, your name. Wishing he could be more than a stranger.

He lets you a note. His number. Breakfast. And a single pink flower and a book from the souvenir store “ The meaning of flowers”

Azalea

The azalea is the flower that ushers in springtime in the southern United States. That’s one reason it’s so closely associated with beauty and rebirth.

These blooms are often given as a symbolic message to, “Take care of yourself,” which is an important sentiment to extend to the bereaved.

Little-Known fact:

Azaleas are celebrated in festivals throughout the world, especially the U.S. and Asia. In Chinese culture, the azalea is known as the “thinking of home bush” and was immortalized in the poetry of a famous poet during the Tang dynasty.

HIIIIIIIIII

I FINISH THIS CHAPTER

It took years, but my mental health has been bad lately and also was hard to write the first meeting, if it look to rushed, dont worry its kinda the point, they are not in love but definetly know that they felt something. But they dont know each other, i like to think of them as soulmates.

We see how she was physically and mentaly hitting rock bottom and her team is not as innocent as it look.

If i was vague about everything, when the managers were talking, they were basically negociating the one night stand, that way the public wouldnt found out. A normal ocurrence in this AU.

Everything you feel courius about, please let me know.

Thank you so much for reading, i love you

#bts #bts smau #min yoongi #yoongi x reader #yoongi smau #bts fic #bts yoongi #bts social media au #bts social au #bts idol #bts jhope #bts namjoon #BTS jin #BTS jimin #bts taehyung #BTS jungkook #reputationminyoongi

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restlessfandoming · 4 years ago

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“the president and the troublemaker” (part 13) (chilumi fic)

“Lumine is the student council president and Childe is the school’s number one troublemaker. They cross paths more than they’d like. Especially when Childe finds out Lumine’s big secret. Highschool AU à la Kaichou wa Maid-sama.”

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6] [part 7] [part 8] [part 9] [part 10] [part 11] [part 12]

[Fic Masterlist] // [AO3 Link] // [Main AO3]

* * *

im really sorry for the massive time between each update. i am truly in the struggle * * *

the president and the troublemaker (part 13)

“I’m a professional fighter,” Lumine said to Venti.

Venti stared at her for a long second, before slowly raising one of his brows. “What are you talking about, LuLu?”

She bit her lip. “You know, like the UFC. That’s my job. I’m a MMA fighter.”

Again, Venti stared at her, then glanced between her and the unconscious men on the floor.

Lumine braced herself for him to laugh, to ridicule her, or even shy away in fear—how terrifying it was that she was powerful enough to do all that and even more. He would be disappointed, a bright student like her getting involved with the activities of delinquents.

“That’s…,” Venti started. Then, he went to Lumine, grabbing her hands, eyes bright. “So cool!”

Lumine looked at him, silent with shock.

“Wow, I would have never guessed!” he went on. “But I should have known. You’ve always been so strong.”

“So you’re not...disappointed?” she asked.

“Of course not. I would never be disappointed in you,” he said, giving her a soft smile.

Lumine’s eyes stung. From relief? From gratefulness? “Thank you, Venti.”

His smile widened. “Just wait until everyone at school hears about this! They’re gonna think you’re so cool, and you’re gonna get so popular, and—”

Lumine pulled her hand away from his, a trembling panic overtaking her nerves. “Venti, no one can find out about this,” she blurted.

His brows furrowed. “Why not? You should be proud of what you do.”

Lumine stood in silence, ruminating. Proud of what I do?

Venti started reaching out towards her when there was an audible THUMP from the ground.

Childe stood from where he had hit one of the men on the floor. “He was waking up,” he said after taking in Venti and Lumine’s worried looks. “We should leave now.”

Lumine let her gaze linger on Venti—his brows furrowed from either confusion or frustration or both—before turning to Childe.

“Yeah…let’s go back the way we came and try to backtrack,” she suggested. She and Childe started to make their way back.

Venti didn’t budge. “How does Childe know?”

“What?” Lumine answered.

“You said you don’t want anyone to know.” His teal green eyes narrowed, ever so slightly, at Childe. “So he’s an exception?”

“He found out on his own,” Lumine said. Why is he doing this right now? We need to go—

“And I’m her coach,” Childe said, crossing his arms. There was the tiniest curve of a smile on his lips.

Venti let out a meek laugh. “He’s your coach? So do you spend a lot of time together?”

She threw a glare at Childe. “Yes—Well, I don’t know. I guess.” She shook her head. “This isn’t the time to be talking about this. Let’s go.” She marched off without another word.

As she walked back the direction they came from, she heard the two boys footsteps behind her. She kept her pace up, however, not wanting to speak to either of them at the moment. Any time either of them entered her peripheral vision, she sped up away from them. Stupid boys and their stupid jealously.

Eventually, after trying to navigate the twists and turns of the alleyways, the group had somehow ended up in a completely new location.

Lumine first noticed when the scent of salty sea waves hit her nose. Then, was the shuddering of ocean waves lapping against the shore line, and the groaning of metal ships floating in the water.

“Looks like we’re at a dock,” Childe remarked.

“How did we even get here?” Venti wondered.

Lumine rubbed at her forehead. “How do we get out?”

The three of them stood silently, thinking, watching as a group of fishermen unloaded from a large docked ship, and funneled into a nearby building—tall and silvery sleek.

Childe murmured something to himself before heading towards the building himself. “Follow me,” he said to Lumine and Venti.

The two shared a questioning look, before following Childe forward.

They all entered the building, finding themselves in a large lobby, business men and women scooting past. Childe instructed Venti and Lumine to wait in the corner as he went alone to approach the receptionist.

Lumine watched curiously as the receptionist looked at Childe, a mix of wary and annoyance. Childe started saying something to the lady, his face lifted in confidence. The longer he went on, the receptionist’s expression shifted to disbelief, slowly picking up the telephone and making a call.

The receptionist kept her eyes on Childe while talking on the phone, with Childe smiling right back at her. As the phone call went on, her face stretched into shock, eventually handing the phone right to Childe with wide eyes.

Lumine furrowed her brows as Childe took the phone, turning away so she no longer saw his face. What in the world is he doing?

When he finished his conversation, Childe turned back to the receptionist, but kept hold on the phone. He gestured to Lumine, and after a nod from the receptionist, he waved her over.

Lumine awkwardly walked up to the desk, ignoring Venti’s whispered questions behind her. Upon reaching Childe, he held out the phone to her.

“All yours,” he said. There was something in his expression Lumine hadn’t quite seen before—a sheepishness of sorts, a humbled look that didn’t seem possible for him.

She hesitantly took the phone, eyes looking to the receptionist who placed the receiver towards her with a smile—much different than her initial standoffish disposition.

Lumine looked down at the keypad, her fingers already pressing the only number she could remember in the moment. The phone barely rang once before someone immediately picked up.

“Hello?” Aether’s panicked voice crackled on the other end.

Lumine let out a shaky sigh of relief. “Aether, it’s me—”

“LUMINE!” he interrupted. “Are you okay? Where are you?”

The slew of Aether’s worried questions bombarded her ear, and she almost laughed. “I’m fine,” she enunciated over his questioning. “I’m safe here with Childe. And Venti.”

“God, you two…,” Aether murmured. “Where are you?”

“Where are we?” Lumine repeated, looking up at the receptionist. The lady quickly pulled out a business card, the address of the building clearly printed; Lumine repeated the address to Aether. “We wound up here because I chased after some asshole who stole all our stuff.”

There was shuffling on Aether’s end, and she heard him talking to someone in the background. The line crinkled as he returned to the phone. “Okay, I just told Miss Ninguang,” he said. “She wants to talk to you.”

Lumine swallowed the lump in her throat. The school principal. Oh, I’m definitely in trouble…

“Miss Lumine?” Ninguang asked.

“Yes, hello, Miss Ninguang,” Lumine answered. “I am so sorry for the inconvenience; I—”

“Please, do not worry yourself,” Ninguang said, her voice reassuringly mellow. “I am just glad to hear you and your friends are safe.” A chuckle. “We were really quite besides ourselves at your disappearance.”

Lumine nearly cried in relief. “We-We’re not in trouble?”

“Of course not,” the principal said. “We just want to make sure to get you back safely.”

“Thank you. Thank you, Miss Ninguang.”

There was a pause, and Lumine could imagine Ninguang’s small smile. “Now, for the safety of everyone, we’ll meet back up in the morning. For now, it would be best for everyone to rest for the night.”

The night? Lumine glanced out of the large office windows, and blinked at the darkened sky in disbelief. Have we really been lost that long?!

“From the address Aether gave me, there should be an inn within walking distance from where the three of you are. Stay there for the night, and we will be there to pick you up in the morning.”

“Stay in the inn for the night? Miss Ninguang, I’m so sorry, but all of our money was stolen—”

“Do not worry. We will call them and make the reservation for you. Please, just rest up. I am sure it has been a stressful day for you.”

“Th-Thank you, Miss Ninguang.”

“I trust you. Stay safe.” Then, the line clicked off.

Lumine slowly handed the phone back to the receptionist, legs shaky from the relief flooding her body. Finally, the light at the end of the tunnel…

“Well?” Childe asked. “What’s the plan?”

Lumine relayed the information about the nearby inn.

“Will you be needing a car ride there, Mister Ajax?” the receptionist asked Childe.

Lumine’s eyes flashed to him. Ajax?

“No, thank you,” he quickly said. “We’d better get going now.” He sauntered away from the desk.

Lumine jogged up to him. “Ajax?” she questioned.

She saw his body lock up. “It’s nothing,” he said.

A scoff. “Obviously not. How did you—”

“What’s going on?” Venti asked, skipping over to them. He looked over at the receptionist desk. “What was that all about?”

“We’ve got rooms at a nearby inn thanks to Lady Ninguang,” Childe said. “Let’s get there quickly before the night gets even darker.” He rushed out of the building.

Venti shot Lumine a confused look. “Uh, what’s wrong with him?”

“Who knows?” Lumine muttered.

Childe had always been very straightforward with her, rarely hiding any secrets.

So why was he hiding something now?

* * *

The inn—Wangshu Inn—was a quaint wooden building lit up with glowing lanterns and paintings plastered along the walls. The lobby and outdoor restaurant had a few groups strewn about, a diverse grouping of travelers. Thankfully, Lumine, Childe, and Venti didn’t look too out of place.

The three approached the lady at the front desk, a woman named Verr Goldet, with Lumine asking about their reservation.

“Yes, we just received that phone call about your situation,” she said kindly. “We have the last two rooms ready for you.”

“Oh,” Lumine uttered. She had assumed there would be three rooms, one for each of them. “I guess Venti and Childe can share a room—”

“I am not sharing a room with him,” Childe said.

“Ehe, I wasn’t going to say anything, but I will not be sharing a room with the likes of him either,” Venti retorted.

“Oh, I am so sorry,” Verr Goldet interrupted. “I didn’t realize there are three of you! The last two rooms are single bed only.”

Lumine’s jaw barely had time to drop before Venti was pulling on her arm. “Let’s have a sleepover like when we were younger, LuLu! We can build forts, watch movies—”

Childe’s hand slid down Lumine’s arm, shoving’s Venti’s hands away. “The only way that’s happening is in your dreams, buddy.”

Lumine shrugged off both of the boys, leaning in towards Verr Goldet. “There are absolutely no other rooms available?” Any combination of the three of them would surely result in a dead body in the morning.

Verr Goldet started typing away at her computer. “I’ll double check for you!”

The sound of Childe and Venti hissing insults at each other made Lumine snap around. “Just. Go to the rooms. I will figure where I’m staying for the night. Alone,” she said definitively, pulling the two keys off the counter and holding them out in front of her.

There was a pause as the two of them stared at the keys. Childe was the first to grab one.

“Guess this is goodnight then,” he said. He pressed a swift kiss to Lumine’s forehead. “I’ll see you in the morning, Lumi.” Just as quickly, he left, disappearing into the elevator, leaving Lumine’s forehead (along with the rest of her face) to melt with boiling heat.

Before she had time to process that, Venti’s cheeks puffed, and he planted a kiss on the side of Lumine’s face. “Goodnight, LuLu. If you still want to pig out on junk food, you know where to find me,” he said, jingling his room key. He quickly disappeared into the elevator as well.

Stupid boys. Stupid boys. Stupid boys. Lumine’s mind buzzed. And who was causing this sensation?

“I am so sorry, ma’am,” Verr Goldet said, bringing Lumine back to reality. “On such short notice we truly gave you the last two rooms.” She clicked around on the computer a little more. “I can find another inn for you to stay at if you’d like.”

Lumine took a deep breath in. Her body was already feeling weighty with fatigue, and she didn’t want to complicate the situation even more. “No, that’s alright. I’ll just...stay in one of the rooms.”

Verr Goldet nodded. “Which room would you like a key to?”

* * *

Standing outside the door, Lumine suddenly felt a pang of anxiety burn in her gut. Was she really about to do this? Was it a completely idiotic choice of hers? It wasn’t too late: she could turn right back around and take Verr Goldet’s offer of staying at a separate inn.

But it wasn’t like she could avoid this choice forever, lest the two boys kept fighting for eternity.

And this was the right choice. She knew it in her heart, no matter how much pain it would cause the other one. She cared for them both, deeply. But in different ways. One as a good friend, the other...something more.

She started to push the key into the lock, but stopped herself as images of her walking in someone changing brought blood rushing to her head.

She cleared her throat and knocked on the door instead.

Seconds passed, and Lumine’s heartbeat picked up, just a bit. Was it anticipation?

The door opened, and Childe stood there, fully clothed, thankfully.

He stared at her in silence, as if in disbelief, not sure if she was really there.

“Move,” was all Lumine could say, feeling heat creep up her spine.

He blinked, and stood to the side, still silent. Lumine stepped through the doorway, moving her way to the corner of the room, and plopping herself on the armchair. Wordlessly, she yanked a blanket from the bed, and wrapped herself in it, then closing her eyes.

Maybe neither of them would speak. Maybe it would make the situation more bearable. Childe, please, don’t say anything—

“Take the bed,” he said, pulling the blanket off of her. “I’m not having you sleep in an armchair for the night.”

She tried pulling the blanket back. “It’s fine. You take the bed.”

A tsk. “Why are you always so difficult?”

“I am not diff—”

Childe picked her up from the waist, tossing her on the bed. Then he tossed the blanket on top of her. “There. Just sleep now.”

Her chest fluttered as her breath shortened under the blanket. “And you say I’m the difficult one,” she grumbled. She kept the blanket over her face for as long as she could, not wanting to make eye contact with Childe.

After a while, she peeled it off for air, and couldn’t help but glance over to the armchair where Childe was sitting, eyes closed. It was obvious he was uncomfortable, his lanky legs crossed awkwardly, and his neck looking oddly stiff.

Lumine let out a disgruntled groan, and turned on her side so her back was to Childe. “Sleep in the bed before you break your neck in your sleep,” she said. “Just...stay on your side.”

A long pause. Lumine thought he had fallen asleep.

“Are you sure about that, Lumi?” he asked.

“Do it before I change my mind and make you sleep in the bathtub instead.”

He chuckled lightly. The bed weighed down as he climbed on. Lumine glanced over her shoulder, finding Childe’s back turned to her.

“I’m not going to do anything you don’t want me to do, Lumi,” he said, as if sensing her eyes on his back.

She quickly turned her head back, heat flushing into her cheeks. “Good. Because I’d beat you up.”

“I know you would.”

They laid there in silence, in the dark for a while, backs to each other.

Lumine couldn’t fall asleep. And she was sure Childe couldn’t either.

“Why’d that lady call you Ajax?” Lumine asked quietly.

“Curious about me? I’m flattered.”

“Nevermind. Goodnight.”

“It’s my birth name,” he said. “And that place is actually owned by my father.”

Images of his luxurious mansion flashed in Lumine’s mind.

“That entire dock, actually, is mostly his. He, uh, runs a very big fishing company. Very famous. Very rich.”

“Oh,” was all Lumine could utter. That amount of wealth was something she could only dream about. “And you don’t tell anyone because...?”

“We all have our secrets, don’t we, Pres?” he reminded. “People are greedy. If anyone truly knew who I was, all I’d ever be used for is my money.”

“That’s...very true,” she responded. How...sad. “Is there a reason why you’re not at some big fancy boarding school then?”

Childe laughed. “Can you imagine me in that kind of environment? I’m not interested in that at all.”

The bed shifted as Childe moved around. Lumine glanced over her shoulder again, finding Childe laying on his back, eyes open and staring at the ceiling.

“Besides,” he continued. “If I had gone to one of those schools, I wouldn’t have met you.”

Lumine turned onto her back as well. “You would’ve met me anyways,” she murmured. “You ran into me at the arena, remember?”

“You think so?”

“Our paths would’ve crossed eventually...right?”

A beat of silence. Fluttering of breaths.

“Do you regret meeting me?”

Something about his words, the way he said them, made Lumine’s entire body seize up. It was almost the quietest she had ever heard Childe speak, the tiniest tinge of fear, like his heart had hissed it out before he even really knew what he was saying.

“No,” she answered, just as quiet, her heart responding to his.

Another slight pause. Then a small exhale from Childe, breath lilting in a soft laugh.

“You know. It’s been quite a lonely existence. Before you,” he said.

Lumine looked over at him. His hand was resting on his chest—right where that huge scar was.

It was rare to see him so vulnerable, and her to be just as such. Her past self wouldn’t have been able to fathom this happening with Childe of all people.

But just like she said, she didn’t regret it.

He understood her, better than herself sometimes. And there wasn’t anyone in Childe’s life who came close to knowing who he really was. They both wore facades of sorts, but not around each other. Not anymore.

Her hand started reaching out without thought. It was the right thing to do, to comfort him, to connect with him.

Lumine’s hand sat atop Childe’s. “You’re not so lonely anymore, right?”

She felt his hand flex under hers, hesitant. Then, he relaxed, and his fingers intertwined with hers. “Of course not.”

The warmth from their hold sparked something in her. The warmth of a promise she had made.

She finally turned onto her side, completely facing him. “Did I do it?” Her amber eyes met with his. “Did I save you?”

He stared at her, gaze lost in gaze. He smiled, small, but real, genuine, from the heart. “Yes.” He brought her hand to his lips, lips brushing over her knuckles. “You saved me, Lumine.”

She stared at him, wide-eyed with anticipation, heart beating in a frenzy. She swore her chest was going to burst.

“I love you,” she said.

…

Childe was frozen, speechless for once.

He’s surprised. He was never surprised. He was always so calm and collected.

Should I have even said it? No, she had to. She was going to explode otherwise.

“Lumi, are you serious—”

“Yes, I’m serious. I can’t explain it; I just do and I know it sounds crazy, but you—”

He pulled her close and kissed her.

He kissed her, and this time, she kissed him back.

* * *

[part 14]

#genshin impact #genshin childe #genshin lumine #chilumi #fanfiction #fanfic #me #childe x lumine

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saphie3243 · 4 years ago

Text

First Solstice

For my Secret Snowflake @tomtenadia

Nesta spends her first Solstice sober in Illyria, unable to bring herself to brave the inner circle celebration for a second year in a row.

Word Count: 5500+

Read on AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28297182

There was something soothing about a room being so crowded it became hard to breathe. Better still when the music was so loud you can’t hear yourself think. Best when bodies are grinding, booze is flowing, and something to smoke is being passed around. Everyone was here for the same reason, everyone wanted a distraction. Amren had made several comments that she couldn’t believe Nesta got males to go home with her when she smelled like sweat and a distillery. She apparently didn’t understand that everyone smelled the same at places like this.

The band was better than usual. The music was… actually good. Maybe that’s why the bar was extra packed today. Or maybe it was because Solstice was tomorrow and no one wanted to think about all the ways they’ve disappointed their families this year.

Disappointing. The male she dragged into the bathroom was just that. He wasn’t even worth the time she wasted not getting another bottle of wine. She didn’t even let him finish before booting him out and stumbling back to her favorite stool. The bartender knows her by now and has mulled wine waiting.

It’s warm and more mulled than wine. She nodded to him. They know how to take care of her here, she certainly spends enough. Leo is decent enough to warn her off of the less than savory types that might be interested in more than even she was willing to give. She sighs back into the glass. Why she felt the need to judge herself when tomorrow she was going to get 5 times over from Feyre and insipid little family was why she needed another glass.

She turned around in her stool, facing back out, watching the crowd move in a formless mass. This band had changed over. The new one wasn’t nearly as good. Several months haunting bars and clubs to all hours in the morning had provided Nesta a proper sampling of Velaris’ bands, and, in her mind, gave her a liberty to criticize as she saw fit. This crater-faced crooner was pitchy and couldn’t move a room if he winnowed them. That earlier one had a woman out front. She was unusual for a Fae. She was beautiful, yes, but she wasn’t the wispy waif most fae women were. She was tall and built, covered in a layer of extra fat that filled out wonderful curves and jiggled when she danced. But that wasn’t what made her remarkable. Her voice took your heart by the ears and pulled you into the emotion she wanted you to feel.

“Weird compliment, but I’ll take it.”

“Lor-Cass said you weren’t going home this year,” Emerie placed the breeches she was folding into a pile of identical wares.

“I didn’t go home last year, either,” Nesta swished the black liquid in her cup as she reviewed the ledgers. Last Solstice only served to remind Nesta how much of a stranger she was to her own family, to Feyre’s new one. She would never be able to call that debacle “going home.” This year, however, she could avoid Velaris. Being banned from the city meant Feyre no longer had the ability to force her into attending farcical family meals, no matter how pissy she was about it.

She closed the books with a sigh and placed them back into a drawer. “Numbers look good.”

Emerie moved her pile of pants over to their shelf. “Thanks for looking over them, I haven’t had anyone to check my math since dad.” Nesta nodded and pulled out the books and notepads Emerie kept hidden with her accounting ledgers.

She leafed through to the furthest marked page. “You didn’t get much further last night,” she commented.

“Ah, no time, had to process a big shipment.”

“It’s fine,” Nesta muttered. 5 words underlined. Not the most, not the least. She reviewed the best-guess at the words definition in Emerie’s notebook. Most were correct. She added pronunciation guides next to some. “Macabre means bloody, gruesome.”

“Why is there an R in it?”

“Because the gods are cruel.” She heard Emerie’s answering laugh. “You’re doing well though. We can probably move on to actually writing.” She didn’t really think it would be that hard for Emerie to learn to read and write. She ran this business - she was clearly whip-smart, just uneducated. It could easily be remedied.

“In the meantime, can you answer the orders?”

This little arrangement worked out nicely. Nesta lended her books and made her literate, meanwhile she would help out with store correspondence and would review the books. Reviewing the books was less about checking Emerie’s math - that she had a natural understanding for - and more about making sure each transaction had sufficient notes.

She took another sip from her night-black liquid. The best part of Illyria, in her mind, was this coffee thing. It didn’t grow locally, needing a warmer climate for the source plant to thrive, but it had become a staple in the tribes as a way to keep troops moving with minimal sleep. Hot and bitter, it really shouldn’t have been as pleasant to drink as it was, but she found herself unable to stop.

“When does Lo- Cass head down south?”

“He should be meeting everyone Solstice morning and be back the day after.”

“What are you going to do?”

Stare at the liquor bottles he filled with water to tease me. Drink my weight in coffee and stand outside Devlon’s house at 2 am sending waves of power over the door to fuck with him until some asshole walks by and works up the balls to ask me back to their place - or die of exposure. Whatever’s first.

“Not sure, why?”

“Would you… I don’t know… want to spend tomorrow with… me?” Emerie had approached the table, tapping her fingers with each phrase. Nesta looked her up and down. If it was anyone else, she would have thought Cassian put her up to it. But she was also alone for the holidays, and Nesta knew that was probably a much bigger deal for the Illyrian than it was for her. She had mentioned once that she didn’t have many people since her father died. Adding in that Emerie didn’t do anything she didn’t want to do... If she was asking, it was because she wanted to spend this day with Nesta.

She smiled at her friend, “Come over whenever.”

___

Dinner was hot and ready when she came in. Cassian always made sure that their meals were piping. His own way of combating the awful wet cold of Illyria. She had to wonder if part of it also had to do with keeping the fires low in the house.

Nesta kicked off her boots by the door and carried them to the fireplace. She set them down next to Cassian’s - the secret to warm feet, he’d said. Their coat rack was also by the fireplace for similar reasons. She gently felt the socks left hanging there- warm, thank the Wall. She pulled off her damp knits and left them in a pile on the floor while pulled on the fresh clothes. They went up to hang immediately after.

“Do you need to take every peg? Emerie’s store is only 5 minutes away,” Cassian called from across the house. He was standing in the kitchen with two bowls of stew.

“Five minutes flying, 25 walking,” she turned to him. “Through a foot and a half of snow.”

She pointed to the bottom of her dress and the crust of ice that had formed there. He grimaced.

“I would have picked you up if you asked.”

“Unnecessary.” She pulled the dress over her head and left it to hang on the coat rack. After months of living together, they had long overcome the initial discomfort with mild nudity. Not that she was anywhere near naked. She still had the chemise that ended at her knees, her wool sleeves, her knitted belly warmer, and a double layer of wool hose. She was more covered than either Amren or Morrigan on any given day. Finally in only dry clothes, she marched over the kitchen and took the bowl from Cassian.

Four months of living with Cassian in Illyria was… surprisingly easy. The mountains were peaceful, simple. The way of life here is more similar to the human society she grew up with than the magical speed of Velaris. Emerie was a pleasant discovery. She still wanted a drink, desperately, but the biting cold had a similar numbing effect if you stood out in it long enough. The worst part was being dragged out of bed at dawn for “training”. Though her training was less about learning to fight herself and more about standing around the training rink terrifying males while Cass tried to teach little girls to throw a punch.

Coincidently she hadn’t gotten laid in 4 months either.

“As much as I love seeing you in your underwear, you do have very nice, very warm leathers.”

“Bite me,” she said as she shoveled food in her mouth. She had made it this long avoiding putting those damn things on. She wasn’t going to cave now. No matter how much imagining the fur lining made her whimper.

He smiled down at her, making a point of flashing his teeth. “Gladly.” Whatever mischief was running through his thoughts cleaned itself up as he changed subjects. He was the other surprise. The animosity between them was turned down to a polite simmer. Oh they still bickered, and they flirted. They never said it, and God willing never would, but any edges of disgust in their banter had long been smoothed by fondness. “Az will be picking me up at 7 tomorrow. If you change your mind about coming with me, be ready to go then.”

“I won’t,” she answered, choosing not to tell him that she would be spending the day with Emerie.

Surprisingly, he didn’t push.

“Oh good, you’re up. I’m making breakfast, if you want.”

Nesta woke up in a bed that was far too clean to be her own. Her head ached, her throat was dry, and she was naked. She sat up and took in her surroundings. This room was not hers. She had less furniture and more piles of shit everywhere. She was trying to figure out how she got there when the door opened and a woman came wandering in.

Nesta recognized her as soon as she spoke and finally recalled the night prior. She was the singer for that band. They chatted each other up at the bar for hours, getting progressively drunker. By the time the bar closed they stumbled home - going to hers because it was closer. They jumped each other as soon as the door closed. It was a new experience for Nesta, being with a woman. And it was good. The singer sounded as lovely when she came as she did when she belted.

Staying for breakfast would be nice. Something real in her stomach to soak up the alcohol was very needed. And if she played it right, there was a chance for as lovely a morning as there was a night.

“Yeah, I’ll be out in a minute.”

Nesta waited until her partner had left the room before she pulled on her dress and snuck out the window.

Lovely wasn’t what she deserved.

___

No training didn’t mean that Nesta didn’t wake up at first light. It just meant she didn’t need to get dressed. Part of the initial torture of first arrival was learning that Cass put her in an east facing room with larg windows on the walls - and refused to let her have curtains. Privacy apparently wasn’t as important as making sure she didn’t have oversleeping as an excuse.

She swore at the sun, as she did every morning, and felt around in the bed next to her. Before getting out from under the covers, she pulled on her fluffy robe. This little trick she learned back in the hut. Sleep with the clothes you’re going to wear if you want them to be warm in the morning.

She trudged out to the main room and kitchen, beginning the process of preparing breakfast. Another rule of the house, if you are up first, you cook first. Same for dinner and coming home. Lunch they were on their own. There was a housemaid when she first arrived, but… she didn’t last long. She found the tea kettle and set about making hot water while she poured oats into bowls. From their icebox - a box they just left sealed outside to let winter keep cold - she pulled out a package of cured bacon. The kettle whistled, and she used the entire batch to steep the coffee. The next round of water was for the oatmeal.

The shadows between the windows grew and darkened. Before he even stepped out, Nesta greeted him.

“I’m making coffee. Get a cup if you want some.”

“Thank you. I’ll take bacon, too, if you don’t mind.”

“It’s Cass’s money,” she answered, adding three more pieces to the griddle.

Azriel was the only one from Velaris that visited with any sort of regularity, mostly due to how closely he needed to work with Cassian. He would come up about once a week for updates or meetings or to winnow Cass somewhere. He had begun to make a habit out of arriving early to chat with Nesta. Sometimes he just came up to hang out with them. He probably only came up to spend time with Cassian, but since she was usually around, they included her.

No one else from the Inner Circle bothered to visit. Rhysand and Feyre came up once, but that… did not end well. Elain felt too guilty to come see the sister whose banishment she had consented to. Morrigan wasn’t even on the island, so it wasn’t a surprise she didn’t stop by. And Amren… Amren was keeping her vow to not speak to Nesta until she apologised to Morrigan. Something Nesta still didn’t think she needed to do.

Morrigan spent 4 nights a week at a gay bar. How the fuck was Nesta supposed to know she wasn’t out?

“Elain asked me to bring this,” he conjured a set of books and hand-knitted socks into existence, placing both onto the table while pouring himself a cup. The books were tied together with ribbons and decorated with small bows, clearly meant to be her Solstice present. The socks - well, Elain had taken up knitting sometime in the last year and had Azriel deliver a pair every time he visited.

“Why didn’t she just ask Cassian to bring it back with him?” Nesta scooped some brown sugar into her oatmeal.

The ever so slight blush on his cheeks told her what his answer did not. “She wanted to make sure you had a present for the holiday.”

“Because she knows how much I care about holidays,” and it had nothing at all to do with you leaving from her room this morning and it seeming convenient at the time. They wanted to be discrete, and Nesta accepted that - no matter how bad they were at hiding it. She poured in the hot water into her breakfast and stirred. “Any messages with that present?”

“The bacon looks done.”

“Azriel.”

He sighed. “No.”

Nesta tightened her jaw and moved the bacon from the stove to a plate, allowing him to have a piece. She wasn’t sure if she was more pissed that he didn’t have a message or that she was still hoping he would. Either way she was going to play it off. “I’m surprised they didn’t have you hock me about going, too.”

Az cocked his head. “Cass made it pretty clear you weren’t ready for that.” She snapped up at him.

“And what was his barometer for knowing if I was ready?” She sneered.

But Az only shrugged, well accustomed to playing referee for Cassian and Nesta by now. “You not wanting to go.”

Nesta was still thinking about Azriel’s answer by the time Emerie came over. She couldn’t decide if Cassian was being a presumptive ass or if he was being genuinely considerate. He had a habit of being both interchangeably. Like when he finally made his way to the kitchen, fully dressed and demanding breakfast. He added in some last minute jabs about coming back early if she got lonely as Az winnowed away with him. And even through the mocking tone, the message was clear. “If you don’t want to be alone, just say the word and I’ll come back.”

He still didn’t know she was spending today with Emerie then.

“Do you not own any decorations or do you just not like them?” she asked, looking around the room.

“What decorations?” Nesta strained in her thoughts, there was a lot of extra shit in Feyre’s living room last year…

“Solstice decorations.You know, candles, holly, garlands,” Emerie explained. It sounded like what Feyre had up - and what most of Velaris had up - but in all honesty she was not sober enough last year to make the connection that it was for the holiday and wasn’t just some seasonal nonsense. Emerie squinted at her and placed a wrapped box on the table. Presents!

Fuck. That’s right. Fae exchange presents on the Solstice.

“I honestly don’t know.”

Emerie squinted at her. “What do you mean you don’t know?”

Nesta shrugged. “Humans don’t have holidays.” At most they had festivals, but they were distinctly not holidays, just an excuse to drink and dance with as many strangers as possible. The closest thing they had to a formal holiday was Treaty Day, and even that was not the intimate affair this seemed to be. She hadn’t even heard of a Solstice dinner until Feyre asked her to go last year.

“How do you not have holidays?” she asked.

“Holidays used to be very dangerous days to be human.” There were plenty of horror-stories around the suffering of human slaves on religious days. Whether they were being traded as gifts or killed as sacrifices... even if the stories were exaggerations, it led to whole-sale rejection of everything religious by human society.

“So you know nothing about solstice?” Emerie placed a hand on her hip.

“It is the longest night of the year.”

Emerie made it her mission to instruct Nesta on the finer points of an Illyrian solstice. First and foremost, every 5 years it was the last day of the Blood Rite. The theme of doing battle still continued in the other years, most tribes had hunts or tournaments for the men to mark the occasion. Women were expected to work the day to prepare for the night. The night of the Solstice was the only true peace Illyria ever saw. Solstice nights were for feasting, music, and dancing. Fighting after dark was strictly forbidden. Gifts were expected between families, friends, and especially rivals. It symbolized an acceptance that though Illyrians may compete with one another, they were still members of one army.

“Does this tribe have a tournament?” Nesta asked. Cassian hadn’t mentioned anything about it, or a feast afterwards, but he might not have thought her interested. Or ready, she thought ruefully.

“Devlon hosts a melee tournament. Puts all the entrants in the ring together and waits to see who comes out. The large feast at the end is prepared by entrant’s families,” Nesta knew she meant women in those families, “For the entrants and their families. Dad didn’t enter, so we would just watch the tournament and then spend the night at home.”

“Do you want to watch the tournament this year?”

“Yeah but you’re still in your pajamas,” Emerie laughed.

She watched by the door as Nesta dressed in her warmest clothes. Watching men fight on her day off wasn’t exactly Nesta’s idea of a good time. But Emerie wanted to go. And Cassian had tried to make the decision of whether or not she should go by not telling her about it, so that in and of itself made her want to go. Because neither were entering, and certainly neither were cooking, they wouldn’t be able to attend the feast after. But that’s just as well. A night back at the house with hot drinks and Cassian’s pantry seemed just fine to both of them.

The tournament took place in the training rings. Normally the 5 or so rings were roped off from one another, allowing different ages and skill levels to train separately. But today Devlon had taken down the separators, providing an obnoxiously large space for his melee. But it was needed. It seemed every one of Devlon’s soldiers signed up for the tournament. About 200 competitors, ranging from small boys to grown men. There were even some father-son pairs helping each other warm up in the ring.

Outside the rings, there was yet another crowd of voyeurs. Women and girls taking breaks from their preparations to watch, the merchant families - like Emerie’s, and the men too old and frail to compete anymore. Standing at the head of it all was Devlon, a poor-man’s Cassian. He caught wind of them walking up and immediately flared at the sight of Nesta before turning back to the tournament. Being a witch in Illyria had certain perks. Devlon’s apprehension being only part of it. The crowd parting for them, allowing them to stand at his side and have the best view, was another.

“Soldiers!” Devlon called as he stepped forward. All 200 men turned to him at attention, well trained by now. “You know the rules. No siphons, no weapons, no flying, no killing. You fall, you’re out. You yield, you’re out. You get knocked out of the ring, you’re out. The last men standing at sunset wins.” He raised his arm in the air, making it visible to all. He took one last look around the ring, took a breath, and dropped his arm and stepped back as he bellowed, “Lay on!”

The chaos was immediate. One of the younger kids, there without a father to hold them up, fell immediately. The rest were at each other's throats, kicking, punching, wrestling. Part of her was worried that the battle-royale would be too similar to the war. But without the clang of steel and the geysers of blood, she found this was more similar to the crowded dance halls in Velaris. Devlon, now standing next to the girls, kept his eyes on the mock-battle as he spoke. “I thought you’d be with Cassian today.”

“And miss a battle royale? Honestly Devlon, do you know me at all?” She smiled at him, relishing how he flinched at her grin. “Can’t help but notice none of the girls are competing.”

His jaw tightened. “The Solstice melee is not training. It’s tradition.”

“Now you said the same thing about the girls training, too, did you not?” Nesta had no interest in ever learning how to fight herself, and didn’t really care if girls trained or not. But there was a difference between choosing not to do something and not being allowed to do something.

“If Lord Cassian wants to insert his views here as well, he should be here to do it himself.” The harsh words were undercut by the bead of sweat racing down his cheek. He wasn’t wrong. That was part of the reason Cass was stationed up here full time. Changing the rules around women required full time intervention. In Nesta’s mind, it also required more input from the women, but that was a discussion for another time.

“Maybe next year,” Nesta yawned. She watched the battle progress. After the initial early eliminations, they had plateaued into a minor stalemate. Some alliances also became clear. Groups of friends or families fighting together, watching each other’s back, catching each other before they fell. She didn’t cheer as the crowd or Emerie did. Rather, her and Devlon seemed to be the only calm people there.

Then… something odd happened. One of the teenage boys fell suddenly. He didn’t seem to get hit particularly hard, for one. And secondly, he didn’t get back up. Both Devlon and Nesta leaned forward, looking closer. She saw it first, sniffed it out. Blood. The boy had been hit in the side and was bleeding from the wound.

“Devlon,” she said very carefully.

“I know, I didn’t see who did it.”

“We need to get him out.”

“His friends will get him out.”

She held her breath, watching. No one came. She hadn’t been watching him particularly, but she didn’t remember him teaming up like the others. The way they walked around him… “He doesn’t have friends,” she snarled. Even Emerie gulped as Nesta’s anger stirred the well of her power. Cass told her stories. Back when the shakes and cold sweats were unbearable, he stayed up with her and told stories, trying to distract her through it. Trading one dark truth for another. She told him about watching her mother die, he told her that he was alone for years until Rhys. A bastard that was left to fend for himself, potentially to die if he wasn’t strong enough. From the way they walked over this kid, he was the same. She needed to get him out of there. He was bleeding out and no one was doing a damn thing about it.

“We cannot interfere with the melee,” Devlon said, “it’s against the rules.”

“So is weapons, but someone clearly has a knife,” she spat. Devlon didn’t say anything to that. He just kept scanning the make-shift battlefield, searching. “There!” he shouted, and his green siphon flashed. Another teenager was plucked into the air by his wings. He kicked and thrashed, a small knife in his fist. Devlon pulled the kid to him, releasing his magic’s grip and decking as asshole as he got in range. The boy went down with just that one hit.

But the first boy was still out there. He was still bleeding out. Alone in a crowd. He was going to die. He was going to die in this little mock battle where killing was strictly forbidden. Was this why Cassian didn’t tell her about it? Did he have holidays like this? Did older boys gang up on him and try to kill him without anyone noticing? Was he left alone to bleed on his own?

“Nesta!”

Emerie’s voice was farther away than it should have been, and muffled by a crowd of idiots fighting with one another. She wasn’t entirely sure how she got here, but Nesta was standing over the fallen boy. As they registered her presence, one by one the soldiers stopped. “The witch.” “It’s the witch.” “Why is the witch here?” She ignored them all, kneeling down to the injured. He was pale and grimacing, having lost a lot of blood - still losing it, actually. The knife had gotten him just below the ribs, catching who knows which organs. Without another word she picked him up, allowing his head to rest against his shoulder and his body to rest on her torso.

She turned back to Emerie and Devlon, one watching with concern, the other pissed as hell. She stepped towards them, slowly, carefully. She didn’t want to jostle the kid’s injuries more than necessary. No one came near her as she walked out of the ring. At first she thought it was the same as the audience, that they were simply afraid of the witch. But a glance around gave her a different answer.

Her power extended around her in a sphere, creating barriers of ethereal flowing silver. The grass around her withered and died, and no man here wanted to see what would happen if they touched the walls of silver flames. When she got to the edge of the ring, the rope touched her power and rotted to nothing. She didn’t know how this boy still lived in her arms, but he was still breathing- barely. She spoke to both Devlon and Emerie.

“He needs a healer.”

“I’ll find Marta and have her meet you at the house.”

Nesta nodded to her friend and turned to walk the familiar path to Cassian’s house, her power dying down as she crossed the threshold.

Marta arrived at the same time she did. They set the kid down on the kitchen table as the old woman got to work. The boy did get stabbed, but only in the liver. It took longer than Nesta would have thought, certainly longer than the battlefield-healing she remembered from the war, but Marta was able to stabilize him and stitch him up. She left them with instructions to make sure the boy didn’t get infected or pop a stitch in the night.

“Not how you planned to spend the Solstice, I’m guessing?” Nesta asked.

Emerie tilted her head, “No but seeing every warrior in the village piss himself is worth it.” She slumped down on the couch. “We have a moment, want to open your present?” she gestured to the box on the table.

“Y-yeah, just let me grab yours.” Nesta ran back to her room. She grabbed the stack of books Elain bought her, still wrapped from this morning. Definitely a faux paus, but she would never know.

Nesta came back out with the present and set it in front of Emerie. “Happy Solstice.” The look of awe and excitement was worth it. As Emerie began to untie the books, Nesta began to unwrap her present. Under the paper was a long, thin box. She unlidded it to find a set of leather and wood hair pins - Illyrian style hair pins, made to not get cold in winter.

“Thank you,” she said, still admiring the etching on the leather thong.

“I’d thank you but, I think mine goes to Elain.”

“What?” Nesta whipped her head up to see the first book open on the table and Emerie holding a hand written note. She was clearly reading it but let Nesta snatch it from her anyway.

“So should I let you borrow the books or-”

“Shush.” Emerie laughed and paged through the first novel as Nesta read the note.

Dear Nesta,

I know you are still upset with me, and with Feyre, for sending you away. And you are right to be upset. You were there for me, after the Cauldron and after Grayson. You held our family together after Feyre left. And when you needed us, needed me, I didn’t know how to help.

I don’t know if it is the power or just my own knowledge of you, but I knew there was nothing I could do. I knew that if I tried to help, I would only fail. And that is not an excuse. Fear of failure does not make not trying ok, but it is what I did. And I am sorry.

I know putting this in a letter hidden in a book is still the coward’s way, but I don’t think I could face you if I didn’t apologize first. I hope to have Azriel take me for a visit after the Solstice if you would have me.

Your sister,

Elain

___

They stayed up most of the night, playing cards, reading, and watching over the boy. Nesta had planned to stay up the full night, but using her power that day and waking up at 6 am had taken its toll. She found herself drowsing into her cards. Around 3am, Emerie sent Nesta to bed, agreeing to stay up and keep watch. Nesta’s head barely hit the pillow before she was out.

She woke in darkness. Not odd for her. Waking up in the middle night was fairly common. But when she looked to her window, she saw that it was not night. There was sunlight shining behind the makeshift curtain someone had thrown over her window. She pushed herself up. Who?

“You’re up.”

She turned her attention to the chair on the other side of her bed. Cassian sat there, watching over her with an indecipherable expression. She sat up.

“When did you get home?”

He ran his fingers through his hair. It was down and knotted, unusual for him. There were bags under his eyes. “Last night, before dawn. Az brought me back,” he brought his hands together and looked at her. “Emerie told me what happened. You lost control again.”

“How’s the boy?”

“Petros is fine. I moved him to my room to sleep off the rest of the potion the healer gave him.”

“That’s good.”

“No, you couldn’t,” his hands gently reached out and lifted her face to look at him. “Why couldn’t you?”

Cassian moved to the bed, sitting next to Nesta. “You lost control for him.”

“I-I couldn’t just let him bleed out,” she explained, staring at a spot on the bedspread.

Because he reminded me of you. She didn’t know if she said the words out loud or not. But Cassian’s answering kiss was so soft, so gentle, so sweet, she didn’t care. She responded to his kiss in kind, her hand cupping his face, finally feeling those perfectly chiselled cheekbones. His tongue passed over her lower lip and she opened for him, inviting him deeper. She met his tongue with her own and wrapped her hands around the back of his head, pulling him closer. He grinned through the kiss, gently placed his hand on her shoulders, and pushed her back down on the bed.

It was the first time Nesta stayed for breakfast after.

___________

Tagging potential readers:

@perseusannabeth

#secret snowflake #Nesta Archeron #Nessian #Cassian #post Acowar #post acofas #elain archeron #emerie #Nesta and Emerie will be besties if it kills me #Nesta and Cassian adopt that kid.#Potato-burp is ask-able tumblr #so that one is in the exchange.#but my writing goes here so here we are #never posted fic directly to tumblr before.#weird

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mrs-takami-keigo · 4 years ago

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Mesmerize

Song:Mesmerize by Ja rule

Club owner Bakugou X Fem!Reader Rating E! 18+

As stated in my RULES all characters I write will be 21 and up! In this Bakugou is twenty-nine.

Prompt: Character flirts with you at the club and couldn’t wait till you got somewhere secluded to have you.

Word count:4.2k

Warnings:Dirty talk, Orgams denial, public sex, unprotected sex, slight degradation, alcohol

This was a request from my PROMPTS I did for my zodiac twin @katsukikitten. This was so much freaking fun to write!!

And this will also be my first tile off of my BINGO masterlist!

Huge thank you to @samanthaa-leanne and @shoutogepi for beta reading this for me!

You felt the bass of the loud music vibrate through your body as you maneuvered through the crowd of people, bodies pressed together, lights flashing and drinks in everyone's hand, you expected nothing less from the hottest club in the city. Usually the smell of alcohol would bother you but right now it didn’t matter because you were finally out of the house and having a good time. That quarantine felt like it lasted for years but you also understood it was necessary. Everyone was drunk, inhibitions thrown out the window, tonight was about living it up.

“What can I get for you!” The bartender shouted from across the slightly sticky white countertop. Even on an insane night like this he had a giant smile on his face, happy to finally have business.

“Can I get a gin and tonic with two limes and make it a double please!” The red haired man gives you a curt nod of his head before grabbing a glass and making your drink.

Turning around you pressed your exposed back to the bar, elbows resting on the surface. You took in the sight of the club, people dancing, laughing, lovers showing their affection for each other rather publicly. A smirk played on your lips at a couple as their lips seemed to become molded together, wandering hands gripping ass, boobs, anything they could get their hands on.

It made you a little envious. How long has it been since you’ve had your back blown out, moaning at the top of your lungs by some good dick? Months, six months to be exact, but it’s not like you were counting or anything.

“Here you go, love!” The sound of the bartender's voice broke you out of your thoughts. Turning around you went to open your clutch only to have his hand cover yours. Looking up, the bartender was shaking his head. “Your drinks for the night have been covered by someone already.”

“What? Who?!” You looked around to see if anybody was looking in your direction, assuming whoever did this would want for you to talk to them. You’ve had drinks bought for you in the past on numerous occasions, may it have been the old man trying to relive his youth after a divorce to a young guy just trying to impress you by spending money on you.

“Not at liberty to say, but just enjoy it love. Name is Kirishima, if you need a refill just let me know.” The red headed man sent you a playful wink before he slid down the bar, helping the other patrons.

‘Covered for the night huh?’ A smirk played on your lips as you twirled the little red straw between your fingers, the ice cubes clinking against the side of the glass. Wrapping your glossed lips around the plastic material you took a sip of the drink, the slight burn from the gin hit you first but was subdued by the sweet and tangy taste of the limes. Kirishima made this drink super strong but it was still pleasurable. And if drinks were gonna be covered all night nothing was stopping you from downing the small glass of alcohol in five minutes, before waving down your new favorite bartender for another.

Not sure how much time had passed, you were only counting by drinks and you were positive you were on your fith glass. You weren’t completely drunk, still sober enough to know your name, address and phone number but you were sure if you drank two more right now you’d be black out drunk. Pulling out your phone you clicked the button on the right side, bringing the small device to life.

‘It’s only one am and I’m already like this?’ You still had the whole night ahead of you and you were damned if you had to go home early. Facing the bar you looked for Kirishima, trying to get his attention. But he was distracted by a group of women who were fawning over his bright red spiked hair.

“Oi dumbass! You got other people here waiting! Stop tryna get your dick wet and get her something to drink!” You weren't sure when the male had snuck up behind you, but between his loud voice and his body fully pressed against yours you couldn’t move. His chest felt like a rock against your back, a low rumble vibrating through his chest as he yelled, looking down to your right you saw one of his hands pressed on the bar. Not even seeing his face yet, you could feel your pussy come alive.

“Damn Bakugou! I could have really had some fun tonight.” While you were lost in your slight desire for this Bakugou person, Kirishima had reluctantly walked away from the group.

“I really don’t give a fuck.” You could feel him lean down so his face was next to your’s. Not even daring to your head, afraid if he was attractive you’d lose the last of your resolve. “You want another gin and tonic, double with two limes, or you want some water?” He spoke in a lower tone almost like a growl, his breath ghosting over the shell of your ear.

You started to love and hate the fact that you wore this specific dress tonight, it was a skin tight royal blue satin dress, a small strap wrapped around your neck leaving your entire back exposed. What you really loved about this dress was how it hugged you curves in all the right places while still looking classy. The bad part was you could feel his other large hand placed on the small of your back and because of that your cunt started to pulsate. You were already sure you had a small wet spot on your black lace panties.

Swallowing the lump in your throat you turned your head to look at the male that had this effect on you. ‘Holy shit he’s fucking hot.’ His crimson colored eyes were fixated on you, blonde brows lifted as a smug smirk graced his lips. Messy fluffy blonde hair on top of his head, a black button down fitting perfectly on his slim yet fit body. The first three buttons were undone, exposing the silver chains that hung from his thick neck.

“You’re pretty fucking hot yourself.” A tongue slipped past his lips in a swift motion, those crimson eyes glanced down roaming over your curves, drinking in the sight of you like he was ready to eat you right there against the bar. You were sure you felt his hand on your lower back shift so his fingers were brushing dangerously close to the edge of the dress that sat right on top of your ass.

At first you were perplexed on why he would say that to you only to realise you said he was hot out loud instead of in your head. First time out in months and you embarrass yourself infront on the finest man you’ve set your eyes on, fucking great.

“You want another drink love?” Kirishima placed an empty glass on the bar, ready to make your usual.

“Can I get water this time?” You were trying to ignore the man who was still behind you. His gaze on you was so intense that you were sure he could see right through you. Bakugou had said less than twenty words and you were ready to have his face buried in your pussy. Yeah you definitely needed water if you were gonna try to talk to this fine ass man.

“You know it’s pretty fucking rude to ignore a person who was talking to you.” He had moved from behind you, to stand next to you. Resting his right forearm on the bar he leaned so he could see your entire face. “But I’ll let it slide, I’m in a good mood tonight.”

You still haven’t looked in his direction, trying to hide the fact that this man had you flustered. Kirishima had passed you a tall glass full of ice cold water, lifting it up to your slightly parched lips, you let the cold water slide down your throat. You didn’t realize just how thirsty you actually were til that moment. Closing your eyes you relished in the feeling of the water cooling you down, a little spilled from the side of your mouth, sliding down your neck.

Bakugou watched as that clear liquid flowed down your smooth skin, it glistened as the club lights hit it. He wanted nothing more than to use his tongue and lap up that water but restrained himself.

“And it’s rude to creep up behind a girl and place your hand on her like that without asking.” You set the glass down, turning to face him, coping the same position he was in. “No introduction, no ��excuse me’. You even yelled at sweet Kirishima as if you owned the place, asshole.”

“Oi Kirishima, who owns this fucking place?” Bakugou never shifted his gaze from your fiery ones as he called out to the bartender.

“Uh you boss.” The minute those words rolled out of his mouth you could feel panic run through your body.

‘Boss?! No fucking way!’

“And who covered her tab for the night?” You didn’t know if you wanted to slap that smug look off his face or let him have his way with you at the moment, right now both sounded like a good plan.

“Once again you boss.”

“Thanks dumbass, you can leave now, I’m sure those hoes are still waiting for you.” Bakugou stood up straight, towering over you even in your heels. He moved forward forcing you to move back away from him. You weren't sure if it was because of the gin or if it was because of him but you could feel your face begin to flush, legs becoming like jelly with each step you took, the look in his eyes were dark and full of lust. As if he was a lion waiting to pounce on his prey.

“Now who was the asshole again?” His voice came out as a snarl, lips curled up showing off his canines and gums. Stumbling backwards your back came in contact with the wall at the end of the bar. It just so happened that this particular corner was hidden in the dark corner of the club. “What happened? You got all that bark and no bite?”

Bakugou had caged you between the wall and his body, his right arm blocking you from the crowd and with his broad build shielding you from the people behind him. With his free hand, he gently gripped your face, tilting your head up so you could look at him. His face was so close to yours, breaths mingled together as his eyes bore into you.

“I’m gonna be fuckin honest here, I saw you the minute you entered my club. I watched as you made your way across the dance floor and over to shitty hair. You cast a fuckin spell on me and all I wanna do is fuck you against this wall right now.” You felt your breath hitch as he placed his thigh in between your legs. His semi-hard cock was pressed against your leg. “But I won’t do anything unless you want me too. I’m not a fucking animal.”

The way your mouth went dry as he spoke and your pussy began to ache for him. This man you met only ten minutes ago was just your type, dominating, handsome and still a fucking gentelman. If anyone cast a spell it was him.

“Age?” You had a few questions before letting this man dick you down.

“Twenty nine and you?”

“Twenty eight. You clean?”

Smirking down at you he knew that this was your way of saying yes to him. “My body is my temple princess.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck as you ground your sex against thigh, a moan floating out of yours and his lips. “Do your worst asshole.”

Before you could even blink his mouth was pressed against your glossed ones. Nothing about this situation was romantic, no it was nothing but carnal desire. Your body longed to be touched by someone and fuck did you hit the jackpot with this one.

His hands roamed down your back, slightly scratching your smooth skin leaving small red marks in their wake. Soon he gilded his hands over your ass, cupping your cheeks in his large calloused hands. Breaking the kiss you let out a shuttered breath, by him gripping you up like that caused you to rub against his thigh again but this time it was much harder than before.

“I can feel how wet you are through my fucking pants, you want me that bad huh?” Bakugou growled against your neck, giving it small licks and nips, eyes started to roll into the back of your head. Between his attack on your neck and him constantly making you rub your pussy against his thigh, you were sure he was gonna wreck you.

“Don’t flatter yourself dipshit, it's been a long six months.” He was right though, you wanted him, you wanted him so bad. Your nimble fingers made their way to his belt, trying to unbuckle it and get what you wanted.

“You’re an eager little slut aren’t ya?” Grabbing your hands, Bakugou lifted them above your head, holding both wrists in one of his hands. “Don’t worry princess I’ll be sure to make you cum hard. We’ll save all that sensual shit for next time.” Fuck, he had you completly under his control. As much as you wanted to fight him and challenge him, you couldn’t. All you wanted was for him to fuck you.

Bakugou had turned his body slightly to the side, covering you from anyone that could still see you. You were so lost in him that you forgot that you were in the fucking club and out in the open. But you were far too deep now to care, and so was everyone else.

You could feel Bakugou lift the hem of your satin dress up, exposing your black lace panties. Taking his long middle finger he grazed it against you, slightly pressing between your folds. “I fucking knew it, you are soaked. Look at my finger, it's coated with your juices.” He brought the same finger he used against you, sticking his tongue out, sliding the coated digit over it.

“God with just that little bit I can tell you taste so fucking good.” His leg was still between your own and your arms still above your head, you ground your hips against him once again. He was doing too much teasing and all you wanted was that sweet sweet release.

“Stop playing with me and fuck me!” You hissed between your teeth.

The hand holding your wrists tightened as he held your hips down. He leaned down, lips barely touching your own. “Don’t tell me what to do.” You knew he wouldn’t cause any actual harm to you but that statement sent shivers down your spine. “Just for being a brat I’m gonna make you beg for it. Make you beg to cum, make you beg for my dick to stretch that tight sopping wet pussy.”

You gulped as his grip on your hip loosen. “Are you gonna be a good fucking girl for me?”

You could only nod your head, words and sentences were something you weren’t capable of at the moment.

“Use your words princess. Say, yes Katsuki.” His fingers went back to torturing you in between your legs. Each stroke becoming rougher than the last.

“Yes Katsuki.” Those words came out like a moan. The feeling of his hands on you, how he growled with each brush of his finger against your pussy, it was driving you wild. One of his long fingers hooked on the side of your drenched panties, pulling them to the side, exposing your wet cunt to him.

Clenching your fists as you let out a gasp, you felt Bakugou slipped a finger between your folds. Burying his face in your neck you heard him cuss under his breath, giving you praises about how good you felt and he wasn't even in you yet. The man pinning you to the wall started to roll his finger over your hardened clit, sending waves of pleasure surging through your body. You could feel his hard cock against your thigh with each roll of his hip, god did you want that dick in you.

“Oh fuck!” Your body shuddered as he inserted a finger inside of you. You didn’t care how loud you were seeing as how the music in the club would just drown you out.

“God princess you’re so fucking tight.” Bakugou dragged his tongue along your shoulder, before biting down on your neck. You responded by rolling your hips into your hand as he started to move the digit in and out of you at a painfully slow pace.

“More please.” Your mouth was agape, sharp intakes of breaths as he moved. That’s when you felt him add another long finger inside of you. You could feel your walls stretch around his fingers. Bakugou switched between scissoring motions and just moving his fingers against you, pressing on that soft bundle of nerves.

“Look at you,” His fingers started to pick up their pace, making your eyes roll in the back of your head. “I got you fucking whimpering for me and all I’m doing is fucking you with my fingers.” between his words and the speed of his fingers you could feel that familiar tightness forming in the lower part of your abdomen. “I can feel you tightening around my fingers, are you about to cum?”

“C-cum…”

“What was that I couldn’t fucking hear you.” His arm started to move at a speed you were sure was inhuman. It had your toes curling, your nails digging into the palm of your hands.

“I’m gonna cum!” Ready to feel yourself unravel for him, to feel that white flash of release, you closed your eyes. But it never came. Opening your eyes, you watched as he pulled out his fingers from inside your cunt, holding them in front of your face.

“You can’t cum until I say you can.” He ran his tongue over his fingers, cleaning them of your essence. “I want you to cum all over my dick, as I fuck you into this wall.”

You weren’t sure how much longer you could hold out, your legs were getting shaky and your arms were numb at this point. You wanted this, to have someone fuck you like this. Using one hand Bakugou undid his belt and button of his pants and unzipped them. Reaching in the front of his pants he pulled out his hardened cock.

Involuntarily swallowing the saliva that gathered in your mouth, you licked your lips. You imagined wrapping your lips around him as he fucked your mouth, making you gag on him. Bakugou could see the hunger in your eyes, and god did he want to do whatever you were thinking of doing but he was going to explode if he didn’t fuck you right now.

Bakugou leaned down, placing his forehead against your own. You could feel the dampness from the light coat of sweat on his forehead mix with your own. His breaths were shallow and deep, lust filled eyes mirrored yours. The noise of the club and people around you seemed to disappear, the only thing that could be heard was your heart beat as he rubbed the tip of his cock against your glistening folds. Bakugou coated his cock with your juices as a lubricant before aligning himself with your entrance.

Slowly he pressed the tip of his cock through the threshold of your pussy. The feeling of your hole stretching around him as he eased his way inside. Bakugou never broke eye contact as moved, letting you see every emotion he went through. How his eyebrows raised, nostrils flared and mouth opened as your pussy engulfed him.

“Oh fuck princess, you feel so fucking good around me.” with a swift thrust he pushed himself the rest of the way, fully sheathing himself inside of you. Arching your back off the wall and whimpering, you could feel his cock twitch as he waited for you to get accustomed to him.

Bakugou let go of your wrists, bringing your arms down and wrapping them around his neck. His right arm came down, grazing his hand down past your ass, bringing it behind your thigh. Gripping your smooth skin, Bakugou hoisted your leg up to his waist allowing him to go in a little deeper, the tip of his cock pressing against that sensitive bundle of nerves. With your hands now free from his grip, you clawed at his back. Bakugou growled when he felt your nails dig into his skin. Moving his hips back he snapped them forward, causing you to scream out his name. A sinister smirk played on his lips, enjoying how his name fell from your lips like a mantra. With each thrust of his hips the harder you clawed at his back, he was sure you left scratch marks but he didn’t care.

“You like this don’t you? Getting fucked in the middle of a club, knowing anybody can come over here and see how much of a fucking slut you are.” That knot in your lower abdomen came back as he snarled in your ear. His hand gripping your thigh tightened, Bakugou was using that as leverage, making your body meet his with each thrust. And he was right, the fact that anybody could walk over and see you was exhilarating.

Between Bakugou’s constant biting on your neck and how relentless his thrusts were, you were so close to reaching an orgasm that was surely going to make you see stars.

“Yes right there! I’m gonna cum.” Your hands found purchase in his hair ready for him to send you to the fucking moon.

“Oh no you don’t bitch.” Bakugou halted his movements, his cock was almost pulled out of you. “I told you I need to hear you beg for it.” You looked at him with fire in your eyes. There was no way he could be serious. Wrapping your hoisted leg you went to push his hips forward only to be met with a hand wrapped around your throat.

“I don’t think so. Good girls get to cum princess and all you’ve been was nothing but a brat. So why should I let you cum?” Bakugou had his lips grazing over yours as he spoke, his eyes were showing how serious he was, it sent shivers down your spine. “Now princess let me hear you fucking beg for my cock, for me to let you cum.”

“Please Katsuki let me cum.” You whined as you moved your hips, trying to get friction anything to help you release. “I promise I’ll be good, just please I want to feel you stretch out my pussy. I want to scream your name as I cum all over your dick, please!”

“Now that’s a good fucking girl.” With a sharp snap of his hips, Bakugou drove himself back into you moaning as he did. You had eyes rolling in the back of your head, drool coming down the side of your mouth while screaming his name. All the people near you could get fucked, the way Bakugou made you feel at this moment was all that mattered.

“Holy fuck!” You could feel Bakugou lose his rhythm for a split second and you knew he was close.

“Fuck! I’m gonna cum, please let me cum.” You had moved to moan in his ear before licking his thick neck and biting on it.

“Cum for me princess.” It came out as a low growl and that's what had sent you over the edge. Screaming his name louder than before you came all over his dick, hands pulling his hair as your body began to convulse.

“Oh shit!” Bakugou pulled out just as white streams of his cum began to spurt out, landing on the lips of your pussy and some on your thighs.

Bakugou had let go of your leg and slightly moved away from you. As soon as your leg hit the ground you felt them give out from under you as you started to tumble forward. Luckley the blonde man had quick reflexes and caught you, helping you lean against the wall.

“Let's get you cleaned up and some water in your system. My office is right upstairs.” Grabbing some napkins from behind the bar Bakugou began to wipe off the reminisce of his cum off your thighs, while pulling down your dress.

“Why didn’t you just take me there to begin with asshole?!” You smacked his arm as you looked around. Some people were staring at the two of you while whispering in their friends' ear

“It’s your fault! No one told you to come in here and get me mesmerized!” He leaned back down to whisper in your ear. “I just couldn’t wait to devour you princess.”

Biting your lip you grabbed his hand pulling him towards the stairs. “Now it’s my turn to devour you, asshole.”

#bnhabookclub #bnhabookclub bingo event #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bnha #Club au #club owner Bakugou #mha bakugou

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peanutbutterjelly-pie · 4 years ago

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prompt: Undercover

hosts: @bend-me-shape-me, @helianthus21, @pray4jensen

Dean has been undercover for many times in his life.

FBI agent, Homeland Security officer, reporter, janitor, gym teacher, lunch lady, maintenance guy, minister, private detective, and so on and so on. The list is so long that he's actually more familiar with playing a role when interacting with strangers than being himself.

So when they're on yet another case again and Sam calls him from the local library and tells him to dress up Dean doesn't even think about questioning it.

“Your fanciest clothes,” Sam orders, making it pretty clear there should be no discussion about it. “Designer suit, shiny shoes. And a shave because you're starting to look like a hobo.”

Dean barely lifts an eyebrow. “What do you need me to be? A snobby multimillionaire too good for this world.”

“The snobbiest,” Sam agrees. “It needs to look like the stench of money is following you everywhere.”

And so Dean does as he's told.

A while ago he got himself one of those super expensive Armani or whatever outfits for a case (thanks to Charlie's unlimited credit card no problem at all) and has it stashed in the depths of Baby's trunk ever since. It's only been used once so far considering fake FBI agents or journalists are rarely dressed in designer suits. At least not if they don't want to draw too much unwanted attention to them.

Dean isn't exactly sure the damned thing still fits after all that time, but after a quick shower and shave he gives it a try and finds himself pleasantly surprised when the suit still wraps itself over his body like a glove. Only around the hips it got a bit tight, but if he'd refrain from bending over it should be fine.

And it actually makes his ass look extra great, Dean has to admit. He snaps a quick picture of it and sends it to Cas because he can't help himself. Cas answers immediately with a long string of enthusiastic emojis that are both incredibly sweet, involving lots of hearts, as well as highly inappropriate and Dean loves him even more for it.

He makes a mental note to wear that suit the next time they'll be alone to see how fast the angel would be able to rip the clothes off his body and then he heads out to meet with Sam.

Soon enough he finds himself in front of a jewelry store, with his tall mountain of a brother waiting at the entrance. He is dressed in fancy clothes as well and considering he left their motel room a few hours ago just with his usual plaid attire he obviously went shopping in the meantime. The suit doesn't fit a hundred percent in some places, making it obvious this was a rather quick shopping trip with no time for a proper fitting, but it makes him nonetheless look extra posh too.

“We look good,” Dean remarks with a grin as he stops next to Sam. “Like we could buy all of the world in a heartbeat and still have a couple of millions left as pocket money.”

Sam merely huffs with a fond smile. “If you say so.”

“So what is the situation?” Dean asks, pointing at the store.

“I just got a lead that our annoying spirit might have a connection to a wristband that's on display here,” Sam tells him. “It had belonged to her before she died. And I know it's not much, but I wanna check it out anyway.”

That specific spirit had been annoying them for days now because they were unable to figure out what kept her here in the first place. So Dean will take any lead they can get, no matter how small.

“I'm actually not very optimistic,” Sam explains with a sigh. “But our ghost is showing up here in the area, so it's not a total longshot. We just need to get inside and distract the employees a little.”

“Hence the fancy clothes.” Dean nods in understanding. He highly doubts they would've even gotten past the security guard on the door in their usual jeans. Most likely even their regular FBI suits wouldn't have been good enough.

“So we just go inside and one of us pretends to be a customer while the other subtly checks out that wristband?” Dean asks nonetheless.

Sam nods. “Don't worry, I have a plan.”

Dean blinks, but has no time for further questioning since Sam's already shoving him through the gigantic front door. He's instantly greeted with lots of bling and bright lights and the absolute perfect room temperature (like seriously, did they hire a guy just to keep a close eye on that the entire time?) before getting pushed to the main counter where a blonde woman with a way too wide smile happily waits to bury her flawlessly manicured nails into those new potential buyers.

“Welcome,” she says, her voice as melodic and perfect as the air in the store. “How can I be of assistance?”

“Well, we've got an important purchase to make,” Sam announces, sounding all kinds of pompous. “Because you see, my brother here,” he grabs Dean's shoulders and grins at him with such an intensity Dean can't help feeling wary all of a sudden, “he intends to propose to his boyfriend.”

Dean blinks rapidly.

What?

Okay, Dean certainly didn't expect that.

The woman – Marlene, as her name tag tells them – seems taken aback by that for a moment as well, but she picks herself up much quicker than Dean. Her smile increases a few thousand watt while she turns toward the groom-to-be. “This is wonderful. Congratulations!”

Dean feels a bit like he's been hit right in the face, out of nowhere.

Thankfully he is actually used to unexpected violent attacks and has learned fairly early to deal with them.

“Um … thanks,” he mumbles, feeling his cheeks heating up.

Marlene apparently misinterprets his awkward fumbling for adorable shyness or whatever and looks at him like she's ready to adopt him right here on the spot.

“You have to excuse him, this is still a bit much for him,” Sam leaps back into the conversation. “He's been thinking about this moment for years and I guess it might be a tad surreal that it's finally happening.”

“Really?” Marlene seems truly intrigued hearing that.

“Yeah,” Sam sighs way too dramatically, “Dean's basically been thinking about marrying Cas since the first moment they met.”

Well.

Actually his first meeting with Cas was more like Dean having a sudden realization á la, “Wow, he's hot!” and then stabbing the guy in the chest.

But Dean refrains from pointing that one out.

It might have ended in those people declaring them insane and kicking them out of the store. And though Dean is used to the first, he doesn't need the latter right now.

“Dean just wants everything to be perfect,” Sam points out, sounding exactly like a guy who is used to getting what he wants. “It's a big day.”

“It most certainly is,” Marlene agrees, dollar signs already flashing up in her eyes. “We have a vast collection of engagement rings and I'm sure we will find something to your liking.”

“Money is not the issue,” Sam says those magic words that make Marlene even more excited, so it seems. “The bigger and more extravagant, the better.”

Marlene smiles widens, appearing incredibly sweet and harmless on the surface. But Dean knows a predator focusing on its prey when he sees it.

On instinct he actually wants to take a step back and hide, but instead he gathers enough courage to meet her smile. It's still somewhat wobbly, but she probably blames it on his alleged nervousness about that big change in his life.

“Why don't you tell me a little bit about your Cas?” she prods him. “What is he like?”

Dean shoots a quick glance at his brother, cursing him for having to endure this in the first place, before clearing his throat and responding, “He's … um, awesome.”

Way to go, Winchester.

She is certainly swooning on the spot.

Dean winces inwardly and forces himself to get a little bit more into his role. After all, he is used to the undercover life, so this shouldn't be too hard.

For a minute there he even considers to lie about Cas' personality, wondering whether that would make it easier to talk about him to a total stranger, but as he's just about to come up with some made-up character traits, he hears himself saying, “Well, to be fair, he's an asshole.”

Marlene looks at him in surprise while Sam in the background rolls his eyes.

“Uh … okay?” Marlene answers, clearly not sure how to reply to that.

“Cas is grumpy,” Dean goes on, now a fond smile flickering over his features. “I'm quite certain he is the biggest grump in the history of mankind, to be honest. And he's way too sassy for his own good. Also he has no idea how to clean up after himself and he always hums those annoying jingles he heard on the radio or whatever. All day. I'm actually surprised I haven't gone mad many years ago.”

Or maybe he has.

With his life, who could tell?

“But he's also a badass,” Dean continues, registering the only other employee who's been lacking any customers at the moment sliding closer with clear interest in her eyes. “No one should dare to screw around with him. And the few that actually did regretted it pretty quickly.”

That's, of course, an understatement actually, but he won't go into much detail now. For those poor women's sanity.

“And he cares, so much,” Dean goes on, an affectionate smile settling on his face when his thoughts drift closer to Cas. It's an automatic response at this point and he's pretty sure it'll stay like that for the rest of his life. “Even about that stupid little fly that got lost into our room a couple of weeks ago. It feels like we spent hours catching that thing and releasing it back into the wild. But what could you have done, you know? Cas would've been miserable if that fly would've died inside and that's something nobody wants to see. Believe me. He looks like a kicked puppy when he's sad.”

The salesladies scoots even closer, captivated by Dean gushing over his boyfriend. While Sam subtly starts to step back a little and check out the rest of the display, trying to locate the wristband of their obnoxious ghost.

Dean clears his throat, despite still feeling like he's been thrown into icy water without any warning whatsoever by his traitorous brother more than determined to play this role like their lives depend on it. After all, there here and they might not get a second chance.

So Dean gives it all he's got.

“So yes, Cas, he's great,” he says. “He's been my best friend for such a long time now and I … I guess I want him at my side for the rest of my life. And even beyond that.”

Dean smiles at the image of sharing his Heaven with Cas one day. It might be a hassle to get there at first – after all, Cas' relationship with his brethren is still not the best –, but Dean has no doubt that it'll come true eventually. Cas is way too much of a stubborn son of a bitch to not see this through.

Dean blinks as he suddenly realizes that he is in fact beginning to fantasize about Cas by his side forever as a real possibility.

Huh.

“As mentioned, we have a vast collection of engagement rings to help you start this new chapter of your life,” Marlene says with a happy sigh. “We would be more than happy to help you with your endeavor.”

Dean stares at her for a moment.

Oh right. Rings. The case.

“Yes, right,” he mutters, a slight blush on his face now. “It … it needs to be perfect.”

Marlene and her colleague – Amanda, as her name tag tells him – immediately spur into action and for the next ten minutes Dean sees himself confronted with a huge variety of different rings in all shapes and forms. A few are actually quite simple and elegant – silver bands with a couple of nice highlights – and some are seriously so over-the-top pompous and big Dean has no idea how a normal human being should be able to wear that on their hand.

But he smiles at them all and fakes such exaggerated interest both Marlene and Amanda seem to believe they're in Heaven themselves.

And it seems like a freaking eternity until Sam pops up next to him again.

“I'm so sorry to interrupt, ladies,” he jumps right into their enthusiastic conversation. “My girlfriend just texted me. Her doctor's appointment ended way earlier than expected and I need to pick her up.”

A blatant lie, of course, considering Eileen is back at the bunker with Cas, probably getting her ass beaten in every single board game invented by the best of all strategists Heaven has ever produced.

“But don't worry, Dean will be back shortly,” Sam promises right away as both Marlene and Amanda look rather crestfallen at those news. “After all, Dean can't wait to get married.”

They bid hasty goodbyes and are soon enough back on the streets again.

“So, any luck?” Dean asks when he's starting to remember the real reason why they went into the store in the first place.

“I found the wristband,” Sam admits. “But there's no suspicious energy to it. It's just jewelry.”

“Damn,” Dean sighs. “Well, it was worth a shot, at least.”

“Yeah …”

“And that was one hell of a cover story, Sammy,” Dean can't help pointing out for some reason.

Sam shoots him a quick glance, something intense flickering over his features.

“It wasn't though, right?” he asks in the end. “A cover story, I mean. Not really, at least.”

Dean frowns. On first instinct he wants to deny that, just wants to scoff at his brother's face and get on with his life, but then he thinks about Cas and how nice he would look with a ring on his finger and he finds himself lowering his gaze to cover up the flush on his cheeks.

“Uh … well, maybe it wasn't really a cover story after all,” he admits, his voice low, yet steady.

“So you want to go back?” Sam wonders, a smile on his lips. “ Look at those rings again? When this case is over and everything.”

Dean blinks. A few of those rings actually did look kind of awesome, if he's honest with himself. And sure, they're pretty expensive, but also very durable (an important feature in their line of work), and Dean surely didn't lie when he said that Cas only deserves the best.

So he finds himself muttering, “Yeah, I guess I wouldn't mind going back” and feels rather good about it.

Seems like Dean seriously has an important purchase to make after all.

#destiel #spnstayathome #fanfic #fic #drabble #fluff #established relationship #fanfiction: mine

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hookedonapirate · 4 years ago

Text

Summary: The Jones brothers are polar opposites. Liam's the safe and honorable one, straight-laced and straight as an arrow. The good son.

Killian's the dangerous one, the bad boy with tats, leather jackets, a motorcycle and a questionable past.

The only things they have in common are panty-melting sea-blue eyes, the flat they share in Storybrooke and a rare blood type.

Oh, and apparently their taste in women.

Or rather, one woman.

Feisty.

Blonde.

Gorgeous.

Green-eyed Goddess.

Killian saw her first, but she chose his brother—the nice guy over the playboy. And even though she’s dating his brother, it doesn't make him want her any less. If that's not bad enough, she moves in with them and he has to pretend he's not completely in love with her. His life could not get any worse…

Until Liam dies in a tragic motorcycle accident.

Leaving each of them with one half of a broken heart.

Now Killian and Emma are left helping each other pick up the pieces.

Just as they're beginning to learn how to live in their new reality, another riptide pulls them further into the deep end when she finds out she's pregnant with Liam's baby.

Notes: So I made this post on Tumblr the other day, and then this fic happened. If you haven't seen the tags, please read them before starting this story or becoming invested because it’s very angsty. First of all, this starts out as Swan Jewel? I don't know what their ship name is or if there is an official name, but yes, Liam and Emma are in a relationship in the beginning, and I know it’s not everyone’s cup of tea. If you're not comfortable with that, I highly encourage you to hit the back button.

Thank you @ultraluckycatnd for looking it over!

This story was inspired by Baby Mine by Kennedy Fox, and I loved the book so much and thought it was very much underrated. I’ve wanted to write a fic like this for a long time now because it’s one of my favorite tropes, but after I read that book, I just had to write my own take. Also, I made this post about a Baby Yodarita drink last year when it was trending and since the beginning of this story starts one year prior, 2019 and since Killian is a bartender, it was a perfect way to include the prompt.

The title comes from the lyrics of the song, Lay By Me by Ruben. The particular line goes like this:

"I hope you know through the rising tide That I'll be here and you can lay by my side"

If you've never heard it, I recommend giving it a listen. It's an amazing song and very fitting for this story.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VFJbLzEtoZw

P.S. In case you're unable to read the shoulder tattoo in the picture above and are wondering what it says—

"There is no happiness without tears

No life without death

And no true love without heartbreak"

Rated: Explicit for smut (including sexual fantasies, masturbation, implied and detailed sex, etc.) and language (lots of F-bombs).

Also available on: AO3 FF.N

Chapter 1

“Late again?” Liam chides when Ruby waltzes into work as if everything is completely normal. As if she’s not an hour late for her shift.

For the third time that week.

She gives him an apologetic smile, but Killian knows she’s not actually sorry.

He’s just wondering who she was with this time.

“Won't happen again, boss.”

“Damn right it won’t. This is your third warning. Next time, there will be a write-up,” he admonishes.

Frustration creases her forehead. “Geez, would you just chill? My car broke down.”

Liam crosses his arms, narrowing his eyes at her. “So, you mean to tell me your car has broken down three times this week?” he asks, holding up three fingers. “And on either of these occasions, you couldn’t pick up the phone and give me a heads up? Did your phone break, too?”

She flashes him a look as though the answer to his question is obvious. “I told you my car’s a piece of junk. And I tried to call, but no one answered.”

Killian fights off a laugh, knowing for a fact Ruby is bluffing. At least about calling tonight, since the phone hadn’t rung in the past hour. But he could easily check to see if she’d called on the other two days on the bar phone’s caller i.d. to find out for sure if he really wanted to.

“So get a new car. Don’t you make enough from your tips and the hourly wage I pay you?”

“I make enough from my tips,” she replies with a sarcastic smirk, “but I have more important things to buy.”

Liam rolls his eyes. “Like what? More six-inch heels, low-cut tops and short skirts?”

Ruby lets out an exasperated sigh. “How do you think I get good tips—by dressing like a Catholic schoolgirl?” She twists her lips and presses the back of her long, red-painted fingernail to her chin, pondering her own words for a second. “On second thought, that actually might bring in even more tips. Besides, you should be paying for my work clothes. Maybe then I could afford a new car.”

Liam scoffs. “You want me to pay for your outfits?” He shakes his head. “I don’t think so.”

Ruby's eyes widen, as though she’s shocked he declined her request. “Why not? Can’t you claim them as a work expense?”

He nods. “Alright, fine. But if I’m paying for your work attire, then I’m choosing what you wear. Sound good to you?” he asks, knowing damn well she’ll never go for it.

Unsurprisingly, she shakes her head. “Absolutely not. I ain’t wearing no damn polo shirt and black slacks. I like my low-cut tops and short skirts, thank you very much.”

Liam sighs and cups his forehead in his hand to indicate she’s giving him a headache as he turns around and walks toward his office. “Just get to work, Ruby.”

She wraps her apron around her waist and mimics his words in a mocking tone, “Just get to work, Ruby.”

“I heard that!” Liam hollers.

“I could be already serving customers if it weren’t for my pain in the ass boss riding me every two goddamn seconds!” she shouts, hoping he heard that too.

Killian chuckles to himself as he rings up a customer for his drinks and hands him the change.

“That dude seriously needs to get laid,” Ruby huffs. “Maybe then he’d back off a little.”

“Ha! I doubt it,” Killian comments before taking another drink order.

Ruby heads to the dining area to wait on customers. She knows Killian’s not wrong to doubt Liam’s ability to show a little mercy. He’s worked for his brother for two years, longer than anyone has ever been able to stand working for him, and he’s never once seen Liam be lenient, not even to his own brother. He runs a tight ship, and Killian doesn’t see that ever changing. Liam has owned this bar for five years and takes his job very seriously.

Killian’s just glad he only has to work here for another six months. Or at least that’s the plan. He’s about to graduate from Storybrooke University and get his degree in engineering. As much as he enjoys working for his brother, or rather listening to his coworkers complain about his brother behind Liam’s back, he doesn’t plan on spending his entire life making drinks.

Liam emerges from his office an hour later and announces he has to take off for a while to run some errands. Killian’s confused because this is Liam’s night to manage the bar. He dedicates the majority of his other time performing administrative tasks during the week.

“What errands do you have to run on a Friday night?” Killian asks, his words laced with suspicion.

“Just some errands I promised someone I’d take care of. You’re in charge while I’m gone.” He pulls on his jacket and leaves Killian behind the bar with a confused expression on his face, wondering what his brother is up to.

Killian brushes off the thought, deciding to further question him later.

Liam heads out the door, but not before scolding Ruby for sitting down at a table full of rowdy men, chatting (and not about the menu). She may be into women, but she flirts with customers regardless of their gender for the tips.

Ruby curses under her breath and gets up, moving to her next table to jot down orders.

~*~

Emma sighs as Mary Margaret grabs her hand and pulls her into The Captain's Rum. Or more like, drags her in kicking and screaming. She doesn’t wish to be at this bar any more than she wanted to be at the last two. But her sister-in-law insists on the outlandish idea Emma’s going to find Mr. Perfect tonight. Or somehow get over her asshole of an ex-boyfriend after one night of drinking.

And even though it's been two months since she left Neal and his thieving and cheating ass, and as much as she wants to get over him, Emma knows it’s not gonna happen for a while. At least not tonight.

And yet, here she is.

One night of drinking can’t hurt, she supposes. One night of forgetting everything. Of numbing her pain. Or so she keeps telling herself, but that could be the alcohol she’s already imbibed at the other two bars speaking.

“So, how’s it going tonight, Rubes?” Mary Margaret asks the cocktail server once they’re seated at a booth.

Apparently, they know each other.

“Well, no one's tried to manhandle me yet, so it's a start.” The tall brunette with red streaks in her hair leans over the table and murmurs, “Not a great start, but it's a start.”

Mary Margaret rolls her eyes and laughs as she gestures at Emma. “Rubes, this is my sister-in-law, Emma. She just moved here from New York.”

Looking at Emma, Ruby grins and sticks out her hand. “Hi! Nice to meet you!”

Emma gives her a polite smile and shakes her hand. “Likewise.”

When Ruby brings the chips and cheese Mary Margaret ordered, she places them on the table along with two empty plates. Before arriving here, Mary Margaret decided they would put some food in their bellies before they added more alcohol so they wouldn't get too drunk too fast and have to head home early. Well, that was Mary Margaret’s idea at least. Emma would much rather be home in the comfort of her bedroom watching Netflix. Or rather, her brother’s and sister-in-law's guestroom they so graciously let her sleep in until she gets her own place.

“Enjoy, ladies.”

“Sure will,” Mary Margaret beams as Ruby leaves their table. She sips on some water as she scans the bar. Probably for potential suitors she can hook her sister-in-law up with, Emma surmises. “What about him? He's cute,” Mary Margaret remarks, her eyes trained on someone behind her.

Emma looks over her shoulder and arches a brow. “He’s cute if you’re sixteen. He looks way too young.”

“Well, he’s drinking, so he must be at least twenty-one,” Mary Margaret points out.

“He looks sixteen, and sorry, I don’t date children.”

“Emma, he’s not a child, probably a college student. And you act like you’re so old just because you already graduated. You’re twenty-two,” Mary Margaret points out like she’s jealous and wishes to be so young again. But she's only a few years older—the same age as David.

Emma groans. “No, thanks.” Her last boyfriend was immature enough as it was, and he was ten years her senior. “So, tell me, how are you and my brother getting along?” Emma asks, attempting to change the subject and get her sister-in-law to avert her attention from the college boys across the room. “Sick of each other yet?”

Mary Margaret whips her head around and scowls. “Of course not. Why would you ask such a thing?”

Emma laughs and raises her hands in defense. “Because I knew it was the only thing that would get your attention.”

Guilt and apology flicker in Mary Margaret’s eyes. “Sorry, Emma.” She lays her palms on the table. “David and I are just worried about you, that’s all.”

Emma sighs, frustration creasing her forehead. “I’m fine, I promise. Neal was an ass, and honestly, him cheating on me was a good thing. I needed the wake-up call, okay? I was blinded by love. But now that we're over, I can move on with my life. That’s why I let you talk me into bar hopping.”

A slow, hopeful smile spreads across her lips. “I know, and I’m so happy you got out of that relationship, Emma. David and I both are.”

Emma laughs. “I know. When I landed on your door stoop, we both had to stop him from driving all the way to New York to kick Neal's ass.”

Mary Margaret nods. “True. He’s very protective of you.”

Emma rolls her eyes. “I know. It’s both a blessing and a curse.” She takes a sip of water as she scans the bar. It’s the first time she’s been to The Captain's Rum, and everyone is so unfamiliar to her. New York is a huge place, especially compared to Storybrooke, but in this bar, it feels like she‘s back in New York. She swears everyone in Storybrooke is here.

Ruby returns to their table to sit and chat. And steal some of their chips, double-dipping them in the cheese. Emma fights off the urge to laugh at this as her eyes wander past Ruby’s shoulder.

Huge mistake.

The group at the bar counter disperses, revealing the most gorgeous sight she's ever seen.

Holy. Fucking. Hell.

She loses a breath when she sees what she can only describe as a fine specimen.

Good Lord.

Handsome features and such a delicious smile to accompany his perfect face as he chats with a male patron at the bar, she finds herself licking her lips.

“What about him?” Emma manages when she’s able to find the words in her throat.

Mary Margaret’s eyes light up before she even looks to see who Emma is staring so unabashedly at. “Who?!” She and Ruby both turn their heads, their eyes following the path of Emma’s gaze until they land on the target.

“You mean the bartender?” Mary Margaret asks, though, to Emma’s surprise, she doesn’t seem very excited; more like disappointed.

Emma tears her gaze away from the bartender, as much as she doesn’t want to. But she couldn’t breathe when she looked at him and she needed to come up for air. “Yeah, why not?”

“Why not what?” Ruby asks as she looks at Emma, curiosity flashing in her big hazel eyes. “Because if you’re asking ‘why not jump his bones,’ then I can’t think of one good reason.”

“Ruby, don’t encourage her,” Mary Margaret chides with a glare.

Ruby frowns, confusion etched in her features. “Why not?”

“Because… Killian is a player. Emma just broke up with her player of a boyfriend a couple of months ago. She doesn't need another one in her life.”

“Um, excuse me, I’m right here,” Emma groans wryly. “And I’m perfectly capable of making my own decisions.”

“She’s not wrong though,” Ruby remarks. “He is a player. But a fucking hot player. Between the two of us, we’ve conquered all the women of Storybrooke.”

Emma lifts a brow. “Does that mean what I think it means?”

“Yep. Probably even some of the same women,” she winks, her words bearing no shame or remorse.

“Ruby, would you stop? Besides, neither of you have conquered me,” Mary Margaret points out with air quotes.

Ruby rolls her eyes. “Of course not. Prince Charming had already parked his car in your garage long ago.” She reverts her eyes to Emma. “If you’re looking for a relationship, he’s definitely not for you…” she leans over toward Emma, speaking softly, “but if you’re looking for a hookup to get over that cheating ex of yours, then he’s absolutely perfect for that. He’ll give you an orgasm sooooo hard, you’ll forget all about that scumbag. Then he’ll do it over and over again until he knows you won’t be able to walk for weeks.” Ruby grins wide. “Hell, you’ll forget your own fucking name for weeks.”

Emma gulps, having to recover from the images Ruby implanted in her mind of the man on the other side of the bar. Once she recovers, she furrows her brows at the conclusions she’s drawn from Ruby’s graphic depictions of what a night with the handsome, dark-haired bartender would be like. “How would you know? Have you two—”

Ruby laughs as though Emma just said the funniest thing she’s ever heard in her life. “Oh Gaaaaawwwwd, no! I don’t swing that way, honey,” she says, rising and waving off Emma’s words with a flick of her hand. “But I’ve seen the number Killian’s done on his conquests. People talk, especially the drunk, horny females who enter the bar. Plus, as I said, he’s my competition, so I have to know what he's working with… if you know what I mean,” she says with a wink.

“Yeah, I got it,” Emma groans as Ruby saunters away. Why do all the hot guys have to be players?

It’s just her luck.

Emma turns to catch another look at him.

God, he’s gorgeous.

Dark, wild hair, stubble on his chin and cheeks, and a fantastic body based on what she can see from her vantage point.

“Emma! Don’t even think about it! That man’s trouble and you know David would never approve,” Mary Margaret explains, pulling Emma from her trance.

She turns her head, glaring at her sister-in-law. “David is not my father. And besides, I’m a grown-ass woman! He can’t tell me who I can or cannot date.”

Mary Margaret gives her a motherly look. “I know, sweetie, but this man doesn’t date women, he fucks them and then sends them packing. David only wants to protect you from guys like him.”

“I don’t need his protection, okay? Or yours. I’m perfectly capable of looking out for myself.” Emma stands from her seat, and she’s not sure if it’s because of the alcohol still brewing in her system, or because her sister-law has expressed disapproval from both her and David, making this man seem like a forbidden, sinful dessert she’s dying to get a taste of, even though she’ll pay for it later. But right now she doesn't give a fuck.

She sucks in a breath and strides across the bar, ignoring Mary Margaret’s pleas and warnings.

Her eyes are fixed on him like a magnet. He’s wearing a black v-neck that fits him like a glove and shows off a provocative amount of chest hair, his tight, firm muscles bulging as he wipes down the bar counter. His muscles aren’t inhumanly large, just big enough for her to imagine him picking her up and easily carrying her to his bedroom like she weighs nothing. Emma can feel her panties grow wet just from watching him work.

But even though she doesn’t wish to be told who to be with, she knows she should heed her sister-in-law’s warnings.

What would one night of fun hurt, though? She’s spent too much time holed up in her New York apartment, wallowing in self-pity and heartache after Neal hurt her. She hasn’t been with anyone since then. And maybe she’s not looking to dive into a serious relationship right now. Or ever. Maybe she just wants to blow off some steam. And this man looks like he can handle such a task. She’s more than willing to find out.

Emma approaches the bar and stands in front of him, placing her hands on the counter.

“What can I get you, lass?”

Well, fuck me sideways.

He has a British accent too?

She knows she should run for her life, but before she can talk herself out of it, he looks up from his task, and she feels like her feet are glued to the floor.

Ho-ly hell.

He’s even more gorgeous up close.

His arms are inked with tattoos she so badly wants to trace with her fingers, and his striking blue eyes sparkle as he stares at her, his smile showing off a set of pearly white teeth.

Well shit.

She couldn’t run away if she wanted to.

~*~

Killian had been running back and forth behind the bar for hours, ringing up bar patrons, making drinks and engaging in small talk. It’s a typical Friday night at The Captain’s Rum; the place is normally busy on the weekends, especially since the bar is only a stone’s throw away from the university, and tonight is no exception. It’s crowded and loud, couples are dancing, and the women are scantily clad in either tiny dresses or short tops and skirts. As he’s grabbing beers and making cocktails, the bar continues to fill and grow louder.

He hands off drinks to a couple before moving on to the next customer.

“Hey Jones, can I get two Blue Ribbons?” his good mate, Robin, calls over the blaring music.

Killian chuckles and grabs the desired beers, popping off the caps before handing them over. “Taking it easy tonight?” he asks, leaning against the counter and gripping the edge of it with both hands.

“Aye. Regina doesn’t like the hard stuff. She’s more of a wine person.”

“Ah, I see.” Killian nods; he can definitely see that about Regina. He doesn't want to say this to one of his best mates, but the lass can be a little stuck up and quite bossy at times. She makes Robin happy though, so he keeps his mouth shut.

He chats with him for a few minutes, finally getting a few minutes of reprieve. As Robin heads back to his girlfriend, Killian takes the opportunity to wipe down the bar top. But before he’s finished, someone approaches the counter. His eyes are still trained on his task, but he can’t miss the long blonde hair, pink lace and fantastic cleavage, seeing as the view is directly in front of him. “What can I get you, lass?” he asks, throwing on his most charming grin as he lifts his head.

His smile is cemented on his face the second he looks up.

Killian’s accustomed to seeing pretty women entering his brother’s bar and parading around in clothes that barely cover their essential parts.

Yet nothing in the world could’ve prepared him for the woman standing in front of him on the other side of the bar counter.

No, not woman.

Goddess.

Emerald green eyes, soft pink lips curved into a shy smile, smooth creamy skin, long golden hair cascading over her shoulders.

Good.

God.

She’s breathtaking.

Stunning.

“What would you recommend?” she asks in a teasing tone.

Fuck.

Her voice is that of an angel’s. Pure and sweet and innocent.

She looks like everything he doesn’t deserve but wants every... fucking... part of.

“Uh… I um…” he stutters, scratching nervously behind his ear. He can’t form a cohesive sentence as he looks into those hypnotizing eyes. He wants to get lost in them, drown in them. “What are you… what are you in the mood for, love?” he finally musters, adding another one of his signature grins. “I can make you anything your heart desires.” What he wants to say is, “I can give you anything your heart desires,” but even that may not be true. As gorgeous as she is, he’s afraid he wouldn’t be the man she deserves. He’s never been the guy women like to take home to their parents, anyway. He’s the guy chicks like to have around for a good time before they eventually settle into a serious relationship with Mr. Perfect. He’s definitely no Mr. Perfect, more like a Good Luck Chuck, but at the moment, he feels like he could be fucking Superman for this woman. And he's only exchanged a few words with her so far.

She arches a brow and it’s literally the most adorable and sexiest thing he’s ever witnessed in his life. “Anything?” He senses a challenge in her tone.

“Try me,” he encourages.

She bites her bottom lip in thought.

He lied. Now that’s the most adorable and sexiest thing he’s ever witnessed.

“What if I said I wanted a Baby Yodarita?”

He arches a brow, very much intrigued. “A Baby Yodarita? Never heard of it.”

She laughs and the sound is music to his ears. “That's because I made up the name. But I figure it would be a green drink that looks like baby Yoda.”

“So, I take it you’re a Star Wars fan?”

“Are you a bartender?”

Just as he answers like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, since he’s behind the bar serving drinks, he catches her drift and flashes a smirk.

Could this woman be any hotter? And yes, as he’s asking this question in his head, he’s picturing Chandler Bing and the way he would say it, emphasizing the word be. Gods, he hates that he knows that about Friends. He hates that he actually likes that show.

“You don't really have to be a Star Wars fan to be a baby Yoda fan though. He's so cute, he's trending on the internet, haven't you seen?”

He chuckles. “Aye, who hasn't?”

She plants her hand on her hip, donning a sultry smirk. “So, are you up for the task, or not?”

He licks his lips and leans over the bar counter, his eyes locked with hers. He wants to ask her if she fell from heaven. Or if he just died and went to heaven. But he has a feeling cheesy lines wouldn't work on a woman like her. “I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific as to what task you’re referring to, love.” But who the fuck is he kidding? There is nothing he could do for her he would consider a task.

Only a pleasure.

Blush paints her cheeks and she leans over, meeting him halfway until her face is mere inches from his. “I have a few in mind… but how ‘bout that drink, first?”

Bloody. Fuck-ing. Hell.

Her voice is a mixture of sweet and seductive. He doesn’t know how she manages to pull off a combination like that. His eyes drop to her lips and he’s seriously considering kissing the holy fuck out of her over the bar counter, audience be damned. He almost groans just thinking about her soft, luscious looking lips pressed against his, but he swallows the sound before it leaves his throat.

He lifts his eyes to hers. “Sit tight, sweetheart.”

“Okay,” she says with a smile and takes a seat on a barstool. “Oh, and a Cosmo for my sister-in-law.”

“Coming right up.” It takes every ounce of strength within him to pull away, but somehow he does.

He has to take slow, deep breaths to peel his mind from the fantasies he’s already having of him and the blonde temptress watching him intently as he prepares her drink.

~*~

Emma snorts. She honestly didn’t think he would actually take her seriously. She was only kidding around. But he took her very seriously and eagerly accepted her challenge. And he did an amazing job.

She stares at the green drink in amusement, impressed, to say the least. He brought it to her in a margarita glass with two lime wedges sticking out like ears. The stem is wrapped in a napkin tied with twine and clearly made to look like Baby Yoda’s coat. And there's a cocktail stick tucked into the twine like a sword.

“Well? How did I do?” he asks, eagerly seeking her answer.

“It's so cute,” she comments honestly. “It looks great, but does it taste as good as it looks?” As she asks that question, she’s looking up into his gorgeous eyes. And she can’t deny she’s wondering the same about him.

Does he taste as good as he looks?

Before she brings the glass to her lips, he puts up a finger to stop her.

“Hold on.” He grabs a toothpick and stabs two cherries, one on each end, before sticking it into the drink, giving the baby Yoda a pair of eyes. “For the finishing touch,” he smirks.

After she stops laughing, she takes a hesitant drink. Once she takes the first sip, her face sours and she blinks a few times as she swallows. “Wow, that’s strong.” She arches her brow, pinning him with an accusatory stare. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

He chuckles. “Aye, isn't that the intention?”

She nods and grins. “This will certainly do the trick.” She rises from the stool and reaches into her back pocket, pulling out her phone case wallet, which holds her phone and money. “How much?” she asks, pulling out some cash.

He waves off her offer. “The drinks are on me,” he says with a wink.

“Are you sure? I don't wanna get you in trouble.”

“Trust me, I won't get in trouble.”

Taking his word for it, she tucks the cash into her wallet. “Thanks for the drinks, Killian.”

He arches a sultry brow, making her heart skip a beat. “So, you’ve heard of me, but I have yet to learn your name?”

She laughs and points at the name embroidered into his shirt. “Yours is right there.”

“Oh, that,” he chuckles, a light blush tinting his cheeks as he peers down and brushes his fingers over the letters. “My boss insists we have our names displayed on our shirts.”

“Well, your boss sounds like a pain in the ass.”

“He is, but I only have to work here for another six months. I’m graduating from SBU in the Spring.”

She nods as a group of people approach the counter beside her. She glances over at them and shifts her gaze back to him, wishing he had more time to chat, but she knows he has to work. “It's Emma,” she makes sure to tell him before the counter becomes too overcrowded. “My name,” she clarifies, in case that wasn't obvious.

“It’s nice to meet you, Emma,” he says sweetly, reaching over to shake her hand. When she slips her palm into his, she can feel the sparks from his touch, but instead of shaking her hand, he brings it to his lips and kisses the back of it.

Oh, God.

This man’s lips on her skin feel like heaven and sin. She has to clench her thighs to stop the throbbing she feels between her legs.

Fuck.

She feels the loss when she pulls her hand away and sees the loss written all over his face. “Well, I should um… I should get back to my sister-in-law,” she stammers after learning how to form words again.

He scratches behind his ear and opens his mouth to speak before closing it again like he’s nervous about something. “Of course, love.”

Emma swallows thickly and lingers a bit, patiently waiting for him to say what’s on his mind.

He must sense she's waiting for him because as she grabs the drinks and starts to back away from the counter, his voice stops her. “Emma?”

Good Lord, she loves the way her name slides off his tongue.

She cocks a brow, hoping he's about to ask for her number. Praying he does. “Yes?”

“I um… can you come back here before you leave? Say in an hour when it slows down a bit? I’d love to chat with you some more,” he says sincerely.

Emma purses her lips like she has to mull over his question. The offer is extremely tempting. But she has something else in mind other than talking. Something involving his hands all over her body and her legs wrapped around his hips as he's plunging into her.

And you know what? Fuck it.

She’s sure whatever he has in mind is exactly what she has in mind. Or at least, close to it. “Sure.”

His eyes widen in excitement and surprise, as though he wasn't actually expecting her to say yes. “Really?”

She flashes him her sexiest grin. “Yeah, why not? I’ll see you in an hour.”

“See you then, love. Enjoy your drink. May the booze be with you.”

She snorts and backs away from the counter, holding up her glass in salute before taking a sip. Their eyes are still locked before she turns around.

As she walks away, she cranes her neck to see him still watching her, even as he's serving other customers. She winks at him and has the pleasure of witnessing that adorable pink blush coloring his cheeks and the smirk on his lips before she faces forward and heads back to Mary Margaret.

She’s not looking forward to the lecture her sister-in-law is about to give her, but honestly, she doesn't care. She's looking forward to returning to the hot bartender, hoping to go back to his bedroom. Or the restroom. Either will do, really. As long as she gets to have him.

After Mary Margaret is done chewing Emma out and reminding her of what a player Killian is, and after she finally realizes Emma is going to do what she wants, regardless of what anyone says, they are able to have some fun.

Ruby keeps the drinks coming, and soon they’re tipsy enough to get up and dance among the crowd of gyrating bodies already on the dance floor. Emma glances over at the counter every now and then, and every other time, she catches Killian staring at her, sending shivers down her spine. And every time he tosses her one of his cheeky smiles, her stomach flutters with butterflies.

Emma's thankful Mary Margaret is plastered enough to let loose and not give her any shit because she has no idea what Mary Margaret would do if Emma told her she's going back to talk to Killian. Though she has a feeling if Mary Margaret were sober, she'd do anything in her power to make sure Emma stayed away from him.

When the time finally comes, they order an Uber, which takes much longer than expected. She helps Mary Margaret into the backseat and tells her she's staying for a bit longer and will catch another Uber when she's ready to leave. She doesn't dare mention Killian's name, or that she plans on leaving with him, for fear Mary Margaret will blabber to her brother. Because then he'll come marching into the bar on his white horse to find his sister with the bartender and embarrass the hell out of her.

Mary Margaret's too drunk and in no shape to talk her out of anything, so Emma’s able to escape, knowing her brother will take care of his wife when she gets home.

Emma quickly shoots David a text to let him know his wife had a few too many drinks and is on her way home in an Uber and that Emma decided to stay a little longer but will be home soon. Which is a lie.

She hopes.

Before the Uber drives away, Emma slips her phone into her pocket before heading back into the bar. She's fifteen minutes late, but it's not like Killian can go anywhere. He’s the bartender.

Once inside, she takes a deep breath and tucks some hair behind her ears, a smile playing along her lips as she makes her way to the bar counter. She has no idea what exactly will happen once she reaches him, but with a face as gorgeous as his, she’s pretty sure she would let him do anything he wanted to.

She’s also pretty sure he could help Emma get over her ex. As they say, the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. And that’s exactly what she plans on doing.

As Emma nears the counter and spots Killian, the beaming smile on her face immediately falls flat.

And her heart sinks.

A busty blonde is standing at the bar, her hand running up and down Killian’s arm, her fingers tracing his tattoos. The woman is sitting on a barstool at the opposite side of the counter in a low-cut top that leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination, and a skirt so short and tight it looks like it's been painted on. Killian’s standing in front of her, so his back is to Emma as he gives his full attention to the other blonde. It's almost time for last call, so it's now much quieter in the bar, and she's close enough to be able to hear their conversation.

“What can I get you, love?”

“A Tequila.”

“Tequilas are trouble,” he says matter-of-factly.

She moves in closer, biting her smile. “So am I,” she taunts.

“I’m fully aware,” he replies with a chuckle. He tries to move, probably to make her Tequila, but she grabs his arm, forcing him to stay. Though, forcing is a bit of an overstatement; Killian doesn't seem to be putting up much of a fight. “Would you like a snack, too?”

Mischief dances in her eyes as she licks her lips, ogling him like he’s the snack. “I’m looking at it, honey.”

Emma feels like she's going to be sick.

The woman leans in and bites his ear and then pulls away slightly. “Last weekend was incredible. Can’t stop thinking about having my legs wrapped around you,” she giggles.

Jealousy stabs Emma’s gut and disappointment shoots through her like a lightning bolt, bringing her back to reality.

Mary Margaret and Ruby were totally right.

He’s a player.

Unable to listen to them for another second, Emma spins on her heels and dashes out the door so fast, she almost tramples over some guys heading in at the last minute.

She should’ve listened to the warnings, but she was too blinded by the attraction she felt for Killian.

God, she’s a fucking idiot.

Why does she always fall for the dangerous guys? The ones who are bad for her? Why can’t she just find a nice guy for once? Someone safe. Someone who won’t stomp on her heart and discard it like trash without batting an eye.

She pushes open the door, tears stinging her eyes as she runs outside into the bitter, chilly night, hoping the Uber driver hasn’t taken off yet. But it's wishful thinking because she can't think of a reason why he wouldn't have left by now.

“Ooof.”

The air rushes from her lungs as she slams into a tall, solid mass.

Hands are gripping her arms to keep her from falling as apologies leave her lips. “Sorry.” She looks up at the man towering over her, Emma's eyes connecting with soft blue ones, which are full of apology.

He flashes a warm smile, his lips framed by a light brown scruff.

“I’m the one who should be sorry, lass. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.”

Shit.

He has an accent too?

What’s with all the accents in this town? She’s noticed a lot of the locals here weren’t actually born here. Or the States. She didn’t realize how much she liked men with foreign accents until tonight.

This man continues to apologize, but he doesn’t sound very sorry. At least not for crashing into her. “I was distracted,” he says with a smirk, giving Emma the impression she was what he was distracted by.

Emma tears herself from the trance she’s in and glances at the side of the road, where the Uber once was. “Shit,” she curses under her breath.

“Are you okay?” he asks in genuine concern.

“Yeah, it’s just… my ride has already left. And I’m too drunk to drive home,” she sighs.

Before the man can respond, his phone chimes from his jacket. “Excuse me,” he says apologetically, pulling out the device. He studies whatever’s on the screen with a worried expression, then looks up at her, his mouth slightly agape.

“Everything okay?” she asks with an arched brow, starting to shiver as a frigid wind sweeps around her.

“Um, yeah.” He glances at his phone again before lifting his gaze. “You wouldn’t happen to be Emma, would you?”

She freezes and just stares at him, not knowing how to answer that. Or rather, why she should answer that.

What the hell?

She's never seen this man before in her life, so how does he know her name?

Her heart pounds and she wants to run, but she's afraid she’s not sober enough for that at the moment. “How do you know my name?”

He appears to be hesitant as he holds up his phone, showing her his screen.

Emma takes it in her hands so she can get a better look.

Her eyes widen when she sees a text from a Nolan.

Nolan, as in her brother? Who else with the last name, Nolan, lives with a Mary Margaret and an Emma?

Nolan: I just received a text from Emma. She sent Mary Margaret home in an Uber and is at your bar. Can you make sure she gets home all right?

Her blood sizzles as she rereads the message. Then she reads the texts before it, a couple in particular sticking out like sore thumbs.

Nolan: So… I have a huge favor to ask.

Me: Sure, what’s up, mate?

Nolan: The wife and sister are going to the Rabbit Hole tonight. Emma just moved here from New York after a terrible break-up and Mary Margaret is determined to hook her up with someone.

Nolan: Think you have time to get away from work and keep an eye on my sister, make sure she doesn’t find any trouble?

What the actual fuck?

Why is her brother having this man spy on her?

Emma turns around and pulls back the hand still holding the phone, about to toss the damn thing.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, don’t shoot the messenger, love,” he pleads. “I need my phone.”

The endearment makes her shiver. Killian had called her love, too.

She spins around to glare at the stranger. “David’s using you to spy on me?” she demands firmly.

He holds up his hands in surrender. “I didn’t want to, lass, I promise, but I would’ve felt terrible if I said no and then, later on, found out something bad happened to you. I promise, I was only helping a friend and looking out for you.”

Emma sighs and hands his phone back, knowing he’s telling the truth. She saw his responses to David’s texts and gathered he didn’t wish to put his nose where it didn’t belong or to stir up any trouble. “David always has been good at persuading people,” she grumbles.

“Aye, especially when it comes to protecting the ones he loves,” he winks.

“Even so, he has no business spying on me!” she states louder than intended.

“I wholeheartedly agree,” he states adamantly, making sure to express how much he was against this whole idea, to begin with.

Emma crosses her arms over her chest, wondering how she never saw him at the Rabbit Hole when she was there. “So, you spied on me at the Rabbit Hole?”

He shakes his head. “No, I didn’t get the chance to. By the time I got there, you and Mary Margaret were already gone.”

Emma shakes her head and rolls her eyes at the thought of her own brother asking someone to spy on her. But she’s not surprised. “Brothers are so annoying,” she grumbles.

He chuckles, and the deep, hearty sound warms her heart a little, despite the chill in the air. “Agreed.”

She arches her brow, as though to ask him to expand on why.

“I have one of those, too. So I get it.”

Emma’s features soften, a small smile pulling at her lips. “Older or younger?”

“Younger. He can be quite the ponce sometimes, but at the end of the day, I’d lay down my life for him.”

“I usually feel the same about David… and then he goes and pulls something like this,” Emma remarks bitterly.

“I take it he does this a lot?”

“He did when we were younger. But then I moved to New York and he came here, so we didn’t see each other very much.”

“Ah, I see.”

Another gust of wind makes her shiver and has him removing his jacket and offering it to her. Even though she’s already wearing one.

“May I?”

She cocks a brow. “Won’t you be cold?”

He shrugs. “I rarely get cold.”

She gives him a soft nod. He looks like he’d be the type of man who knows how to stay warm, and therefore knows how to keep a woman warm. He has those big, strong arms and broad shoulders, and he’s very tall. She could picture herself being buried in his warmth, but maybe because she's currently freezing her ass off. “Thanks,” she murmurs when he goes behind her and drapes the jacket over her shoulders.

“It’s my pleasure, love.” When he’s standing in front of her again, he sticks out his hand. “The name’s Liam.”

Emma smiles and slips her palm in his.

She was right. He is warm. Very warm. “I think David’s mentioned your name a few times.”

“Probably not as much as he talks about you. In fact, I feel like I already know you,” he chuckles as they break the handshake.

“Hopefully, he had good things to say?” She almost groans at the idea of David spewing a bunch of embarrassing stories about her from when she was a kid.

“Aye. Very good things… well, mostly,” he admits. “But who doesn’t have at least a complaint or two about their siblings?”

She nods in agreement. “True. I complain about him all the time.”

He grins big and wide. “I don’t doubt that.” When his smile fades a little, he scratches his head as he looks at her, hesitant to form the next words he wants to say. “Well, uh… seeing as it’s,” he checks his watch, “almost two o’clock and not getting any warmer out here, how about I give you a ride home?”

Emma twists her lips in thought. Normally she wouldn’t even think twice about rejecting a ride from a stranger, but there’s something about this guy that tells her he’s not a serial killer or rapist. There’s something pure about him, a vast contrast to the bartender inside. That guy screamed danger and sin, but this man standing before her gives off completely different vibes. He has a warm personality, which is very refreshing, and he has honest eyes. Besides, she may not be able to stand her brother and his antics sometimes, but he's always had good taste in friends. And if David trusts Liam enough to keep tabs on his sister, then he must be trustworthy.

So with a feeble smile, she finally answers. “Okay.”

Tagging people who have shown interest. Let me know if you would like to be added. @itsfabianadocarmo @resident-of-storybrooke @onceuponaprincessworld @viajandosinalas @teamhook @captainswan-shipper88 @jamif @katielovesstarcrossedlovers @uhthreeyuh @lfh1226-linda @babyyouremyqueen @sthonour @julesep3026 @fairytalewhispersinmyheart @andiirivera @wefoundloveunderthelight @wickedsw4n @eleveneitherway @eherron14 @ouatpost @transparentclodsludgeweasel

#cs ff #captain swan #liam and emma #swan jewel #forced roommates #minor character death #angst #heartache #pregnancy #healing #through the rising tide #my fic

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charincharge · 4 years ago

Text

Kiss and Cry, Part 5

jurdan figure skating au > masterlist

Jude rubbed her temple, which throbbed with pain from too little sleep and caffeine deprivation. Images of Cardan and Locke swam through her mind, distracting her, no matter how hard she tried to focus on the new choreography. Jude was ready to punch something; she’d never had a problem picking up moves before, and Cardan was making her look incompetent. Not only that, but Madoc was getting progressively more frustrated with her.

“No, it’s crossover with arms, tilt, arabesque then into the lift,” Madoc yelled as Jude fumbled the order of the choreography again. “Try it again.”

Jude marked the arm motion and titled her torso to the side, then lifted her leg and spun toward Cardan, who waited patiently with open arms, ready to assist in the lift, the picture of rested and calm.

Jude was even more bothered by that part.

She hopped up and gasped as Cardan’s fingers brushed beneath her breasts. Jude snapped her head towards his smirking face, and she couldn’t help but jab her elbow into his shoulder. The small smile disappeared quickly as Cardan hissed in pain and let Jude wriggle out of his grasp. She breathed deeply, brows furrowed as she glared daggers in his general direction.

“What the hell?” He rubbed at his tender muscle.

“That’s not my waist, Cardan,” Jude hissed. “Watch your hands.”

Cardan rolled his dark eyes. “You’re just so much shorter than Nicasia,” he explained seriously, but Jude could see the amusement in his eyes. “I just need to adjust.”

“Well, adjust faster,” Jude seethed. She knew he was doing it on purpose. And it was pushing her to her limit. Cardan held up his hands in apology.

“Take five,” Madoc sighed, clearly exasperated with the pair in front of him.

That was fine by Jude. She grabbed her empty water bottle and walked out into the hallway to fill it at the water fountain. Cardan slinked up behind her as the water poured into the bottle, and Jude could feel herself tense at the feeling of him hovering behind her.

“Can I help you?” she ground out, refusing to look over her shoulder.

“I should be asking you the same thing,” Cardan retorted quicky. “I’ve never seen you so out of sorts,” he continued.

“I didn’t sleep well,” Jude replied, screwing the top onto her bottle and taking a long sip.

“Funny,” Cardan said. “I slept like a rock.”

Jude couldn’t help but grimace, remembering why Cardan was so well rested. Images of his lithe body in the throes of ecstasy flashed through her mind. She didn’t know why it irritated her so much. But it did.

“Gross.”

“Hmm,” Cardan hummed, his dark eyes slowly perusing Jude’s form. She suddenly felt self-conscious.

“What?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I didn’t realize you were such a slut shamer,” Cardan retorted, his eyes suddenly amused with his own realization.

Jude knew he was trying to rile her up – but she was too aggravated and exhausted and couldn’t help but take the bait.

“I’m not,” she said, jutting her chin out stubbornly.

“I mean, you’re clearly judging me. So, either you’re offended by my sexual activity, or you’re homophobic,” Cardan prattled on, circling the water bottle in his hand with his hand, moving it up and down the cylinder in the most phallic motion he could imagine. Jude cringed again. “Neither is a good look.”

“I just think sex should be private,” she replied, her face warming slightly as she continued to track Cardan’s hand’s motions around his water bottle.

Cardan barked out a loud laugh. “That’s rich, coming from the girl who barged into the men’s locker room.”

Jude’s blush deepened. He had a point, but Jude had no idea what she’d be walking into when she’d gone to confront him.

“You know what I think?” Cardan took a step toward her, infringing upon her personal, and Jude inhaled sharply as his finger twisted itself in one of her chestnut curls. She held her breath, her body going still beneath his touch. “I think you’re jealous.” Cardan’s lips twitched upwards into a wry smile as fury overcame Jude.

“In your dreams,” Jude bit back, pushing his hand away from her face, out of her hair. She needed space.

Cardan bit his lip and his dark eyes became somehow impossibly darker. “Oh, dear Jude, you have no idea how right you are. The things you do with me in my dreams would positively shock you.”

“What, like stab you?” She mimed attacking him, her arm poised with an imaginary blade in her hand.

Cardan laughed, his head tilted back as the joyous noise reverberated through the hallway. “That wouldn’t be shocking to either of us, now would it?” he said, taking another step closer to her. Jude instinctively took a step back, needing to maintain her space.

As if challenged, Cardan took another step forward, until Jude had backed up into the wall. She hadn’t realized she’d inadvertently trapped herself. With no escape, Cardan hovered over her, looming tall and far too interested in her. She’d never been the object of his attention like this before, and it was unnerving. Jude shivered, feeling his warmth radiate between them.

He leaned down, his breath ghosting over her face as he whispered, “If you need a teacher, just let me know. I’d be most happy to educate you,” he smiled again, and Jude suddenly wasn’t so sure he was making fun of her or not. “With proper instruction maybe you’d finally see that sex isn’t evil.”

“You’re disgusting,” Jude breathed. She attempted to inject some vitriol into her tone, but it was hoarse and husky even to her own ears.

“Ah yes, there’s that frigid exterior I’d love to thaw…” Cardan ran his finger down her cheek, watching the color bloom beneath his touch, but it was short-lived.

“Frigid?” Jude froze, a proverbial bucket of ice water spilling down her back. “You sexist piece of shit.”

Jude ducked under his arm, breathing hard. It wasn’t the first time a man had used that word against her, and it stung. As if being more interested in skating than physical intimacy somehow made her unworthy of romantic attention.

Cardan’s confident face faltered for a second. “I didn’t mean…”

“Didn’t mean to call me frigid?” Jude scoffed. “A commonly sexist term used to describe women who are more sexually conservative? Asshole.” Jude was sure their break was over, and she didn’t want to stand here having this conversation anymore. She began to head back into the studio.

“Jude, I’m sorry,” Cardan apologized as he trailed after her. “I wasn’t thinking.” He reached out and brushed his hand against his shoulder, retracting it quickly when Jude flinched under his touch. “I meant that you’re cold, icy…not that…”

“Whatever, Cardan.” Jude pulled her hair into a fresh bun, tightening her elastic and securing her loose strands. She wouldn’t show him how his words hurt. Instead, she placed on a ferocious mask, ready to attack her choreography.

She stood in front of the mirror and ignored the way Cardan’s dark eyes continuously sought hers out. She’d look anywhere but at him.

His hands remained respectful as she learned the routine, sticking to the safe spots of her waist, hands and calves.

Jude dug into the choreography, refocusing and letting it fill her body until it became second nature. She refused to let Cardan get under her skin, into her head.

“Much better,” Madoc sighed, relieved, as they finished their final run through of the morning. “Let’s call it.”

Jude was anxious to get the hell out of there, and away from Cardan, but Cardan stopped her again with another apology.

“Jude, I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean—” he began again, but Jude held out her hand to stop him.

“Listen, we’re stuck with each other for the next month during practice,” Jude said. “I can’t get out of that. But, the rest of my life is mine. So, just leave me the fuck alone, okay?”

Cardan’s gaze hardened as he nodded, acquiescing to her request.

“Cardan, Jude,” Madoc shouted from back inside the studio. They both walked back to the doorway, waiting expectantly for their coach. “I’m being honored at the Champions On Ice benefit Gala this weekend. As the placing leaders of this team, I’d like you both to introduce me.” Cardan and Jude glanced at each other tentatively. “Please work together to come up with an appropriate tribute. And, yes, it will be black tie, so dress accordingly.” Neither Cardan nor Jude said a word to their coach, so he continued. “Is that going to be an issue?” They shook their heads. “Great.” Madoc clapped his hands. “See you tomorrow.”

Jude glanced over her shoulder at Cardan trailing after her. “I guess we’ll be spending more time together, hm? Should we grab lunch?” he asked.

She spun around, watching a surprised Cardan pause his pursuit. “Nice try, Cardan. Just draft something up and email it to me, and I’ll do a pass and send it back.”

She turned around again, not seeing Cardan and his sagging shoulders in the middle of the parking lot.

~*~

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#jurdan #jude x cardan #ice skating au #charincharge writes #tfota fanfic #jurdan fanfiction

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