#return when weather is ideal for sure | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sunboki · 1 year ago

Text

KOREA'S MOST WANTED (DEAD OR ALIVE) : SUNBOKI

🎥 : Christopher Bahng x fem. reader ( with hints of other attraction ((mainly 3racha cause im a whore)) no poly )

TROPE. non-idol au, criminal! au, enemies to lovers, friends to lovers, angst, fluff, implied smut

WORD COUNT. 6.8k & 33 minute read

WARNINGS. smut, blood, guns/weapons, shoot-out, murder, mentions of drugs and poison, descriptive violence, suggestiveness, manipulation, death(not major characters), cursing

PLAYLIST

AUG'S NOTES. a weird spin to a not-quite mafia au but i love the lore.. enjoy. if you decide to read, feedback is always appreciated!!

SYNOPSIS. Eight notoriously wanted criminals work solo. They always have. Except when their dark work and concealed identities are put at risk, they find themselves with no other choice but to work together—and what better place to do so than the back fields of a house in the middle of nowhere? The location was ideal, until you open the doors of your grandparents barn and accidentally meet Korea’s most wanted.

or alternatively

In which stumbling in the wrong place at the wrong time leaves you face to face with some of the most-wanted criminals in all of South Korea.

CRIMINAL #0001 — BAHNG, CHRISTOPHER.

CRIMINAL RECORD

Christopher has been convicted of illegal weapon trafficking on eighteen counts of federal offenses. He is notoriously dangerous. Please proceed with caution.

⭑ REWARD

⎯ CRIMINAL FILES (additional cases)

The only thing illuminating your walk to the barn is your phone light and the hardly helpful moon peeking between heavy clouds.

You’ve done this a billion times, but tonight there’s just something ..unsettling. You can’t put your finger on it.

Shaking the thought from mind, you fiddle with the small lock hitched onto wide, dark red barn doors, untangling rusted chains like routine. That is, until you hear a sound. An unusual sound, an unnerving sound.

By that time you’d already pushed open the doors, and the weight of what sat in front of you—the weight of what was responsible for the sound—made you feel faint.

“Who.. Who are you people?”

Every October you visit your grandparents (or whenever your schedule isn’t jam-packed, but most often in October) when the leaves are deep orange and red, dappling gravel driveways and leaving the once abundant trees bare of their spring greenery.

The weather, though overcast in the autumn season, never stays gray for too long if you wake up early enough. Your grandpa taught you that, how to witness the early morning view before being covered by clouds.

On this occasion, however, you certainly didn’t plan on waking up early, especially not while rooming in your comfortable old bedroom.

Your grandparents house, despite being in the middle of nowhere, was so homey, so familiar. You’d be sure to soak up as much of this easiness as you could before returning back to life, savor the moments the best you could.

“Have you heard?” Your grandmother utters, fingers expertly dicing fruits, gaze glued to the TV.

“Grandma, I just got here, so no I haven’t heard anything,” You laugh, dragging your luggage through the hallway while the drone of the latest news feature serves as background noise. Probably another celebrity split-up, you assume.

Surely, considering the stubborn woman’s frantic waving once you come back into the living room, beckoning you to watch with her.

“Look! They’re wrecking havoc everywhere recently. Folks are calling them ‘Korea’s most wanted.’” Shaking her head repeatedly, she points at the screen displaying a churned building left to nothing but ash.

You hum absentmindedly, listening to the reporter talk.

“Using the title the media has given, this building, once a printing firm, has been dissolved into ashes overnight. The attack is said to have been the doing of ‘The Arsonist’, a member of one of the most wanted people on the radar…”

“If you run into one of them,” Having completely forgotten about the other presence in the room, you flinch. “Call your Grandma, I’ll swat ‘em over the head with my shovel.”

Gesturing with an imaginary shovel in hand, you can’t help but laugh at her silliness, quickly shaking the lingering thought away.

Korea’s most wanted here? Here’s probably the last place they’d show up, too busy massacring the big cities to care about this old house.

Resorting to scurrying onto a kitchen stool, you fill in the nosy old lady on what life has been like, how work has been treating you, and all the other nosy questions your grandmother thinks up slicing apples.

By the time you look out the window, the sky is almost fully dark, until a sudden flash of headlights tells the household grandpa’s back from work, hopping from his rickety blue pickup truck to greet you.

There’s a smile gracing his wrinkled features, regarding you like you were still eight years old. He’s a man of few words, but when he speaks, everyone listens. Similarly, when he tells you he loves you—something he barely does—the moment, whatever it may be, is special.

Settling in for the night, you help wash dishes and insist the stoic woman takes a seat before she breaks her back leaning over the sink, which she rolls her eyes and ignores no less.

Not like you expected anything else, she’d wash these dishes till the end of time knowing her.

“Y/n, dear, would you mind making sure the barn lamp is shut off? I’m worried it’ll catch fire if I forget.”

Speaking of the end of time, you hadn’t stepped foot in the barn in what felt to be decades, too occupied with the house and town to remember that ramshackle building outside.

Of course you said yes, deciding this was a prime opportunity to not forget in the process of slipping on a sweater to help battle the cold, approaching the barely visible building.

You think you hear someone talking but choose to ignore it, pretending it was the wind or something along those lines. It’s autumn and you’re plenty far away from suburban areas, so most likely an animal lie responsible.

That was, until you pry open the barn doors.

Immediately, a stranger with cat-like features has a serrated dagger held to your throat.

Closing your eyes instinctively, you wait to feel the cold metal breaking skin, hesitantly cracking open an eye to meet the attacker’s chilling stare boring into the side of your face.

He takes a few seconds to exchanges glances with another in the dimly lit space then back to your stock-still frame. Briefly, you feel your phone get pulled from your pocket but don’t budge, worried one wrong movement would automatically have the cold metal slitting your throat.

“Walk. Make the slightest move and nobody finds your body, understood?”

Shakily, you nod, feebly inching forward before getting shoved onto the container your grandpa kept extra tools in, splinters piercing the back of your thighs.

Wonderingly, your eyes flicker to each stranger surrounding you. Counting eight in total, some taller, some shorter, you gulp, outnumbered by a large margin you’re sure would be nearly impossible trying to escape from.

Without exchanging a word, one of the shorter, more muscular men steps forward, seeming to inspect you. His rough grip finds your chin, jerking your head from side to side then up to meet his honeyed brown eyes. They’re surprisingly kind compared to his demeanor.

“She’s pretty. Might earn us a good penny if you want, Bahng. Ain’t that right, sweetheart?” Cocking his brows, you swiftly rip your head out of his hand, wrinkling your nose with disgust.

A frothing dread fills your gut, and you think for a moment letting that man with the dagger kill you off would’ve been a better doom.

“Hands off, Bin. If we wanted to get a price we need her to be in good condition.” A voice from behind this so-called “Bin” responds, and you feel the overwhelming urge to hurl.

They’re talking about selling you, like you’re not even human. A pretty porcelain object available at their disposal.

Good condition? You feel sick. You can’t see the man who replied, but you doubt it’d make your gut feel any more uncomfortable.

“Aw c’mon guys,” Another voice you finally spot to your right interjects, sporting chubbier cheeks and appearing quite out of place in this group. “You’re scaring her, go easy.”

Bin scoffs. “Should she be comfortable? We’re gonna kill her anyway, Jisung. Right, Bahng?”

God. Who is this Bahng guy that’s apparently in charge and why does “Bin” want you dead so badly? Didn’t he just call you pretty, or were you blacking out?

“..Right, Bahng?”

Bin falters, backing up as the face belonging to “Bahng” ushers him to the side.

Bahng, at least in the scarce lighting, is scarily handsome. Dyed hair nearly an auburn shade, a strong jaw, and calculating, dusky brown eyes that appear equally as kind as Bin’s.

You’ve learned to not trust the deceit.

Suddenly, a thought strikes.

Any minute now your grandparents will realize how long you’ve been gone and start to worry.

Your heart drops.

No. Don’t come here, stay in the house. No no no no.

Automatically, words stumble out of your mouth.

“Please- kill me, sell me, I don’t care. My grandparents- they’re gonna come here, I can’t have them here. If they find me here I... Please.” Chest rising and falling unevenly, you continuously glance at the door.

Waiting, waiting.

“Please spare them. I don’t want them to get hurt.”

He doesn’t blink, doesn’t make any expression apparent on that handsome face of his. Observing.

You’re a spectacle, an interesting one at that.

“And if I spare you, what do I get in return, hm?”

You’re caught off guard.

In return? What does he mean in return?

Think. Think. What the hell could someone like him want? He has enough money, you’re sure.

Fine. Make it broad.

“Anything. Anything, I promise.” Pleading, you anxiously shuffling atop the box, swearing to have heard the sound of moving outside. Somewhere behind the two of you someone chokes a laugh. You can’t find it in yourself to care.

Poking his tongue into his cheek thoughtfully, he eventually signals to the others before you’re being escorted through the back door by a not-so gentle Bin and a very much apologetic Jisung, sparing a glance back to the home you’d only seen for one day.

And if what Bin said about killing you was true, you wonder if you’ll ever see it again.

.. .

Ducking into one of the two cars parked directly behind the barn, you’re assigned the passenger seat, accompanied by Bahng who’s driving, Jisung, and a long-haired boy sitting beside him in the backseat.

They’re all strikingly beautiful opposed to the blood you’re sure has stained their hands, especially the one next to Jisung with features resembling that of a prince. Everything about him seems too elegant to do any harm. You know that’s a lie.

Mapping out your surroundings, you shuffle in the leather seat, waiting until all three men get situated to slam the door ajar and run. Second instinct, no thoughts, just survival.

You run, run and run as fast as you can while the thump of shoes echo behind you. Far away, you have to get away. Get away get away get aw— a force slams into you from behind and you go toppling down.

Gasping as the air mercilessly ripped from your lungs returns, your vision adjusts, squirming thanks to the identity keeping you still. Bahng has you trapped below him, breath labored, effortlessly intimidating.

“Let— go of me!” You yell, voice betraying the utter desperation overtaking every fiber of your being.

He holds you down, meeting your eyes without fail as you struggle and shout. Shouting and screaming so loud into the darkness in fact, that the man finally covers your mouth with a hand as you tremble, watery gaze fixated on his. Burning, venomous hatred.

“I’m afraid that isn’t an option, sweetness. So you either walk back to the car or I go through things the hard way. What will it be?”

He thumbs the sweaty strands of hair stuck to your forehead, hand finally pulling off your mouth.

Hypocrite.

“Fuck you.” You spit, and the man’s brows lift, lips pulled into an amused smile as he wipes his cheek.

“Hard way it is.”

Instantaneously, you’re hauled over his shoulder, not straining a bit despite the incessant kicking and pounding of your fists against his shoulder.

And just to prove how much he wholeheartedly deserved that fuck you, he made sure to lock the vehicle twice right in front of your face, receiving an equally as distasteful glare through the windshield in return.

The car ride was quiet, only interrupted by him asking if the air was too cold which you responded to with the middle finger. Jisung giggled.

Wee hours of morning peer through thick clouds, the road briefly illuminated by your headlights, corn stalks for miles lining either side. A barely palpable trace of life noticeable in a church’s steeple in the distance—once stark white, now stained and evidently aged.

Looking in the mirror, you locate the other vehicle tailing, assumed to be carrying the additional boys. Considering where your lone source of communication may be hidden (a.k.a your phone), you strain trying to spot it in your peripheral.

No use. Just you and this shit-hole of a situation.

Either way, what would you even say? “Please help me I’ve been kidnapped by eight of Korea’s most wanted criminals”? Yeah, they’ll definitely believe that.

There’s a hum from the prince-like man.

“This is the perfect place for a murder,” He speaks so nonchalantly, as if he referred to the weather and not killing someone.

Chills spread along your arms.

Jisung chuckles. “You’re right, no traces at all. Either way, even if someone did find them they’d likely already be rotten.”

You’re nauseous.

“Say, do you know how long it takes for a body to rot out here?” He asks, and your dizziness keeps you from realizing he’s referring to you, stomach threatening to spill all of its contents any second now.

And they expect you to know that?

Your silence leads to Jisung earning a smack from his backseat companion, scolding him hushedly.

Bahng stays quiet, one hand holding the wheel and the other splayed on the center console. Occasionally though you’ll see his eyes flit elsewhere, or maybe it’s your imagination.

Car eventually falling mute with a few passengers sleeping, you get close to doing the same before the harsh jerk of the car stirs everyone wide awake, clutching onto their seats.

You’d swerved into a small expanse of corn, wheels crushing the crops beneath them. Instantly the three reach under their seats, instinctively grabbing out pistols and pushing open the doors slowly, bodies crouched low.

Preparing to hide to the best of your ability, a hand on your arm keeps your movement at bay, discovered to belong to Bahng.

“Just keep in mind what Jisung said, by the time anyone finds you you’ll be rotted, pretty thing.” He sends you a sickeningly sweet smile, cocking the hammer of his gun and disappearing out the door where you hear someone shout: “I fucking knew we were being followed!” Prior to the loud ricochet of bullets being fired.

You duck down in the passenger seat, attempting to be as small and forgettable as possible out of sight. That is until a gunshot strikes the side of the car, narrowly bypassing where you’re curled up on the floorboard.

An involuntary scream escapes you, and your palm clamps over your mouth, shuddering and shaking like a leaf.

It’s a natural reaction, shrinking away, too horrified to act. So when your door is violently swung open, you prepare for the worst before recognizing Bin’s face, who legitimately rips you from the seat and drags you away.

Stopping beside a minimal clearing, you observe he isn’t carrying a weapon of any kind, a factor that makes your hopes slightly plummet. Granted, it’s not that you don’t think he’d be capable of defending himself (and you), but his fists against a gun didn’t sound too promising.

Swiftly instructed to not move, he races off, effectively tackling a man to the ground and leaving a pool of blood seeping where he lay.

Except, Bin abruptly evades your vision, leaving you to notice the prince-like boy in his stead, waving his arms and yelling something you strain to recognize.

“Behind you!” He had been shouting.

Your soul fills with dread.

In an instant you brace for impact, ears picking up the whirring of an object against the wind before the crack of a bat makes contact with your attackers head. The man goes down like a sack of bricks.

Bin, holding a nail embedded baseball bat propped on his shoulder, appeared just on time.

He had a streak of blood smeared across his cheek which you guessed belonged to someone else, and his knuckles lay bruised and torn despite the massive shit-eating grin slapped on his face.

“You alright, sweetheart?” He asks, voice hoarse and rough despite never looking more alive. It’s terrifying.

Shaken, you give yourself a once over, hurriedly shaking your head. He barks a laugh.

Gunshots eventually dying off, the nine of you regroup, some suffering minor injuries and others standing untouched.

Among them, the dagger-wielding criminal is one of the untouched. You’re not surprised.

Jisung is cussing wildly, leg ripped up pretty bad while leant against said dagger-wielding criminal, sending his counterpart a sour glare.

“Those motherfuckin’ assholes need ‘ta learn some fuckin’ manners..” Jisung spews curses, lips pulled up in a sneer as the others help him into the bullet-embedded car.

Reversing out of the densely packed foliage, no one dares say a word the entire rest of the drive, preoccupied with going back to their interrupted sleep or blankly gazing into the night.

The destination, appearing to be a company building by its exterior (and the lack of daylight), easily averages the size of an extreme warehouse. You curve into an enormous parking garage, every other space occupied by some multimillion dollar sports car.

Upon walking inside though, you’re left in the main entrance with Jisung while the remainder slip into a separate room.

His leg is bandaged thanks to “Jeongin”, whom, after briefly seeing them in brighter lighting, you guess is the youngest-looking one. Light hair and a smile you’re certain breaks all law-breaking guidelines.

Arrangement of chairs mimicking that of a doctor’s office, you guess the decorum is used to disguise what actually goes on here.

Clearing your throat, you debate on speaking about the question burning a hole through your skull.

“Why do you want me to live?”

Managing to haul himself backwards on a chair, Jisung shrugs.

“Why not? It’d be fun having someone other than those boneheads around.”

Typical Jisung reaction, you assume. This is the same dude bringing up murder like it’s a daily occurrence after all.

“Plus, we’re normally workin’ solo. Some circumstances forced us to work together.” He absentmindedly waved, and you bite the urge to ask about these so-called “circumstances”.

With Jisung, you can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or serious. You have a feeling asking him about it though would only lead to a response along the lines of: “Hey, it adds to the fun, right?” as if murder was a leisurely hobby.

You can’t help but feel baffled with how casually he talks about the additional men. Friends, as if they’re friends. Not like they would be, Jisung said it himself, “circumstances” pulled them together.

However, the danger they’d pose working as a team would be unreal. You didn’t even want to consider the possibility.

Goosebumps crawl upon your forearms.

"Y’know, I used to protect people like you." Han Jisung, whom you now recognized as The Arsonist, tilted his head to the side when he said that.

Strikingly beautiful, just like the others. Soft, round cheeks. Dark, soulful eyes and pursed, puffy lips.

You recall your grandmother telling you some of the prettiest flowers carry the most poison. Now it makes sense.

Blinking, you choose your words rather carefully.

This man, the one who upon first glance looks like he couldn’t harm a fly, burned down a printing firm yesterday. The same man alongside seven other notorious criminals discussing your fate.

Korea’s most wanted.

“Why’d you stop? Protecting people, I mean.” Coming out mumbled, you watch him click his tongue and change posture, not phased whatsoever.

It was a genuine question, considering whatever job he had before —if it came down to protecting— seemed to be something linked to the law. Unusual, for a criminal or his level.

“I got bored,” He yawned, lower lip jutting out.

Talk about a juxtaposition to his psychotic tendencies.

Bored. Han Jisung, The Arsonist, got bored of being a good guy.

It gave you a whole new perspective to insane.

“..You ask a bunch of questions, huh. I guess that makes sense since you might die- no! Not die- well, I’m not sure but- you’ll be fine!”

Wow Jisung. You seriously suck at convincing.

Oh how you wish your grandma would appear with her shovel right about now. Scratch that, you wish she would’ve swatted them over the head much earlier than now.

“Alright, but where will we keep her while Bahng decides on the cover up?” The seven go quiet, and if it wasn’t for the whirring of a fan overhead you would’ve guessed they were telepathically communicating, few sparing hasty glances at each other, waiting for someone to speak up.

Changbin was the one who asked, but he didn’t continue, nor even meet Bahng’s eyes despite his normal, boisterous behavior.

If there was one person they all had a running respect (and fear) of, it would be Bahng. He’d brought up the idea of working together, and he’d be the one leading in result.

Freckle Boy (the name The Hitman had came up with before learning Felix’s’ name) opens his mouth.

“I can—“

“She’ll stay with me.” Bahng interjects, and no one lifts a finger.

Changbin sees the blond’s pinched expression through his peripheral.

“But I have an extra—“

“You heard me, Felix. She stays with me,” He sternly repeats, and the younger deflates, mumbling something to himself after Hyunjin sends him a reassuring nod.

The atmosphere eased up slightly opposed to how suffocating it had been earlier, enough to where the men occupying their individual chairs took deep breaths of air they hadn’t know they’d been holding.

The door opens and they disperse in different directions while Bahng lags behind, speaking to Jeongin about something hushed.

You, on the other hand, are greeted with a rather sympathetic smile from the blond, telling you whatever they talked about wasn’t good.

From your right, Bin clears his throat, effectively giving you an unprecedented heart-attack.

“For the record, we weren’t planning to sell you.”

A grin grows on your face, taking this sweeter opportunity to pick some fun. You’re stuck here anyway, right?

“We weren’t? I think you were.”

He huffs, crossing muscular arms over his chest stubbornly. Behind him, a neighboring coffee-haired man snickers, earning Bin’s slap on the shoulder and a quiet “Yah.. Seungmin..” That completely sabotage any chance of taking him seriously.

“..I wasn’t.”

Mhm, definitely. Like the tips of his ears weren’t blood red.

The whiplash you’re getting from being treated you like a rag doll earlier becomes quite ironic.

Wasting time incessantly teasing the man, it’s not until he’s lead off by Bahng that you quiet down, awkwardly shifting your weight to either heel.

“..So?” You interrupt the silence, only given a jerk of Bahng’s head as a signal to follow. Talk about vague.

Overflowing with endless questions, he finally stops and turns to you, brows furrowed.

Attractive. My god he’s attractive.

“Would you just tell me where we’re-“You’re staying in my room for the time being.”

To say you felt shocked barely brushed the surface of your internal wasp nest, endlessly buzzing and swarming. His room? What the hell was that supposed to mean?

“I mean,” He notes, looking amused now. “Unless you plan on staying in the other rooms with cameras and giving security a show then—“

“Fine.”

Sending you a smug grin, it’s hard not feeling bewildered as he rounds a corner, revealing one, the fact that he has literal guards standing on either side of the double doors, and two, that his “room” is the short story of a penthouse.

Wow.

.. .

Turning off the ignition, Changbin stuffs the keys in his pocket upon slipping inside, scrunching his nose at the sight before him.

“Fuck dude, you’re a tank.” The man groans, eyeing Chris who’s currently doing handstand push-ups on wooden parallettes.

When Chris is nowhere to be found, he’s here, hidden away in this partially abandoned gymnastics studio on the outskirts of Incheon. Small, though with all materials intact.

Occasionally teenagers would come roaming around, having heard of hauntings and gruesome murders they want to stick their noses in. It’s plausible, sure, the murder part at least.

Changbin didn’t believe in hauntings, because no horrific spirit ever dared deter him from enjoying his job, over and over. He didn’t have remorse, he didn’t feel.

Life was easier that way, without emotion driving your decisions.

In fact, he can’t recall the last time being a hitman scared him. Call it crazy, but if you think about it in terms of “eliminating those that shouldn’t be there”, he’s doing the world a favor.

He wouldn’t tell Bahng that for many reasons.

“And your mouth is still as bad as usual.” The older says through gritted teeth, slowly lowering his legs, coated in a sheen of sweat that greasily muss strands of hair.

He barks a laugh. “‘Can’t fix it.”

“That’s for sure,” Chris responds, grabbing the towel The Hitman held out with a thankful pat on the back.

Arranging the equipment back into its designated places, Changbin leans against the doorframe, brows lifted curiously.

“She’s sleeping, if you’re wondering.”

Telepathically, the man answers his unspoken question, referring to you who he imagines is prettily slumped in Chris’ bed.

Prettily. Did he say prettily?

Forget it.

Unknown to both your name and whereabouts, you begrudgingly pull the comforter closer over your head, successfully blocking the sunlight for a few more minutes of sleep. Your entire body is sore, and a numbing buzz has settled in your head, drowning out any cognitive ability to think.

Well, the extra time is amazing until your bladder decides to sabotage you.

Blindly blundering off the mattress, you idly navigate around, blinking a foggy haze from your vision.

Step, step, and then thump! You slam right into something—someone.

Finally granted a clear view, you swear your brain short-circuited.

It’s Bahng, staring down at you with a towel wrapped around his neck while water droplets cling to his skin—to his chest—that you notice is quite bare at the moment.

“Christ— Jesus—“ Slapping a hand over your eyes, you take multiple strides backwards, feet stumbling prior to hands grasping your wrists.

Easing you up right, he kindly leads your sleep-consumed form into the bathroom, big hands momentarily maneuvering your hips to the side on his way out.

Effectively stalling his movements, you silently drag him back closer to you, thumbs reaching up to smoothing his deep eye-bags.

He freezes, words he planned to say cut off.

His eyelids flutter shut in contentment, and in those tender seconds, you stand there, palms delicately cupping his cheeks, relaxing the hard lines of his face whilst steam gives the mirror a bleary cast.

Any other situation and you would’ve admitted yourself into a psych ward, but the alarm clock on his nightstand reading 7:18AM told you whatever you did next was all a lucid dream.

“You don’t sleep much.. do you?” Softly mumbling, he hums against your touch, own hand holding yours against his face.

Bahng cracks a barely there smile.

“Hard sleeping when the world’s after you,” He comments, remark laced with humorless hilarity. You can’t say you disagree.

Although, most good things—all good things—end far too quickly. Because when Changbin bursts through the door, voice choked in his throat, you hesitate your movements.

“.. Just uh, wanted to say the car’s waiting- I mean, the car’s ready for you. Yeah. Bye.” Awkwardly shuffling, he made a direct beeline for the door.

Never in your life did you expect a Hitman to be so awkward. And not just a Hitman, thee Hitman, Bin. Who, although you’d never say it to his face, definitely stuttered.

Unfortunately forced to separate, you’re handed one of his jackets once you managed to convince Bahng to let you come along.

Taking the elevator to the parking garage, an assistant who (you assume) routinely fetches the keys to an otherworldly expensive Lamborghini bows low, greeting either of you with a mandatory please-don’t-hurt-me smile.

You don’t ask where you’re headed, knowing the answer would only lead to more questions instead.

Bahng’s like that, you’ve discovered. Unpredictable to everyone but himself. Private.

Alternatively, compared to what you had imagined (something like a shed or a slaughter-house), he pulled into the gravel driveway of an old home, wooden docks on the roof sticking in strange directions, evidently battered from years of storm turmoil.

Sporting a confused expression yourself, he steps from the scissor doors, ushering you to follow suit.

A bit out of place, you decided. It’s not every day you witness a Lamborghini parked in front of a house like this.

“We’re visiting my grandmother, I visit every week.” He announces, and you could’ve seriously bet money on how uncharacteristic that move was.

This man, the man who ran disappeared at ungodly hours of night with unknown intentions, the man who killed with no remorse, was visiting his grandmother.

First Bin and now Bahng. What a wild card.

Living up to the title, Bahng couldn’t have been more opposing to his usual demeanor, shrugging off his coat and shoes at the doorway and fixing Barley tea for the short woman residing in her rocking chair.

Struggling to unzip his jacket that’s massive size engulfs your frame, you curiously explore, noting the sheer normality.

No weapons, no apparent knowledge of Bahng’s illegal activity patterning the household.

In this house, it’s just a grandmother and her grandson. Not Bahng, but Chris.

The name sounds strange on your tongue.

She wholeheartedly welcomed you in, scolding him for his prominent scars and holding hands that had unforgivable violence wedged between fingernails.

Somehow, watching him felt like betrayal. And although you doubt his grandmother would love him any less despite the gruesome reality, to know so much occurred behind the scenes made things, well, uncomfortable.

You be sure to introduce yourself, spending a good hour and a half entertaining the wrinkled woman before bidding your farewells and returning to familiar stifling tension on the drive home.

Your piling conscious suggests you say something, but you second guess yourself, ultimately garnering the courage after many failed attempts of making small talk once you both returned back to his room.

He’s wearing glasses now, and you swear you’ve never seen someone so unbearably beautiful in your life. Hell, him merely breathing has any comprehensible phrase disappearing instantaneously.

“Have you told anyone about what you do?” You start, causing him to lean over from his place on the side of the mattress, fiddling with something on the nightstand.

You crane to hear his response.

“Sometimes it’s best to lie to keep both parties happy.”

…That’s a no.

“Then, Chris, would you rather be happy living a lie or sad knowing someone’s honest truth?”

Chris.

Though his real name, the words still sound foreign, especially aloud.

He seems to have felt the same, head snapping your direction.

Grinning.

“And what do you know about lying, sweetness?”

“It’s not what I know, it’s what you want to know.” You scoot closer to him, mimicking his cocky smile. “Here’s an example, would you be happy not knowing I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long time, or sad hearing that I didn’t plan to tell you?”

A low chuckle.

“Did you learn the manipulation part from Minho?”

“Is it working?”

Eyes flickering back and forth from his lips to his eyes, you find yourself lingering centimeters apart, both intoxicated on each bated breath.

“A little bit,” He whispers, unwavering stare flickering to your parted lips before he pulls the glasses off his face and tilts his head to capture your lips.

You hastily climb onto the bed, fingers tangled in his tousled curls that peer from straight hair.

New, but not. As if you’ve kissed him all your life.

Working down your neck, his warm grip eases your legs apart, transitioning from kneading the flesh of your inner thighs to your ass.

“Oh— fuck.” You sigh out, delicious pressure applied right where you needed him most, stirring a deep wave of pleasure radiating throughout your entire body.

The Gunsman has you wrapped around his finger. A man whose power owns guards that stand in front of his seemingly normal door, a man whose power leaves you helplessly entangled in his every move, neck accessorized in his love bites.

Its wrong. Everything is hopelessly wrong.

You can’t get enough.

.. .

Index dragging across the fabric of sheets, your attention bursts alive, body jarring in a hold, someone else’s hold.

Bahng’s hold.

His head is tucked into your neck, arms hugging your bare back against his equally bare body. Bahng feels like comfort, home.

You never thought you’d be referring to a criminal when you said that.

Adjusting, you manage to roll over, admiring his ever kissable lips puckered in a pout, bed-hair forming strange shapes in the side of his pillow before mesmerizing brown eyes begin fluttering open.

Quickly rolling back around, you attempt at pretending to be asleep to no avail, because Bahng buries his face closer to the nape of your neck, sighing a lengthy groan.

Hands exploring you absentmindedly, he ensures to squeeze your chest at least once, otherwise keeping a tender touch settled on your tummy.

“G’morning…” He grumbles hoarsely, barely awake prior to his phone buzzing on the nightstand and his hushed “fuck” earning a giggle from you.

Caller ID: Hwang Hyunjin, the screen reads.

Without even a proper warning, he’s simultaneously thrown into a shark tank the moment the call’s accepted.

So long for the morning afterglow.

“It’s ready,” The Physic utters, and the soft fizzing of chemicals in the background do nothing to cease his foaming pit of guilt.

Grateful you couldn’t see the tight-lipped expression he burns the wall with, he grimaces, sparing you a longing glance.

So peaceful, so beautiful.

This world truly is cruel.

Rising to his feet, he throws on a white button-up, adorned by one of the many black trench coats lining his closet. Discreet, convenient.

Reminding you to stay in bed till he gets back, he finds his footsteps faltering on the way down to the lab.

Bahng, Christopher Bahng, The Gunsman, is nervous.

You’ve really done something to him.

Although, before he can make a move Felix pries the door ajar, and from how he furiously chews his bottom lip immediately answers Chris’ question.

The final part of their cover-up? Getting you back.

Because everyone, including himself, knew he’d fall in love. And he couldn’t. He couldn’t, wouldn’t dare put you through that.

Wafting fumes invade his nostrils entering (essentially) Hyunjin’s lair, multiple cloths layered in a clear box.

“Chloroform, I messed with it a bit. It’s not concentrated enough to be lethal. It’ll just put her out for a little bit.” He pats the top of the box, tugging medical gloves off ringed fingers.

From across the room, Chris can feel eyes on him.

“And how do you know if it won’t kill her?” The person asks, Changbin asks, critiquing gaze fixated on Chris despite regarding Hyunjin.

“Because I tested it? Since when did you care?” Moodily, The Physic cross his arms.

“Since now.”

“Why? Weren’t you the one who wanted to sell her?”

Chris can smell the uprising tension from a mile away.

“Because I’m allowed to care about someone! Am I not, your fucking highness?” Changbin shouts, but hidden by Hyunjin’s irked facade, Chris notices the slight tug of his lips, the peeking amusement.

Turns out Chris wasn’t the only one falling.

What a twist of events.

Interrupting their face-off, he hoists the moderately heavy box up, curtly nodding to Hyunjin.

Maneuvering around the warehouse back toward your room, he fastens a mask onto his face, spreading a few separate cloths into a smaller container.

Felix and Hyunjin’s doing, Chloroform cloths.

There were a few recommendations. Minho suggested knocking you out and going about, Seungmin with the grand idea of blackmailing you into leaving, and Jisung who wanted to keep you here.

Chloroform it was.

Returning to his bedroom, he finds himself understanding Changbin’s anger the longer he watches you, drifted back asleep, angel-like.

Fuck.

This hurts.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he delicately caresses the skin of your cheek, squinting to marvel, to study. The way your eyebrows furrow, exhaling a big breath. Infatuating.

“Can I take you to my favorite place?” He inquires, and you dazedly roll around, small frown gracing oh so tempting lips, swollen from the night before.

“Your favorite place..?”

Even your voice is infatuating. Dreamy.

Chris hums his reply.

Lifting yourself up, you agree, letting him take care of you, brush your teeth for you, undress you. Things oddly mundane for a person like him to want to do, but oddly sweet all the same.

Not sexual, but intimate. Dearly, dearly intimate.

The drive winds along backroads, slowing to take a right down a barren, rocky road situated between countless trees. In the distance you make out the faint glow of light, a clearing.

Upon breaching the forest, your expectations are instantly blown away.

Sundown, evidence of how long you’d slept (and how long Chris had kept you up), gloriously paints the sky dazzling hues.

No picture could encompass this view.

Putting the car into park, you perch on the hood, legs aimlessly swinging, breeze idly passing by.

Admire.

“I asked Jisung, but now I wanna hear it from you.”

He stays quiet.

“Why did you want me to live?” You mischievously pique, fingers drumming.

Bahng approaches nearer, turning to stand between your legs where you sit.

“I like you,” He nonchalantly responds, and the overwhelming need to push him further, dance over that thin line becomes irresistible.

“Only ‘like’ me?”

Licking his lips, he unexpectedly tilts your head to meet him. Tender, gentle.

Your heart hurts. Because unlike previously, this kiss feels regretful, feels sad.

Your arms, once clutching onto that trademark trenchcoat, wrap around his neck, his finding purchase upon your hips.

Yet, you could tell it wasn’t greed driving him. Your earlier ravenous desire, your lust, was gone.

Instead, he was carving you into his memories, starting with his lips. He’d already done so with his hands, with his body the night before.

“I’m sorry,” He whispers, and before you could ask any questions he forces your attention back to his eyes, swimming with an emotion you didn’t know Chris could exhibit.

Hurt.

Inexplicable hurt overwhelm that stare. Creases his always-taut brows.

“Just trust me, please.”

Please.

“Chris,” You hesitate.

There’s been that gnawing sensation ever since getting roped into this circus. Because this was only temporary, undoubtedly headed to an inexplicable conclusion.

You wonder if perhaps this is your end, your end with Bahng, with Chris.

Someone you’ve fallen in love with. So, so fucking hard.

And from the way he’s looking at you, it looks like he has too.

But you trust him. You trust him more than you had ever trusted anyone before, and so you nod.

“Chris, I love..”

Your volume dissolves upon the cloth being held to your face, eyes rolling back into your head as you fall limp into his arms, fingertips still touching his skin.

“..Love ….you.”

He kisses you once more, slower this time, cradling you in his arms.

“I’m so sorry, I love you.”

Speaking softly to avoid his pain betraying him, Bahng carefully situates you into the passenger seat, ignoring the drone of the engine from how rapidly the speedometer climbs. Numb to anything, everything.

The Aventador’s screen alights with a call.

“What,” He rasps, gleaming traffic lights casting red and green shadows across the car’s black interior.

“Is she...?” Felix asks, and Chris eases slightly. Subtle shuffling in the background reveals the others presence, awaiting the bottom line.

“Yeah.”

The freckled boy hums in response, dejection apparent.

Nevertheless, not a peep sounds, unusual for the usually rowdy crowd. Chris can tell some of them walk away, some staying.

Corn stalks ghosting past signify his location.

He hangs up.

He’ll apologize later.

.. .

Waking up inside your grandparents house feels like a fever dream, like your body isn’t your own and when you open your eyes you’ll still be snuggled into Chris’s arms.

But you aren’t, and you’re also violently kicked out of that fantastical daydream when your grandmother shows up, all smiles, no “I’m so relieved to see you’re safe” or “where did you go?” apparent on any of her features.

“Why, you never told me you had a boyfriend!” She smacks your arm and you flinch back, wearing an expression only comprehensible as puzzlement.

Perhaps Chris payed them? Bought their silence and hid from the law in return?

But that’s not your grandparents. They wouldn’t keep their mouths shut about something like this.

So what the hell did he do?

“The handsome young man who drove you here from the airport!” Waddling over to point an accusing finger at the doorway, your head frantically snaps in every direction.

Your suitcases are zipped up, and no evidence of you ever even arriving here shows around the room.

That is until you notice your phone has miraculously returned on your nightstand.

Immediately swiping to scroll through messages, your thumb stops, lingering over a message from an unknown number.

Pausing, you click.

Don’t come looking for me, but if you need me, text this number.

You would’ve found the text eerily creepy if you didn’t have an idea of who sent it.

You do.

Because there’s no one else that says ‘don’t come looking for me’ and ‘if you need me’ in the same sentence other than him.

Bahng.

FIC TAGLIST. @lizzetmv @skzhoes @fylithia @sunshineshouyo @stayconnecteed @starlost-andfound @seo--changbin @lynlyndoll @browniesandsunshine @stay278 @surefornext @pororolifeblog @httpsjuno @d7n3

sunboki, may 2022 ©

654 notes · View notes

4ttack-ur-heart · 1 year ago

Text

Cherry Chapstick

Pairing: Armin x reader

Warnings: none.

Summary: Armin refuses to let you use his chapstick. No worries, you have other ideas on how to keep your lips from getting chapped.

(also just pretend chapstick is canon in the aot universe for the sake of the fic 😭)

Another long and grueling day of training was finishing up. The sun was setting through the huge forest of trees.

“Alright, trainings over! Rest up and be ready to head back in 15 minutes.” The squad leader said with his barking voice.

Your squad leader liked doing various training sessions with just your squad, something about strengthening the bond and making it easier to tag team during expeditions.

Landing on one of the branches to catch your breath, you sat against the bark let your body slouch for the first time that day.

“Tired?”

Looking up at the voice, Armin was standing in front of you. His new shorter blond locks shifting gently in the breeze as his pretty blue eyes locked on your figure. He was one of your closest friends. The friendship was honestly ideal with him giving you the guidance that you needed while you encouraged him when he was feeling insecure.

You nodded at him through half-lidded eyes and a lazy smile. “I’m so glad we have a day off tomorrow, I’ll probably spend it sleeping.”

Armin returned a smile at your words. “You’re almost there, (y/n). I’m sure your bed misses you too.” While you laughed at him, Armin squatted down next to you.

“What do you got planned tomorrow?” You asked and leaned your head against the tree. He pulled his green cloak tighter around his shoulders when the breeze kicked in.

“Probably go out into the valley and find a nice place to read.”

“By yourself? What about Eren and Mikasa?” You raised an eyebrow. The trio was pretty much inseparable.

Armin waved off your question with his hand. “They wanted to go into the city and I’m tired of third-wheeling. It wasn’t much fun as kids and still isn’t now.”

Nodding your head, you gazed once more at the sun just about to set. The orange hues casting over the green plains.

Armin finally sat down on the branch, his leg brushing up against yours. “God, I can’t stand this weather.” He muttered and started to fish for something out of his pocket.

With curious eyes, you saw him pull out a small tube. Chapstick? He uncapped it and gently spread it on his lips.

Armin chuckled when he caught you staring at him. “What? My lips are chapped.”

“I can see that.” You could also see his plump pink lips all shiny from the substance. “What flavor is it?”

“Cherry.” He pocketed the chapstick.

You inched over to him. Cherry was your favorite flavor, a timeless classic that forever held your heart. You were about to ask him for some when he seemed to have read your thoughts and immediately shut you down.

“No, you can’t have any.”

Instantly shocked at his words, your mouth was agape and you crossed your arms with a pout. “What, why?”

Honestly, you couldn’t care less… well maybe you cared a little bit. But being petty and dramatic was more fun however, especially in front of Armin.

“(Y/n), don’t take this the wrong way, but anything you touch immediately disappears.”

Ok, now you cared a lot a bit. “No it doesn’t!”

“Oh, you defended yourself real quick there, huh? Alright, tell me where Sasha’s hairbrush is.” Armin had a smile on his face as he rested his arm on his propped up knee. Sasha lent you her brush one day and it was never seen again. She made you buy her a new one the next day.

Your silence was the answer he needed.

“Maybe you know where Mikasa’s training gloves are?”

Again, more silence. She’d let you borrow them for training and you stupidly set them down when it was windy.

“Oh, wait! My blue sweater? Haven’t seen that in a while and you were the only person I lent it to.”

It was a rather chilly morning one day, so Armin lent you his infamous blue sweater.

Manipulative little bastard.

A slight blush dusted your cheeks. You glared at the blonde and scoffed. “I feel like this isn’t just about chapstick.”

Arming gave out a chuckle. “It is, (y/n). Don’t worry.” With that, Armin rose to his feet and patted your head as he walked along the branch.

Your eyes fluttered in satisfaction when his fingertips rubbed your scalp.

“I can’t even have a little?”

“No.”

Ugh, be like that then.

———

Your squad eventually had to make the journey back home. Riding next to Armin, your horses ran in sync as you both gave each other little glances every few minutes.

“Can I have some of that chapstick now?” Your voice rang over thundering steps of the horses.

“No.” Armin replied.

“But my lips are chapped!”

“Figure it out.” He shouted back.

Oh I will.

———

“Finally home.” You moaned and jumped off your horse and led her to the stables. Your body ached and sleep was all you were craving. It was dark by the time you guys got back and your squad leader gave his appreciation by quickly dismissing everyone.

Maybe I’ll skip dinner. I’m so tired.

Thoughts flowing through your head as you undressed your horse of her gear. Hanging the saddle on a peg, you brushed her mane and fed her some carrots.

“Eat up, Star. My pretty girl.” You cooed, gently running your hand over her nose. Another set of steps disrupted your intimate moment with Star.

Turning around, your eyes softened at Armin, who led his horse over by the reins.

“Hey, stranger.” He teased and began working on his horse. You smiled back at him and it was silent for a few moments, just the sound of the equipment clinking with movement.

You turned to look at him only to give a dry chuckle when you saw him pulling out his stupid cherry chapstick again. The stupid smile never left his face as he applied it.

“Ar-”

“No chapstick, (y/n).”

Damn.

“That wasn’t what I was going to say!”

Armin turned to meet your gaze with raised eyebrows. “What was it then?”

Shit. Think (y/n).

Armin chuckled as the silence answered his question. His hands gently brushed through his horse’s mane. “You’re a bad liar.”

A scoff left your lips. “I don’t like this new attitude of yours.”

Over time, Armin slowly broke out of his shell, no longer the dorky and nervous kid he once was- even though you loved that about him. Now, he was comfortable enough to speak his mind without a second thought, even to you.

“Get used to it, (y/n). Looks like you’ll have to find another way to keep your lips moisturized.”

You didn’t like the snarky look he had on his face. A sudden idea popped into your head. As Armin finished settling his horse for the night, you caught his wrist as he walked by.

A confused look adorning his features when he turned to look at you.

Without thinking twice, you pulled him towards you and stood on your toes. Lifting your head, your lips quickly planted themselves onto his.

You could tell he was caught of guard. His blue eyes widened at the sudden action and a startled whimper escaped him. It was kinda hot honestly. Pulling away, you rubbed your lips together and popped them. “Mmm, gotta love cherry.”

His lips were partly opened and a red rouge covered his face. He still couldn’t believe it.

“U-uh, I-”

“Night, Armin. See ya tomorrow.” You smiled innocently at him before brushing past him to leave.

His hand latched onto your elbow and pulled you back. Raising an eyebrow at him, Armin gripped both your shoulders before pulling you back in, lips meeting yours once more. His back was crouched down a little to meet your height. Now it was your turn to be surprised.

Oh. Oooh

He moaned slightly against your lips when you started kissing back.

The kiss lasted a few seconds before Armin slowly pulled away from you. You both were slightly panting from the adrenaline and the eye contact between you both never broke.

“There.” His hands still gripped your shoulders. “That should last you a bit.” With that, his hand moved just below your ear, his thumb brushing over your jawline.

Armin finally snapped himself of whatever trance you had on him and gave a small smile. “Meet me here tomorrow at noon, that’ll give you plenty of time to sleep in and you can join me in the valley.”

“O-okay.”

Without another word, Armin left the stables. Your mind ran crazy with thoughts. Yes, you kissed him first, but you didn’t expect him to actually want to kiss you again.

How in the world did he play the game better than you? It was your idea-

—————

The sun shines brightly through the curtains of your room. You let out a groan as the stiffness in your muscles were more prominent from yesterdays training.

Looking at the clock on the wall- 8:25 am.

You can still catch breakfast before it ends and relax a bit before meeting up with Armin.

Oh yeah…

What a peculiar night. You honestly thought Armin would either be confused or disgusted when you kissed him. Not flustered. Him kissing you on his own also surprised you. The little manipulators all grown up now.

You got up and threw on some random clothes, heading to the dining hall.

You quietly ate your food, only a few soldiers remained in the dining hall since breakfast was ending soon.

Time slowly passed by, and you decided to take a nap in your bed for another hour or two before leaving. The nap only left you more tired. After changing into a more presentable outfit, a simple button up and a long skirt, you threw your favorite sweater over. The material was soft and the fading but familiar scent was comforting to you.

Your footsteps were slow as you walked to the stables. The soreness in your body along with the tiredness still swirled in your system.

“(Y/n), over here.” Armin called out to you as he led his horse outside his stall. “Perfect timing, I was just getting ready to- is that my sweater?”

Oops. Yes, yes it was.

“Maybe.”

“I thought you said you lost it!”

“I never said I lost it.” You yawned. “Just never wanted to give it back to you.”

Armin chuckled and was a bit surprised at your words, he climbed on his horse and turned down to you, hand extended. “You ready?”

Nodding, you grabbed his hand and he pulled you up. Your legs straddled the horse and your hand hesitantly grazed his waist. It wasn’t until Armin flicked the reigns and the horse quickly trotted forward that you decided to wrap your arms tightly around his waist as he navigated through the towns.

“You good there?” He joked and placed his hand on top of your clasped ones that pressed against his abdomen.

—————

“You look nice in my sweater.” Armin commented, trekking his fingers gently through your scalp.

The warm breeze swayed the grass and wildflowers surrounding you. The meadow Armin took you to was beautiful this time of year.

Your head currently rested on his thigh. Armin was sat against a willow tree, a book in his other hand. Every so often, his hand would leave your head to turn the page and gently return.

“It’s mine now.” You mumbled through closed eyes. Armin insisted you try to nap again while he read. However, no one brought up the situation from last night. At the moment it almost seemed like it never happens. No one acknowledged it.

“Of course it is.” He said with a smile before taking his hand away from your head. He shifted and buried his hand in the pocket of his trousers. His leg raised your head slightly as he moved. “Sorry, I just can’t- dammit where is it?”

You craned your neck to see his agitated face. “What happened?”

“I can’t find my chapstick.” He muttered with a frown.

A giggle erupted from your mouth, making him look at you. “And you say I lose stuff?”

“Shut up.” He muttered.

You both returned to your original positions with you head still resting on his lap. The breeze continued to blow and you glanced at Armin to see the tips of his blonde hair blow across his face. The shorter hair really suited him.

You let out a small sigh and pulled the sweater tighter around your frame. Reaching into the small pocket, you pulled something out.

Uncapping it, you gently applied it to your lips and didn’t miss the way Armin was staring at you dumbfounded. The label was clearly a different color than his. No, this one was yours. All yours.

“It’s strawberry and before you ask- no you can’t have any. I wouldn’t want you to lose this one too.” A devilish smirk crossed your face. Payback was a bitch. If he could be petty, so could you.

Armin sat back and mumbled something incoherent. His book was now discarded to the side and his arms were crossed with a pout. Memories of last night flooded his thoughts.

The way he held you. The way he looked at you. How you tasted.

You looked up at him with innocent eyes and rubbed the substance coating your lips together. He was staring at you.

You let out a small laugh as he pulled your body up and lowered himself down closer to you. You didn’t miss the way his eyes stared into yours before darting to your lips, then back to your eyes. He was so close. Then as if he decided it was right, Armin’s lips were encasing yours once more.

You gave a small sigh into the kiss and your fingers raked through his blonde hair.

Armin’s tongue gently swiped against your bottom lip and before you could open your mouth for more, he pulled away.

“You’re right.” He said and rubbed his own lips together. “Cherry does taste better.”

You were a little disappointed at the sudden break in contact. Sitting your body up, you faced him. “We can get you more when we head back into town.” You offered and avoided your gaze.

Maybe he was just getting payback for last night?

Armin rolled his eyes and pulled you back towards him. “Yeah that sounds good, but I like this option better.”

And he kissed you again. More passionately this time.

He suddenly pulled your body against his so you were fully sat in his lap, emitting a small squeal from you. Your legs curled into his side and his hands were placed at your waist, thumb brushing your hip.

“Thank you for coming with me.” He mumbled against your lips.

“Just take me out and we’ll call it even.” You replied, your arm wrapping around his neck.

“Okay.”

——

Taglist: @cullenswife

(Lmk if you wanna be added <3)

#armin x you #armin arlert #attack on titan #aot x reader #aot fluff #aot imagines #aot drabbles #armin x reader #armin arlet fluff #armin arlet x you #armin arlet x reader #aot headcanons #armin fluff #armin arlet imagines #armin arlet headcanons

572 notes · View notes

maryangelex · 1 year ago

Text

Never Let Me Go (Pt. 5)

John Price x f!Reader

(Part 6)

Summary: After weeks away, Price comes back from deployment to a warm welcome.

warnings: nsfw!!, cumshots, praising, pulling out, p in v sex, fingering, some overstimulating

a/n: this is very much not as proofread as I’d like it to be but that’s what a 1 am burst of horniness creativity does

songs for this chapter are Kerosene by Yves Tumor but also Burning Desire by Lana!!!

Three weeks passed since then. John had let you know he'd be back home sometime soon if everything went as planned. During these last four weeks, you and he had remained in consistent contact, growing more and more comfortable with each other.

At first, you had been hesitant to send him more pictures of yourself donning the few other pieces of lingerie you owned, but John made sure you knew just how much he enjoyed you taking his mind off his current situation.

He didn't pressure you, he never would be capable of doing so, but he did encourage you by sending you messages that let you know when he was in need of you, when he couldn't get you out of his mind, when he was desperate for you to ease his mind off work.

You, being your gratuitous self, never denied him that pleasure; you got to the point that you were beyond comfortable with letting John see your body, nearly every bit of it that wasn't clothed by the sheer lace fabric of your garments. Eventually, it was even he who wired you money for you to 'get yourself something pretty' for him, as he said.

And you did just that by buying yourself sets you thought he'd enjoy seeing; teddies, rompers, garter belts, babydolls, everything you thought John would appreciate his money going to. You felt like his sugar baby, but you absolutely didn't mind, in a way you were flattered.

You'd make sure to model every single new piece and John made sure to praise you and commend you for picking out something so perfect for him.

And throughout all this time of waiting and being restricted to receiving John's affection through your phone screen, you couldn't help but count the days, the hours until he'd come back home.

But you also couldn't help but wonder what this, between you and John, could be labeled as, what he considered this thing between the two of you to be? Surely it had escalated beyond a friendship, that line had been crossed a long time ago past the point of no return. John seemed like a serious man, and you knew he was much older than you to be doing situationships or anything of the sort.

You guessed you'd enjoy it for the time being, whatever this was, even though deep within you the long talks on the phone, the attention, his praises and affection, the way he showed you how much he wanted you, all of that was getting to you.

You were in the cafe this Saturday morning, and it was a busy shift for once; plenty of people decided that breakfast at your and your cousin's cozy little cafe would be ideal, for finding a cozy, warm place to hide away from the weather that got colder and gloomier each day.

Your cousin had made her best efforts to not pry into your little fling with John but she could only do so much. You had kept some mystery to it, but of course, it was difficult to contain the exhilaration of your escapades with the stunning man you had eating out of the palm of your hand. Still, you didn't want to give too much away. As far as she knew, you two were just texting and calling while he was away every now and then.

The two of you were hard at work today, though, not much talk was being had except for the few jokes you two exchanged every now and then to take the weight of work off your shoulders, to alleviate the few entitled customers that walked in throughout the day.

One of them really got under your skin, though. A middle-aged woman with a sour face had walked in to order a latte, and even though you had done your job and fulfilled her order, she still had something to say. She decided that she no longer wanted oat milk and instead wanted soy milk, demanding that you remake her drink, then deciding it was still not fit for her to pay you, and of course, deciding to insult you before being on her way.

You were enraged at that, and that was your cousin's cue to tell you to take a break and go do some grocery shopping at the shops next door. With an exasperated sigh, you grabbed your purse and coat and stomped out of the cafe, repeating a mantra in your head to keep cool and not let some bitter bitch ruin your day.

You checked your phone briefly as you walked down the street, hoping to see a text from John, something that would cheer you up. But to your misfortune, there was nothing today yet. You thought about how much better your day would be if you had him around, even if it was just through a short text. Another heavy sigh left you, this one more mournful than irritated.

You walked into the small family-owned grocery shop that was a few blocks from your cafe, your mind already starting to ease away from the negativity of that interaction as you wandered around. You and your cousin frequented this place to buy ingredients for the cafe, and for your personal shopping as well.

As you walked around collecting the items on your mental list, you felt your phone vibrate twice in your pocket. When you reached in to look at your screen you saw your beacon of hope; John had texted you.

The first one was his usual morning greeting, followed by a second one that made your heart jump.

"Coming back home on Sunday. Dinner?"

You held back a squeal when you bit your smiling lip, biting the glove off your hand to be able to respond to him as quickly as you could.

"My place at 8, don't be late", you replied, adding a few emojis to decorate your invitation to John.

You thought about just how easily the man could single-handedly turn your shitty day around. Your shopping list just became longer as you sought out the proper ingredients for John's homecoming dinner.

When Sunday rolled around you were off work, so you dedicated the entire day just to prep for your dinner. You had a whole menu prepared in your mind, even went to buy wine that didn't cost only £10. And something had possessed you to be John's perfect housewife and slave away at making him a Sunday roast.

It was nearly 6 by now, and while you let the meat roast in the oven you hurried to get yourself ready. You showered with diligence, scrubbing the smell of cooking off your skin and hair. All you could feel was a mix of nerves and excitement to see him again. The thought of John's hands on you again, in the comfort of your own home where the two of you couldn't possibly have any disruptions, made your heart skip a beat.

You shook the thought away as you threw on the dress you had picked out, one that hung on your body in every perfect way possible. When you got back to cooking it was nearly 7:30, so you checked your phone for any sign of John being on his way, or worse, for any sign of him not being able to make it.

But you were pleasantly surprised when you saw a message from him letting you know he was in a cab on his way to you. Another moment of your heart fluttering. Now you were counting down the seconds till 8, not knowing what to do with yourself as you waited for the roast to reach its perfect temperature. Your mind was racing; you wanted everything to be perfect for John, you wanted to be perfect for John.

Twenty minutes passed of you pacing around your flat, fluffing cushions that didn't need fluffing, biting your fingernails, dusting surfaces that didn't need dusting, and moving items centimeters in the same spot.

You were snapped out of your fit of perfectionism by the sound of three knocks at your door, the sound of knuckles striking the old wood made you jump. You let out a breath you didn't know you were holding before striding to open the door, and when you did so he was standing there like an apparition.

That kind smile you hadn't seen in a month was flashing at you, tugging at bearded cheeks and crinkling the sides of deep blue eyes. You gawked at John like it was the first time you had seen him, the realization that he was real and at your doorstep dawned on you and you couldn't help the stupid smile that cut across your own face.

"John," was all you could muster, and the chuckle that rumbled from his chest as he stepped closer to you made you realize that he was real, that he was really back, that he was just inches from you.

John's hands cupped the sides of your face as he planted a kiss on the apple of your cheek. You held your hands over his own, feeling the man's rough skin in comparison to your supple, delicate fingertips that had never known labor like his.

"Miss me, dove?" he asked, voice husky. Of course, you did, you thought, swooning at the sound of his voice, your eyes locking with his. How you missed those ocean eyes of his. You nodded in his grasp, your hands migrating to his shoulders as you stepped forward to place a soft kiss on his lips. Your pecks were gentle, shy even, as if the distance and time apart had you both starting back at square one.

"I missed you too, sweetheart," he said against your lips, to which you giggled and gave him a chaste kiss before pulling back to lead him inside.

"I hope you're hungry," you smiled.

John let out a sigh, "Starving," he confessed. He entered your flat and you noticed he was still lugging his backpack with him. Your face dropped; did he come straight to you?

John had a gift for reading your thoughts through just your expression, "Didn't wanna waste any time getting to you, dove," he said, gesturing to the backpack in his hand before setting it aside at your entryway.

Fuck, his dedication to you never ceased to amaze you. The fact that he had gone out of his way to get to you the second he got off the plane ride home had you feeling some sort of way like you were the most important person in the world, a feeling John never failed to elicit in you.

"You didn't have to, John, I could've waited for you," you gave him an apologetic smile.

"I couldn't," he quipped, flirty bastard as always. You rolled your eyes, pretending like his courting didn't affect you.

You took hold of his hand, bringing him along with you with a light "c'mere," as a command to follow you to the kitchen. John let you guide him, and when he caught a whiff of the cozy smell in the kitchen he practically melted. His expression was a mix of impressed yet embarrassed at the realization that you made all of this for him; you could see the blush painting his cheeks.

You urged him to sit at the table where you had set everything out for him, grabbing his plate to serve him the Sunday roast you had put your heart into making for him. He insisted on opening the wine bottle for you, it was the least he could do.

"Fuckin' hell, love, I should've at least brought you flowers," he cursed, a scowl pulling at his lips in dissatisfaction with himself.

"Well I'll give you a second chance for you to do so," you chuckled lightheartedly, already planning on this being a Sunday habit for the two of you. He liked your remark, evident by the approving hum he let out.

You sat next to him at the table and the two of you shared the meal. It felt like this wasn't the first time, more so it felt like this was customary for you two; for you to welcome him with a home-cooked meal and a pristine house like you were his wife waiting for him to come back home. You basked in the feeling of it, completely ignoring the doubt that had lingered in the back of your mind.

John was none the wiser, he was enjoying himself thoroughly. You think he felt the same way; he looked content and delighted by the food and company, his hand never leaving yours throughout dinner, making sure he was holding you or touching you in any way as if to not let you go again, to not drift off you like a log in a river's current.

There was a glow to him now that he was with you, it was almost angelic. And the way that he looked at you made you feel enveloped with endearment.

When you were finished, and John looked like he was about to enter a food coma from how much he'd indulged in your delicious food, you felt more than satisfied with yourself as you rose from your seat to collect the plates. Immediately, John got up from his seat to help you; you knew he was unable to be a bystander when it came to you doing absolutely anything, the man couldn't live with himself if he did.

He helped you carry nearly everything to the sink and insisted he did the dishes for you. The domesticity of it all made you feel warm inside. When you came back to the table to wipe it clean and put anything remaining away, you felt John's presence behind you, the heat of his body radiating against your back as he inched closer.

You felt his large hands on your hips, stilling yourself as you revel in his touch. His hands scaled up your body, massaging the tender flesh of your hips and waist, feeling the plumpness and curves of your frame like you were clay on a potter's wheel. He hummed to himself and you felt the wetness pooling between your thighs. One of John's hands migrated up to your hair, gently adjusting it over your shoulder to expose your back in the strappy dress you wore. Your body was filled with goosebumps when the hairs of his mustache tickled your bare skin, peppering warm kisses on your shoulder blades.

"Can't believe you made all of this f'me, sweetheart," his voice vibrated against your skin as he spoke between kisses. The hand remaining on your waist was sprawled on your lower tummy, pressing your ass flush against him. You could feel the hard mass of muscle behind you, the bulge of his crotch poking against you.

"My sweet girl, so carin'...so stunnin' in this dress," his hand on your belly pet the silky fabric, while the other caressed up your arm, up to your shoulder, your collarbone, and finally stroking down your sternum between your breasts. His mouth occupied itself with the exposed skin of your neck now, his velvety lips gently pressing against it.

The sound of him calling you his ringed in your ears, and you couldn't hold back the whine that brewed in your throat.

"I wouldn't mind comin' home to this every day f'the rest of my life," he professed, and now you really were a wreck between your legs, all for this man's simple words. You wiggled your hips against his crotch, feeling the hardness that was confined in his jeans. That was signal enough for him; a sign that you were just as needy for him as he was for you.

"Remember everythin' I said I'd do to you over the phone, love?"

You nodded as your head lolled to the side, John's lips scaling up your neck and up to your jaw. His hands were now firmly holding your breasts, fondling the soft mounds of flesh.

"Been thinkin' 'bout it all this time... thinkin' 'bout how good 'm gonna fuck you tonight, dove."

Maybe it was all the wine you two consumed throughout your dinner, maybe it was the dizzying effect John's presence had on you, but without even realizing it you wound up in your room with him tearing your dress off between panting breaths and sloppy kisses. His hands desperately and messily scoured your now bare body, making sure to not leave an inch without being touched.

Your hands got to work as well, clumsily working at the buttons of his shirt; he chuckled lightly at your nervousness and gently assisted you until you finally tore off the pesky shirt. Your tipsy mind took a moment to admire the man before you; burly physique with a comforting layer of fat adorning the taut muscles his career had provided him. Your hands caressed his hairy chest, thick and lush, and trailed down to his abdomen following the treasure trail of hair that trailed down his waistband.

John's rumbling chuckle interrupted your gawking before helping you take off his trousers but staying in his underwear.

He gently guided you to your bed, his lips against yours whispering for you to lay down for him, and you complied, sprawled out on your bedsheets like a work of art made just for his eyes. He sat between your legs, looking down at your naked form and swallowing you whole, wide pupils burning a hole through you. You could see the way his cock twitched in the confines of his boxers as he eyed you, letting you know the sight of you like this was a delight to him.

He dipped down to press his lips over yours, hands tracing the sides of your body down to take a handful of your hips and drag you down closer to him. You took a fistful of the hair at the back of his head as you kissed him deeper, your hips rolling up to find his clothed erection to rub on for some relief, but his grip only tightened on your hips and pressed you still on the mattress.

"Needy girl," he whispered, giving your bottom lip a light tug with his teeth. Your response was a whiny moan and all he did was smile at your evident impatience.

One of his hands scaled up your body, taking one of your breasts and giving it a squeeze before toying with the sensitive pebble. His mouth followed suit, popping the other unattended one into his mouth and sucking on it, making another pathetic sound come from you.

He nipped your tits lightly, scattering bites and kisses alternating between the two while his fingers trailed down the center of your abdomen and down to between your legs. You absentmindedly spread them wider for him, the coldness of the room only making your drenched pussy more sensitive before he swiped a finger between your folds. The contact made you shudder, and John feeling your wetness made him growl a gravelly moan in his throat.

"Like this for me already, sweetheart?" you nodded your head pitifully which only riled him up even more. The rough fingerpads of his ring and middle fingers applied pressure on your clit, rubbing tight circles on it. John propped himself on his free arm as he watched the way your mouth fell agape in silent moans and as you squirmed at the way he treated your delicate pussy.

"P-please," you started, your legs spreading impossibly farther apart.

"Please what, love?"

"Need you, John," your nails dug into his shoulders. "Want you...so bad."

John was too good of a man to deny his pretty girl anything, so of course he moved his fingers and slowly dipped them into your aching entrance, painfully slowly. A mewl came from your parted lips as you felt the pressure of his only the first knuckle of fingers inside of you. If just his fingers were this thick and invasive in your pussy you couldn't imaginejust how much his cock would split you open.

His eyes were fixated on watching the way your face contorted as he pressed further in, so so so slowly penetrating you, until his fingers bottomed out inside of you. And then a beat later, you practically sobbed when you felt the digits curl inside of you, seeking out the spongy, sensitive spot inside your walls.

Your hands gripped John's biceps to ground yourself as he fucked you with his fingers, alternating between curling inside and pumping in and out of you. His thumb joined in to rub at your throbbing clit, and his mouth busied itself with one of your breasts once again. You threw your head back and just about fell apart, hips rolling to match his movements as you selfishly got off on his fingers.

"Fuck, doll...love how I make you sound," John cursed under his breath, mouth never leaving your tit as he lapped his tongue and tenderly bit the soft flesh. His cock was throbbing and leaking pre in his boxers, the impossible hardness of it almost made him lightheaded.

His mouth moved to your neck now, lips sucking on your skin to make sure when you went out everyone knew you were not to be claimed by anyone else but him.

"J-John," you sobbed, feeling the tightness in your stomach that was only rising further the more his fingers fucked you.

"I know, baby, I know," he cooed, "be good and cum for me, yeah?"

You nodded your head desperately, a hand reaching to tug his hair once again, peeling him away from your neck to crash his lips against yours. But he resisted, opting to keep his gaze on your teary-eyed face, his pace never faltering as he knew you were almost at the edge of the precipice.

"Uh-uh, doll...wanna see your pretty face when you cum."

With only a few more pumps of his fingers, your walls were clamping around the digits, your legs spasming and your moans being sobbed out as you came on John's hand. His rhythm slowed down, his thumb on your clit being the only thing moving and overstimulating your abused clit as you rode out your orgasm. Your ears were practically ringing and your mind was in a haze as you climaxed.

John's piercing blue eyes took in the sight of you cumming from just his fingers which were now completely saturated in your slick. He whispered praises as you came down from your high, breathless and sensitive. His fingers retracted from your pussy, collecting the juices that were oozing from you, that had now covered the inside of your thighs.

"Good girl," he purred, "so fuckin' good... look at you, sweetheart."

He brought his fingers to his lips, sucking on them and closing his eyes as a delighted hum came from him at the taste of you. "Taste so fuckin' good...missed how this pussy tastes so much."

You whined at his words and at the view of him tasting you on his fingers. Your hand weakly reached for his boxers, tugging on the waistband in a silent request for him to finally take them off.

He looked at you and chuckled, "So greedy...want my cock even after I just made you cum?"

"Need it, John," you said shamelessly, your eyes pleading for him innocently.

He sat back on his haunches, tugging down his boxers with his clean hand while the other reached to stroke his aching cock, coating it in the mix of his spit and your juices. He moaned lewdly at the contact, slowly jerking himself off in front of you for a moment, lubing up his cock and preparing it for you.

You watched just how pretty he was in his hand, how he sat heavily on the palm of his hand, flushed red tip and veiny, with a hefty girth that you knew would tear you open.

You watched him intently and your desperation for him was anew; arousal and neediness for him overcoming you again. You weren't going to be satisfied until John's cock was in you.

"I did promise to properly fuck you," his unoccupied hand stroked your cheek and you melted in his touch, your sweaty skin felt like it was on fire.

"And I keep my promises, love." he purred, aligning his cock with your socked entrance that he had just so generously prepared. When he pressed inside you felt his girth stretch you wide, feeling the sting of the intrusion despite his prep-work; and yet, he fit so perfectly in you, like the last piece of a puzzle. You gasped in unison as he buried himself into you to the hilt. He took a moment to savor the feeling of you wrapped around his cock, like a perfect mold cast precisely for him. Your walls fluttered around him, begging for him to move. And after a beat, he rolled his hips, slipping his shaft out of you until only the tip was kissing your entrance, before slowly sliding back into you. He kept this pace, pulling out entirely just to bottom out to the point you felt the mound of hair at his base phantom over your skin. You choked on your moans, nails digging at John’s shoulder blades as he pistoned his hips into you. His pace hastened and the sound of skin slapping against skin filled your home.

John’s hand was cupping your jaw, holding eye contact with you as he bullied his cock into you. Those crystal eyes watched your tear-filled ones, watched the way you lost yourself at the feeling of his tip punishing that sweet spot inside of you.

The way he fucked you was becoming more and more primal each thrust. John was at the verge of giving into every ounce of desire that he’d had pent up since the moment he walked into your cafe. Since the moment he’d tasted you. You felt the way his thrusts became harsher, the squelching sound of your pussy was lewd and sinful as you took every inch of him. He held you impossibly close, his thrusts were shorter but impossibly deeper, making his pelvis rub against your needy clit.

His breathing was ragged, huffing past his parted lips.

“Fuck, baby…been wanting you like this…so fuckin’ long, so fuckin’ bad,” he tucked your sweat-damp hair behind your ear before lightly wrapping his hand over your neck, just to feel your pulse, feel that you’re really there, “you’re fuckin’ perfect, n’ you’re mine.”

Now he slammed his hips into yours, thrusting with reckless abandon, losing himself in you. You let out a cry and tears rolled down your cheeks. A hand gripped at the tufts of hair in the nape of his head and his forehead rested against yours. You were his, since the moment he walked through the door you knew you would be. And here you were, your heart racing and your pussy enamored by the way he fucked you and claimed you as his.

You babbled mindlessly about how you were his, about how you wanted him to use you, how you wanted to cum so bad around his cock. So shameless you wouldn’t recognize yourself if you really heard what you were professing. You only heard a groan come from John and a string of curses as he fucked you impossibly deeper and harder, any further and you two would merge into one.

One of John’s hands slipped between the two of you to rub at your clit. His mouth clashed against yours, swallowing the moans that were flying out of you at the added pleasure, before encouraging to be his good girl and cum for him a second time.

“I can feel you so close, baby, so fuckin’ close,” he growled, lips still against yours, “let go, baby, be good and cum for me again, yeah?”

And it was like his word was your command. John’s thrusts and the feeling of his fingers rubbing your clit made you cum once more. Your back arched off the mattress and you gave another sob as you clenched around the wide girth of his cock, body convulsing as euphoria consumed you, burning every single one of your senses.

“That’s it, baby, that’s it.”

John didn’t stop fucking into you, though. He slowed down momentarily to let you come down from your high.

But then his pace picked up and became sloppier as he chased his own high, pounding into you to reach his own climax.

“Please, John,” you mumbled drunkenly “Want you— want you to cum, too.” Your body went limp like a rag doll sprawled on the bed, arms falling over your head on the mattress, letting him use you as he pleased.

John let out a growl as he leaned back, holding your hips in place so he could relentlessly fuck you to his heart’s desire. Huffing breaths and grunts escaped him, chest puffed proudly as he took you and used you like you asked him to.

And soon enough, he pulled out of you, spurting ropes of cum onto your lower belly and pussy. He grunted as his hips faltered, cock pulsating as he painted your abdomen and entrance with his seed. You moaned at the sight of him coming undone, at the feeling of his hot cum all over you.

John supported himself on his arm beside you, panting breathlessly as every drop of him was let out onto you. You tiredly embraced him as he came down from his high, planting lazy kisses on his sweaty face. He gave you an appreciative hum as he slowly let himself lay beside you.

The two of you lay on your bed exhausted, messy and in a haze but basking in the afterglow.

After a moment, John reached for the box of tissues you had on your nightstand and cleaned up the mess of himself that coated your skin. You let him and gave him a smile that conveyed how out of it you still were, to which he chuckled pleased with himself.

Once finished, he wrapped his arms around you, lifting your tired body to lay on top of his hairy chest. You were both sticky with sweat, but you were too drained to care as you lay on top of him, absorbing his musk and heat of his body. You felt his lips give a chaste kiss to the crown of your head before your lids started closing.

John’s fingertips raked over the expanse of your back as you drifted asleep, the last thing you gave him was content sigh.

He chuckled to himself, inhaling the scent at the top of your head before he let himself doze off with the weight of your body on him.

That night you didn’t dream. Your body gave out completely. You had nothing to dream about since all you wanted was lying under you in the comfort of your bedsheets.

#cod mw2 #call of duty mwii #fanfic #cod fanfic #john price #price call of duty #price x reader #price mw2 #price cod #captain price #john price x you #john price x reader #captain price x reader #price x you #john price cod #john price call of duty #captain john price

192 notes · View notes

pricegouge · 8 months ago

Text

Fatted Rabbit Part Three on AO3

Contents

Bearshifter!Price x reader | explicit

It wasn't supposed to be like this, of course. You could blame poor planning, a shit build, worse luck, but the fact of the matter remains that you're just not supposed to be here yet. Hard to plan for a winter you weren't supposed to see.

If there's one thing you've come to firmly believe over the last few months, it's that if you frown too long at a forecast, the forecast eventually frowns back. Another fucking night below freezing. It's not the biggest deal - at this point you can even manage it without a heat source - but your joints already ache at the thought. Something about the high altitude, cold temps, and humidity that gets trapped in the Wrangler after a full night with the windows up is the perfect storm to have you hobbling around the next day like your dear departed Gran.

The plan had been to stay put until May, head north when you were well and truly sure the biting cold had been chased off. You should have known your fucking ex would ruin even the relative safety of that plan - had in fact resolved yourself to weather whatever storm he threw at you without complaint as you got your ducks in a row - but after the shit show he'd pulled on his birthday, you'd known staying with him another couple of months was more likely to land you in a grave than successfully escaping in the dead of night as per your perfectly laid plan.

So you'd run. And you'd run fucking hard. It was tempting to stop off somewhere in the Midwest, but ultimately you'd scared yourself off settling for longer than a night anywhere within a two state radius of Phil. And once you were north of the fortieth, the siren song of national forests and undisturbed parking kept drawing you up and up until you were finally at your original destination anyway.

Impatient, stupid. You know winter doesn't relent its stranglehold overnight.

You sigh, weighing your options, limited though they were. John had been kind enough to let you belly up to his bar for most of the evening (and that was… something you were going to have to address in the cold light of day) but the worst was yet to come and you needed a game plan. You could drive out to the closest twenty four hour superstore and wander around until they realized you weren't going to purchase anything more than peanut butter. You could save gas by going to the gym, which had the added benefit of a hot shower. The night clerk there had definitely figured out you were homeless by now. It was fine, she was chill, but you suspected she may have blabbed. Ideally, you'd sleep in the Jeep for the first leg of the night, spend the coldest hours on the treadmill, then return to the Jeep and sleep on through until mid-morning. However, the gym manager had been keeping watch lately to make sure you didn't loiter in the parking lot for too long. You never thought you'd miss the craziness of the city, but you can't deny the anonymity had its appeal. Back in Dallas, you could park for any number of hours and the only person whose business it was was the meter maid. Here, streets and parking lots were mostly deserted, and a Jeep with a privacy screen was pretty inconspicuous. It made it difficult on nights like this, when you wanted to be close to some sort of twenty four hour shop when the coldest hours of the night came around.

You decide on the superstore, given you'd gotten ready at the gym earlier. It was unlikely the same employees were there, but that owner could take a gander at your check in times if he wanted and you'd like to deny him the satisfaction of spotting you there twice in one day.

You head west along the main drag, sighing in longing at all the help wanted signs. Some seasonal work is exactly what you need, but jobs require background checks, and background checks set off pings around all your former domiciles, and Phil has his dirty little fingers in all sorts of dirty little pies. You just need time for it all to blow over. Eventually he'd get sick of the hunt - or find a new victim, more like - and then you'd be free. The thought made you a little sick. Not for the first time, you wished you'd found a charge that stuck to him, or maybe a bullet to lodge in his skull; but Phil made friends with cops like it was his job (it kind of was), and ultimately, you just weren't built right for murder. So instead, you'd scrimped and saved over the course of three years, slowly reorganizing your life to exclude him. You weren't well off by any means, and you'd intended to be able to save for a few months longer, but provided you don't blow your fuel budget in the first few months because you're the idiot who decided to test a Montana spring, you should be set 'til the end of the year. And that's with the move down south come fall.

If it comes to that. You're still hoping to try your luck in a few months, put feelers out to see if Phil is still actively searching for you. You'd rather stay up north if possible. You've had enough southern summers to last you a lifetime, and while you'd talked a big game to John, this nomad lifestyle you've found yourself stuck in isn't feasible.

Fuckin' John. You feel for the coaster surreptitiously as you pull into a parking space in a quiet far corner of the lot. All your planning and you hadn't accounted for John. Really, you hadn't accounted for any love interests. When you'd left Dallas, the possibility of what you'd do if someone had caught your fancy had been so fucking far from your mind it would have been laughable if it wasn't so fucking sad. After a man like Phil, there was no 'rebound' phase, no 'get back on the horse' phase, no 'someday, two and a half kids from now, this'll just be another shitty ex' phase. There was just run, survive, and heal; and then maybe someday, years and years down the road, some better version of you could maybe consider getting fitted for a proper saddle.

So why, then, did the massive, intimidatingly handsome (and generally slightly intimidating) man refuse to leave your mind?

When you'd first run into him on the trail he'd scared the piss out of you. You'd become rather timid over the years and didn't appreciate being snuck up on - not that he'd been trying, mind, but a deep gruff voice calling out to you in the woods was probably enough to set anyone on edge, let alone someone with your history. When you realized the stranger was some ridiculously attractive Englishman, you'd been even more wary. Men with pretty blue eyes and good, straight noses had never in your life bode well, a lesson you'd made an exception for exactly once and it had blown up in your face.

But when he came close, you saw nothing but warmth in his eyes and kindness in his smile. He was quick, funny in a slightly (but not annoyingly overt) self-deprecating way you didn't usually expect from people who looked like him.

He also smelled absurdly, disarmingly, distractingly good.

You couldn't even really pinpoint what it was. There was pine and loam, which shouldn't have been considering the sad, wet state of things; a dark, smokey scent like expensive tobacco; something toasty and rich which you've since realized is probably the smell of his distillery; and above all that, or perhaps the sum of all those parts, a homey scent you wanted to bury your face in - like a well-loved quilt.

In the days that followed your little run-in, you'd tried to convince yourself John had only been so charming because he was trying to drum up some business. You reminded yourself that you couldn't really afford a fancy stiff drink right now anyway. And more importantly, you scolded yourself to just leave it the hell alone. What was your end goal here? A quick romp? What are you gonna do, take him back to the Jeep? A spring fling? You could barely stand to touch yourself right now, how were you going to casually tell someone why you need a joint to loosen up and no sudden moves every time you fuck?

A real relationship? Christ.

Still, John was on your mind like an early aughts summer bop. You'd even tried hoofing it a little further north just to avoid the temptation but the area up there was less developed, which made your life far too difficult, needing access to amenities like 'roofs' and 'running water'. Besides, you didn't really want to leave Columbia Falls. After driving all over God's green earth, this was the first place you could see spending a good, happy summer. And you'd even seen a bear! You loved bears. It was kinda scary, sure, but it was also a hell of a motivator to secure your food properly and remember to carry your damn bear spray when you went hiking, damnit.

So, you'd made your way back, and you'd told yourself to just cool it already, and everything had been fine for a few days until you'd parked the Jeep in Columbia Falls, a hair downwind of some fancy whiskey bar and you'd smelled it like some sort of frickin' bloodhound and suddenly you remembered there was a charming man in there who made for decent company and also it was a bit cold out on the street.

John's overt flirting had been unexpected. You'd figured he was just angling for a good tip and had been willing to let him, but when he caught you stealing food off his plate like a fucking Disneyland squirrel and only responded by helping you take more, you'd started to doubt your initial assessment a bit.

The coaster itself is pale, a classic design with high contrast. John's blocky lettering follows the outer edge. You'd thought the woman next to you was going to clap and cheer when he'd handed it off. You shouldn't even be considering texting him. Part of you thinks this is some school girl's crush on the first exceedingly handsome man to ever look your way (not that Phil was unattractive, just not really your type) - that months from now you'll pull your head out of your ass and realize you were blind sided by handsome, masculine eyebrows and basic human decency and you'll be embarrassed to admit you'd fallen for it. Fresh off an abusive relationship, no less.

But a larger, perhaps much more desperate part of you was convinced this was a route worth exploring.

You sigh and tuck the coaster into your visor for now, start busying yourself with the privacy screens. However you decide to proceed, it would be buck-wild to do it right this moment anyway. You may be a notoriously impulsive person, but this could be one of them there baby steps to betterment you're always hearing about.

There's never much sleep to be had in parking lots. The privacy screens help to block out the bright lamps, sure, but they combine to create a perfect IMAX shadow theater where any movement outside projects onto the screens around you. You're in a quiet corner of the lot, but it's not exactly deserted. Occasionally people shuffle past and it always raises your hackles to see a perfectly human silhouette standing right next to you. As long as you keep your lights out, they can't see you - but you also can't really see them and it usually makes your breathing run shallow until they clear out. Still, you manage to catch a fitful few hours before the humidity and cold combine to make your chest hurt too much to stay put so you pack an inconspicuous purse with some dirty dishes and washing supplies and head inside.

The bathroom is cold, and the water is scalding as you try to maneuver a bowl around the tiny sink. It feels good on your joints but leaves your skin feeling too tight, so you make sure to sample some lotion as you wander around. Godbless underpaid retail workers, who do not seem to give a singular fuck what their frequent homeless shopper does while trying to dodge the cold. You stay respectful, stick to sampling designated tester bottles and dishes, and never leave a mess for them and they strike up friendly conversation if they're not otherwise occupied. No such luck tonight which is a bummer because you could use some incentive to stay on your feet, but that's okay. You spend some time tidying a particularly messy T-shirt display, grab your peanut butter, and go.

You charge your phone on the drive back to West Glacier. You don't really need to, as it's only been turned on maybe twice in the last week, but it's probably best to be safe. You refuse to acknowledge the coaster tucked neatly into the visor above your head.

***

There is a grunting noise coming from the passenger side of the Jeep. It's still a little early. Around nine AM if the light spilling through the privacy screen can be believed. You're not certain because you don't want to crawl around in search of your phone and alert whoever or whatever is outside to your presence in the process. It's been about ten minutes of this - small snuffling, grunting sounds moving back and forth on the wooded side of the car. As you've laid there, you've managed to convince yourself by turns that it was one, just a raccoon; two, your actual imagination; three, Phill in the flesh come to torment you; and four, just some other campers stretching their legs. You're debating the benefits of taking a small peek around the screen to soothe your mind when a deep, animalistic groan is the only warning you receive before the whole cab is rocked on its shocks in a way you've definitely experienced before.

"No fucking way!" You exclaim and tear your blind back only to be greeted by the massive, furry chest of a frankly unreasonably large grizzly.

You should be fucking terrified. You're definitely not.

"You again!?" You ask, a laugh bubbling in your chest.

The bear backs up enough that it can duck its head toward your window, its huge golden eye gleaming as it looks directly at you. It huffs, quiet now that it's been caught, and lowers itself back to the ground, head bobbing as it sways in place a bit.

"This your favorite parking lot or something, big guy?" It's the same spot where you first saw it. Maybe the bins aren't cleaned out often enough?

Of course, the bear does not respond. It sits on the ground with a low cow like sound and just looks at you for a moment. This is probably the right time for panic to set in, seeing as this very large predator with zero natural aversion to humans has approached your car twice now, but you suppose begging sweetly for scraps is better than outright attacking your car. Besides, it's so fucking cool.

You lower the screens, trying to get an unobstructed view. The bear watches you curiously but makes no move other than an idle scratch of its own belly. Not for the first time in your life, you find it massively unfair that evolution designed something so goddamn hug shaped and then gave it the approachability of Charles Manson.

It belatedly occurs to you that you may want to remember this and you scramble to the console to grab your phone. It takes a minute to power on, but the bear just continues to sit and watch you, almost expectantly. It cocks its head and huffs when you finally snap your pic, then stands and lumbers in a big circle when you snap a few more. It's huffing becomes slightly agitated and you can't help but tease it rhetorically:

"What? Prefer your solitude?" The bear moos. "Well don't worry, I don't have anyone to show anyway." A small huff, breath steaming in the morning air. It continues to move in a slow circle. You watch it for a little bit but your body is quickly catching up with the fact that you've slept in a cold, cramped space for a few hours and nature is calling. "Don't suppose you're gonna clear out so I can pee, eh?"

The bear takes a step back, cocks its head as if inviting you to try your luck.

You chuckle as you climb into the driver's seat, ferreting your keys out of the hideaway within the seat cushion. "No thanks, big guy. Not quite that stupid. Also, you should know I'm not gonna feed you. So, much as I enjoy your company, maybe find a new Jeep to frisk down?"

Of course, it only continues to stare at you. As you pull out and drive off, it stands to watch you leave and you're struck again by how fucking huge it is. You've never seen a grizzly in person so you guess it's like seeing a moose for the first time. One thing to hear about how massive they are, another to see it in the flesh and realize your imagination is quite limited.

After finding a good place to do your morning ablutions without the threat of mauling, you climb back into the Jeep and take a minute to flip through the photos you took. You want to share them with someone because it's so fucking cool that you shared a morning with a bear, but you hadn't been lying when you'd said you didn't have anyone to send it to, anyway. No social media for obvious reasons, no real friends because Phil had driven wedges between you and all your loved ones long ago. You kept meaning to reach out, but shame and fear of Phil having done so first keeps you away. Your mom, maybe, but you and her had never been close, and randomly sending her cool pictures in an effort to share your life with her would probably make her more concerned for your safety than finding out you'd been in an abusive relationship and were resorting to homelessness had seemed to.

In the visor above you, the coaster hangs like the least assuming sword of Damocles imaginable. And you've got a feelin' someone's gonna be cuttin' the thread.

Next>>

#bearshifter!price #captain john price x you #john price x you #captain john price x reader #john price x reader #fatted rabbit #💷🔪

79 notes · View notes

raven-at-the-writing-desk · 8 months ago

Note

Dear Headmage,

What would be your ideal date?

For no particular reason, of course….

Enter; An Unkindness of Ravens.

"Dear me, Prefect!" Crowley gasped, a hand to his mouth. "Could it be that you and the other students... mean to play cupid for your teachers?!"

"What? Nooooo," you insisted, feigning ignorance. "I'm just curious! Isn't that how students are supposed to be? Brimming with curiosity and the willingness to learn?"

"Not on this matter, no!!"

"Come ooon, we won't do anything weird with that information. We promise!! ... Er, well. At least I promise. I can't speak for the others."

"Now see here! It's not on any students to ask about, nor meddle in, the private affairs of their elders," the headmaster chided, wiggling a finger. "You will cease sticking your nose into these matters at once--am I understood?"

"Awww..." You visibly wilted, not bothering to conceal your disappointment.

"I'm glad we've resolved this little dispute." Crowley clicked open a golden pocket watch and glanced at the time. His eyes bulged. "If you'll excuse me, I must be on my way! I'm running late for a very important date!"

"A date?!" You repeated, heart leaping into your throat. "With who!?"

"Why, myself, of course!!" Crowley confessed it without a shred of remorse. His grin, broad. "There can be no other to match me. I'm far too perfect of a specimen!

"I have a packed schedule today. First, a casual stroll throughout the campus to soak up the nice weather and to observe the staff and students. After that, a hearty meal full of luxurious meats and succulent fruits! Then a moment of self-reflection and contemplation to let the food settle... contemplating the meaning of life and how very fortunate I am to be my most glorious self.

"Perhaps I'll drop in a few remedial classes, or an extracurricular or two. The stars come out in the evening, so I think I shall take dinner under them! When at last my eyes begin to grow heavy and my body tired, I'll return to my nest and settle off to sleep, dreaming of what halcyon days tomorrow might bring~"

That's his ideal date?!

"Um, why didn't I hear 'work' in that entire schedule of yours... It's mostly eating, goofing off, and talking a whole lot about yourself!"

"Don't worry over the details, Prefect! You've promised to not dig deeper into this subject, and I expect you to keep your word!!"

With that, Crowley started to make his way off and toward the looming shadow of NRC' main building. It resembled a castle with its turrets and stoney walls--and if NRC was a castle, then surely Crowley was its self-appointed king.

Glittering crown and all.

#twst #twisted wonderland #Dire Crowley #Reader #self insert #twst interactions #twisted wonderland interactions #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #Two Ravens at the Writing Desk

68 notes · View notes

mikashisus · 2 months ago

Text

EMPIRE OF BLOOD

02. when does a ripple become a tidal wave

TAGLIST ! @https-sourlimes @ughscara @yourfavoritefreakyhan @wystiix @kvriealis @cherieiu @pixelcafe-network

NOTES: the first portion of this chapter has been sitting in my drafts for maybe 2-3 months now, i just didn't know how to continue it until now, and i'm more than pleased with the result! fun fact: i actually had to look up how to load and fire a musket for this chapter and it was actually really cool!! huge ty to @mitsvriii for proofreading this for me! <3

WC: 4.3k (we love to see consistency)

masterlist | prev. | next

The sun was partially covered by the clouds when you stepped outside of the House in the early afternoon. Distant rumbles of thunder echoed, and you lazily raised a hand to check for raindrops.

It was too doom and gloom lately for your liking. Even though you loved watching the rain pitter patter on the streets of Fontaine from your bedroom window, it was hard weather to work in.

Rain made missions harder for you. You couldn’t see your target, you couldn’t move as fast because your soaking wet clothes hindered your movement, and running in heels on slippery streets called for a death sentence.

It was pleasant to look at and bask in, but not to work in.

Your thoughts paused on one such topic: work. Without a moment’s delay, you secured your thigh holsters one last time and set off for the city’s forgery.

Thunder continued to rumble, but there were no signs of lightning. You nodded approvingly at this fact, and your eyes went back to darting between the faces of the people passing by you on the street. You knew each of their faces, studied their names and appearances from the papers that Father gave you to read.

Absentmindedly, you tapped your thigh as you hummed softly under your breath. Today was supposed to be your day off; Well, before one of your ‘siblings’ woke up with a fever and their mission was handed off to you.

You usually didn’t take on information gathering missions. Everyone in the House was well aware of your previous failed attempts to do so from a young age. The only thing you were good at was carrying out the less than ideal dirty work– one of the so-called “darker” jobs in the House: assassinations.

None of the other children favored your job; especially not Lyney, Lynette, and Freminet.

Truthfully, you were one of the only children in the House who took on assassination missions. You were quick and thorough, never missing your targets. You could easily turn off your emotions and focus entirely on your tasks. Due to this, Father had no doubt in her mind that you could finish the job. All heavy duty work in that regard was passed to you without a second thought.

If it crossed someone else’s desk, they immediately passed it to you. And sure enough, you would return at an alarmingly fast pace, claiming the work had been completed.

It felt nice… having people trust you like that. It felt nice— feeling like you had power and strength. A small smile twitched at your lips. It was gone as soon as it appeared as you approached the forgery.

The man you were supposed to meet was here already, chatting idly with the owner of the shop. They were having a lovely conversation about this year’s Weinlesefest in Mondstadt, which piqued your interest.

You haven’t heard the mention of Weinlesefest in some time.

“Oh, really? I had no idea Mondstadt had that kind of festival!” Came the man’s words. “Sounds interesting, though! Being able to brew wine with family and gathering together as a community to share drinks. Sounds like something I’d like!”

“Weinlesefest, over the course of Mondstadt’s history, became a holiday to welcome the Anemo Archon, Barbatos, home during the harvest season.” You said calmly, walking up to them without a sound.

The woman screeched in surprise, practically jumping out of her skin at the sudden appearance of another person. She placed a hand over her heart upon seeing you, and let out a heavy sigh of relief.

You continued, “The people of Mondstadt brew wine and offer it up to Lord Barbatos. If he is satisfied with the wine, he guides a gentle breeze to bless the people. This is usually the time of year that Mondstadters living in other nations miss their homeland the most, because it is a holiday spent entirely with family and friends.”

“Why hello, (Name)!”

A pout settled on your lips as your superior, Childe, ruffled your hair with a bright smile on his face. A chuckle rumbled out from his chest as he greeted you softly just like he did every other time you saw him. You suspected it was because you reminded him of his younger sister.

Although there was not much you knew about the Eleventh Harbinger, you did know that he had siblings and he was a very family oriented man. You wondered if that was the reason why Father respected him…to some degree, at least.

“I see you haven’t changed when it comes to sneaking up on others! Your stealth is impeccable!” He complimented, removing his hand from your head.

You raised a brow in surprise. “Hm? But I didn’t—”

He abruptly changed the subject. It was a repetitive trait of his that irritated you. “Now back to that Mondstadt festival. How do you say it again? Vine…something?”

Your eye twitched at his poor attempt to say the name. With a smug smirk on your lips, the word fell from your mouth effortlessly, as if you could fluently speak the language of Mondstadt, which was a fact that only you and Father were privy to.

“Weinlesefest.”

Childe’s brows furrowed. “How come you can say it so easily?”

No one knew your origins, except for Arlecchino and Signora, but the latter was dead…and all of the secrets you shared with her were ones she had taken to the grave. As far as anyone else knew, you were a child of Fontaine. But you and Father knew the truth.

“Father took me to Mondstadt a few times. After the first visit, I said I would like to learn the language of the nation, and she set up a tutor for me immediately upon our return to Fontaine.”

Your lie, as ever, was flawless enough to convince him. He hummed in understanding, stroking his chin. “I see. I guess that makes sense.”

With Childe, you had to amp up your deception. One slip up in your body language, a stutter in your words, or the wrong tone of voice, and he would instantly see right through whatever fabrication you tried to ensnare him in. It was like that with all of the Harbingers, but more so with your own Father. You had a lot of experience in deceiving her.

“But why Mondstadtian of all languages?” he questioned, “you don’t take me as that type of person. I think you’d enjoy learning Liyuen instead. Or maybe Inazuman—”

“Sir, we’re getting off topic…” You attempted to bring the conversation back to the topic of work. That’s what you were here for, after all.

He laughed sheepishly. “Right! Man, you’re still a stick in the mud, huh? It’s always ‘work’ with you, nothing more and nothing less,” he sighed, “anyways. I was supposed to meet one of your siblings here, but it seems they’re not—”

“I was sent in their stead,” you stated, “they got sick unexpectedly, so I took on their task for them.”

“I see. Well, do you have the documents, then?”

You nodded curtly. No matter what job was handed to you, you always took it seriously. Childe’s words were correct: you were always talking about work. Rarely did you ever discuss anything else with him. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust him, but simply because you had nothing else to talk about. You weren’t much of a talker, and you never have been.

The first time you met Childe, it took him four hours before he was able to get you to say anything back to him, and even then, it was only because he brought up your position in the House.

“I have them all right here.” You lifted your skirt a little to undo the clasp on your thigh holster, and pulled out a set of folded up documents that were given to you by Father. “I triple checked I had the right count before I left. All twenty-three pages are there in order, and the list of names on the last page has been rearranged in alphabetical order for your perusal.”

His eye twitched. You’ve known him for how many years now and you still acted formally around him. It was tiring. He understood that you took your work incredibly seriously and you were acting professional, but you didn’t have to act that way around him. Around him, you could relax. But if you never did that before, he knew you weren’t going to start now.

He let out a heavy sigh. “Great, thanks. Can’t wait to look over these later.” He absolutely despised paperwork. He’d rather be sparring with some of Fontaine’s champion duelists right now instead of participating in the business aspect of his job.

A small snort left your lips. It was so quiet he thought he had imagined it, before he looked up to see you covering your mouth with your hand. He stood there, stunned for a moment, before his lips curled up into that smug smirk you were way too familiar with.

“Did you just laugh?”

This was the first time he made you laugh, and you knew he was going to hold it over your head like a vice now.

You attempted to regain your composure, clearing your throat, but your uneven voice betrayed you. “N-No…I- I coughed.”

“No, I’m pretty sure I heard a laugh,” he teased. “I finally made you laugh!”

You took a deep breath and exhaled. Within seconds, the amused expression on your face was replaced with a stoic one. “Whatever you think you heard, you didn’t.”

The way you could effortlessly turn off your emotions whenever you wanted was an ability he greatly admired. Even to this day, he still had trouble concealing his own emotions from others. He wished it was as easy as you made it look— as if it was second nature to you.

Maybe it had been…but he was satisfied that at least for a moment, he was able to grant you a brief respite and drop the mask he knew you always wore.

Rosalyne liked to visit when she could.

As it turned out, she became the only person you could trust in this awful place. When she had to leave you two months ago after your first meeting, you begged her to stay for just a little while longer.

Surprised by your sudden outburst, she did all she could to calm you down, and she told you that she could not stay… She had to return to Snezhnaya because her work in Fontaine was finished, and the Queen was expecting her return in no more than three days’ time. No matter how many tears you shed, it didn’t make her stay.

As soon as she left, you were left alone in Arlecchino’s care again, and the real training began.

First, you were tested on all of your physical aspects: running, climbing, jumping, lifting, running while carrying weights on your back, and stealth.

Arlechino watched over every single bit of your testing, a clipboard resting in her perfectly manicured hands. Her eyes were akin to that of a hawk as she picked out every flaw and talent. She glanced down at her clipboard as soon as you collapsed from the three mile run she had you take with weights on your back.

A sigh left her lips.

Jumping

Climbing

Lifting (weights)

Stealth

Running

Running (with weights)

Marksmanship

Out of irritation, scribbled another line over ‘running with weights.’

She gazed over at your heaving, exhausted form. You were laid sprawled out on the grass, your chest rising and falling in step with your racing heartbeat. You could feel your head throb and your ears ring from the exertion. Your legs felt like jelly and sweat dripped from every pore. The loose clothing you wore stuck to your body, and the scent of musk and freshly cut grass entered your nostrils.

You stared up at the sky, your mind blank as you watched it contort from brilliant blues to a soft pink and deep orange. Had you spent all afternoon out here?

Your lungs were burning, and your mouth was dry. As soon as you got your hands on a bottle of water, you knew you were going to chug the whole thing down in three seconds flat. When you returned to the House, you were going to take a nice cold shower and wipe all the grime and sweat off your body.

Arlecchino let out another stressed sigh. She definitely had her hands full with you. In an overly annoyed voice that she knew you could hear above the ringing in your ears, she shouted,

“What did I tell you before? Laying down will only hinder your breathing more. Stand up and place your hands on your head to allow your lungs to open up.”

As she jotted down some notes on her clipboard, she heard you whine and groan in protest. However, you obeyed her without tossing a backhanded comment. She was getting somewhere with you, even if she still couldn’t figure out what it was you were good at.

Her eyes skimmed over the list again, stopping momentarily on the last bullet-point. She peered up at you again, studying your small build. She hummed thoughtfully before grabbing your attention with a firm “come with me.”

Back at the House, she allowed you to shower first before leading you down a hallway you only passed by once when you first arrived. At the end of the hallway next to the supply closet was a room with an old wooden door that looked as if it was on its last leg. It let out an obnoxious screech as it creaked open, causing you to cringe.

She walked inside and you followed behind her as you finished drying your hair with the towel in your hands. It was a decently sized, rectangular room with padding on the walls and lanterns hanging from chains on the ceiling. A row of guns and rifles sat to your left, all of them freshly polished and hidden inside a display case with a lock on it. On the shelf above the case were bullets and all the necessary cleaning supplies for a gun, as well as a jar of earplugs.

On the far side of the room, just across from where you were standing in the doorway, were targets. All of them were beaten and battered from years of use. To your right were three chairs, all supposedly there for spectators.

A glass wall separated you from the actual shooting area, with a lone glass door leading into it. One of your older siblings, Amélia, greeted you both from the other side of the glass. She opened the door and smiled warmly.

“Good evening Father, (Name).”

Arlecchino nodded curtly. “Amélia, perfect timing. Would you care to teach (Name) the basics of gun use?”

Amélia was one of the only children in the House who was adept with guns. Her vast knowledge stemmed from the years she spent as the daughter of a champion duelist, before that very same duelist was bested in battle.

She nodded, her eyes lighting up with enthusiasm. You watched as she took apart the gun she was previously using and gently set it back in the display case. She reached for another, larger gun and turned around to face you. It was sleek, wood polished over with a clear shine and silver that gleamed under the dim lighting of the room.

“This is a musket,” she held it up for you to see, “usually, they’re only used in war nowadays. They’re not as popular as they used to be, but the Gardes tend to use them on occasion. We’ll start with this.”

She handed you a pair of earplugs and guided you into the training area. She positioned you in front of one of the targets and handed you the musket. It felt heavy in your hands, and you struggled to keep a hold on it.

She helped you, placing a hand on one of yours. “Yep, just like that! Now, you’re gonna take this,” she handed you a paper cartridge, “and you’re gonna tear that end part off.”

You did as she told you and tore the piece off with your teeth, spitting it out elsewhere. She laughed softly. “You’re a natural already! Now, pour a bit of the powder into this pan…and wipe off the excess. Yep! Now, close the frizzen.”

She helped you hold up the musket and pointed to the muzzle. “Now take the rest of the powder and pour it down the muzzle. Carefully seat the ball, and ram it with this–” she pulled out the ramrod, “yep– and then put it back. Alrighty! Now, stand here, hold it up so you’re eye-level, and fire!”

She took her hand off yours and stepped back to allow you some space. You held the butt of the musket to your shoulder and pressed your cheek against it. You weren’t sure what it was exactly…if it was some sort of otherworldly power surging through your veins or if it was adrenaline that accompanied your fast beating heart, but the moment you readied the gun, your world shifted on its axis. It was as if there was something locked away deep inside you that was coming to the forefront, like it was breaking free from whatever cage that was holding it back all this time.

The rest of the world around you faded away into nothing, leaving you and target alone in a dark plane of existence that was only visible to your sharpened eyesight. Only the target mattered, nothing else. Not the fear of failure swirling around in the back of your mind or the water that slid down your forehead from your wet hair. It slowly, agonizingly, trickled down the bridge of your nose and you rested your finger on the trigger.

Time seemed to move slowly in those few seconds. It felt as if an entire eternity had passed before you finally pulled the trigger. You barely felt the recoil of the gun as the bullet darted out, but that was the least of your concerns.

Precision was a lesson Arlecchino taught all of the children in the House, and yet in this moment, when it was a given that the bullseye would be missed, a deep-rooted instinct tucked away inside your heart was screaming at you that it would undoubtedly hit the mark.

BANG!

A perfect shot, right in the center.

It was silent for a few moments as your concentration faded away. You stared, dumbfounded, at the target, before you glanced down at the musket in your hands.

An eerie clapping drew you out of your stupor, and you turned around to face Arlecchino. She wore a satisfied smile. There was a smugness around her, as if she had also known that you would hit the bullseye.

Amélia took the musket from you, a look of pure amazement in her eyes as she shook your shoulder. You couldn’t hear what she said above the ringing in your ears from the adrenaline rush you were coming down from, but you could only assume it was words of praise, judging by her excited smile.

Once she was gone, Arlecchino placed a hand on your shoulder. “We’ve found where your skills lie. Now, it’s time to hone it.”

A few weeks after your discovery in the shooting range, you received a letter in the mail. One of your brothers, Louis, slammed the door as he rushed inside, carrying the entire House’s mail in his arms. He dropped it onto the coffee table in the common space and plopped onto the ground in front of the lit hearth.

You sent him a glare. “Some of us are trying to read.”

He ignored your cold stare and rifled through the mail, separating everything into piles depending on whose name was on the address. Father’s, naturally, had the biggest pile. It was hardly a surprise, as most of her mail was sent directly from Snezhnaya to the House and consisted of hefty amounts of paperwork.

Louis paused on a strange envelope, his brows raising in utter shock as he called your name. You answered in a mutter, too focused on the crime novel in your hands to worry about what it was that he wanted from you.

“You have a letter…it’s from a Miss Rosalyne Lohe—”

You snatched the letter from his hands and abandoned your book on the sofa as you stood up and ripped open the envelope. An elegantly crafted necklace and a letter fell out. You gasped softly at the gorgeous craftsmanship of the necklace. A pristine, golden chain with a cecilia flower carved out of glass and hand-painted dangling from the middle.

Jewelry of this quality could only be purchased by aristocrats. Never in your life could you ever have the money to purchase something like this— only in your wildest dreams. You didn’t know how long you stood there staring at it in awe with your mouth open, but it must’ve been a few minutes judging by the confused stare on Freminet’s face.

Freminet was another one of your brothers. He was a few years younger than you, and based on what you learned about him from the loud-mouthed Louis, he had supposedly been here before Arlecchino rose to the position of The Knave. He was a kindhearted boy, if not shy and quiet much like you. You found that although you were content to ignore your other siblings, Freminet was welcome company.

And just like you, he didn’t excel in most things. When you first asked him what it was that he specialized in, he said, “Nothing, really. I do like diving, though.”

“Is everything alright?” He questioned. “Amélia says that if you keep your mouth open too long, bugs will fly in.”

You closed your mouth immediately and turned your attention back to the necklace in your hands. To avoid further disruption, you ran to your room to read the letter Rosalyne had sent you. Sitting down on your bed, you pried the carefully folded parchment open and began to read.

“(Name),

The weather in Snezhnaya is tolerable, I suppose, but I would much prefer to be relaxing on a Fontainian beach with a cocktail and a good book in hand while I soak up the Summer sun, instead.

The Knave has told me you finally found something you excel in. Congratulations! I hope your training is much to be desired. Guns are handy companions if you know how to properly wield them. I never saw the appeal when I can just use my hands, but if a gun is what you desire, then I wish you the best of luck moving forward.

The Tsaritsa has tasked me with a mission in Mondstadt. Although returning is a burden, I do suppose it’ll be pleasant to take in the scenery once more… Even if the Wind’s influence is practically crawling everywhere. It’s a shame you could not accompany me, but you have your priorities, and I have mine.

I sincerely hope that the next time we meet, you can show me how much you have improved. I will be awaiting results until then.

As for the next time I step foot in the City of Bards, I hope you are there with me. Until then, take this token I commissioned from the best blacksmith in Mondstadt. I thought it only right to get you a gift.

Best,

Rosalyne”

Standing in front of the full length mirror next to your bed, you pushed your hair aside and clasped the necklace around your neck. It sat delicately on your collarbone, and you fiddled with the cecilia flower, feeling all along the crevices and grooves of the finely crafted jewelry.

An absentminded smile tugged at your lips as you admired it, before a loud yell sounded from the common space. You flinched and let out a sigh.

Waiting in the common area was Arlecchino, with two children huddled behind her legs. They looked to be about your age, with near matching hair and eyes the color of amethysts.

You studied them intently, taking in the appearance of the girl first. She had darker, gray hair than what appeared to be her twin brother, and a deeper shade of violet eyes that were a bit sunken in from what looked like exhaustion. She had longer lashes than him, too, and a set of gray cat ears and a swishing tail. Her lips were drawn into a thin line. Her eyes scanned the whole crowd, calculated and piercing. Her shoulders were tense as she kept a firm grip on Arlecchino’s pant leg.

She reminded you of yourself in a way.

Meanwhile, her brother had faded blonde hair and striking violet eyes that pierced through your soul when you met his gaze. There were bags under his eyes, just like his sister. He didn’t have any animalistic features, but his pupils were pulled into slits— exactly like a cat’s. There was a certain mischief that laid deeper in his gaze, behind the apparent nervousness that currently shone in them.

That was enough to tell you that even though he didn’t have the ears and tail to back it up, he had other features that declared how cat-like he was.

Upon meeting your eyes, his chapped lips pulled up into the slightest of smiles, and his eyes were now shining with a newfound wonder. You returned his smile with one of your own and sent him a small, friendly wave.

“This is Lyney and Lynette,” Arlecchino announced, placing each of her hands on their heads, “welcome them with open arms.”

Just like the day you first laid hands on a gun, your whole entire world tilted on its axis, and it was all because of a boy with a cheshire smile.

#— [ EMPIRE OF BLOOD 🥀 ]#dividers: saradika graphics #lyney #lyney genshin impact #genshin lyney #lyney x reader #lyney x you #lyney x y/n #genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin x reader #genshin x you

23 notes · View notes

425599167 · 1 month ago

Text

The deaths of Cere, Cordova, and Bode left the Mantis crew reeling, low on allies, and without a firm plan. A promising lead delivered through the Path drives them to free a Jedi master from imperial custody, and after losing so many friends and allies to Bode and the inquisitors, Cal is desperate to find all the help he can.

If they have a chance to rescue Master Luminara Unduli from the Empire, they can’t pass it up.

Droplets of rain made Merrin flinch as they hit her eyes. For the moment, the weather wasn’t too bad, only annoying. “Maybe I should go back in for something sturdier,” said Cal. “Your outfit is fine.” Merrin put on some goggles to protect her eyes from the wind and rain, items she’d learned to carry after that sandstorm on Jedha, then tossed a second pair to Cal. “If you wear a poncho out here, all that extra fabric, the wind will blow you away.” That wasn’t true, and Merrin knew it. Ponchos were flexible enough to withstand the wind, they were better than nothing, and Cal’s wardrobe included so many ponchos that surely one of them must be ideal for this environment. He was already gone when Merrin turned around. Though she did not favor ponchos, Merrin accepted Cal’s more pragmatic fashion choices. Better than him experimenting with haircuts again. When Cal returned, he wore the drabbest poncho yet, completely dark grey. Not uniformly dark grey, there were irregular splotches of slightly darker grey. Like grease stains. Perfectly suited for Irtisilia, with BD-1’s feet clinging tight to the fabric. “I brought one for you, too,” he said. “Oh...” Merrin’s mind raced to think of a plausible excuse not to wear it, to prove her jacket would be enough, but she felt the raindrops getting heavier. Then Cal unfurled the poncho, cut from rich red cloth with a black border, sharp black triangles accentuating the arms and neck. “Oh. Where did you find this one?” “Something Dendra had in stock.” Slipping on the poncho instantly protected Merrin from the surge in the rain. She felt much warmer, too. “With your invisibility magick, you don’t really need camouflage, so I thought you might like it.” “I do like it.”

I'm writing a new short story, just in time for @barrissday! This one crosses over with Jedi: Survivor, yet another instance of me putting Barriss with unrelated characters to prove how easy it is to do and how interesting the results are because she brings a lot to Star Wars despite being unused for over a decade. I know the description and excerpt don't suggest very much Barriss, but trust me. She's in there. She's watching.

#star wars #jedi fallen order #jedi survivor #barriss offee #cal kestis #merrin #greez dritus #kata akuna #fifth brother #lyn rakish #luminara unduli #merrical #barrissday #barrissday 2024 #i promise the next FNB chapter will be out before anything else #i just wanted to publish something for this year's barriss day and this was ready

23 notes · View notes

misshoneyimhome · 4 months ago

Text

➼｡ﾟ Love Me Harder I William Nylander

[Pilot]

Sofie Boch de Lacour's life takes an unexpected twist when she's tasked with organising her ex-fiancé's engagement party, reopening old wounds she believed had healed. At the same time, NHL star William Nylander, under constant scrutiny from the press, considers a bold fake relationship to regain his privacy. As their paths cross, an unforeseen connection develops, challenging everything they thought they knew about love and second chances.

Tropes & Warnings: William Nylander x ofc, fake relationship, no warnings

Author's note: So, this is the pilot chapter of a story I've been working on 😊 I'm not entirely sure yet how long the series will be, but it's been my little off-season project 😉 I'm a bit nervous about posting this, but without further ado, I hope you enjoy it 🌺

Please note: the season in this fic is set in 2024/25. However, I started writing it before the schedule was released, so it's entirely fictional (the schedule is based on the 2022/2023 season) 😉

Word count: 3.5K

➼｡ﾟ

“I’m a motherfucking Starboy.”

Saturday, September 13th 2024

Sofie gazed at herself in the mirror, her eyes resolute. "You can do this," she murmured, attempting to reassure herself. "It’s just another day at work, nothing more." She forced a smile, practising how she’d face him tonight.

Her outfit was flawless: a tight navy blue pencil skirt and a fine white silk blouse, epitomising her professional demeanour. Her make-up was perfectly applied, exuding confidence, and her hair was styled in an elegant French knot.

"You’ve got this!"

___

Sofie Boch de Lacour seemed to have it all - or almost, anyway.

Growing up in a cosy, welcoming home just outside Copenhagen, Denmark, with her parents and three siblings, everything seemed to be just right. There was her older sister, Amelia, a powerhouse in Economics and the epitome of a boss lady. Then there was her older brother, Charlie, a dedicated and ideal family man with his wife, Rosaline, and their two kids. And lastly, there was Nicholas, the youngest, a rising star in ice hockey for the Malmö Redhawks.

Needless to say, the parents were beyond proud, beaming at their accomplished children.

Sofie, however, was a bit different. While she did well in school, she never stood out. Her job as a Booking and Reservations Hostess at the Radisson Hotel was decent, but hardly remarkable, and her free time revolved around a small, loyal circle of friends. In short, her life was perfectly average and nothing extraordinary.

Yet, a part of her yearned for more.

Although Sofie had spent years convincing herself that she was content with her life, a part of her still wanted to stand alongside her siblings on that golden pedestal, and perhaps even start a family of her own someday. But with those achievements seeming distant, she opted instead to travel the world, seeking new horizons and fresh perspectives. So, at the age of 24, after completing her studies in Hospitality and Event Management, she volunteered in underprivileged areas and explored the grandeur of bustling cities and serene countrysides. Along the way, in far-flung corners of the world, she immersed herself in diverse cultures, music, and cuisines, encountering people whose kindness left an indelible mark. And though her journey wasn’t without challenges - unpredictable weather, miscommunication, even some precarious moments - it was all part of her grand adventure.

Towards the end of her travels, during a final stop in Canada, Sofie felt weary and craved the tranquillity of home. Yet, just as she prepared to return, fate intervened, and she crossed paths with Anthony Beaulieu — a successful Canadian in Toronto’s financial district, a few years older, and impeccably dressed as if plucked from a Vogue cover. And drawn to his success and her long-held dreams of a small family, Sofie quickly fell for him. So, within months of casual dating and sharing incredible moments near and far, she boldly decided to relocate to Toronto and live with him.

For three years, Sofie and Anthony built a life together, navigating their careers while creating cherished memories. Sofie secured a role as a Booking and Event Coordinator at the Fairmont Royal Hotel, while Anthony ascended in the world of economics and financial investments, steadily climbing the career ladder. Then, on a balmy summer evening on a beach in Greece’s most romantic setting, Anthony knelt before Sofie with a diamond ring gleaming in his hand and proposed, whisking Sofie into a fairy tale.

It was just too good to be true.

So, naturally, that dream swiftly shattered upon returning to their daily routines, where Anthony's attention gradually shifted towards another woman, claiming they shared more common interests.

And perhaps he was right. Daisy, younger than Sofie and vastly different, craved stability in her homeland, aspiring to a high-end lifestyle and the role of a stay-at-home wife - a stark contrast to Sofie's dedication to hard work and community service. While Sofie found fulfilment in helping others, Daisy revelled in luxury, only concerned with her own well-being.

Sofie naturally didn’t particularly like the woman, but she reminded herself that Daisy was simply a young woman who had faced no real challenges in life, whether financial or otherwise. She was just a woman who fell in love with an engaged man.

Heartbroken, Sofie's engagement ended just six months after the proposal. Despite this, she chose to stay in vibrant Toronto, unwilling to abandon the life she had built. Continuing her job that she enjoyed, she found solace in true friendships and shared a home with Samantha; a friend of a colleague who needed a roommate. Sofie treasured her close-knit circle, finding additional comfort as her younger brother Nicholas seized an opportunity to play hockey in Montreal.

In essence, Sofie's journey persisted. Despite setbacks, she remained steadfast in forging her own path and embracing the life she had carved out for herself.

___

Nearly a year had passed, and a day Sofie could never have anticipated arrived: the day she would be organising an engagement party for her former fiancé and his new partner. Sofie was convinced that Anthony had chosen the Fairmont Royal York Hotel deliberately to spite her, yet he insisted it was all Daisy’s preference. And using his extensive network and familiarity with hotel managers, he ensured his new love’s desires were met.

The situation was a stab to Sofie's heart. Despite having no desire to get back with Anthony and acknowledging that Daisy was indeed a better match for him, the circumstances still cut deep.

Yet, on the day of the event, Sofie maintained her professionalism impeccably. She ensured every detail was flawless, transforming the Ontario room into a scene of elegance with soft lighting and fresh flowers, perfectly capturing the joyous occasion. Her colleagues praised her for her poise and dedication, unaware of the emotional turmoil she was enduring.

As the guests began to arrive, Sofie then retreated to a quiet corner, observing from afar. She watched Anthony and Daisy socialise with their loved ones, their happiness palpable, while she made sure the event unfolded according to plan.

As the night wore on, Sofie found herself in need of a breath of fresh air. Despite her best efforts to act professionally, a mix of anger, frustration, and hurt still lingered within her. So, stepping outside into the alley behind the hotel, she took a deep breath, the cool evening breeze a welcome relief from the heated atmosphere inside. And absent-mindedly, she leaned against the wall, closing her eyes and mentally escaping, completely lost in thought.

Meanwhile, in the Canadian Room, the Toronto MLSE Foundation was hosting their grand start-of-the-season charity event. The room was adorned with elegant decorations, shimmering lights, and lavish flower arrangements, creating an atmosphere of sophistication and celebration. It buzzed with lively conversations and laughter, the clinking of glasses, and the occasional cheer from a successful auction bid. Servers weaved through the crowd, offering trays of gourmet hors d'oeuvres and sparkling champagne, while a live band played smooth jazz in the background, adding to the ambiance of the event.

It was a night where the worlds of sports and charity came together, offering an opportunity for the Toronto Maple Leafs hockey players to step off the ice and mingle with distinguished guests and sponsors. Amidst it all, they participated in various games and activities to raise funds for underprivileged communities.

And among the crowd of players, William Nylander was deeply engrossed in a game of air hockey. His focus was intense as he tried to outplay his usual teammate but now opponent Ryan Reaves, but luck wasn't on his side that evening. His teammate Max Domi stood beside him, offering words of encouragement and occasional teasing remarks. And behind them, their friend and teammate Auston Matthews chuckled, enjoying the friendly competition as William faced another frustrating loss.

Looking up from his game, William let out a deep sigh, catching a glimpse of a side door leading to the hallway. The need for a brief escape from the crowded room and relentless socialising tugged at him. "I'll be right back," he told his friends, excusing himself from the table. With a nod from Max and a grin from Auston, William then made his way through the throng of guests, heading towards the door for a moment of solitude.

____

William Nylander was an exceptional hockey player, a key star for the Maple Leafs whose talent earned him praise and attention throughout the 23/24 season. From the Global Series in his hometown of Stockholm to being voted into the All-Star Game in Toronto, William had become a prominent figure in the spotlight. He was even set to feature in an upcoming NHL documentary, which delved behind the scenes of the greatest league in the world - fueling William’s already blazing fame.

Hockey was even a familiar realm from childhood for William. His father, Michael, had been an NHL player, leading the family across North America as he pursued his career. Despite the constant moves, William found his home and forged his own hockey path in Toronto. And one of his greatest dreams came true at the beginning of the year when he finally signed an eight-year contract extension.

However, with great fame comes great responsibility. And in a hockey-mad city like Toronto, media scrutiny could be intense. While the players generally accepted it as part of achieving their NHL dreams, invasive media intrusion into their personal lives - fuelled by social media for views, likes, and comments - was unwelcome. Despite embracing the spotlight most of the time, none of them wanted paparazzi following them or their loved ones with sensationalised stories.

And when William suddenly found his name plastered across headlines, discussing his personal life and speculating about his relationships, it infuriated him. While he appreciated the spotlight for his hockey skills and perhaps a bit for his fashion sense, all he truly desired was recognition for his on-ice performance - as a top player who scored goals and supported his team. He resented people focusing on his health issues or spreading rumours that suggested he only reached the NHL due to his father's influence. And above all, he valued his privacy and wished his personal life to remain just that - private.

___

So, seeking what little freedom he still felt he had, William walked towards the door leading to the alley behind the hotel, lost in thought about the swirling rumours surrounding him potentially appearing on Sweden's 'Ex on the Beach.' His steps were quick and purposeful, each one echoing his frustration, as he pushed the heavy door open with a forceful shove.

"Ouch! Fucking hell!" a female voice exclaimed as the door collided with her. "What the fuck?"

William quickly looked to see a woman rubbing her head where the door had struck her. She glared up at him with a mixture of irritation and pain, her eyes narrowing and her lips pressed into a thin, angry line.

"Excuse you?" Sofie retorted sharply, still simmering with frustration and residual irritation from her ex's engagement party earlier. Her voice carried the sting of someone who had been pushed too far.

Exhausted from the relentless attention at the charity event, William felt a surge of irritation himself. He had no desire to deal with anyone, let alone a potential fan lurking outside. So, letting out a sigh, he stepped fully outside and faced the girl he had accidentally bumped into. His shoulders were tense, his jaw set in a hard line.

"Excuse me? Maybe you shouldn't be blocking the fucking door like that," he scoffed, his tone edged with weariness. "What were you even doing here? Spying on us? Hoping some player would come out and give you an autograph if you hung around long enough?"

Sofie looked at him with a curious expression, her eyebrow arching in disbelief. Who did he think he was? Crossing her arms over her chest in a defensive posture, she exuded defiance.

"First of all, I was just trying to get away from another event, and I didn’t realise I was standing in front of a door... And second, I'm not some crazy fan snooping around for a stupid autograph. Do you think you're rock stars or something?" Sofie half-laughed with a snort, a hint of contempt in her voice. Her eyes sparkled with a mix of anger and amusement, daring him to contradict her.

William was slightly taken aback. Part of him felt a small relief that she wasn’t another groupie looking to hook up with hockey players, yet he couldn’t help but be offended by her audacity to speak to him like that. Exhaustion mixed with prickling irritation, he let out another sigh.

"Well, sorry then," he muttered.

"What was that?" Sofie asked, feeling slightly irked by his dismissive tone.

"I said sorry, alright," he repeated, a touch louder and with a hint of impatience. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, a physical manifestation of his struggle to keep his temper in check.

"Well, I suppose that wasn’t so hard," Sofie retorted.

Normally, at this level of exhaustion, William would let it go, not wanting any confrontation at the moment. But her remarks struck a nerve, and he couldn’t let them slide. So, he squared his shoulders, meeting her gaze head-on.

"And what about you, then?" he responded, looking at her seriously.

"What about me?" Sofie shot back, her stance shifting slightly, as if bracing for a verbal duel.

"Shouldn’t you say you’re sorry? For standing in the way," he challenged.

Sofie raised an eyebrow and spoke mockingly, "Oh, I’m sorry, was I in your way, starboy? Oh, you’re right, I am so, so sorry," her tone dripping with sarcasm, each word a barb aimed at his ego.

And with a small huff, Sofie then turned on her heel and headed back inside, her steps deliberate and confident, leaving the self-important hockey player behind her.

William let out a huff as well, thinking she was full of herself and rolling his eyes at Sofie's departure. Then, taking a deep breath of the crisp autumn air, he savoured the moment for just a few seconds before returning to the evening's event. He simply tried to shake off the encounter and focus on getting through the rest of the night, yet the memory of her defiant eyes lingered in his mind.

___

Wednesday, October 9th

"Come on, man, let it go!" Alex's voice echoed in Swedish through the condo as he sprawled on the sofa, his feet propped up on the coffee table. "And stop reading that stuff... it's not doing you any good, believe me."

William lounged beside his brother, the setting sun casting warm tones across his spacious 28th-floor condo. He sighed deeply, his frustration evident. Yet another day brought intrusive articles delving into his personal life instead of celebrating his hockey skills. The media's relentless focus on his relationships, or lack thereof, irritated him like an insistent itch he couldn’t ignore.

"I know, I know," William responded wearily. "But it's everywhere, Alex. I can't avoid it. Every time I check my phone, there's another headline speculating about who I'm seeing or what I'm up to."

Alex Nylander, William’s younger brother and trusted confidant, understood the toll the media scrutiny was taking on William. Despite being a slightly less prominent hockey player himself, playing for the Toronto Marlies as of this season, and not receiving as much media attention, Alex had seen firsthand how fame could invade personal privacy.

"Yeah, it's tough," Alex acknowledged, glancing at his brother with a sympathetic expression. "But you can't let it get to you. They’ll always be looking for something to write about."

William exhaled heavily once more. "I know, I just can’t," he admitted. "Shit, if only I could do something to get them to stop writing about this stuff and let me focus on hockey. Why does it even matter if I see a new girl every week? Just because I have the option to hook up with anyone I want."

Alex chuckled knowingly. "Yeah, man, they're always on the lookout for the next juicy story."

William pondered Alex's words, his gaze drifting to the old framed photo of him lifting a championship trophy when he was just 12 years old. "Yeah, but it's exhausting," he confessed wearily. "I just want to play hockey."

Alex noticed his brother pause for a moment before a mischievous idea sparked in his tone. "Hey, why don’t you just say that you’re in a relationship? Tell them you’re off the market, then they won’t have anything to write about."

William considered the suggestion, remembering the backlash from previous encounters with media scrutiny. "Hmm, yeah - but then they’ll start asking questions… like who she is and all that. Remember what happened with that blonde girl last year?"

“Ah yeah, and then she couldn't wait to get her name everywhere…” Alex recalled with a disappointed grin. Another deep sigh escaped William's lips, his thoughts momentarily distracted by the sound of his dogs padding across the hardwood floor. Then during the brief silence, Alex seized the opportunity with a playful suggestion. "What if you just find someone - anyone really - and, I don't know, pretend to be in a relationship, like strike a deal with her? Then it won’t matter what they ask about. You just say that you’re in a relationship with this girl and she’ll agree - end of discussion."

William chuckled at the audacity of the idea, a slight smile appearing on his face. "What, like fake dating? That’s wild, man."

"Come on, bro, you know, like celebrities do all the time when they're tired of rumours and stalkers. They just pretend to be in a serious relationship to shut down the fake news," Alex explained.

William pondered the unconventional strategy, glancing over at his two beloved doodles lounging beside him on the sofa. The concept of a fake relationship seemed strange at first, yet oddly appealing. Perhaps it wasn’t such a bad plan after all. He could use a break from the relentless media poking. And maybe - just maybe - telling everyone he was taken would finally shut them up.

But then his mind churned with possibilities and concerns. Who could he trust enough to play such a significant role in his life, even if it was all just for show? He needed someone reliable, someone who could convincingly act as his partner in front of the cameras and, more importantly, someone who wouldn’t complicate his life further.

As he contemplated, William felt the weight of his decisions pressing down on him. "It might actually work," he murmured. "I just need to figure out who would be the right person for this."

____

Thursday, October 10th

Sofie’s heels reverberated through the lavish corridors of the Fairmont Royal York Hotel, their sound muted against the polished marble floors that gleamed under the shimmering light of crystal chandeliers. The hotel's grandeur never ceased to impress her, from its lofty ceilings adorned with intricate mouldings to walls adorned with timeless artwork.

However, today, the splendour of the hotel felt less significant as Sofie made her way to her manager Cynthia Moore's office - a summons that typically heralded new challenges or demanding events. Or worse…

Pausing to gather herself, Sofie smoothed the fabric of her navy pencil skirt before lightly tapping on the door.

"Come in," Cynthia’s voice called out from inside. Sofie entered, immediately sensing a hint of tension in Cynthia’s demeanour as she looked up from her impeccably organised desk. With a graceful gesture, Cynthia invited Sofie to take a seat, her expression a blend of empathy and determined professionalism.

"Sofie, thank you for coming in at such short notice," she began, her tone gentle as she folded her hands on the desk. "So, as you may have guessed, I have a special assignment for you."

Sofie nodded with a smile, studying her manager with interest. "Of course, Cynthia. What can I do for you?" she asked, her voice steady yet tinged with curiosity.

Cynthia paused briefly, collecting her thoughts before continuing. "It involves an upcoming wedding we’re hosting here at the hotel. The client has specifically requested that you oversee the event. The entire event."

Sofie's brow furrowed in genuine surprise. "Me? But I mostly handle bookings and corporate events. I don't have much experience with weddings."

"I know," Cynthia acknowledged with a hint of regret, her gaze steady as it met Sofie's. "But this client has insisted on your involvement. And... this could be a significant opportunity for you, Sofie - an opportunity to broaden your skill set, enhance your resume, and potentially earn additional bonuses." Her expression softened momentarily, a hint of admiration in her eyes. "While I'll miss having you on my team, I want to see you grow and seize every opportunity in your career."

Sofie absorbed Cynthia’s words, contemplating the implications of this unexpected turn. Despite her uncertainty, she found comfort in Cynthia's unwavering support and belief in her capabilities.

"Well, I'm always up for new challenges," Sofie responded with a genuine smile, though a touch of apprehension lingered in her eyes. "Just one question - whose wedding are we planning?"

Cynthia took a deep breath. "It’s... Anthony Beaulieu’s wedding."

Sofie's heart sank. “Oh, fuck…”

#love me harder #William x Sofie #wn88 imagine #william nylander fic #toronto maple leafs fanfiction #nhl fanfiction

40 notes · View notes

beth--b · 3 months ago

Text

Jaskier had felt like he was coming down with something for the last few days. He was tired, he had a tickle at the back of his throat and he felt vaguely nauseous. He hadn't told Geralt, he didn't need to deal with anything else right now. If Geralt knew, he wouldn't let him perform. If he didn’t perform he didn’t earn any money, and they sorely needed the coin.

The weather was cooling down earlier than anticipated, Geralt hadn't had many contracts so Jaskier was trying to make as much as he could by performing at every tavern and inn they came across.

They reached a reasonably sized town by mid afternoon. Geralt went to replenish their dwindling supplies with the little coin they had, while Jaskier headed to the tavern to see if they would let him perform.

Without too much difficulty Jaskier was able to make a deal to perform that evening. There were no rooms to spare but they could sleep in the stable and Jaskier could keep any coin that came his way.

With everything arranged, he went to find GeraIt in the small marketplace.

Spotting Geralt talking to one of the vendors, Jaskier approached him with a smile.

“Get all that you needed?”

Geralt hummed and gave a barely there nod. Right then, that was a yes.

“I’ve arranged to play tonight. No rooms left but we can use the stable and it won’t cost us anything. Not ideal but figured at least we’d be warm and dry for the night.”

A grunt this time. Fantastic.

Clearly today was not a day that Geralt would let himself be drawn into conversation. At least most days Geralt gave him some words, on an especially good day Jaskier could coax entire sentences from his dear Witcher.

Apparently today was not one of those days.

Honestly if he didn't love him so damn much he's not sure how they'd have made it this far.

They spent the rest of the afternoon sorting through their supplies, before Geralt groomed Roach while Jaskier attempted to compose.

Truthfully though, he was beginning to feel as though he was no longer ’coming down with something’ and was instead thoroughly caught.

Nevertheless, the show must go on.

They needed the coin, there were no contracts, ergo Jaskier would indeed be playing.

XXX

When darkness began to fall the pair of them headed into the Tavern. Jaskier went to speak to the barkeep, while Geralt went to sit at a table in the back corner.

Jaskier was by now feeling quite unwell, he knew if he was not so practiced at performing he'd never make it through the evening. But, he was a professional, so with fake smile in place, he began to strum his lute.

If he wasn't quite so active as usual, he was sure that Geralt would just assume he was tired. They had been travelling as quickly as possible with the weather cooling down, it would be a fair assumption to make. At least he hoped.

It wasn't too late into the evening before Geralt caught his eye and nodded towards the door. Jaskier nodded in return and continued with his song. He watched as his Witcher left the Tavern, Jaskier longed to follow him, but he had a show to perform.

He could feel himself growing steadily warmer. At first he'd hoped it was merely from moving about the now rather crowded room, the music apparently drawing a bit of a crowd. Now however, he was fairly confident he had the beginnings of a fever.

As soon as he felt he had played an adequate length of time, he bowed with as much of a flourish as he could muster and announced to the room that he was taking a brief break.

Grabbing some water from the barkeep he took a seat at the table that Geralt had vacated earlier. He had never been so glad that Geralt had opted for an early night. He knew this performance was not one of his best, but the owner of the establishment and the tavern's patron's seemed happy enough, so hopefully he would bring in some coin.

Speaking of coin, a few people approached him, bearing mugs of ale and warm smiles.

“Wonderful performance!” a young woman with dark hair and a shy smile

told him.

"Why thank you my dear!” He offered a smile in return, though he had to forcefully swallow back the nausea when her companion, a young man who seemed kind, if a little dull, offered him one of the mugs of ale.

The third member of the party, a man who appeared to be a little older than Jaskier, stepped forward and dropped a few coins into his lute case.

"Thank you Master Bard, it's been a long while since someone of your talent has come through our humble town.”

"Well then, I'm glad my companion and I decided to stop here for the evening to take a break from the road.”

They spoke to him a little longer before taking their leave. Deciding he needed to get this night over with, he stood up from the table, swaying only a very small amount, picked up his lute and started playing the intro to Toss A Coin.

As usual he was met with cheers from the crowd, more than one person throwing a coin his way, telling him to pass the goodwill along to his travel companion.

He got through the rest of the set in a daze, relieved when people started to trickle out into the night, heading back towards their homes and beds.

Deciding he had played long enough, and afraid he wouldn't last much longer, Jaskier played one last song before thanking his audience. He collected a few more coins and attempted to indulge a few of the villagers who came to speak to him as he gathered his belongings, but he made his way out of the Inn as quickly as he could.

When he made it out into the cooler night air he let out a full body shiver and finally let the coughing fit he'd been holding back all evening out. He leaned against the outer wall of the Tavern until he caught his breath, pushing away on shaky legs to make his way to the barn where Geralt was hopefully already sleeping.

He opened the barn door as quietly as he was able, confident enough that Geralt would not stir if he was asleep as by now he was attuned to Jaskier enough to know he wasn't a threat. One of Jaskier’s happiest memories was when he realised Geralt had started to sleep through him stumbling into their shared rooms late into the night after a performance, rather than waking with a hand already reaching for his sword.

As he approached Roach's stall he saw Geralt had already set their bedrolls out. Geralt himself was asleep, steel sword within easy reach.

Jaskier sighed quietly to himself in relief. Logically he knew there'd be no hiding how he felt come morning, but he'd earned some coin to help them through the next few days at least so he decided that some discomfort for the evening had been worth it.

He settled into his bedroll, curled into Geralt's side, and let exhaustion pull him down into a fitful sleep.

xxxx

Jaskier woke up in the early dawn light, for a moment he wasn't certain what woke him. Only for a moment though. As he quickly realised the problem he all but threw himself out of the bedroll and ran on unsteady feet out of the barn before he emptied the rather meagre contents of his stomach onto the dirt outside the barn.

When he finally stopped retching he made his way back inside and collapsed back onto the bedroll. Geralt, who had clearly woken up due to Jaskier's abrupt exit, leaned over him, one eyebrow raised and a knowing look on his face.

"Indulge a little too much after I left last night, Jask?”

Too tired, and by now feeling far too ill to care, Jaskier glared up at his Witcher.

"Excuse me? Excuse me? I am not fucking hungover Geralt, I'm sick! Fucking unbelievable!”

Geralt looked contrite for a brief moment before sitting up properly and reaching out to press a hand against Jaskiers's sweaty forehead.

“You have a fever,” Geralt stated, a furrow forming in the middle of his brow as he frowned.

“Yes, yes I know.”

The furrow got deeper. “You knew you were sick and you didn’t say anything. Why?”

Jaskier paused for a moment before looking away, feeling a little guilty. “I’m sorry love, truly. I didn’t tell you because I needed to play last night. Like it or not we needed the money.” He paused, clearing his sore throat, before he looked back up at Geralt. “ I promise that now you can coddle me all you like.”

Geralt looked like he wanted to say more but settled for a hum instead. He lay back down in their shared bedrolls and pulled an unresisting Jaskier into his arms.

“Hmm, why did I ever try to hide that I was sick?” Jaskier mused, burying his head into Geralt’s warm chest.

“I don’t really understand it either. No more secrets.”

Jaskier just yawned and gave a sleepy hum in response.

#sicktember prompt 1 #sicktember 2024 #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher #geraskier #jaskier #tw vomit #sick jaskier #jaskier whump #geralt x jaskier #sicktember

23 notes · View notes

gauloiseblue · 1 year ago

Text

Keep Your Eyes On Me

[Giorno Giovanna × Reader]

Never in your wildest dreams did you think you could paint someone as magnificent as Giorno, but it happened just like that. It all started from a small talk about the weather and the lovely sight of his private garden. But as soon as you talked about the progress in your project, he immediately proposed something you wouldn't expect.

"If you really need a model for your painting, you could've just asked me."

You snapped your head towards him at lightning speed.

"For real?" You asked, and he nodded without hesitation. "I mean—isn't that dangerous? I might end up exposing your identity! Because it's gonna be exhibited in the gallery and—and since your face would be on my painting—" You stammered as you tried to explain, "Someone might recognize you, and—"

"Hey, calm down. You think too much." He said with an amused grin, "No one has ever seen my face, except for the few people I trust."

He tilts his head when you squint at him, “I doubt that.”

“You can change my hair color, or alter my face a little bit if you’re still unsure.” He suggested, “Like I said earlier, I don’t mind becoming your muse.”

An amused snort came out from you louder than you intended, “That’s a bold choice of word, Gio.”

“But you always whine about not having a muse.”

“Well,” You scratched your nose, “What I mean by that is having an ordinary person as my muse, not the legitimate Don of passione.”

“I don’t see what’s wrong with that.” He raised his brow, and an exasperated sigh left your mouth.

“That’s not it…” You mumble while your head’s down, not looking at his direction, “It’s just that… I’m worried about your safety, Gio. I don’t need to be a part of the mafia to know that everyone wants you dead. Not everyone, but you get my point.” You corrected, “I don’t want to accidentally put you in danger, y’know?”

For a moment, the conversation went cold. He didn’t say anything, and you didn’t look at him. But then you hear footsteps, and a hand slips onto your cheek as he cups your face. “You really have the tendency to make me work for it.” He retorted gently, “I offered myself to be your model because I know you want me. But it’s not your job to worry about me, (Y/N). I want you to finish your project first, before you decide what to do with the painting.” He smiles, “Capisce?”

Although you didn’t get cold feet, it seemed like Giorno thought otherwise. Because he holds you still when you step away, and his grip is firm on your waist.

“Alright, alright.” You compromise, “I’ll do it, okay? I’m gonna take my stuff first, so can you please let me go for a sec?”

—

The painting equipment you bring is quite heavy, but you refuse to let his man carry them for you. You’ve surveyed the ideal place for the background, and you quickly set up the easel. While you set down your brushes and color paints, you watch the men arrange a long sofa by the window. With the instruction from the Don himself.

“So you’re gonna lay down?” You asked.

“You expect me to stand for hours?”

“No, but I thought I told you to sit on a chair.”

“It wouldn’t look as good.”

You roll your eyes, “I guess beggars cannot choose.”

He grinned as he dismissed his men, “I would take my clothes off if you wish to paint nude—”

You quickly clear your throat, loud enough until it sounds very constrained. Even though his men keep a straight face, you know they heard him. You glare at him, and he just chuckles in return.

“Shall we begin? You can lay down now.” You told him as you squeezed out the paint, “Make sure everything’s comfortable enough for you.”

“I’ll be more comfortable if you lay beside me.”

“Giorno.” You called him with a frown, which only made him smirk. He doesn’t speak much as he gets on the sofa, and leans comfortably against the armrest. You pick up the medium-sized brush and dip into the green color. You glance toward him, and begin to sketch on the white canvas.

“Hold on.” He said as he unbuttoned his vest, and slid them off his shoulders. You see him throw the black garment away carelessly, before he loosen up a few buttons of his shirt.

“Dio mio, Gio.” You uttered as you put down your palette. “Can’t you at least not throw it to the floor? It’s gonna get dirty.”

“It’s gonna be laundered anyway.” He replied while he rolled his sleeves, and you just scowled as you picked it up.

“Stronzo.” You mumbled as you dusted off the vest, and went back to your place. You drape the thing onto your chair, before you pick up where you left off.

The green color quickly spreads on the canvas as you map out the scene. You use the blue to sketch out the window, and the soft yellow for the sofa. Your eyes dart to him while you paint, and you hate to admit that he made the right choice to get rid of the vest. He fits perfectly into the picture.

You wonder if you ever see him as relaxed as this before. Although you knew him close enough, he still used his refined manner around you. As you draw the black line, you wonder where his attitude goes.

The brush is quickly switched with a bigger one, and you mix some dye until it resembles the color of the wall. You paint most of the canvas with the new color, and add the shadows and light. You look out the window, and find the sky’s clear. You’re gonna need a lot of blues.

As you work on the details, your eyes inadvertently fall on him. He’s also looking at you, with his cheek resting on his palm.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” He asked.

“Like that… like you’re gonna…” You pressed your lips tightly before you shook your head, “Nevermind.”

You turn your gaze away as you focus on your work. The shadows are roughly placed, and you move on to the greenery.

“You know,” He began to speak as you painted, “I’ve had my portrait done a few times before, but you’re the first one who insists on doing it in my garden.”

“Why? You missed your office already?” You sneered.

“No, but I do miss my whiskey.”

Your brows furrowed, “You don’t drink liquor.”

“I don’t drink when I’m working.”

“Huh.” You replied nonchalantly, “Of course, this is just a picnic for you."

He chuckles, “I wouldn’t consider this as a picnic, there’s no wine and cheese platter for us.”

“Us?” You narrowed your eyes, “This isn’t a date, Gio.”

“I know.” He stated, “It’s just a proposal.”

You feel your blood rushes to your face, and you turn away from him. You can’t think of anything as the reply, so you settle with silence. It didn’t surprise you when he openly flirts with you, and you usually just shrug it off. But this time, you can’t ignore him at all, not when he sounds so serious.

The window on the canvas slowly takes shapes, and provides a good background for the plants. You spend the next hour perfecting the tall foliage, without sparing another glance at him. But you don’t have to look to know that his eyes are glued on you.

As you finish the basic lines of the potted plants, you proceed to draw the long sofa. You keep your head down as you blend the faded cream color, and put them on top of the yellow.

“I think I’ll be working on the background detail now,” You announced without taking your eyes off the canvas, “You can take a break Gio, feel free if you want to leave.”

“I’ll stay.”

You bit your lip, he’s going to be a hell of distraction.

Humans can acknowledge if something’s watching them, and you curse your ancestor for passing down that ability. Even when you try to ignore it, it keeps screaming at the back of your head. Because not only does he keep his eyes on you, the intensity of his gaze also sets your alarm off.

He never looked at you like this before, right? Or have you been ignoring the signs? His friends always teased you, saying that you wouldn't be a great detective. But you're never good at reading someone's thoughts, let alone his mind. God knows what's going on inside his head.

If someone matches up the painter's apathy against the Don's preservation, it's gonna take a long time to know who's the winner. But this time, the answer seems to be clearer. And when your eyes met, you realized how terrifying his stubbornness can be.

"Gio," You mused, "Don't look at me like that…"

His lips spread into a half smile, "Like what?"

You grip your brush tightly, you don't have the courage to speak up your mind. It would be silly to ask the most feared Don about what he wants, because he has been declaring it loud and clear.

"(Y/N)." He called you softly, but as tenderly as it was, he still made your heart race, "Did I make you uncomfortable?"

"I don't know." You looked away, "I just… don't want to get the wrong idea."

His smile grew wider, until the lines around his lips became prominent, "Come here, (Y/N)." He stretches his hand toward you, "I'll let you find out."

There's no need to confirm your suspicion, because the words he just said is a confession itself. You look at him and realize that he doesn't hide his infatuation. And you know better than approaching him without thinking. Because if you do that, it can only mean you reciprocate his feelings.

But do you love him? You asked. Despite the path that he chose, and the fact that you'd be plagued by constant worry about his safety. Will you still love him? Even when you know the misfortune will follow the two of you to the end?

Yes. Yes you would.

You gently put down your palette, and wipe your hands on your handkerchief. You've been repressing your own feelings for so long, but you won't hide anymore. Once you make it to his side, he'll know that you love him. There's no turning back.

He sits on the edge of the sofa by the time you walk to his side. When you stop right in front of him, he reaches for your hand and pulls you closer.

"Won't you regret it?" You muttered while he wrapped his arms around you, "I'm just a mere painter."

"And yet,” He tugs your hands and kisses them tenderly, “You could bring me to my knees.”

You blushed when he placed another kiss on your wrist, “Giorno—”

His head perks up, and you reach out to cup his face. He doesn’t resist when you lean forward, bringing your face closer to him. For a moment, you wonder why the thought of kissing him never crossed your mind before. He looks so… inviting.

He puts his hands on your waist as you press your lips against him. You taste his hunger on your tongue, and he guides your hand to his shoulder. You utter a small squeak when he hooks his arm around you and brings you down to the sofa.

The soft cushion puffs out under the sudden weight of your body. You need a second to process what had just happened, before you see him leaning over you.

Before you had the chance to speak, he already kissed you again. You squeeze your eyes shut as you circle your arms around his neck. Having him so close to you makes you realize how many details you missed out about him. The subtle scent of his shirt, the softness of his hair, the warmth of his skin.

Maybe you’re overwhelmed by love, even adoration. But you swear when you look at him, he never looks as magnificent as he is now.

—

The chatter and the occasional clink of glass fill the room as you walk past the visitors. The exhibition is bustling with people, and the champagne flows endlessly. There’s a few acquaintances around, but you only greet them without a small talk.

Giorno promised you he’ll come, even though you’re strongly against it. You’re worried about him making an appearance in public, but he assured you it’s alright.

This might be the first time you’re feeling nervous in the exhibition. Not because of the display of your art, but rather the incoming arrival of your muse.

When you reach the section of your paintings, your tension drops as you see familiar faces. His friends are coming, and you know Giorno is safe when they’re around.

Bruno is the first to notice your presence, and he smiles as you walk closer.

“Ciao, (Y/N).” He lifts his glass of champagne, and you return the gesture.

“Ciao.” You grinned, “Glad you made it here.”

“I would never miss it, (Y/N).”

The rest of the crew greet you, as they give a short praise for your paintings. But not without commenting about the portrayal of their Don.

“What did you do to him? He doesn’t look scary at all.” Said Narancia, “I swear, he looks more terrifying than usual. I could never get used to seeing him like that.”

“That’s because he only smiles when you mess up something, Narancia.”

“I never thought I’d get to see him without his suit on. I mean, he looks like the kind of man who sleeps in two-piece.” Mista jested.

“Now you mention it,” Abbacchio chipped in, “Why did he agree to be your model?”

You shyly answer, “He’s the one who suggested it.”

“What?” Bruno stares at you wide-eyed, “He asked you to paint him?”

“Sort of.”

Abbacchio strokes his chin slowly, while keeping his eyes on you. “That explains the lack of formal clothes.” He sneered, “So, did he finally succeed?”

“Succeed on what?” You furrowed your brows.

He only sips his champagne as he looks past behind you. The others seem to do the same, and curiosity makes you turn your head.

To say that you didn't expect him to dress up to the nines for the event was half a lie. You know he loves to flaunt, but seeing him like this almost makes you drop your glass. Because not only does he catch everyone's eyes, he doesn't hide his magnetic charm at all.

"Amore." He tugs you close by your waist, and places a peck on your shoulder, then your lips. "Sorry I'm late."

"Gio." You hissed, "I told you—"

"Dio mio!" Narancia gasped as he pointed at the blond, "Did you just kiss her?"

Fugo grabs his head and pulls him away from the group, "Come on now, don't bother them."

The youngest member protested, but he couldn't get away and got dragged further. The rest of the crew just watch them leaving, before they shift their attention to you.

Mista is the first one who speaks, pointing out the obvious, "The two of you are dating?"

"Well," You instinctively rub the back of your neck, "Yeah."

Your lover leans closer to whisper to you, "You don't sound so sure."

"Sorry." You squeeze his hand. "I just don't know how to tell the news to you guys."

"But why?" Bruno's eyes crinkled as he smiles in amusement, "We've been waiting for this moment." His statement made Giorno chuckle, before he pressed a kiss on your crown.

"I miss the time when he didn't care about girls." The silver haired man groans when Bruno kicks on his ankle, "What was that for?" He grunted.

"Aren't you happy that they're finally together?" Mista playfully asked as he circled his arm around his neck, "You used to complain about them all the time."

You raise your brows, but the older man just shoves him away. Mista laughs when he receives the death glare from him.

"Now, now." Giorno spoke up at once, interrupting the early stages of their usual bickering, "If you'd excuse me, I have to go on a date with (Y/N)." He encloses your shoulders with his arm, "She promised to give me a tour around the exhibition."

Bruno gives him a small nod, "Sure," He then adds, "Have fun, you two."

You wish them a good night before Giorno drags you away almost immediately. The drink on your hand almost spilled out as you tried to follow his pace. After walking through the third of the gallery, he stops at the empty corner.

It doesn't take long before he pushes you to the closest wall, and starts kissing you like a hungry man. You voice your protests, but they only get squashed down by his lips. You don't know which, or whose paintings are being displayed beside you, but you hope you won't disturb them by accident.

The two of you finally part to catch a breath, and you just realize that two people just scurry away when they see you. A pang of embarrassment struck you as you're suddenly aware that you got caught making out with him—your own model—on the day of your works' exhibition.

"Didn't I tell you to be patient?"

You put a frown on your face when he softly chuckles. He doesn't seem to mind his manner, which effectively fuels your guilty desire further.

"I've waited for long enough." He expressed with a coy smile, "Don't you think I deserve fair compensation?"

#jjba #jojo part 5 #repost from ao3 #giorno giovanna #giorno x reader #fluff #love confessions

96 notes · View notes