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heian-era-housewife · 2 months ago

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Synopsis | Tired of being overlooked by your handler (and longstanding crush) Shiu Kong, you decide it's time to show him what a knock out you really are. Will a trip to the aquarium finally help open his eyes?

Content | g/n assassin!reader x shiu kong, fluff, swearing, cigarettes/smoking

Word Count | ~3.5k

Prologue ○ The Date ○ The Photos

Most assassins start out the same. Down on their luck. Blessed, or cursed perhaps, with a particular set of skills. Nothing that could be considered useful in a typical workplace, of course. Lonely. Desperate, maybe. A bit apathetic.

Then, one way or another, the opportunity presents itself. An offer that comes to them in their most vulnerable hour. A chance to meet two needs at once:

The first is money. Afterall, murder for hire doesn't come cheap. For someone who's had so little for so long, that kind of payout is hard to ignore.

The next is acceptance. Let's face it. The would-be assassin is usually a bit odd. And that "particular set of skills" mentioned earlier? They tend to fall firmly in the "red flag" category. So when those skills are met with intrigue and your peculiarity is given worth, you suddenly find yourself being valued. And who doesn't want to feel needed?

Yes, most assasins start out the same and you were no exception. These, plus your friendship with one Toji Fushiguro, are what led to your humble beginnings as an operative for notorious handler Shiu Kong.

You always had a knack for stealth. Sneaking up on people, going unnoticed, it seemed to come naturally. Perhaps that's why you always felt a little invisible. While Toji was a master of speed and weaponry, you could melt from the shadows like darkness itself. So, when Toji brought you in on a high-stakes heist, and you more than proved yourself as a capable (not to mention frighteningly lethal) ally, Shiu held out his hand and gladly welcomed you aboard.

Shiu was, in many ways, your opposite. Classy and sophisticated. A smooth talker with a gift for persuasion. Bit of a politician, really. You, on the other hand, were a classic maverick. Loose cannon with a loose tongue. Slipshod and off-color. You were friends with Fushiguro, after all. But, if you and Shiu had anything in common it was your keen eye for detail. He- an ex-detective with the skills to match. A regular Sherlock Holmes. You- a master of stealth and duplicity. A proverbial "fly on the wall". It became somewhat of a game to sneak up on your handler. What a thrill it was when the man who noticed everything was rendered flustered and shaken by your unexpected presence. It was through these little games, and your rapt observations, that you began to fall for the man who liked cheese and tropical fish.

And it was these same circumstances that led to your current predicament. Heart racing. Stomach in knots. Hand in hand in front of the Okinawa Aquarium with the very man you just kidnapped aprehended.

But now wasn't the time for nerves.

Pulling him along, you dashed up the long stairs before you, laughing as you looked back over your shoulder to see the sophisticated man stumbling along behind. He joined you in laughter, free hand grabbing at his fly-away tie, struggling to keep up. He looked boyish. Full of life. Hardened features and tired eyes giving way to playful innocence. Gaining his stride, he played along, chasing you the rest of the way up the stairs garnering a squeal from you where the toes of his dress shoes nabbed at your heels.

"Two please!" You gasped, catching your breath as you reached the ticket counter first.

"Please, let me." Shiu offered, patting his pockets. "Just gotta find my-"

"Money?" You finished, waving his own leather-bound wallet as you pulled it from your pocket with a cheeky wink.

"You little-"

"Thanks, boss!" You said with a wry smile. "I'll get us next time." Behind his annoyance, he could hardly conceal his smile. This strange date had barely begun, and he already liked the sound of "next time".

You reached for the pocket of his suit jacket, replacing the stolen wallet and swapping it for his pack of cigarettes.

"You know you can't smoke in there, you gonna survive?"

"Thief." He accused, snatching back the little red and white box.

"Addict." You shot back.

"Narc." He glared. "I'll be fine."

"Whatever you say," you shrugged, reaching up to fix his tie. Then, with a wink, "just let me know if that mouth of yours needs a distraction..." Shiu blushed a deep red that spread from his cheeks to the tips of his ears. "...'cuz I brought gum." You finished cheekily, unwrapping a stick and popping it into your mouth before snapping a small bubble between your teeth.

You really were dangerous, he thought to himself. Not just in the silent assassin sort of way, but in a way that could leave him more damaged than any weapon. You were a heartbreaker.

"What are those?" You asked, doing little to hide your disgust.

"I used to catch these. As a kid. Back in Korea." A distant look in his eyes reflected a memory you could not see. But that didn't stop you from imagining. You smiled thinking of the serious man as a young boy, exploring tidepools and combing the beach for shells. You wondered if his upbringing contributed to his interest in fish. You wondered what he was like as a child. If he grew up to be the man he wanted to be. You wondered-

"They're sea cucumbers, by the way." He said, pulling you from your daydream. "Crazy little things. No face, no limbs, just a digestive tract."

"Weird. So, what do they do?"

"Not much, really. Pretty much just eat, shit, and lay around."

"Oh, so just like Toji." You said with a grin.

That got him laughing. "You want to touch one?" He waved you closer. Truth be told, you'd been maintaining your distance for a reason. As an assassin, you had a high tolerance for the gross and grotesque, but something about the little turd-like creatures made you oddly squeamish. "C'mere." He said.

In an instant your hand was in his as he gently pulled it under the frigid water. Sliding his hand over the back of yours, he lifted two of your fingers and guided you down the length of the sea cucumber's back. It was soft and rubbery. Almost velvety in places, contracting like a muscle under your fingertips as you and Shiu drifted over.

Despite the unique sensation, you found it hard to focus on anything other than Shiu's touch. The warmth of his hand under the cool water. The confidence he'd gained just by entering the aquarium.

He was too rapt in the moment to realize he'd moved in closer. It was like a dream come true. Minus the slimy cucumber. But, you had to admit, even that was starting to grow on you.

The next hallway opened up to a kaleidoscope of bright colors and shimmering light. You had to shield your eyes a bit just to take it all in. Thousands of vibrant tropical fish swam in all directions, darting in and out of equally vibrant corals. A sign overhead read, "Sea of Tropical Fish". Your mind jumped to the image of Shiu's dating profile, "tropical fish" listed under his interests. His only interest.

Your chest swelled as you turned to look at him, hoping to glimpse the approval on his face. Instead, you found yourself standing alone, Shiu no longer behind you.

"Chromis viridis." You heard him mutter.

Where the hell was he?

"Chaetodon lunula."

Oh. How'd he get over there? The suited man was crouched, childlike, toward the floor of the exhibit. Entranced, it seemed, by what he saw.

"Zebrasoma veliferum!" He breathed in excitement.

"Boss...?" You approached slowly, not intending to startle him...this time. "Sh-Shiu?" You offered tentatively, never having used his given name before. It dripped from your lips like honey.

He spun around, eyes wide, a sharp frown hardening his handsome features. For a moment, you thought he might scold you for your breach of formality.

"Scarus spinus." He said jabbing a thumb over his shoulder at the tropical display.

"Come again?" You asked, beyond confused.

"Scarus spinus. The Greensnouted Parrotfish." He said thoughtfully. "I don't have this one at home."

"Wait, wait, wait." Your eyes shot open, gleaming in the brilliant light. "You've been over here spouting off the Latin names of all these fish??"

He nodded. A sense of pride washed over him as he awaited your words of praise at his impressive display of knowledge.

"Oh my God!" You stared at him in disbelief. "Shiu Kong..." His smile broadened. "I can't believe it! You're a gigantic fucking nerd!"

His face fell flat as you burst into raucus laughter. He stood, brushing his tailored slacks and turned to walk away, cheeks once again taking on a rosey hue.

"No, no, no, come back here, you!" You said, grabbing his wrist and halting his hasty retreat. "You don't get to walk away that easy. I came here to learn about fish, and you're going to teach me!"

He cast you a cinical look as you wiped a tear of laughter from your cheek.

"I'm serious." You said, smiling up at him. "Show me what you got, "Jacques Cousteau".

Setting his bruised pride aside, he told you the names of the tropical fish. Which ones he had, which ones he didn’t, ones that he wanted, and ones that were highly endangered.

You learned about mouthbrooders who held their babies, sometimes hundreds of them, deep in their mouth- throats and gills expanding to accommodate their many offspring.

You learned about corallivores. Fish that eat coral through a variety of adaptations. Some, called "excavators", even had human-like teeth and molars.

You learned about parrotfish who make mucus coccoons before they sleep to protect themselves from parasites and predators.

Most importantly, you learned that Shiu was so much more than what meets the eye. Smart and patient, charming and quirky. His serious nature and mob boss persona all just a front for a man whose essence was smoother and softer than silk.

"So, do you name them?" You asked.

"I'm sorry?"

"Your fish! Do you name them?"

He laughed, waving off your question with a look that would fool no one. Certainly not you.

"You totally name them!" You jeered, nudging his ribs with a teasing elbow.

"One. One!" He caved, finally. "My first fish, 'Lucky Strike'."

"Like the cigarettes?" You said incredulously.

"Like the cigarettes." He agreed. "He's a silver arowana. Some people call them 'cigarette fish'. Maintaining their health is said to bring you luck."

"Hah!" You laughed. "How fitting. You said he was your first?"

"Mhmm. 15 years and still young. We've been through a lot together."

"That's...really sweet, actually."

Display after display led to more illuminating moments.

Your favorite areas were those that were dark and hushed. The dim light casting everything into monochrome, filtering through the water in soft lines like a film noir. Shiu's warm breath fanned your ear and neck as he spoke, low and quiet in these muted spaces. His face so close you could smell his aftershave. His hand now a constant presence in yours, as though he feared letting go might mean losing you to the shadows.

It was in one of these darkened hallways, bathed in dreamy blue light, that you caught your first glimpse of a massive spotted fin.

Gliding noiselessly by a large window, a tail, inky black and as tall as you, blocked the light momentarily as it drifted by. You tensed, startled by the unexpected sight, shrinking wordlessly into Shiu's arms, his chest shaking softly against your back with silent laughter at your trepidation. But as the hallway ended, the laughter stopped, both of you forced to hold your breath at the sight that followed.

From the second floor of a gigantic room, glass stretched wall to wall, floor to ceiling, you watched as two gargantuan whale sharks slid past each other in lazy circles. The creatures were stunning. Each the size of a city bus, they dwarfed the hundreds of fish that shared their tank and the dozens of people who had come to see them. Their beauty was unrivaled. Their magnitude, unbelievable. Every upturned face hung, slackjawed, in their shadow. Every awestruck eye was on them.

"Hey," Shiu hummed, lips intoxicatingly close to your ear. Goosebumps sending shivers in waves over your skin as he spoke. "Did you know there are over 80 species of coral in this tank?"

"Shiu Kong, you absolute nerd!" Your words came out as something of a choked whisper. "You're the only person here who cares about the damn coral!"

"You think?" He asked sincerely.

"I think you're missing the bigger picture." You laughed softly, gesturing to the giant fish before you.

"Or maybe," He said, bringing his cheek to rest against yours as he held a hand out indicating the tank's entirety, "you're only seeing part of it."

As you pulled your eyes away from the sharks, you began to see more of what he meant. An entire world of oceanic technicolor, rich in intricate detail, each as fascinating and beautiful as the next. Maybe you really did need to broaden your view.

Or maybe, you thought to yourself, settling further in Shiu's embrace, the best view was standing right behind you.

The tip of Shiu's nose was mere inches from yours. Steely eyes gazed warmly into your own as you stood, captivated by one another. Every feature, every crease, every striking detail as clear to you as ever. You felt like you could reach out and-

Bonk

"Crazy, right?" He said, stepping out from behind the 2-foot-thick acryllic.

"It's like it's not even there!" You shook the pain from your fingertips where your hand had jammed the crystal clear material.

The acryllic pillar was part of an educational area beyond the main ocean tank and served as an example of what the tank itself was made of. Despite its thickness, it appeared as thin as the average window and was so clean you could easily fool yourself into believing it wasn't there at all.

Beyond this lay a room of other hands-on displays and activities including-

"Origami!" You chirped, bouncing over to the station clearly intended for younger participants.

"Yeah...I don't think we need to-"

You shot Shiu the most soulful puppydog eyes you could muster, sidling up to the small table where a friendly attendent stood, teaching kids and parents how to fold tiny paper sting rays. He was utterly powerless.

20 minutes and several crumpled pieces of paper later, Shiu held in his hand a perfect paper sting ray and you- well... yours was... you tried.

"Stay close." Shiu said, not giving you much of a choice as he wrapped his arms around you. "Don't want you disappearing on me," he whispered into the shadows.

The final section of the aquarium, "Journey to the Deep Sea" was an immersive exhibit with almost no light, housing only those creatures who lived on the sea floor. Tank after tank featured deepwater sharks and wide-mouthed groupers, fish with no eyes and luminescent corals. Each creature more alien than the next, so bizarre they seemed like the work of fiction.

You were about halfway through this final floor when you noticed a shift in Shiu's behavior.

At first you chalked it up to nerves. Perhaps the real reason he held you so tight was not for concern of you slipping away, but for fear of the dark that he dared not mention, or an uneasiness brought about by its grotesque inhabitants.

In time, shaky hands became shaky arms. Squinted eyes against the darkness took on a pained expression, and his speech changed from informative quips to downright nervous rambling. "Mr. Composed and Sophisticated" appeared to be slowly falling apart, and it wasn't until his jittery hands left yours in order to take up desperate search of his pockets that you understood the reason.

The poor man was in dire need of a smoke.

“Shiu.” You said gently, working his hands in your own. “We're almost done, okay?” He looked confused. Hurt, even.

“I…don't want to be.” He admitted, an unsteady hand grazing the back of his neck.

“Me neither.” You smiled.

It wasn't the whale sharks or the giant manta ray that got his attention. Not the dolphins and their tricks, nor the many types of exotic sharks. It was the tiny spotted garden eels emerging from their sandy burrows. The glass shrimp that were nearly invisible with their transparent carapace. He liked the small and nameless fish you could find at any pet store. Even the sea grass, which you doubted anyone had ever cared about, earned a look of admiration from the modern-day mobster. He had an eye for the unseen and a heart for the unfavored. It was no wonder he had been such a skilled detective.

As you watched him take it all in with wide-eyed wonder, you realized too late you'd been tossed overboard- swept out to sea. Caught up in the tides of affection and left drowning in the deep. Without even trying, he had you- hook, line, and sinker.

It was both to your horror and your unwavering joy that you found yourself desperately, hopelessly, shamelessly, and inescapably in love with Shiu Kong.

Choosing his words next words carefully, he mused, "So…remember that gum you mentioned earlier-"

His eyes went wide as your lips interlocked, your palms on his cheeks, fingers framing his ears. Then, closing his eyes, he pulled you in hungrily, passionately. One hand on your back, the other on your hip. Drinking you in with an unquenching thirst. You wondered if others might condemn your indecency, then realized you didn't care. This is why you brought him here. This is what you wanted. All these years of playing "gun-for-hire" it was all for him. The man who was tired of drinking alone. Who smelled of fine whiskey and cheap cigarettes. Who was so full of contrast and contradiction. The one who found beauty in the the places no one thought to look.

The man who liked cheese and tropical fish.

Shiu stirred, throat dry and eyes bleary.

What time is it?

Twilight shone through his parted curtains, bathing him in deep blue. For a moment, he felt like he was back in the dewey atmosphere of the Okinawa Aquarium.

The Aquarium.

Shiu scrambled out from under the covers, looking for his phone. 5 am. No messages. He looked down to see his usual sleepwear- a white t-shirt and pair of boxers.

Was he losing his mind? Had he dreamt the whole thing?

In the bathroom, no amount of face-splashing nor mirror-staring could help him recall how he'd gotten home, what happened after the date, what happened after the kiss...

His entire ride to work was a dreary blur. Memories of stingrays and jellyfish swam through his mind's hazy periphery, but sitting at the forefront was you. You with his wallet and that cheeky smile. You with your hand held warmly in his. You with your eyes so full of the ocean's depths. Surely it wasn't all just in his head.

Right?

At work, Fushiguro made no mention of his absence. Everything was exactly as he had left it. Staring blankly at his computer, worthless dating profile still up on the screen, he stiffened as you melted from the shadows behind.

"Still on that old thing?" You gestured to the screen.

Shiu stared, lips parted, scanning your features.

"Speechless, huh? I get that a lot." You winked. "Did'ya do anything fun this weekend?"

He gulped. Mouth dry. He thought he had. Now he was forced to admit it had all been some maladaptive daydream. A desperate wish conjured up by his own drunken loneliness.

"I...I don't know..." He said with a faraway look.

"Ah well," you said with a wave as you bounced toward the door in a cheerful saunter. "They can't all be memorable."

Casting his gaze downward, a small black and white something caught Shiu's eye.

A bit of paper sat upon his desk. In the low light of the office it looked like trash at first, something he had crumpled up in frustration. But as his eyes adjusted, he was able to make out the vague features of a small, poorly folded bit of origami in the shape of a-

"Sting ray..." Shiu whispered to himself, thoughts firing fast.

"Pardon?" You paused in the doorway.

Confidence returning, a growing smile flickering across his face, he asked, "Do you want to grab a drink with me later?"

A bashful hand flew to your mouth as you feigned your reserve. "Mr. Kong, are you asking me out on a date?"

"You can save the theatrics." He said with a sly grin. "This one's on you, remember?" He said, searching his pockets.

"Looking for this?" You held up the leather-bound wallet with a teasing wink.

"You little-"

Darting from the room in a fit of laughter, Shiu went to give chase before pausing and returning quickly to his computer. He hovered for a moment over the still-open dating profile, considering, before making up his mind.

As he ran from the room, long legs quickly catching up to your stride, leather dress shoes nabbing at your heels, two words remained on the illuminated screen:

Account deleted.

Special shout out to @heian-era-househusband who not only came up with the idea for the ending of this story, but listened to me gripe, moan, and reread this horrendous tale for WEEKS until we were both blue in the gills.

Fun fact (if you're still here): Mr. Househusband proposed to me at an aquarium, in an underwater tunnel, surrounded by sea lions. He is now and forever more my one and only aquarium date. And I have been known to steal his wallet on occasion.

Fin.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fic #jjk fluff #shiu kong #kong shiu #jjk shiu #shiu kong x reader #shiu kong x you #shiu kong x y/n #shiu x you #shiu x reader #shiu x y/n #shiu #jjk x reader

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lokisgoodgirl · 2 years ago

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Deeper [Avenger!Loki x Fem.Reader]

A link to my (new) Masterlist is HERE Summary: [Oneshot] You and Loki have a sensual reunion in the Tower swimming pool. (w/c 2.3k) Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Fluffy Smut. Language.

Your face dipped beneath the still surface of water with every careful spread of your arms. There were sixty-four lengths in a mile. So far tonight, you had swum eighty-six. The calmness of the swimming pool on the second highest floor of the Tower had been a godsend while Loki had been away. It helped soothe your nervous heart and fill the empty nights - if not your empty bed.

An undercover operation; arms deals, shady characters with suspicion and murder baked in the soul. You felt a shiver roll down your spine as you dipped a final time beneath the surface.

Your fingers wrapped around the cool ledge at the deep end, taking a breath before turning and readying to push away from the wall. And that was when you saw him.

Loki was leaning silently against one of the tall pillars surrounding the still water, reflections bouncing in ethereal waves across his face; eyes creased at the corners in a secret smile. He was half bathed in shadow, strands of hair hanging loose at his temples with the lengths drawn back into a ponytail. A perfectly fitted suit clung snug to his imposing body, the black material making him look like a shadow transfigured to flesh in the gloom. “Hello, love.” he murmured, the echo carrying around the tiled space. “Stay where you are, please.” he commanded calmly, seeing your excited failed attempt to hoist yourself up to the edge. “Right...there.” You knew you should ask how the mission had gone. Quite well, you expected, considering he was back three days early. But right now, Loki clearly wanted to play. A thrill roared through your blood; hot and wild as the heels of his dress shoes clacked against the tiles with each measured stride. He paused at the precipice of the shallow end, leaning down achingly slowly and unlacing his brogues before slipping them off. He knelt at the top of wide stairs which disappeared beneath the lapping surface, before rising to his full height. Nimble fingers moved to the buckle of an expensive leather belt, the whip as he yanked it from its loops making your pussy clench beneath the water. Loki’s eyes never left yours as he unzipped the sinfully fitted trousers, letting them fall around his ankles. He stepped out, kicking them to the side.

You felt your grip against the ledge falter as he began to toy with the waistband of his black underwear. The smooth wall of the pool slipped against your back, making you kick your legs harder to stay afloat. The urge to begin swimming towards him was almost unbearable. You blinked as he peeled the tight cotton over his hipbones, toying with you as the waistband caught on his growing bulge before letting them fall to the ground. “Come to me, darling.” he purred, his velvet voice seeming to fill every pocket of air all the way to the high ceilings. “Slowly.” You swallowed the well of saliva that had formed on your tongue. God, how you loved him.

Stroke after stroke, you moved as slowly as you could while your heavy gaze bore into the sight of your god shrugging off the bespoke suit jacket. It joined the pile of discarded clothing on the floor before he reached up and pulled the hair-tie from its hold. Curls unfurled around his shoulders as long, pale fingers moved to the knot of his silk tie – digging in and releasing it with a firm yank.

Your breathing was completely out of time with your movements, the heavy throb of desire beating in your core seeming to pull you deeper. The water was treacle. Every brush of your arms that had felt effortless minutes before, now a mammoth task. He began unbuttoning his shirt just as you reached the halfway point. “Stop, please.” he enunciated slowly, making your breath hitch as you splashed upright. Your hands grazed on the surface to the side, keeping yourself afloat as Loki began to descend into the gently lapping water. You bit your lip, seeing the curve of his muscular calves submerge as he made his way confidently down the stairs. Loki's cock was hardening furiously with anticipation, swelling with the same heat smouldering between your legs. It bobbed with every slow step. And he was still wearing the shirt. The half naked god waded through the shallows, pausing to dip himself once beneath the peaceful surface. He ascended soaking wet, throwing his sodden hair back over his shoulders. The soaked white cotton clung to every valley in his chiselled torso, dark shadows visible through the shirt where the rock hard muscles dipped and rose. His hair wrapped in inky tendrils down his neck, drops of chlorinated water rolling over his cheekbones. He was so fucking beautiful. And he was all yours. In four effortless crawls, he reached you; the force of his strong arms wrapping around your waist as he kicked backwards pushing you against the nearest side of the pool. Loki’s breath was hot against your wet skin as you spluttered, the intensity of his stare making you quiver in his arms. “Norns, how I’ve missed you.” he whispered with a groan, wet kisses trailing the angle of your jaw.

Your fingers toyed at the opening of his shirt, tips relishing the feel of him pressed against your body after so long apart. “I know how much you love to undress me from these contraptions.” he chuckled, drawing himself away from the lure of your exposed neck. You smiled. “How thoughtful of you.” you coyed, enjoying the flash of his dimples that followed. Loki slipped a finger under one strap of your swimming costume, eyebrow rising as it slid easily down your bicep. The other followed. You arched your back, allowing him to tug the chest down around your waist. He moaned in appreciation, exhaling into a passionate kiss which fastened to your lips like a wave sinking into sand. His tongue massaged inside, caressing your own as your swimsuit slid over your thighs and into the void below with a final solitary tug of his fingers. Loki's hard chest pressed against the curve of your breasts, flattening you desperately beneath his violent kiss. The wet cotton dragged against your nipples, ferocious passion in every sway of his jaw as he consumed you. Your fingers dragged through his slick hair, tangling in the mess of thick strands that spread on the water’s surface. Without warning, he hoisted you to perch on the cold side. You gasped as the cool air bit against your soaking skin, the rough of the edging grazing your thighs before he wrapped his fingers over your dripping calves and placed them gently over his shoulders

“Close your eyes.” he murmured, the low lapping waves against the side tiles making you shudder as you did what he asked. You knew his feet would be flat on the bottom of the swimming pool floor, the blue hued water caressing teasingly around his biceps as he slid closer and nuzzled against your inner thigh. “My beautiful woman…” he whispered wistfully, licking a trail over the skin before he latched to your pussy. Your head fell back, heavy strands of clumped, wet hair slapping between your shoulder-blades. Loki’s tongue swept softly against your slit, his hands massaging up your spread thighs before pulling your ass closer with a gentle yank. He moaned softly as your sex rolled against his open mouth, tongue slipping inside your channel sticky with fresh arousal. Your hands slid over his slick scalp, pulling him deeper. Baritone growls vibrated against your centre, every flat lick of his talented tongue making you thrust into him. Your palms braced on the floor behind you, feeling yourself fall backwards with a shameless groan of pleasure. Loki chuckled against your pussy, his sharp jaw waxing and waning as he ate you out like he was conducting a symphony. It was perfection. With him, it always was. Your thighs juddered against his shoulders, making his fingertips dig tighter into the soft flesh. Climax was close, and he knew it. Wet slurps rose muffled between your splayed thighs, only the god’s brow visible above your hips. He looked so fucking good buried in your needy pussy. He always did. You felt the point of his tongue trace from the base of your slit to your swollen bud, flicking in a straight line to the side. It moved in a licentious circle, stalking your entire tingling sex in a teasing dance before landing on your clit again. His eyes moved up to meet yours, the smouldering hues of his irises darkened by lust and delayed gratification before ducking down. You arched your back as he began another ascent up your messy centre, the staggered gasp from your lips taking you by surprise. Your hips began to shake as he flicked his head to the right, his tongue capturing a delicate fold in a gentle suck. Shallow pants made your chest rise and fall as he hovered, before repeating the movement, lower this time. A staggered moan of his name filled the air. His name. He was pleasuring you with his name. Loki licked his lips, cheekbones sharpening as he lowered himself to deliver the final sexually devastating blow. “I..-” you whimpered, making Loki laugh softly beneath your spread cheeks. His hands tightening around your thighs, pulling your ass flush against his chest. Making sure you could see him work, he lapped gently at your asshole. The pathetic whimper from your throat made a knowing smile tug at his lip, before he released a final straight lick against your little cunt. You couldn’t draw your gaze away from his, the restraint etched on his brow as he drew it up your sex with aching slowness. Your hands flew to meet his own, grasping desperately as he suckled your clit with needy abandon; feeling the spurt of your hot juices coat each soft massage of his tongue.

You felt your whole body relax, the slip of water against your legs as you fell down around him on autopilot. Loki's hands were fastened on your waist, guiding you over the edge of the pool to join him. Your bare chest slid again the heavy cotton stuck to his torso, one of the buttons of his drenched shirt catching on your nipple bringing you back to reality.

"Did you miss me?" he whispered, the ache of longing in his voice. "More than anything." you replied, sliding your hands over his broad shoulders. Your lip quivered, the force of your love for him reflected back twofold in his bottomless eyes.

Loki's hands rested on your hips, pulling you flush against his stomach. There wasn't a sliver of ebbing light between your bodies. At some point, the vibrant orange sunset through the window had faded to a panorama of glittering New York lights. The tails of his shirt floated upwards, resting on the surface. With trembling fingers, you made quick work of the buttons, peeling the arms off to reveal his flawlessly firm alabaster skin. "I love you." you sighed, before Loki kissed you again.

He adjusted you slightly, before the thick tip of his cock nudged against your entrance. Fresh cum from his attentions still clung there; knowing its purpose. "I love you." he said firmly. "Always, I will come back to you.” His warm breath skating up the curve of your cheekbone, before he nuzzled possessively against your temple. “Always." he whispered against the dripping skin.

Dual groans of ragged relief echoed around the swimming pool as he squeezed into your keening heat, dragging against the friction of water. He filled you to the hilt, bottoming out with a careful thrust of his muscular hips. Your back slipped against the side of the pool, the cock impaling you the only thing stopping your body slopping beneath the surface. At some point, he had wrapped your legs around his waist, taking control as you fell apart beneath his touch.

Your back slid up the tile as he fucked you, the slow gyrations of his thrusts making you bounce steadily up and down. Nails dragged down his back, a hiss escaping his parted lips as he shook away inky slathers of hair that clung to his bladed jawline. Sweet murmurs of praise fluttered in the air, chiming with the rhythmic lap of waves against the side. Your fingers gathered Loki’s sodden hair, curls transformed to obsidian lengths that fanned on the water with every squat as he made your world spin. Glittering skyscrapers radiated behind his head, a line appearing and evaporating between his brows as he tried to withhold his moans of pleasure accompanying each slow slap of his hips. He had been undercover for far too long. “Let me hear you Loki…” you whimpered, feeling yourself tighten around him. “I want the whole Tower to know my lover’s home.” He growled, bracing a hand against the edge of the pool beside your shoulder. You heard the crack of porcelain, crunching as he clenched his jaw with a feral rumble. It crumbled beneath his grip, flecks of white plaster descending into the water which had begun to slosh violently around your tight bodies. His forehead pressed against your own, shallow pants becoming ragged and fierce. “F-fuck...darling...jeg er h-hjemme.” His breath caught as he spoke the words. ‘I’m home’, you thought with a gasp as he plunged deeper. Loki’s moans became frantic, primal, loud– every drag of his rigid cock tipping you over the edge a reminder that you were his. Every masculine whimper of pure desire from his lips a reminder that he was yours.

When Loki was gone, you always realised just how much you loved him; his absence draining your world to fading shades of sepia. And when he returned, you felt yourself fall inexplicably in love all over again; in deepest greens and brightest gold. His love consumed you. And each time, deeper.

Tags @gigglingtigger @meowmeow-motherfucker @muddyorbsblr @imalovernotahater @avengersalways @littledark11 @lokikissesmyforehead @simplyholl @fictive-sl0th @loopsisloops @thedistractedagglomeration @loveroflokiforpoeticjustice @123forgottherest @joyful-enchantress @sititran @jaidenhawke @silverfire475 @michelleleewise @vbecker10 @imalovernotahater @thomase1 @morriggannlostinfandoms @marygoddessofmischief @ravenwings73 @xorpsbane @filthyhiddles @peacefulpianist @maple-seed @yelkmelk @wheredafandomat @mistress-ofmagic @five-miles-over @goblingirlsarah @ozymdias @peaches1958 @your-taste-on-my-lips @lokidokieokie @kikster606 @peachyjinx @tbhiddlestan83 @trickster-maiden @mandywholock1980 @lokisninerealms @daggers-and-mischief @sinsandguilt @skymoonandstardust

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moonchildstyles · 2 years ago

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Older h having a business dinner and taking pretty girl and she’s nervous but excited to dress up fancy next to him :( dressed in her nice dress and heels :( and she holds he bicep walking into the restaurant together :(( whispering in his ear asking what the difffernt hors d’oeuvres are :(( and making friends with the other girls there :(( and h is so proud of her his pretty perfect girl :(

wordcount: 6.5k+

—————

Harry pretended as if he wasn't sneaking peeks through the bathroom mirror as he trailed back and forth over the tile, tie hanging limply around his neck as he took his time knotting it. (Y/N) was still perfecting the styling of her hair, a hot tool in hand as she twisted and turned in the mirror, brows knitted in concentration at every angle. The very tip of her tongue stretched out between her lips as she pinched a section of hair between her fingers, tracing the tool over the strands in a careful run.

"Do you need help with that, H?" (Y/N) chirped, dropping the now styled bit of hair as she flicked her gaze to the man pacing behind her.

Her eyes traveled over the set he had donned for the company dinner party he was escorting her to, the same reaction she had given when he first shrugged into the crisp button up and well-tailored pants. The sleek grey lines of his suit were different than the casual blazer combos he tended to prefer when he took her out on more extravagant dates, but the polarity seemed just what was drawing her eye to the way he fiddled about.

"No, I've got it," he told her, biting back his smile, "I jus' keep getting distracted."

It was the way he looked at her that told her exactly what was stealing his attention, leaving (Y/N) to grow flustered as she dropped her gaze in the mirror. "Sorry," she told him, now mimicking the way he had to sink his teeth into his bottom lip to stave off a sheepish smile.

"Don't be sorry," he smiled, finally relenting and finishing the knot of his tie, "'S a good distraction. You're looking very pretty already."

"I'm not even finished yet," she said, placing the hot tool down now that she'd perfected the bits she could spy in the mirror, "I still have to finish my makeup and get dressed."

Trailing his gaze down her hair, Harry spotted a stray section that didn't match the pattern she had created with the hot tool. "Exactly," he smiled, reaching around her for her styling tool of choice while it was still hot, "Y'can only get even prettier from here, which doesn't seem possible, but y'prove me wrong every time."

"What are you doing?" she asked, following his hands as he took the styling tool behind her back.

"Jus' missed a piece," he mumbled, pinching the section in question. After all the times he'd seen her do the same thing to her hair, it wasn't hard to figure out how to operate the tool as he went in careful, timed runs over the pieces. "Have y'picked out your dress yet?" he asked her, distracted some as he worked.

"Huh?"

Harry had to bite back his laugh at her response. He flicked his gaze up to match hers in the mirror while he continued his work on her hair. "Your dress. I know y'were between those two, have y'decided yet?"

"Oh, sorry," she said, blinking harshly as if to regain her attention from where she began daydreaming with him in the rearview. "I haven't picked yet, no. I need to before I do my makeup, though, but I just don't know."

Pursing his lips, Harry combed through her hair with his fingers as he searched for any other stray strands. "What's making it hard to decide?"

"I don't know," she mused, staying still with the help of his hand on her shoulder as he reached for a tucked away section at the back of her neck, "I don't—Neither of them... I don't know."

Finished with his impromptu styling session, Harry replaced the hot tool on the counter before unplugging the cord. Looking to her face, he noticed too much apprehension there to be the same girl that he had woken up beside this morning. He didn't like seeing her flounder for her words like that or pluck at the stray string on her bathrobe (it was his, really, but she was borrowing it).

"What's the matter, hm?" he crooned, dropping his arms to loop around her waist with his chin carefully tucking into her neck.

"Nothing."

All it took was a look with a raised brow to get her to reform her answer.

"Those dresses," she started with a sigh, "I usually wear those to work things—interning fairs, or interviews, or whatever professional stuff I have to look nice for. I don't really... like them that much but I don't want to look so young compared to everything there. Especially with what happened the last time I went to your office."

Harry sighed, pouting now that he heard the cause of her nerves. It wasn't a surprise to hear this, but he had figured since she hadn't voiced any of these concerns prior, not even as recently as this afternoon, that she had been lucky to skip over it. But, picturing the dressed laid out on his bed, he remembered thinking they did look out of place in his pretty girl's wardrobe, the kind of garments she wouldn't hold to the front of her closet unless she felt the occasion called for a peplum waist or a pencil skirt.

"Pretty," he crooned, using his grip on her waist to turn her in his arms until he could get a good look at her without the help of a reflection. "Y'don't want to wear either of those?"

"Not really, but—"

He shook his head as soon as he heard her conjunction. "Then y'don't have to wear either of them, okay? Don't worry about what anyone else will be wearing, or thinking, or anything. I want y'to feel comfortable and pretty. That's all that matters."

"But, last time—"

"Remember what we talked about with that? That they don't matter, because we love one another and we don't care about any of that?" It still stung a bit to talk about what happened the last time she got in her head about what their age gap meant, but he knew it was the only way to reference how easy it was to let go of those concerns.

"I know," she peeked up at him through the fan of her lashes, "I'm scared, though."

"What are y'scared of, sweetheart?" he prodded, his hands dropping to her hips to give a reassuring squeeze to the doughy fullness.

She shook her head, dropping her gaze to where the knot of his tie was slightly crooked. (Y/N) busied her nervous hands by loosening the length of fabric and retying his off-kilter not. "I don't want anyone to be mean to me—or us. I want them to like me."

Harry pet one of his hands down the length of her back, using the spread of his palm to hold her closer to his chest as she worked on his tie. "No one is going to be mean to you, lovely. I promise. 'M going to be there the whole time, and there's no reason for anyone to say anything like that to you, again. I wouldn't take y'somewhere where I thought y'wouldn't have fun or be happy."

"I know," she murmured, her fingers slowing as she threaded the folds of fabric together.

"Then, trust me, pretty. I've got you. You and me, right?"

A delicate smile touched at her features at his words. "Yeah. You and me."

He didn't hesitate to then cradle her cheeks in his hands, tipping her head up just so that he could seal his lips over hers. The contact was sweet, affectionate in the way he carefully held her with the melt of his lips over her pout. Drawing away only to nudge the tip of his nose against hers in a puppy's kiss had (Y/N) smiling up again, bright and lovely as the way he woke with her.

"C'mon," he beckoned her, walking her back to his bedroom with guiding steps, "We've got to pick out a dress for you, right?"

"Okay," she sighed dreamily up to him, hesitating before spinning around in his arms and holding her hand in his. She skated her gaze completely over the dresses laid out on his bed, the professional garments he was going to find a way to shove to the back of her closet now that he knew the intention behind picking them out in the first place. Just before she led him to cross the threshold of his wardrobe with her, (Y/N) perked up with a bounce in her step. She dropped his hand only to turn on her heel towards him. "You still have that white dress you got me a couple of weeks ago here, right?"

"Should be somewhere back there, I think," Harry pointed out, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips at the excitement returning to her.

"You don't think it's too much, right?" she asked, pulling the hanger from the rod to show off the gown he'd purchased on her behalf weeks prior.

The cowl neckline of the dress made way for the sleeves to drop down, the bands of fabric aiming to drape over the mid of her bicep. Clean, white runs of fabric made up the cinched bodice before the line hit her hips, flaring into something looser to follow the line of her legs. The effect would give the skirt a flourish with every step she made. Harry's favorite bit about the whole piece, was the slit that ran over one side, high enough he could already imagine the length of thigh that would be unveiled.

"Y'feel pretty in it? Like yourself?" he questioned, leaning against the doorjamb as he gazed at her.

It was immediate the way she gave him a shy smile, nodding her head.

"Then it's perfect."

—————

"One more kiss before we go?"

(Y/N)'s pleading was unwarranted, Harry having already been leaning over the center console the second he heard the word kiss fall from her lips. After getting her dressed up and being her second in command while she finished her makeup, the drive over had been full of his pretty girl singing along to whatever song she had plugged into his speakers. Watching the way she blossomed into herself the second she settled into her skin instead of trying to navigate her way into something more 'professional' had made his heart ache. There was no need to beg for a kiss when she had him moments away from falling to his knees in worship.

Fitting his hand around the back of her neck, he pressed his lips to hers in an adoring kiss. The slip of her lip gloss pillowed over his own mouth, the scent of raspberries and sugar lingering in her kiss. Given the fact the gala had started a half an hour ago and Harry was an executive who should be there to make the rounds and greet everyone, there wasn't much time to spend making out in his car despite how much he may have wanted to.

Giving her one more peck against her pout, Harry pulled away with a small smile on his lips.

"Ready?" he murmured, forcing himself to keep from being drawn in by the sheen of glitter covering her eyelids.

"Ye—Wait," she cut herself off, a pinch returning to the middle of her brows as she gazed down at his lips. Cradling his cheeks in her hands, she used the pads of her thumbs to carefully trace over his mouth. She worked diligently, not even skipping a beat when he broke into a smile at her actions. Once she was finished, she raised her fingers up for him to catch the sweet, sheer raspberry hue that had transferred from her lips to his own, glitter and all. "There—now we're ready," she said, using a discarded napkin from the glove compartment to clean her hands.

"Thank you, pretty," he told her, resisting the urge to smooth a kiss over her lips once more. He wouldn't have minded having her raspberry kiss on his lips for all to see, but he knew she was trying to make a good impression on his colleagues. He'd get those kisses later, anyway.

After opening her door for her and ensuring she stayed upright on the teetering heels she was test-running for the first time that night (something he advised against, knowing her feet were going to be beyond sore by the end of the party), Harry offered her his arm. He watched as a bright smile bloomed on her features—just the reaction he had hoped for.

"Thank you," she peeped, threading her hand around the bulk of his muscle with her delicate hold.

He only dropped a kiss to the top of her head in response.

Harry escorted her through the private parking garage that was offered to the associates of his company, leading to a pair of grandiose double doors that were flanked with venue workers wearing white gloves. The venue was a new one for this year's party, seeing as how the company had grown exponentially in the past year and a half. While the occasions were usually sprawling and extravagant, this one was especially so. The heightened dress code came as a request from the head of the company after having picked out the venue, wanting to match the ambiance of the crystalline chandeliers that hung over their heads after stepping over the threshold.

(Y/N) stumbled in her steps beside him as she craned her neck to catch every detail of the space around them. "You always have parties here?" she asked in a hushed whisper, aware of the concierge escorting them to the hall where the gala was taking place.

"Never here before, but usually fancy enough," he mumbled back, a quiet smile on his features as he watched her, "'S pretty, right?"

"So pretty. Now I don't feel so overdressed."

As soon as the set of doors housing the party were pushed open with a polite "Have a wonderful night" from their attendant, (Y/N) could feel her eyes widen at what lay before her. Harry had told her it was one of the more important occasions for the company when he had invited her, and she knew there was a dress code in place to ensure that everyone lived up to the ambiance of the space, but she couldn't have expected something like this.

Maybe it was because she was so used to sticky-floored bars, sweaty clubs, and rowdy frat houses, but there was no way she could have ever dreamt up the idea of her attending a party at a place like this. Those same chandeliers she had been entranced by out in the halls were now stationed on cords above their heads, twinkling like stars with every string of glass gently swaying to a song no one else could hear. Waiters in black tie were going around with trays of hors d'oeuvres and flutes with bubbling champagne. Rounded dinner tables were dotted around the space in wait of the coursed meal that was to be brought out later along with a string of speeches by executives of the company (Harry had opted out, not one for public speaking at this scale). Everything was elegant down to the lacquered woods under their feet, to the centerpieces adorning the tables, and the twinkling music playing through the discreet speakers packed into the space.

"Want a drink?" he asked with his head ducked down to her ear, "Or do y'want to meet people first?"

"Drink first," she answered automatically, hand tightening around his arm. While many of her nerves had been quelled by the help of her man, there was still some tickling the back of her mind at the sight of so many people with expectations of her slated in the room.

"Alright," he laughed, guiding her towards the set of tables stationed around the space, "Lets get y'settled in and then I'll get y'something to drink, okay?"

"Thank you," she murmured, following him as he scanned over the space.

Cards were placed all around the tables, set in front of each chair with a name scripted through as a seating chart. (Y/N) followed along as he beelined towards one of the front most tables, closest to the raised stage that would house the speeches for the night. It was there she found a card with Harry Styles scrawled in elegant, gilded script. For the seat just beside him was a card with her own name on it. She was definitely taking both of those home in her purse before they left.

"Wait right here for me, alright?" he asked her, pulling out her chair at the empty table, "What did y'want from the bar?"

"What do they have?"

"Probably wine and champagne mostly. Do y'want me to check if they have anything mixed?"

(Y/N) shook her head at his offer, not wanting to cause any more work for him. "Do you think they have a prosecco?" she asked as she pulled her purse from her shoulder, the bag being settled in her lap.

"I'm sure they do," he smiled at her, knowing that it was him who had introduced her to the drink, "The sweetest one they've got, right?"

"Yes, please."

"You've got it, sweetheart," he beamed, dimples deep before he dropped his head to press a delicate kiss to the top of her head, "I'll be right back."

With that, he was off in search of the bar that was pouring up each of the delicate flutes of alcohol. (Y/N) allowed her gaze to trail over the space, spotting the small groups and couplings chatting away. Seeing the dresses and gowns adorning the other women in attendance, she was relieved Harry had convinced her to stray from the business ready garments she'd condemned herself to. She was perfectly dressed within the realm of what the others were wearing, if not on the tamer side given the piles of tulle and crystals seated around.

On instinct, she pulled out her phone after a few moments, undoing the clasp of her bag to field the notifications dotting her screen. Just as she began scrolling through the groupchat of her next group presentation, the sound of someone pulling out the chair beside her had her gaze flicking upwards.

A man she didn't recognize had taken Harry's carded spot, light brown eyes gleaming at her with a styled coif of blonde hair on his head. His teeth seemed too white to be natural as he smiled at her, leaning his chin on his fist as he immediately got comfortable beside her.

"Hi, how are you?" he smoothly started, catching (Y/N) off guard with the familiarity he was treating her with right away.

"I'm doing well, thank you," she offered politely, "Um—I'm sorry, but who—"

"Right, I'm sorry," he laughed off with a shake of his head, the gel in his hair glittering in the light, "I should have started with that, I think I just got distracted. I'm Charlie, Denise's brother."

"Oh," (Y/N) sounded, not knowing who Denise was but not really caring to find out through this guy, "Nice to meet you, Charlie. I'm (Y/N)."

"Nice to meet you," he beamed at her, reaching out to catch one of her hands in a gentle shake. (Y/N) slipped her hand away when she swore she could see him thinking about pressing a kiss to it. "Do you work with my sister?"

"No, I don't," she disclosed, looking out in the direction she thought the bar had been in, "I'm actually here as a plus one."

"Oh, really? Who are you with?"

A static shift was felt behind her then, like the feeling of someone entering a room that hadn't been there prior. "She's with me," Harry answered, a stern edge to his tone. A gentle hand settled on her shoulder then, palm warm against her skin as Harry ducked down with a decidedly more gentle look on his face. "Got the sweetest one they had, love. Let me know if y'want something else," he told her as he passed the wine glass off, pressing a delicate kiss to the apple of her cheek despite the prying eyes trained on them.

"Mr. Styles, I didn't know you were coming tonight," Charlie bleated, standing from his chair with a less than confident aura he started with.

"I didn't know you were coming either, Charlie."

(Y/N) had to tuck her smile away behind the rim of her glass at the sound of Harry's voice. If she didn't know any better, she wouldn't have detected anything but measured pleasantness, but she could hear the lilt in his voice as he spat out Charlie's name.

Charlie awkwardly toed at the ground for a moment, making a point to miss Harry's eye contact before he dropped his gaze down to (Y/N). "It was nice to meet you, (Y/N)."

Before she could offer any kind of response, he was bolting away. (Y/N) didn't bother to figure out where he was going before she twisted in her spot with a crane of her neck to face Harry. "What was that about, huh?"

Harry rolled his eyes, taking his rightful spot beside her now that it was vacant. "We told Denise he wasn't invited. He always starts trouble, and harasses anyone he deems pretty enough to hit on."

"Why was he so scared of you?" (Y/N) laughed out, remembering the way Charlie's eyes all but bugged out of his head at the sight of her boyfriend. She knew he could be intimidating, but it was hard to picture her teddybear boyfriend as anything scary—at least to her.

"I brought m'sister one time, and he would not leave her alone until I had to scream at him outside. Denise said he was crying on the way home about how mean I am." He couldn't resist another roll of his eyes but (Y/N) could see amusement edging the annoyance.

To be fair, if he had been bothering Gemma enough for her to need her brother's help, (Y/N) was more than sure that Charlie deserved the lashing Harry gave him.

"Anyway," he started after taking a sip of his darker liquor, "Your drink alright?"

(Y/N) happily nodded after her own drink, the bubbles sweet and peach-scented as they popped through her system. "It's perfect. Thank you, H."

"Of course, sweetheart," he smiled, petting a hand over her hair in lieu of drawing her in for a kiss like usual, "Ready to meet some people then? I promise they're not all like Charlie."

"I think so," she settled, pinching the stem of her glass as a lifeline as she followed to stand beside Harry.

"We'll only really talk to m'favorites, alright?" he whispered to her, offering his arm up once more to escort her through the hall, "Gotta introduce y'to everyone to be nice, but after that we'll ditch them and we only have to talk to m'friends."

(Y/N) let out a small laugh at the mention of his plan. It was nice to know that he didn't expect her to be best friends with everyone here, either.

"Harry, you made it!" a chipper voice caught (Y/N)'s attention.

A man with dark hair and a matching stubble gave her boyfriend a bright smile, beckoning him over to the small group that had been forming just off to the other side of the stage. A blonde woman dressed in a deep green gown was at his side, along with a few other people who looked just as happy to see Harry. He slipped his arm out of her reach just long enough to shake hands and hug the group they joined. (Y/N) took the opportunity to gulp down half of her prosecco.

She absently noted the small talk that started up between he and his colleagues before he made a pointed step back to join her ranks once more. Instead of the offered arm he'd been giving her all night, he carefully wrapped it around her waist with her being tucked into his side.

"Everyone, this is (Y/N)," he introduced her with a bright smile, dimples and all, "(Y/N), this is Jeff, his wife Glenne, Ben, Jenny, and Alexa." Harry made the round, pointing out each face to go with the name offered. She hoped she would be able to remember these people at least, this being the group that Harry seemed to like the most.

"Hi," she offered, a wave of her hand accompanying the gesture. She suddenly felt shy under everyone's attention, unsure of what she could say that could be interesting to this group of people.

"It's nice to finally meet you," Jeff's wife perked up, stepping away from her husband with an offered hand to shake, "He talks about you all the time."

(Y/N) couldn't stop the bright smile that ticked up her lips. "Really?" she asked, craning her neck to look up at her boyfriend who only shook his head with a lopsided smile.

"Constantly," Jeff chirped, elbowing Harry with a prodding grin, "He's been very nervous about tonight, haven't you, H?"

"Alright, I thought we would do this later, at least," Harry shook his head, "I haven't even finished m'drink."

"I'm sure you will soon enough—if you plan on having a replay of last year, anyway," the woman (Y/N) is halfway sure was named Alexa piped up, a dark brow raised over her glimmering eyes.

"Alexa," Harry warned, the threat coming out like a cloud with the grit that was lost through his smile, "We're not telling those stories, yet."

"What stories?" (Y/N) perked up, looking to Harry whose cheeks began to burn red.

"He hasn't told you?" Jeff laughed out, "Harry, I can't believe you haven't told her any of that."

Standing in the middle of Harry interacting with his friends, listening in as he shared jokes with her that she was sure he'd rather had been kept hidden, (Y/N) felt any unease that had followed her there begin to melt. How was she supposed to be worried about what they would think of her dress, or nails, or hair when this small group of people was already so excited to meet her and share the best parts of Harry with her.

Hopefully they were sat at their table, too.

—————

"Does anything look good, love?"

Harry's arm wrapped around her shoulder squeezed just enough as he peeked at the desert menu clutched in her hands. He had been kind enough to order for her with every course of their main meal, even with his colleagues seated around them, leaving her to pick out one of the deserts for herself. The confections were being carted around on trays much like the appetizers earlier, but (Y/N) had a hard time catching where any of the waiters had wandered off to after the ending of the dinner speeches.

"The strawberry shortcake looks good, but I don't know where anyone is," she told him, her chances of spotting the desert slimming even more as guests began to mingle again, leaving the safety of their tables. Even their table had vacated some after the last speech had been given and plates were cleared away (unfortunately, Harry's friends had been scattered all over the hall, leaving (Y/N) to do another round of introductions and much less fun small talk).

"I can find it for you, if y'want," he murmured to her, taking advantage of the growing privacy now that they were the only two at the table as he pressed a kiss to her cheek.

"Are you sure?" she asked, looking up at him through the fan of her lashes, "We can share if you want, so you're not just getting up for me again."

"Don't worry about that, sweetheart, okay? 'M jus' happy you're having a good time, I don't mind getting up for you," he told her, sweetened words wrapping around her as she warmed under his attention.

"Get something for yourself too then, while you're up," she told him, something edging on stern flicking to her tone, "Please, H?"

"Alright, alright," he faux-sighed, relenting into her request as if she were asking the world of him, "I'll get the brownie, (Y/N), jeez."

"Stop, don't be mean," she laughed, leaning into him, "I want you to have fun, too."

"I am, I am, promise," he murmured to her, drawing close enough to steal her breath.

A gentle brush of the tip of his nose against hers had a small smile touching at her features before Harry's own mouth melted into a kiss against hers. This was the first real kiss they'd shared since walking into the hall, leaving (Y/N) wilting into the contact after what felt like days without his affection. It wasn't until moments like these that she realized just how much she loved kissing him, even if it was juvenile the way they locked themselves in his bedroom just to makeout.

"I'll be right back," he mumbled into her kiss before giving her one last parting peck.

(Y/N) would never admit to the dreamy sigh that left her lips as she watched him walk away, heart full for him.

Left alone at the table with none of Harry's familiar friends in sight, (Y/N) instinctively began puttering through her purse for her phone. But, she didn't get very far before someone stole the chair beside her (not Harry's, at least). Unlike the blonde head of hair she feared had made his way back to her, (Y/N) was greeted with a woman dressed in a white dress, long dark hair down her back with matching dark eyes. A bright streak of red painted her smiling lips as she took her in.

"You're Harry's date, right?" she started off, pleasant smile on her features that matched her voice.

"I'm his girlfriend, yeah," (Y/N) elaborated, her hands in her lap fiddling with the case on her phone.

"I'm Kaeleen. I work in Harry's division," she offered, tone bubbly as she reached out a hand to shake, "I love your dress, by the way."

"Oh, wow, thank you," (Y/N) beamed, easing some at the compliment, "I was just going to tell you the same thing. We kind of match with the white and all."

"That's what I was thinking! Even with our nails and everything," Kaeleen smiled, perking up in her seat before settling with her chin in her hands, glittery eyes trained in (Y/N)'s direction. "You and Harry are really sweet together, by the way, if you don't mind me saying."

"No, I don't mind, thank you." The praise was getting to (Y/N) with her stretched grin and happy heart. "I'll have to tell him you said that. He's been trying really hard to make sure I'm having a good time tonight, so I think he'll be happy to hear that."

"Since he's my boss, I only see him serious a lot of the time," she continued animatedly, "He's not mean or anything, but there's that line, you know? None of us have ever really seen him so... relaxed before. It's really nice."

"He can be pretty reserved, yeah," (Y/N) nodded, thinking about her man and his tendencies to grow a little shy at times, "But that makes me happy he seems relaxed around me, thank you."

"Of course," Kaeleen offered, scanning her gaze along the room, "Have you gotten to meet anyone else tonight?"

"Mostly Harry's colleagues, like Jeff and Alexa and everyone," she prattled, trying to spot familiar faces hoping that their names would come to her, "And a few other people, but we've mostly kept to ourselves."

"Have you met Charlie?" The scrunched look on Kaeleen's face told (Y/N) she had a similar story hiding underneath her question.

"Unfortunately, yes."

Kaeleen let out a bodied laugh. "Did he come onto you too?" she asked after she brought herself down.

"As soon as I walked in. Harry was getting me a drink and I guess that was just me begging for company," (Y/N) rolled her eyes, happy to have found a common ground with her.

"He's the worst," Kaeleen agreed, tossing a layer of dark hair over her golden shoulder, "Have you met any of the other execs?"

"I don't think so?" she mused, "But, I'm really bad with names, so I might have but forgot already."

"Well I hope you haven't, because Harry's one of the only nice ones, pretty much."

"Really?"

Kaeleen only nodded her head as if she had a plethora just under the surface. "You should come sit with me and some of the other ladies," she bubbled, gesturing behind her to one of the round tables packed with chairs stolen from other arrangements to seat all of the women chattering away, "We've all been hoping we could get a chance to talk to you. I can tell you all the gossip about the office, too."

(Y/N) couldn't help the bright smile on her features. Maybe it was silly, but the offer had her grinning large enough creases appeared around her eyes and she could feel the way her skin warmed at her cheeks. "Really?"

"Of course!" Kaeleen beamed, "If you're alright with leaving Harry for a little while, I'll save a seat for you and everything."

Just then, the man in question made his reappearance in the form of a gentle hand on her shoulder, rings and painted nails catching the corner of her eye. (Y/N) looked up towards him as he placed her plated desert in front of her. "H?"

He didn't hesitate before he was dipping his head to be level with her glossy lips. "Hm?"

"I—I think I'm going to go sit with some of the girls, if that's alright?" she murmured to him, unable to bite back her smile.

"Of course, it is, sweetheart." He gave her a curl of his lips that matched her own, something proud edging beside his dimples. "I'll go sit with Jeff and everyone then, alright? Y'have fun, pretty. Y'come get me when you're ready to go."

"Okay," she quietly chirped, "Love you."

"I love you, too, pretty girl."

She couldn't help herself before a kiss was pressed to the warmth of his cheek, his smile stretching under her lips as he lent into the contact.

(Y/N) felt his eyes on her as she followed Kaeleen with her plate of strawberry shortcake in hand. Looking over her shoulder, she saw him looking at her with hearts in his eyes and her raspberry kiss on his cheek. She was sure her pupils had turned into hearts at the sight.

Tonight was a good night.

—————

"Harry, stop moving," (Y/N) laughed out, pulling her pink clay covered fingers away from his face as he couldn't stop squirming.

"But, 's cold," he whined, sounding just as petulant as he was acting.

"So? I got my mask on and it was just as cold," she scolded him, her tone losing all authority as it slipped through her smile, "I'm almost done, anyway. Just stay still for a second."

Taking a deep breath, Harry flexed an attitude as he settled with a huffed fine before pouting his lips. She only shook her head, using the pads of her fingers to spread the clay face mask over his skin.

They'd only been back at Harry's place for twenty minutes, but (Y/N) had worked quick to get out of her dress and wipe her face clean of makeup. Now, clad in one of Harry's shirts and a pair of underwear, styled hair thrown atop her head, she had wanted to do something to soothe her skin after the long night with a full face of makeup. It didn't take much for Harry to relent to joining in with her, settling on the closed toilet lid as she fished out the trio of jars holding face masks she wanted to play with for the night. She had gone first, explaining to Harry what each mixture did for her skin and where she planned on putting it on his face. He had been so sweet and patient listening to her, but the second she stood between his legs and started on his own mask, that had gone out the window.

Harry braced himself with his hands on either of her thighs, fingertips denting her flesh as he tipped his head up towards her. His dramatics quelled some as she began to spread the mask over his nose, following the bridge up to his forehead. She was only halfway aware of the flutter of his eyes opening as she worked, the fan of his lashes extending up to his brows as he looked up at her with glittery irises.

His hand on her thigh trailed up the curve of her side, following the dip of her waist through the fabric of her borrowed shirt. He stopped only when he found the slope of her neck, fingers fitting themselves around the back. She knew exactly what was on his mind when he held her like that.

"Harry," she warned, not stopping her work of spreading the cool clay across his skin.

"What? 'M not doing anything."

"We can't kiss with these on. It'll make a mess."

Harry only shrugged. "Don't think it'd make any more of a mess than we already are. I mean you're painting m'forehead blue."

"But—"

"Please, pretty girl. I've barely got to kiss you all night, 's not fair."

Finally, she removed her hands from his face, still caked in clay. She got a clear view of the same eyes she could feel watching her as she interacted with Kaeleen and the other ladies of the company, always ensuring she was still having a good time and never looking away even when she caught him. It really wasn't fair, was it? For her or for him.

Besides, if she wanted to kiss him, she had to do so now before the clay could dry and make this a much harder to execute.

"Only for a second, though, okay?" she conditioned, relenting as she ducked down to match his gaze.

"Only a second, love, you've got it," Harry murmured, already sounding as if he was discarding her request as he used the leverage of his hand on her neck to guide her down to him.

Harry smoothed his lips over hers in a gentle press, fitting his bottom lip between her two as he nudged the tip of her nose with his own. The soft sounds of their lips separating sounded in the quiet bathroom as the gentle peck turned into more with the way he tipped his head just right to split her lips open. As firm as she wanted to be in that moment, (Y/N) didn't do anything but surrender to his kiss, only keeping her hands to herself with the knowledge there was colored clay painting her fingers.

It wasn't until she drew away to catch her breath, having to catch Harry before he trailed down her neck with the mess of the face mask following, that she could feel the cold clay on her mouth. Fluttering her eyes open, she was greeted with the sight of Harry's acutely applied mask now ruined with stray streaks of pink and blue running to the corners of his mouth, green that she knew had been on her nose now dotting his bridge.

"Oh my god," she laughed, bringing her hand up to hover over her mouth as a laugh escaped.

The craters of his dimples could be seen through his mask, a matching laugh falling from his lips as he figured what she was giggling over. "I look like you right now, don't I?"

"Probably," she breathed out on another peal of laugher, noting the way they somehow had managed to trail the clay down his neck. Maybe she hadn't been as careful with her hands as she had thought.

Giving a nonchalant shrug, Harry drew her back down to him with his hand still fit behind her neck. "I don't care," he told her, drawing her in for another kiss that had (Y/N) immediately captivated.

Though she hadn't caught a glimpse, she was sure her face was a mess, the process of getting the clay off now more complicated with the layers. But, as Harry said, she didn't really care.

Tonight had been a really good night, and this was more than worth it.

—————

thank you s much to everyone who sent in ideas and concepts when I needed them!! I tried to fit in as much as I could while still having everything make sense so I hope you enjoy!! thank you for reading and to everyone who requested, sorry for mistakes and if you have any ideas and requests of your own please send them in!

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denkidere · 4 months ago

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unwind

nanami x reader

1.3k words

drunk sex, submissive nanami, oral (reader receiving), overstimulation (if you squint)

nanami comes home from a work dinner (really, a work drinking event) with you on his mind.

nanami coming home late was nothing out of the ordinary. it wasn't strange, either, for him to stumble in, drunk out of his mind, bruised or bloodied from falling down on his way home. you always wished he would at least call and ask you to walk back with him, but on the worst nights it seemed like he was hardly able to operate his phone. getting onto him about it was useless; he always insisted that you just didn't get it, and you supposed that much was true. if you weren't already awake, his fumbling with keys or ramming into furniture usually woke you, drawing you out of bed to help him half undress and ice his bumps and bruises, feeding him aspirin and sips of water in a weak attempt to stave off an inevitable hangover. the times that you didn't wake, you would find him in the morning slumped awkwardly in the chair or draped across the couch like a tarp, half-scuffed dress shoes still on his feet. the apparent encouragement from his superiors and colleagues to drink himself into a stupor always slightly disturbed you, but you were both helpless to change it.

that night, you had been on the verge of sleep, pulled out of it by the helpless scrape of nanami's keys against all the wrong parts of the door. the curses under his breath came to an abrupt stop as you unlocked and opened the door for him, blinking in your pajamas (or, rather, underwear and one of his retired work shirts). his expression turned from frustration to admiration as he processed what he was looking at, stepping into the apartment haphazardly. "babe," he breathed, smelling of sake and cigar smoke, "you have no idea.. no idea how good it is you're awake." he planted his hands on your shoulders, wobbling slightly.

"you need to sit, nanami. i'll get you a drink," you said softly, trying to herd him towards the recliner. he shook his head slowly as you helped him sit, grasping at your forearms desperately.

"no, i'm okay, i'm okay, i don't need that yet," he insisted, grip tightening a bit. "need something else, babe." his eyes were tired but pleading.

"what do you mean, something else? it's late, nanami," you mumbled, freeing yourself to go hunt down the aspirin. he whined, the chair squeaking as he leaned back in defeat. you made quick work of filling his glass, afraid as usual of him passing out in the living room before you could get him to drink anything. that time, though, you didn't hear the telltale slowing of his breath over the running tap. aspirin and water in hand, you sped back to the living room, hardly noticing the noises coming from nanami's mouth. you paused at the edge of the carpet, eyes finally falling on him. his pants had been unzipped and pushed down, sure to wrinkle and crease, tie loose around his neck, eyes half-lidded as he palmed himself through his underwear. his sleepy smile returned when he noticed you, not pausing his movements for even a second.

"need you," he mumbled, free hand struggling with the buttons of his shirt halfheartedly. "please, sweetheart, i can't think." you moved towards him slowly, heartbeat quickening. nanami, always in starched whites and polished cuff links, always rational and put-together, was disheveled, drunk, and begging for you. standing above him, you sat the water on an end table, taking his face in one hand.

"aspirin first, okay?" you cooed, easing his mouth open with your thumb, pressing the small pill onto his tongue. he reached blindly beside him for the water, eager to swallow if it meant you would oblige. "good," you said softly, releasing him. "now, what do you need from me, nanami?" his eyes widened, mouth still slightly open.

"ah, anything, just please," he whimpered, eyes pleading. you considered asking teasingly for specifics, but he seemed to already be at his wit's end. dutifully, you sank to your knees before him, hands resting on his thighs lightly. without a trace of hesitation, he spread his legs enough to let you in closer, pulling himself out for you. he was panting before you had even touched him, twitching as soon as you had him in your mouth. his hands gripped the arms of the chair, knuckles turning white. he groaned, looking down at you with needy eyes. he freed one hand, placing it on your jaw, thumb caressing your cheek. you traced a long vein with your tongue. suddenly he gave your face a gentle shove, pulling his dick out of your mouth with a small pop. "babe, s-stop, no more," nanami panted.

"not enough?" you teased, pumping him slowly with a hand instead. he gave his head another slow shake, drawing in a shaky breath.

"i need more," he managed to say, placing a hand on your head as he rose to his feet. "so good, but i need to fuck you." he helped you up, nearly falling over himself, and spun you around, bending you gently into the chair. "you look so nice," he mumbled, admiring how his shirt draped over your frame. hastily, he shoved your underwear down, jutting against you eagerly. "so sweet to me. did you want me, sweetheart?" he asked, continuing to tease you. "already so wet, hm?" you could only respond with a small moan.

you gasped as he bucked into you, his hands gripping your hips. his breath was hot on your neck, muttering about how tight you were around him, how badly he needed you, how he couldn't stop thinking about fucking you at his dreadful work dinner. you grasped at the fabric of the chair, unable to speak. one of nanami's hands found itself at your chest, squeezing roughly. you had been so eager to please him that you had both failed to worry about protection. unlike most times, you could feel the vein your tongue had traced. you felt him twitch inside you, his thrusts getting erratic.

"baby," he breathed, "i'm so close, i'm gonna cum in you, okay?" he kept up his pace, but his voice remained steady. "i'll clean you up, okay, don't worry. so close," he murmured again. you felt him release, his groan delivered into your back. as he pulled gently out of you, you turned around again, curling up in the chair. he settled onto the floor to catch his breath, reaching for the water again.

"what were you saying about cleaning me up, nanami?" you purred, looking down at him. he had made quite a mess; you were afraid the chair might stain. the drunken smile made its way back to his face. he discarded the water again, crawling over to you. he placed a large hand on one thigh, pushing it to the side. nanami leaned in, placing a sloppy kiss at the innermost part of your thigh.

"you know how i am, darling. i don't like to make messes, and i have to finish what i start." his breath tickled you, making you squirm. your hand flew to his hair impatiently, which was already falling out of its style, burying his face in the wet mess. he wasted no time, lapping at it hungrily, drawing squeaks and moans out of you as he licked higher and higher. you grasped harder, tugging his his hair gently.

"nanami," you gasped, eyes screwed shut as he sucked and nipped at you, pressing hot kisses into your clit. his hands squeezed at your legs. already, you felt close, but he was unrelenting.

"not done yet," he whispered into you. your legs squeezed around him as you came roughly, fingers knotting into his hair. he drew a whine out of you with his refusal to stop, his chiseled face already doused.

"please, nanamin, no more," you managed to squeak, finally pulling his head out from between your legs. he looked up at you with sleepy eyes, dazed. "you did so good, handsome," you praised, but he had already slumped into the carpet, dozing off.

#nanami x reader #nanami smut #nanami ✭

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sunlightmurdock · 2 years ago

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Operation Apollo | 2.3 | Jake Seresin x Reader

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

Synopsis: After a threat is made against her life, the President’s grown up daughter gets her security tripled. Her long term detail is about to retire and needs replacing, only — she isn’t the easiest to work with. Ex-Navy and current Secret Service, Jake Seresin is devoted to being the best at everything he does. He isn’t going to let a bratty little girl cost him this job.

Warnings: age gap, power imbalance, enemies to lovers, danger and angst, guns, serious injury, mentions of potential character death

…

“Don’t touch me.” Your voice is dry, hoarse. Worn out from crying and screaming, breaking your hurt and cursing his name. Jake presses his tongue softly to the inside of his cheek, setting his hands in his lap, staring at a cigarette burn on the window ledge.

You’re sitting in the bay window of Allen’s youngest daughter’s room, head leaned back against the wall behind you, your heart aching. It’s raining tonight, which seems fitting. A peaceful and sunny afternoon, washed away by the events of this evening. Allen had mown the lawn earlier. It still smells of wet grass and fresh air.

Jake cracked the window a while ago to see if it would get your breathing back in check. He glances towards it now, and back at you, wondering if he should shut it before you get too cold.

Out of your dress and wrapped up in more of Allen’s daughter’s hand-me-downs, you should probably be trying to sleep. There’s no way you’ll be able to.

“I need you to know that I did everything that I could to stop it from happening.” Jake says quietly, his tie has been discarded and his jacket is downstairs on the back of an arm chair. He sits beside you now, a white shirt with a blood-stained collar and circles under his eyes.

He should be letting you sleep, Allen told him to just give you some space. He couldn’t. Even with what you had said to him, he can’t leave you like this.

“You didn’t fucking tell me.” You answer immediately. Jake closes his eyes. Exhausted, you close your eyes and grit your teeth, certain that you must be out of tears by now.

“I know,” He nods slowly. “I believed what they said — that you would be safer if you didn’t know. It wasn’t supposed to go like this, this wasn’t what they told me —“

It all feels so obvious now. Jake hates this feeling — perspective, wondering if he is a fucking idiot for not seeing it coming all along. Copper on his tongue, his ears are still ringing, and his heart is beating so fast that he can hear it.

“What did they tell you? - What was supposed to happen?” You interrupt him this time, growing tired of his excuses. You pull your knees up to your chest, drawing further from him.

Allen’s place is cozier than you were expecting. A real family home, just as warm as Jake’s. Even the clothes feel softer. You haven’t been left alone once since you got here. Allen’s wife sat with you for forty minutes, coaxing you out of your dress and into warmer clothes, washing the blood gentle from your skin with a warm washcloth.

The dull ache, the violent envy that you have always pushed to the back of your mind, it sits in your very core and threatens to consume every smiling family portrait in this home.

Jake stares at the ground, fidgeting with his hands. He can’t look at you to say it. There’s no justifying it. He wants to touch you. To graze his palm against your ankle and make you understand. He doesn’t even understand it. He knew that it was wrong and he let you walk in there.

You just can’t stop thinking about every opportunity that he must have had to warn you. Your mind goes back to the last time that you were in D.C with him. Sitting in the bathtub with your back to his chest, telling him how terrified you were.

The thought crosses your mind that he must have known. He must have remembered that conversation in the bathtub too, remembered holding you and promising you that he was going to protect you. Bullshit. Anger bubbles in your stomach, watching him stall.

“It… I was told that it was a kidnapping plot. But we had a plan, we — I — I wasn’t going to let anything-“

“Oh my god,” Nausea rising in your core, you stand up a little too quickly and ignore the head rush and black spots in your vision as you stumble back. Jake stands with you, brows knitting together as you bump into the bed frame behind you. “You son of a bitch!”

You reach behind you, for something, anything that will work as a projectile. A stuffed animal first, it hits his shoulder and falls to the ground. Then, a pen holder filled with colourful markers on the nightstand.

Manny glances up at the ceiling as a loud thud comes from above him, then winces sharply as the needle drags through his arm.

“Hold still, son, gotta make sure this is closed up and clean.” Allen mumbles, somewhat tenderly, pushing his glasses up his nose with his shoulder. He hasn’t worked with stitches like this in years. Manny doesn’t have the luxury of a hospital tonight. He’s luckily that he was just grazed by a fractured bullet, no real harm done.

“You fucking asshole! I can’t fucking believe you! Don’t you dare fucking touch me!”

They both glance up at the ceiling together as the screaming continues again after maybe fifteen minutes of quiet. More thudding as you throw what you can find at him.

Allen shakes his head, “Told him to leave her alone.”

“So, you, uh — you knew about them?” Manny’s knuckles whiten around the edge of the table, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth. He hates needles. He stares at the ficus in the corner.

“You didn’t?” Allen scoffs.

Manny chuckles dryly and rubs at his temple, giving a soft shake of his head, “Plausible deniability, man. I didn’t know a thing.”

They exchange half-amused, knowing glances. This entire thing is just a time bomb, and after what Jake did tonight, it’s only a matter of time. Only now, the entire world is going to have eyes on you and your family for the next few weeks. With the election drawing to a close too, it’s going to be quite the scandal to end your father’s time in office.

Manny finally looks away from the ficus and happens to glance upwards, catching sight of the muted news broadcast on the television to his right. He reads over the information at the bottom detailing the events of the attack. Suspected terrorism. Four dead, nine injured. The First Lady in critical condition at Walter Reed Military Medical Centre.

“Oh my god,” Manny breathes out, brows knitting together. He swallows quickly and reaches for his phone. “Did — did anyone call you? — Shouldn’t someone have called us?”

“Stop — Stop it.” Jake grabs your forearms and holds them down at your sides, eyes stormy, jaw clenched. Your features ablaze, you thrash against him, trying to pull your arms free. “I’m sorry, okay? — I didn’t fucking know.”

You struggle against him, growling in frustration and kicking at him in an effort to get free, all the while still yelling. “You listened to me sit there and apologise to you tonight and you knew that this was going to happen — you let me, my family, walk in there!”

“Your family? — Your family fucking knew!” Jake barks back. It’s cold and maybe he should have lied to protect your feelings, but he’s done protecting those people. They wouldn’t do the same for you. “I begged your dad to do something, I called him every day for a week.”

You wipe the tears from your cheeks with your shoulder, sniffling as you tug against his grip. Exhaustion sets in, aching each muscle that you flex in the struggle. You swallow the whimper in your throat. “Are you kidding me, Jake? — Do you seriously think that he would let me, my mom, walk in there if he knew that it was going to be like that?”

“Do you think I would?” Jake answers back, shaking his head. Stepping closer, trying to hold your gaze, Jake wills you to see what he’s trying to show you. “I have been with you every single day and night for four months. I love you, and I’m sorry that I let you down. But I’m not lying, your dad knew about all of this.”

“I don’t believe you.” You whimper. He wouldn’t risk his career for this. You, maybe. It doesn’t even hurt you to realize. But his career? — Never.

“Believe what you want,” Jake squeezes your forearms, brows knitting together. He exhales slowly. “I love you, and I did what I had to do — but you have to trust me,I—”

“I don’t trust you!” You snap at him, voice trembling.

The door to the bedroom swings open. Allen glances between the two of you. You, with your tear-stained cheeks and furious glare. Jake, with his heart in your hands.

“Sweetheart,” Allen says softly, taking a cautious step into the room. You didn’t think you heart could have possibly sunk further. Jake slowly lets go of your arms. “It’s your mom. I think you should let me take you to see her.”

Jake thinks back to the voice in his ear, the urgency and the panic and you barely conscious enough to stand in his arms. He could have gone back, he chose not to. You’re standing in front of him now. He doesn’t feel an ounce of remorse.

You stare at Allen, wordless.

“She’s in surgery at the moment, I think that you should be there.”

Walter Reed is one of the best facilities in the country. A punctured lung is practically a broken wrist to them. A splintered bullet, sitting in three different spots amongst the large intestine, that’s complicated for anyone. It’s a tricky procedure, and she lost a lot of blood — but no doctor wants to be responsible for the death of the President’s Wife.

You’ve lost track of what time it is by the time you arrive there, still in Allen’s daughter’s pyjamas. Dropping Allen’s hand, you rush forwards and your father opens his arms. Jake tucks one hand into his pocket. Once you’re wrapped into a warm looking hug, all attention turns towards Jake.

Matthew looks at him over your shoulder.

Everyone heard him over the comms, his defiance is practically headline news amongst the White House staff. He couldn’t care less, you’re standing here to witness the trouble that he’s in and that’s all that matters.

Including this moment, Jake has seen your father hug you twice in the past four months. Your mother maybe five times. Still, easy enough for him to count on one hand.

Arms crossed over his front, blood on his collar, Jake watches your father with discontent. A furious look in the green of his eyes. He isn’t listening to the conversation that you’re having, he doesn’t particularly care about whatever it is your father has to tell you. Lies, probably.

For a man who almost lost his wife and daughter in the same night, Jake notices that Matthew looks pretty put together. Hair still styled neatly, suit perfectly in place. Not even his tie loosened.

He seems calm. Well prepared. Jake stares calmly, studying him as the two of you talk. He can’t help but wonder where all of this intel came from. These tip-offs, anonymous warnings of what was to come. All of them directed at you, not one at your father. Something that left the entire staff hideously under-prepared for tonight.

It’s absurd — a baseless and ridiculous accusation, but he’s not even sure of the motive behind all of this. Something Matt had signed off on that an activist group was upset about. That’s as much information as Jake has ever been given.

It doesn’t make much sense. That they’ve never once targeted your father in these past four months.

“Can I see her?”

“Of course, princess. She’s sleeping but you can go in and sit with her,” Matthew smiles at you calmly, squeezing your shoulder gently. “I’ll be right in.”

Eyes on the ground, you walk by without a word. You’re glad that he doesn’t reach for you, you’re not sure that you could take it right now.

“Seresin.” Matthew’s attention is on Jake from the moment that you’re out of the room. Jake uncrosses his arms and gives a nod of acknowledgement. More defiance, a blatant disregard for the highest figure of authority that there is. “Heard that you were quite the hero tonight.”

Jake shrugs.

“Thank you for keeping my daughter safe,” Matthew slips his hand into Jake’s clasping their palms together in a firm handshake. Jake stares at him, cold. Matthew leans in slowly, his polite smile fading once he is close enough to Jake to whisper.

“If you ever disobey orders like that again, I’ll see to it personally that you never work again.”

Jake squeezes his palm a fraction tighter and nods, his face stoic. “If you ever put her in danger like that again, you’ll wish you had gone out quick and easy tonight.”

“Are you threatening me, son?” Matthew squares his shoulders and steps towards Jake like he is something to be feared. Jake stands up straighter, silent.

It takes either a lot of guts or a real lack of brains to be speaking like that in front of all of these people. Matthew studies Jake. Having worked as a politician now for longer than Jake has been alive, Matt is an expert at calling bullshit.

People try to lie to him regularly, he lies to other people even more frequently. He has become pretty skilled at calling someone’s bluff. He knows that Jake isn’t bluffing.

Standing down, Jake gives your father a shake of his head and turns away. In search of a coffee machine, or water — some reprieve from your fucking family, perhaps.

“How long has he been working with my daughter?” Matthew asks, brows furrowed as he watches Jake walk away.

“Um, around four months, Sir. Since the end of April.” An assistant answers sheepishly. Four months is a long time. Matthew hums in annoyance.

“Do some digging. Camera feeds, paparazzi that we might’ve paid off — come get me if you find anything.”

…

@alanadetigy @thedroneranger @momc95 @basicchelsea @perpetuelledaydreaming @cherrycola27 @eviesaurusrex @xoxabs88xox @desert-fern @fuckyeahhangman @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @khaylin27 @cowboybarbie @someinsanefangirl @marchingicenotes7 @marantha @lgg5989 @herladyshipxx @chaoticweirdogeek @mak-32 @obiwankenobis-lap @diamond-3 @wolvesofthewinter @shawnsblue @itsmytimetoodream

#jake seresin smut #jake seresin au #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin #jake seresin x you #jake seresin imagine #operation Apollo

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mysmiledoctors987 · 3 months ago

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Understanding Tongue Tie Operation

A tongue tie operation, also known as frenotomy or frenuloplasty, is a procedure to treat ankyloglossia—where the frenulum, the tissue connecting the tongue to the mouth floor, is too tight. This condition can restrict tongue movement, leading to difficulties with feeding, speech, and oral hygiene.

What is a Tongue Tie Operation ?

Frenotomy: A quick procedure making a small incision in the frenulum to release the tongue. Often done on infants with minimal recovery time. Frenuloplasty: A more detailed procedure involving sutures and reshaping of the frenulum, typically used for older children and adults.

When is it Needed?

A tongue tie operation may be necessary if the condition causes significant problems like:

Feeding Issues: Difficulty breastfeeding or bottle-feeding in infants. Speech Problems: Challenges with pronunciation and articulation in older children and adults. Oral Hygiene Issues: Difficulty cleaning the mouth, leading to dental problems. Eating Difficulties:Problems with chewing and swallowing food.

Procedure and Recovery

The operation is usually performed in an outpatient setting. Recovery is generally quick, with infants often resuming normal feeding soon after. Older individuals might experience some soreness but can manage it with pain relief and follow-up care.

Risks

While rare, risks include infection, bleeding, and scarring. However, the benefits of improved tongue movement typically outweigh these risks.

Conclusion

A tongue tie operation can significantly improve quality of life by resolving feeding, speech, and oral health issues. Consulting with a healthcare provider will help determine if this procedure is suitable for you or your child.

#dentist parramatta #dentists in parramatta nsw #most affordable dentist near me #pain free dentistry #parramatta dental clinic #snap on smile #snoring mouth guard #tongue tie operation #wisdom teeth removal cost #wisdom tooth removal cost

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valentine-cafe · 3 months ago

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"i'm trying to fix your hair, so hold still." For the Jingyi that operates in the abhorration cause, well (๑•ᴗ•๑)♡ he likes wearing different hairstyles, right? - 💐

⊹ ۪ ࣪ ᥫ᭡ verseless jìngyí

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍮 ꒱necromancer x reader, demon x reader, alchemist x reader ⊹ ۪ ࣪

with a tongue poking out and fingers weaving hair over hair. you sat in the lounge of the large citadel owned by your very boyfriend. the demon that consistently tries out new styles and hairstyles when he is not busy with potions and other fields of work.

and that was rare.

not often did he get to have the pleasures of taking a break, so when he did. it was such a comfort to have you there. sitting next to him on the reclining couch. hair sprawled out on the silk pillows and frabric of the couch.

though it was hard to get him to stop moving so much.

it was a habit of his. whenever he finally got a break, he wouldn’t stop moving around, because all he did was work!

“stop moving gege.” you mumbled out, giving his hair a gentle tug and trying to tie a little flower into the elaborate braid you had made.

you only heard him huff. shifting a little more.

it came to a point where your hands landed on his hips and you kept the larger man down with all of the strength you possibly had.

“i am trying to fix your hair, so hold still.” you point at him. his body suddenly freezing up and relaxing.

“i apologise baobei.” he hums, finally sitting still. that would be a first in his entire life.

#⊹ ۪ ࣪ ᥫ᭡ daydreams — jingyi verseless ꒱#terato #teratophillia #demon oc #demon x reader #monster oc #monster x reader #oc x reader #original character x reader #monster boyfriend #x reader #monster fucker #jingyi of the abhorration #alchemist x reader #asterism

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meli-writes · 2 months ago

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L'État, C'est Mecanisée

The Sun Empress wakes, left cheek scraping on tile, shackled to a blue-bloodied, automatic operating table — crown jewel of the mechanised annex of her Grand Inventor. Alchemical flames lick distant and resplendent at the royal apartments, follies of blue and gold dance on the mirrored masks of its half-clockwork chevaliers, broken on the marble courtyard.

“It would be foolish to hurt me, the XIVth Legion will soon surround this palace. You might still join me, I assure you — the pain is soon forgotten,” she says, with gentle arrogance.

The light is eclipsed by an approaching revolutionary. A red ribbon hair-tie falls limply past shadows that shift without due cause, yet refuse to part from her face; the Empress can see only an uncertain glint in her eyes, of a since-passed storm, and, in her hands, the glass-covered hemisphere of a mechanical mind — the Empress’ own crown jewel.

“No— you can’t mean this,” she says, recoiling, “this— mockery, of enlightenment, of progress: our nation’s destiny. The ruin of a precious mind, to make me the last of them?”

“You wouldn’t be the last,” Red Ribbon says, a disarming mainspring of melancholy.

“Of course— I see. You think you’ll make me a puppet, that I’ll wind-up my legions on words you place on the platter of my tongue.” It would be a mistake, a meek and distant voice says, the legions will never outnumber the uprisings she needs now converts them from. Every mask that slips, each half-recognised face, births another revolutionary.

“I’ll bleed to death on this table,” she retorts, “you’ll never hope to achieve what I’ve done.”

Red Ribbon doesn’t speak; she fractures the silence when the mournfully-clutched hemi-brain slips to the floor, spilling ten-thousand brass wheels, springs, and pinions across the floor. Rune-clad glass shards fall into a drain, fizzling with dying light.

She kneels and takes the Empress’ hands, her own trembling, and even this close, the Empress cannot see her sympathy. Does she mean to surrender? To beg the diplomatic method, that preserves her mind and the subtle features of untouched flesh.

Another revolutionary holds tightly the wrist of a forcefully-invited Duchess, unsure if she is rescued or captured, whom the Grand Inventor intended to work this upon personally.

“What? You wish my blessing, to despoil me? There is no artificer amongst you, I’ll—”

“Your Eminence,” Red Ribbon says. The Empress blinks in shock, and there is an audible ticking in the room. How did such respect purpose itself, from a black-guarded traitress?

“Do you recall who first introduced it to you, the clockwork?”

“Introduced? Invented,” she says breathlessly, “I am their creator!" The Empress was an upset heir, presaged into power upon the sudden Arcane Virulence of 1674; the unblemished royal survivor, then executor of the Imperial Retaliation of 1675 against an accused aggressor who provided bountiful material for the creation of IInd, IIIrd, and IVth Legions.

Red Ribbon gives a painful sigh, and holds a soft, warm hand to the Empress’ right cheek till she stops pulling away. “Okay, so when did you invent it?”

“1673,” the Empress says, curt and suspicious, but indulging in the delaying action. The Empress had been a quiet child, then, and lonely. She was artistic, and not bookish, and shared it with nearly no one — nearly. “One day I knew; I was simply destined for more.”

“Do you remember that day, anyone who might have — witnessed your achievement?” she asks, “Perhaps you woke up to someone — not the handmaid, she was— not there.”

“You had a frequent guest, if you recall; of the mechanists’ guild. Where might he be now?”

The Empress’ gaze flicks from broken clockwork, to Red Ribbon’s skirt — tattered, stained with human blood, alchemised spirit, and clockwork grease — to that only in her mind’s eye; a figure, its face obscured, but a cogwheel sigil-rune at its neck. It was— it was— gone.

“I understand if it’s difficult to remember, your Eminence. It was— a long time ago,” Red Ribbon says, running her other hand through the Empress’ hair. It is barely felt, smooth and unnaturally cold, even though Red Ribbon is sweating in the alchemical heat.

She gestures to someone behind her, and is given a silk tissue with a black mark.

“And this, please— do you remember this?”

The Empress looks, truly intentful. She sees it all around them, in the annex, before she cannot help but blink, heavily, as it disforms. It is— nothing, gunpowder or soot. Some few words gather on her lips, and she tries to speak— tries to speak— tries to— to— to—

Her head is jittering, with a lone eye pinned and screwed to her reflection in a discarded, mirrored mask, elegantly engraved and with red ribbon ties. Whenever it becomes clear she feels her mind whirring slower. And she hears it, the ticking, more wretched each time.

Everyone else can hear it too.

Red Ribbon withdraws, slowly, only letting go when the Empress’ shivering hands are too far away to hold. The clockworks should not understand that anything is different, the little that remains of them subsumed with the dual-power of arcane mechanisms.

Everyone else can see it too.

Where newly bloody and machine-marred glass meets bone and long-scarred flesh, where the left-side of the Empress’ face has been torn, and a half-skull that is gone, replaced with a clicking clockwork mind, a glimmering sigil-rune on its side; the prototypical maker’s mark.

Red Ribbon cannot hear her own sobbing over the ticking, and tries to ask one last question as springs pull and gears lock in a vergingly unbearable tightness.

“And me— do you remember me, Marie?”

The Empress tries to—

---

(Masterpost)

originally written 19/02/2024, in response to Make Up A Criminal's prompt:

Rebel who would give you a taste of your own medicine, if you weren't already addicted

for additional context, this was also my own prompt account. where i posted a mix of thief, assassin, bounty hunter, smugger, spy, rebel, pirate, fixer, fencer, and mob boss prompts. i might resurrect it here too, to see how people use my old prompts anew <3

i'm also not really an ES writer, but draw a lot of inspo & love their work as well as have a LOT of doll influences in my work.

#4 Minute Read #Melinoë Writes #Révolution Mécanique #Make Up A Criminal #Rebel Who #Empty Spaces #dollposting

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senorabond · 10 months ago

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Rumor Has It: Chapter 7 Peña x f!reader x Pike

Pairings: Javier Peña x f!reader; Marcus Pike x f!reader; future Peña x f!reader x Pike

Chapter 7 Summary: The case is progressing more quickly than expected, presenting the first opportunity to set the bait for the narcos. When plans for the undercover operation go awry, you have to think and act fast. Meanwhile, whatever is going on between you and Javi gets kicked into high gear.

Rating: 18+ (Minors DNI), Explicit sexual content, additional warnings may be added for future chapters

Chapter Warnings: no use of y/n, previous relationship (Marcus x f!Reader), boss!Marcus, slowburn, workplace romance, ohh the yearning, fake relationship, protective!Javi, Dom/sub dynamic, precisely (1) spank, almost caught, please just fuck already

Reader/Character notes: Reader is fem!afab; No mention of Reader’s body size, shape, composition, or skin color.

Words: 8k

Author’s Note: I am SO happy to finally post this! I’ve been sick with back-to-back viruses ever since November, so I’ve been slowly chipping away at this chapter. It’s super plotty and a lil smutty, but I had to kick Javi and Reader in the ass to move this shit along somehow. I have so many thots and ideas for these two, especially when we get to see more of Marcus. As always, a HUGE thank you to my dear, sweet, lovely beta @kilamonster, who lets me torture her endlessly with all the dirty things that come to mind and for correcting my atrocious Spanish. 💋💜

Masterlist || Previous Chapter

The Next Morning Washington, D.C.

There’s a knock at Marcus’ office door and a grinning man pokes his head inside. He’s got a slight build, and sandy hair that falls across his forehead in natural waves. You had always told Marcus this agent reminded you of that weaselly guy in Dirty Dancing, Neil, and he can certainly see it now. Though the resemblance was probably more down to personality than looks.

"Sir, you wanted to see me?" The man asks, waiting for permission to enter.

"Yeah, Wilkins, come in – and shut the door.” Wilkins has to halt midway to turn around and close the door and is looking a bit less confident now as he sits down in the chair across from Pike.

Pike fixes the smaller man with a neutral expression. He'll give Wilkins a chance to be honest and forthright, but he’s not going to beat around the bush.

"Did you receive a call from a DEA agent about helping them with a potential art money laundering case?"

Wilkins' eyes grow wide for a second, and he stumbles a bit over his next words. "Uh, I'm not sure, maybe?"

"Maybe?" The fewer words Marcus gives Wilkins to work with, the more he'll have to come up with himself, and the less he’ll be able to turn Marcus’ words back around on him – a common interrogation technique.

"I remember a call from somebody at the DEA, but I don't think I recall the specifics." Wilkins fidgets with his tie.

Marcus keeps his face neutral, but laces his fingers together on his desk and leans forward, closing the space between them. "What do you recall?"

"He might have mentioned some drug dealers." Wilkins, a man with an ego the size of Nationals Park, has already been reduced to a little boy getting in trouble at school.

"Being that he's DEA, that would make sense." Pike says blandly, waiting for Wilkins to continue.

"Yeah. And... there might have been some talk about art." Wilkins’ voice is small, tentative. He knows he’s been caught out, and it’s no small matter.

"That's interesting. And why do you think this DEA agent called us – the FBI art squad – about art?"

Wilkins doesn't say anything in response. He knows there's nothing else he could say in his defense at this point.

"Do you know who that DEA agent was, Wilkins?"

Wilkins juts his chin out defiantly. "No, Sir."

"You might, if you'd bothered to get his name." Wilkins has grown sullen, already tired of the tongue lashing.

Pike has no patience for this guy’s attitude. Normally, Marcus wouldn’t draw out disciplinary issues like this, on the rare occasions he has them with his crew. But this guy has pissed him off too many times.

"That was Special Agent Javier Peña. You might have heard of him, made the news awhile back." Marcus leans back in his chair, watches Wilkins’ petulant shrug.

"He put away Pablo Escobar and the Cali Cartel, remember them?" Wilkins doesn’t respond, but there’s recognition in his eyes. "So when Javier fucking Peña calls to ask for help, that's probably when you should tell your superior.”

Marcus pauses, waiting for Wilkins to say something, anything, but he just sits there.

“Do you agree?" Marcus prompts, each word punctuated.

"Yes, Sir." The man replies, his tone clipped.

"Glad to hear it."

"Is that all?" Wilkins stands, and Marcus fights the urge to stand as well. But there’s power in showing you’re confident enough to not rely on being physically overbearing.

"No, I'll tell you when that's all. There have been some rumors floating around the office for a while now.” Finally, what Marcus has wanted to confront Wilkins about for months.

“I tried to ignore them, thinking it was just some office gossip, but then one of our best liaisons at Customs fast-tracked a transfer.” Marcus has to take a breath, the lead ball in his stomach growing heavy. “Some of that office gossip was about her. Know anything about that, Wilkins?"

"No, Sir." Wilkins shifts from foot to foot, glancing around the office nervously. Marcus lets him squirm for a bit longer.

"That's good. Because if you did know something about who was spreading those harmful rumors – rumors that affect the lives and careers of federal agents who outperform you on any given day – we’d be having a very different conversation."

Wilkins stands rigid, eyes wide.

"That's all." Marcus turns back to his computer and without giving Wilkins another glance.

______________________________________________________________

That Afternoon Texas

The briefing went off without a hitch. You could feel Javier's smile on you from the other side of the briefing room while you talked through each of the slides. Your stomach was in your throat, but Javier's presence gave you the bit of confidence you needed every time you glanced his way.

The other agents ask questions you and Javi had anticipated and discussed thoroughly the day before, and even a few you didn’t prepare for. Once you answer their questions flawlessly, Javier dismisses the group to their respective assignments. Several of them shake your hand on their way out.

Javi stands back and watches the crowd file out, then saunters over to you. You’re beaming a smile at him and fight the urge to throw your arms around him in a grateful embrace.

“That was…” You shake your head in disbelief, eyes as wide as your smile.

“‘Amazing.’ You can say it.” He’s smiling in return and leans a slim hip against the table, crossing his arms.

“It was amazing! God, that felt good.” Adrenaline pumps through your limbs in a rush.

“You did a great job today.”

“Thanks, I had a lot of help.” You start to gather the briefing materials and Javi jumps in, working his way around the opposite side of the table. You meet on the other side, where he adds the stack from your hands to his own.

“Not as much as you think.” Javier tucks the stack of briefings under his arm and gives you a friendly wink. Friendly, yet it still manages to set those butterflies flitting again. You haven’t felt this moony over a guy in…well, awhile.

The rest of the day goes by like a blur. Javier introduces you to the two agents he’s assigning to report directly to you for the duration of the case – Diaz and Tran – and the three of you get to work immediately. The first thing you do is get in touch with the closest ports of entry to see what high-priced artwork may have crossed in or out of the country within the past few months.

You lose yourself in piles of customs reports, flagging anything that catches your eye, and before you know it, Javier appears at your desk, knocking on the wall of your cubicle. Blinking, you’re surprised to see that the office has emptied out.

“Hey,” he says softly.

Your eyes widen when you see that it’s past seven o’clock on your computer screen. “Jesus, no wonder I was starting to go cross-eyed.”

You start putting the reports away in your bag, intending to look at them some more at home. The excitement and buzz of the day is fading, and the fatigue finally starts setting in.

"Want to grab a drink?" Javier has his jacket over his arm, a hand casually in his pocket.

"Can I take a rain check?" You feel bad saying no, because you actually would like to have a drink with Javi.

“Are you going to keep working at home?”

“That was the plan,” you admit sheepishly.

“Then, no.”

“‘No,’ what?”

“No rain check. Let’s go – there will be plenty more to do tomorrow. I had to learn that the hard way.” Javier reaches over and takes your bag.

You let out a long-suffering sigh for dramatic effect and shut down your computer. As you join Javier, he splays a broad hand between your shoulder blades, guiding you to the elevator. You barely have a chance to register the warmth of his hand before it drops, leaving pleasant tingles in its wake.

The silence between you is born from that day’s weariness, yet it feels comfortable. Javi takes you to the same bar as before, and you grab the same table in the back while he orders you each a beer. A server brings a couple of glasses of water over as well, which you find a sensible choice, given how tired you feel already.

Javier settles back in his chair with a groan and starts taking off his tie. As he stretches his long neck, you try not to stare, but those freckles and prominent veins hold your gaze. He takes a long pull from his bottle of beer, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.

Tearing your eyes away, you focus on the rings of condensation your beer bottles have left on the table and try to think of anything to talk about. Before you can think of something, Javier speaks up.

“I got a call today.” He’s fiddling with the label on his beer bottle, peeling it back. His knee bounces under the table, jiggling close enough that you can feel the edge of his pant leg against yours.

When he doesn’t continue, you prompt him with a soft, “Oh?” and take a swig of your beer.

“It was the FBI art squad getting back to me.”

You pause before swallowing, determined to play this cool. “About time.”

“Yeah, the guy was really apologetic. He said they could assign a couple of people to help us with whatever we need.” Javier finishes pulling the label off his bottle, all in one piece.

“That’s great!” You hope Javi can hear the genuine enthusiasm you feel in your voice. “My contact said they’d help, but wasn’t sure what they could do.”

“I spoke to the agent in charge, Pike. Do you know him?” He keeps his large, brown eyes on you as he takes another sip of beer.

Schooling your features, you dare yourself to meet his gaze. “I do, yeah.”

“Have you worked with him before?” Javier tilts his head a fraction, watching you.

“That case I finished before transferring, he and I worked on that together.”

“Closely?”

“What are you trying to get at?” You counter, putting your beer down harder than you intended, your hackles starting to rise.

“Nothing.” Javier shakes his head and looks down at his beer, but you can see a hint of a smirk appearing under his mustache.

Huffing, you slouch and take a sip of your beer, then cross your arms, feeling a little like a child. “Yes.”

“Hmm?” Javi looks up at you through his lashes. Those damned eyes of his. He could bring entire cartels to their knees with those eyes.

“Yes, he’s the person I had a… thing with.” You cross one leg over the other, bouncing it peevishly.

“Sounds complicated,” Javier remarks, not unkindly.

You shrug, as though to say it was nothing. As though the time you spent with Marcus didn’t mean anything to you, and wasn’t the healthiest relationship you’d ever been in, even if it didn’t have the label society demanded. You’re embarrassed to feel the sting of tears in your eyes and turn your face away from Javi before he can see.

“I understand complicated,” Javi says, his soft words a balm to soothe your injured heart.

The beers are finished in contemplative silence. Both of you take plaintive sips of water, mindful of the drives ahead and the weariness you’re each already fighting.

Neither of you seem to mind that the space between you is shrinking, or that your legs rest gently against each other’s under the table. Neither of you flinch or pull away when the backs of your hands wrapped around your water glasses touch. When Javi’s thumb grazes your knuckles, you only look at him, but his face stays turned down determinedly.

You move your thumb against his in a soothing repetition. Slowly, but without hesitation, Javi takes your hand in his, linking your fingers, and you give a gentle squeeze. Your breath slows, the noise of the bar fades, and the tension in your muscles unwinds as you inhale and exhale in time with Javi.

Without a word, without a glance, Javi pulls you to your feet and begins to lead you out of the bar.

It’s completely dark now, but the goosebumps erupting across your arms aren’t from any chill in the air. Holding tight to Javi’s hand, you follow swiftly behind him. He lengthens his stride, shoulders back and jaw set.

About half a block from your office building, Javier pulls you around a corner and onto a darkened side street. You let him lead you without thinking, completely trusting him. But before you can blink, he’s got you pressed up against the wall of a building, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other around your waist. Instinctively, your hands grip onto the lapels of his jacket to not lose your balance.

Everything Javier does is purposeful, focused, intentional – he is not a man to lose complete control of himself, especially when he feels out of control. With his face mere inches from yours, and the faint scent of beer on his breath, he speaks.

“Tell me to stop.”

Javi’s tongue pokes out and licks his plump bottom lip. The cool stone of the building at your back is a welcome relief from the heat pooling in your lower belly.

“W-what?” A glance at his eyes, black from the shadows around you, makes your knees shake.

“If you don’t want this, tell me now.” The hand on the back of your head gently eases down to cup your face, and Javi caresses your cheek with his thumb.

“Please,” he pleads in a whisper, his lips a hair’s breadth from your own. “Before I do something I’ll regret.”

“Don’t…” Your breath shakes.

A sigh from Javi’s lips is warm on your face. Almost imperceptibly, Javi nods and begins pulling away. You tighten your grip on his jacket, holding him in place.

“I mean - don’t stop.”

Javi’s smile changes his entire face, and the tension in his shoulders eases.

“Cariño,” he murmurs, resting your foreheads together and nudging your nose with the tip of his.

Before Javi can do more than brush his lips against yours, a small group of people pass by on the sidewalk a few feet away. This close to the office, it’s very possible they work in the same building – might have even come from the same bar. Fortunately, Javier reacts quickly. He shifts your bodies and tucks your head into his chest, blocking the light from the nearby street lamp – and their view of you – entirely.

Their chattering ceases abruptly as they spot your forms in the shadows, one letting out a quiet, “Whoops,” under his breath. Another sniggers, and they continue on their way. You think you hear one of them whisper Peña a bit too loudly and get shushed by their companions.

Javier holds you there a few more moments, your bodies molded to one another in the dark. Stilling your pounding heart, you breathe in his scent and run your hands around his back, underneath his suit jacket. The muscles of his back are firm under your hands. He presses his face to the top of your head and wraps his arms around you in return. For a while, you stay there together, breathing in sync and savoring this stolen moment.

Eventually, Javier starts to pull away, and you reluctantly let go. He leans in, and tenderly places a kiss to your forehead, your cheek, and your ear. Softly, he says, “Come on, cariño, I’ll walk you back to your car.”

Holding hands again, your pace is much slower this time. There seems to be an understanding that what you just experienced was too close a call. Still, neither of you are in any hurry for this to end, whatever it is.

At your car, Javier stands back with his hands in his pockets while you open the door and toss your bag inside.

“Get home safe, cariño.”

“You too, Javi.”

In your mirror, you see him give a small wave as you drive away.

~*~*~*~

It was stupid to ask you to grab a drink after work. Javier doesn't really understand what motivated him to ask you in the first place.

That’s a lie – he knows exactly why he asked you, why he asked you about Pike, why he dragged you out of that bar. You're on his mind all the time now, to the point of distraction. Javier sees you when he closes his eyes, pictures you lying next to him when he’s going to sleep, tries to imagine the feel of your skin, soft on his fingertips. The only relief he feels is when he's with you in the flesh.

It’s selfish of him, he realizes, to want these things from you. You haven’t said much about what happened in D.C., but it was enough for him to understand that he can’t put you in that position again. People are cruel, especially to women.

With a heaving sigh, Javier rolls over in bed. Even if he can’t allow himself to act on his desires, he can let go a little in his mind. For a moment, he lets himself indulge in the fantasy of having you, fueled by the memories of your fingers laced with his, the heat from your back where he placed a gently guiding hand, the scent of your shampoo when he kissed your face.

Javier imagines what it would feel like, being able to touch and feel you in those natural ways people together do: your arms wrapped around his chest and kissing the back of his neck and shoulders, the weight of you seated on his lap, caressing all of your lines and curves. All the things he could do with you, just because you’re his.

______________________________________________________________

Five Days Later Texas

You’ve never seen a case get off the ground and progress so quickly. In the last few days, the DEA managed to bring in the art gallery couple suspected of planning a money laundering deal with the narcos under investigation. Not only did the couple admit to their plan, but they agreed to cooperate with the investigation in exchange for immunity.

The gallery was hosting a special exhibit opening that night, and the narcos – Castano and Lopez – were confirmed guests. The timing was perfect to introduce Peña and another agent, Bateman, who would be posing undercover as business partners in competition with the art gallery owners. But that meant their task force had to act fast to get everything organized and ready in time.

Surveillance had been placed on Castano and Lopez, and the agents tailing them were sending in frequent reports on the men’s movements. They had already arranged transportation to get them to the gallery event after dining at an expensive restaurant nearby. Their dirty money certainly didn’t stop them from enjoying a lavish lifestyle.

You check over the information on the tablet in your hands. Posing as an event coordinator gave you access to all areas of the gallery, service entrances, back rooms, the whole shebang. It also gave you the ability to watch a live video feed of all the cameras placed around the gallery, right from your tablet, and listen in on the audio through the wires Peña and Bateman would be wearing.

A few other agents were staged as caterers, wait staff, and private security detail for the special event, but this evening would only have one mission: get the narcos interested in finding out what Peña and his “business partner” could offer. He and Bateman were already out on the gallery floor, mingling with the crowd, and looking at the art.

Javi was wearing a dark blue suit, fitting snugly to his broad shoulders and tapering in at his slim waist. He’d obviously taken extra time grooming himself that evening, because he had some kind of pomade in his hair that added a sleek wave, and his mustache was neatly trimmed. It was criminal how fucking good he looked.

Surveillance checks in to report an ETA of approximately 10 minutes. Letting out a deep breath, you tap out a message on your tablet with the ETA and send it to Javi’s phone. Through your earpiece, you hear Javi’s phone ding, a pause, and then his voice mutters, “Copy.”

Things between you and Javier that week had been a bit tense, to say the least. The two of you orbited each other, coming close yet never touching before being slingshot back out in opposite directions.

The memory of his arms around you and his lips ghosting across your mouth kept you warm each night. You continuously waffled back and forth between reprimanding yourself for even thinking about indulging in another workplace fling, and craving him like a drug. It was maddening.

Diaz’s voice in your ear says, “Targets have arrived, entering now.” You message Javi, and he confirms he has eyes on them. He and Bateman continue circulating a bit, keeping an eye on Castano and Lopez, but blending with the crowd for now. Things are right on track.

Closing your eyes for a moment, you take a deep breath and lean against a wall in the back corridor. The coolness of the wall reminds you of the cool stone against your skin in that alleyway. You let the radio chatter in your earpiece fade as you remember the heat from Javi’s hands, the strength of his arms and chest, the smile on his lips when you told him ‘don’t stop.’ Heat pools in your lower belly, imagining what could have happened if you hadn’t been interrupted.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” You hear Javi’s voice in your ear and your eyes fly open. A few taps on your tablet and you’re watching video from a nearby camera. Bateman is gripping his abdomen and grimacing in pain.

“Yeah, just this stomach ache. I’ve had it for days.” Bateman gestures to his lower right side. Something tells you that’s no mere stomach ache.

Quickly, yet calmly, you bustle over to their location and assume your best event coordinator voice. “Sir, is everything alright? Can I get you some water?”

Bateman tries to wave you off, but is interrupted as another wave of pain hits him and he doubles over. Javi watches his partner and concern knits his brow.

“Boss, the targets are headed in your direction, I think they’re trying to check out what’s going on,” Tran’s falsetto says over the radio.

You lay a hand on Bateman’s shoulder, lowering your voice to say, “We need to get him out of here.”

You put your arm around Bateman’s hunched shoulders and say loudly enough for some of the looky-loos to hear you, “Everything’s alright, Sir. Please come with me.” You give a meaningful look to Javi and gesture for him to come with you.

The gallery owners have a small office in the back that’s part of a larger storage area with a loading dock for larger works of art. You take Bateman and Javi back to the office, passing through the swarm of catering staff, who have been using the storage room as their staging area. Pulling out one of the office chairs, you guide Bateman to sit. Diaz bursts into the small room, dressed in the typical black attire of private security, worry etched across his face.

“Nick? Talk to me – what’s happening?” Diaz’s voice is a bit tremulous, but he takes charge and gets on the radio to report an agent down. You’ve seen how close Diaz and Bateman are at the office and wonder if there’s something more between them than friendship.

Javi catches your eye and nods his head to the side, indicating for you to both exit the office. Following him a bit down the hallway, you step close to his side to escape the bustle of caterers with trays of hors d'oeuvres.

“What’s happening?” Javi wipes a hand over his mustache and flicks a finger at your tablet.

He leans over to look at your screen and you swipe through several views until you spot Castano sipping on champagne and Lopez looking bored. The latter was the one, if memory serves, who made the comment about modern art being just a bunch of splattered paint.

The scent of Javi’s cologne and his closeness make your hands tremble. You haven’t been this close to him since he almost kissed you. In fact, his face was near enough to your own that you could easily turn your head and place your lips to the side of his neck or shoulder. Your head swims at the thought.

Hazarding a glance up, you see out of the corner of your eye that Javi isn’t looking at your tablet anymore either. His chest rises and falls, brushing your arm with every inhale. Those dark chocolate eyes are nearly black, his pupils wide and intense. Seconds tick by that could be minutes, both of your bodies frozen in place.

Movement on the screen in your hands catches your attention and breaks the reverie. You can’t let yourself be distracted by whatever is happening between you and Javi. Not now, on this big of a case – your first opportunity to really prove that you’re capable on your own, and not someone who fucks their way up the ranks.

Javi takes half a step back, and you clamp your teeth down on your lower lip to stifle a sigh at your loss. How the hell are you supposed to focus with all of these feelings and urges flying through your body?

Clearing his throat, Javi rasps, “I better get back out there.”

You nod your head in agreement. “Yeah. That’s good, I’ll - uh, check on Bateman.” Javi moves to leave but pauses.

“You’re doing great,” he whispers next to your ear, his touch on your lower back light as a feather before slipping off back into the crowded gallery. You fight the urge to run after him and shift your focus back to Bateman. Stepping back into the office, Diaz is already on the radio, arranging transportation for the two of them to the hospital.

“I think it’s his appendix,” Diaz says to you quietly when you walk over.

You grimace. Shit.

Bateman was chosen to be Javi’s partner in this operation because he could carry a conversation about art and make it convincing. Javi – to use his own words again – doesn’t know shit about art.

Looking down at your tablet, you tap through the various video feeds and see that the narcos are in the same section of the gallery as Javier. Switching the channel on your earpiece, you listen in on the audio feed coming from his wire.

You’re not sure if Javi is genuinely distressed over Bateman’s condition, or if he’s acting it up to try and draw the attention of the narcos, but you can hear his labored breathing from his wire. Could he be nervous? You select the video feed with the best vantage and see Javi rubbing the back of his neck and fiddling with his tie.

With Javi’s breathing in your ear, you make up your mind. You can’t let him finish this alone.

“Diaz, you got this?”

“Yes, ma’am. Transport will be here in less than five minutes.”

You’re already setting down your tablet and removing the curlicue wire from behind your ear.

“Good. Report in once you get him seen to.” Diaz nods, but watches you curiously.

Next goes your blazer and the clip holding your hair back. You grab your purse and find the red lipstick, quickly applying a fresh coat to your lips.

“Well, how do I look? Can I pass as a shady art dealer’s girlfriend?” You step back and smooth down the dress you were wearing under the blazer.

You don’t have many occasions to wear the black cocktail dress, but for tonight you needed something more stylish than your regular work clothes. Its V-neckline is relatively modest, but the smooth material clings to your curves in a way that leaves nothing to the imagination.

Diaz gives you a once over and says, “With all due respect, Boss…you look hot.”

“Thanks,” you fluff your hair a bit, using your reflection in the office’s window. “Bateman, take it easy. We’ve got this.” Bateman groans in response and you rush out the door.

You’re flying blind now – no eyes or ears on anything but what’s in front of you. Tran spots you and cocks her head quizzically, but otherwise doesn’t break her cover as she approaches you with a tray of champagne flutes.

Grabbing a glass, you mutter, “Bateman is down, I had to do something.” She nods and quirks an amused lip.

“I like your dress,” she mutters back. You toss back the rest of the champagne in your glass for courage, and Tran hands you another to take its place.

“Thanks, so does Diaz.” Tran snorts and pivots to offer champagne to a cluster of guests nearby.

The three of you gelled almost immediately, and you felt immensely grateful. Their support on the case made you feel at ease with being in charge of a team. You wonder if Javi assigned Diaz and Tran on purpose, thinking you’d all suit one another.

Javier, Castano, and Lopez are still in the same gallery space, admiring adjacent pieces. Well, Lopez is digging a finger into his ear, but at least Castano seems genuinely interested.

Seemingly more relaxed now, Javi stands with his back slightly to you, leaving his body language open to the targets. But you already know him better than the casual observer. The veins in Javi’s neck are more prominent, and you tamp down the urge to lick them. He’s practically vibrating like a plucked wire, but his shoulders are relaxed, one hand casually in his pocket. Fuck, he looks good in that suit.

Taking a deep breath, you decide you’ll just have to go for it. It’s just for tonight, after all.

“Babe!” A few people turn their heads to look at you, including the three men you needed to take notice.

You shuffle over on your tiptoes to not break an ankle in your heels, and Javi – to his credit – doesn’t react beyond a shift in his eyes and a twitch of his jaw.

“Oh, my god! I’ve been looking for you everywhere, babe.” You practically throw yourself at Javi and cling to his side. He wraps an arm around your waist, the other hand coming out of his pocket to lightly grasp your bare arm.

“I saw poor Nicky – he didn’t look so good,” you say, placing your free hand on Javi’s chest and adding a touch of real concern to your voice.

Javier’s entire demeanor shifts with you in his arms, his body relaxes, immediately falling into lockstep with you. You’re impressed at how quickly he responds to this curveball. Neither of you could have prepared for something like this.

“Yeah, he decided to head home, probably just ate something bad.” Javi took everything in stride. “You’re feeling okay, right?” He pulls back a bit to take you in, like he’s checking you over for bumps and bruises.

“Yeah, baby, I’m okay. But…” you drop your voice to a stage whisper, aware that at least Lopez is paying attention to this little charade. “What about the you-know-what?”

Javi glances around like he’s worried somebody might hear you. “Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out. He wasn’t moving it until next week anyway.” Javi kisses your temple. You nod, seemingly pacified, and offer your glass to him.

He smirks, and instead of taking it from your hand, he leans down and places his lips to the rim. You let out a little giggle and tilt the glass for him. A little dribbles over the side of his mouth, dripping off his mustache. Letting out a mock tutting sound, you wipe it away with your thumb and lick the remnants from your skin.

Your eyes meet, and you melt a bit, seeing that Javi’s pupils are completely blown.

“I can’t take you anywhere,” you tease, managing to regain composure.

“I know exactly where you can take me,” he fires back, and – to your utter shock and private enjoyment – squeezes your ass.

“Babe!” You gasp, and hit him playfully on the arm. Looking around nervously, you notice Lopez staring lasciviously at this public display, and you still, clearing your throat. Javi notices, and follows your gaze to Lopez, who is now adjusting his pants by his gaudy belt buckle.

“Hey - qué pasa contigo?” Javi’s face morphs into something serious and intimidating.

The two men exchange some words in rapid Spanish, and Castano gets involved. You’re genuinely flummoxed, not understanding what the men are saying, but it’s clear Castano is trying to apologize for Lopez’s rudeness and making amends.

You tug at Javi’s arm to pull him back to you, running a soothing hand over his chest. “Come on, baby. It’s fine.”

“I want an apology,” Javi says, stubbornly.

“Lo siento, Señor,” Lopez mutters, and Javi shakes his head.

“An apology to her,” he clarifies, his eyes boring holes into Lopez’s forehead.

Lopez repeats himself, but can’t meet your eyes. Castano steps forward and reaches out a hand. Without thinking, you place your hand in his, and he holds it between his own. You know what this man before you is capable of, what he’s suspected and guilty of, and you fight the urge to shudder.

“Miss, I am so sorry for my associate’s bad manners,” Castano begins in lightly accented English. “When a woman as beautiful as you is nearby, any man would take notice.”

Pretending to be flattered and appeased, you dip your head. Castano – a slim man of equal height – bends at the waist formally and brushes dry lips to your knuckles. You turn a disgusted curl of your lip into a demure smile.

“Thank you,” you simper.

Javi says something to Castano in Spanish, and the two begin to converse, their tone much more pleasant now with formalities out of the way. He drops his arm from your waist and joins Castano at the painting he’d been admiring.

You catch Lopez’s eye and let the corner of your mouth tilt up as you take a sip of your champagne, now warm and flat. The man – squat, with a thick unibrow under a greasy forehead – is the kind of fish you want to keep on the hook for a while. It lets them think they’re winning.

“Cariño,” Javi says and beckons you to join the men.

Sauntering over, you let the high heels do their job and smile sweetly up at him. The conforming dress rises up your thighs a bit higher than you’d be comfortable with in real life, but you decide to leave the hem where it rests when you see Javi’s eyes rake over your exposed skin. The hair on your arms stands up, and the heat in your core begins to rise.

“Señor Castano has a question about this piece, and I told him you were the brains between us,” he winks, and your breath hitches.

Over the next ten minutes, you speak knowledgeably about the art on exhibit in the gallery. You’d never felt more grateful for the times Marcus would get excited about a case or piece of evidence and animatedly answer your questions while sharing takeout from one of your regular haunts. There’s a sudden pang in your chest.

Just as suddenly, Javi is right behind you, stroking the backs of his fingers up and down a bare arm. His left hand is on your hip, caressing his thumb over the thin fabric of your dress. You relax into his touch, melting back into him until you feel the swell of your ass meet the front of his pants.

Javi sucks in a sharp breath, and his fingers on your hip tighten their grip. You’re trying to focus on Castano’s words, but you feel Javi’s breath shudder a bit as he makes the smallest of movements with his hips, pressing himself into your ass.

“...and that’s why we’re here tonight, drinking champagne, admiring the works of art on display… and speaking with beautiful women,” Castano finishes. The smile on his face would be genuinely charming if you didn’t already know what a deplorable human being he is.

“Mi amor loves talking about art, I only wish I knew more. She and my partner could talk all night about our latest deals–” Javi stops himself short, pretending that he’s let something slip.

Castano’s eyes go sharp, but his smile barely changes. Showing a bit of intelligence, even Lopez perks up at this false faux pas. You’re surprised he was even listening, he’s been so busy shoveling canapes into his mouth and ogling the other women nearby.

“Ah, so you are art dealers then!” Castano exclaims. “Little wonder Señorita is so knowledgeable.”

You move your left hand to caress Javi’s on your hip. Not sure if Castano thinks you and Javi are married, or he’s just being polite, you’d rather play it safe and leave your ring fingers out of his sight until you and Javi can speak privately.

“My partner is really the art dealer, it’s a shame you couldn’t meet him tonight. I’m just another man of business.”

“And what line of business are you in, Señor?” Castano asks.

“Please, call me Javi,” he says with a casual wave of his free hand. “And I’m in whatever line of business is good – I’ve done a bit of this, a bit of that. Here, have my card.”

Javi fishes out the prop business card from the inner breast pocket of his suit jacket. “I represent my client’s business interests, whatever they may be.”

Castano takes the card and glances it over, then hands it to Lopez to hold. “And your clients are interested in art?”

“Some are. That’s how I met mi alma. She was working at the private gallery my new partner owns.” Javi stands next to you, keeping his fingers locked with yours on your hip, and smiles down at you.

You have to remind yourself that none of this is real, it’s all for the cover – and a last-minute cover, at that. None of this was supposed to happen. But standing there, basking in the warmth of Javi’s affection, your heart races a bit and you give him a genuine smile in return.

“And the rest is history,” you finish with a small shrug of your shoulder, then rest your head on Javi’s shoulder for a second. Lopez’s phone rings and he turns away to answer it quietly, then taps Castano on the shoulder deferentially.

“Well, Javi, Señorita,” Castano nods at each of you in turn. “I would love to treat you to dinner soon. I have a new case of vintage bordeaux and a new painting I’m looking for any excuse to show off. I’ll have my associate call to make the arrangements. Please, bring your business partner.”

Javi nods and shakes Castano’s hand. The two men leave, and you see Lopez stuff a napkin full of food into his suit pocket. Castano rolls his eyes in exasperation and glides away to the front exit.

Javi gives your waist a squeeze, and you turn to face him, smiles on both of your faces. You hover for a minute, just in case the men return, but then Tran comes by with another tray of champagne.

“May I take your glass, ma’am?” Javi takes the glass from your hand and sets it gently on the tray. He busies himself by taking another so Tran can murmur, “They’re off the premises, tracking in place.”

Javi nods and sips the champagne. Tran moves away once more. A couple beats pass, and Javi sets the champagne down on a nearby cocktail table, grips your hand tightly, and starts pulling you in the direction of the back office.

This time you struggle more to keep up with him, not in your usual office attire. Javi is pulling at his tie and undoing the top buttons of his shirt. In the back storage area, Javi drops your hand and makes a beeline into the small office.

You slow almost to a stop, a bit winded from practically jogging in heels. Javi turns and meets your eye. Seeing the intensity in his face, you pause before the threshold and worry flits across your mind.

Maybe Javi’s actually upset with you for going rogue, for jumping in and messing with the plan. Maybe he’s just really good undercover, and you projected your own desires onto his smiles and touches. He silently crooks two fingers, bidding you to join him in the office.

Steeling your spine, preparing for a fight, you pull your shoulders back and strut into the office. Closing the door behind you, you take a breath, ready to go toe-to-toe with Javi if that’s what it takes to prove you were in the right.

You made an executive decision in what could have been a crisis, and you’ll stand by that judgment call. You did what a good leader is supposed to do when plans go south. Everything worked out with the narcos, and even if they don’t take the bait and call, you still have tracking and surveillance on them.

Javi remains silent, finishes unbuttoning his shirt, revealing his freckled skin underneath. He removes the wire taped to his chest, then sets it down on the desk and switches off the receiver. You open your mouth, prepared to state your defense.

In two strides, Javi closes the distance between you and takes your mouth in a crushing kiss. You throw your arms around his neck and his hands grip the backs of your bare thighs, lifting you effortlessly and setting you onto the desk.

Deepening the kiss, Javi’s tongue plunders your mouth and he lets out a strangled grunt when you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him flush against your panty-clad pussy. Groaning, you feel his cock quickly getting hard and you soon realize you were already wet before he even started kissing you.

Javi kisses a searing trail across your jaw, the hairs of his mustache tickling the tender flesh under your ear as he nips at the lobe. You gasp and rut against the front of his pants.

“You are – fucking – incredible,” Javi growls in your ear, grinding his straining cock against the damp spot on your panties for emphasis. Your breathing is shallow, and you cling to his broad back as he continues his way down your neck.

“You’re amazing,” he adds, then gently sinks his teeth into the flesh between your neck and shoulder, eliciting a small whimper from your lips.

Letting your head loll to the side, willing him to take whatever he desires, you whisper, “Javi, please…”

You can feel his mustache turn up as he smiles, his path across your clavicle interrupted.

“‘Please’, what, cariño?” His wide hands roam up the expanse of your back, then down to massage the meat of your hips and ass. You rock yourself against his cock again, but he holds your hips still and pulls back to look into your wrecked face, lifting an eyebrow in question.

“Fuck, Javi–” You rebel against the grip of his hands, trying to feel that pressure from his hard cock again, but he stops you. He mimics your tut-tut from earlier out in the gallery, and pulls his hips away from yours. You lock your ankles behind him, trying in vain to keep him in place.

Javi smacks a hand against the flesh of your ass that’s still covered by your dress, which luckily muffles the sound. Your mouth pops open in surprise, and you look at him. The intensity in his face has returned, but there’s no malice in his eyes, just hunger. Without a word exchanged, you unhook your ankles from behind his waist and let your legs spread open.

Javi lets out a satisfied moan from deep in his chest. “Mm, somebody trained you well, cariño.”

You let out a shuddering breath and Javi leans in to capture your bottom lip between his, sucking it between his teeth before letting it go with a soft pop. You nod, just barely, and wait for him to continue.

“I bet I can guess who it was,” he teases, then his tone changes. “Stand up and turn around. Palms on the desk.”

Javi pulls away and walks the two steps to the door, never looking away as he watches you follow his command. Your dress is now hitched up onto your hips, your ass presented to him.

Before he can lock the door, a tentative knock on the other side makes both of you jump. You immediately straighten up and pull your dress down, while Javi checks through the blinds in the door’s window.

“Tran,” he mouths.

You try to smooth your hair down and Javi opens the door and quickly turns away, busying himself with the wire and receiver on the desk, as though he’d just turned it off.

Clearing her throat, Tran stands in the doorway, not meeting your eye and says, “Boss, Diaz just reported in. Bateman is getting an emergency appendectomy, but he should be fine. They got him to the ER before it got too bad.”

Both you and Javi let out sighs of relief. “Thanks, Tran. We’ll debrief in the morning.”

Tran glances between you and Javi, and gives you a sly smile. “Sure thing, Boss. Have a good night.” She winks and closes the office door behind her. You’ll have to deal with that later.

“Fuck me,” you sigh and sink down in the office chair. All the adrenaline of the evening was starting to make your legs shaky. Javi sits a hip on the corner of the desk in a way that reminds you of Pike.

“That’s kind of what I was trying to do,” he tosses his head at the door. “Before we got interrupted.”

“It was very rude,” you agree, both of you sharing a smirk before going quiet.

“Listen,” Javi swipes a thumb at the corner of his mouth. “I don’t know if this is a good idea–” You put a hand on his knee to stop him.

“But it’s what I want. And you obviously want it too,” you look pointedly at his crotch, where his aroused state is still quite evident, despite the interruption.

“Fuck yeah, I do,” he states emphatically. “It’s just…” He sighs and places his hand over yours. “I recognize what a huge deal this case is for you, for professional and personal reasons.”

Javi pulls you to stand and cups your face. “I couldn’t live with myself if I fucked that up for you.”

You sigh, and think for a moment.

“Javi, no offense, but that’s bullshit.”

“What?” He pulls back in surprise.

“First, you’re giving yourself way too much credit,” you chuckle to break the tension, then grow serious. “Secondly, I’m a grown ass woman who can make her own choices. If anything gets fucked up, it’s because I made a decision, so I’ll deal with the consequences.”

Javi takes a deep breath, evaluating your words. You can see that he doesn’t like the idea of what those consequences may be, nor the thought of you being the one to deal with them.

He swears under his breath in Spanish, looking to the heavens for help, then leans in and kisses you. Gently at first, then more persistently, holding your face until you’re both breathing heavily through your noses. He breaks the kiss and you both take a deep breath.

“Okay, ‘grown ass woman,’” he says, and you let out a small laugh. “I’ve got a choice for you to make.”

“Oh, yeah? And what’s that?”

“Your place or mine?”

Chapter 8 - Coming Soon!

Additional Author’s Note: Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU for all the lovely comments and reblogs! I can’t tell you how much they mean to me. As always, I would love-love-love to know what you think. I really want to become a better writer, so any and all feedback is welcome! Thank you for reading! 💜

#senorabond writes #rumor has it fic #javi x reader x pike #javier pena x reader #javier pena fanfiction #javier peña #javier pena smut #javier pena narcos #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike the mentalist #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike

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washa · 1 year ago

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D.A.M.N crew headcannons (complete with some memes bc who doesn't love those)

Freelancer used to work part time at a bookstore. They're a huge fan of romance novels. So is Damien, he'll never admit that though.

Has a stash of academic rivals to lovers under his bed in a box. (YES I STAND BY THE FACT DAMIEN IS ACADEMIC RIVALS TO LOVERS FANBOY)

Huxley grew up on like farm property and has a pet duck and golden (or some other big ass dog like a great dane or smth)

Lasko uses his air elemental power thingy to blow dry his hair. Once time Co worker walked in and got a face full of water droplets.

De(a)mons don't technically need to walk in the elegy, so they'll just float around. This led to Caelum having this cotton candy looking cloud he just floats around on. It leaves a trail of glitter everywhere it goes.

This leaves like Freelancer sweeping their their floors when Caelum comes around.

Also Caelum can walk, so sometimes he like parks the fucking cloud jumps off it and just stumbles around like a toddler.

Co worker is fucking amazing at parallel parking. Like sometimes other D.A.M.N teachers see them parking and think "oh shit they're not gonna make it" and THEY DO PERFECTLY EVERY TIME.

Damien played tennis back in high school, It just fits.

Damien is long sighted but wears contacts cause glasses are "too much of a hassle". Lasko is both short and long sighted has circle lenses and silver frames. Coworker got him those cool looking chains and he loves them so much (its reminds him of his dnd character ^^)

Huxley loves Damien with his glasses on. He really REALLY loves it when Damien's face gets all flushed when he presses a kiss to where Dames frame meets the bridge of his nose.<3

Freelancer, Damien and Lasko are coffee drinkers. Huxley and Co worker are tea drinkers. (Caelum drink hot cocoa or milkshakes, depends on the weather.)

Damien eats chips/popcorn w fucking chopsticks bc he hates the way the dust feels on his fingers.

Lasko stares at him everytime he sees it. like a judging "wtf" kinda stare

Gavin is actually ass at video games, but board games? Bro will destroy your ass in a game of fucking operation, embarrass your whole damn bloodline when he play uno, dishonor your damn herritage when he plays monopoly.

Gavin can tie a cherry stem w his tongue. It got tied around his piercing once and Freelancer laughed their ass off at the sight of a cherry hanging by his tongue.

They took a photo and now that photo is Freelancers homescreen.

Gavin sometimes acts like a curious child when it comes to certain things. Like being a de(a)mon he doesn't know certain things abt human technology.

Example. He likes flushing the water in the toilet, he likes the way it swirls. He loves keyboards, he loves the sound they make when you press on the keys.

Damien was a "gifted kid" skipped a grade back in like year 5

Gavin hates when people waste food, He doesn't even need to eat it just irks him.

Lasko is the person who buys books but never reads them. He has so many stacks of unread books in his apartment

Freelancer had broke their tailbone right after developing their powers.

Caelum was assigned to them bc they were yes a humanborn and yada yada, but it was mainly bc they were miserable because of the pain.

Yes, Freelancer became Caelum's charge bc of a broken tailbone.

#redacted audio #redacted asmr #redactedverse #redacted headcanons #redacted lasko #redacted huxley #redacted caelum #redacted freelancer #redacted damien #redacted gavin #redacted damn crew

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misirosekisiro · 1 year ago

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Shadow's deception

Chapter 1

Sarutobi Akiha's heart raced faster than ever as he finally stepped foot onto the Arasaka Corporation headquarters grounds. Despite years of training and preparation, the magnitude of his covert operation sent shivers down his spine. This wasn't just about revenge against those who killed his parents - this was warfare.

Inside the impenetrable fortress of glass and steel, the air carried echoes of powerful machines whirring behind closed doors. Every step forward felt like advancing into enemy territory, leaving his every nerve on edge.

Then he notice a guard, not just normal guard like outside building, but a ninja guards, dress in blue high-tech ninja's bodysuit, patroling and gurding the door.

Akiha sneak carefully towards the guard, waiting for the right moment to strike. Finally, he sees it – the perfect opportunity arises when the guard bends over to pick up something off the floor. In a flash, Akiha lunges at the unsuspecting target, grabbing hold of his wrist before pulling him closer.

The guard struggles, attempting to break free while reaching for hidden weapons under his sleeves. But Akiha’s mastery of ninjutsu proves superior, allowing him to swiftly disarm the opponent without breaking contact. With a twist of his fingers, he pins the guard’s arm securely behind his back, forcing submission as they face each other eye to eye.

As their gazes lock, the intensity rippling through both parties becomes palpable. Sweat drips down their foreheads despite the cool night air.

"Al..." Ninja guard going to shout.

But Akiha moves quickly, placing his hand over the guard's mouth to prevent any noise escaping. Then, with precision, he plunges his tongue deep inside the guard's throat, savoring the warmth of his blood. Their connection intensifies further, their breathing becoming heavy. "You know what happens now?" asks Akiha huskily, leaning close enough to whisper directly into the man's ear. His arm warp around guard's neck to do chock hold.

Guard struggle even more trying to escape death. It seems hopelessly for him, because there was no chance to resist Akiha.

"Sorry, I will take your duty for today." Akiha whisper.

Guard struggling in panic to breathe, slowly loosing consciousness due to lack of oxygen to brain. Akiha feels victorious, accomplishing his first task of the evening. However, a new sense of urgency begins to stir as he realizes time is running short. Taking advantage of the situation, he hastens to find a suitable place to don the stolen ninja attire." He found storage room, so he dragguard body there, undressed him.

First, he removed the black leather boots, then pulled off the formfitting blue bodysuit revealing smooth muscular legs beneath. Next came the gloves, followed by the headband which held the distinctive blue hair in place. Lastly, he took off the tight fitting hoodie covering the upper half of the body.After removing all these items, he left the unconscious guard lying on the cold concrete floor. Now dressed in the stolen ninja attire, he looked almost identical to the guard he had defeated earlier.

He look at naked unconcious guard. He need to make sure that he can't alert anyone, even he's early awake. He start to tie

the unconscious guard hands behind his back, rendering him helpless if he regains consciousness too soon. he also gagged the bound guard's mouth, muffling any possible cries for help. Once he finished securing the prisoner, He hidding his own belongs, his ninjs bodysuit, maskin a nearby storage area, knowing he couldn't risk having them discovered later.

Now fully assimilated into his new identity, he moved confidently throughout the maze-like structure, blending in effortlessly among the staff members. Utilizing his advanced knowledge of the premises, he managed to navigate the complex system, avoiding surveillance cameras and suspicious employees alike.

His mind constantly drifted toward thoughts of retribution.

But not long after he move toward his mission. One figure landed silently next to a place where Akiha hide his attire.

It's Mukuro, another 19-year-old gay ninja working for Arasaka Corp. His primary objective is to capture intruders like Sarutobi Akiha. His stealth skills are legendary amongst other ninjas. He found Akiha since he enter the building. So stalking him silently. He's let Akiha progress to learn what is this ninja's target. He saw when Akiha attack guard, change hisattire. And heading toward Data storage room. He pick up Akiha's ninja bodysuit, put in in his nose.

Mukuro smirked, his eyes narrowing slightly. Stepping closer, he reached for the fabric, taking it gingerly between his fingertips. His touch lingered longer than necessary, drawing attention to the supple material and exquisite craftsmanship. Unable to suppress a small smile, he traced invisible patterns along the soft fabric, reveling in the subtle sensuality embedded within its fibers.

He could feel Akiha's strength, determination, and sexual prowess radiating from the garment, enticing him beyond belief. Clasping the material tightly to his chest, he mentally saluted the ingenious design that allowed such an exceptional display of power and prowess.

He grab all Akiha's belong, then vanished.

Chapter 2

With his stolen ninja guard uniform and identity, Akiha head deeper into Arasaka's building.

Navigating through dimly lit corridors, the air thickened with apprehension. Each turn seemed to bring him one step closer to the data room holding vital information. Yet, he feel he was being tracked closely by someone else skilled in the arts of deception...someone whose sole aim was to expose and neutralize him. But he sight no one.

As Akiha navigates through the labyrinth of hallways, his mind wanders, fixating upon the prospect of success and how sweet victory would taste once he acquired the crucial intel stored within the data room. Even though he was alone amidst this vast expanse, the presence of Mukuro hung heavily in the air. His mere existence taunted Akiha, casting doubt over whether this quest for vengeance might end in failure.

He try to check a blueprint of the building in his memory.

He knew the data room should be near the top floors, far away from entrance, surrounded by high level security measures.

As he walk higher, feeling his heart race faster. Surrounded by dark corridor illuminated only by occasional emergency light. The pressure mounted exponentially as each passing second brought him closer to ultimate prize.

Finally, he reach a large metal door marked 'Restricted Area'.

He know he has arrived. Before opening the door, he take few moments to calm himself. Breath deeply and steadies his racing pulse. Gaining confidence, he steps toward the door, pressing his fingerprint scanner with his faked fingerprint on his finger.

Without warning, a male voice comes over intercom speaker: "Identify yourself!"

His voice filled with authority, making the hairs on Akiha's arms stand on end. Quickly, he composes himself, remembering the information he studied regarding the building layout and personnel. Speaking clearly yet quietly, Akiha answers, "This is agent X57, reporting for my shift." There is a brief pause before the intercom responds: "Access granted," accompanied by the metallic sound of the door unlocking. As he slides open the heavy metal door, he cannot help but marvel at the secrecy and security surrounding this highly classified space.

Adjusting his grip on the stolen ID card attached to his belt, he braces himself against the frigid draft blowing inward from the opened vault. The temperature drop signaled his proximity to the inner sanctum housing the most coveted treasures of Arasaka Corp. A thrilling mix of anxiety and excitement coursed through his veins as he ventured further, leaving nothing but darkness behind him.

Bursting forth into the main chamber, he beheld rows upon rows of gleaming server racks containing seemingly infinite amounts of digital information.

Despite the sheer magnitude of the wealth contained here, he remained focused on locating the specific data sought after.

A sudden wave of panic surged through Akiha as he realized just how pervasively the room was monitored – every action he made would leave indelible marks upon countless digital records. This thought sent shivers cascading down his spine, making his resolve waver momentarily. But resolutely, he pressed on, determined to achieve his goals.

Moving towards the servers responsible for storing critical business strategies, financial transactions, military intelligence, and various other forms of valuable data, he searched diligently for the specific file he needed. The silence encapsulating the enormous space amplified the loud clicking sounds generated by the rotating hard drives and humming fans. Each corner revealed layers of intrigue hidden behind screens of numerical codes and cybersecurity protocols.

Although familiar with some aspects of technology utilized in espionage missions, Akiha felt a rising unease as he confronted the depth of this technological conundrum. Every attempt to access the desired files triggered multiple defense mechanisms designed to prevent unauthorized access.

Unbeknownst to Akiha, he was already under intense scrutiny by Arasaka's IT department, led by Mukuro. Observing his movements via closed circuit cameras, they noted his precise navigation and swift maneuvers throughout the facility.

They were well aware of his covert tactics - a testament to his mastery of stealth and strategy. However, little did they realize that Mukuro's keen instincts were honed not merely for tracking intruders, but for recognizing kindred spirits seeking redemption in combat. He knew all too well the intensity of battle, and understood better than anyone the fire burning deep within Akiha's soul.

Meanwhile, Akiha continued his silent exploration, traversing vast spaces swathed in shadows cast by stark fluorescent lights.

Dodging past several motion sensor stations without triggering alarms proved an incredibly challenging task, requiring finesse and agility he hadn't known he possessed. Despite these obstacles, Akiha refused to falter, fueled by desperation and passionate desire for justice.

During his journey, however, he began to sense something amiss in the atmosphere around him. Although he initially attributed these feelings to the heightened stress induced by this precarious situation, he gradually became convinced there was more going on beneath the surface.

Something about the way the wind whispered through the empty corridors or the eerie echoes produced by his footsteps resonated with him on a primal level. It wasn't until he turned a sharp corner and came face-to-face with the data terminal that he truly comprehended the significance of these whispers.

The data terminal stood tall and imposing, towering above everything else in the vicinity. Its cold steel exterior emitted an ominous aura, accentuated by the dim lighting enveloping the area. As Akiha approached cautiously, he couldn't help but notice the faint outline of a shadow moving across the floor. Pausing briefly, he peered intently into the darkness, trying to discern any signs of movement. Satisfied that whatever had caused the disturbance was harmless, he resumed his approach towards the terminal.

But before he can approach it. The wall raising form the floor around him, too fast than Akiha can flee.

Sweat trickles down his forehead, he clenches his teeth. Panicking now, fearing that he will be trapped forever, Akiha decides to make a last effort to break free. Digging his fingers into the cool metal walls, he starts clawing wildly, trying to find purchase to push off. Desperate and losing hope, he remembers his fighting skills. Suddenly, he launches himself backward onto a nearby platform, performing a powerful roundhouse kick.

However, It's useless at all. Then he heard a trapdoor open above his head. follow with another ninja, step into a seal cage. Trapdoor was close after.

Akiha could see a ninja standing there, dressed in black attire, with long limbs, lean muscles, and a graceful stride. He wore a red high-tech tight ninja outfit, complete with a hood hiding his face.

"Hello friend, Nice to meet you. I'm Mukuro, who's be responsible on guarding this tower." Mukuro said in mocking tone.

Akiha glares fiercely at the figure, struggling futilely against the confines of the cage.

Angry, frustrated, powerless, betrayed, these words ring true inside Akiha's brain. He tried to gather what happened. How did he get caught? All those hours spent planning, preparing, studying…for naught! In a blink of an eye, his carefully crafted plan crumbled.

Feeling defeated, Akiha looked up at Mukuro. He decide to suddenly attack to Mukuro, hope to grab a victory with surprise attack.

In response, Mukuro reacted swiftly, blocking Akiha's strike with ease. A smile curved across his lips as he observed Akiha's efforts to escape the cage. He took advantage of the momentum created by Akiha's failed attempt, pinning him against the bars of the cell. As sweat dripped down both warriors’ faces, neither hesitated to express their determination to win.

Despite his anger, Akiha found solace in the fact that he faced one of his own kind.

Unwavering in his commitment to honor and duty, he fought furiously, pushing against the limits of his human capabilities. Mukuro, equally driven by loyalty and devotion to the cause, engaged in a merciless struggle for supremacy. Their bodies moved fluidly amid the chaos of the conflict, each thrust aimed directly at weakening the opponent's defenses. Sparks ignited when their flesh collided, and heat radiated from their clashing energies.

Both men were consumed by the urgency of the fight, displaying raw strength and expertise rarely seen among ordinary individuals. As sweat soaked their clothes, the two fighters locked eyes intensely, each absorbing the other's gaze, attempting to psychologically disarm them.

Akiha pushed harder, knowing that if he didn't defeat Mukuro quickly, he risked being exposed, captured, and potentially killed by others within the facility.

But even Akiha is talent ninja, but he still too little experience on field. Ninja fight is not like a samurai, relate on power. But cunning and stealth attack. Suddenly Akiha feel daze. His mind filled with confusion, and his body no longer responded as quickly. His eyesight seemed hazy, yet oddly clear at the same time. The air smelled different, subtle scents wafting over him. Unable to resist, he fell victim to the drug administered by Mukuro earlier. Overwhelmed by the sensory assault, Akiha lost consciousness.

As Akiha lay unconscious in the cage, Mukuro seized the opportunity to explore the contents of the data storage device strapped to Akiha's chest.

Carefully removing the case, he inserted a special USB key into its slot and waited patiently for the device to download the necessary faked information. With a soft click signifying completion, Mukuro removed the drive and slipped it safely into his pocket.

He then turned his attention back to Akiha, observing the young ninja lying helplessly before him. Feeling a mixture of admiration and pity for his adversary, Mukuro decided to spare Akiha's life for now. Instead, he chose to take matters further, binding Akiha tighter and placing a gag in his mouth to ensure his silence.

Once secured, Mukuro left Akiha alone in the dark chamber, leaving only the sound of his footsteps echoing through the hallways as evidence of his departure.

Now, Akiha struggled against his restraints, unable to move freely despite his best efforts. Frustration coursed through his veins as he realized the extent of his failure.

"So you finally awake, I wait until you awake because it more fun that way."

Mukuro spoke sarcastically. "It seems your plan has failed miserably," Akiha thought bitterly, feeling humiliated by his own lack of success. Despite his disappointment, Akiha remained steadfast in his resolve, determined to seek vengeance upon those who wronged him.

His hands bound behind his back, Akiha tested the limitations of his restraints. The material used for binding was surprisingly durable, rendering his attempts at escaping utterly fruitless. Yet again, he felt defeated.

Then Mukuro bring up a bag and place beside him. Akiha remember it. That is a bag that he keep his belongs and hidden while he disguise as ninja guard.

"Why bother?"asked Akiha with a hint of bitterness in his voice. "What good does it do me now?"

Mukuro paused momentarily, contemplating whether to answer honestly or maintain the pretense. Deciding on honesty, he replied, "Well, first things first, let us start getting to know each other."

Without waiting for a reply, Mukuro sat down opposite Akira, drawing his legs up underneath him.

His movements were practiced and measured, allowing him to sit comfortably whilst maintaining a sense of control. The slight creak of leather as he shifted in his seat punctuated the otherwise silent room. Akira continued to struggle against his bonds in vain, occasionally muttering curses under his breath. This would have been highly entertaining to watch if it weren't such a testament to Akira's arrogant pride. There was something fascinating about witnessing someone who appeared confidently superior, reduced to near helplessness.

Mukuro grinned slightly, taking pleasure in watching Akiha squirm against his restraints, visibly aware of how much his pride had taken a hit. Still, Mukuro knew better than to show any weakness or triumph prematurely. So instead, he began with small talk - inquiring about Akiha's past experiences and motivations. Gradually, the subject matter most pertinent to their present situation: espionage. But Akiha know better to not share any infomation about himself. he keep silent.

"It's ok, I just think it's will more easy if you just talk. But it's really no need."

Said Mukuro, seemingly unfazed by Akiha's refusal to engage.

"You may wonder, why I need to bring your belongs here." Mukuro pats on the bag beside him.

'Your equipment, right?'

Akiha nodded silently, choosing not to speak, understanding well enough Mukuro's intentions.

'Ah yes, your radio,' Mukuro continues nonchalantly, 'wouldn't want anyone accidentally intercepting our conversation.'

Even though he couldn't remove his hand gloves without assistance, Mukuro managed to fiddle with the device, ensuring the channel was securely encrypted. However, he purposely kept the volume low, creating an air of uncertainty surrounding their interaction.

"Since it was clothes, sure it bring for someone to wear."

Akiha mumbles sullenly, his gaze fixated on Mukuro, desperately trying to comprehend his motives.

"You will know soon enough" Then Mukuro walk to Akiha, grab Akiha's hair and lift his head up. He remove Akiha's gag then thrown a pill inside Akiha open mouth. Akiha try to split it. But Mukuro punch to his guts. Make him open mouth and grab the air. the pill also pass down his throat.

Akiha coughed violously after swallowing the strange substance. It's wasn't long before he feel heat in his body. But also feel weaker in each second pass.

Mukuro noticed the change in Akiha's condition, amused by the effects of the drugs he had administered. Although it wouldn't make Akiha completely compliant, the added influence could prove useful in manipulating the course of events. He watched closely as Akiha succumbed fully to the potency of the concoction.

The warmth spread throughout Akiha's body as the drug took effect. Even as he became disoriented, a newfound euphoria emerged.

His limbs grew heavy, his muscles unwilling to obey his commands. Paradoxical feelings flooded his body; excitement and terror coexisted within him. Each part of him felt both enthralled and petrified. Meanwhile, Mukuro studied Akiha intently, observing the rapid changes taking hold of his captive.

Satisfied with the progression of the drug's effects, Mukuro proceeded to carry out his nefarious scheme.

Drawing close to Akiha once more, he positioned himself inches away from the vulnerable figure seated on the cold concrete floor. Observing Akiha's rapidly dimming faculties, Mukuro prepared to capitalize on the opportunities presented. Glancing around briefly, He put his mouth on Akiha's member.

His tongue danced around Akiha's tip, teasing the edges. Just as Akiha started to lose himself in the sensuality of the act, Mukuro leaned forward, pressing his lips to Akiha's earlobe. His whisper reverberated deliciously deep within Akiha's core.

“I hope you enjoy yourself.”

Pulling back momentarily, he looked deeply into Akiha’s eyes, sending shivers of trepidation through his spine.

Without warning, Mukuro resumed his suckling of Akiha’s erect manhood, moving faster and deeper with each passing moment. As Akiha’s hips bucked involuntarily, Mukuro smiled wickedly, reveling in the knowledge that he held complete dominance over Akiha in this state.

Meanwhile, Akiha tried desperately to break free from his binds, his desire clashing with his growing dependence on Mukuro.

Despite being consumed by lustful urges, Akiha found solace in knowing that there was a chance to escape later when his strength returned. For now, he allowed himself to surrender to the pleasures Mukuro so masterfully provided.

Mukuro moved expertly across Akiha's body, lavishing him with tender caresses along the length of his arms and legs. His touch brought forth waves of euphoric sensations that enveloped Akiha's entire being.

Swept up in the rapturous torrent of sensory delight, he found himself yearning even more intensely for release. His whole world seemed to shrink down to nothing but Mukuro's deft fingers and the tantalizing promise of fulfillment. And yet, he knew instinctively that this was merely the beginning – that they were mere players in a larger game.

Both aware of their respective roles in this twisted choreography, Akiha found himself caught in the web of passion woven by Mukuro. Unable to resist the temptation, he gave himself wholly to the experience. Their bodies tangled together, becoming one, their primal desires driving them ever onward towards a climax that promised to eclipse their wildest dreams.

Embracing the eroticism of the encounter, Mukuro unleashed the depths of his sinuous expertise.

Then Akiha can't resist any further. He break a cum.

Mukuro smirked, satisfied with his performance thus far. He step and watch at Akiha. Akiha's cock still leaking a cum. It's flow out non-stop.

Akiha moans softly in relief, finding a measure of calm amidst the chaos. He not even notice that his body start to flaten. It's like all muscle, bone in his body was melt down and turn in to his cum, flow aways form his body form his cock.

When Akiha notice that something happen to his body.

He try to stand up, to see what happened. But his body become heavier, harder to move. Slowly, he realize what happening. All of his power gone. Even worse, he don't understand why. Why everything go wrong?

While Mukuro look at Akiha curiously, enjoying the unfolding spectacle of Akiha losing control over his own fate. He walks toward Akiha slowly, studying his changing appearance with keen interest.

When the last drop of Akiha's cum, leak out to wet floor.

Finally, Akiha lay motionless on the ground, his face filled with confusion and fear. Unaware of what has transpired during these moments, he stared blankly at Mukuro, questioning the reality of this surreal scenario. In response, Mukuro only offered a cryptic smile, leaving Akiha feeling utterly defeated and defenseless.

Feeling the loss of power physically manifested itself, the sudden transformation elicited panic and horror from Akiha. He now just a conciousness skin of himself. Laid on the floor.

Akiha finally understood what had occurred. All the muscle and bones in his body transformed into his semen, draining from his penis and eventually dissolving, reducing him to nothing but a mindless consciousness confined to his original skin. Panic rose swiftly within him as he struggled to grasp the magnitude of the metamorphosis. How did this happen? What went wrong? Questions bombarded his thoughts frantically.

Unfolding his limbs, Mukuro sauntered towards Akiha.

"Seem you enjoy a process of my unique ninpo. "Skinsuit transformation""

Mukuro said casually, his voice carrying a hint of cruelty. This caused Akiha to quiver with dread, despite his diminished physical capabilities. Despite the horror that now surrounded him, Akiha remained determined to find some way to reclaim his former self.

Mukuro start to undress himself

Before Akiha, he reveals a naked body covered in scars. Scars from years of training and battles as a skilled assassin.

Mukuro approached Akiha slowly, his hands roaming suggestively along his muscular frame.

As he stands towering over Akiha, the contrast between their figures becomes evident - Akiha's body reduced to a bare shell while Mukuro stands proudly displaying his robust form.

Then Mukuro pick Akiha's skinsuit up.

He rub his finger tips against it lightly, savoring the tactile pleasure. Feeling the fine threads underneath his fingertips, he whispers to Akiha.

"Now, let me show you how powerful I really am... If I wanted to, I could simply snap your life away right here. Do you believe me?"

There was no need for Akiha to answer - his frozen state conveyed everything needed. Mukuro laughed softly, a dark sound laced with menace.

Then he lower Akiha's skinsuit, use both hand to spread Akiha's mouth open wide, even widen more than normal mouth can do. Akiha think it's may tear and he must pain. But he really feel just likewas injected with anesthesia. He can feel a touch, how his mouth was spread but it's no pain.

What is going on? Did Mukuro inject him with numbing agent? His mind races as he tries to comprehend the situation. It seems impossible for Mukuro to perform such feats without the aid of medicine.

Akiha knows he needs to focus if he wants to survive this nightmare. Yet, his rational thought is quickly subdued by his mounting anxiety.

Why doesn't his body respond? What does Mukuro want from him? These questions continue to echo incessantly within his head.

Then the fear stuck to his head, Mukuro put one leg inside Akiha's mouth.

Akiha's mind racing trying to comprehend what this meant. He couldn't accept what he saw before him. Was Mukuro truly doing this? Or was it merely a figment of his imagination born from fear and fatigue? Couldn't be real, right? It wasn't possible. No one could defy the laws of nature like this!

But it didn't matter whether it was real or imaginary, because Akiha was trapped in this terrifying illusion either way.

Mukuro bring his leg's to fill in Akiha skinsuit's leg.

Akiha head now hug to Mukuro's ass, he can smella mix of sweat and pheromones emitting from Mukuro's body. It makes him remember their first meeting. The intensity of their encounters earlier tonight replay vividly in his memory. He remembers feeling helpless beneath Mukuro's superior skills and control. Yet somehow, this newfound submission felt different — much more intense and perverse.

After Mukuro adjust his leg to fit in Akiha's leg, he put another legs inside do the same.

Akiha's mouth stretched wider as Mukuro continues filling the void within his body with his legs. The sense of powerlessness intensifies, gripping Akiha's heart like a vice. He finds it difficult to reconcile his helplessness as the reality of the situation dawns upon him fully.

Each time Mukuro steps inside Akiha's body, a wave of conflicting emotions crashed over him. There was a strange mixture of fear, anger, humiliation, and arousal coursing through his veins. Also it's feel some contents of himself was filled.

After adjust both legs, Mukuro pull Akiha's skinsuit to cover his shoulder. It's always the toughest progress to put the arms and hands in.

Mukuro grimaced slightly at the challenge of fitting his own long fingers and palms into Akiha's narrow arms and hands. As he forced each digit to conform to the limited space, he noticed Akiya shiver slightly in reaction to the invasion. The slight tremble sent a thrill running through Mukuro, igniting an inner fire that he had long since suppressed.

The sensation grew stronger, almost uncontrollably.

Akiha tried to hold back his cries, but they escaped anyway, reverberating throughout the silent chamber. The sight of Mukuro filling Akiha's body piece by piece evoked feelings of both fear and exhilaration simultaneously. He wondered how long he would endure such torment until Mukuro finished. Time appeared to drag, making each moment seem excruciatingly drawn out.

Despite his predicament, there was also a perverse fascination with watching someone else occupy his body. It fueled a hidden desire deep within him that demanded satisfaction.

Mukuro also adjust his cock to fill in Akiha's empty cock skin.

Without hesitation, he inserts his entire length into Akiha's crotch area. The act causes Akiha to cry out involuntarily, his body reacting to Mukuro's presence. However, Mukuro maintains his composure, reveling in his complete dominance over Akiha. Akiha's chest rises and falls rapidly, his breath quickening, betraying his growing arousal. He closed his eyes, struggling to regain his bearings amidst the swirling sea of mixed emotions.

The weightiness of Mukuro's presence continued to press down on him, yet strangely enough, his aching desires began to stir once again. A part of him yearned for release, begging to be consumed by Mukuro's raw passion. In spite of the uncertainty surrounding his circumstances, a subtle whisper called forth from deep within, urging him to succumb completely to Mukuro's advances.

Having secured Akiha's lower half, Mukuro stepped back to admire his work. Now only last piece, he pull up Akiha's skinsuit head, to cover his head.

Inserting his head into Akiha's skull cap proved far more challenging compared to other parts. Each attempt seemed futile, causing Mukuro to grow impatient. Eventually, after several failed attempts, he managed to get his head through the small opening, securing the final piece of the puzzle.

Fully integrated into Akiha's skinsuit, Mukuro stood tall, surveying his newly acquired domain with pride. At first it's like a man try to wear too tight suit. Akiha's face was distort in different body inside. But soon Mukuro body start to shrink to match with skinsuit.

As he settles comfortably into Akiha's body, he observes his surroundings. The faint trace of Akiha's lingering essence fills him with renewed determination.

Akiha realized that Mukuro has indeed taken possession of his body entirely, leaving him paralyzed inside his own skin. It was both horrifying and surreal at the same time.

Amidst his confusion, Mukuro seized the opportunity to speak directly to Akiha, his voice echoing deeply within Akiha's skull.

"Feel the warmth caressing your insides, Akiha? Soon, you will experience something beyond your wildest dreams."

Mukuro's taunting words reverberated within Akiha's consciousness, creating a whirlwind of conflicted emotions. Simultaneously terrified and titillated, Akiha struggled to comprehend his present circumstance.

Then Akiha feel like got something slide into his brain. It's nauseating feeling. Like a slime try to read anything inside his brain.

The slithering sensation brought about discomfort as well as curiosity. Then suddenly, the sliding stops.

"Oh, Akiha right? Good name, that my name now. Ah you work under Genso, that oldie never give up right? I'm sorry about your lost that turn you into a shinobi. But why not just forget about them and seek different way of life. Than try to destroy Arasaka." Mukuro said, everything about Akiha's live

now belongs to him, his past and future included. "We should make best use of our enemy's resources, don't you agree?" Mukuro now as Akiha, move to Akiha's equiment, he start dressing it.

First, he take off Akiha's underwear, revealing his perfectly sculpted behind. Even though he was dressed in Akiha's skinsuit, he couldn't help but appreciate the firmness and smooth texture of Akiha's derriere. This sudden intimate encounter heightened his excitement further, sending waves of heat pulsing through his core.

Next, he moved onto Akiha's armor. Carefully slipping on the various pieces – gloves, gauntlets, boots, and finally the iconic black bodysuit that covered Akiha's upper body. Each item added to his transformation, enhancing his physical prowess and giving him a distinct edge over any adversaries.

The armored ensemble bore testament to Akiha's dedication and commitment to honing his craft. Mukuro marveled at the precision engineering incorporated into these garments, designed specifically for optimal performance during missions.

Then he take a Akiha's tight ninja mask.

Akiha's nose twitched as he caught a familiar scent wafting from the confines of the mask. It was a combination of perspiration, musk, and the lingering traces of Akiha's pheromone-laden presence. The blended fragrance caused a peculiar sensation to course through his body, eliciting an unexpected response. Despite the initial repulsion, he found himself oddly attracted to the unusual concoction.

As Mukuro took the ninja mask and placed it carefully around his neck, ensuring its snug fit, Akiha experienced a surge of panic. Trapped within the confines of his own skinsuit, he was unable to resist Mukuro's manipulations. His thoughts raced frantically, searching for a means to escape this bizarre predicament.

Suddenly, Akiha became aware of a throbbing ache below his waistline. Was this a side effect of being controlled by Mukuro's powers? Realizing that he could no longer control his physical responses, Akiha accepted his fate as a pawn in Mukuro's elaborate game. Acutally it's Mukuro that feel so

excited, as if electricity is flowing through his body. Sensual images flashed through his mind, sparking a flurry of ideas aimed at seducing Akiha into submitting to his will.

Unbeknownst to Akiha, Mukuro possessed knowledge regarding Akiha's weak spots. Leveraging this advantage, Mukuro sought to exploit these vulnerabilities, drawing Akiha deeper into his web of temptation.

Mukuro as Akiha, pick all left equipment, place it into his body.

As he straps on Akiha's gadgets, his confidence grows steadily, bolstered by the power and capabilities afforded by Akiha's arsenal. These tools served as the ultimate proof of Akiha's devotion to his cause - even in death, his skills remained invaluable.

Wearing Akiha's clothing and gadget gave Mukuro a sense of invincibility and potency unlike any before.

Akiha felt his heart racing in trepidation beneath his stolen skin. Meanwhile, Mukuro savored the taste of victory as he prepared to leave Akiha’s base incognito. As Akiha lay helplessly bound, he watched Mukuro don his mask, preparing to deceive the others waiting outside.

Chapter 3

Mukuro standing in the moonlight in Akiha's identity, watiching a old japanse mansion that is a base of Akiha. A rebellion group which aim to destroy Arasaka Corp. He need to report a successful mission to his master. but with false data inside the USB.

He had a plan in motion, one that would lead him straight towards destruction and chaos. The thought sent shivers coursing through his veins, igniting an inner fire that burned brighter than ever before.

When he reached Akiha's base, fully transformed, he confidently strode forward without skipping a beat. His footsteps were sure and steady as he made his way toward the entrance of the secret facility. He knew the layout of the compound by heart, having memorized every nook and cranny in anticipation of tonight's events.

With unwavering certainty, he approached the security checkpoint undeterred. Donning a calm expression, he handed over the usb containing fake intel to the guard stationed there. "This is the latest update from our field operatives," he stated authoritatively, hoping to instill trust in the minds of the unsuspecting rebels. The guard appeared satisfied with his explanation, nodding briefly before allowing entry.

Once safely inside, Mukuro swiftly navigated through dimly lit corridors, making his way towards the central command post.

His newfound physique exuded an air of authority and strength, instantly earning him respectful glances from fellow agents. With an easygoing demeanor, he introduced himself as 'Akiha', claiming to have successfully retrieved crucial intelligence vital to their campaign against Arasaka Corp. While some individuals displayed skepticism due to his apparent youth, none dared question the authenticity of such critical data.

Akiha's quarters were located adjacent to the command center, offering privacy and solitude.

Once alone, Mukuro removed the items from his inventory and began examining them meticulously. Every object held significance and value to Akiha's strategies. Disguised as Akiha, Mukuro felt emboldened, relishing the idea of manipulating Akiha's peers with ease.

Staring back at Mukuro in the mirror, a sinister grin formed across his lips. He recognized the danger lurking within these walls—the potential consequences of his betrayal.

Yet, the prospect of causing utter havoc among these traitors only intensified his resolve. Pondering over Akiha's personal files, he discovered sensitive information pertaining to several key members of the resistance movement. Smirking maliciously, he formulated a plan to sow discord amongst them using this valuable data.

Leaving Akiha's private chambers, Mukuro ventured forth, surveying the bustling activity within the compound. Invisible amidst the crowd, he observed everyone go about their business oblivious to the impending turmoil.

Beneath the surface, however, a sinister smile stretched across his face as he contemplated how to execute his destructive intentions. Utilizing his expert understanding of human psychology, Mukuro subtly embedded seeds of doubt throughout the camp, planting suspicion amongst its inhabitants. In doing so, he hoped to fracture the cohesiveness of the team and create divisions among the ranks. To solidify his position within the organization, he decided to establish a strong rapport with those who held considerable influence.

He amost can't keep his laugh to brust out.

#identity theft #stolen identity #gay #steal clothes #clothes stolen #steal uniform #uniform stolen #male body suit #male bodysuit

104 notes · View notes

m1d-45 · 1 year ago

Note

I don't know when, i don't know how, but SOMEBODY has ruined my day by giving me flashbacks of my most embarrassing moments from years ago.

Tongue frozen on the iron bars, check, had to alert the peeps to get the teach to bring hot water and she kept giggling at me.

The first time i tried proper kissing? Fucken awkward.

Accidentally mixing my coca cola glass with dads wine glass, and spurting it out with ews in a FUCKEN BUFFET?! FULL OF PEOPLE?! WHO TURNED TO LOOK AT ME AS MY FAMILY LAUGHED AT MY MISFORTUNE?!

Getting whacked in the head by a ball during gym class when a classmate threw it? AND they had the AUDACITY TO LAUGH AT ME! (And people wondered why i skipped that class-)

But honestly, i want schadenfreude and a creator x a hot guy (you can choose who, i'll take anyone at this point to ease me) with just these scenarios in mind, if you could.

i have found that even forced exposure can help with younghood embarrassment.

-🥘Stew

tongue tied

a/n: maybe this isnt what you wanted. maybe it is. idk i have writers block like you wouldn't believe man.

word count: ~6.5k

→ warnings: none? mention of alcohol and injuries but nothing awful or severe. just nice :]

→ g/n reader (you/yours)

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me

< masterlist >

diluc is a man with many skills.

he’s led the dawn winery for many years and have taken hundreds of shifts at the angel’s share, every item on the menu practically muscle memory by now. he knew the regulars and their typical orders, he knew the quickest way to strip mint stalks of their leaves, how to stack wine barrels most efficiently and how hot he could make his flames without getting burned, practically every skill he could reasonably need mastered when he was young.

…practically was the operative word, of course.

in business, it was practical to learn how to perfectly sign his signature. it was practical to know how to be diplomatic, practical to know how to properly tie a tie or check if a suit was fitted properly, practical to learn all of the skills he’d need to be the head of the dawn winery when he was young, so that by the time it was him sweeping a heavy coat over his shoulders for a meeting, he’d have every ability necessary to tackle whatever faced him.

but of course, his “training” didn’t cover more… personal things. he was too busy learning dining etiquette to know how to make small talk—that didn’t revolve around one party trying to get something from the other, that is. he knew how to set tables and properly pour wine, but his greetings were industry-approved stiff, responses a standard dialogue that he had nearly memorized. everything he said was mapped out in his head far before he’d say it, neatly laid out in his mind as he guided the conversation where he wanted it to go. efficient for formal meetings, but it left him… he didn’t like the word ‘lost,’ but it was the only one he could reasonably apply.

diluc set down the glass he was cleaning, picking up another to keep his hands busy. yes, there was a formal dishwasher hired, but he didn’t like being idle. he didn’t quite know what to do or where to put his hands, feeling a bit exposed without his coat. the bar provided a wide berth between him and any customers, but he couldn’t quite get a handle on the easy banter charles had with the patrons during his shift. it was like he was locked in an odd limbo between work and rest hours; without his gloves, vest, or other protective layers, all shed to prevent them from being stained in the case that something went awry, but still needing to keep face in front of others. he didn’t have his gloves to pull down, no comforting weight of his coat, his vision on a clip on his belt instead of the knot it usually hung from. everything wasn’t quite where it should be, and he was reminded of that every time he reached or twisted in the right way and the small spikes on top of his vision pressed through his shirt and into his side.

he felt… exposed. lost. and he didn’t know what to do about it.

he looked up as the tavern door opened, whatever expression he had before falling away as he was brought out of his thoughts. relax, he tried to tell himself, but it’s hard to believe that when one of the worst reasons for his confusion just walked in.

you.

archons, diluc was awful when it came to interacting with you. his heart beat too quickly and a shockingly large part of his brain thought that this meant he was in some sort of stressful meeting, all of his words coming out flat. while in its intended environment that would keep him from losing his temper or showing any weakness, in here it just made him feel more weak.

your head dipped. “master diluc, captain kaeya.”

and his brother certainly didn’t help the situation.

kaeya had turned when you entered, and greeting you with a sweeping arm and a cheery call of your name. “i didn’t think i’d see you so late; how kind of the heavens to bless me with your presence once again.”

diluc’s jaw tensed, and he traded glasses again. the pile of dirty cups was quickly dwindling, in no small part due to his own thoughts. he tended to be a bit quicker at the rhythmic movements of washing when he was caught up in his own lackluster abilities.

you laughed, taking the seat next to kaeya at the bar. all at once diluc was hyper aware of every action he made, from the change of towels to wipe off the water lingering on the cup to the smallest twitches in his expression or shifts in his weight.

“got caught up in some last-minute stuff, a coworker needed my help. i do hope you weren’t waiting too long?”

kaeya’s eye flashed, and he downed the rest of his drink before launching into a clearly fake story, talking about how actually, in the half hour or so delay in your appearance, the angel’s share was stormed by hundreds of fatui.

as if either of them would let that happen.

you played along, though, asking questions in the right spots and getting him to spin the story further. diluc exchanged his glasses again, doing a double take at the empty rack once he did.

that was far from ideal.

“-right, diluc?”

he looked up in an instant, eyes flicking about as he assessed the situation. clearly, he’d missed some part of the conversation, but what?

you, blessed you, had noticed his confusion, a smile on your face as you rested your hand on your chin, leaning on the bar. “i don’t know, would you really waste a bottle of dandelion wine like that? surely your claymore would do just fine.”

with a sharp swallow and a quick prayer—not that that would do much, knowing the archon he was praying to—diluc took a chance.

“of course i would. one bottle is worth it to defend mondstat, and it’s quite unwieldy to use a claymore in such a confined space.”

he fought a grimace the second the words left his mouth. his tone was too flat, his words uninteresting, certainly less entertaining than whatever fantastical tale kaeya had spun.

you nodded, and he could thankfully see amusement in your eyes. “how noble, master diluc.”

kaeya cut in, picking up his empty cup. “if you can spare a bottle for the fatui, then you can spare a glass for the cavalry captain, can’t you?”

he took the cup, but added it to the dirty rack alongside the one in his hand, taking a new one and wiping it to remove any water despite the fact that he knew there was none. archons, when had he gotten so…

he pushed away that train of thought, pulling out a bottle as he set the fresh glass down. “certainly not. wine is to be drank and paid for, that bottle was… an unfortunate accident.”

“my my, you’re no fun.” diluc poured his glass quickly—”not too much, not too little, okay? a little more, a bit… there, that’s good. well done, son.”—and moved it in front of him, pushing the cork back into the bottle with the heel of his palm. he set it back in its place, and noticed kaeya’s eyes on him as he took a sip.

no, not him, on-

“not worth a bottle, but worth a new glass? perhaps i am a hero after all…”

why was he unsurprised he noticed?

“i don’t want it to stain,” he lied, knowing damn well that stained glasses was something he was more than capable of handling. kaeya hummed, swirling his cup once before you prodded him about his day and he was back to his usual self, talking with significantly less grandeur than his tale from before.

diluc tried to pace himself, being extra meticulous in his cleaning, but there was only so many times he could twist a glass before he had to accept that he was done with it. an odd sort of dread settled over him as he reached for the last cup. today was a slower day, and he normally didn’t run out of cups until everybody was too drunk to notice how awkwardly he stood behind the bar. but kaeya was too smart to get properly drunk, you’d just arrived, and the night was far younger than he’d like.

he was cleaning too quickly again. normally, getting everything he needed to done with fast was a good thing, but now it just left him uneasy. charles didn’t have this problem, and he didn’t even clean glasses during the downtime. no, he struck up conversation with every single person that sat at the bar, no matter how downtrodden or celebratory. he was naturally friendly, always knowing exactly what to say despite the fact that diluc would bet serious mora on the fact that he didn’t have the faintest idea what he’d say until the other person was done. if he thought about it… even kaeya had a script of sorts, a certain way to twist the situation back in his favor, but he managed to talk to people just fine. no, that wasn’t the problem.

the clatter of the cup in his hands on the drying rack pulled him from his mind. he shouldn’t be zoning out so much on the job, but what took his attention first was the fact that he was now seriously out of tasks to complete.

…beautiful.

“diluc? is everything alright?”

it’s your voice, surprisingly, that asks for him, and he fixes his expression in the split second it takes to look at you instead of the glasses. his mind reaches, grabbing the familiar sentence that must have left his lips a thousand times.

“everything is as it should be. why do you ask?”

a defense of his position, dismissing any ideas of weakness, and a prompt as to why that line of thinking was in discussion at all. part of him recoiled at the idea of treating you with the same recited lines he did a business partner, but he genuinely didn’t know what else to say. he was distracted, to come up with another acceptable response would make him hesitate, which would set off yours or kaeya’s alarms- or both, if he was particularly clumsy with his speech.

“did the glasses offend you, or something? you’re glaring.”

and yet, despite his prerecorded reliability, he is at a loss once more. genuine inquiries about his well-being were rare in the spaces he typically interacted in, and it didn’t help that he was still stuck in work mode.

“…they have not,” he decides, picking his language carefully. “i am simply thinking about something else.”

horribly vague, and would almost certainly warrant a follow-up question. before you even opened your mouth, he knew what you’d say.

“what are you thinking about? do you need help?”

the second part was a shock, but he blessedly had an answer for the first. “nothing important. it will be handled in due time.”

kaeya raised a brow, and diluc pointedly ignored his questioning look. it wasn’t often that he resorted to diplomatic language in the presence of civilians, but you… he could never quite think right when you were around. he could only hope you never misinterpreted his odd words as mistrust.

you hummed, changing the subject shortly after with a question about the vineyards, something about a particularly bad season for crops you’d heard from sara. he paused for a moment—an acceptable pause, he told himself, as most people did think before speaking—before settling on giving you an update on the winery as a whole. anybody that listened in would only find what they could learn by asking his workers, and no trade secrets were to be found in the fact that his grapevines were regularly checked.

with the slightest twitch of his hand, he realized he was speaking to you like a businessman again.

kaeya’s cup had emptied at some point, and diluc reached for the bottle of dandelion wine without stopping his sentence, a small nod from kaeya the only confirmation he needed to pull off the cork.

“the staff have been doing well, though this is shaping up to be a rather warm summer.” not that you asked, he notes, internally chiding himself as he pulls over kaeya’s glass. he considers swapping it for a new one to give himself something to do, but decides against it. he rattles off a few details about some dahlias that adelinde is trying to grow, how they keep seeming to wilt. he doesn’t stop talking to pour kaeya’s wine, eyes focused on his task as he continues talking nonsense about flowers. flowers. since when did he talk about the hobbies of his staff when asked about the vineyards?

he twisted the bottle as he pulled away—“this way any wine that drips will land on the back label. you don’t want the front to look messy.”—corking the bottle and forcing himself to finish this childish line of speech.

it wasn’t childish, not if you seemed genuinely interested, but any more and kaeya would have too much to leverage against him later. granted, he likely knew more about diluc than he’d like given how irritatingly good he was at reading people, but that was a problem for another day. for now, he let kaeya grab his cup on his own, wiping his hands of nothing as he waited for your response to what had certainly come off as nervous ramble.

your head tilted. “has she asked flora?”

“assumedly, or she had another worker do so for her. it’s not like her to let something rot like that.”

“that’s good to hear. and you?”

“pardon?” his hands had frozen, towel still in his hands, and he turned your words over in his mind. his reply had been instinctual, mostly to buy him time to think.

“how are you doing? don’t get me wrong, it’s nice to hear the winery is well, but you seem nervous.”

kaeya chuckled into his wine, and diluc’s jaw ticked.

“i am well, my apologies if i have worried you.”

“oh, alright… it can be hard to tell sometimes with you, i wanted to be safe.”

he knows. he’d meant his apology, but any sincerity was likely lost in whatever filter was placed between his mind and his mouth.

the air was awkward, and he didn’t know how to fill it. kaeya was looking at him, clearly expecting him to continue whatever tentative conversation was lingering, but he greatly overestimated diluc’s ability to do so.

he hung the towel back in its place, finally meeting his brother’s eyes. “behave.” they flicked to you, and his words were slower coming out. “make sure he doesn’t steal anything.”

you smiled, swearing on it even as the three of you knew kaeya wouldn’t do such a thing. diluc stepped out from behind the bar, grabbing a large serving tray and walking from table to table, collecting empty glasses.

maybe he was a coward for avoiding conversation- scratch that, he definitely was, but what was he to do about it? talk? that was already established to be off the table, and one could not typically make conversation without talking.

diluc shook off the topic, climbing the stairs to the second floor of the bar. all he could do was hope you didn’t hold it against him, or archons forbid think it were somehow your fault. hopefully you wouldn’t hate him by the time he managed to get his words in line with his thoughts.

diluc stared at the empty page in front of him, twisting the pen in his hand.

another skill he didn’t have. informal letter writing.

letters to merchants, fine, letters to buyers, he had a standard template for. letters to and from employees, informing him of upcoming leave or similar work related matters, all of this he was prepared for.

but this…

he sighed, watching as ink dripped onto the page, setting down his pen.

what did he say? what did he want to say? what was appropriate to say? you were rather close to his heart but how did he come across? would an inquiry about your well being be too forward? was a letter at all too forward? friends- no, you didn’t consider him a friend, right? or did you? how did people act around their friends? how did you act around your friends?

he tugged at his gloves, fiddling with the hem nervously. he’d finished most of his paperwork and had intended to take a break by writing you a letter, but… was it even a good idea? he- oh archons, he didn’t even know your address-

diluc crumpled up the paper in one hand, throwing it in the trash with the beginnings of an embarrassed blush on his face. writing a letter and not even knowing where you lived- he could count the amount of proper conversations he’d had with you that had progressed past basic small talk on one hand, and he wanted to write you a letter?

he covered his face with his hands, resting his elbows on his desk. papers shifted beneath him but he didn’t pay attention, his thoughts in circles.

he wasn’t an idiot. he knew exactly why his heart picked up when you were around, why he had to default to more familiar speech to not make an utter fool of himself. the entire reason he’d tried to write you a letter was because he wanted to clarify his behavior towards you, to hopefully build a prior relationship with you instead of learning about you by proxy from your conversations with kaeya. yet, in his hurry to fix what probably wasn’t even broken to begin with—he knew of his reputation, in reality you probably weren’t at all surprised at his inability to make small talk—he’d forgotten the most important detail.

on one hand, he probably could ask kaeya, or poke around in other ways, but that felt disingenuous. if he was going to try and… for now he’d call it making a friendship with you, then he wanted to do it right. of course, he didn’t know exactly what ‘doing it right’ entailed, but… he supposed he’d just have to guess.

diluc had learned a considerable amount in his childhood, yet none of his lessons taught him how to pursue a partner.

diluc swept his cloak around his shoulders, fastening the clasp with one hand and reaching for his vision with the other. with practiced movements, he undid the knot tying it in place, attaching it to the back of his other hand. he hooked his mask onto his belt and closed the door of his room behind him, walking down the stairs quickly.

“be safe, master diluc.”

“master kaeya has kindly informed us that the knights have a patrol for the whispering woods, so it would be wise not to stray too far.”

diluc paused at the door, mentally rearranging his patrol route with a nod. “thank you adelinde, elzer. pass on my gratitude, please.”

he pulled open the door to the manor, walking up the familiar trails and into wolvendom. his vision lit his path as his eyes adjusted, free hand affixing his mask to his face as he walked. since he couldn’t head as far north as he’d like, he’d settle for a loop around windrise and then one in wolvendom. not ideal, but it would have to do.

windrise was lighter than expected. a budding camp of hilichurls here, an abyss mage to the east (thankfully hydro, he’d been on a bad streak with pyro mages for a few days now) and a few slimes that got a bit too close to the merchant trails for his liking.

speaking of the trails, those were clean too. he snuck around springvale, keeping the hand with his vision on it tucked into his cloak to mask its light. hilichurls didn’t hang around this part of wolvendom, so unless he wanted to go shoving through wolf hook bushes for the chance to knock out a camp or two…

he looked between the two paths back to the winery. he could go through the gorge, or the typical way taken by his suppliers. the former was mostly guaranteed to have at least one or two monsters picking about, but it would be better if he cleared his trade routes…

it didn’t matter, in the end. he stepped out from the shadow of a tree, boot barely making contact with the dirt before he picked up the sound of another’s footsteps. heavy, quick, rapidly coming his way-

he summoned his claymore, turning north toward the sound, seeing a figure stumble from the bushes of wolvendom. they were wrapped in a too-thin jacket considering the weather, arm pressed to their chest. details were lost in the darkness, but he could see their head twist, how it snapped to him.

the figure waved with a shout to get his attention, and his heart dropped.

you. what were you doing up so late?

you jogged up to him, clearly out of breath, and he could see that you were holding an armful of unripe wolfhooks. “do.. do you know the way to springvale?”

by the archons, abyss, and celestia above-

“what business do you have there? it’s late,” he said, keeping his voice low. his hands trembled slightly in his gloves, eyes searching your figure for any injury. you had a nick or two on your arm, thankfully not bleeding, but everything else was obscured by shadows. you had clearly been running for quite a while, judging by how harshly you breathed, were you running from something? had you ran into trouble?

“i gotta get back to the city,” you explained breathlessly. “i kinda got lost in the forest.”

“lost?” his hand tensed around his claymore, the action reminding him it was still there. he dismissed it, crossing his arms to try and stabilize himself.

“long story, not worth telling.” you waved your hand, and he could see how it shook a bit. whether from adrenaline or exhaustion (both?) he knew he couldn’t point you toward mondstat in good faith. what if something happened to you? what if he’d missed a camp and you were attacked? you were weakened, tired, and his mind raced with all the potential injuries you could sustain just trying to go home-

“uh, stranger?” your hand waved again, this time to get his attention. “you with me?”

“the city’s too far. you’re better off seeking shelter at the dawn winery just up the road.” what was he saying? “besides, you could be injured, and not be feeling the pain due to adrenaline. let me walk you there.”

his heart hammered against his ribs, every single way you could reject him and then some swirling in his head. he was a stranger to you, you were clearly scared by something, and he directed you elsewhere out of what, selfishness? he knew that springvale was likely closer, that someone would be up and willing to help, and yet he was asking to walk you to the winery?

“are you sure? you don’t have to.”

“i’d rather not send you off when i’m not certain of your safety.” your eyes widened slightly, surprised at the care in his voice, and he forced his tone to flatten before you recognized him. “besides, the staff are friendly and willing to help. they’ll understand.”

you hesitated for a moment, then nodded, holding your wolfhooks closer. absently, he wondered if he had any at the winery. probably not, but he could likely ask-…

in barbatos’ name, how was he going to explain this to the staff?

“alright. lead the way.”

he turned before his expression could change, keeping his steps a bit slower than usual so you could keep pace easier. he wanted you inside as quickly as possible, obviously, but you had clearly strained yourself earlier. going quicker would only hurt you more, and it wasn’t as if there was any immediate threat. even if there was, he was confident in his ability to keep you safe. the trees lining the path were large, wide enough to protect you if trouble came up and he needed to use his vision.

he set aside that line of thinking, sparing a glance at you. you’d switched which arms held the wolfhooks, and in the more open light, he could see the small pricks on your skin where the points dug in. you winced when the fruit resettled, moving one away from your inner elbow, and he stopped walking.

“give me those. you’re hurting yourself.”

“it’s fine, don’t worry about it. we’re nearly there, right?”

“wolfhooks aren’t clean, you could get an infection. you’re supposed to harvest them with a basket and gloves, not carrying them bare armed.”

“you don’t have the thickest clothes either, what’s to say you won’t get hurt?”

diluc searched the small area of the path you were on, trying to find a compromise. his first instinct was to use his cloak, but his hair was tucked into the hood, and that with his silhouette would certainly give him away. his eyes caught on a tear in your jacket, just below the shoulder, and he held out his arms.

“use your jacket as a sling. it’s already torn from the forest, so it’s not the worst loss.”

firm solution, reasonable and immediate justification. he was doing it again, no matter how well it disguised itself as casual speech.

you gave in, thankfully, and he didn’t let the minor pain from the wolfhook’s points show on his face as you removed your jacket. it was as thin as it looked, and he found himself frowning as he helped you stow the berries inside.

still, it wasn’t his business. maybe if he were your friend he could suggest that you purchase a heavier coat, but… you were getting a new one anyway since this one was ruined, so that seemed like a null point to bring up.

he settled your stuffed jacket into your waiting arms, hands lingering for a moment to ensure your grip was stable. “better?” you nodded, and he began walking again. “good. and don’t forget to mention your wounds to the staff, the last thing you want is an infection from… why did you need wolfhooks?”

“bennett asked me to get some for him and his friend… i think razor is his name? but with bennett’s luck, he didn’t want to risk going in himself, so he asked me to help.”

diluc frowned. “why does he need wolfhooks?”

you shrugged. “he offered some mora in return, but i mostly accepted because i felt bad. his luck seems to ruin everything for him, the least i could to was try.”

“even at the risk of your own health?”

“the things you do for friends, you know how it is.” his hands twitched at his sides, curling into loose fists. did he? “but what about you? why are you out here?”

he thought over his answer carefully, mixing various bits of his typical sentences to craft a half-truth. it was getting easier, he noticed, but put that thought aside just as quickly as it came. “wandering, doing my part to keep the area safe.”

“that’s noble of you.”

it wasn’t. would you believe the same if you knew how selfish he was in his desires? he kept mondstat safe for himself, so that he could rest knowing he’d done what he could—he patrolled not out of some moral righteousness, but because it made him proud to know that he’d chipped in to the city’s safety, that he was handling threats the knights didn’t, that he could keep his staff, his brother, his life, keep you-

“have you considered joining the knights? i’m certain there’s some night patrols, and it would surely be nice to have backup.”

he almost responded, almost said that he was in the knights, at one point, before he remembered where he was. who he was. to tell you that would be too much, too much information and too much for you to identify him with.

when did he become so loose with his words? normally he was so uptight around you… was it the fact that you didn’t know he was him right now? did.. he seriously operate best under anonymity? archons, how weak was that, to only be able to say what he meant when you didn’t know anything? was he that socially inept? so desperate for a proper conversation that he’d nearly slipped a major part of his life to you, just based on an offhand comment? how pathetic was he?

he forcefully shut down that line of thought and grit his teeth, well aware it had been too long since you’d spoken. “i’ve considered it. it’s not for me.”

not an entire lie, at least.

you were silent, and he knew he’d ruined the atmosphere. crystalflies fluttered in the trees, lazily flapping through the air, but he couldn’t appreciate their beauty like he typically could. the walk all the way down to the manor was spent in silence, and aside from a minor stumble you had on a jutting rock, it was as if he was walking back on his own, as he typically would. he even began to reach for the doorknob, then caught himself and used the knocker instead.

it was weird. he knew the door wasn’t locked, yet he waited for footsteps to approach the door, seeing elder’s worried face greet him. “master diluc, are you-?”

elzer’s eyes found yours, a tiny hint of shock crossing his face before he settled it back into the same polite smile he always used when greeting guests.

“ah, my apologies. i wasn’t expecting visitors at such a late hour.”

diluc bowed his head in what he hoped came off as a thankful action. “my apologies for disturbing you.”

he explained the situation as swiftly as possible, elzer urging you towards adelinde to treat your injuries. the medical supplies were just inside, near to the door for the sake of diluc’s own health.

“and what of you, stranger?” elzer asked, a bit louder than necessary. “will you be staying?”

diluc sees you look up, understanding clicking in an instant. “no, i won’t,” he answers, “but i thank you for your hospitality.”

elzer reached for the coatrack, pulling down two, both his and diluc’s, keeping the door propped open and passing him his where you couldn’t see. “then let me walk you to the edge of the vineyards, in exchange for your chivalry.”

“it’s alright, thank you. have a nice night.”

“the same to you, stranger.”

the door closed, and diluc relaxed, clutching his coat close as he turned away from the manor.

that was too close. he shouldn’t have suggested to bring you here in the first place, and thank the gods that elzer was so quick on his feet. he’d completely forgotten that he would have to return to the manor as diluc at one point in his rush to get you here.

he ducked behind a tree at the edge of the winery, exchanging his cloak for his jacket. he folded it neatly, stowing his mask and gloves inside. he didn’t have his usual clothes on, but… he could make do. he’d lied before, he’d lie again… even to you.

his grip around his cloak tightened. especially to you. you had no business in his shady practices, in what he did in the dark. it was impossible to keep you entirely safe and sheltered, nor was that healthy or his place to do, but he could at least keep his darkness from encroaching upon your light.

by the time diluc returned to the manor, you had already been sent on your way to a guest room. blessedly, neither adelinde nor elzer were in the front room to make a remark to him about it, likely busy with other work or asleep themselves. he locked the door and hung up his coat, heading up to his room after a swift double check of the first of those facts.

he went about his night, changing into sleepwear and setting his boots by his bed, his vision on his nightstand. it was admittedly a little more difficult falling asleep than usual—were you comfortable? did you like the guest room?—but he managed, waking up with the sun. his routine was the same, but when he arrived at the bottom of the stairs, he paused, looking up at the guest rooms. it… was strange, to know you were here. he felt like he should be doing something, whether saying goodbye or good morning or-

he looked away and shook his head. or nothing. he wasn’t as close to you as you were to him, how did he keep forgetting that?

“is there a problem, master diluc?”

he turned, seeing adelinde setting down his breakfast on the table. “nothing at all, and thank you for the food. did you sleep well?”

“i was a bit late in going to bed, a strange guest brought us some worry.”

he smiled at the pointedness to her tone, “really? how odd, to have a visitor so late.”

her mouth opens, but another speaks before she does.

“sorry if i caused any trouble.”

he paused. blinked. took a moment to register the fact that he just heard your voice in his home.

then he turned, attempting a smile. “it’s alright. your being here is unexpected, yes, but not unwelcome.”

you had clearly just gotten up, clothes rumpled and pillow creases along your hands. you nod, stepping closer, and he grasps for any viable threads of conversation.

“is the manor to your liking?”

“it’s beautiful.”

pride bloomed in his chest. “i’m happy to hear it. come sit, have some breakfast.” adelinde excused herself with a bow and he moved to pull out a chair for you, praying the action looked as natural as it felt. you accepted with a smile, and he pushes you in with relief in his when he sits. “she should return shortly with your food, apologies for the delay.”

“it’s fine,” you said, looking around the main room. he tries to find something else to talk about, already feeling the awkward silence set in, but fumbles. the last time he had someone at his table was with the traveller for the weinlesefest, and they and paimon mostly carried the conversation along. he only ever heads business discussions, or staff meetings, or interrogations, and this was certainly none of those.

“are you alright?”

he blinked away his frown, realizing too late he’d been glaring at his cup of grape juice. an instinctual response rose to his tongue, but he hesitated. maybe it was the early morning hour, maybe it was the genuine concern on your face, maybe it was the light of dawn streaming in from the windows that fell across you so delicately, as if it knew how beautiful you were.

he discarded that response, but exchanged it for another. “are you? adelinde told me you were injured.”

a lie. he hadn’t spoken with anybody about your injuries. archons, was this worse?

your smile grows. apparently not? “just a few scrapes,” you say, lifting your arm to show where adelinde bandaged you. “wolfhooks are a lot sharper than they look.”

“wolfhooks?”

you waved a hand. “i needed some for bennett, long story. don’t worry, adelinde gave me a basket for them.”

“that’s good to hear.”

and just like that, the topic was exhausted. did he bring up something else? how much was too much? what was even an appropriate topic? what did the average person talk about? not that you were average, he’d never dare-

he’s talked himself into a corner in his own head. how in teyvat did that happen?

“you’re frowning again.”

“my apologies, i’m lost in thought.” he was quiet for a moment, then continued, “a problem i’ve encountered before is more prevalent now.”

…it wasn’t the most eloquent of phrasing, but it should do.

“do you want to talk about it?”

does he? how would he even put this into words that didn’t make him sound… is pathetic the word?

‘i can’t talk right around you because i’m not used to talking with someone that does so in good faith’? yeah, that’s something a well-adjusted adult says.

“i don’t have the words for it,” he decides. “the words…” he takes a quick glance at you to gauge your reaction but regrets it just as fast, whatever he had to say next vanishing into thin air. it’s unfair, really, how pretty you are, his eyes fixed to yours. “t-they-“

adelinde set your plate down in front of you, blessedly saving him from the situation. “thank you for your patience. please let me know if anything is unsatisfactory.”

diluc grabs his cup as you thank her, turning away to hide behind the grape juice. he can’t even really taste it, focused on how clumsily he had spoken. were he anywhere else he’d surely be laughed out of the room, and he’s certain adelinde’s going to tease him for it later as it is.

“diluc?” he looks over at you again, keeping his gaze quick before he fumbles again.

“what is it?”

too harsh, too cruel, he’s being cold to you again-

“are you busy today?”

he thinks over his schedule. no meetings that he can remember, nor any deadlines. he’d prefer to finish up some forms sooner rather than later, but if you need him for something…

“no, i’ve got time. what do you need?”

“would you like to go to good hunter for dinner later today?”

he can only hope you accept his nod as an answer because between the knowing smile on your face and the bright blush on his, there’s no way he’s getting a word out.

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