#I’m responsible for all of my affairs I don’t ask him for a damn thing I even buy groceries every month and the internet | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

espinosaurusrexex · 10 months

Text

Revision

Professor!SteveRogers x Student!Female!Reader AU

summary: Professor Rogers was a lot of things, but for you, he was even more. A secret affair? A fun little side thing? You didn’t know yet. But you'd gladly seek out every possible moment with him until you did.

a/n: once upon a time I had a crush on my professor… this is what came out of it (don’t worry it didn’t really happen) but shame on me for keeping this in the drafts for so long

thank you @sebsgirl71479 for finding this gif and also very special thanks to @urcatslitterbox for taking the time and making one herself! you are the greatest!

word count: 3.3k

warnings: age gap (reader is of legal age of course), student/teacher relationship, a little fluff (because apparently I can’t do it without) this is obviously smut (dry humping, praise kink, unprotected p in v - wrap it before you tap it guys, slight overstimulation, voyeurism - if you squint), I don't know what else to tell you !MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

･ﾟ✫* 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ｡✭･ﾟ✶ 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ✧*･ﾟ

“Do you know why I asked you to stay, Ms. Y/L/N?” His arms crossed before his chest as his gaze followed the last students roaming amongst the rows of the vast lecture hall, a blonde strand of hair falling loose and settling in a soft curve over his eye. Professor Rogers looked intimidating, but so damn sexy as well. His biceps bulged beneath the checkered white and blue button-up, his sleeves halfway rolled up, restrained by his evenly muscular forearms.

“To be perfectly honest, Professor,” Your voice stayed even, a slight mockery undertone by the use of formality when you had called him far more personal things than that before. Steve, Stevie, Daddy... you shook out of it - there were still people here. “I don’t. I was quite confident that my assignment was to your... satisfaction.” A smug grin hid behind the last word, as you remembered the actual satisfaction that assignment had brought you as well.

Steve had to hide his smile, too. His eyes darted with amusement when he tilted his head forward to peer up at you through his thick lashes. Your eyes wandered to his legs. His tan chinos were tight on his muscular thighs and the way he leaned back with his knees spread even wider - holy mother of god.

He knew damn well how hot he was, and the annoying thing was that he also knew how to make it work for him. Steve reveled in the power his body language had over you.

He watched as your tights clenched together behind his desk. The simple movement of his fingers on a desk could make you keen thinking about the places they had done that before. His confidence seeped though every fucking vein in his body, dripping in thick undertones and slight remarks out of his mouth and invading your senses through his touch and smell.

He was to die for. Tall, muscular, charming, and older.

You looked him up and down again and as his head tilted to the side you knew exactly that he could read your every thought. His arms opened when the door closed behind the last student, one hand gliding to his inner thigh while the other motioned for you to step closer.

You did.

It was like an automatic response of your body. Though you leaned forwards on the wooden desk, your arms pushing inward to help the cleavage peeking through the collar of your top, Steve’s eyes pulled down in an instant as well.

“It certainly was.” He rubbed his beard. “I just thought it would be beneficial to go over it once more, highlight the good parts and make sure you know what made them so... enticing.” He leaned forward now, his fingers brushing yours on the sleek surface of the polished wood, though his eyes remained on your breasts. Steve wet his lips before his eyes flicked up to yours again. “I’m willing to thoroughly talk you through the rougher bits as well.”

“Are you implying they weren’t all good?”

“Oh, they were good, just not as good as other parts.”

It was a game. You knew that, and Steve knew that too. But the little role-playing brought an excitement to this ordeal that couldn’t be denied by either of you. He was like a magnet and your entire body felt like it was made of metal with the pull he had on you. You stood on your toes, pushing yourself further over the table, where Steve stayed entirely still. He was observing you, though. The slight intrigue in the twig of his brow when your lips came dangerously close to his. A fast glint to the double doors leading to the hallways full of students rushing to their next classes. There was no nervousness in his stare though. Steve actually liked the potential threat of getting caught. It spurred him on, enticed him, and turned him on beyond belief. You had learned that just the other week when he had dragged you behind the open door to the janitor's closet of the history building. He had absolutely no shame in getting his hands dirty while all the students walked past the dark room where Steve had his hand firmly pressed above your mouth as his other relentlessly plunged in and out of your wet cunt.

“Huh.” You pushed back. And even though the muscular blonde on the other side of the desk tried not to react, you caught his shoulder slouch in disappointment. You liked playing tough, though. While his perfume worked hard to pull you back into him, your feet shuffled a little further back, looking him up and down again. His legs were still manspreading on the chair and damn did those thighs look inviting. You knew they were.

The clock above the double door clicked louder now that the students outside had passed on to their next classes. You had one, too actually. But the professor was boring as hell and who wouldn’t trade a creepy scarf-wearing weirdo for this specimen of a man in front of you right now? Exactly: no one. But they didn’t have that chance. Steve had chosen you, reserved his glances and touches, and kissed for you and it was exciting. Getting to share his experiences, letting the older man take control of your body in such rough yet gentle ways.

Your legs strode around the desk as Steve’s eyes followed you through the room. His arms had reached out to you once you were close enough for him to grab and once his index finger looped in the belt loops of your jeans, he pulled you onto his lap. As your hands wandered to his shoulders, his snook around your waist, his thumb gently stroking the skin beneath your top. A shiver ran through you when he leaned back, his icy blue orbs piercing the air as they focused on yours, a small smile twinkling in the corner of his mouth.

“You look good.” You whispered, a hand smoothing over the collar. Steve’s lips escaped a laugh, and even though the sexual tension you build up with the sneaky conversation still lingered in the air, there was a softer, sweeter sound invading the atmosphere right this moment.

“I know you like the blue.” He mumbled when he dipped forward, his nose brushed your neck and a trial of goosebumps traveled down your back. The rasp in his voice stirred something in your stomach, a slight tingle shooting up to your brain and telling you ‘hey that’s hot!’ In bright and blaring neon lights.

Steve’s fingers ran down your legs and began massaging your thighs on each side of him. Another strand of hair came loose and fell forward. It tickled your neck as his mouth began to suck its way up to your sweet spot, your hands frantically cramming his shirt at the sudden attack. His tongue shot forward, soothing the place his teeth just nibbled on and the familiar burn ran over your skin as hisses and moans mixed in your mouth. Your hips jolted forward when he finally reached that spot behind your ear, hot breath blowing over the wet skin and a soft kiss right after.

“You smell...” A growl broke through his speech when your hips ground a second time. ��So sweet...”

A jolt of confidence placed a grin on your lips. The perfume you wore had turned some heads before, but the only one that mattered was Steve’s. His mouth resumed his caress of your skin as his hand wandered to your ass, slowly pushing you forward and guiding you over the growing bulge beneath his pants.

“Ah, yes!” It was only a breath out when the seam of your jeans was pushed into your clit by the hardness in his lap, but - God did that feel good! Your back arched when he continuously ripped you over the spot, your hands buried in his hair, pressing him deeper into your skin, encouraging him to keep going.

“Goddamn...” His head switched to the other side of your neck, the skin on the neglected one already hot and tingly. But your sole focus lay between your legs, where his cock massaged your clit in perfectly firm rocking motions. The roughness of the jeans just added to the pleasure creeping through your body.

You could’ve gone like this forever, with the heat rising in your belly and Steve’s muffled panting lingering in the air, but Steve pulled away. A whine brushed over to him when his lips left your skin. You were burning from his touch but at the same time, a cool brush of goosebumps covered your body. It was crazy how much you craved his touch even when he was sitting right in front of you. His stare alone lit a fire within your stomach, butterflies flying wild patterns through every nerve ending when his light blue eyes found yours in the distance of the lecture hall. It had happened suddenly and spiraled beyond your control within days. And then, when he had finally kissed you, it was pretty clear that there was no going back. Steve was like a drug. Something you shouldn’t play with and something that was definitely illegal to pursue, but so so so freaking good because he made you feel things you could have never imagined.

His voice pulled you back to reality.

“As much as I like your ass in those jeans...” Steve tugged on your Jeans with dark eyes, the silver button glimmered in the lecture hall light when his rough fingers yanked on the material. “They need to go.” That last part was just a growl in your ear but the tire of it made you eagerly wiggle out of the blue denim.

You stepped out of your jeans once he had finally opened them and when his eyes fell on the underwear covering your heat, he pulled you closer by your hips. His thumbs drove circles over your skin, sending yet another tingle of excitement up your spine. His hands wandered back to your behind, squeezing and needing the flesh all while pressing you into his front.

Your lips attached to his neck like a magnet, your hand scraping the gruff on his chin with excited circles. A growl traveled past his lips when you reached his sweet spot - the one right beneath his ear, making him melt every time. A deviant smile spread about your face but before you could revel in the control you had over him - even if it was just for a short moment - he had you turned around, facing the rows of desks stretching to the walls.

“You’ve been doing this on purpose, haven’t you?” His hand wandered past your breasts down your front and stopped right by the edges of your panties, the other holding you by the hip, pressing his hard-on right to your back. The excitement shooting through you did nothing to hide, slick pooling between your legs, and your nipples already hard pebbles on your skin. “Putting on these scandalous little lace things thinking about how I’ll be seeing them today...” Warm breath tingled at your ear when he leaned closer, pushing his hand past the hem of the lace. “...taking them off of your perfect body.”

You moaned when his fingers slit past your folds, gathering some slick to smoothly roam about your clit.

“Maybe...” The shivers erupting from his touch interrupted your speech until you could collect yourself. “I’m always thinking of you, Stevie.” He bit your neck before his tongue smoothed over the spot again. It was a perfect interplay of pleasure and pain, the wet warm strokes of his tongue soothing the stinging and adding fuel to a desire only he could evoke in you.

“Say it again,” he growled, adding more pressure to the swollen bundle of nerves between your legs. You squirmed as the muscles in your abdomen tightened, clenching around nothing and reminding you what you had been missing. “What else are you thinking about?”

“Your hands all over my body...” Your hand guided his over to your breasts encouraging him to squeeze the soft flesh and breathing heavily when his thumb brushed over your hardened nipple. “Pushing me to bend over that desk while you fill me up with your big cock.”

“Nothing I’d rather do, doll.” Before you knew it your face was gently pressed against the cold and polished wood. Warm hands wandered to your ass where they pulled down your underwear painfully slow, having you fiddle in place impatiently.

“Now, don’t be so hasty, love. I gotta take my time.” You heard his belt unbuckle.

“Unfortunately, Professor, time is the one thing we do not have a lot of...” His hands stopped moving as you called him ‘Professor’, though you knew it wasn’t a bad thing. If anything, it probably turned him on more, which would hopefully speed up the process of him finally filling you up to the brim. Your pussy clenched at the thought of it again - a frustrating reminder of the emptiness you so wished to disappear.

“Too bad, I would have loved to play with you a little more.”

“Tick Tock...”

“As you wish, princess-” And before the words had even reached your ears, you felt his swollen tip nudge at your entrance, stroking up and down your slit to cover in your arousal as a sinful sound escaped Steve’s lips.

His hands found their way back to your waist before he finally pushed fully into you, leaving you no time to adjust to his size as he started pounding into you with an unrelenting pace. The burn wasn’t painful though. You knew he was big, and even though you had not believed that he would ever fit inside of you, Steve had managed to not only do that but also ruin you for every other man to ever come.

“Look at your greedy little cunt begging for my cock, practically sucking me in, doll.”

You couldn’t answer, too focused on holding onto the desk and controlling your body not to melt with his strokes as he pushed into you over and over again.

“Gripping me so tight... perfect little pussy.” A slap landed on your ass cheek to which you responded with another loud moan. If there had been a care for anyone to hear you doing the indescribable in this lecture hall before, Steve had certainly fucked it out of you by now. You turned your head watching as he spit down on his cock before it disappeared in you again, his head falling back with shut eyes while he reveled in every piece of pleasure you gave him.

“Fuck!” He locked eyes with you, a determined smirk painting his face when his hand wandered around your body again, finding your clit and rubbing tight little circles over the nub.

Your vision blurred as the hot pleasure crept up your spine. There was something about Steve’s touch that made you feel as though every nerve in your body fired twice and fast. You clenched around him again, watching with pleasure as his brows furrowed.

He picked up his pace, kicking your legs further apart and hitting an even deeper angle now.

“Oh my god!” Your eyes rolled to the back of your head before you closed them, trying to last longer than this. The feeling was just too good to let go of so soon. But with Steve’s hunky body towering over you and his cock stroking just the right spot with every moan he pulled from you, that seemed like an impossible task. You tried your best, though, but right when you thought that you would last a little longer, his fingers changed the direction of the circles on your clit and turned your brain to mush.

“I’m gonna- ah”

“The hell you are.” He pulled away, leaving you to whimper with the empty feeling you had never wanted back. But Steve pulled you up and turned you around in one swift motion, walking forward until you were pressed against the desk again. This time, though, he made you lay on your back with a hazy smile.

“I wanna see your pretty face when you come all over my cock.” He placed your legs on his shoulders and grabbed his dick to line it up with your entrance again. Then, he made sure to keep eye contact while he pushed himself into you once again, but this time, painfully slow.

You gripped him tight when he bottomed out, stroking the flesh on your thigh while he pulled back just to pound back in again.

“I fucking love this pussy,” he growled as his pace picked up much to your delight, “it’s mine. Tell me, baby.”

“Yes. Yes, it’s all yours, Stevie.” You couldn’t even focus on the words leaving your mouth at this point. You would say yes to anything he said just to make the feeling of his cock stroking your walls last forever.

“That’s a what?” He halted, raised eyebrows watching you expectantly.

“Yes, sir,” you smirked.

“Good girl.” The pressure built up again and when his hand found its way back to your clit, you felt like exploding. His pace didn’t falter, determination taking over while he watched himself slip in and out of you with hungry eyes.

You would be busting in seconds if he kept it up like this, your walls clenching tighter and tighter, your stomach feeling rock solid from the pleasure building up with every circle of his thumb and every stroke of his cock.

“Don’t hold back now, sweetheart. Let go. Give it to me.”

That was all it took for the knot to finally come loose. “Ah!” Your back arched off the table while your hands frantically searched for something to grip, the walls of your pussy fluttering and making your core be on fire with pleasure. It just intensified when Steve slowed his strokes to let you ride on the wave of bliss that made your body tingle.

When you relaxed again, you felt your walls pulsing with lazy delight. A weak smile shining through your hooded eyes when you watched him intensify his strokes again. Shaky whimpers left your throat when his cock brushed over your sensitive parts. He was close, too. You could feel him twitching inside of you, waiting for the perfect moment to let go. And you would give him just that.

“You make me feel so good, sir. Your big cock stretches me out, fills me up. I want you to come inside of me.”

“Fuck, keep going.” He closed his eyes, speeding up his movements and making the pressure build right up for you again.

“You’re so big. I can feel you in my stomach, baby. Make me come by just thinking about you. So sexy and strong and- ah oh!”

Steve’s movements staggered his cock twitching as his face contorted into pleasure while you felt his cum spill inside of you. The scene was erotic, and the sounds coming from the man above of you made you reach another orgasm, milking the last drop from him with every pulse of your walls.

Your chest heaved as you leaned your head back, watching the clock above the door. It was too sad this moment was ending.

Though Steve took his time. He watched his juices drip after he pulled out, whispering a low ‘perfect’ into the room that made your head feel hot.

How was this man making you flustered after shamelessly rearranging your guts in a public lecture hall?

“Put your jeans back on, doll. I don’t wanna get in trouble today.” He winked at you while he zipped up his pants and secured the buckle on top. You stood, fixing his slightly tossed hair and leaving your hand hovering over his jaw.

“Where’d you put my panties?” He kissed you.

“I think I’m gonna keep these,” Steve smiled while stuffing them into his back pocket.

“For revision, I presume?” You smiled with wicked eyes.

“Exactly.”

Here it is - finally! Please tell me what you think (hopefully it was worth the wait)! I've missed you guys so much; life is keeping me busy and excited for more. How have you been?? 💛

Wanna be added to the taglist?

@fangirl-swagg @mi-amoree1111 @lastwandastan @royalwritersoftheuniverses @dinwifey @stuckysgirl27 @broadwaybabe18 @buckybarnessimpp @goodkittyspost @simpxinnie @blackhawkfanatic @kandis-mom @circe143 @valkyrie418 @mirikusashes @noideawhyimdoingthislol @nikkitc0703 @lethallyprotected @erynnnn @misshale21 @wattpaduser200 @buckyseddie @adoreyouusugar @km-ffluv

775 notes · View notes

yasmindifference · 10 months

Note

IMMEDIATELY asking for jason’s pov of the fake dating fic for the prompt meme. literally first and only thing that popped in my mind. i don’t have a specific scene in mind, any you want would be amazing

oh and i forgot to say happy belated birthday!! you don’t have to reply to this separately lmao

Thank you very much! I've always kind of wanted to write Jason's POV of the hickey scene in chapter two, so I hope you enjoy ♡♡

It probably made Jason a bad person, but how could he resist the opportunity when it was right there?

“You might not’ve noticed, but I’m a possessive kinda guy,” he said in extreme understatement. “When I own something—or someone—I make damn sure everyone knows. You need more than this if you’re gonna be mine.”

It was a lie. A shameless, shameless lie.

Was Jason the kinda guy who marked up his partners as much and as often as they’d allow? Yes.

Was there a single solitary person in Crime Alley who was gonna look at Red Hood’s boyfriend long enough to even realize he had hickies, let alone count them? Absolutely fucking not.

So it was a lie, and Jason knew it. Knew that Tim would be lucky to get eye contact as long as he was undercover, because nobody would want to be the moron caught staring at Red Hood’s boyfriend. Jason had never dated anyone as his crime lord persona before, so they wouldn’t know what kinda punishment he’d lay down for staring…but he was sure they could imagine, and it would keep all of their gazes firmly averted.

But the excuse was right there—right there like the hickies he’d left before, scattered across Tim’s neck and just begging to be joined by some friends—and who was Jason to ignore it?

Tim hadn’t answered. Jason felt like that was a good sign; better hesitation than an immediate ‘no.’

“So?” he asked. He couldn’t resist the urge to apply a little pressure to the mark below his thumb, treasuring the way Tim’s pulse jumped in response. “More, yes or no?”

Tim’s pulse evened out immediately, and not in a natural way. No, that was Tim applying Batman’s lessons in controlling his heartbeat. That was Tim needing to control his heartbeat, because Jason was absolutely getting to him.

“Sure,” Tim said casually. “Knock yourself out.”

“Great,” Jason said, matching Tim’s casual tone. Not easy, when the jealous, possessive thing in his chest was nearly purring in satisfaction. He’d had so much fun marking Tim up the first time and couldn’t wait to do it again.

…But half the fun was flustering Tim, and Jason was pretty sure Tim had a strength kink. (It would explain his baffling and infuriating affair with the super clone, for one, and also Jason was like seventy-five percent sure Tim had checked him out the last time he took advantage of the Batcave’s weights.)

So he took the excuse of their height difference to lift Tim right off his feet and put him on the kitchen island. Without asking. With no visible effort. (No effort required, it’d be so fucking easy to just pin Tim to the wall and hold him there while Jason fucked him—)

Tim was blushing. Fuck yes.

He also wasn’t asking why Jason had done that, which was an even better sign, Jason thought. Still, for the sake of appearances—

“You’re too short,” he offered in explanation. Tim didn’t so much as roll his eyes; another good sign.

He wanted to keep teasing Tim, see if he could get that faint blush darker and more obvious, but the other half of the plan called. They had a date to go on.

So he stepped up between Tim’s splayed legs and gripped his hips, yanked him to the edge of the island, and went to town.

Tim’s skin was soft beneath his lips. His shirt rubbed distractingly against Jason’s chest. And the quiet, hitching breaths he kept taking were driving Jason out of his goddamned mind.

He was obviously trying so hard to stay cool, to play it unaffected like he wasn’t bothered all by Jason’s attention, and he was failing. Calm, cold, unflappable Tim was being really fucking flapped by Jason giving him a few hickies.

It was hot as fuck—and, more importantly, it gave Jason hope. Hope that this plan might actually work after all. That he might walk away from this not only with his traitors dealt with, but with Tim finally being his as a bonus.

And if not…well, at least he’d have this memory: Tim’s stifled moans, the taste of his sweat, and his visible struggle not to arch up into Jason’s touch.

It wasn’t everything Jason wanted, but it was a damn good start.

#jaytim #yasminfic #prompt response #eidoloony

261 notes · View notes

sashaisready · 2 months

Text

I'm Still Here - Chapter Two

Lee Bodecker (The Devil All The Time) x Femme Reader

In late 60s Meade, you’re married to Sheriff Bodecker, pregnant with your first child. On paper you’re the perfect couple – the respectable Sheriff and his homemaker wife. This should be one of the happiest times of your life…so why are the two of you living like ghosts? And is it too late to bridge that gap? Especially when your husband is playing a dangerous game.

Series Masterlist

Warnings: whoaaaa that escalated quickly!! Dark themes so please tread carefully - references to martial issues, references to infidelity/cheating thoughts, pregnancy, forced imprisonment and physical violence, some light smut references/breeding kink (hehe), allusions of violence toward a pregnant woman, threats of violence/murder.

Wordcount: 2.4k

Doug, the young bag boy from Denton’s, dutifully stacked the pantry items in the cabinet as you looked on.

“Thanks Doug. You want a sweet tea or anything?” you asked, your voice honeyed.

“No ma’am” he replied sharply, the tone slightly quivering.

You smiled behind his back. Some of the local young men got a little bit like that around you, you being the Sheriff’s wife and all. They didn’t want to do anything that might get back to Lee. That meant some of them froze up entirely, refusing to even engage with you in case the smallest thing could be interpreted as hostile or rude…or worse, flirty. You were like a deer they became perfectly still next to, as if even the slightest move might send you running. It was cute. You knew it was wrong, but you couldn’t help playing with them sometimes.

“You sure? I got some fresh cookies too. You should have some for all your hard work” you teased. “A growing man like you sure needs his calories”.

“N-no ma’am” replied poor, sweet Doug. He put another can in the cabinet and kept his eyes straight forward.

“Well…it means a lot to me” you continued. “Coming all the way out here to help me with my groceries. It’s harder for me to get around now I’m getting bigger”. You added a sigh for dramatic effect.

“Y-yes ma’am” Doug nodded. “N-no trouble. Mr. Denton is happy to help out his loyal customers. And a lady in need, of course”. He fixated on a can of beans as if it contained the meaning of life.

“Well, thank-you. And it’s nice they sent out such a handsome guy, too” you purred seductively.

Doug cleared his throat, his back visibly stiffened as he became flustered. “Uh…thank-thank you, Mrs-Mrs Bodecker”.

Sometimes you wondered if you could have an affair. Maybe it would be fun. You weren’t sure if many men would be open to sneaking around with a pregnant woman, and the Sheriff’s wife at that, but there sure were a lot of horndogs out there too stupid to care. But no. You wouldn’t do that to Lee. You loved the big lug too damn much, even if things weren’t great with him right now.

But that didn’t mean you couldn’t play.

You were about to carry on needling Doug but could practically hear Lee’s exasperated voice in your head. ‘Honey, leave that poor boy alone’.

Sigh. Fair enough. It was less fun when they were this skittish. You would release poor Doug.

“A-anything else you need, ma’am?” he choked out.

“No, that’s all – thank-you Doug. You’ve done a great job”.

You paid the bill, plus gave him a nice tip for his trouble. He rushed out of the door in a flash, the money barely in his hand. You sighed as you felt remorse and guilt flood you, that was mean of you. It’s not his fault you’re bored and stuck. Doug shouldn’t have to suffer because Lee hasn’t touched you in months. Don’t project your bullshit onto him. You don’t hurt people anymore, remember?

You would call Denton later and sing Doug’s praises. Insist on a raise for him, maybe throw Lee’s name around. Lord knows he needed it for working with the people in this town – yourself included.

You checked the wall clock as you rubbed your stomach. Baby gave you a few cursory kicks in response, just checking in. It was barely 11am. So much of the day to go and you were already bored out of your skull. Maybe you’d make yourself an early lunch. Watch a bit of TV. A walk if you felt up to the cooing and bump rubbing from the neighbourhood hens. Then back to chores. Same old, same old. Rinse and repeat.

“Motherfucker…” Lee seethed quietly as Leroy struck him once more.

He bared his teeth, the rage inside him so strong he felt that he could pull the ropes apart with his bare hands. Leroy hit him again, Bobo looked on and smiled.

“I told you, we’re done” Lee growled, spitting a crimson wad onto the concrete ground and pulling on his binds. The chair he was strapped to clanged loudly as the ropes hammered against it.

“I’m out. We’re not doin’ this anymore. I got a kid on the way. I’m going straight”.

Leroy sighed. “You don’t just get to leave, Bodecker” his tone was patronising, mocking. “We have an arrangement. A profitable one, for all of us. You’re really think you can just put in your two weeks’ notice, and we’ll let you go? Leave us high and dry? You can have your rugrat and your money, Sheriff. This doesn’t need to be the end”.

Lee shook his head vehemently. “I told you. I’m done. I’m not doing this anymore. Now you’ve got two choices: you let me go, I walk away – and I leave you alone. I look the other way if I hear about the shit you get up to. But your other choice…”

Leroy simply laughed; Bobo joined in.

“Way I see it, you’re not exactly in a position to bargain” Leroy explained as he leaned over into Lee’s battered face. “How about we make you a deal? We all carry on what we’re doing, and you go home to your pretty little wife, only slightly roughed up…”.

Lee snarled. “Don’t talk about my wife…”

Leroy snorted. “…Or, if you continue your sudden moral crusade…that poor little Bodecker junior grows up without a daddy. And that’s no life for a child”.

Lee’s eyes darkened at the mention of his unborn child. He didn’t even know if he was having a son or a daughter yet, but Leroy wasn’t allowed to speak of them regardless. He wouldn’t get away with this.

The pounding continued, Leroy doing his best to beat Lee into submission and have him ‘forget’ this whole walking away thing. Bobo would tag in occasionally too. They berated him, telling him he had no choice in this matter. But Lee wasn’t stupid. They needed him. Leroy was running scared. His whole operation would collapse without the Sheriff’s involvement, smoothing out the legal lines and distracting any boy scout deputies for them. Yeah, taking his cut had been nice. But enough was enough. He didn’t want to be a dirty cop with an innocent baby back home. A perfect baby that never did nothing wrong, who would grow up needing guidance. A baby who needed an honourable sheriff for a father, not some corrupt asshole taking bribes from scumbags like Leroy and Bobo. It was time to start over, to be good. Not just the baby, but for you as well. Leroy knew damn well it would all collapse once that happened.

Whatever happened, they needed Lee alive. This was all sheer panic.

Lee glanced at the beat-up clock leaning against the rickety desk. Barely 11am. He cursed himself, he had known they weren’t going to take too kindly to his announcement, but he’d underestimated their anger. He was woefully unprepared. Foolish. But there would be time to scold himself later. Now here he was out the back of some storefront, his deputies believing him to out on patrol, his wife thinking he was sorting some land dispute. Nobody knew he was here, so he had to find his own way home.

He winced as he thought of you. He wondered what you were doing right now. Maybe singing to your bump. Baking. Cleaning. He sure as hell hoped you hadn’t gone to the market yourself, but he wouldn’t be surprised if you had. You didn’t exactly have a track record for doing what you were told. He knew that better than anyone.

He had so badly wanted to feel you and the baby this morning, to touch you, connect with you both. But he ran scared. Things had been so weird between the two of you for so long, and he wouldn’t have been able to handle it if you’d recoiled or rejected him. It scared you how little he knew you these days. He never knew what you were thinking, your face a perfect mask – the same one you wore for the rest of the town. But before, he could see underneath. He used to know the very bones of you.

He admitted he’d withdrawn into himself a little as your bump grew. Maybe more than a little. But you had, too. And the truth was he was scared, his father wasn’t around when he was a kid, and he was determined to break the cycle – but he found himself so overwhelmed that he was paralysed by fear. So afraid to get it wrong that he barely acted at all. He knew the irony in this, not acting was still an action. And not the right one. He was eating more, watching his weight creep up as he tried to replace you with candy and junk. But it never tasted as sweet anymore. The two of you had inched further and further away from each other, and he was worried you wouldn’t find your way back. Lee was scared that if he tried to bridge that gap, you’d just push him away even further. It was easier to pretend everything was fine rather than have his worst fears confirmed. Maybe you were having doubts about him. Maybe he wasn’t enough for you. That was his fear when you first got together, too. With how you met and all. He thought he was over it, but it had lurked in the darkness, striking when his defences were down and rearing its ugly head once more. But now it was worse, because maybe it included the baby too.

He knew the night you’d conceived, the math added up, but he also just knew. And God he’d been so proud, he just knew it would take. Something in his soul told him that this was the one, that he’d taken you and claimed you and given you a part of himself to grow and create. The animalistic excitement of marking you and filling you, as nature intended. His beautiful wife becoming even more beautiful, the swell of your stomach would be a show of his virility, his duty as a husband. That idea alone had been what pushed him over the edge, his mouth over yours as he greedily swallowed your moans and filled you entirely with his spend. He’d held you tightly, still seated inside of you. His nose tracing the side of your face as your collective panting stilled. You’d told him you loved him, and he told you he loved you too, that he always had. Always will. How long ago that moment seemed.

Lee was rudely pulled from his thoughts by another smack from Leroy. He groaned slightly at the sting but keep his head up. He wasn’t a great fighter, but he could take one hell of a beating. One thing his daddy gave him, at least.

He blinked up at Leroy and could see the fatigue written all over him. He was worn out. Punching a guy over and over does take its toll. Especially a big one like Lee. Bobo looked pretty exhausted too. Lee felt himself brighten - here was a glimmer of hope he could maybe take advantage of. He could still get himself home to you and baby.

“There’s still time to walk away, Leroy” he spat menacingly. “You’re tired. I’m tired. Just untie me, and let’s go our separate ways and draw a line under our whole damn engagement”.

Leroy scoffed, but Lee heard his small pant of exhaustion - clear as day. Leroy shook his head, glancing at Bobo who stared back anxiously. They were running out of options. Even if they didn’t need Lee, they also didn’t need the heat of killing a Sheriff either. God only knows who might start digging and poking around in their business if they did.

Leroy huffed. “I didn’t want it to come to this, Bodecker, but you leave me no choice…”

He picked up his jacket from the desk and shrugged it on. Bobo, seeming to understand immediately, pulled on his hat in response.

Lee’s eyes narrowed. “And where are you goin’?”

“Sorry Lee” said Bobo almost regretfully as they walked towards the door.

Leroy sighed. “If you’re not going to listen to us, maybe we need to focus our efforts closer to home”.

Lee’s eyes widened. “You better not be suggestin’ what I think you are…” he snarled.

“We need insurance, Sheriff. A sure-fire way to know for certain that you won’t leave us high and dry or do anything stupid. And your wife fits the bill”.

Lee began yelling, screaming. He pulled and pulled on his binds as he used all his strength to try and break free.

“DON’T YOU FUCKIN’ TOUCH HER. SHE’S NOTHIN’ TO DO WITH THIS. SHE’S PREGNANT, YOU SICK SON OF A BITCH!” he howled, stamping his feet fruitlessly against the floor as he did his best to kick out. The anger radiating off him in waves.

“Oh, relax. We ain’t gonna hurt her too bad” chuckled Leroy. “We just need to make it clear who’s in charge here, and what might happen if you have another attack of conscience”.

Through his rage, Lee had a sudden moment of clarity. He needed to calm down to keep you safe. Both of you.

“Alright…Alright. You win.” he managed to puff out as he attempted to regain control of himself. “I don’t quit. I’ll stay. I do whatever you want. Just don’t hurt her. Don’t touch her. Or the baby”.

His voice was desperate. He looked between the two of them, begging for mercy.

Leroy’s jaw clicked. “I’m sorry Bodecker. It’s too late for all that now. We need to be sure you understand”. He smirked mockingly over at Lee and continued towards the door.

Lee let out a deafening roar as he fought, pulling on the ropes so hard he had burns on his fingers.

“I swear to the God almighty, you’ll die in that house, you motherfuckers!” he bellowed.

Leroy just laughed as he and Bobo left the store, leaving an apoplectic Lee in their wake.

As the door slammed, he took a second to steady his breathing. Shaking the sweat beads from his forehead, he took a deep breath and began to methodically tug at the knots of the rope. He would be out of those binds if it was the last thing he did.

“I’m comin’ Honeybee” he muttered. “I’m comin’…”

Soon, he felt one of the knots finally begin to give.

And he thought about the first time he met you.

#lee bodecker x reader #sheriff lee bodecker #lee bodecker #lee bodecker x you #lee bodecker x female reader #im still here fic

24 notes · View notes

levisfavoriteteashop · 2 months

Text

levisfavoriteteashop's writing event

illicit affairs x eren yeager

"you know damn well, for you i would ruin myself, a million little times."

notes: this is the first fic on my writing event, requested by @urmomslvr0. i hope you like it, i know you said maybe you'd want a happy ending but i was really feeling like going for angst, i hope you don't mind :) i really enjoyed writing it, thank you for your request.

cw: modern!au, cheating, angst no comfort

word count: around 1.4k

────────────────────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────────────

Make sure nobody sees you leave Hood over your head, keep your eyes down

Your heart jumped in your chest when you heard the familiar ding of an incoming text message coming through your phone. You discreetly grabbed the phone and unlocked it, only to read the text message you received. To no surprise, it was from your one and only best friend; Eren Yeager.

“Meet me, you know where. I want to talk”, the message says, short and straight to the point, as usual.

Tell your friends you're out for a run You'll be flushed when you return

“Y/N? Are you alright” You turned your head toward your friend, with whom you were having a sleepover tonight. She was sitting on your bed and she had noticed your troubled expression, which left her wondering about what was going on.

“Y-Yeah, I’m fine. Hey, uh…I need some air, I’ll go for a quick run, ‘kay?” Without waiting for her response, you passed in front of her to get to the front door, your heart beating nervously in your chest.

Take the road less travelled by Tell yourself you can always stop

As you walked the lonely streets of your neighbourhood, you couldn’t help but overthink and worry, wondering if what you were doing was right. After all, it was nothing new, only the same old story. Your heart was aching for him, you were so in love with that boy, yes, but you knew it was wrong. Eren had a girlfriend, Mikasa, and you had to let him be. But, how could you possibly do that when that very same boy kept playing around with you whenever he had the chance? Eren knew about your feelings for him, so why was he continuing to lead you on?

What started in beautiful rooms Ends with meetings in parking lots

Finally, you made you arrive at that spot, the spot he always called you when he wanted to talk to you, or see you. As you approached the tall figure, he lifted up his head and gave you a calm smile, his green eyes shining brightly at yours. Even though you knew better, you smiled back. You always did.

“Hey…thank you for coming.”

“Well…how could I not?” you answered with a shy smile. Meanwhile, Eren got a bit closer to you.

“How are you?” he asked, genuine concern filled his deep, soft voice.

“I’m…alright. How about you? How are…things?”

Eren smiled awkwardly and shook his head slightly “Ah…don’t worry about it. Things are fine, Mikasa’s clueless…”he paused, before leaning slowly his hand toward your face and brushing back a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You’re really pretty, you know?”he murmured slowly, staring deeply into your eyes.

And that's the thing about illicit affairs And clandestine meetings and longing stares

You smile weakly, feeling butterflies in your stomach, but at the same time you felt…bad, hesitant. Your emotions were in turmoil, because you knew that this was wrong. This was wrong on so many aspects, but your foolish little heart couldn’t let go, no matter how hard you tried.

“Hey…what’s wrong?” he murmured as he cupped your cheeks, worry filling his eyes.

You sighed softly and looked at him with sad hesitation as you spoke in a soft voice.

“Eren…do we really have to continue seeing each other this way? Shouldn’t we just…be together officially?”

It's born from just one single glance But it dies, and it dies, and it dies A million little times

Eren’s face frowned as he sighed and removed his hands off your cheeks.

“Y/N…you know I can’t do that. There’s Mikasa.”

“But you’re seeing me…it means that you don’t really love her, do you? So I don’t understand wh–”

“God, please! Look baby, you agreed on being with me like that, yeah? I can’t just break up with her now, so..just be patient, okay?”

Eren scoffed and shook his head, giving you an exhausted look, as if trying to say that you were the one who got it wrong.

“Eren…please, I’m serious. Why is it so hard for you to break up with her when you say that I’m all I want?” you asked in a soft murmur, giving him a desperate look, needing answers to ease your troubled mind.

Eren was about to answer, looking deeply inside you eyes, but you spoke first, letting out everything you kept for yourself.

Leave the perfume on the shelf That you picked out just for him So you leave no trace behind Like you don't even exist

“Look, Eren…you know I love you. And I want to be with you, but I need you to be honest with me, I need to know if you and I have a future together. Don’t you understand how hard it is, to pretend as if there is nothing between us, to just be your little secret? I always have to make sure to not leave any trace behind, like I don't even exist! And I’ve tried so hard to be patient and not ask too much, but I think I deserve to know. If you’re seeing me because you’re in it for the thrill but you don’t have genuine love for me, then I’m sorry but I can’t keep being the other woman in that relationship of yours. So, please…all I’m asking you is to give me an answer.”

The silence hit heavily, as the both of you looked at each other. Unspoken thoughts and feelings filled the air, as you awaited his answer, feeling as if your heart was slowly sinking deep inside your chest. You were waiting hopefully, looking softly at the man standing in front of you. Deep down, however, you already knew what the answer would be.

And you wanna scream Don't call me "kid" Don't call me "baby" Look at this godforsaken mess that you made me

Eren remained silent, torn apart by mixed feelings. He looked slowly toward you, his emerald eyes filled with doubt and hesitation.

“Look…kid, just listen…”

You stayed silent, as you looked at him struggling for words, feeling your heart slowly drop at his visible hesitation.

“Baby, I…I know how it is for you but you know…you know I can’t just…”

“Can’t what? Can’t be with me officially because you don’t really want that?” you cut him off as you spoke bitterly, looking at him with sad but firm eyes.

“Eren, I love you, but I can’t keep doing that to myself. Can’t you see that? Can’t you see what a godforsaken mess you made of me? I’m just utterly tired, Eren. Tired of every time I feel my heart break in my chest whenever I see you with Mikasa, and yet I have no right to be sad or mad about it because you aren’t mine to begin with. Tired of the constant lying, hiding and sneaking around just because you can’t make up your mind.” you paused, as you were trying so hard to hold back the tears that were starting to form in your eyes.

“You know, the worst part is that I can’t move on and focus on someone else. It’s like…it’s as if you taught me a secret language I can’t speak with anyone else, everything keeps me bound to you, and as much as I love you, i hate that is it keeping us like that. I truly want only the best for us, but at this point we have to accept that you are seeing Mikasa, and you have to let me move on. Please…” you finished your sentences with teary eyes, filling the dampness on your cheek. You took a shaky breath as you looked down, trying to remain calm and collected.

As the silence grew heavy and awkward, the low and guilty voice of the man in front of you spoke again, barely above a murmur.

“…Yeah. I know, I’m…I’m sorry. I…”

You didn’t have to listen to the rest of his apologetic and sad speech to understand what it meant. It was the end of the story, a story that never should’ve happened in the first place. Now, all that there was left to it was the fact that you would easily ruin yourself a million little times for Eren, and he knew that very well. And it was unfair, because he couldn’t do the same for you.

#eren yeager x reader #eren yeager #attack on titan #writing event #levisfavoriteteashop #angst #illicit affairs #fics inspired by song

20 notes · View notes

rynwritesstuff · 11 months

Text

Illicit Affairs

Charlie Barber x Reader

Word count: 480

Warnings: Arguing, angst, mentions of affairs

Summary: The aftermath of you telling Charlie that you love him.

“Don’t call me ‘kid’, don’t call me ‘baby’, look at this godforsaken mess that you made me.” - Illicit Affairs, Taylor Swift

You knew this was coming. Deep down, you knew. It had to boil over at some point and spill all over your perfect, pretty little plans. That’s just how Charlie is. He’s complicated and indecisive when it comes to these things, and God only knows how that miraculous mind of his works . . .

He’s standing in front of you now, and you are crying. Crying, crying, crying. Why do you always cry when presented with confrontation and conflict?

“I don’t know what to say,” Charlie says, damn-near scoffing at you, even though he isn’t meaning to. No, no, no way. He thinks of you fondly, he’s made it obvious . . . All throughout this several-month-long affair, he’s thought of you fondly. At least, that’s what you’ve told yourself in order to fall asleep at night. But now, now that you’ve said the ‘L’ word, Charlie is retreating. Backing away. Closing in on himself the way he does when he’s uncomfortable.

“You don’t have to say anything,” you tell him, shaking your head. “I just wanted you to know.”

Charlie huffs.

“Jesus, you’re killing me here,” he says quietly, pinching the bridge of his nose. Your eyebrows furrow.

“I’m killing you?”

“Yes!” he says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the entire world.

“What does that even mean!?” you ask, genuinely wanting to hear his response.

“It means fuck! I’m married!”

“That never seemed to stop you before,” you say, crossing your arms as Charlie glares down at you.

“I still care about Nicole. She’s still my wife.”

You pause, hesitating. You’ve embarrassed yourself. That’s what’s happened here. You told him you loved him, and he told you that he still cares about his wife, and–

“Fuck,” you breathe, closing your eyes. “Fuck.”

You tricked yourself into thinking that this could be something more than a fling. An affair. A fun little rendezvous. How could you be so stupid? So blind? He doesn’t love you; he never did. He just wanted someone to fuck, someone who wasn’t Nicole.

He’s saying your name, now, but you’re hurrying to pull your shoes on and get the fuck out of his house. There are paintings and pictures on the walls, ones that remind you that a family lives here, a family you were willing to destroy for a chance to love Charlie Barber.

“Don’t,” you snap when Charlie reaches for your arm. “I’m leaving.”

“Don’t go, we can talk this out,” Charlie says.

You shake your head.

“I’m not sticking around just to be your sex buddy, Charlie. I can’t do it.”

He clenches his jaw, and you walk out of his front door for the last time, tears shining in your eyes.

#rynwritesstuff #charlie barber #charlie barber fic #charlie barber angst #charlie barber x reader #charlie barber x you #charlie barber x yn #charlie barber marriage story #marriage story fanfiction #marriage story fic #marriage story #adam driver #adam driver angst

104 notes · View notes

melis-writes · 1 year

Note

Hopefully you can write this.

It was inspired by some of the Victonny asks

Victoria and Sonny find themselves bored one day and as Michael is busy, Victoria asks Sonny if he’d accompany her to go shopping in Reno.

They’re well into their affair or fully fledged relationship by now

While they’re in Reno they decide to fuck it, going to an other town a short while away, secretly and without anyone knowing or figuring out who they are or such things they buy gold wedding bands that are identical to the ones they got when they married Michael and Sandra but these new ones are to be for their relationship and they will wear them instead but only they’ll know that they’re new rings 👀

They consummate their so called marriage maybe in a non mafia hotel or in Sonny’s car or wherever

After all, it’s the bearers of the ring who put their bond, love and meaning into it… Legal papers or not, am I right? 🥵❤️

“That husband of yours ever come out of his damn office?” Sonny crosses his arms, staring in boredom at the noir film playing on the television in front of him.

You chuckle quietly, setting down your glass of red wine. “More often than you think. We won’t see much of him today though, he’s closing on a big business deal.”

“I could tell,” Sonny sighs dramatically, propping his feet up on the coffee table in front of him. “He didn’t want me or Tom in there either. Don’t know why he’s being so secretive.”

“No secrets or anything like that,” you give Sonny a reassuring smile. “It just doesn’t concern us.”

“You’re telling me,” Sonny’s eyes dart to you. “Ain’t you bored or somethin’? Don’t tell me it’s just me dyin’ over here.”

You giggle, shrugging your shoulders. “I actually had an idea for plans today. I wanted to go out to Reno for some shopping.”

“Oh yeah?” Sonny raises his brow, putting down his feet. “Now that’s more like it. At least that’s somethin’ to do.”

“Don’t you hate shopping?” You smirk, rising up from your seat.

“Yeah, I do,” Sonny locks eyes with you as he gets up. “You want a ride or not?”

The mutual look the two of you give one another speaks louder than the “family friend” small talk of boredom and shopping the two of you make, saying “I’ll go anywhere if it means I can spend more alone time with you”.

Fully embroiled in your year long affair with Sonny now, no suspicions or curiosity are raised in the slightest as to how much time the two of you spent together, where and how.

To Michael’s guards and security, the safest way to go is with a member of the family—especially a brutish enforcer like Sonny so all Michael is informed of is that you’re spending the day shopping and enjoying yourself while Sonny drives and accompanies you “for safety purposes”.

How would anyone assume or guess you treat your brother-in-law like your second husband now?

“Reno, huh?” Sonny grips onto the steering wheel, beginning to slowly pull your Alfa Romeo out of the gateway of the compound. “You ever go anywhere else?”

“You mean like the place you’re taking me?” You smile playfully at Sonny, putting on your seatbelt. “This so called ‘somewhere else’?”

“Heh,” Sonny grins at you, beginning to step on the gas. “Best hope Mike don’t send Tom or one of his other guys to check up on you throughout the day, then.”

“If I don’t want to be found, I won’t be.” You gently toss your purse over to the back seat. “And besides, I’m with you. You’re the one protecting me. I’m your responsibility, aren’t I?”

“You know you’re a lot more than that,” Sonny grips your thigh under your skirt with his free hand, rubbing over your supple skin tenderly. “And outside of all the places under family control, for all anyone knows, you’re my wife.”

You blush furiously, gazing down at Sonny’s hand gently moving over your skin. “Is that who you refer to when someone asks about your family?”

“Yeah,” Sonny keeps his eyes on the road, continuing to drive. “You think besides some funny papers with my signature half assed on it and Sandra’s means anything to me? Don’t tell me you feel bad.”

“I don’t,” you admit, placing your hand over top of Sonny’s. “Because I know what I want and who I deserve.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Sonny mutters under his breath. “Sandra ain’t coming in between the two of us. Not like she wants to do anything anyway.” Sonny momentarily parts his eyes from the road, eyeing your wedding band. “You ever take that thing off?”

You’re more than well aware Sonny hasn’t worn his wedding band in over a year, citing he forgot it or it doesn’t fit, that it’s corroding and so forth when asked.

“I would if I could,” you speak back in a soft tone, gazing up at your lover.

“You could,” Sonny takes a left turn on the road, away from the pathway to Reno. “You know I ain’t wear mine because of you and I want that, and you ain’t exactly wearing your engagement ring on the other hand either anymore, eh?”

“Michael doesn’t mind nor care,” you glance down at your hand, frowning at your gold wedding band. “But this… It’s different. What do you mean, though?” You look back up. “What do you have in mind?”

“You’ll see, baby. You’ll see,” a smile begins to break out over Sonny’s lips. “Don’t worry. Just sit tight. They ain’t gonna know your face from the next Joe and Jane in the town I’m takin’ you to.”

Driving to Carson City just thirty-two miles away with no care for who expects or thinks of you two to be in Reno, Sonny and you arrive just a half hour later into an entirely different city providing a completely new kind of privacy.

“You ever been here before, baby?” Sonny begins to slow down the car, pulling up into a parking space.

“Never,” you peek out the window, looking up at the city. “Carson City, huh?”

Sonny scoffs to himself, chuckling. “That Mike’s smart not taking you over here. I guess he wants to keep Tahoe, Reno and Vegas under his thumb, huh?”

“Can you blame him?” You laugh softly, getting out of the car with Sonny.

“Maybe I feel a little bad just now,” Sonny licks over his lips, smirking as he approaches you directly. “Maybe not.”

Your eyes widen as Sonny takes your left hand in his, sliding off your wedding band without the slightest bit of hesitation.

“Sonny—” You begin, but he cuts you off.

“Hey, what did I say, baby?” Sonny’s tone of voice grows gentle with you as he slips your wedding band into his pocket. “Don’t worry about it, alright?” Using his free hand, Sonny caresses the side of your face. “You’re not ‘taking it off’, you’re replacing it.”

“With…?” But you already know the answer.

Feeling your heart thundering in your chest from the shock you never thought you’d feel taking off your wedding band for the first time in almost a decade but also from the fact that the man you love now has done it for you, you remain stunned in front of Sonny.

Sonny leans in, kissing your lips deeply as he laces a hand with you. “With mine.”

Carson City is no random destination or wrong turn on the road for Sonny. Since the Corleone family made the official move to Nevada all those years ago, Sonny’s made it a habit to travel and explore with his friends and business partners or alone.

You’ve never been to Carson City until today, but Sonny knows it like the back of his hand—much preferring it over the loud, adult world of Las Vegas and prying eyes in Reno.

“C’mon baby, right this way.” Holding your left hand as Sonny leads you out onto the street where shops and various stores line every block and corner.

“You definitely know this place better than I.” You blush, squeezing his hand.

“Somethin’ like that,” Sonny chuckles quietly. “C’mon, I got a surprise for you. I had it waiting all week trying to get you out of Tahoe. I thought the damn day would never come.”

Your ring finger feels cold and bare but the thought of it neither bothers you nor holds you back with every step you take.

Walking like any other couple without being noticed or gazed at, Sonny takes you inside a jewelry store by the corner.

“Mr. Paul, hello!” The elderly shopkeeper behind the counter greets Sonny with what you instantly assume is his alias outside of Reno, Tahoe and Las Vegas.

“How ya doin’, Jack?” Sonny extends out his free hand, shaking the shopkeeper’s hand. “This is my wife, Victoria.”

‘My wife.’ Your cheeks flare hot with blush as you give the man a polite smile.

“Hello, it’s nice to meet you,” you speak out.

“Mrs. Paul, hello,” Jack beams at you, “it’s so nice to meet you at last. Oh, you’re in for a surprise. Just give me one moment.” Paul holds up his hand, quick to scurry off into the back room.

“You had this planned,” You whisper back to Sonny, still in awe of the splendor and vintage pieces of fine jewels, diamonds and gold surrounding you in cases.

“I had it planned for you,” Sonny gazes back at you, “for my wife.”

Every time Sonny refers to you as his, his wife, his girl or the like, your heart skips a beat in your chest and butterflies surround you all over again just to hear Sonny say those words.

“Don’t wanna leave that ring finger empty, do we?” Sonny rubs his thumb over your left hand’s ring finger, looking up just as Jack returns.

“There we are,” Jack pipes up, setting a black velvet box on the counter in front of you two about the size of your palm. “All polished, sized and ready to go. Full 18k gold, flawless finish identical to the ones you wanted referenced to, Mr. Paul.”

Jack carefully pulls open the box to reveal two sets of gold wedding bands not a single detail shy of looking exactly the same as the one you already have from Michael.

“Perfect, thank you,” Sonny’s eyes light up at the glistening gold in front of him. “Craftmanship is perfect. You got my payment, yeah?”

“I did,” Jack nods, “your cheque arrived yesterday morning.”

“Good,” Sonny gives Jack a look, signaling for privacy.

Smiling at the two of you politely, Jack clasps his hands behind his back and walks off towards the back of the shop, leaving you and Sonny alone.

“They’re beautiful,” you murmur to yourself, staring at the rings. “And they look—”

“Exactly the same,” Sonny agrees, picking one up and raising your hand. “Nobody will know what’s right from wrong. It’s the same piece, but it’s not.”

“You had these made for us?” You breathe out as Sonny angles your finger towards the ring.

“Mhmm,” Sonny’s eyes meet with yours. “You got your name with Mike’s on a piece of paper, but you got my ring.” Sonny slowly slides it over your ring finger—a perfect fit without being too snug or too loose. “What does that mean to you? Because this…” Sonny takes the other ring, putting it over his finger. “It means everythin’ to me.”

You swallow hard, staring at the new, but altogether similar gold wedding band over your finger. You take a deep breath to yourself, squeezing your eyes shut for a moment.

Watching your reaction and body language, Sonny’s eyes widen from worry and curiosity as you turn away from him.

Opening your eyes from feeling tears blurring your vision, you face the door of the shop from where you and Sonny came in and step out back onto the street without another word.

“Victoria—” Sonny quickly follows you out, but instead of being pushed away or watching you run off as he expects, you jump into his arms.

Embracing Sonny tightly out of love and adoration, you cup his cheeks and collide your lips over his in a needy, sweet kiss.

Sonny wraps his arms around your waist, kissing you back deeply with every ounce of greed and desire he has for you in his body.

When the two of you pull away with lips glistening from the wet kiss, breathing softly and unable to divert your gazes, you speak out.

“You married me,” you whisper against Sonny’s lips. “In a way, you married me today.”

“I know you may have wanted a dress and a big banquet—”

“No,” you shake your head, sniffling. “I don’t want anything like that. I wanted this, I wanted you.”

The ring Michael put over your finger in the summer of 1949 finds its way into the bottom of a pond in Carson City courtesy of Sonny on your drive to the nearest luxury hotel, going unnoticed by you.

Still emotional from the situation and feeling all the more clingy and yearning for Sonny, the two of you book a hotel room for the remainder of the day under the alias of Mr. and Mrs. Paul, forever bound as Mr. and Mrs. Corleone under the rings.

Carrying you up to the suite in his arms bridal style, Sonny can hardly part his lips from yours while getting to the door and once he fumbles with his key to do so, he lays you as his new bride on the queen sized bed waiting for the two of you to consummate your marriage.

Tugging and throwing off his clothes with yours onto a messy pile upon the floor, Sonny’s insistent to make love to you, his new bride through meaning and love today.

As the two of you breath heavily, naked and with Sonny over top of you, you wrap your arms around his shoulders and spread your legs around his waist.

Sonny’s eyes dart from yours down to your lips, feeling the cool metal band of your new wedding ring against his hot skin as he angles his hips.

“Gonna make love to you, my new bride…” Sonny breathes hotly against your neck, sliding his hands down your sides to feel all of you before cupping your ass. “Are you ready for me, baby?”

“Yes,” you whine out with every inch of you begging for this man to touch, tease and please you. “I want you, Sonny. Please.”

“Say it again, baby.” Sonny chuckles breathily, pressing his tip against your entrance. “Let me hear how badly my wife wants me.”

#godfather au #victonny #sonny corleone #santino corleone #sonny corleone x reader #sonny corleone x reader smut #moth to flame fic #moth to flame fanfic #smut prompts #moth to flame au #godfather x reader #not canon

23 notes · View notes

solaeter · 3 years

Text

—Forever ft. Boten! Mikey | NSFW

In which idk how to come with titles so yall suffering with me *dies* I don't write smut often, so I'm increasingly shy. Pls be nice and any feedback is welcomed ♡

Warning[s]: A pinch of angst, unprotected sex, reader is highly emotional, fluff fluff fluff, possibly ooc - but that's fine cause we ride and die for soft content, unedited because I live dangerously.

Request Status: OPEN , I don’t have my new rules made but I’m willing to write just about anything that doesn’t include the nasty shit like piss or something.

Word Count: 4k

Growing up by the Sano residence, you were often found hanging out with Mikey, Emma and their older brother Shinichiro. You typically preferred being alone, finding it hard to make friends. But with this rowdy group you felt at home and more confident in yourself.

Shinichiro taught you self worth and the value of friendship, sitting you down one day while Mikey was off with his other friends and Emma was in the kitchen learning how to make something.

"I have a favor to ask you." He had that tender smile while he wiped his hands on that same old signature towel he carried around after working on bikes.

You were young, with so much life to live and learn. So his favor was a hefty one and he knew this, but you were a special little thing.

"No matter what happens, please stay by Mikey's side."

His words confused you, but as time went on and life unfolded in so many different directions, you vowed to keep your word until the bitter end.

Even after twelve years, Shinichiro's words stuck with you, often crossing your mind when things felt like they were slipping out of your reach. Much like now, with the rise of Bonten and Mikey's descent into darkness, you sometimes were at a loss.

Until you were firmly reminded that only you mattered to Mikey. He kept you by his side after distancing from everyone else.

You. You are the only piece of light Mikey has left and he was damned and determined not to lose it. Even if he didn't treat you the same as he used to, he still cared deeply. To the point that you had to be with him daily, even if it meant just sitting beside him in silence. He had to have your presence nearby or his mind would slip into scenarios that never ended well.

Today was no different except for the fact that Mikey wasn't anywhere in sight. You tried to look for him only to end up with no luck so you sat in his office, fiddling about on your phone until the large doors opened, causing you to neatly jump out of your seat.

Mikey had his hands stuffed in his pockets and he didn't expect to see you in his office all alone, but it was lucky for him nonetheless.

"I need you."

Mikey turned and walked away again, leaving you to gawk at his back and scramble to follow after him without complaint. Confusion settled in your mind as you caught up, wondering what must be going on in that head of his.

"You okay?" You question, earning no response while you both walked toward one of the many personal temporary resting suites in his building. They're meant for those long nights where no one was allowed to leave, putting business first ahead of personal affairs. You've only been in Mikey's on several occasions, either being his personal cuddle pillow or allowing him to use your body as he pleased. You didn't mind either way since your soul was linked to his, even if your love often felt one sided.

Upon entering the room, Mikey kicks off his sandals and shrugs off his shirt, still not bothering to look your way. His mind kept running in circles. He didn't treat you the way you deserved, the way he used to back before life fell apart. Deep inside Mikey, he felt bad. He wanted to make it better, he wanted to let you go. To give you a chance to live happily, experience love with someone who could rightfully pour their all into you. But that made him angry, he couldn't bear thinking about you with someone else. You were his and his alone. The deep conflict in his heart, the pure selfishness kept you locked to his side.

So when he turns on his foot, looking at you with his tired, lifeless eyes, his heart clenches. You always had that fucking lovestruck look swimming in your beautiful eyes, full of undeserved devotion and adoration. You were always there, ready to do whatever his heart desired. But he didn't notice how your eyes held a deep sadness that was masked by your love. Mikey also didn't put you into consideration often, putting his own needs first and tonight was supposed to be no different. He planned to use you to make him feel, ever so temporarily but something in his head made him reconsider.

"Why do you stay?"

A simple question, one that Mikey wanted an answer to. You shift on your feet and purse your lips in thought. Your response would be easy, yet why do you hesitate to reply? After a moment you walk closer to Mikey, who stares expectantly, waiting for you.

"Because I made a promise I don't intend to break," You reach forward and take Mikey's hands into your own, interlacing your fingers through his. "And because I love you so much it hurts. You're my world even if it's hard." You say, lips forming into a small smile that had his heart nearly bursting with life and love. Mikey needed to hear it from you, the reassurance that you still loved him despite everything.

"I love you." He brings your hand up while locked in his and kisses your fingertips, an oddly gentle gesture that has your stomach twisting. It's been so long since you heard him admit his love for you, tears welled in your eyes but dared not to fall. "You deserve so much more, yet I get to selfishly call you mine."

Mikey pulls you closer, freeing one of his hands to cup your cheek before pressing his lips to yours. Your eyes squeeze shut just as the tears begin to fall freely, staining your cheeks and coating his hand. Mikey hated seeing you cry because of him, it made him hate himself even more. That's why tonight he was determined to make you feel his love, to let you know that he was yours just as much as you were his.

One could only take so much before breaking, Mikey knew that all too well and if he lost you..it'd truly be over for him. So he kissed you with more love and passion than he has in weeks, freeing his other hand to pull you even closer, resting it on the small of your back, fingers digging into the fabric of your shirt. Your hands flew to his shoulders, holding onto him for dear life it felt like, while his tongue swiped over your lips, seeking entrance that you grant without any hassle. Not tonight, you didn't want to play around. Not when Mikey was being sentimental.

You end up breaking the heated kiss when it became too hard to breathe as sobs wracked through your body. Everything felt just oh so overwhelming and you thought you could remain composed, but the flood gates seemed to have opened and Mikey had to do his best to catch you. Which he does when he simply hugs you, face burying in the crook of your neck, lips peppering light kisses on your warm skin. He'll let you cry, he'll let you take as long as you need. Because there's no telling how long you've been repressing your emotions for the sake of him.

"I'm t-tired Mikey..'' You blubber, sniffling once you calm down enough to speak without making a fool of yourself. And no, you weren't tired physically, but emotionally. You did your best daily and sometimes it seemed like it was for nothing. You were a puppet, or that's how you viewed yourself, with Mikey being the master that controlled your strings.

Love kept you grounded and that damned promise to his brother, but the glass you walked on felt like it was on the verge of breaking.

Mikey and comfort didn't go hand in hand anymore; he often let issues fall on deaf ears and natural disinterest. Yet your words scared him, so much that his head shot up and he looked you dead in the eye.

"I'm so sorry [Name]–" He is fully prepared to hear you end things with him and walk out of his life, but you shaking your head cut him off.

"Don't be, it's fine really. I just miss you." You wipe your eyes on your sleeves, forcing a smile that was honestly pathetic. Who would have thought a kiss would cause you to break down. You felt silly, ridiculous even..

What a relief, Mikey somewhat relaxes as his fingers rub soothing circles into your lower back. The painful truth was that he didn't know what to say that would help you other than saying he loves you. To the point that it keeps him up at night, something he wouldn't typically admit.

"You don't realize," Mikey starts, moving away from you while making sure to keep a hold of your hand as he sits on the bed, pulling you to him until you are standing between his legs, "how much you help me." He's quiet, hands slipping to your bottom as he rests his forehead on your stomach. You thread your fingers through his white locks, throat tight and breath shaky while you hold back the urge to cry again.

"T-That's what I'm here for." You croak, clearing your throat because your own voice made you want to cringe. Mikey shakes his head, fingers digging into the plump flesh of your bottom.

"You're so much more than that." Mikey looks up and his heart aches for you. Your cheeks are red and puffy, there's tears slipping down your cheeks as you try to hold yourself together. This wasn't how the night was supposed to go.

"Let me show you how much you mean to me." Plans were meant to change, you desperately needed to be taken care of instead of being used. Mikey tugged you down until you were seated on his lap, legs adjusting so that they rest on either side of him.

"You really don't–" You try to protest but you're cut off by Mikey's lips crushing against yours. He didn't want to hear you push yourself to the side, he didn't need the added guilt that had already been piled too high. His hands slide down under your skirt, fingers digging into the tender flesh of your hips.

Mikey always made your mind turn into a puddle of mush. His lips felt so hot against yours and the smallest amount of contact on your skin had your head spinning. This man owned you, without a doubt. Even if he was a shitty lover at some points, there simply would be no way for you to ever get away. And you certainly wouldn't want to when you're the only person who can get him to feel and show his vulnerabilities.

Teeth grazing your bottom lip before sinking into it and pulling until Mikey released it with a pop, you instinctively press yourself closer and bury your face in his neck, inhaling his scent as if it were a drug. You knew what Mikey had in mind and when his fingers slowly inched past your panties to grab a handful of your ass, your body was already at his mercy as you bit back a moan.

Your hips ground against his lap, the need for him to touch you clouding over whatever looming negativity that lurked in your head. Mikey admired your tear stained face when he made you look back at him, he loved how your cheeks turned pink and your eyes darted away to look at the wall, his gaze being too much to handle as his hands roamed, one sliding between your legs and his fingertips grazing along your slit. He hummed approvingly when he felt the wet spot that gave away your arousal. It was just another thing to love; knowing that he could make you crumple without even trying. A single kiss is all it takes.

"So beautiful and all mine." Mikey breathed, leaning in to kiss your neck before sucking on the spot so tenderly. You let out a whine, rutting your hips against him again, pussy aching for attention. "Love how you're already so fucking wet for me." Mikey mumbled, biting down on the tender flesh he's been marking while pressing his index finger against your clit. The sensation had you shuddering and wanting more, so much more. You needed him, you needed him to take the pain away.

"Mikey please," You whimper, nails digging into his shoulders while you move somewhat erratically for more friction. More anything. You could feel his erection when he moved his hand from between your legs to hold your hips steady. It wasn't fair. "need you now."

Your voice was like a siren song honestly and Mikey didn't want to keep you waiting, but he was enjoying himself much to his own discomfort. He decorated your neck with pretty bites and bruises, clear for anyone to see that you belonged to him. No one else. His eyes drag away from his handiwork to see the pure need and desperation in your eyes, yet he also still saw that damned lingering sadness. It simply wouldn't do.

Mikey flipped you onto the bed, eyes wide and surprised as he settles between your legs, keeping them nice and spread so he can enjoy the view. "Tell me you'll never leave." He demands softly, hands rubbing your thighs gently, working their way up to bunch your skirt around your waist. God you were so beautiful. He never wanted to lose the privilege of seeing you like this.

"Never, I'll never leave you," You lean up on your elbows, voice filled with sincerity and desire as you curl your toes as Mikey hooks his fingers under your panties to tug them down, leaving them dangling around one of your ankles. He has to suck in a breath at the sight before him, your pretty cunt glistened with your slick and he wanted nothing more than to just dive in and consume you. Though he held back, moving to press a kiss to your lips.

Mikey didn't linger long, pulling away before you had the chance to lose yourself which resulted in a adorable pout adorning your beautiful face.

"Good, I don't know what I'd do without you." He says so softly, the mere idea of having to endure life without you being too painful to imagine. He undoes the buttons of your blouse and helps you take it off before making quick work with your bra. You were almost bare for Mikey, the only thing remaining was your skirt but that was fine. He cups one of your breasts in his hand and squeezes gently, thumb brushing over your hardening bud as you arched into his hand.

The way Mikey was being so slow and sensual had your mind in tatters. So many feelings were slapping you at once, the pent up frustration and sadness, pure love and desire, you were crying again in no time. A nice steady stream of tears slipping down your cheeks as Mikey bent down to take your other nipple into his mouth, tongue rolling around the hard bud before sucking it tenderly.

"I love y-you.." You blubber, body hyper aware of all that Mikey did to you. His mouth was so hot on your skin and the way he tended to your breasts, it'd be shameful to admit that you could almost cum from that alone. You just couldn't help it, you were deprived of this softness and it drove you mad, it made your body tingle and your toes curl into the bed. Though Mikey stops and looks at you, a thin trail of saliva connects from his lips to your nipple. He knew you were close, just by how your legs squirmed around him. So cute really. And the low whine that rumbled in your throat, simply music to his ears.

"I love you too, so much. Only you," Mikey brings his hand up to brush his thumb across your bottom lip, freeing it from the way you were biting down to control your sobs. You were so beautiful even when in emotional distress, a cruel thing to say perhaps, but you were the most gorgeous woman Mikey has ever laid his eyes on. He felt so selfish and needy for you, even in his darkest moments where he pushed you away, used you like you were nothing more than a plaything. You were the lifeline to his last shred of humanity and he hoped tonight would be of some help to your troubled mind.

"Tonight's about you, okay?" Mikey cooed and you nodded with a sniffle, eyes teary and still so full of need. Your body yearned for his touch, every little ounce of contact bad your body burning. You watched Mikey slip back down until he was settled between your legs. His lips connected to your inner thigh, slowly leaving a trail until reaching your drenched pussy, where his breath was so hot and heavy as he leaned in, tongue sliding down your folds. Your toes curl again before one leg raises to rest over Mikey's shoulder, keeping him close even though he has no desire to leave.

Then ever so slowly, Mikey slid into your hole, going as far as he could while he reached up and rubbed your clit with the pad of his thumb. The taste of you on his tongue was enough for his mind to go temporarily blank as he ate you out with such tenderness. As much as he wanted to let you cum alone with his mouth, Mikey had other ideas. Though the sensation had you mewling out, back arching as your body ignited. You were already sensitive without coming and you didn't know how you were supposed to last.

And just when you were about to see stars dance across your eyes, Mikey pulled back to admire your drenched cunt and how your hole clenched around nothing. You grip the bedsheets and whine, moving your hips close to him in a desperate attempt to have him come back. Mikey holds you down, hands now on your hips again and he smiles at your pouty face.

"Are we in a hurry?" He asked innocently, blowing gently on your swollen clit and the sensation causes you to shiver. Your head was running in so many directions, but you knew what you wanted. What you needed so bad.

"I - I can't help it," You whine, laying back in sexually induced frustration, mind swirling and imagining how Mikey's going to absolutely ruin you with softness...when he decides to do so, "make love to me– don't make me wait, p-please." Your voice stutters as the lump in your throat returns and you are so fed up with the mix of emotions hitting you in every which way.

Mikey hums softly before moving fully, taking off his pants and tossing them to the side, uncaring of where they land. Your eyes shoot down to his cock, mouth watering at the way it slaps his stomach, hard and tip leaking with precum. It's exactly what you wanted and your legs spread even more, cheeks burning as the smile on Mikey's face turns into a smirk.

"Such a needy baby, I love you." He's so soft as he adjusts again, hovering over you as he slides his tip along your weeping folds, smearing his precum with your slick and your hips thrust upwards, desperately– so desperately to feel him inside you.

"No tease," You pathetically demand, eyes averting away from him and Mikey huffs, humored by how cute you were. It made him question why he treated you so poorly in the first place. But, he doesn't listen and continues to slide along your folds, tip teasing your entrance each time he goes down and lingers just to see you writhe under him. You groan, squeezing your eyes shut. Every ounce of your body was in need of attention. Your cunt needed to be filled by Mikey so you could be one with him. It's all you've wanted for awhile.

And just when you thought Mikey was going to torture you until you came, his cock slams inside you until he's bottoming out and letting out a shaky breath. You felt like heaven, your walls clamped around him and almost felt like they refused to let go. Your mouth fell, puffy lips forming a cute o as your chest heaved at the sudden, yet oh so welcomed intrusion.

"Look at you, my beautiful angel," Mikey praised, hips steadily rocking into you, not too rough but not too slow. His cock slid out of you, just until the tip remained, teasing your hole before sinking back in. Over and over. You were trying your best not to fall apart, yet your lips quivered again and you cling to Mikey, hating yourself for being such an emotional wreck when he's being nothing but good to you.

"S-Sorry– too much," You whine, tilting your head when Mikey buried his face in the crook of your neck. The way you were breaking around him, clinging for dear life, it made his heart ache. And his movements falter for a moment, but he quickly recovers and continues loving you because you needed this intimate reassurance.

"Let it all out for me." Mikey urges softly in your ear and you nod, throat tight once more as you moan out pathetically because you're just so overwhelmed. Your body burned and the intense heat that pools in your stomach sinking down to your cunt, toes curling into the mattress and arms tightening around Mikey's neck, you were about to come undone.

And just one deep thrust that hit your sweet spot had you toppling over the edge, creaming around Mikey's cock on a strangled sob. Your body quivered and cunt clenched around him, who hissed in response as his hips picked up the pace only a little to chase his own high. Mikey knew you were so so sensitive, body trembling and already working on another release because he's neglected you for far too long.

"I'll– treat you better, promise," Mikey mumbles, groaning as he cums, painting your velvety walls white. Your eyes roll back at the warmth and you feel absolutely ashamed as your body reacts and your cunt clenched tight around Mikey, milking him for all he's worth creaming all over him again.

You feel weak and tired, emotionally and physically, body falling limp as Mikey rests against you, cock still resting inside you, keeping you stuffed. It's exactly what you needed and you haven't felt this close to Mikey in a long time. Not even when he simply used your body like a toy. During those moments, there was no attachment, just greed. Now, your heart felt at ease despite how you still cried a little.

Moving a shaky hand, you thread your fingers through Mikey's white locks and smile to yourself when you feel him kiss your neck. If he had it his way, Mikey would never leave this spot. This moment.

Though, he does move to look at you, admiring how you seemed to glow through the tears. He truly loved you, more than anything in the world. He was just shitty at expressing himself, even more so nowadays.

"Remember," Mikey started, brushing his nose against yours, "You are my world. I am nothing without you." He says, pressing his lips to yours so you can't speak, pouring all his love into you. He may be a broken shell or his former self, but dammit he'll do his best to make sure you feel loved. Losing you means losing the rest of himself and that thought alone is terrifying.

You're at a loss of words and out of breath by the time Mikey pulls away, his dark eyes filled with love and life, something only you were able to witness. You let out an airy laugh and wipe your eyes.

"I love you, so so much." You say tiredly, exhaustion slapping you with full force. Mikey notices how your eyes were trying to stay open and as much as he wanted to clean you both up, he decides that it can wait as he moves off you, heart aching at the whine that soon follows. He gets you all comfortable in bed, uncaring about the mess that can be dealt with in the morning.

Laying beside you, Mikey watched as your eyes finally lost the battle and closed, mouth opening slightly as you curled up onto your side, moving closer to him. You were the cutest thing and as he tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear, he leans forward and presses a kiss to your forehead.

"I love you most."

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #tokrev x reader #tokyorev x reader #mikey sano #bonten mikey x reader #manjiro sano x reader #tokyo revengers smut #tokrev smut #tokyorev smut #mikey x reader #mikey smut #mikey x reader smut #bonten mikey smut #tr x reader #manjiro smut

823 notes · View notes

subpar-ghoulfriend · 3 years

Text

A Family Affair

Slasher AU CannibalFamily!EraserMicxReader

We’re going with the “strange family that lives outside of a small town” trope. After a few deliveries to the Aizawa household you get pulled in to an affair you never wanted to be a part of.

Spooky season is upon us and I’ve already begun watching too many horror movies. This fic will definitely be a two parter

Super Dark Content Warning!!! Literally do not read if you have any reservation and definitely no minors!

TW: cannibal themes, mentions of murder, mentions of corpse mutilation, kidnapping, unhealthy relationships

Part 2 is gonna include more of this and the smut

Growing up you were grateful for living in a small town. You didn't really relate to the coming-of-age stories told in the movies where the small town girl runs off to the big city for a whirlwind romance and a chance at some "big break." To you, small town life was more picturesque than any overcrowded city. You knew your neighbors, and watched a lot of their families grow and change throughout the years. A small town allows you to become a regular at several businesses, including the coffee shop and your favorite diner downtown. Going away to college was tough even though you didn't go far. The nearest city - a little over 40 miles away - had a great college with a program you were really interested in pursuing.

You went home every break and picked up delivery jobs at one of the local restaurants. It was winter break of your last year in college when you first delivered to the Aizawa residence. In all your years at the restaurant they never ordered delivery, one of the two men would always place an order for pick up. The thing about small town stereotypes is that small towns tend to self-impose said stereotypes. The Aizawa's were that family. The one that everyone whispered when they came to town and children would tell horror stories about during Halloween. They were the weird family that lived just past the outskirts of town.

You weren't entirely sure what either of the two men did. Everyone speculated that Mr. Aizawa was some sort of mountain-man-feral type and maybe did some mechanic work for the folks that tend to live in between towns. His husband, Mr. Yamada seemed like the stay at home trophy husband but you heard he did some sort of conspiracy podcast. They had children - reportedly, but no one has really met them - and other family members that live similarly further out into the middle of nowhere. The drive was absurdly long but they were loyal customers and the owners didn't want to turn their request down. Your boss handed you a chunk of bills to fill up your tank before heading out. That's no place you'd want to get stranded, he told you.

The paved road got worse the further you got from town. Forty-five minutes later you were pulling down the dirt road that led to the illuminated Aizawa home. A wall of cold air slammed in to you when you opened your car door and you grumbled about leaving your gloves at home. There was no doorbell, so knocked and did that awkward please-don't-let-me-freeze dance while you waited. Two unfamiliar faces opened the door, an apathetic looking teen and an adorable little girl. Must be their children. The older one called out for his dad before taking one of the bags you held and disappearing into the home. You looked down awkwardly and wave at the girl. She smiled shyly and reached out for the other bag.

"Are you sure?" You asked her, "It's a little heavy."

She nodded.

"Okay, but use two hands," You passed her the bag. "Oh jeez, you're strong. Don't tell your brother, but I think this is the heavier bag."

You smiled when she giggled and ran off.

Mr. Aizawa appeared in the door, "How much do we owe?"

He was just as terrifying up close and for a split second your mind went blank while your basic instincts were begging you go back to the car. He raised an eyebrow at you, looking irritated at your falter.

"Uh - forty-two."

He pulled counted out a chunk of bills and then you were off. You didn't even count the amount until you parked. Forty-two with a forty-dollar tip. They may be odd but apparently they're loaded. You didn't think much of it until the following week when you were heading back to their house with another delivery. You wished that they would order earlier but at least you could hope for another generous tip. You were taken aback when the little girl answered the door by herself, jumping up and down with excitement.

Was she old enough to answer the door by herself?

"Papa," She yelled. "The lady is here!"

She turned her attention back to you with a huge grin, "Shinsou got sore that you told me I'm the stronger one."

Before you could respond to her the other man, Mr. Yamada, bounced around the corner, "Eri, what have we told you about the door? Oh no, you must be freezing come stand inside while I go get your payment. Forty-two right?"

You wanted to protest, feeling uneasy in their entryway but the little girl tugged you by the delivery bags. So you stood there quietly while she ran back in forth so she could unload the delivery for you. Shinsou peered around the corner so you gave a small wave. Then it was just you and Eri once again. In the background you could hear Yamada asking his husband where the wallet went.

"I like your shirt," You smiled, trying to fill the silence.

"I wanted a Pegasus shirt but this was the only one my daddy could find."

"Well I think unicorns are pretty cool too."

You use to babysit for some of the families in town, no part of you could imagine doing that all the way out here.

The blonde rejoined you, giving you another lush payment. You heard the little girl whine about you leaving so quickly until her father appeased her by saying you'd be back.

Something about that rubbed you the wrong way; but you were back like clockwork the next week with their usual delivery. Once again you were brought inside while they went to get your payment. But on your fourth and what should have been your final delivery of the winter break you noticed something was off when you parked. Their truck was missing from its usual spot. Strange but they probably just moved it somewhere else on the property. You had become accustom Eri running to answer the door and telling you wait for her parents in the entrance of the house. You became suspicious after she had run back and forth to take the food to the kitchen.

"Eri, where are your parents? Or Shinsou?"

The little girl's response was nonchalant, "They had to go out, one of our cattle got out. But they gave me the money."

You stuffed the money into your jacket; payment was the issue here. In the back of your mind you though about how you never saw any cattle on your deliveries. A child her age shouldn’t be left alone.

"Oh, well, can I hang out with you while we wait for them to come back?"

The little girl lit up as she pulled you to the living room. There was a kid's movie playing on the TV and she had a coloring book out. Eri divide up her crayons and tore out a page for you to join her. You kept looking to the window, waiting for the truck to pull up.

Suddenly there was banging at the door, which elicited a cry from Eri. You reached into your pocket only finding the crumpled bills. Shit, your stomach dropped. You left your phone in your car. After all, this was just supposed to be a quick delivery. The noise stopped, only for a moment, before resuming.

"Eri, sweetie," You whispered to the stunned little girl. "Do your parents have a phone here?"

She shook her head.

A man’s voice tore through the door, "Let me in dammit, you have to let me in before they come back."

You held your finger to your lip, and Eri nodded, repeating the gesture. The living room light was on and you realized that if he came to the side of the house you'd be seen through the window, but turning out the light would draw attention. Maybe he was bluffing, maybe he didn't know if anyone was inside and turning off the light would signal your presence. You pointed to the kitchen, where the lights were off and the two of you tip toed to the safety of darkness.

"Eri, honey, can you go sit in the pantry for me and be really, really quiet? I'll be right out here and don't come out until I come to get you okay?"

She looked hesitant and tearful but you were surprised at her level of composure for a kid. Finally she complied. Once the pantry door was closed you began rummaging through the drawers, looking for something that could inflict the most damage. A meat tenderizer could work. The banging continued and you swore you hear wood beginning to splinter. Your grip tightened with every bang. Finally the door gave way and a man stumbled through the splintered wood. He stopped when he saw you holding the cleaver.

He was dirty, without shoes or a shirt and his skin was red from the cold.

You hoped your voice wouldn’t crack, "You need to leave-"

"Monsters, monsters," he blabbed. "They're gonna come back and we gotta go."

You decided to bluff, "Get out of here, I already called the cops."

"Good, good, good," He mumbled, “but we still gotta go. NOW."

There was one step forward from him, one step back from you.

"If you come near me, I'll make sure you don't get up," You warned. At the very least you had to keep him away from Eri. Even if that was all you could do.

There was a desperate look in his eyes; they darted from you to the keys hooked to your jeans, then back to the keys. Finally he smiled, "You have a car, man that's perfect. Listen I won't hurt you but we need to get in your damn car, now."

Sounds like something someone who wants to hurt me would say, you thought. Apparently you took too long to respond, the man lunged toward you and you tried to swing the meat tenderizer. The tool connected with his shoulder and he howled out in pain but still managed to wrestle you to the ground. The two of you struggled with each other and the man was yelling that you'd die if you didn't listen to him. You landed a weak hit to his jaw, splitting his lip. You even tried biting at him but he was persistent and struggling to get your keys. You were telling him he could have them that he just needed to let you go but he wasn't listening to you. Managing to grab his ear you had a flashback to the self-defense seminar you had to take in college, it should be easy to rip a human ear. So you pulled. Blood began to flow from the wound down his face and on to you. He got you off him before you got the whole ear by delivering a blow to your stomach. The air rushed from your body, is this what it means to get the wind knocked out of you?

There was a loud noise and fog lights flooded through the broken door. Then saw Shinsou and Aizawa pulling the man off you. You pushed yourself and back, clutching at your stomach. Your cheeks were wet. Were you crying or was that blood on your face? Probably both.

The trio wrangled the man outside where you heard more struggling, fighting, and groaning.

Eri. You managed your way to the kitchen but realized you were covered in blood. Not wanting to traumatize the little girl any further you spoke through the door.

"Eri, can you stay there a little bit longer?"

"Can't I come out? I heard my daddies," She cried, tugging at your heartstrings.

"Not yet, okay? They're here and everything's okay, I'm gonna have them come get you okay?"

Thankfully, the door didn't open. As you shuffled toward the front door Mr. Yamada entered, wiping specks of blood off him.

You were shocked when he pulled you into a hug, "You're okay. Sho and Shinsou got everything under control. Where is Eri?"

You told him about her hiding spot and he sighed in relief and rushed to her.

The other two returned with bloodied knuckles that made your stomach churn.

"Yamada," The mountain man called, with his eyes scanning the home.

"Don't worry, Sho, I got Eri. She's fine. Our delivery girl is okay, she's got some bumps and bruises but she made the other guy look worse."

Aizawa ushered you to the couch, expecting your legs to give out at any moment.

"We need to call the police," You finally spoke.

Aizawa assured you he did. They were 45 minutes out but they'd work on getting here faster. Yamada brewed you a cup of tea, “for while we wait.” They finally calmed Eri down and Shinsou took her upstairs to get ready for bed. It felt weird for them to return to mundane evening routines so quickly after all that chaos, but maybe you were just the odd one out. Close to an hour later you were still waiting for the police to show up. Your tea was finished long ago and your nerves had calmed. You were even having trouble keeping your eyes open.

"You think they're almost here, babe" The blonde wondered, draping a throw blanket around your shoulders. "I'm sure she wants to this day to be over with."

---

It was still dark when you woke up. The blonde was fast asleep on the recliner next to you. The police must have come by now but there was no way you slept through the visit. Anxiety from earlier made it’s way back in to your chest. The clock read 4am; had they even called the police. All of the childhood rumors you heard came flooding back and you exited the house as quietly as you could, not realizing your keys were no longer with you.

When you made it outside you noticed dried blood on the ground, trailing toward what you assumed was their barn or storage shed. You were entranced. Looking back to the house, no one was awake; there was no movement, no light, just quiet. You shouldn’t follow the bloody trail, you shouldn't go near the shed; but your body moved on it's own accord and before you realized it you were at the doors. You gave a tug, expecting it to be locked, but the door swung open and inside you noticed the lock lay on the ground.

You should have turned around, got in your car, and drove away. Instead you stepped inside and found the bloody, broken body of the man who attacked you. There was a slight sway to the corpse that was hanging from a reinforced pillar. Nearly screaming your hand shot to cover your mouth.

You should've left.

Aizawa was watching you from the kitchen, cursing Hizashi for leaving the shed unlocked. His hand hovered over the secured cabinet drawer that stored a pistol. He wouldn't shoot you only scare you a bit. But you weren't running out in a panic. He didn't even hear you scream. Interesting. He went to join you, moving like any predator concealing it presence and leaving the gun safe untouched.

You should've left.

You finally came to your sense and whirled around only to run into your late night admirer. A terrified squeak escaped you as you jumped further into the confined space.

"Mr Aizawa! I'm sorry, I shouldn't have - I'm sorry."

He didn't look angry, although you wished he did. It would be better than the unsettling smile on his face.

"That's alright, I was heading out here anyway," He closed the door behind him and flicked on a dim light that lit up the room with shadows. "Can't leave it hanging for too long."

Your throat tightened, he stood between you and the only exit. If he noticed your terror there was no indication that he cared. He turned his back to you momentarily, rummaging through the clutter on the workbench. Now was the best chance you may get and you made a dash for the door. It was a futile attempt and part of you knew it but your nerves were ablaze with adrenaline and you were running on instinct not reason. There was a foreign tightness around your throat that kept you fighting to inhale. Struggling to breathe you didn’t even register the sharp pinch of a needle piercing your deltoid.

Aizawa pressed his nose to your hair, "Behave. Even if you get out of here, your tire has a flat, pesky nails tend to find their way on to the roads out here. A real shame."

He dragged you over to a chair across from the lifeless body cuffing both your wrists to the armrests. Stupid, stupid, he was grabbing out cuffs and I ran straight into him, you scolded yourself. You went to open your mouth and beg to be let go, but you were silenced.

"Keep it down or I'll have to find a way to keep you quiet."

Your heart was beating so hard it hurt. Once a friend said it was possible to die by fright, if that was true you wouldn't last much longer. Now that you were safely out of the way, Aizawa could make quick work dismembering the carcass. He donned his usual rubber apron and pulled back his hair. With his experience he could finish the job in less than two hours. Now was as good a time as ever for you to learn.

With a sigh he began his explanation and craft:

"Cannibalism has been around as long as we've existed: sacrificially, ceremonially, culturally, especially during times of plague, war, and famine. You can find documented accounts from pretty much every part of the world. And there's no one reason. Our family keeps it simple. We eat meat, animals are meat, and humans are animals. In times of famine and other hardships, this was a reliable food source. Of course now, there's not much of a risk for severe famine to effect people like us but it's tradition. This is how it's been for our family for years. And not just those of us around these parts but our relatives everywhere. It's important to keep old trades alive."

He paused, now splattered with blood, to take note of your dry heaving.

"Please," You gasped. "I just want to go -"

With narrowed eyes he continued:

"It's important for you to listen to our family history. Typically we don't reap a harvest until three weeks after the winter solstice and 3 weeks before the summer solstice. Twice a year is enough to get us by. Zashi and I are impressed that you managed to wrangle him in. Poetic in a way, don’t ’cha think? Consuming the flesh of someone who tried to overpower you. First reap of the harvest. Nice that it's a family affair."

The room was spinning and you were fighting the sedative as hard as you could. There was no way any of this was real, maybe you were dreaming? Maybe you'd been knocked unconscious when that man rushed you. Or better yet, maybe you were asleep at home still. It was possible that this whole delivery fiasco was just a nightmare. Your stomach churned at the speech. There was sun peaking through the cracks in the wall by the time he finished separating the ... different sections. There was no more body, just pieces. You nodded off for a few minutes before being jolted awake by the door opening and letting in the bright morning light .

"Good morning, you two night owls," Hizashi beamed. Walking to his husband handing over a tall mug of coffee. He was completely unfazed by the scene he walked in on. In fact the only frown he made was when Aizawa said he put too much sweetener in the coffee. "Anyways, grumpy pants, I called your sister. She's on her way to pick up Eri and Shinsou for a few days. To give us some time to focus on our little muse. Speaking of, I should go get her some water. Oh, plus we need to fix our door."

---

After you refused to drink anything they tried to give you they left you alone in the shed. The handcuffs were too tight for you to slip through and in your struggle you managed to topple the chair over, hitting the floor with painful slap. It was hard to ignore the buzzing of the flies swarming the space where the body once hung. You closed your eyes, your mind wandering to your family and what they would think when they realized you were missing.

Outside you heard a car pull up and were tempted to scream for someone to help you. Maybe it was the police; maybe someone realized you didn't go home last night and found out where your last delivery was. Your captors came out to greet whoever it was and you were glad you didn't yell, they sounded friendly. They were coming toward the shed but you were too defeated to react.

"Sho," Hizashi gasped, "She fell."

The response was sharp and sarcastic, "I hadn't noticed." He yanked you up with ease and the world was no longer side ways but the jolt paired with the exhaustion and drugs left the world spinning.

The woman must've been the sister they mentioned earlier. She squealed with delight, "Oh isn't she the cutest, lemme get a good look."

She resembled neither of the men and gave off cool-soccer-mom vibes. With a gentle grip on your chin she bore into your eyes.

"Please,” You begged, “I just want go home."

The sister didn't waiver, "Don't worry sweet thing, these two are gonna take such good care of you. Just relax and let them help you."

Help? You don't need help from them. You needed to get out of this hell.

"Okay," She bounced toward the exit, "Bring out my niece and nephew, we're gonna have a fun weekend. And take care of your girl, she looks like a keeper."

Finally you screamed in frustration. Brief, loud, and full of anger but it deflated just as quickly when the two men shot you a menacing look. How could all three of them show no display of empathy? You were again convinced this was an alternate reality when both children peaked their heads in to wave goodbye before they peeled away from the home, leaving you alone with Hizashi and Aizawa.

---

There was a hatch toward the back of the room where the two disappeared until they came back with a third body. They were dragging a woman up like a ragdoll and acidic bile burned your throat. If you had to guess you would say she was late middle age. It felt like they were setting a stage, Hizashi pulled you closer to where they stood while Aizawa managed to tie the woman down to the stained table.

"Why are you doing this," you cried. But they ignored you.

"Did you know there are people who pay for certain oddities and they’re willing to spend big bucks to get what they want? We keep whatever makes sense to eat and sell the rest. Ideally nothing goes to waste.”

The next hour and forty-seven minutes were excruciating. There were several “items” – as they referred to her body parts – that they removed while she was still alive; but finally Aizawa made the perfect incision along her thigh and a pomegranate wave gushed out. There was no way she would suffer much longer with this amount of blood loss.

"Please just let her die," You begged the universe. "Please let it end."

For the first time since starting they stepped back from the body, leaving it on the table to come over to you. Aizawa knelt before you and his bloody hand brushed hair from your face; his thumb rested on your lip and you couldn't even physically respond. Hizashi was behind him, rubbing his partner's shoulders.

"You're going to kill me?”

Both men finally softened, coming down their endorphin high. There was something so satisfying about your question. Arousing, even. They made it clear that your life was up to them, which meant they had you where they needed you.

"Am I having a blonde moment? I don't recall saying we'd kill her."

Aizawa threw an incredulous look his way before addressing you, "We aren't going to kill you. We wouldn't've saved you from that terrible animal if that were the plan. We don't kill just anyone. We wanted to introduce you to our lifestyle and now’s the best chance. Eri’s wanted to keep you since day one, but if you can't behave that'll be an issue. Can you prove to us that you’re going to behave or do we have to get you down into the cellar?”

There was no other choice than to nod. Picking up a piece of the dissected woman Hizashi muttered something about starting dinner before telling his husband that you really need to get more rest. Aizawa agreed, and since it seemed like you were having trouble getting rest he decided to give you another little dose of medicine.

#slasher au #mha x reader #bnha yandere #mha yandere #yandere erasermic #yandere erasermic x reader #yandere x reader

580 notes · View notes

the-swedes-knees · 3 years

Text

Time in A Bottle (Agent Mobius x Reader)

Summary: Everyone has a guilty pleasure. For Mobius, it's a slice of pie in a very specific slice of time.

Word Count: 1.8k

Located in the middle of Downtown, bordering on the corner of old-time druggies and newly gentrified condos was a moderate sized building with an exorbitant monthly rent.

It was a theme restaurant, if the theme was 'we opened in 1953 and we'll be damned if we change the decor'- done up in chrome and frosted glass windows that clashed against the surrounding brick and mortar. The neon sign bearing the establishment's name had burnt out years ago, but it wasn't the type of place one would seek out.

Unless you were Mobius, that is.

[09:45:00]

Technically, he shouldn't be here.

His unit was nearly a mile out, or, more accurately, they would be within the hour. Dates like this, where a simple flap of a fat pigeon's wing could ripple into Nexus event after Nexus event had a name. A proper designation in their severity and frequency of necessary resets.

But he just always referred to them as 'a real pickle'.

You glance up at the front door as the brass bell affixed to the frame jingles loudly. The man that enters looks around the place before making eye contact with you and smiles. He points to the empty bar and you nod your head.

Once you finish refilling the other customer's drink, you see that he's made himself comfortable in the middle stool.

"Hey there." You greet from the opposite side of the counter. He offers a sheepish greeting in response as you set a water down in front of him, balancing a plastic straw on the rim of the glass. "Can I start you off with some coffee? Just made a fresh pot."

"That'd be great, thanks."

You place the mug and matching saucer in front of him and pour. For a moment you look up at him, and he's smiling a very genuine smile- something very rare these days.

As soon as it's full to the brim you're reaching under the counter and grabbing a clean glass sugar pourer, placing it right next to his cup.

"How'd you know?"

"Customer service intuition, I guess." He thanks you before unfurling the napkin containing his flatware. Like someone with real proper manners, he drapes the napkin over one of his legs before stirring an ample amount of sugar into his drink.

You can't help but notice just how much he fits in to the whole aesthetic with his well fitted brown suit and slim tie. New York offered a multiplicity of personalities, and you'd become quite numb to anything and everything that would walk through that door.

Yet, someone about this man was intriguing, familiar in a way. Like in the past life he was a PI that you hired to confirm your husband's affair.

Both a confidant, and a stranger.

"Feel free to take your time, but, do you know what you'd like?" You note his closed menu pushed to the side. He raises his eyebrows and nods while mid-sip, and you pull out a notepad and pen from your apron.

"Sure do, could I get two slices?" He points the vintage rotating pie cooler to your left and specifies his selection.

Easy enough. You put two generous slices onto separate plates, and he declines your offer of whipped cream or ice cream on top.

"Good choice, this one's my favorite."

"You don't say." The knowing twinkle in his eye wasn't noticed as you busied yourself with refilling his coffee. He holds his hands up in mock defeat and sighs. "Well, I guess you'll have to join me." The ceramic scraped against the quartz tabletop as he pushed one of the plates across the bar, directly opposite himself.

"I'm on the clock-"

"Don't worry, another customer doesn't come in for-" He pauses to flex his arm, riding his jacket sleeve up just enough to check his wristwatch. "12 minutes and 43 seconds."

[09:52:16]

"Am I supposed to trust you on that?" You raise an eyebrow, and his only response is a slight head tilt and pushing the second slice a nudge closer to you.

It wasn't every day courteous men offered you a break in the form of your favorite desert. Your face screwed up in contemplation as you looked at the only other two patrons in the diner before giving in and grabbing a second set of flatware. "Well, it is slow-"

"For a Friday?" He has another bite before setting down his fork and dabbing at his face with his napkin.

"Is it Friday already?" You sigh, bent over the counter to take a bite of the pie. Delicious as ever. "Hardly feels like it, all the days are melding together."

"I think this one will stand out."

"What is the date, anyway?"

"May 4th." You make a hum of acknowledgement and he gives you a lopsided grin. "2012, incase you forgot the year too."

"I'll mark it in my calendar," You laugh, using your hand to cover your mouth as you continue to chew. "'The Day I Met-'"

"Mobius." He introduces himself, extending his hand over the counter and you shake it. His grip is firm, authoritative. Before you can reply with your own name, he refers to you by it while maintaining perfect eye contact.

You can't explain why, but it feels so right when he says it. Like it was perfectly made to be pronounced in his charming Texan drawl with just the faintest hint of gravel.

While you're fixed in a stunned silence his eyes deliberately dart to the lapel of your uniform. You follow his gaze and laugh at yourself for neglecting that you were indeed wearing a nametag.

"So Mobius... like, from maths?"

"Yeah, like math." He eyes his untouched water and picks up the plastic straw. His fingers move carefully, removing the straw from the perorated paper. You watch with curiosity as the man twists the paper once and pinches the two ends together with his thumb and index finger.

Mobius holds his opposite hand out to you, confident, waiting. With a bemused smile you allow him to guide your hand. His skin is warm, presumably from the way he had cradled his coffee mug, but it's comforting in a way. His rough hand guides you, your finger tracing the geometry of the paper-straw shape.

"A path that twists and turns... but always ends back at the same spot."

"I wasn't very good at math." You admit, and gesture around as if working in a place like this was a testament to that fact. "Why does it matter that it always ends where it began?"

"Well, that all depends on perspective. Maybe it doesn't matter. But to the one who observes it, it makes all the difference." You quirk an eyebrow, silently pressing him to elaborate. "Maybe that point's... where you got your first kiss, the feeling when your favorite football team scores a winning touchdown, a perfect sunset-"

Mobius catches himself trailing off, and looks down at his plate. He puts another bite onto his fork and cheers it to you.

"Or having pie in good company."

You look around the mostly empty diner before bracing your arms against the counter, leaning in as if you were to whisper some great secret.

"Has anyone ever told you you're a bit odd?"

[09:59:06]

"No-" His eyes crinkle as he laughs. "No, that's a new one. But you find it charming." He winked, actually winked, and leaned back in his stool, smirking into his coffee.

Your fork was halfway to your mouth as your just stared at him, frozen. You feel your mouth open and close a few times as you try to think of a somewhat dignified response.

"How would you know that?"

"I just know things." He shrugged.

"Like what?" You challenged.

"How about, Paul- over there." You crane your head to follow his line of eye, your coworker currently bussing a table that had just left. "Worked in this place five years, loves Coke- from the glass bottle, nothing else. Has a girl on the Upper East Side and runs a decent sized internet radio station out of his apartment."

"You're one of his listeners." You narrowed your eyes at him, a perfectly reasonable explanation.

"Oh, no. Hyperpop... not my style."

"Alright, BBC Sherlock-" You countered. You give a subtle head tilt to a woman sitting in a far off booth, papers spread out on the table around her pancake combo. Whoever she was, she definitely wasn't a regular. "How about her?"

"Mrs. Braverman. Youngest of eight siblings, English teacher at the charter school up the avenue. Actually prefers imitation maple syrup to the real thing."

You know very well Mobius could be talking out of his ass. But he's confident, nonchalantly so- like this was a game to him and he was obviously winning.

"What about me?"

"Thought you'd never ask." Your anticipation is palpable as he swallows his final bite, taking the time to wipe his face of crumbs before smiling softly at you.

"You are... a poem of a person. Charming, capable, when you walk into a room people notice- even if you convince yourself that they don't." His gaze is steady, patient, and he's looking at you as if you're the only person in the universe. "You have big dreams, far beyond all... this... and you're gonna make it."

[10:04:59]

The sound of the door chime breaks you out of whatever hypnotic state you had found yourself in. Sucking in a breath and blinking away the very beginnings of tears in your eyes you tell the new customer to sit wherever they like.

Mobius took this chance to check his handheld, sighing at the time and the ever-growing slope of the branch variation.

The reset charge would be set soon, with or without him there.

"Look at that. Duty calls." He stands up and pulls a billfold from his jacket pocket, not even counting as he puts the cash down on the counter.

Mobius turns to leave, but hesitates. He turns back around to face you and places his hands on his hips. Allowing himself to play into the fleeting illusion just a tad longer.

"One more thing I know about you-" Mobius rubbed his chin in careful consideration. "You have a date tonight."

"Ah-" You wag your finger at him and shake your head side to side, "got one wrong."

"Did I? Ah- well... How about we change that?"

You pause. The plates you had been holding found their way back to the counter as you set them down slowly. Once again in a very short time span, he had left you speechless.

"That... was possibly the lamest pickup line I've ever heard." Though you mean it to be snarky, it sounds more like praise coming from your smiling lips. "I get off at 6:30."

"Alright." He looks perfectly pleased with himself as he lightly knocks on the counter with his fist. "It's a date."

Walking out the door, Mobius gave one last look at the diner before reporting to the event site.

He knew would see you again, always at 9:45.

#agent mobius #mobius #mobius m. mobius #agent mobius x reader #mobius x reader #loki series #loki #marvel #marvel x reader #sorry for the interruption from my usual content #but I love time traveling men

638 notes · View notes

hansolmates · 4 years

Text

remote learning (m)

summary; working remote sucks, and you would love a little relief. after buying a new toy to blow off some steam, you’re baffled when you can’t cum. however, jungkook thinks you’re doing it wrong, and shows you a thing or two. pairing; neighbor!jungkook x (f) reader genre/warnings; fluff, humor, slightly insecure mc, this is pure FILTH—use of a remote controlled vibrator, do not and i repeat DO NOT try foreplay during a zoom call in the event u get fired im not responsible, phone sex, jungkook’s a meanie in control, cum eating, doggy, and topping it off with some sweet missionary bc jk has purty eyes, unprotected (wrap the pickle before u tickle folks) excessive use of the petname [redacted] w/c; 5.7k a/n; this fic manifested bc of work. and i!! am!! frustrated!! i think we all need a lil jk relief so here it goes! as always ty to @chillingtae / @eerieedits for this FANTASTIC fic banner, please go check vivi out if u have taste okok part 2: distance learning drabbles; 01

if u like this fic pls consider giving it a like and a share💕💕💕💕

“Tomorrow morning, same time at 9AM. Remember to have your reports alphabetized and itemized,” your supervisor says, but the only thing you can focus on is the abnormal amount of bonsai plants in his living room.

“Alright now it’s time for the union to talk COVID protocol,” you frown when Mr. Kim moves ownership of the Zoom call to your union rep, who pulls up a Powerpoint. You feel your eyes burn at the sight: an itinerary containing over thirty-eight slides.

“For fuck’s sake—”

You so desperately want to turn off the camera and flop in your bed. Since working remotely you haven’t been operating in the most ideal of workspaces. You live in a one-room apartment with a communal kitchen downstairs, so you really only have four square meters to stretch your limbs around between breaks. You’ve pushed your bed aside and shoved an office chair between the bed and the wall, leaving you to squirm between ten centimeters of space. You have no desk because well, the little rectangle space is prioritized for your portable stove and meals.

The meeting drones on for another hour, until your brain melts to liquid and your limbs feel like Jell-O. Furthering your anxiety as they talk about protocol that never ends up happening, delays that continue to pile up, and the anger that’s been bubbling between the higher ups and little goldfish employees like you.

When you finally shut off the camera and fling your laptop under the bed, you still feel unsettled. Probably because your work life and home life have merged together, and it’s hard for you to separate work and pleasure.

Speaking of pleasure.

Your hand blindly reaches under your bed, looking for the pretty pink oval you purchased last week. Cleaned and ready to use, the little remote-controlled vibrator sits plainly in your palm.

Needless to stay you’ve been in a bit of a dry spot these past few months. With a fear to go out and meet someone new, you’ve been left with yourself and your fantasies. That’s fine, but lately your old vibrator isn’t cutting it. It’s unfortunate, you think you’re messing up your libido by buying toy after toy, but you’re horny and lonely.

Linking your phone’s app to the remote, you ignore the messages that have been beeping your feed since early morning.

[11:21] Jeon: let’s do lunch!

[11:23] Jeon: hehe i feel like i belong in mean girls. Do lunch💁🏻‍♀️💁🏻‍♀️💁🏻‍♀️

[2:20] Jeon: u loozer. Come eat dinner with us upstairs @6

[2:24] Jeon: dropping off a snack for u

Another element of feeling horny and lonely? Jeon Jungkook.

You two shouldn’t have even met each other. You live off crumbs on the first floor while he and his roommates are livin’ it up on top in the penthouse. One day a few months ago he crashed into you while working out, having run up and down the whole flight of stairs at least three times before deciding to collapse on you between the second and first floor.

Despite the black mask that hugged his sharp jawline, you had felt nothing but attractiveness ooze off of him. Under his hoodie was nothing but curved muscle. He smelled so soft and sweet despite the fact that he was damp with sweat.

The rest is history. After that day he seemed to show up everywhere, jogging more prominently on your floor and doing exercises at your level’s gym. He says he likes you, likes your company. He’s wormed his way intermittently, whether he’s seeing you struggle with an armful of groceries or when he hears you screaming over an Among Us match (according to Jungkook, the walls are thinner on the bottom floors.)

The idea of Jungkook doting on you doubly frustrates you. He seemingly appears as the perfect man, unaffected by the stresses of the world. Jungkook’s job lets him work from home anyway, and he definitely had enough room in the penthouse for his own office. He works out, probably has a girlfriend and enough friends for you to gradually phase out of this weird neighbor interest.

So you ignore his seemingly harmless messages, focusing on getting the settings right on the vibrator. You feel your pussy jolt a little in excitement, watching the silver and pearl pink oval shake in your grasp. You smile a bit to yourself, immediately finding your iPad for your favorite videos and some pillows to support your back.

Half an hour later however, that excitement soon goes sour.

“Fuck,” you bite your lip, frustrated tears streaming down your face, “fuck fuck fuck!”

This isn’t a set of explicatives out of pleasure, unfortunately.

No matter what you do, you won’t cum. You can’t cum. Barely wet, hardly a drop glossing your folds. You don’t even want to bother getting out the lube at this point because you are so disappointed.

The vibrator is going at the highest setting, one that your neighbors can probably hear if they were home at this time of the day. You cease to care at this point, because the job is undone because you haven’t come undone.

You don’t know why this is happening. Maybe it’s because you’ve had the liberty to touch yourself in complete silence, now that your neighbors have been confined to their homes indefinitely. Maybe it’s because it’s been so long since you’ve relied only on your touch, that your body is tired of the monotony and needs more.

You bang the heels of your feet against your flimsy mattress, feeling whiny and utterly dissatisfied. Pulling the vibrator from your clit, you glare at the infuriating toy.

“You’re supposed to be helping me out of my dry spell,” you chastise, throwing the toy across the bed, sliding onto the carpet, “I get you’re not Jeon’s dick, but you gotta help a sister out.”

With a sigh, you fall into a bout of exhaustion. Not from a round of orgasms, but from the week’s stress and no way to let it out.

You wake up bleary and disoriented, practically melding through the mattress. The sky is pink and blue, washed in a sea of corals and purples. It comes from the incessant banging.

“Stop it,” you whine more to yourself than whoever dares to disturb your sleep, pulling up your panties and a pair of navy dolphin-trim shorts. “Whoever you are I’m comin’ so stop!”

Swinging the door open in two strides you’re met with a chipper Jeon Jungkook; looking all cute and sweet in his big hoodie and smelling like a rosebud.

“It’s 6:30,” he narrows his eyes playfully at you, “dinner’s in the oven.”

“You left your oven on,” you deadpan, turning around to grimace at the mess that’s your one-room apartment.

“Yes, so we have exactly ten minutes before my kitchen explodes in flames,” Jungkook chirps, closing the door behind you.

You don’t even bother to tell him to excuse the mess, ignore the pile of bras hanging on your vanity and the unpacked groceries that sit at the edge of your mini-fridge. It’s far too late to salvage your dignity and Jungkook’s too damn polite to call you out on your state of slob. Although, as you pull out a bottle of wine tucked in the back of your fridge you blurt, “I can hear your fingers tingling to clean up my mess.”

When you turn around Jungkook stuffs his hands in the kangaroo pocket of his hoodie, supposedly to stop himself from cleaning up. With a pout he says, “Can’t help it, Jimin says I’m currently manifesting a strong display of Virgo energy this month. Whatever that means.”

Jabbing your feet in a pair of slides you follow Jungkook out the door. The hallways are quiet and barren, yet the silence isn’t suffocating as you two pile into the elevator. Jungkook opens the keypad underneath the regular boring buttons, revealing a sleek little set of light-up buttons that have the code to the penthouse. Faaaannnnccy.

“Tryna look?” he jokes, cupping his hands to block your vision.

You scoff, “I’m sure it’s something easy like 0000.”

“You’re wrong. It’s 1234,” he replies cheekily.

The door dings open and you’re met with yet another door. Jungkook presses his thumb to the biometric scanner, and a pleasant ringer tings in response.

The penthouse smells like a mix of tonight’s dinner, savory, combined with a cinnamon apple candle. Jungkook is a fan of scented candles, ever since he got a whiff of your lavender vanilla burner.

“Where’s Taehyung?” you ask, more out of your own anxiousness than anything. Taehyung’s your buffer, the hyper roommate being someone to distract you from Jungkook’s incessant aura.

“Dunno,” he shrugs, flicking on the oven light to peer inside. You see the telltale signs of a mean lasagna, the shredded cheese on top crisping to a delicious-looking golden brown, “anyway, you’re my friend first.”

As grotesque as it sounds, Jungkook always finds his way to worm his way under your skin and find homage there. “Possessive much?” you quirk a brow, folding your arms over your chest even though there’s nothing to hide.

“What can I say,” Jungkook’s legs stretch out as he squats down to your level, “I really fell for you.”

“Gross,” you try to convince yourself, ignoring the thudding in your chest, “you technically fell on me, weirdo.”

Dinner is a quick affair. He cuts slices of lasagna and brings it to the couch, where you’re pouring glasses of wine in crystal glasses. They’re so clean and shiny you can see your reflection in the gold liquid. You grimace at the bottle, normally this would be poured in a mug or your sippy cup, tonight your liquid’s getting a high-end pour.

You two pull up an old anime to fill up the room, but most of it is spent in playful banter. Jungkook prattles on about his day, showing you all the cool updates he’s achieved during work. An app developer. A very on-brand, lucrative job for him. You love your job but it isn’t nearly as exciting as Jungkook’s, so you just let yourself be supportive and ask questions when needed.

When the subject of you comes up, you shake your head and stuff your face with another cut of al dente pasta.

“Not interestin’ Jeon,” you mumble, groaning at how delicious his cooking is. What can’t he do? “Is this oregano? Is the secret ingredient toasted oregano—”

“You’re deflecting.”

Your shoulders slump, “I’m not very interesting, I tell you everything I do during the week and nothing has changed since March.”

“Oh, not everything,” Jungkook mutters under his breath. You furrow your brows as his hands stuff themselves in his hoodie pocket. Is he upset you won’t tell him about your work stress? “And you’re very interesting, I’ll have you know.”

“Yeah?” a small smile tugs on your lips. You sink further into his cottonball of a couch, feeling utterly soft and meldable at his words.

“Very,” Jungkook gets up from the couch, looking down at you, “want something sweet?”

The prospect of dessert has you excited. Jungkook really is the perfect man, so kind and knows exactly when you’re craving something for your sweet tooth. You move to get up, only for you to sink further between the two large cushions of the loveseat. “Help me, ’m stuck,” you pout.

Jungkook giggles, and holds out his palm, “Hand,” he says simply.

You immediately reach for his larger palm, and you gasp when you feel something cold and soft touch your palm. As if you’ve been burned, you tug your hand back. But Jungkook’s hand is massive, the large ink-painted palm curling around your own, and it’s almost painful the way he clutches your hand so fiercely.

When he’s sure you’re not going to drop it, he releases your hand.

Nestled in your palm, is the new vibrator you left on the carpet this afternoon.

“Jeon,” you laugh tonelessly, hating the way Jungkook’s neutral expression mocks you, “you found my USB? Thanks, I know—”

“Know that you’re having a hard time coming?” Carefully extracting your plate from your lap, he places it on the coffee table before Jungkook cages you between the couch. You shrink further into the plush seat, “I tried being a good neighbor, but you didn’t answer my texts. I heard you when I tried dropping off some snacks before dinner. Didn’t know you were into toys.”

“Oh, c’mon Jeon. It’s 2020 and we’re confined,” well, in this scenario you’re confined, “everyone has a sex toy.”

“Hm, I don’t have one,” Jungkook bites the inside of his cheek, pretending to be deep in thought, “so, can you be my toy?”

Fuck.

It’s then that you feel the tell-tale signs of arousal. Your eyes widen, innocently surprised at the fact that Jeon Jungkook contained so much power in so few words. You snap your legs shut immediately, sealing any possibility of you dripping down your panties.

“I heard how disappointed you were, doll,” his arms have no problems as he bends down so he’s eye-level with your crotch, “it was pathetic, really. You couldn’t even cum on your own? You need someone to help you?”

“N-no,” you cross your arms defensively, frowning, “you–you’re being mean, Jeon.”

“And what, you’re gonna cry about it?” Jungkook smirks, now sitting on his knees. His hands run over the velvety fabric of the couch, making a beeline for your thighs. Gooseflesh rises to the surface, and he immediately presses down to iron out the little bumps that travel across your skin, “I do wanna make you cry, but not because you can’t cum. You’ll cry because of how good I’m gonna make you feel.”

You gape, clutching the vibrator in your hand.

A little bit of your sweet, cute Jungkook resurfaces, softening when he notices your lack of response, “If you’ll let me, of course.”

You finally drag the words from your throat, “I-it’s been a long time since I’ve… been with someone.”

He tilts his head, “Same here. I just figured we could break that spell together.”

What are you going to say? No? A dishonor to your sexuality, that would be. Jungkook’s offering himself up on a silver platter, and even though you do wish it was a little more you’ll take the sex.

You nod, forgetting to speak again. Jungkook chuckles.

“I want to hear you say it, doll.”

Doll. Like you’re his little fucktoy, malleable and bendable to all his whims. Fuck, why is that so hot to you? “Yes, I want to have sex with you,” you declare, your voice sounding more breathy than confident, “a-and, you can be mean. If you want.”

His thumbs press little light indents in your skin, over and over as if fascinated by the way your skin is so soft and gummy in his grip. “Okay,” Jungkook doesn’t hesitate to pull out his phone, jabbing a few things that you don’t see, “let’s do a little test drive, then.”

In seconds, the little egg vibrates in your touch. He puts it on the lowest setting, a soft buzz echoing in the large living room, then at a bruising pace that forces you to curl your fingers around it otherwise it’d fall. Your eyes flicker over to Jungkook’s, who’s focusing entirely on the way the pink and silver egg moves, dilated in interest.

“Fuck, and you thought this thing was broken?” he asks, taking it out of your palm and turning off the app.

“Maybe I’m the broken one,” you admit softly, wringing your shirt.

Silence seeps. Jungkook looks at you, brows furrowed as if he’s annoyed. “Don’t ever say that,” when you don’t respond, he grabs your chin, and you gasp when he forces you to look at him, “you’re not broken, doll. Everyone’s body is different, and we’re going to discover yours together. Got it?”

“Y-yes,” you reply immediately, mesmerized by his seriousness.

“Good,” he slaps the vibrator back in your palm, “and in case you’re wondering, this goes inside.”

“I know how it works,” you scowl, “but won’t you show me, just in case?”

“You would like that, wouldn’t you?” Jungkook gets up for good, piling the dishes in his arms and walking to the sink. You immediately miss his warmth, “but I think patience is a virtue. I have a developer meeting with some clients in America a little bit, actually. So just wait for my call, yeah?”

You frown, looking down at the vibrator in your hands. How much longer would you have to wait?

It happens at exactly three in the afternoon the next day, at the start of your staff meeting. You’re so tired of the same information being thrown back and forth, coupled with Brian and Jae having to fight over some mundane subject in the itinerary that no one cares about. For goodness sake, it’s Friday! What else would you possibly need to be meeting about?

You’re wearing a button-down dress shirt on top, no pants on the bottom. Your bare feet slap against the hardwood floor, antsy. It’s been a long day at work and your back hurts, you’re half tempted to dip out of this meeting and hope no one notices.

Your phone buzzes on your bed, and you blanch.

[3:01] Jeon: thanks for waiting, doll. It’s time

[3:01] Jeon: put it in

Shamelessly, your vibrator sits next to your phone, cleaned and ready to go.

[3:02] Jeon: need help? Answer my call

Making sure that your Zoom call is muted, you quickly answer the incoming phone call. Jungkook and you say nothing at first, waiting. The phone just ticks with the amount of time passing, one minute, two minutes, and so on.

Mr. Kim drones unknowingly, “So when we do return to live instruction, expect a strict process when returning. PPE must be enforced so our response team will—”

“How wet were you last night when you went home?” Jungkook asks languidly, speaking over your boss’ voice.

Your eyes widen, flickering back and forth between the phone and the camera displaying Mr. Kim’s boring speech.

“Doll, are you hard of hearing?”

“N-no,” your lips barely move, eyes glued to the camera and plastering an expressionless face, “I heard you.”

“Then give me an answer,” he says patiently, “how wet were you?”

“Very wet.”

“Little more detail.”

“Soaking wet,” you flush, thankful that your work laptop can only stream in 360p. “I haven’t gotten that wet in such—such a long time. My pussy was practically clinging to my underwear when I washed up that night.”

A heady, heavy groan resonates through your phone. You feel that voice straight into your panties, jolting the nerves awake.

“Fuck, you have a way with words, don’t you?” Jungkook chuckles breathlessly, “c’mon, touch yourself for me. Swirl your fingers around your clit, slowly.”

It takes a second for you to position yourself, spreading your legs in a way that your coworkers don’t question why you’re moving so much. A quick scan over all the tired faces says that you’re okay. Shyly, you press your fingers against your clit, doing as he says.

“Oh,” you say more to yourself than him, feeling the wetness already coating your fingers. This is earlier than usual.

“What?”

“I’m already wet,” you say, amazed, “I haven’t gotten wet this quickly in a long time.”

He scoffs, “If you’re so wet now, shove it in.”

You frown. You did tell him to be mean. But the idea of him telling you what to do, giving you all the porn-worthy experiences to accomplish has you relenting. Discreetly grabbing the egg from the bed, you bring it down to your panties. Swirling the cold metal around your clit, you coat it in your juices.

It’s still a little too early to be putting anything in, but you can take it. Slowly relaxing, you slip the little egg in your pussy, wiggling it a little to make sure it’s secure. It’s a strange sort of pressure, and it pokes against your clit from the inside, but you enjoy the stretch.

“It’s in,” you reply softly.

“Good.”

You wait. You listen to Jae make yet another speech about the importance of masks and gloves, and then Brian has to interject and say that gloves are literally useless because they spread germs around no matter what. Even though everyone else is muted, you can practically feel the misery seeping through the screen. For a second you almost forget about Jungkook on the line. Why isn’t Mr. Kim stopping them? This is the thin line stopping you from the weekend, unbelievable!

“Eep!” you jolt in your cheap seat, the egg buzzing in your pussy. Your hands fly out, gripping the edges of your computer.

It hits different when Jungkook is in control. Knowing that with a flick of his thumb he can have you careening, whining for more or less depending on how hard he wants you go. Your folds hug the egg, nestling it a fleshy grip as it brushes against your clit the more you squirm.

“You look so pretty, trying so hard to hold in your moans,” Jungkook says wondrously from the other line.

“W-what?” you frown, “you can see me?”

And immediately, you go to your trackpad to fish between the hundred-and-one employees also in this call. At the very end, you see a very simple name with no mic or camera: Jeon JK. He’s here.

“Worked in IT, doll. Know a thing or two,” he says, “now, tell me. What are you thinking about right now?”

“Y-you,” you mumble shyly.

“So,” Mr. Kim finally ends that part of the meeting, thank goodness, “what’s everyone’s plans this weekend? I’m going apple picking with a couple of my friends from college. Hoseok is a bright bean who loves to take long walks—”

What the hell. You squirm uncomfortably in your seat, hyperaware that Jungkook’s watching your every move. You make glossy, stubborn eyes at the camera, trying not to move when he jacks up the vibrator to a higher setting.

Jae’s of course the next employee to unmute his microphone, “Well, me and the bae are going house hunting…”

“Fuck!” you cry, moving the computer to the left so you can pretend you’re picking up something. But in fact you're leaning your head against your mattress, frustrated. “I don’t fucking care about your weekend plans, Jae! Shut the fuck up! You wanna know my weekend plans?” Jungkook’s laughing at you from the other line, but it only spurs you on, “my plans are fucking my super hot neighbor! He’s a hundred times more interesting than you and he’s going to make me come a hundred times this weekend—oh fuck!”

Your fingers latch onto your panties, drawing random squiggles and letters between the fabric. You’re damp, soaked to the core. You need some sort of friction, a reprieve from this hellish week.

“You flatter me, doll,” Jungkook is definitely grinning through the phone, you can practically hear his shit-eating grin, “I think you deserve a reward. As soon as you put the camera back on your pretty face.”

Quickly, you sit up to put the camera on you again. Once again, the employees are in a daze, listening to whatever the next person gabs about their weekend. Even though you can’t really see it, you’re sure Jungkook has a 1080p camera upstairs that shows off your blotchy face. You moan a little bit, lips closed as the egg buzzes against your pussy lips.

“You’re so cute, doll,” Jungkook praises, “you look so professional, holding it in. What could I do to make you unravel? Hm, what if you imagined the taste of my cock on your lips? Fuck, I’d love to slap your cute little face with my cock, baby doll–”

“y/n?” Mr. Kim calls your name, and you freeze, “what about you? Any plans this weekend?”

Jungkook doesn’t sound angry that your boss has inadvertently cut him off. “Answer him, doll. Be a good little employee.”

Like a zombie, you move towards the unmute button. “I–I uh,” you shake your head, trying to formulate a coherent response, “I’m going on a date this weekend.”

Jungkook jacks up the vibrator to high, and your legs are shaking.

“Awh, a date!” Mr. Park unmutes himself, practically shoving the camera in his face, “how much do you like the lucky lad or lady?”

“I like him uh—ah—” you pretend to think, covering a hand over your mouth to hide the fact that you feel your orgasm fast approaching, “I like him a lot!” you finally blurt, “I’m, uh, really excited to see him.”

“Best of luck to you,” Mr. Kim says brightly, “so Jimin, any news on those investors you had dinner with this weekend? I heard a lot of positive things…”

You immediately mute your mic, and pretend to lag as you fumble around with the camera. Shoving the laptop to the side once more you groan into your sheets, “Fuck—fuck yes—” you moan, shaking your head as you dip your fingers into your panties. The vibrator still continues at its bruising pace, spurring you to a high you haven’t peaked to in months.

“Good job,” Jungkook says simply, “could barely notice that you have a little helper fiddling around your dripping pussy.”

“J-Jeon,” you cry, “I’m, ’m gonna cum.”

“Yeah?” Jungkook eggs you on, “you’re gonna cum around that cute little vibrator? Gonna soak it in your juices?”

“W-wish it was your cock I was soaking,” you whisper truthfully, letting your orgasm take you at the thought. Your folds flutter around the vibrator, bringing you to a level of sensitivity you’ve only dreamt of, “Ah, yes, Jeon. It feels s-so good!”

“Yes baby,” Jungkook groans through the line, “feels good, huh?”

Mr. Kim interrupts for the last time, “And with that, I think our meeting is adjourned. Have a wonderful weekend! Stay safe and—”

You slam the laptop shut, grabbing your phone and keys. “I’m going up,” you mutter impatiently, already jabbing your feet in a pair of slippers and locking the door to your apartment behind you.

“I’m waiting,” he replies, eagerness trimming his voice.

“Password?” you ask quickly, jabbing the elevator door shut once you step inside. Thank goodness you’re alone, you think as you pull your dress shirt further down your ass.

“Did you forget already?” he teases, “I told you, it’s 1234.”

Thankfully, the doors zip you up straight to the penthouse. The connection is always a little spotty in elevators, and you sigh longingly when you feel the buzz jolt and leave it’s momentum, quickly losing its rhythm between your dripping folds. Once you get to the top and the elevator doors open the second door immediately swings open, revealing a soft but aroused-looking Jungkook. He looks fresh from the shower, absolutely radiant and delicious looking.

You don’t hesitate to run up to him, and Jungkook immediately cups his face in your hands, pressing his lips to yours.

You’re practically on your tippy-toes, and you squeak against his lips when he hooks his arms around your shoulders, immediately lifting you up. You wrap your legs around his trim waist, not wanting to stop kissing him. He’s like the sweetest ambrosia, a taste you can’t get enough of.

The connection to your vibrator has resumed, and you can’t help but grind helplessly under Jungkook’s clothed abs as he carries the both of you to his bedroom.

“N-need you to fuck me,” you bury your head in the crook of his neck, pressing quick kisses to his jawline, “I want you s-so badly.”

“Hello to you too,” he husks, shutting the bedroom door with his foot.

Jungkook drops you unceremoniously, and your limbs splay out on the fresh bedsheets of his feather-soft mattress.

“You look gorgeous like this, doll.” he sighs longingly, a hand going under your buttondown to press against your soaked panties. His hand lingers on the way your pussy moves in tandem with the vibrator.

“J-Jeon please I can’t take it—”

“Stop calling me that,” he snaps, hands leaving your skin.

You whine at the loss of contact, “Jeon, no. Jungkook. Kook, my Kook. Please, I need you.”

That gets him going. His pretty chocolate brown eyes zero in on you, and he immediately shucks off his shirt and sweatpants, “How much do you need me?” he asks, pulling out his phone and pressing some buttons, “how much do you need your Kook?”

The vibrator stops. You cry out in frustration, unsure if it’s because it’s off or because Jungkook’s taking too damn long. “I need you so much, Kook,” you warble with a pout, moving to undo the top buttons of your dress shirt to reveal your cleavage, “honey, you can have me all you want later today. I want you to slap my face with your dick, edge me until I cry, anything. I’m all yours, I’m your little doll. But please for now, I need to feel you inside me.”

“Say no more,” his lips latch onto your neck, and you sigh at the skin-to-skin contact. His hand fiddles under your shirt, clutching a breast and slapping it so hard it bounces back and forth, “fuck, you’re so pretty.”

His hand moves to your plain cotton panties, immediately shucking them off, “doll, you really are dripping,” he’s impressed, surprised when he has to untack the fabric from your glossy legs. He hangs the panties on his wooden headboard, a little ornament for him to jack off to later.

His fingers brush over your folds, wasting no time to slip the vibrator out. He holds it between your faces, forcing you to stare at the pearly substance that coats the entirety of the egg. “Mm, tasty tasty,” he cooes, pink tongue darting out to lick a long strip across the oval.

You tug him closer, pressing his lips to yours. He tastes a mixture of his own saliva and your arousal, and you grind helplessly against him. You feel how big his cock is, rock-hard and trying very diligently not to bust. He must have a crazy amount of control, and it drives you nuts.

“Kook,” you frown, bumping your crotch with his.

“Impatient, good thing I am too,” he shucks off his boxers while you unbutton the rest of your shirt, “knees and hands, doll.”

You don’t care how or what way he’ll take you. Fuck, he could bend you into an Auntie Anne’s pretzel and you’d comply.

Arching your back so your ass is in the air, you wiggle around, hoping he’ll take the bait. That’s when you sigh, feeling the tip of his dick brush against your wetness.

“Soaking my cock already, baby,” he says, “you’re so good to me.”

And finally, finally, he slips in. You don’t even care that it stretches you a little too far and too long, it’s been too damn long since you’ve had decent dick and Jungkooks far more than decent.

He goes at a quick pace, finally showing how impatient he’s been all this time. Your moans and groans fill the room, a symphony of pleasure and pain as he stretches your walls to the brim. You hold a pillow to your chest, feeling woozy at the way his fat cock stretches you out.

“F-fuck yeah,” the pace is hard, you practically feel it in your belly, and you love it. “You feel so fucking tight, baby,” he’s all up in your ear, kissing the lobe briefly, “I love the way you suck my cock back in.”

“Kook,” you press your ass back, “harder, please. I’m your little doll, right? Y-you can fuck me however you want, as hard as you want! Please, ah—! Use me!”

You cry out when he slips from your folds, immediately flipping you on your back. He wastes no time to wet his dick, lifting one leg over his shoulder to have you deeper. This position is far more intimate, and your noses are practically touching as he thrusts into you.

You can’t believe you’re in bed with Jeon Jungkook. This must be a dream, a really great, really long wet dream. You crumble in his grip, and you lift a shaky hand to run through his thick black strands.

“Why’d you make me wait so long?” you cry, staring right into his glittering eyes, “why couldn’t you come for me after your call last night?”

“Why’d I make you wait?” he grits, crushing the flesh between your hip bones so he can have more leverage to pound into you, “why did you make me wait? Since March, I’ve wanted you. I told you I liked you, told you I fell for you.”

“T-thought it was a joke,” you warble pathetically, breasts bouncing at his relentless rhythm.

“You think th-this is a joke?” for further emphasis, he glides slower, making you feel just how large and thick he is against your folds, “I want you, doll. Y-yeah, fu-fuck. Want to feed you every day, feed you lasagna, feed you with my cum, make you happy.”

“I—I want that too, Kook,” you’re a pile of pink mush, and you feel your eyes prick from the overwhelming emotions that have washed over both of you. “Sh-shit, Kook. I think, I think I’m gon’ cum again.”

“Good, you first,” his hand plays figure 8s with your precious pearl, seeping with arousal and coating his cock in delicious lubrication.

It doesn’t take long for you to cum. You’re holding him as tight as you can, nails digging into his shoulders as you clench around his cock. Jungkook cums shortly after, and you keen at the sensitivity when his hot cum coats your walls. “Baby doll,” he exhales, thrusting lazily. The both of you feel your combined arousal drip between the two of you, onto your skin and onto his sheets, “y-you’re amazing.”

His softened cock slips out of you, and his hands immediately reach over to swirl around the heady cream over your engorged pussy. You moan when he brings his fingers to your lips, “Open, doll.”

It tastes salty yet sweet, and you suckle around his finger with a cute little pop. Jungkook grins brightly, feeling like he won the lottery.

“Are my walls that thin?” you pout, pressing closer to him when he pulls the blankets to your chest.

“Very,” Jungkook nods with a chuckle, tucking the two of you in, “now get some rest, doll. You presented a lot of offers to me earlier, and I intend to go through with them.”

You smile into his chest, melty and feeling utterly sated.

#jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #btsghostie #kwritersworldnet #goldenclosetnet #bts smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook humor #bts fic #jungkook fic

3K notes · View notes

abbacchiosbelt · 3 years

Text

Someone Great | Yandere!Satoru Gojo x GN!Reader

Word Count: 3.1k.

CW: Manipulation, yandere behavior, kidnapping. SFW but allusions to not sfw acts.

"What's wrong, sugar?"

Gojo's sing-song voice makes you cringe - he knows what's wrong. It's just like him to play the fool, to pretend that he was innocent in all of this and that you were the one with the problem. You glare at him and he holds his hands up, the grin on his face never faltering.

"You know I'm just doing this to keep you safe. How many times do I have to tell you—"

You cut him off, repeating the phrase he had attempted to drill into your head back to him. "You're the strongest. No need to tell me again."

Gojo shrugs, unbothered. "I'm the strongest." You roll your eyes at his need to repeat what you'd just said, the words only meant to stroke his out-of-control ego. Gojo plops down where you're tied up on his couch, snaking an arm around your shoulder. Even if you pulled away, there would be no escape from him. Some bullshit jujutsu sorcery kept you bound to your current spot, unable to move. Gojo squeezes your shoulders with his broad arm, making you wince. "C'mon, at least look at me. You know I love you."

Anyone else in the world would be lucky to see Gojo's eyes and hear those words from him - you'd felt lucky once, too. But that was before Gojo took an interest in you, before he took control of your life.

"Baby," he sighs, pressing a peck to your cheek. "You've gotta get used to this. You can't keep fighting me forever. I know you love me too."

"It's been a week," you spit. "A week since you trapped me here."

"And haven't I treated you well?" Gojo replies, calm.

"I would never hurt you. You'll realize one day that this is what's best for you."

There was a distinct divide in the world you lived in - there were civilians, and there were Jujutsu Sorcerers. With the sorcerers came curses, although the average civilian wasn't meant to be aware of curses or what they entailed. You, however, had become a frequent flyer when it came to needing the help of Jujutsu Sorcerers.

When you were born, a curse attached itself to your back. Later, you'd learn that there was a man in the hospital room with your parents meant to dispatch the very thing that had attached itself to your back. You were only 5 when your grandmother had told you about the family curse - each child born in your family was cursed upon birth. It had been happening for centuries. Allegedly, one of your ancestors had done something to anger an obscenely powerful curse. Your life would be filled with troublesome events, she'd said. But it wasn't all bad. There were people in this world who could dispatch such curses. They could see them, unlike you or your family. Your life wouldn't be easy, but it wasn't over before it began.

It wasn't easy. People tended to avoid you, even when you were young and innocent. It was hard to make friends, and most of the interaction you got aside from your family involved the sorcerers dispatched to take care of the ever-returning curse on your back. They were kind to you, but they were always distant. You did the best you could, hoping that one day someone would be able to see past the gloomy aura that followed you around.

That someone came in the form of one Satoru Gojo, dispatched to dispel your curse when you were in your mid-twenties. You had recently moved and registered with the local technical college. By now, it wasn't a big deal to you to tell people about your curse, especially to jujutsu sorcerers. They always were a bit odd, and though you had never grown close to any of the sorcerers who had serviced you, their presence was more calming than the presence of your peers.

Gojo had been sent to your home, the technical college hoping to ease your burden (and unknown to you, hoping to offload Gojo for just a couple of hours) by not making you take the train. His arrival was like no other jujutsu sorcerer you had met - he'd barged in your house without knocking, a broad smile on his face and stylish sunglasses covering his eyes.

The shriek you made at his surprise intrusion was undignified, but the white-haired sorcerer didn't seem bothered. He had laughed and rubbed the back of his head. "Aah, sorry. I thought this was an urgent deal." He raises his eyebrows as he watches your lips contort into a frown. "I'll knock next time."

"You'd better," you mumble, and Gojo smiles.

"Or else?" He quips, taking a step towards you. You didn't even know this man, and he was acting like this? This is who the technical college had sent over?

"I'll request someone else." You respond, curt. He laughs, loud and jovial. What was with this man?

"They didn't tell you about me, then?" He crosses the distance between the two of you and sticks his hand out, tongue poking out of his mouth. You take his hand, dubious, and he shakes it with vigor. "I'm Satoru Goju, and I'm the strongest Jujutsu Sorcerer."

You stare at him for a moment, dumbfounded. He really had an ego on him. He takes your silence in stride, still smiling. "I know. You don't meet people like me every day. But trust me, I'm here to help you. Don't you feel better knowing that I'm here?"

As much as you wanted to tell him no, that he's a certified, over-bearing maniac who just barged into your house... You can't help but bask in the comforting aura he emits. Something about him, despite his manic personality, felt safe. The air in the room felt calming—

Gojo notices your sudden shift in behavior and tilts his head, still smiling "When we shook hands. No need to worry about it coming back for a while."

"Oh," you reply, amazed. It didn't take the other sorcerers long to dispel the curse on your back, but it usually was a bit of an affair. Satoru Gojo had gotten rid of the damn thing without needing to lift his pinky finger. "Well... Thanks." You shift from side to side, suddenly feeling small in his presence. Maybe he really was the strongest.

Gojo puts his hands in his pockets and leans back, relaxed. "If you really want to thank me, let's go into town. I'm starved."

The awe you felt immediately dissipates and turns back into annoyance. Sure, he had done you a great favor, but it was part of a contract you had with the college. Now he wanted food? Still... You couldn't deny that you were curious about him, even if he was managing to press all your buttons upon your very first meeting. You sigh, resigned to the fact that you knew you would regret it if you didn't take him up on his offer.

"Fine. Let me grab my bag." Gojo claps his hands together at your response, humming contentedly.

"Great! I have a bit of a sweet tooth, so I hope you're okay with sweets for lunch..."

Gojo goes on and on about his favorites while you grab your bag, fighting with yourself not to roll your eyes at him. What had the college gotten you into?

II.

As time passes and Gojo visits you to remove your clingy curse, the two of you grow closer. It's slow, at first. He gloms onto the fact that he annoys you and revels in it, smiling with glee every time you roll your eyes at him. At one point, he removes his shades when he arrives and teases you about the expression on your face for the rest of the day. It's like he can read your mind - you want to kick yourself for being so obvious, but it's impossible with someone like Gojo around. No matter what he does or how much he makes your blood boil, the calming aura surrounding him never falters. You feel at home around him. When you start to feel something tugging at your heart whenever he's around, you know you're at the point of no return.

You don't expect anything, though. Gojo is beyond your level - it's not a judgment of yourself, but simply a fact of life. Besides, Jujutsu Sorcerers were hesitant to get in relationships with civilians from what you'd learned over the years. You couldn't blame them, as their line of duty would put their partner in harm's way. The least they could do was be with another sorcerer who was able to defend themselves.

It comes to a head one evening when Gojo had stopped by unannounced. You weren't due for another curse removal, but you didn't mind his company. You had answered the door in your pajamas, not expecting anyone other than perhaps a neighbor wanting to ask you a question. Instead, you opened the door to see Gojo standing there dressed to the nines and holding a gigantic bag from the sweets store you and he frequented.

"U-uh." You stammer, feeling at a loss for words. "Gojo?"

He shifts from side to side, and you catch the tiniest hint of nervousness from him. Odd. "I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd drop by. I know you're curse-free right now, but I always want to check on you."

You balk at how smoothly he'd confessed, ushering him in without saying another word. You weren't sure what to say - had Gojo really just said what you think he'd said? He always wanted to check on you? Surely he meant it platonically, there was no way he looked at you romantically.

Gojo sits down on your couch likes he owns it and pats the spot next to him. You sit down without thinking, watching Gojo carefully as he unloads the bag of sweets on the coffee table. He talks about the different sweets as he places them gently onto the table. His blindfold had been pushed up, revealing those sparkling blue eyes of his that made you feel like you could gaze at him forever.

"Are you even listening?" You snap your head towards Gojo, finding his lips just a breadth away from yours. He had moved closer, close enough so that you could feel the warmth of his body, and you had been too distracted by your thoughts about him to notice the very real physicality of him.

"Gojo," you mumble, He pulls back a little and simply gazes into your eyes, waiting for you to continue. For a man who always talked, he was being rather quiet right now. "Why did you come here?"

Gojo smiles, soft - it's a look you haven't seen on him before. "Why else?" He leans towards you, oh-so-close again. "I can't stay away from you."

Whatever self-control you had is gone, and you lean forward to press your lips against his. He responded immediately, using one of his broad hands to cup your face as he deepens the kiss. The tension between the two of you is palpable, and the heat flooding through your veins is telling you more, more, more—

But just like that, he pulls away, sighing.

"Gojo?" You ask, concerned. Was it you? He looks at you, the longing in his eyes obvious.

"You know you can call me Satoru," He says, playful. But a second later, his face falls into a serious expression again. "I want this. I want you." He turns to face you, sliding one of his hands onto your thigh. "But this isn't what jujutsu sorcerers do. The danger you would be in if we were together... I can't put you through that."

As much as you want to argue, you know he's telling you the truth. You place a hand atop his. "Satoru, then. I think it's obvious I want this too." He smiles and gives your thigh a tiny squeeze. "I won't force you to do something you're not comfortable with. But, you'll still be my friend, won't you?"

Gojo chuckles, but there's no mirth in his laugh. "Who else would annoy you? Ah... I could never be without you, either." He turns away from you and stares into the distance, closing his eyes. "Maybe..." He shakes his head suddenly and turns back towards you.

"I should go." He bites his lip, staring at you. "Or maybe... just once. We could be together."

Oh. Oh.

"I'd love to, Satoru."

III.

Once turns into twice, and twice turns into three times. Gojo departs after cleaning your sheets and making you breakfast, ignoring your pleas that he didn't have to do any of that. 'It's the least I can do,' he'd said, smiling all the while. It had felt off, though - like there was something unsaid. You'd chalked it off to melancholy over the fact that things could go no further, and had spent the rest of the day busying yourself with chores.

The visits continue, though, even when you don't have a curse that needs expelling. Things don't make it to the bedroom again, but Gojo is intense. His eyes are always on you, and he's practically plastered to your side. When you go out he keeps his distance, but he's always on alert. He takes your hand when he knows no one is looking and sneaks kisses to the top of your head in private. You accept it, knowing that this is how things have to be.

It concerns you when suddenly, Gojo starts to appear at your apartment every day. You'd thought about giving him a key, but you couldn't remember if you had or not - yet he had a key, and he'd told you that you'd very much given it to him. Perhaps it was the curse muddling with your memory, he'd suggested. It had happened before.

It's fine, then. He's just looking out for you - it's the best he can do in the current situation. Gojo starts to spend the night, walking around your apartment at inane hours to make sure things were okay. When you're sleeping, he checks your phone (he'd watched you put in the password) and your calendar. He deletes texts from people he doesn't approve of and removes calendar dates when they interfere with his schedule. It's all to keep you safe, of course. You are the most important thing in the world to him.

You're blissfully unaware of this, writing off any strange incidents happening to you simply because of the curse that clung to your back. Even when it wasn't present, it still appeared to meddle in your life. As long as Gojo was there, though, you felt safe.

You never expect Gojo to be the one who makes you feel unsafe.

IV.

A particularly busy week at work left you unable to see Gojo for longer than usual - you were working, and he was out of the country on official business. You couldn't answer his calls or texts like usual, only replying every once and a while when you had the chance.

When Gojo returned, he was angry. You'd never seen him angry before, yet here he stood in front of you, eyebrows furrowed as he lectured you about answering his texts. It was unusual, and it felt wrong. You weren't dating him. You were just friends. That had been established by Gojo himself, so why was he acting like this?

"Satoru, you're not my boyfriend. You don't need to keep track of me every second. Even if we were dating, it'd still be too much."

He grits his teeth at that, clearly not impressed. "Don't you understand how much you mean to me? I can't stand it when I'm not with you."

You give him a pointed look. "This is... too much. I don't like it when you act like this." As much as you cared about him, this was ridiculous. He wasn't your keeper. You think of the threat you made the first day you met him. "I can request someone else to dispel my curse." He glares at you. "We'll still be friends. We just need some time apart."

"You don't get it." Gojo scolds. "I didn't want to do this, but I can't take it any longer. You can't take care of yourself. I need to protect you." He's on you faster than you can blink, and the last thing you see before your vision goes black is his angry expression softening back into bliss. "Just go to sleep. We'll be home soon."

When you wake up, you're in a strange room with no windows. It's pitch black, but whatever you're laying on is heavenly. It's plush, and it smells like Gojo— Gojo. You panic, sitting up in a hurry and rushing towards the door. Locked. You shake the handle and pound on the door, confused and terrified. "Satoru? Are you there?" You yell, panic in your throat. "Please, let's talk! Please, Satoru!"

The door swings open and you fall back, gazing up at the towering figure before you. Gojo had never intimidated you, but the way he stood above you now was terrifying.

"How are you feeling, sugar? I hope that didn't hurt." He steps into the room and flicks on the light switch, alighting the room with a soft blue glow. He crouches in front of you and pushes his blindfold up, a manic smile crossing his lips. "I love you. I want to keep you safe. This is the best solution," Gojo says. "It's the easiest solution."

"W-what?" You're baffled by his words, by his behavior. What had he done? "Satoru, this isn't... This isn't normal. You have to let me out of here." You pause, trying to think of something to push him towards your favor. "We can figure our relationship out. I-I didn't mean what I said about requesting someone new, I just got scared."

"And I don't want you to be scared of anything," Gojo says, giving your head a condescending pat. "You won't be as long as you're here with me."

You grunt, frustrated. He was the reason you were scared! "I can't stay here forever. You won't do this to me."

"I will." Gojo tilts his head. "I told you, I love you. I'll do whatever it takes to keep you safe."

Tears well in your eyes - what else could you say or do? Nothing was getting through to him. Gojo notices the tears brimming in your eyes and leans forward, wrapping his arms around you. What once felt comforting feels suffocating, the warmth of his body and the familiar scent of him all too much.

"This is what's best for you. I promise."

#jujutsu kaisen #satoru gojo #satoru gojo x reader #gender neutral reader #yandere #yandere satoru gojo #manipulation cw #kidnapping cw #my writing #jjk #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere gojo

461 notes · View notes

diavolosthots · 3 years

Note

Ahhh I've been waiting so long for your requests to open again ! this may sound oddly specific but could you please do GN!MC going back to the human world then into highschool , but their parents are gone and they need someone to go with them to the parent teacher conference ? Demon brothers ofc. you can do MtL or teams if you think their reactions will all be similar. Thank you !!

YOU DONT UNDERSTAND HOW MUCH THE MENTAL IMAGE OF LUCIFER PRETENDING TO BE YOUR DAD GIVES ME JOY

THE BROTHERS pretending to be MC’s parent for parent-teacher conference

Lucifer:

And if you don’t think he won’t take his role as your father 100% seriously, you’re mistaken. You best not be failing any classes MC. If he hears one bad review from your teachers he’ll scold you and you’ll think for a moment he’s actually your dad. Hell, he even had his glasses and best business suit on. First impressions and all. “Don’t let me catch you slacking, MC. A good education is important and you’re not going to turn out like Mammon, living off of my money.” “Lucifer!!!” But honestly it’s just so funny to see. If you have trouble with any of your teachers though, and it’s legitimately not your fault, he’ll rip them a new one and they’ll treat you with the utmost respect from now on.

Mammon:

So besides the fact that he is your second to worst choice for this, he also just doesn’t even try. He’s showing up in his regular clothes and chances are, he doesn’t look much older than you. “Sir, why do you look so young? This is a parent-teacher conference. You’re their brother, at most.” “Eh?! I’m older than the sock yer wearin’!!!” Oof. Yeah, don’t expect too much out of Mammon. If anything, he’ll turn this into a comedy show and you can’t catch your breath anymore from laughing so hard. Good luck. At the very least, you’ll find some humor in it.

Leviathan:

Let him get this straight: You want HIM to act as your DAD? Your PARENT? Have you MET him? Oh but you’re literally his bestest friend and he’d do almost anything for you and sadly, that does include this. He’ll even put something nice on and get out of his sweats and gamer jacket! Sadly, that doesn’t erase the awkwardness, though. He’s kind of embarrassed to compliment you so every time your teachers ask “how are they doing at home? Everything good?” Levi’s like “err… yah…. Uhm… you know… studying a lot…. And…. very responsible… yeah.” And that’s the most he can get out.

Satan:

Like father like son. Him and Lucifer both take this very seriously but Satan expects absolute perfection from you. He may play your dad but you better be the child given to him by God himself. No unexcused absences. No missing assignments. No test grades below an A. You better be a star student and if he even as much as glaces at a B or a failing grade, he’ll tear you apart in front of the teacher. “What did I tell you about studying? It’s because you’re always on that damn phone!” Okay, Boomer. Of course, all of this is meant in light heartedness ALTHOUGH he WILL lecture you if you are failing classes once you get back.

Asmodeus:

Y’all thought Levi was gonna be the worst choice but WRONG, it’s Asmo. Although he looks pretty decent and is super respectful, the fact that his voice is so high pitched and he could pass as a 14 year old if he really tried, makes your teachers not respect him back. Don’t even start with the constant flirting. “Asmo he’s married with kids!” “So? A little affair never hurt anyone!” For legal reasons: he’s joking. He also always finds a way to make it about your teacher’s skincare routines???? Like?? “Mrs. Smith you wrinkles are showing… is it because of the stress? Never have kids is what I always say!”

Beelzebub:

He’s… awkward… but he’s trying! Never would he have thought he’d be a dad so young but damn he’s trying. He put on his best outfit that didn’t make him look like he just came from a funeral/wedding, and he’s smiling and answering all the questions perfectly, although he did almost eat the pictures of fruit in your foreign language class, almost…. “Sir are you okay?” “Yeah I’m just hungry.” “Did you not eat before?” “Not enough…. I had only 60 Big Mac Meals.” Never…. Never take him back…. The teachers are still weirded out.

Belphegor:

Oof okay so here’s the thing: he’s trying. He really is. It’s just that all your classes are boring and why do you even need to know these things? As someone who’s learned these things first hand from the people that discovered them, he can say that 97.33% of all the stuff you’re learning right now is useless. “Excuse me? Are you drooling on my desk?” “hm….? Oh you’re still talking….? Sorry, your words were just so slurred and drawn out…” “I’m just talking normally???” “exactly.” Try not to laugh I guess but also… you can’t really blame him.

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me scenarios #cheys headcanons #asmodeus obey me #belphegor obey me #mammon obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #beelzebub obey me

742 notes · View notes

goodnightmemes · 3 years

Text

DEXTER SEASON TWO SENTENCE STARTERS (PART TWO)

Lines taken from 2x07-2x12 of the show Dexter. Feel free to change pronouns or edit in any way to better fit your needs. Here is part one.

❛ I thrive on chaos. But this is good, too. ❜

❛ I had to do a little creative problem-solving at someone else's expense. ❜

❛ Pardon my tits. ❜

❛ Are you trying to fuck her or set her on fire? ❜

❛ Sometimes the truth speaks from a peaceful place. It's taken me a long time to find that place, but I think I have, and it's telling me you're not the right one for me. I'm so sorry. ❜

❛ Is that what I am? Clean? 'cause I don't feel that way at all. ❜

❛ No, I won't do that. I won't let you turn me into you. ❜

❛ Hope you don't expect me to comment on that so you can record it on your hidden tape recorder. I wasn't born yesterday. ❜

❛ Your past is a bigger mystery than fucking Jimmy Hoffa. ❜

❛ No matter what you try, no matter when, no matter how hard you work, I'll always be a step ahead of you for one simple reason. I own you. ❜

❛ When I'm alone and it's quiet, I get scared shitless, like I start hearing what's really going on inside. ❜

❛ 'Cause when you're around, I kind of feel like I can deal with anything, you know? ❜

❛ I've always worked best in the shadows, and that's where I have to stay. ❜

❛ You can't go back. You know that. ❜

❛ You are not allowed to talk about anyone I date as long as you're seeing little Miss "pardon my tits." ❜

❛ She is obviously a vampire. A gross english-titty vampire. ❜

❛ Can't change who I am. I'm crass and dirty, and...I have a very filthy mind. ❜

❛ Jesus Christ. They sell anyone a gun in Florida, won't they? ❜

❛ That man. He wasn't trying to rob you. He was trying to kill you. ❜

❛ Nothing you could do,___, would scare me. ❜

❛ Whatever comes, we'll get through this together. I'm not leaving your side. ❜

❛ I need to embrace who I am, who I've always been. ❜

❛ It's like I've been living underwater, holding my breath, and now I can finally breathe. ❜

❛ ___ almost had me believing it was possible to change, to become something else, as if that ever really happens. I've always known what I am. ❜

❛ I'm finding it's best to accept things you can't change, you know? ❜

❛ Is this the monster that you keep telling me about? ❜

❛ Trust me, when you meet the monster, you'll know. ❜

❛ Nice. My subconscious isn't even bothering with symbolism. ❜

❛ I feel...such regret, which is rare for me. But not that I don't mess up. I do...just never so stupendously. ❜

❛ If they're looking for proof, they won't find it. Not here at least. ❜

❛ Then maybe you should come with us, because who knows what secrets will come ❜ pouring out of me once the drinks start flowing. ❜

❛ I'm done with it and you. Did I not make that clear last night? ❜

❛ Those friends of yours, they didn't even know you. They just see the mask, but I see it all. ❜

❛ Can't live with her. Can't kill her. ❜

❛ Fuck! I'm talking about my feelings. What the fuck is your problem? ❜

❛ I've always sensed there was something... off about him. Like he's hiding in plain sight. ❜

❛ If you got in the middle of this and you got hurt… ❜

❛ The only way I can help you is if you turn yourself in. ❜

❛ Don't you disappear on me. ❜

❛ I want you to know that you meant a lot to me, more than you know, and... I just want to thank you for that. ❜

❛ If I never see her again, it'll be too soon. ❜

❛ Sleep would be nice, but there's too much to do. ❜

❛ Okay, I may be sleeping with him, but it doesn't mean he tells me shit or listens to me about anything, so stop asking! ❜

❛ That's right, motherfucker! It's over. ❜

❛ I knew there was something with you. But this shit? ❜

❛ What can I say? You were right about me. I never held it against you. I don't now. ❜

❛ It's a graze wound. Minor tissue abrasion. No hemorrhage along the bullet track. Sorry. I think I'm gonna live. ❜

❛ If you're not gonna let me go, then kill me now. Just get it over with. ❜

❛ You're a killer. I catch killers. ❜

❛ So it's okay to take a life as long as you get a paycheck for it? ❜

❛ Either kill me or set me free. ❜

❛ Taking a life is one thing, but the care and feeding of it is another. ❜

❛ I'm generally confused most of the time. ❜

❛ You ever care about anyone? Then you shouldn't have to ask. 'Cause when you care about someone, you do what you have to do. ❜

❛ I remember when life was easy, when the only question I worried about was "who's next?" Now it's: "How can I dodge my protective detail? "What should I do with my hostage?" These are not easy questions. ❜

❛ It's not about what I think. It's all about the evidence. ❜

❛ Hair-pulling may not be manly, but it's very effective. ❜

❛ If he wanted me dead, I'd be dead by now. ❜

❛ You are the only one I can count on, jackass. ❜

❛ It puts a pit in my stomach that I can only interpret as... sadness. ❜

❛ You working on an exit strategy? I'm afraid that's not gonna happen. ❜

❛ How come there's never a circus when you need one? ❜

❛ What was that shit last night? Some kind of fucking scare tactic? ❜

❛ Don't test me. I could have killed you. I didn't. ❜

❛ You're actually angry. I've never seen you angry. This is good. ❜

❛ I should warn you. You can't play on my feelings. I don't have any. ❜

❛ It's a tough job. It can wear on even the best of us. ❜

❛ I yell a lot...and bitch and complain, and I keep expecting people to guess what I want, but I never really say it. ❜

❛ And that was exciting, you know? The not knowing. What might happen, what could be. It was all possibility. ❜

❛ Your life is going to rest in the hands of the criminal justice system you put all your faith in. I wish you the best of luck. ❜

❛ You need help. Let me help you. ❜

❛ You don't have to do this! You don't have to kill this man! ❜

❛ Sorry it had to go down like this. But there really was no other way. ❜

❛ Stay away. Just stay away from me. ❜

❛ Did you happen to be stuffing a human leg into a garbage bag at that point? ❜

❛ There's that anger again. You got to let that out. ❜

❛ You're spinning. Let me help you. It's only a matter of time before you'll hurt someone else. ❜

❛ Take responsibility for who you are. ❜

❛ Why can't you just let me go? ❜

❛ If I got to choose a person... A real person... to be like, out of anyone, it'd be you. ❜

❛ Who joined who in the shower this morning? ❜

❛ For such a neat monster, I'm making an awfully big mess. ❜

❛ Maybe this is how evil works. Destroying everything it touches. ❜

❛ I've been held prisoner in a cabin for two fucking days. Fucking hellhole. ❜

❛ After everything we've been through lately, I just want... to be together with you guys. ❜

❛ You told me to take responsibility for what I am. You were right. ❜

❛ I can't live in this house of cards anymore, waiting for it all to fall down. I need to do something, you know? ❜

❛ If I do this, I need a day to get my affairs in order. ❜

❛ Mention that when they interview you for the story of my life. ❜

❛ Don't leave me in this cage, anything could happen. ❜

❛ I lie to everyone I know... except my victims right before I kill them. It's hard to establish much of a rapport there. ❜

❛ Sorry about the cage. ❜

❛ I've always been curious to try. Do you have any weed? ❜

❛ Love's a battlefield. Or in your case, a restraining order. ❜

❛ When a pretty girl smiles and bats her eyelashes, we're powerless to resist. ❜

❛ I met with a lawyer yesterday. He helped me prepare a living trust that gives you control of all my assets in the event of my death or... certain other situations. ❜

❛ God. Go away. This is creepy. ❜

❛ I'm free tonight, you wanna stop by? We'll have beer, a couple of steaks? I wanna talk to you about something. ❜

❛ I just need you to know that... you and the kids are very important to me. No matter what happens, I want you to always know that. ❜

❛ I know I've been taking things slow with us, but it's not because I don't have feelings for you. It's more like I have too many feelings, and I just wanna make sure to get it right. ❜

❛ I want you gone. Tonight. ❜

❛ I've spent a lifetime keeping up my guard, watching my back, wearing my mask. Relief was never in sight until now. ❜

❛ Lately, I was starting to feel like I had my head pretty far up my ass. ❜

❛ You decide who you are, who you want to be...and you hold onto that and ride it out. ❜

❛ I need some help! Just open the door! I'm being held captive. ❜

❛ Damn, it's good to see another face. I never thought I would. ❜

❛ When something beyond reason happens, it turns skeptics into believers. ❜

❛ If you believe that God makes miracles, you have to wonder if Satan has a few up his sleeve. ❜

❛ I can't exactly feel their pain, but I can appreciate it. ❜

❛ I kinda forgot who I was. I got it straight now. ❜

❛ The term is homicidal maniac. Not that I'm judging. ❜

❛ A public place. You thought I was gonna...That I would slip my needle into your neck? ❜

❛ You're afraid of me now, aren't you? ❜

❛ You're emotionally color-blind. You use the right words, you pantomime the right behavior, but feelings never come to pass. ❜

❛ You know the dictionary definition of emotions: longing, joy, sorrow...You have no idea of what any of those things actually feel like. ❜

❛ I created a monster of my own. ❜

❛ What did you do to make her so pathetically crazy for you? Does your dick dance? ❜

❛ What're we doing home in the middle of the day? She asked, hoping for sex. ❜

❛ Why? Why do I have to make up my mind? ❜

❛ I've never put much weight onto the idea of a higher power. But if I didn't know better, I'd have to believe that some force out there wants me to keep doing what I'm doing. ❜

❛ As it turns out, nobody mourns the wicked. ❜

❛ Am I evil? Am I good? I'm done asking those questions. I don't have the answers. ❜

#sentence starters #sentence meme #rp meme #inbox meme #ask meme #rp memes #*tv #*dexter #*mine

165 notes · View notes

after-witch · 3 years

Text

Hook Line and Sinker [Yandere Ransom Drysdale x Reader]

Title: Hook Line and Sinker [Yandere Ransom Drysdale x Reader]

Synopsis: You’ve broken up with Ransom Drysdale, and you mean it this time. But the freedom that comes with the breakup leads to a series of unexpected coincidences that leave you wondering: was it worth the price?

Word Count: 8955

notes: yandere, mentions of physical abuse, financial abuse, comfort sweaters

Nothing lasts forever. Not even relationships--and certainly not love. What might start off as an intense, passionate relationship can (and did, in your case) eventually fizzle; things that you were willing to overlook when you were absolutely besotted would wear down with time, and eventually they became too much to ignore.

That’s what you tell yourself, what you remind yourself, in the moment after you tell him:

“It’s over, Ransom. We’re done. I’m leaving.”

It couldn’t last forever. Not with his inability to stay sober, not with his tendency to cheat on you with meaningless flings that somehow hurt more than any steamy single-minded affair. Not with his flare-ups of controlling tendencies that left you in tears on the bathroom floor as he asked you to please stop dressing like a slut in front of his family, is that too hard to ask?

You’d asked him to change. He swore he would; he never did. You forgave him, more than once, more times than you could count. But enough was enough. Maybe he thought you were too weak to leave him, especially three years into your relationship, when your lives were becoming so integrated, pushing you towards a potential permanent future. It was a future that left you feeling numb and anxious. Stuck in a marriage with someone who wanted to stay with you but treated you horribly, all the same. And that wasn’t even getting into the family dynamics that left your head spinning.

He stares at you now, and his mouth opens just a little bit in what you know is going to be a barrage of questions, insults, maybe even threats spurred on by your words. But instead he closes his mouth and shakes his head, letting out a soft, bitter chuckle.

“Well, damn. This sucks.” You can see the indent of his tongue in his cheek before he clicks and shrugs. “Guess that’s it then. Need help packing your shit or what?”

His response is so blasé that you’re genuinely shocked and, you must admit, a little hurt. He didn’t even ask for a second chance or beg you to stay or argue with you about your terrible timing because our-vacation-to-Hawaii-is-coming-up. So it’s your turn to look surprised, and you shake your head.

“No, I… already took care of it. It’s at a storage locker.” You didn’t have family left, and your close friends had pulled away from you one by one once you stayed with Ransom time and time again--so you’d had to pay movers to help you pack and transport everything to storage over the weekend, while Ransom was away and you were free to make a clean breakup.

He nods, sticks his hand inside his jacket pockets. He’s looking around the room, avoiding direct eye contact in a clear show of his discomfort. It’s weird seeing Ransom like this--the normally self-assured, cocky Ransom, looking for any excuse not to look at you.

“So… see ya around?” His tone is sincere, if still confused. The idea of you leaving must have really never crossed his mind. The look on his face when he finally faces you again appears genuinely puzzled.

He sticks out his hand and it feels almost comical for things to end this way, particularly considering the nights you’d spent imagining some big blow up, some big fight with Ransom screaming and you firing off the many reasons why it had to end no matter what he said.

But it didn’t go the way you expected at all. It was calm. Easy. A clean break-up.

So you shake his hand and grab your purse and the small roller-suitcase and give a half-hearted wave as you walk out the door; the taxi you’d hired to pick you up is waiting, car running, meter going. You would be staying at a hotel for two weeks, which would hopefully be enough time to find a semi-decent apartment; your credit score had improved so much since Ransom added you to his cards, to a shared checking account, and it wouldn’t be too difficult to get approved.

A new life, one where you could focus on yourself for once, was just around the corner.

"I'm sorry, miss, but it's definitely not the reader. The card is declined."

You've had this nightmare before. No, you've lived this nightmare before--years ago when your credit was shit and you ran up your cards and had to face the music in a publicly humiliating display with the longest checkout line you'd ever seen behind you. Only that was years ago, in a little grocery store, and since getting together with Ransom you never had to worry about problems like this. You never had to worry about the shame of not having enough, not being enough.

But this? This was happening now. In an upscale hotel. With your nice purse (a Christmas present) and designer clothes (casual, comfortable) and your cheeks flushed undeniably warm.

The hotel clerk has a tight, sympathetic smile on her face. A coworker who walks behind her glances at you, judging, and you just know he's going to head into some break room and tell everyone but yet another piece of discarded army candy with a declined credit card. You wish you'd kept your sunglasses on.

"Did it, um, say why? I don't--" you plaster a smile on your face, hating the way this all feels familiar, like a part of your past coming back to haunt you. "I don't understand, the card is good."

The clerk's smile flickers, just a bit.

"It says there's a fraud alert on this card. Perhaps you'd better call the company. Or would you like me to call them?"

Fucking. Ransom.

"Oh, oh no, don’t worry about it. I’ll call them myself. I'm so sorry about this." You turn away from the clerk as quickly as possible and step away from the counter, away from the person waiting behind you who will surely have no trouble with their card, away from the clerks giving you a passive side-eye. You lean against a cool cement pillar in the lobby and you know what you have to do.

You have to call Ransom.

You haven't deleted his number yet--you'd planned on calling him today or tomorrow to figure out how to split up your shared finances--so it's easy enough to find the number. It's not so easy to tap his contact, but you have to, so you force yourself to do it and stare at his photo as the call rings. And rings. And rings. “Hello?” Your breath catches but in an instant, when the message continues, you feel stupid. It’s his voicemail. Fuck.

You text him, instead. Emergency. Call right away. And of course: He leaves you on read. Fuck.

You call him again. And again. He picks up on the sixth call, but your heart is racing too hard and sweat is beading down your forehead and it takes you a moment to confirm that the "Hello?" wasn't part of the voicemail message this time. Fuck.

"Um. Hey," you say, keeping your voice as un-royally-pissed-off as possible, because if he did put in a fraud alert then you don't want to risk any additional asshole moves. "So there's something wrong with the card? The one that ends in 8921? The hotel said there was a fraud alert and--"

"Did you really think I'm going to keep paying for your shit if we're over?"

His voice is quick, biting--exactly what you'd expected from him earlier. Somehow it stings even harsher over the phone, where you feel more helpless, unable to avoid his words.

"I thought..." you wet your lips, trying to maintain your cool. "Look, my name is on them, so I thought send you my part of the payments until I can get cards in my own name."

He chuckles, low and short. "Yeah? What, you want to create a payment schedule or something?"

You fight back the annoyance in your tone. You hate having to be the bigger person, but your finances--your life--is on the line. "Yeah, actually, that'd be perfect. It wouldn't be for long. You know I'll pay them on time, I'm not looking to screw you over."

"You're going too pay me on time? For all the stuff you've bought, the stuff I’ve bought for you, this hotel room and god knows what else? How are you going to afford all that?"

He knows you recently earned a promotion at your work. He knows this, because you were so excited about it, and his half-assed congratulations over lukewarm leftovers left you feeling bitter and sad and useless. So you can't help it when bitterness seeps into your voice with your answer. "You know I just got a promotion."

"Did you?" It's said in such a casual tone that it gives you pause, but a moment later he simply hangs up on you.

Fucking. Ransom.

You shove your phone back into your purse, and the clerks at the counter are staring at you. Sweat has trickled down your back and your shirt sticks to your skin ever-so-slightly as you pull away from the pillar and approach the counter, awkward smile and cheeks hot.

"There is an issue with the card, they're working on it, so I’ll just call for a new reservation when it's fixed. I'm so sorry for the mix up!" Your voice is so peppy and high-pitched and fake and you feel like you’re back at your old job, feet aching with falling apart shoes, forced to deal with people returning old toasters laden with crumbs, calming they’d “just bought it the day before and it didn’t work.”

"Of course," the clerk says, and you know this is hotel clerk code for "You're a shitty liar."

You roll your suitcase out of the lobby with tears in your eyes and you shove your sunglasses on as soon as you've cleared the building. You feel exhausted, drained--so you use what little energy you have left to start googling for cheap motels.

The room smells musty. You pin the plastic sheet you’d snagged at a dollar store over the comforter and pray it will be enough to protect you from whatever is on the likely unwashed fabric. The TV is broken, there’s no WIFi, and there’s a few suspicious stains on the floor that make you wonder if this hotel has ever been featured in a porno, true crime show, or both.

But it’s all you could afford with the cash in your wallet. You only had enough cash on hand for 2 nights at a ragtag hotel that offers nightly and hourly rates. You didn’t dare use your debit card or any credit cards with Ransom’s name or information on them.

You just need some sleep. A good night’s sleep to feel renewed and ready to tackle retaking your life, bit by bit. In the morning, you need to go to the bank and withdraw your money from the joint bank account. Then you can reopen an account in your name, get a new debit card, and apply for a few credit cards afterwards.

Sure, it would have been nicer to do this without Ransom being an asshole. But deep down, you suspected he wouldn’t let you have a clean, lets-still-be-friends type of break. Not after all the times he’d pressured you into staying, manipulating you with words and gifts and promises, promises. Promises that were worth shit.

The sheet crinkles underneath you as you scroll through your messages. You’d texted a few formerly close friends about the breakup earlier, hoping that they’d maybe want to reconnect. So far, you’d been left on read, blocked, and received only one response: “New number, who is this?”

So much for that. Not that you can blame them. There are only so many times they can rush over for a late night intervention in which you tell them every horrible thing Ransom does (he’s controlling, he doesn’t want me to meet with friends without permission, he tells me what I can and can’t wear, he cheats, he lies, he pushed me--)--before they get tired of you returning to him, again and again and again.

The only one who’d been texting you recently--okay, for the past year--had been Ransom. Mostly dick pics. And demands for you to send him something back, which you always did after a while, because you didn’t want to deal annoyed texts or voice messages accusing you of clearly cheating on him or hating him because why else wouldn’t you be willing to send him so much as a sexy selfie to your boyfriend?

But in between those, there were conversations. Sometimes sweet ones, sometimes thoughtful ones that always made you remember why you fell hard for him in the first place. Late night conversations from when he was off on trips. You try not to wonder if he was fucking someone on each of these trips, if while you were sending him a late night ramble about a TV show and he was humoring you with jokes and quips, he was actually snuggled up with someone else. Laying in bed, naked, laughing at your dumb ass waiting at home.

The not-so-sweet conversations were ones that you had screenshotted and sent to your friends more than once, before they pulled themselves away. Texts asking where you were. Asking who you ate lunch with, and whether or not you were fucking them. Asking why your new office was connected to a certain co-worker’s, and how many blowjobs you had to give to get said new office because you didn’t tell him about the new office until after you were moved in, so you were clearly hiding him. Asking you to send him outfit pics so he could approve them or make you change if they were too slutty or not slutty enough or if you were only clearly wearing that halter dress to try to get with the bartender.

Yet your mind had always returned to the nice Ransom, the Ransom who made you laugh and squeezed you hard when had a shitty day of work and let you bury your face in his sweater as you snuggled on the couch. Maybe that’s why it took so long to leave. You were waiting for him to stop being Ransom and start being the fantasy of Ransom you’d conjured in your head.

Your eyes feel heavy so you plug in your phone, turn the sound off, and lay down on the uncomfortable plastic sheet that crinkled over the pillows. It feels strange to lay on a lumpy mattress covered in plastic, after years of custom-made beds and memory foam pillows and all the other luxuries that Ransom was able to provide.

You try not to think about it too much. While you won’t exactly be indulging in all the luxuries you had with Ransom, but your job pays you well, and you won’t ever have to go back to living hand-to-mouth like you did before. You won’t have to worry about late bills and debt collectors and landlords who come late at night and demand inspections while you’re in your pajamas.

You have work in the morning. You have to get to the bank in the morning. Your thoughts are still buzzing with anxiety as you fall into an uneasy slumber.

“I’m sorry, but the account has been closed.”

You feel years of customer service training cracking underneath your skin. You can’t freak out. If you freak out, they won’t feel inclined to go the extra mile. You know this, from firsthand experience.

So you take a shaky breath. “Um, this just--it isn’t possible. It’s a joint account. I’m on the account. There was money in there, you can check--”

“I’m sorry, but the funds were transferred and account has been closed by the other account holder. There’s nothing I can do. I suggest contacting the other party in the account.”

You swallow and nod and walk away, this time having been smart enough to keep your sunglasses on to hide your humiliated expression. Why didn’t you insist on having your own account? Ransom said it was better to keep it joint, so you could just buy stuff whenever you wanted. You’d agreed because it was so generous, something you’d never thought possible at the time, when you were used to having to pay overdraft fees and cringing whenever you checked your balance.

Your fingers tremble as you bring up his contact on your phone. You tap. No answer.

You don’t have time to call him two, three, ten times--you have to get to work. So you steady your nerves. You breathe in, you breathe out. You get in your car and plug your phone in and decide to contact your lawyer. Fuck--your lawyer was Ransom's lawyer. But the anxiety eases when you remember that you’d paid him a retainer fee months ago, and Ransom couldn’t do anything about that. You could at least get a basic consult out of the retainer.

The call ringing sounds muffled through your car’s speaker but it isn’t long before someone answers, and you’re transferred to the lawyer Ransom insisted you have--gotta have a lawyer when you have money, babe--and that you hadn’t spoken to in ages.

“Hi,” you say, voice artificially bright, “this is--”

You don’t get a chance to finish.

“I know who this is.” The lawyer sounds tired, and his tone is curt and clipped. “I’m sorry. I’m no longer able to provide you with any legal counsel.”

You almost miss a red light and regret calling the office while you were driving.

“Is this about the debit card? Because I paid the retainer months ago--”

“The retainer has been refunded into the connected checking account.”

Your voice looses its artificial cheeriness and you stumble over your words in frustration. “That’s--it’s--it was a joint account, which is why I called, Ransom drained it and took everything. Isn’t there something we can do, because that was my money too and--”

“I am no longer able to provide you with legal counsel.”

You want to cry. You hate crying, as an adult. It makes you feel weak. Especially on the phone.

“I don’t understand. Why was the retainer refunded? Did--did someone call you?”

He clears his throat into the phone. “I am no longer able to provide you with legal counsel. Goodbye.”

He hangs up. Your hands shake.

You pull into the parking lot of your work and park the car and as soon as you do, you hunch yourself over the steering wheel and simply shake in frustration.

You have no bank account. Ransom drained it. You have no credit cards. Ransom blocked them. You couldn’t even talk to a lawyer, because--shock--Ransom made sure you couldn’t. Everything was in Ransom’s name. He insisted on adding you to his accounts, closing out your own paltry ones; insisted that he pay off your credit card debt, and making you close those, too, instead adding you to his cards. It was all to help you out, he said, at the time.

Wasn’t it? He was shockingly not judgmental about the state of your finances, and while you’d put up some protest, you didn’t exactly argue with him when he suggested wiping your debts clean and getting your credit back up. And considering that he wasn’t immune to needing a bail-out now and then (late night calls to his grandfather, snarky comments at his parent’s dinner table, come to mind) maybe he could sympathize with being in over your head. Even if your issues were rooted in poverty and shitty jobs and his were rooted in a total lack of financial discipline and, as you’d later found out, a drug addiction.

Still. He helped you before. He would help you now, once he realized how serious it was. For now he was just--reacting like an asshole, acting childish and ridiculous. He was an asshole. You know this. You’ve known this. You need to call him and meet with him and make him realize how ridiculous he’s being, and he’ll sigh and snark but he’ll agree to stop acting like such an ass.

But first you have to work. Life goes on. Even without Ransom--even with Ransom, screwing you over out of pettiness.

The air conditioning in the lobby is on blast, and the familiar smell of clean furniture and floor cleaner from the late-night cleaning crew is surprisingly comforting. Here, you can forget about Ransom--forget about the cards and the lawyer and the fact that your life has been upended in mere hours. If only until your lunch break, at least.

Anthony is working the front desk and you give him a a soft, if strained smile. There’s something in the smile that he gives you in return that reminds you of the hotel clerk. Sympathetic and judgmental.

Ah. You probably look like--well, less than your best, you realize. You did pack some toiletries in your suitcase but the water in the motel had streaks of brown and you didn’t shower, opting instead to rinse your face with what was left of a water bottle you’d bought earlier and layering on more deodorant to make up for the lack of a proper scrub. You probably looked a bit tired, haggard, not unlike some of the employees who got stuck with big clients the night before their paperwork was due.

Still. Nothing that freshening up in your private bathroom--thank god for the new office--can’t help. So you hit the button on the elevator and take deep breaths as you ride up, intent on working as productively as possible. The doors open and you navigate the familiar maze of open-plan desks for the lower-tier workers, desks surrounded by half-walls that always kept you staring straight ahead, lest you accidentally glance over and see a co-worker picking their nose.

Yet as you weave in-and-out of the familiar rows, heading towards the back of the room where the real offices, the ones with full walls and doors and privacy glass lay, you can’t help but feel that something is… off.

No one calls out to greet you, though that can be easily attributed to the jealousy over your promotion. You’d been working there for far less than most of the lower level workers--Ransom got you the job, with his connections and a hefty revision of your resume and, you assume, some personal phone calls--and you’d already been promoted to senior management. That wasn’t technically Ransom’s work, though. That was all your own effort, your own blood, sweat, tears and intense devotion to each project that came your way. Sure, the connections he helped you make, the dinner parties, all that helped--but if it weren’t for your skills, the connections wouldn’t have made a difference. Right?

Still, whatever bitterness existed in the people hunch in open-air cubicles, the receptionists always greeted you. But today they caught your eye then awkwardly glanced down, or pretended to be looking for something in their drawers. It was odd. Did you look that bad? That out of sorts?

You shake off the heavy feeling in your stomach and for once, you shut the door to your office instead of keeping it open for passers-by or people needing approval for this-and-that. It feels good to lean against the solid wood door and take a breath, a deep one, invigorating and calming.

A quick trip to the bathroom has you staring at yourself from all angles. You don’t look that bad, you reason. Just tired. But who wouldn’t be, sleeping on a plastic sheet in the shittiest motel in the area? You take a quick sniff under your arms but even that reveals nothing much but a faint hint of sweat and powdery deodorant.

There’s a firm knock at your office door and you glance at the mirror for a final once over before opening it up. It’s your boss. Did you have a meeting? You try to do a mental scan of something you’ve missed, but nothing comes to mind.

“Hi,” you say, wavering with uncertainty at the threshold. Should you invite him in? “What can I do for you? We didn’t have a meeting, did we?” You let yourself chuckle, dry and quick. “I’m sorry, I’m a bit scattered this morning.”

Your boss doesn’t return your chuckle, which immediately raises the hairs on the back of your neck. Something was wrong. Shit--you were working on a major project for a seriously important client. The type of client that could genuinely make or break a company, if you got on their bad side. You press your lips together and make a silent vow to keep it serious.

“I’d like to keep this conversation private.” His tone is low and serious and you invite him in without a second thought, shutting the thick door behind you, trying to ignore the way everyone was shooting glances as it closed. Fuck, fuck, fuck, your thoughts race--no wonder everyone was giving you the stink eye. Something was wrong with the client, and you were the one making primary contact with them.

Your boss takes a seat on the leather sofa pushed up against the wall and you immediately set yourself down behind your desk.

He sighs. Short. Frustrated. Annoyed.

“We have to let you go.”

The words don’t register.

“Go where?”

It’s only after you say it that you realize what he said, what it meant, and you feel like a colossal moron in every respect.

“It’s not working out,” he continues, staring at your desk and not at your face. “Since you’ve only been in this position for a month, you don’t quality for senior severance. The best we can do is to pay you what you’ve earned this week.”

Your mouth is so dry that you don’t know if you can talk. Your hand fumbles on your desk for a water bottle you’d left overnight, and that’s when you see it--the photo frame. You keep a photo of yourself and Ransom, cuddled together for a selfie, on your desk. The photo was lying on your desk, frameless, ripped in half--leaving only your vacantly smiling face staring up at you.

Ransom was here.

“Did he put you up to this?” You whisper. “Did Ransom tell you to fire me?”

You know he won’t answer. But you stare at him so fervently that he can’t help but look up at you, and you see it all in his eyes, in the subtle, embarrassed expression of his face.

You can imagine Ransom strolling in--maybe he called first--and settling in for a private audience with your boss in his office. He’d probably pull the chair up to the desk and put his feet on it, just to be an ass. Then he’d bring up… you. And why you had to be let go. Did he give a reason, did he tell your boss why a respected employee who he once secured a position for, who shot up the ranks through intense effort and work, needed to be fired? Did he even need to give a reason?

“This is absolute bullshit,” you say, finally, voice dry and hoarse and bitter. You want to say you’ll be contacting a lawyer. That this won’t stand. But you know--and he knows--that there’s nothing you can do.

Your boss stands, slow, and sighs again. “I’m sorry it had to end this way. Pack up your things as quickly as possible.”

He leaves, and you keep your eyes trained on the ripped photograph to avoid seeing the expressions of the people in the doorway before your boss mercifully shuts the door.

It takes all of your effort not to cry.

You don’t have much effort left.

Your things consisted of a handful of personal items, little touches you’d brought in to make your office feel more like “you.” A nice picture print. A pastel afghan to drape over the couch. A stapler with a floral design. You have the strong urge to dump them in a trash can, but that’s quickly quelled by the realization that you can’t afford to buy new things, or any things, at this point.

You don’t care if wearing your sunglasses as you power walk to the elevators makes you look stupid. You know someone, somewhere in this office is filming you and probably captioning it with something stupid to post to their Reels or TikTok, and it just makes you leave faster. A few people murmur comments your way, sympathetic in tone, but you’re not really listening. None of their platitudes matter, because Ransom was here, in your workplace, in your office, and he stole the thing you were most proud of from under your feet.

To his credit, when you reach the bottom floor, Anthony practically fumbles out from behind his desk and holds the door open for you. He mouths a “Sorry” and he probably is, but he’s probably used to dealing with rich assholes like Ransom who get what they want, when they want it; even when what they want is to fire a good employee on demand for very personal reasons.

The sun is beating down hard, even for the morning, and the stress of your situation makes you blast the air conditioning as soon as you get in the car. God, the car--how are you going to afford the payments? You wish you could call your mom. You wish your friends--are they even your friends, anymore?--would call you back.

You grab your phone from your purse and stare at the black screen. Maybe you should call the friend who didn’t block you. She would answer, if you called, because she knew you didn’t make calls unless it was serious. She might not rush to your side, but maybe she can offer you a place to stay, a couch, some advice. A kind word would do, right now, with how much anxiety and frustration has been packed into the last 12 hours.

But when you unlock your screen, your gut sinks. Five missed calls. From the storage company. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You tap their number and bring the phone to your ear and pretend that your hands aren’t shaking.

The man who answers is the same one you talked to on the phone before, when setting up your move. “Hello, Move’nSecure Storage Company. This is Steve speaking. How many I help you?”

“Hi Steve!” You hate how chipper you sound. “I actually just got a few missed calls from you guys, I’m sorry, I was in the office and--”

“Oh.” His voice is surprisingly flat, suddenly flat, losing its customer service inflection in an instant before picking it back up. “Yes. We’ve been trying to reach you. For confirmation, the storage locker your purchased is A443, correct?”

You fumble in your purse for the receipt and confirm the little numbers printed neatly on the paper. “Yes, A443. Is everything okay?”

“No, it’s not.” You’re grateful that you didn’t have much for breakfast because you know it would be clawing its way back up at this point. “The card you gave us for the storage fee was declined.”

The debit card. You’d paid in cash for the move, and paid for 1 month of storage with the card. The card that was now useless, connected to an empty and closed bank account.

“Is there another card you can give us?”

“No, but...” You say, because no, there is not. There is not a card. There is not a job. There is nothing. “But if you could just hold my stuff, I’ll be there in less than a hour to get it.”

“We don’t hold items,” Steve tells you, a rehearsed banality to his tone. “Your items are currently outside the unit.”

You instinctively want to yell at Steve but, fuck fuck fuck, you’ve been there, behind the counter, dealing with people who couldn’t pay for shit and then had the nerve to get upset with you. “All of it?” You ask, your voice cracking slightly.

“Yes.”

You hang up, and toss your phone onto the passenger seat. The quicker you get there, the less chance that something will get broken or stolen or who knows what else.

The trip to the storage unit seems to take forever, and when you arrive you don’t even take a second to lock your car doors. Instead you sprint inside, startling Steve--looking at his phone, then at you, then at the sign plastered up on the wall leading to the storage locker floors. He points. Row A, separated into 100s, 200s, 300s, and--your number--400s.

You don’t remember if you say ‘thank you,’ because you’re speed-walking down the hallway and following the signs and it isn’t long before you see it: a storage locker with tons of stuff piled up, dumped, outside the now-empty unit where it was supposed to be safe and sound. Waiting for you to get an apartment and pick it back up and rearrange it into your new life, your new “you.”

The problem is immediate: You can’t fit all this in your car. You don’t know anyone who could take the stuff for you. You mind reels for options and the only thing you can come up with is ferrying your belongings to and from the hotel. You can pay for a few more days once you cash your partial paycheck. After that… you don’t know.

Pawn your things? Yeah. That might work. You can get enough cash by pawning most of your stuff, the good stuff. Enough money to get you into a shitty apartment with leaks and a bad landlord. Then you can a job that barely pays rent and you’ll be right back where you started, before you met Ransom. Before you thought leaking ceilings and $20 paychecks after taxes were a thing of the past.

You ignore the humiliation that makes your stomach curl as you take your things out to the car, handful by handful. Steve doesn’t bother holding the door open for you. You mention that you’re going to be back on your way out, and he offers a non-committal hum.

At least when you get to the hotel, the owner sees you fumbling with boxes and offers to help you out. It takes less time with two hands to get everything in the room, and once it’s locked up you head back out to the storage units.

You keep your sunglasses on for the second trip into the storage unit, even though you don’t know Steve or care what he thinks. He doesn’t look up when you walk in and it’s just as well, since you’re only heading back to the A-400s and don’t need his non-existent help.

But the sight that greets you when you round the corner to your unpaid-for storage locker makes your blood run cold.

Your stuff is gone. All of it.

You rush back to the desk, where Steve does look up, startled by your urgency.

“My stuff,” you spit out, “My stuff is gone! Someone took it!”

Steve shrugs. “Sorry.” He points to a sign behind him: “We are not responsible for the loss of items inside or outside storage lockers.”

“Are you fucking kidding?” You can’t the anger in your voice this time. “You just watched someone walk off with my stuff and didn’t say anything?”

Steve raises his eyebrows. “If it was that important, you shouldn’t have left it here. Or you should have given us another card.”

You feel like throwing your hands up but you just clench your fist and storm out the door, huffing as you reach your car. The anger melts into the sense of loss, the realization that you only have a few meager items that you’d managed to collect; you picked the lightest stuff, first. And in retrospect it was things that didn’t matter much at all. Clothes. Hair supplies. Makeup. You should have grabbed the box with your USB sticks, your memory cards, your photo albums; your personal mementos and sentimental shit. Instead you grabbed the box with your shampoo.

At least the clothes might get something in a pawnshop. The makeup, too, on Facebook or Depop or Instagram. But it wouldn’t be enough to put you up in an apartment. You’ll have to live in your car. Until they repossess it for lack of payment.

You don’t have your bank account, your credit cards, your job, a place to stay, or your personal possessions. And soon, you won’t have your car.

You have no friends. No boyfriend. No family.

All you have $20 left in your wallet and well, fuck it. You grab some McDonalds on the way home because, fuck it, and eat all the fries before you make it to the motel. The thought of eating in your dirty room makes your stomach turn and you decide to eat everything else you bought, the burger and the shake and the chicken nuggets too, tossing the wrappers on the floor. It feels like deja vu--getting cheap fast food to make you feel full, tossing trash on the floor of the passenger seat, all bringing back the way you used to when you’d grab something from the dollar menu on your way to work at the call center.

You almost wish you could stay at this hotel, brown water and all. The owner is decently nice. He smiles at you when you enter and doesn’t bring up that you didn’t come back with more boxes, like you said you would.

You’re surprised at how grateful you feel for the dingy hotel room now that you won’t be able to stay here more than another day. Now that the alternative is sleeping in your car, then sleeping on the street, if you were lucky.

Your phone feels heavy when you set it on the table and stare at the home screen. Another photo of you and Ransom stares back up at you. You haven’t had time to change it up yet. He’s grinning. You’re smiling. It’s a good photo. You try to place it in your memory, try to remember what beach that was, but your trips blur together and you can’t.

Should you call him? If it was just the cards, just him being petty over credit and finances, it was one thing. You could try to placate him with returning gifts, just asking him to give you what you put in from your own paychecks. But making you lose your job? It was too far, too fucking far. And there was no going back from that. Fuck, someone was probably moving into your office as you sat in this dimly lit room mourning the loss of your entire life.

For a brief, very fleeting moment, you consider calling Harlan. You weren’t exceptionally close, but he seemed to like you well enough. He’d even asked you once, puling you aside at a tension-filled family party, if Ransom treated you right, told you to tell him if he ever got to be too much. Harlan felt like Ransom’s keeper--in more ways than one. You could never tell Harlan about the shouts or the occasional bruises from when Ransom really, really lost his temper--it’s not like you could prove them, anyway, as Ransom made sure to keep you away from his family when he lost control like that. No need for excuses about running into doors when he made sure you looked your best at family functions.

But the thought of breaking the uneasy stasis that Ransom had with the most significant member of his family made you want to vomit. There would be no coming back from that, and you knew better than to cross any line involving the great Harlan Thrombey.

You could call your friend--ex-friend? The one who didn’t block you or forget your number. You should. No, you will. Because what else do you have to lose.

But before you can bring up her number, you get a text--Ransom. It’s a photo and your curiosity gets the better of you as you click the notification.

“What the fuck?”

He’s sent you a photo of his car, trunk open. It’s filled with boxes, odds-and-ends. It’s filled with your stuff.

You text him: What??

He texts back: Hey. I’m in front of the hotel. Come out? Bring your suitcase. :P

It’s your stuff. It’s his car. He’s here. All reason is thrown aside as you grab your suitcase and purse and rush down the hallway, ignoring the owner’s confused response from behind his desk as you push open the front doors and look around the parking lot.

His car is parked to the side, not in front of the hotel’s glass double doors. He’s standing outside his car, leaning against it. He takes off his sunglasses and tucks them in his pocket when he sees you approaching, face confused and fuming all at once.

“What the fuck, Ransom, what the fuck is your problem--”

“Hey, hey,” he says, hands up in defense, “You’re not even going to thank me for picking up your stuff?”

You feel suddenly, impossibly rooted to the spot.

“What do you--what? You took my stuff?”

He shrugs. “C’mon, did you really think I’d just leave your stuff in some shitty storage unit? Someone would’ve taken it if I didn’t get there first.”

You swallow. “Why?” You ask, because Ransom never does anything for no reason. Or so you’ve learned.

His expression loses a bit of its cocky casualness. He tilts his head a bit, looking at you as if you’ve asked a particularly offensive question.

“Why do you think?”

To lord it over you? To make you think your stuff was gone and make you worried, sick, crazy?

“I don’t know,” is what you settle for in the end. “I really, really don’t. You--” You lick your lips, and try to calm down, calm the pitter-patter of your heart, and think before you speak. “You’ve done some pretty messed up stuff today. My job?” The last question comes out soft and pained, and you know your eyes are starting to tear up.

“Hey.” His voice is soft and placating and it makes your stomach flip as he approaches you, standing there on the sidewalk with your purse and suitcase. “Hey, c’mon. Don’t cry on me.”

You know this Ransom. The Ransom that holds you and pets your hair and offers to get Thai food delivered even though he doesn’t like it just to make you happy.

He puts his hand on your shoulder and you jerk it away. “Don’t.” That Ransom is a fantasy. Or an incomplete version, the version that pretends he doesn’t lie and cheat and hurt you in more ways than one. “Don’t you fucking dare, especially not after what you pulled today. My job? My job, Ransom? You’re a--a fucking asshole.”

He puts his hands up again, defensive, and takes a step back. But he doesn’t return to his car, and stays just a few steps in front of you.

“Look. Call me an asshole. Sure, fine, I can admit that. But do you know what else I am?”

He waits a beat, waits for you to look at him, before he continues. “I’m a realist. I like facts. And the fact is? You aren’t much without me. No job, no credit cards, no bank account. Without me, you’re just some broke chick scrambling to get an apartment in the shittiest part of town, working a dead-end job that don’t pay shit. With me though…. “

He leaves the words unfinished, but you know what he means. Flashes of your life, cocktails and smart business outfits and dinners at restaurants you didn’t even dream about attending before you met him. Phone calls with shakers in the industry and social media requests from people you’d never dream you’d meet. Connections that meant something, a career path, dinner parties with people who could offer tangible benefits to your career and your life.

It wasn’t that he spoiled you. He wasn’t a sugar daddy. You weren’t getting gifts for blowjobs. It was that his presence in your life boosted you, socially, financially, mentally, physically, in every which way possible.

His presence got you a job that you loved, which meant you weren’t burnt out when you came home, which meant that you had the time and energy to spend hours catching up on books or redecorating the house or watching movies. Good money meant you could order in whenever you felt like it, meant you didn’t have to worry if you burned dinner because you could just buy new steaks or order-in or go out, last minute, and still get a great table. It meant you had all the clothes you wanted, stylish and personally tailored; it meant you had easy access to a gym and exercise equipment and an indoor pool to keep you healthy. It meant you had a life that provided comfort in every way possible.

Being with Ransom Drysdale was like… like a little shot of privilege directly into your arm.

Privilege that he took away just as easily as he gave it. Just as easily as you took it. Just as easily as you took it and eagerly ignored the dark side underneath. Or maybe you didn’t ignore it. Maybe you liked it, maybe it reminded you of who you were underneath the designer clothes and expensive dinners.

Maybe you wanted to fix him, like he fixed you? He wasn’t totally bad, after all, he did make sure no one took your belongings. Maybe it was your presence that gave him the idea for that touch of sympathy, maybe with Ransom change was slow and muddled, not picture-perfect sweeping changes like the kind in movies.

“So?” Ransom’s voice cuts through your thoughts. “Are you going to come home or,” he waves his hands around dismissively, at the hotel, at you.

You feel very, very less-than right now. You look awful, your hair mussy and your makeup mostly melted off with sweat and sun. You probably smell more than you normally do, thanks to the lack of a shower. Your muscles, sore from the motel bed, ache for the large spa bathtub that Ransom had installed in the master bathroom just for you, stocked with bubbles and salts and overpriced bath bombs that were $10 a pop.

But your muscles had hurt before, when he pushed you against the dresser.

You have nothing, and no one. Except Ransom. Ransom who didn’t judge you when you instinctively saved plastic bottles and boxes, but merely nudged you towards recycling and took you out to splurge on a reusable water bottle and proper storage containers the next day. Ransom who asked you what sort of job you wanted, really wanted, and made it happen for you. Ransom who shrugged and wiped away your credit card debt without making you feel like shit.

Ransom who didn’t let you leave the house if your wrists were sporting fingerprint shaped bruises. Ransom who argued with you about talking to men, even men at work. Ransom who held you tight at night and said he never wanted to let you go, and wouldn’t you just make a fine-ass addition his crazy family. Ransom who took care of you, now that you had no one else.

“What do you want me to do?” The words feel slow, sluggish. Like they wanted to stick to the roof of your mouth and it took everything in you to get them out.

His voice turns low and serious as he stares at you with an characteristic expression. “Well, the first thing is to get down on your knees…”

You feel your eyes practically bugging out.

“What the fuck, Ransom?”

He laughs. He always did have a nice laugh.

“I’m just messing with you, Jesus. Take a chi-I-il pill. Just grab your purse and come sit your sweet ass in the front seat. Let’s go get some burgers, I’m starving.”

Your legs feel like jelly when you take that first step, and the sound of your roller suitcase as you pull it along seems louder than ever. Ransom pops the truck and you just manage to fit it inside with the handle closed, jamming it in between some boxes at an odd angle. The handle of the passenger side is familiar, warm from the sun.

You open the door and practically shove yourself into the seat, closing the door as fast as possible. You can’t do more than glance at him as humiliation and anxiety and just the smallest bit of relief washes over you. It’s been less than 24 hours since you broke up, and here you are--again.

He’s staring at you quietly, his expression difficult to place. He looks relieved. He looks annoyed. He looks like he wants to kiss you. He looks like he wants to slap you. Maybe he wants to do it all at once and can’t decide which to pick.

Instead, he puts his hand on your thigh. Gives it a squeeze. Hard, bordering on painful. He’s staring straight ahead, at the worn-out sign on the hotel’s front door, one hand gripping the flesh of your thigh. He looks good in profile. “Don’t ever try to pull something like that again. I mean it. I really mean it.”

You turn, glance out the window, familiar tears at the edge of your eyes.

“I won’t,” you whisper, dreaming of the tub and bubbles and how good a warm soak will feel on your back, on your thighs, on your soul.

“Good girl,” he says, patting your thigh firmly. He plucks his sunglasses out of pocket and puts them on in a smooth motion. The car starts smoothly, its fine-tuned and expensive engine a familiar sound, and your hands feel robotic as you pull the seatbelt over your chest and click it tight.

“Let’s get dinner and get home. You have some unpacking to do.”

#ransom drysdale x reader #yandere ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale #knives out #yandere x reader #afterwitch writes

541 notes · View notes