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jingsyuans · 1 year

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Hiya, saw that you're taking requests for Jing Yuan :3

I've read through a few of your fics and absolutely love the way you portray him <3

So I wanted to ask if you could write something with him where the reader is struggling with insomnia due to either nightmares or stress overload? (preferably sfw with fluff overload ples :3)

If you're not comfortable with that or don't get an image in your head is totally cool and u can ignore this, have a cookie for your troubles and great work 🍪

a/n: you’ll actually find there’s little I’m not comfortable with, anon! This turned out longer than I thought, I’m still in the stage with Jing Yuan where everything rambles on into a full story because I like him so much and my muse is strong HAHA

Themes: oneshot, prior to any relationship, late night vulnerability and Jing Yuan being smitten. Unedited.

⚝──⭒─Jing Yuan ; 3am ─⭒──⚝

Jing Yuan was no stranger to stress and sleepless nights. It comes with the job, fortunately or unfortunately. He has no trouble falling asleep- he’s proven that quite enough with how he dozes off at inopportune times. His problem is more along the lines of having too much to do at night so it keeps him busy.

He isn’t sure what your version of sleepless nights looks like. He knows that you have them- he can tell from the drag in your step and the heaviness of your eyelids. He also knows that there might be several factors as to why you haven’t been getting much sleep lately, the sudden jumpy nature you have while at work is proof of that. But how to approach the subject? That’s something that requires some thought.

Your relationship was almost nothing outside of a work environment. Jing Yuan had made the steps to possibly progress it further, but his process was always step by step and rather methodical. Which, to put it simply, means that he’s rather slow. He doesn’t like to rush into things. You’ve taken his interest and he doesn’t want that interest to run out, so he ever so gently coaxes new information out of you every so often as to satiate his interest but still keep him hungry for more.

Your change in behavior as of recently presents on opportunity for the two of you to grow closer. Presents an opportunity for Jing Yuan to show he cares about you more than just a subordinate, but doesn’t hint at anything too excessive. A gentle nudge is what it is.

So he takes his opportunity once the two of you are alone in the Seat of Divine Foresight. Some would call it his office, which he supposes it is, but the room is too open and broad with Knights, secretaries, and officers always moving around inside and out. Really, the Divine Foresight is too public in a lot of ways.

But people must go home eventually to retire for the evening, and you usually leave with the crowd. But these past few nights you’ve been keeping him silent company in the large office, scribbling away at papers and clearly keeping yourself busy with things that could be done the next day. So it’s on one of these evenings that you share with him yet again that Jing Yuan decides to retire early. Early for him, anyhow.

He wraps up messily- his desk is always full so he never bothers to clear it off, leaving scrolls open and scattered. He at least has the decency to cap his inkwell to make sure it doesn’t spill, but that’s about all before he’s silently walking down the steps where his desk is and heading for you.

You don’t notice him hovering from behind. Your hand is in your hair, slightly tugging on the strands as you tap your pen endlessly on the desk. Clearly, you’re reaching a dead end. But you’re making no signs to stop your work just yet.

He’s careful, but perhaps not very thoughtful as he places a hand on your shoulder and watches as you jump. The smile is already on his face by the time you turn around, eyes wide open before seeing it was merely your general.

“Evening, ___,” he says your name carefully. It isn’t often that it’s after hours and there’s barely anyone around so he can drop the formalities. “Why don’t you wrap up here? It’s late, as I’m sure that you’re aware.”

“Ah, yes, general,” your eyes don’t meet his for long before you’re looking back to your desk, lips pursed. He doesn’t mind that you don’t reciprocate his casualties— clearly you have more prominent things on your mind. “Yes, it’s late. But I’ve still got work to do, so-“

Without asking- because in all honesty he doesn’t really need to, he’s your boss- Jing Yuan picks up the scrolls you were staring holes into. You splutter and hold up a hand to try and stop him, but freeze when he reads the work aloud.

“Curfew laws, scuffles with civilians, signing off on trade and market…” All rather unimportant affairs that don’t justify you staying late. He looks down at you and doesn’t say anything more, and by the way you sigh and look to the ground, he knows his point is proven. Putting the scrolls back down on the desk, his touch returns to your shoulder with a squeeze before he brings his hands behind his back. “I’ll lead you out.”

Jing Yuan at least lets you wrap up by yourself, gathering your coat and other things that you’ve been bringing with you to work for your late nights. He stands by the large doors until you’re ready, and when you begin to walk toward him, expression bitter, he chuckles aloud and opens the door for you.

“Thanks, general… I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” you mumble tiredly when the two of you exit the Divine Foresight, already heading off to the sky jetty where a Knight stands ready to take the both of you back. Jing Yuan doesn’t say anything as he follows behind you, letting you slowly clue yourself in. You give him a strange look once you notice he’s not heading back to the Divine Foresight. “It’s still rather early for you, general. You’re already headed home?”

The Knight boards the jetty and opens the sliding doors for you to enter, Jing Yuan sitting down inside first as you continue to hesitate and stare at him from outside.

“I’m not headed home just yet,” he tells you, answer vague and surely frustrating from the face you make at him. His smile just grows wider as he pats the seat next to him. “Come on, then. You shouldn’t make your general wait.”

That at least spurs you into action, your bag in your hands moving to your lap as you make yourself comfortable in the jetty beside him. The airship takes off in a smooth movement, and the trip is silent as it brings you back to the Exalting Sanctum. There’s a few times that your eyes flit over to Jing Yuan during the ride; each time he’s already looking at you and you quickly look away, posture tense.

Once the jetty pulls into the drop off spot, you basically jump out of your seat to get out first. Jing Yuan isn’t sure if it’s because you couldn’t wait to get away from him, or you were still being uptight because of the fact he’s your general and you didn’t want to make him wait since he was in the seat away from the door. Either way, he laughs at you.

“You know, from the way you’re acting I would say you don’t like me very much. But surely that isn’t true.” Jing Yuan cannot help but tease, continuing to stick to you like glue as you both walk away from the jetty’s drop off.

Your jumpiness that he observed before still proves true as you jolt at his accusation and shake your head, eyebrows tensely drawn. “No, you know that’s not it, general! Sorry- I… just wasn’t ready to go home yet.” Your shoulders sink with your sigh.

Beside you, Jing Yuan hums. “Understandable. But you don’t have to go home yet, you know.”

“What do you mean?” Looking at him, you purse your lips again. “I’m not going to just mill around aimlessly at this hour. I don’t need the Knights thinking I’m some suspicious figure and then I have to deal with the report at work.”

Jing Yuan laughs, quirking his brow at you. “That’s not what I’m suggesting, but it’s amusing to see where your mind goes. No, instead of stirring up more trouble for yourself tomorrow, I was thinking of dinner.”

“Dinner?”

You don’t realize where Jing Yuan has led you during your short conversation until you’re already there, the late night restaurant catching your eye with its lights still buzzing. The lanterns for dining are still on as well, dimmed with the late hour and reflecting red across your skin and dancing across your eyes as you look back at him.

It feels like a piece of you is slowly crawling back as you smile at him, laughing discreetly through your nose. “You’re not asking me out, are you general?”

Jing Yuan leads you to a seat, pulling it out for you with his own eyes gleaming with mirth. “Depends on how you look at it,” he comments, and once you’re seated he pats your shoulders. “If you don’t mind, I’ll order for the both of us. I skipped lunch this afternoon in order to go to a board meeting and I’ve never regretted something so immensely.”

Another piece molds back into place as you outright laugh at him and relax into the chair. “Alright, go ahead. I still remember when the rumors were going around about you eating pounds of exotic meat all by yourself, and now I’m wondering if they’re true.”

“The Gluttonous General,” he recalls, “yes, I remember that. I’ll leave it up to you and your own judgement, but I should remind you I have a two hundred pound cat, if that sheds any light on anything.”

“Oh, Mimi! How’s she doing?”

Jing Yuan smiles and startles you when he taps your nose, teasing as ever. “I’ll tell you once I’ve ordered.” He watches as you blush, visible or not it’s clear as day that you’re flustered and it’s his turn to laugh at you, albeit not unkindly.

Ordering is a quick affair. He’s already thought this evening through and knows exactly what he wants. Taking you out to eat isn’t exactly new to him either; there’d been a few times in the long years you’ve worked for Jing Yuan that you’d both have lunch together. Sometimes there’d be a third or fourth party, and sometimes it was just the two of you. From those times, though, he’s learned your tastes and has a fair amount of confidence as he orders your plate.

He comes back with a tray of brewed tea in hand. You look a little surprised that he’s carrying it himself, which he explains once he’s sat down across from you and places the tea on the table.

“I didn’t want to wait.”

The way you giggle at him is downright adorable, but he keeps such thoughts to himself as he pours your cup first and then his own. You hesitate before taking the cup he’s offered, and he shakes his head.

“It’s not caffeinated, if that’s what you’re wondering.” Your shoulders sink and you’re clearly disappointed, lifting up the cup to drink anyway. “Sorry to disappoint, but I didn’t want to contribute to your long nights more than I already have. Someone has to look after you.” He mutters that last part, perhaps revealing more than he should and how he feels- but he forgets that you’ve been sleeping horribly so you barely catch wind of his implications. The expression on your face is reserved, clearly a facade as you clear your throat.

“No, that makes sense. Thank you, general, I-“

“You know, it’s long past office hours.” Jing Yuan can’t help but interrupt you this once, bringing the steaming cup of tea up to his lips and blowing softly before he lifts his gaze to you. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t address me by rank. I understand the need to keep yourself at a distance, but there’s no harm in opening up at this moment and letting us speak as two individuals rather than subordinate and general.” He smiles once he’s finished. “It would make me happy to talk to you without those restrictions.”

Again, maybe he’s stating too much. But Jing Yuan has observed a lot in his time and he recognizes that there’s certain moments that call for vulnerability in order to show a favorable outcome. Of course, vulnerability is a tricky thing, which is why he’s normally so hesitant. There’s no honest way to predict emotions like there is fact and logic, so predicting how you might feel to his vulnerability is like taking a shot in the dark.

But in an odd way, Jing Yuan trusts you, and you haven’t proved him wrong to trust you just yet. Especially not when you finally open to him like a flower that hasn’t yet bloomed, your expression loosening and no longer trying to hide like before. It’s a beautiful process to watch.

“I can understand that… Jing Yuan,” you’re shy as you say his name, but your smile overrules that. You try to hide it by taking another sip of your tea, but he sees the edges of your lips upturned and the crinkle in your eyes and he counts himself as satisfied. “I guess I never realized how holding titles can keep the atmosphere stiff.”

“It’s subtle,” he nods along. “But I believe it’s there. Anyhow, you wanted to know how Mimi is doing?”

Your eyes light up, and he’s caught you- hook, line, and sinker. Your conversation becomes a lot less filtered and a lot more genuine as the night continues to tick by, becoming later and later and yet earlier and earlier, depending how you looked at the clock. The food comes by and he knows he made the right choice in your order- just like him, you essentially ravage your plate. That in itself is something not a lot of people get to see- at one point Jing Yuan scoops up some food with his hands and you catch it instantly, your eyes shining with the knowledge as you make eye contact and yet saying nothing at all as he licks his fingers clean.

He wouldn’t dare to be so untidy and messy around anyone else, but it’s all part of the process to show you that you’re unique to him. Around you, he does a lot of things he wouldn’t normally do around others. You’ll come to realize this and what it really means as more time goes on.

It’s once your meals are finished and you’ve got a fresh pot of tea as a palette cleanser that he strikes again, true intentions for tonight coming to light.

“So, my dear ___, tell me. What is it that’s keeping you in the Divine Foresight so late?”

At this point, you’ve relaxed considerably. The possibility of opening up to him has increased dramatically, and Jing Yuan knows you’re about to tell him by the way your demeanor shifts. You’re finally letting yourself look as tired as you feel by just the question alone and knowing you were about to answer it.

“It’s hard to talk about,” you start slowly. “But I guess it’s because I’m trying to keep myself busy.”

Jing Yuan nods along, helping you ever so slightly. “Because you don’t want to go home. And why is that?”

“Um… well, if I have to go home, I have to go to bed eventually. And… I can’t go to bed. I can’t sleep.” Your lips twitch as silence washes over the two of you. He doesn’t want to interrupt you this time, instead offering you the silence so you can gather your thoughts and how you want to communicate them to him. It’s a careful process. “Sometimes it’s just a product of my own design. I stimulate myself too much before bed with work or other things, and it keeps my head awake. Other times, it’s… a lot of nightmares.” You finally let the problem slip, eyes drifting down to your teacup as you smooth your fingers over the rim. “I’ve thought about getting things to help, but… mm.”

Jing Yuan takes a deep breath through his nose, nodding once to show his understanding. “I see. Nightmares are tricky things. And you’re right, I’m sure you’re already aware of the ways you can try and make them disappear, but… it’s a different story if you don’t want them to.”

Your eyes flit up to his, an inch of surprise on your face that he merely smiles at, his eyes soft.

“I’m no stranger to nightmares either. It can be easy to convince yourself that you deserve them. That you need them in order to remember what you don’t want to remember. What you feel guilty over, responsible over, fearful over.” Jing Yuan takes another sip of his tea, letting the flavor sink into his tongue before he swallows. “I have a lot of fears myself. A lot of troubles that could haunt me if I let them. I understand the frustration that you might be facing.”

Setting the cup down, he inches forward into the table just a little bit. “Perhaps this is unwarranted, but may I offer you some advice?”

You seem surprised. Still, you nod, allowing him to continue with interest painted across your features. He notices how you’ve inched along your own seat and says nothing.

“We live long life spans, longer than what was ever intended. With that comes a lot more burdensome and troubling memories than maybe we were designed to handle. It’s natural to have your mind caught up in the excess every so often, considering the circumstances.” His tone is gentle and unwavering as he speaks. “My advice to you is to not be a stranger. I may not know exactly what your nightmares are about, but I can see how they’re affecting you. Do not forget the life in front of you now, the ground you walk, the people you see.” His eyes wander as he talks, to the overhead lanterns that create a soft ambiance to the small creek that lined the Exalting Sanctum and split the land with bridges. “There are a lot of wonderful things waiting for you. Always, day to day. It might not cure your heartache, but that was never the intention. It’s not always about the cure, the end all, erasing it from existence. It’s about nurturing it, forgiving it, loving it, and making peace with it.” Jing Yuan looks back to you, tapping the surface of the table with his fingers. “As long as we are living and breathing and trying to make our way in this universe, I believe it’s our duty to keep an open mind to our pain and know that it’s not always a bad thing to bear as long as you understand the cause, the purpose, and the meaning behind it.”

The silence that follows is long and thoughtful, at least from his own perspective. There’s a chill of wind that blows by, the creek continues to babble, and you look at Jing Yuan like you’re putting together your own puzzle pieces for him just like he is for you.

“Yanqing is right,” you finally speak up after some time. “You speak in a lot of riddles and nonsense, Jing Yuan.”

His eyes widen at your comment, at first too surprised to do anything except state. But then he cannot help the way his head throws back, laughing a little too loud for this time of night. You laugh along with him, eyes squinting with mirth and teeth showing through your smile.

“But still, with that being said,” you continue after the first wave of his laughter has subsided, “I appreciate you a lot. Though what you’ve said doesn’t make sense to me quite yet… I think your actions speak louder than your words.” You hum as you look down at the table with empty plates and tea saucers, laughing to yourself as if it were funny. “Thank you for taking me out tonight. Thank you for noticing. It’s kind of you, Jing Yuan.”

“Well, I’m happy I’ve at least done something right tonight,” he says, scooting out his chair. You look a little surprised before you move to do the same thing, standing up with him as you take your tea cup and finish what was left. “Let me escort you home.”

“You don’t have to do that,” of course, to be polite, you refuse. Just as he knew you would. So he sighs in defeat.

“Alright,” he says. “I suppose I’ll just walk right behind you and be the suspicious figure you have to file a report for tomorrow.”

Jing Yuan thrills in the way you practically squawk with laughter, and just like that he’s walking beside you away from the restaurant, bill being paid for a long time ago. “You really don’t give me a choice then!”

“Mm,” his eye crinkles. “No, not really.”

“At least you’re honest about it.”

“I’m always honest.”

You laugh at him again, rolling your eyes without even trying to hide it from him. “Sure, general.”

The rest of the walk is filled with just as spirited chatter. It’s refreshing to Jing Yuan- while its true that he tends to prefer a mutual, comforting silence, it doesn’t mean he cannot enjoy the moment. He greatly enjoys it- seeing you become so unfiltered around him makes him hopeful and happy, though he tries not to show just how much. By the time the two of you arrive at your home, things finally quiet, and you thank him genuinely as you stop in front of your door.

“There’s no need,” he waves off your thanks easily with a smile. “It was a pleasure to be with you tonight. And I hope you know that while we cannot do it every night, I will always be open to the idea of doing it again.” He hums before continuing, smile dropping a fraction. “And I hope you know I don’t mind your late nights. It’s been nice having the company, but it would be better if I knew it wasn’t at your own expense. Take care of yourself, ___.”

He seems to tie your tongue completely, because you merely stare at him in response. Not that Jing Yuan minds- he always likes when your eyes are on him, especially like this- when you look so soft and precious that you could break without proper care.

He wants to take care of you, he does. But he’ll try his best to reveal that to you along with everything else later on.

“Thank you, Jing Yuan,” your voice is soft once it manages to leave your throat. “I… well. I-“ you seem to be holding something back, expression debating before you visibly steel yourself.

And then, beyond all his expectations and planning, you take a step toward him and wrap your arms around him, closing the space between you. What’s unfair is that you don’t even give him any time to recover from his surprise, don’t give him the time to reciprocate and hold you tenderly and take notice to how your body feels against his-

Because as soon as you came, you’re gone. Face flushed adorably as you avoid his eyes and move toward your door, muttering a wish of goodnight to him. And then he’s suddenly all alone in the chill of night, staring at your front door.

Once Jing Yuan recovers, he can’t find it in himself to even be disappointed. No. No, he can only smile, perhaps he is even beaming as he slowly walks away from your door and back to the station of jetties so he can head home himself. But he’s not so sure he’ll rest all that well tonight, not when his mind is busy going over the night with you. He thinks about everything you said and the opportunities birthed from your honesty. But of course, more than any of that, he’s thinking about what else he’ll have to do to get you to surprise him again. If all it takes is a little vulnerability,

Than Jing Yuan thinks it’s worth it to be vulnerable with you.

#this rly detailed #haha oops #I have a feeling even tho this one is cute it’s not gonna hit #oh well #anyway #reader insert #x reader #Jing yuan #jingyuan #hsr jing yuan #Jing yuan x reader #jing yuan reader insert #hsr x reader #hsr reader insert #honkai star rail #honaki star rail reader insert #honkai star rail x reader #request

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abiiors · 1 month

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the spring curse - ross x reader ˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧💌˚.⋆🌿

a/n: this is essentially a sickfic with so much yapping in there oh my god 🙄 yapping and yearning are the two things i operate on cw: brief suggestive content but no actual smut. being ill i suppose but it's very mild and fluffy. also pls we're going to suspend our disbelief here because i have no idea what being a florist entails. wc: 3.4k

they get together at the beginning of winter.

the last of the leaves are already a deep shade of orange, falling and falling everyday until the trees go barren and white snowflakes start fluttering all around. they’re already exclusive by the time the first proper snow of the season falls.

ross is a boyfriend. to the girl of his dreams. it makes him feel as giddy as a teenager every time he thinks about it; every time she gives him a sweet smile and an even sweeter kiss.

he always holds her hand just a little tighter, cuddles her closer just a little longer every time she has to go—he’s making up for the lost time, he thinks. all the time he’s wasted being stupid and a coward. and so whenever she stays over he stays near her, follows her around from room to room. she finds it infinitely amusing, so endearing that she can’t help but kiss him every two minutes for it.

a florist’s job is pretty slow in the winter. ross learns that quite early on in their relationship when he gets to take the slow days extra slow—cuddling on the sofa and dancing in the kitchen and every other cheesy thing he can think of.

he fucking adores the slow mornings after she stays over—loves waking up with her in his arms, loves the slow, lazy morning sex where she’s moaning and squirming and cumming on his cock barely awake, loves how she looks at him with sleepy eyes hooded with lust.

“‘s gonna be so awful when my job picks up again and the spring weddings start happening,” she says one morning while they’re in bed still, her head on his chest. ross hums. “you’ll be lucky if you see me two days in a row.”

he pouts. “it’s not that busy is it?”

“it is! so many new flowers coming into the shop and scott wants us to make sure each one of them is absolutely perfect. individually. fuck and the pollen—you’re not allergic to pollen are you? because i get so covered in it…”

ross racks his brain. maybe he does remember being a bit more sniffly in spring but nothing severe. it’s never been noteworthy. he shrugs and holds her tighter. “nah, don’t think so. it can’t be that bad though.”

she laughs mirthlessly. “you don’t know the half of it. my ex was so allergic i had to stay away for all of spring pretty much. like three months every year where i’d move back in with my parents because it was just that bad for him.”

he pretty much stops listening halfway through, stuck on the part where she had to stay away for three whole months. he can barely stay away half the week.

“don’t have to worry about that,” he strokes her hair, brushing off the silly unwanted thoughts.

and it turns out to be true—even when she stays in the shop longer, busy catering to new year’s parties and other events, ross hardly ever has a reaction to it. it’s blown out of proportion, he thinks. sure pollen allergies are real, but they must be incredibly rare.

what are the odds that he has it just as bad as her ex?

soon enough he forgets the conversation. everything is so blissful, so perfect that by the time valentine’s day rolls around, he’s already asked her to move in.

“are you serious?” she shrieks, giddy with excitement. it works great for them—for one, the floral shop she works at is so much closer to his house. and then just as an added bonus, he doesn’t have to compromise to seeing her only half the days of the week.

“yes. oh my god, yes! it’d be perfect…”

and he agrees. it would be perfect… until, well, it’s not.

spring arrives with a riot of colours—little weedy flowers grow in his backyard, daisies and buttercups cover grassy patches on the ground. even the dead trees start sprouting new leaves.

everything outside is cheery and pretty and colourful. in comparison, ross feels…weirdly tired. not that it’s an everyday thing but on days when he’s outside more, he’s way too fucking exhausted to do anything else. it’s only when the sneezing starts does the conversation come back to haunt him.

my ex was so allergic i had to stay away for all of spring pretty much…

ross shudders, thankful that it’s not that bad for him. it’s not! he’s certain about that. it’s only a scratchy throat and mildly itchy eyes that he could have gotten from eye strain too frankly, and maybe just a little case of the sniffles. it’s annoying, sure, but it’s not the end of the world. there’s no reason she needs to know about it and worry that she'll have to be away from him when she just moved in a week ago.

he can very easily chalk up all his symptoms to a plethora of other things.

and well, denial’s worked great for him—for one whole week, at least.

towards the end of her second week, ross feels more tired than usual. she’s been slightly more busy at work (there’s a big wedding coming up) and ross has taken it upon himself to do a deep clean of the house now that he has a bit more free time—spring cleaning, to get rid of the pollen that may or may not be there.

everytime there’s a persistent cough, he brushes it off. it’s dust—of course, that’s what’s making him cough and sneeze.

it’s all the cleaning—that’s why he’s so tired.

all of it melts away though when he hears the keys jingling and the door opening. there’s a bit of a shuffle, a door shutting softly and then he hears her.

“ross?”

he’s out the kitchen and walking towards her the next second, smiling huge. she looks like a fucking delight—hair a bit messy from the wind, surrounded by the smell of her perfume and a whole mix of flowers, plus something inexplicably green.

she grins when she sees him and almost tackles him into a hug.

“i love coming home to you…” the words are muffled by his t-shirt but his heart speeds up regardless. ross smiles and tucks his nose into her hair.

“hello, you. had a good day?”

she nods and stays exactly like she was. the bliss only lasts another second though. ross feels it only a second before it happens—the string of sneezes he lets out with only a split second’s warning from his body.

one, two, three, fifteen… until his eyes are watery and his throat stings from the effort. she looks at him with a bewildered expression on her face, slightly confused about…all of it.

he shakes his head. “shit, sorry! must have inhaled some pepper… i was just making dinner.”

which isn’t a lie. he was making dinner and yes he has got the pepper out on the table. she throws him one more skeptical look but doesn’t push it further.

ross takes her bag from her. “go wash up, i’ve got a movie picked out for us.”

she brightens instantly, and gives him a gorgeous smile, one that makes the tiny dimple by her lip appear. ross watches her nod and walk away from him, making her way to their bedroom. his smile is real for the most part until she finally shuts the door and he lets the cough he’s been holding in loose. he tries not to agitate his throat more, he tries to clear it so it would get rid of the itchy, sticky feeling.

pollen, the logical part of his brain tells him. there was a tonne of pollen in her hair. but ross stubbornly gulps a glass of water, sighing at the way it makes him feel better instantly. he splashes some water from the kitchen sink on his eyes to get rid of the stinging.

it’s only a bit of allergies, he’s not going to die from it. besides, once she showers, the pollen would be washed away…right?

the other delightful symptoms show up hours later when he’s in bed, tossing and turning, trying to get comfortable. his head feels fucking heavy, like there’s suddenly a dumbbell placed on there. the itchy eyes won’t let him get comfortable and the constant urge to sneeze has him almost on the verge of fucking tears from how uncomfortable he is.

ross curses silently, staying as far away from her without falling off the bed—for one he wants to try limiting his exposure to pollen. and if there’s a slight chance that he’s coming down with something then it’s better that he stay a bit away from her anyway.

that just makes him even more miserable. all he wants to do is cuddle and fall asleep and not wake up until it’s at least 8 am the next morning but apparently he’s not afforded this luxury.

sighing, ross gets up and checks his phone. 1:03 am.

then he makes his way to the kitchen. maybe some tea might help… at least out of the bedroom he can finally sneeze into the crook of his elbow without worrying about waking her up.

ross stumbles into the kitchen, his footsteps heavy with exhaustion and frustration. he flicks on the dim light above the stove, wincing as it illuminates the small space. his head throbs with each heartbeat, and he reaches up to massage his temples, hoping to alleviate some of the pressure.

he tries not to be miffed about it—the fact that being out of the room instantly feels a bit better. it must the the honey in the tea, or the warm water. whatever it is, he refuses to admit it to himself that it may be her. that he’s been cocky about it this whole time only for it to bite him in the ass.

“ross?” he startles and whirls around.

despite the painful headache, his heart melts. she looks sleepy and soft—hair half out of the braid, his giant t-shirt drowning her a little, sliding off her shoulder. she squints her eyes against the light and rubs the sleep out of them.

“what are you doing, it’s—” she has to wait till the yawn passes “—so late. you alright?”

he nods, maybe a bit too quickly and fails to stifle a wince. the movement makes a twinge of pain slice through his head and her eyes train on him.

“you’re being weird… are you unwell?”

“‘m not being weird,” he tries to reassure her. ross walks up to her, placing a hand on her waist so he could gently steer her back to their bedroom. “i’m fine, love. my throat feels a bit dry so i thought tea would help.”

“your eyes are all red.”

“yeah, babe. i just woke up.” lie, lie, lie. “come on, you’ve got to be up early. go back to bed, i’ll join you in a sec.”

the skepticism on her face remains. “ross, if you’re ill—”

“i’m not ill, come on. would i do this if i were ill?” and then he kisses her. for a good thirty seconds.

predictably (and to his delight) she goes all loose in his arms, clinging to him as if the kiss is the only thing that matters. that convinces her though and once they break apart, she hmphs.

“fine, don’t be long.” and then she drags her feet back to the bedroom.

ross stays in the kitchen for a bit longers, massaging his aching temples and hoping the tea works as some magical cure. he even manages to convince himself a little that it’s working, and maybe it is!

finally, fifteen minutes later he gives up. he just wants to be in bed at this point. he’ll figure out the rest tomorrow.

ross wakes up alone to warm sunlight streaming in from the window, perhaps a bit too warm for an early spring day. everything feels weird and uncomfortable and stuffy, almost like he can barely breathe. exhaustion coats every cell in his body.

what the fuck…

he just woke up too, how is it possible to be this tired, this early in the morning. he stretches a little, trying to shake off the ickiness, until his eyes land on a post it stuck on the nightstand.

i don’t know if you remember me telling you i was leaving for work early so i thought i’d leave a note. you looked really tired and uncomfy :( call me if you need me xx

her neat handwriting stands stark against the paper. how did he miss her leaving for work? he has absolutely no memory of being even half-awake and he never sleeps in until this late. ross frowns and checks himself for a fever but his skin feels cool to the touch, normal.

allergies. a voice chimes in again. allergies to pollen and spring and. allergies to your girlfriend.

it’s incredibly childish to think of it that way, he knows it. but he also knows that if she knew her job was causing him this much discomfort, she’d be quite sad about it. so ross just shrugs it away and sends her a text

awake and feeling a lot better :)

thirty seconds later, his phone pings.

good, because i took half the day off to spend it with you ♡

despite himself, ross beams, feeling giddy like a teenager. it takes him some effort to get out of bed and shake off the fatigue. he should probably clean the room a bit before she comes back. his thoughts wander back to the last time—to him uncontrollably sneezing and coughing because of the pollen in her hair.

ross groans and tries to clear his throat again.

somehow he manages to pass the time, doing little things here and there, getting on his playstation to see if any of his friends are free for a game (the are, but only for a bit). he makes himself a lazy lunch, quick and easy tin ravioli that she would 100% wrinkle her nose at (“pasta should be fresh though!”) and then he waits, scrolling on his phone to pass the time.

he wakes up to an onslaught of kisses and a huge bouquet of daisies.

for a second ross wonders when he fell asleep. he didn’t even mean to fall asleep, the tiredness just dragged him under…

“there you are,” she grins at him and places another kiss on his nose. ross tries not to blush like a high school girl. instead, he pulls her into a quick kiss.

“i got you flowers!” the bouquet of daisies is thrust into his hands. the flowers are beautiful, each about the same size, white and fresh and pretty and she beams at him proudly. “made that one for you.”

“you are perfect…” he kisses her again and cradles the flowers closer. “any special occasion though?”

“nah, just thought you were a bit unwell and thought i’d get you flowers.”

ross brightens. he loves how thoughtful she is, loves that she made sure to get him flowers because she suspected he was sick.

all of it comes crashing the moment he feels the familiar itchy feeling build at the back of his throat, feels his eyes starting to water. he tries not to throw the flowers away as if they were made of fire but he has twist his body away from hers when he breaks out into a coughing fit. hacking and trying to get the flowers away from him.

“shit, you okay?” she sounds alarmed and rubs her hand up and down his back. it barely registers while ross struggles to breathe.

quickly she runs to the kitchen to get him some water. it takes him a bit to breathe and stop coughing so he can get some water down.

“i didn’t know you were this sick!”

“i’m not,” his voice sounds strained but she ignores him entirely and places the back of her hand against his forehead.

“no fever,” she frowns. “but you looked so run down before…”

“i haven’t caught a bug i promise!”

she opens her mouth again to argue, about to say something but stops halfway through the sentence, her eyes widening and ross watches in real time as the realisation dawns on her. the room goes drop dead silent.

“fuck…” she murmurs, “it’s hay fever, isn’t it.”

ross wants to deny it so desperately but all he can do is sit there and pout miserably. there’s nothing he can say that will undo it now.

“how long?”

“how long what?”

“how long have you been feeling it? itchy eyes, the sneezing, coughing. you know what i’m talking about.”

he does but he doesn’t want to admit it. quietly, she move the flowers as far away as possible. ross palms the back of his neck, sheepish. “two weeks.”

“you’ve been miserable for what–two weeks? because of me! and you didn’t even tell me.” her face falls more and more with each word and ross wants to point out that this is exactly why he didn’t tell her, and now she’s upset anyway. convincing herself that she’s the reason he’s been feeling so horrible.

“why didn’t you tell me?”

sheepishly, he spills everything—how he remembers the conversation about her ex, how he doesn’t want her to feel like she’s the one making him sick.

“and i didn’t want you moving away for three months! you just moved in”

he sounds so petulant and childish to his own ears, he sounds like a seven year old, not a fully grown man.

for a moment she says absolutely nothing. she only looks at him, bewildered and speechless.

“did–do—” then she has to pause to take a deep breath. “did you take any antihistamines?”

and that’s when it dawns on him. ross opens his mouth and closes it again, like a fish. antihistamines. allergy medicine. a miracle of modern science easily available to him over the counter. something he didn’t even bother thinking about.

“did you?”

“no.”

he hangs his head in shame, embarrassed that he didn’t think about it sooner until peals of her laughter jolt him back. she looks like she’s ready to collapse on the sofa, completely fucking floored by the giggles she can’t seem to suppress.

“you are so dramatic!” she shrieks, manages to even get the whole sentence out between gasps and giggles. “you’d think you caught the black death or something.”

“oi!” ross flicks her her on the nose but joins in on the laughter too. he has been a fucking idiot, of course he has. “you said you had to move away every spring! because your ex had it that bad!”

“yeah because he had asthma, you idiot.”

with every new piece of information she reveals, ross feels his face warm up more and more. okay yeah… he really has been fucking dramatic about all this.

“you really are an idiot, you know that?,” she catches her breath with a bit of effort and moves a bit closer to him. ross pretends to grumble but pulls her on his lap and holds her close.

“your idiot?”

“don’t try to be cute, you’re not living this down.” she sounds stern for about two seconds before bursting into another fit of giggles and burying her face in his shoulder.

“i’m not moving out the house just because you’re allergic to me, you know?” she teases once she’s sobered up enough. “you’ll be fine with some pills.”

he would be, now all he wants to do is make a mad dash to the pharmacy and buy whatever otc medication they have. it’s been hell as is, he just wants this feeling to go away.

i’m not moving out the house…

his heart leaps up to his throat and relief floods his body. ross feels like he can finally breathe again (figuratively, at least).

“i’m not allergic to you,” he counters, “i’m obsessed with you if anything.”

“flirting will not get you out of this!” but ross doesn’t miss the way her smile widens and she struggles to meet his eyes. if only he could stay like this forever…

he would have even, if not for another round of sneezes building up again. ross cringes, turning to the side.

“shit shit! still, radioactive, sorry.”

ross snorts, silently begging for the sneezes to go away.

“let me make a pharmacy run for you,” she declares, putting her shoes back on and shushing him with a look before he can even protest. it’s fine though, he thinks, it's only twenty minutes. she’s coming back home to him anyway.

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#spring fics #seasons #the 1975 #ross macdonald #ross macdonald x reader #ross macdonald x you #ross x reader #ross x you

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merakiui · 1 year

Text

thinking about stalker ex octavinelle, but they’re all varying levels of severe.

(cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, stalking, mentions of death/murder, obsession, kidnapping)

stalker ex azul keeps and cherishes every memory he has of you: gifts, birthday cards, clothes, undergarments, jewelry, photos, text conversations, and even voicemails. he stalks your social media accounts on an account impersonating one of your friends because you blocked his actual account. he religiously goes through his photo album, staying up late into the night to peer at his phone screen as he’s illuminated in the darkness of his bedroom with a rectangle of light. he replays the few videos he has of you and delights in your voice and your laughter. you may have moved on, but he hasn’t. he clings to the ghost of you, his hearts shattered beyond repair. he’s torn between blaming himself and blaming those around him for being the ones who ruined his relationship with you.

if you date another person and azul finds out (which he will; you can’t get rid of him that easily), he’ll really lose his mind. azul has always been good and sweet to you, albeit highly clingy and obsessive, but those are normal flaws! he’s not perfect; you said you loved him for him and those qualities are him! late into the night, he’s stalking your social media yet again, but this time he sees you with someone who looks too close to be a friend. azul doesn’t care who they are to you; he wants that person dead and gone. or maybe he ought to take matters into his own hands. maybe he ought to fake his death so you’ll think you’re rid of him for good while he lives quietly, plotting the perfect scheme to have you for himself once again.

stalker ex jade takes the break-up surprisingly well. he understands where you’re coming from and he thanks you for the enjoyable time he spent with you. he’s so politely mature about the entire thing, so you think that’s that and you’re finally free of him and his creepiness. unfortunately, that is not the case. jade follows you home from work or university or errands, a knife concealed in his coat. he thinks about killing you. he thinks about using the threat of a blade to scare you into loving him again. he thinks about where to stab you so that he’ll miss important arteries and won’t fatally wound you—he only wishes for you to feel the same amount of pain he felt when you decided to end a perfectly good relationship. it takes a lot to make jade thoroughly angry. it also takes a lot for him to become so obsessively invested in someone who wasn’t just a fleeting fling. you seem to have quite the magnetizing effect on him.

jade loves you so much he’s willing to kill for you. hell, he’d even kill you if it meant he’d get to be the only one who gets to be with you in your final moments. but he won’t. maybe. who can say, really? he’s in a foul mood and the fact that he doesn’t have you to hold or kiss or adore only deepens the pit of melancholic loneliness he’s found himself in. he’ll stalk you all the time; you’ve always been entertaining, so much so that he’s been hooked from the very beginning. it’s truly a shame when other people start to come into your life to console you. to protect you. to promise they won’t let anything bad happen to you. what do they intend to shield you from? the shadows? please. jade isn’t an amateur. he knows how to lurk undetected. he knows how to get inside your house. you should have paid closer attention to your keys when the two of you were dating. most importantly, jade knows how to efficiently end a life. when you come home and smell delicious foods being prepared in the kitchen, you’ll think your new partner is playing chef. but your new partner is sitting slumped and sliced in the bathtub in a pool of thick, sticky crimson. jade’s sunk into the deepest sea trench, but he’d rather be there with you than alone and cold. call him crazy, but he thinks he needs you more than he needs oxygen.

stalker ex floyd is always on the verge of violating his restraining order. his father wasn’t too pleased to learn floyd got into some legal trouble on land (the last thing he needs is more complications when he’s trying to expand their operations to land), so he was willing to pay you handsomely so that you’d stop trying to prove to the judge that a restraining order against floyd is necessary. you never took the money, even when it was practically a threat and not a choice. god, floyd hates that restraining order. how the fuck is a piece of paper supposed to help you? he could take your dumb paper and dissolve it in the sea. do you really think paper is enough to keep you safe from him? he’s so annoyed. the laws on land are so stupid; he hates it. he didn’t do anything wrong! is loving shrimpy so bad? he was good to you, wasn’t he? the two of you had such a nice connection. he was even going to propose! that’s how serious he was about you; that’s how much he loves you. he’s willing to tie himself to you forever because he adores you. but then you just had to snip the string that connected you and now he has to follow some lousy rules outlined on a lousy sheet of paper.

it really sucks when you cower from him when he tries to give you flowers and sweets. he hates it when you threaten to call the police and tell them he’s violated his restraining order yet again and it’ll be another ordeal that mr. leech will solve with hush money. as irritated as he is, he doesn’t hate you. he could never hate shrimpy. but right now shrimpy isn’t being very nice or fair. can’t he just see you once? he just wants to hug you again or maybe cook you a delicious meal. he just wants to be in your life again; he’s sick of peering in. he’s sick of barriers. he’s sick of being away from you for extended periods of time. it hurts his heart when he can’t be with you. floyd’s moods are very volatile now. if you thought he was scary before, he’s downright terrifying, always on the verge of snapping. after floyd’s beat your new partner to death, whether with his own fists or a blunt weapon, he’ll come to retrieve his shrimpy. fuck that stupid paper and the stupid land laws and the stupid authorities who try to separate the two of you. if you won’t come back to him, he’ll come to you. you don’t get to cut him out of your life. you don’t get to move on. you’re floyd’s shrimpy and he’s your floyd. he’ll treat you with so much care. his hands may have killed a person, but these same hands will embrace you warmly and lovingly. it doesn’t matter if he’s on the run now. if he has to drag you into the sea to avoid capture, he’ll happily do so. anywhere’s a home as long as his shrimpy is there.

#meraki mumbles #yandere twst

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lunarw0rks · 10 months

Text

Old Bones | Chapter Three

Summary: After fleeing a toxic relationship, you fear for your safety and hire a bodyguard. He's masked, impassible, and damn good at what he does.

Warning(s): strong language, suggestive language, guns/gun violence, death, gore/medical gore, blood, canon-typical violence

Word Count: 4.1k

A/N: I think this is my fav chapter so far, lemme know what y'all think... sorry if it's medically inaccurate but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ also the bastard finally has a name !!

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Vaded

“Squeeze trigger slow, don’t forget to breathe.” His fingers are overtaking yours, contorting yours so they’re using the proper form.

Even if you wanted to make a mistake, his frame was caging you in, stomach pressed deeply into the curve of your back. You do just that, firing at the glass jars lined up several feet away. Not a solid hit, but closer than the others.

Simon steps back, lowering the cock of the weapon for you. “You’re hesitating. There’s no time to hesitate or you’re dead.”

“I know that.” You spit back. The fluster of continually missing, as well as being dragged out here nearly every day was getting to you. Not to mention the heat of the sun beating down on you, successfully blinding any shot you take.

“Then do it properly,” He stands near the jars in front of you now, crossing his arms over his chest in impatience. “You think I have time to ponder when I’m holding a gun to someone’s head? I don’t. I shoot first.”

Such a prick—an insufferable prick at that. His words only escalated the sour mood you’d had during this whole morning of make-shift boot camp.

You raise the pistol again, lining up the sights and tracing along his figure being outlined by the rays of sunshine. You exhale like you’d been coached, jerking the sights to the jar closest to him and squeezing the trigger.

The mason jar explodes, laying askew on the pallets he’d set them up on. He doesn’t jump in surprise, or lose his composure.

“Better. You might actually have a chance… If he’s a statue.” His lack of reaction only pissed you off more, practically wiping any form of a smirk you had after your first lucky bullet. You switch the safety back on, for his well-being as much as your own, and toss the iron to him.

He catches it without a second thought, returning it to the sack of weapons he’d brought to train with. A week, and you’d just barely made it to pistols. Not to mention, on your toes the entire time because there’s been nothing but radio silence on your spouse. Not a letter, not a piece of mail, no sign of a tail—nothing.

He begins the drive back from the countryside, somewhere about an hour out of town where none of the trigger pulls would be heard. His eyes are glued to the unpaved road in front of him, as usual. One hand on the top of the wheel, and the other taking up the entirety of his center console, leaving you little room to breathe.

“I’d say, you’re ready to carry one.” Simon’s words nab your attention. “Just don’t shoot at me again, or you’re shit out of luck.”

You don’t doubt the power of carrying, but it’s new nonetheless.

Perhaps his harsh feedback held weight, and you ‘might’ have a chance in hell of defending yourself. Might—as in, nearly none at all.

Thank the stars for that insufferable prick, then, because whether you want to admit it or not, his services are needed.

—

The weight of the piece is something you’ll have to get used to.

You refused the hip holster, to Simon’s annoyance, of course. Instead, it’s going to remain tucked into your waistband, the icy metal of the .38 revolver digging into the soft flesh of your tailbone.

He’s in the shower now, where he usually spends about two minutes anyways, despite you packing now. Bullets were your words now, if necessary. This situation was past legalities, or forms, or numbing and intrusive questions in the courtroom.

Three sharp pounds on the front door, and you’re already at your feet. The shower shuts off, and Simon has walked out with a towel concealing his waist and already started for the door.

“Wait.” You’re looking through the peephole only greeted with the sight of a badge and an impatient officer. Simon steps back a bit, watching the encounter from the hallway as droplets run down his frame.

Once you’ve opened the door, the officer holds out some sort of form. The prospect of an officer at your door has prevented you from hearing his introduction or caring to take a look at the badge. The only words that find you are ‘husband’ and ‘defamation’.

He doesn’t bother to let you respond, just shoves the form onto the entry table and gives Simon a sickened glare. At first glance, probably thinking Simon is your side piece showering off after a night of adultery.

The officer has retreated down the steps of the complex, leaving you unable to process anything. Simon doesn’t say a word, just retreats to his room to finish dressing, as if there wasn’t almost a dead cop laying in the foyer.

Your hands shiver as you skim through the document, seated at the kitchen table. You couldn’t believe the bastard—cops and judges already on his payroll, coming up with some bogus claim of defamation—all while you’re left with no evidence of the latter.

He’s returned quickly, resting his palms on the table as he soaks in the information. “You’re not going to that trial.” The paper is taken from your fingers, forcing you out of your discomposure.

“I’ll go to prison if I don’t show, Simon.” You respond quickly, wondering what the hell he’s getting you roped into.

“No, you’ll be dead.” He leads, the palms on the table turning to tight fits. “Once you’re in the courtroom, he’ll have access to you, or whatever shitty motel you’ll be staying in for months. You’re not going.” His commands are nearing that of a hardened soldier.

“This is my life you’re talking about. I can’t just pack up and run from the federal government. He’s not going to kill me, he’s going to try and put me in jail, then throw away the key.” Your tone has heightened, but his hasn’t.

He takes a few steps back from the table as if trying not to blow his top. “You’re hiding out in a shitty apartment, sobbing in the middle of supermarkets, and you’re confident in that assessment?”

“If he wanted you in jail, he would’ve planted evidence on you. I’ll repeat myself. You’re not going.” Simon sighs sharply, trying to calm himself again. “We need to get out of this apartment for now, before more police poke around and find you packing heat.”

The lack of decor, luggage still in the corner, non-perishables you’d bought—all for the inevitable moment he finds you. That moment was here, and now you were packing it all away. Somehow the place looked less pitiful with it all packed away and stuffed into his backseat.

—

You were somewhere in the countryside, only in the opposite direction of the shooting range you were at that morning. He hadn’t stopped once during the long ride and wasn’t planning to. You were in a small town before you knew it—someplace you’d never heard of, and probably with a population that doesn’t reach triple digits.

The barren landscape you were passing in the near forties seemed to continue forever. The endless crop and winding paths would provide cover, but the scenarios playing in your head depicted worse.

The entirety of the town was in a cluster—a few gas pumps, a motel, a pharmacy, and a diner—all of which much older than you’d been alive, visibly decaying under years of neglect.

His truck rolled to a stop, parking in the empty lot of the motel. You two seemed to be the only ones rooming in this apocalyptic townlet, and you were grateful for that, at least. He retreated into the office and returned holding a key to your room.

You climbed out, retrieving the duffel that had your entire life packed into it. His bag of weapons was slung over his shoulder, and he carried it as if the weight had no effect. He’d stayed quiet the whole trip, and it continued well into entering the shared space.

Two beds, a bathroom, and a kitchenette. Nicer than you expected, albeit the exterior painted a different picture earlier.

Your stiff limbs freed themselves when you sprawled out on the bed you claimed, remaining in disbelief of the situation at hand. You were on the run again, but this time not from him—from the law. How long could this go on? Living in motels, with an overbearing male roommate? Especially one without a sense of humor; the spiteful cherry on top.

He closed the curtains with a jerk, forcing you to stare at the dated floral pattern they had, instead of the secluded view outside. There was no time for error, especially when it was someone other than the law to figure out you’d skipped town.

Just when you’ve begun to close your eyes, he’s loudly rifling through the luggage sitting on the floor, muttering curses under his breath. You sit up in bed in a huff, glaring into his back. Finally, he pulls out the bottle of Kentucky, pouring himself a generous glass, before thumping it down onto the faux-granite counter.

“Seriously?” You sigh, sitting yourself up on your arms.

He takes a few seconds, savoring the burn running down his throat. “Gonna need it. Helps me focus.”

“We’ll need to pick up a few things at that pharmacy, so get up.” There’s no chance in hell he’s leaving you here alone, despite the store only being a few blocks away. Bickering only greeted you with an icy glare, so you grumbled to your feet, slipping into the jacket you’d removed only minutes before.

In usual fashion, he’s a few steps behind you, watching the few people that are out and about at the moment, most of which are retirement age.

You’re inside the pharmacy now, practically tapping your foot at him as he grabs the supplies you two might need. More non-perishables as well as a small kit used for camping. It was clear to you this little “road trip” wasn’t going to end soon—and he was quite used to being on the run.

As soon as he’s placed the bills on the checkout counter, you’ve exited the store, nearly skipping back to his truck. He begins the short drive back, but his eyes keep darting between the rearview mirror and over his shoulder.

“We have a tail.” He snarls, continuing to divert further from town. “I’m gonna make sure we lose it.”

His words make your hairs stand, whatever the hell he meant by that was nothing pretty. He was getting further from town, so whatever his plans were needed absolutely no witnesses.

“Gun?” You ask, looking over your shoulder at the black Mercedes creeping closer.

He nods, still frantically assessing his four corners. The road signs have disappeared again, and you’re back to crops and trucking warehouses. You lift yourself off the seat a bit, retrieving the revolver you previously had tucked away. You check the cylinder, indeed seeing six bullets loaded inside—bullets he’d filed X’s into the tips himself—they “blew a nastier hole” that way, according to him.

It’s in your lap now, as you bounce around from his speed increase. The tail does the same, nearly bumper to bumper with his trunk now. Simon diverts, trying to ensure it can’t clip it, but the unpaved road before you is already unsteady enough when you’re going straight.

The Mercedes clips into the side of his truck, but the size difference between the cars only causes it to swerve. Simon turns abruptly, making the tail believe he’s taking a right. In reality, he swerves left, causing the confused driver to go straight into the metal fence lining the road.

You only see the wreckage briefly; crushed hood, steam rising from the hood, and no further movement from the driver.

He slams the brakes, pulling off to the side. He pulls out his much larger caliber pistol, slamming the truck door behind him. He’s gone to make sure he finishes the job.

Your fingers find the lock button, about to hear that click, when the passenger door is whipped open, and you’re face down in the gravel before you know it. Your gun is askew somewhere, having been ripped from your hands.

The assailant's fingers dig into your scalp, forcing you to kneel on the sharp pebbles. He’s surely one of the men your husband hired. His nose is busted, and there are small shards of glass embedded in his face that he’s too determined to mind.

This was the moment fate caught up with you, just like you’d thought it would. Either with you dead in your apartment, or staring down the barrel of a gun like you are now—disarmed and on your knees execution-style.

He cocks it, pressing the metal into your temple.

The unmistakable crack of a gunshot echoes through the countryside, causing both of you to jump in surprise. Had Simon been ambushed? Was he already bleeding out in the dirt?

He seems to think the same, a lordly smirk spreading, revealing his bloodied teeth. You snap your eyes to the stars above you. His leer is not going to be the last thing you see—the night sky would be.

The ring in your ears is louder than the gunshot itself. Warm sprinkles have splattered across you now, dripping down your neck. But you’re not dead. Not clenching a bullet hole either. You have to look down to be sure, examining your body with sanguine hands.

Instead, it’s the man with a hole in his head crumbled in front of you, still your pistol in his dead fingers. The ringing subsides, but your eardrums are muffled slightly like you’ve just had your head underwater.

“Bastard got me,” Simon stumbles back, making you sigh in relief, “—came out of the fuckin’ backseat, didn’t see him.” He’s sputtering, putting a flat palm against the stab wounds on his stomach, while the other is against the door of the truck.

You use the truck for support as well, feeling the stray pebbles that were still digging into your knees, not to mention the crimson seeping into the fabric of your clothes, sticking to you. You snatch your pistol back, stuffing it back into your waistband.

He’s barely upright now. An uncanny sight at best, seeing him struggle to hold his own weight.

“We need to… Clean this up…” He takes his palm off the truck, but it’s returned when he nearly stumbles again. He’s fighting himself, forcing himself to be the one in charge here. Simon glowers down at his abdomen, lifting the saturated fabric. It’s worse than you expected, not in the deepness of the punctures, but how much blood he lost in the scuffle.

You can tell he wants to speak, to give you some sort of instruction, but the pants coming from him are too severe. He slides down the truck, leaning against the large tire for support. He’s gone even paler than usual—you can tell through the eyes of his mask.

His chest is rising and falling rapidly, at least. But it won’t be soon if you don’t do something.

It’s a blur; grunting and using all your might to put the dead man into the bed of the truck. You open the door to the backseat, finding the foil blanket in the camping kit Simon bought. You cover the bed, so his corpse looks like nothing more than a lump of firewood, or hay, or something other than what it is.

The skinny flashlight finds its way between your teeth, as you scoop and kick the dirt around to cover up the blood. The storm clouds forming are your only hope of washing away any evidence of this bloodbath. You shine the light on the side of the car, where some of the splatter had cast. You wipe it away with your sleeve, leaving only small traces of it.

Finally, it shined on him. A half-conscious Simon, who you can barely lift into the truck. He gives a little way, but your arms are putty by the end of the ordeal. He’s slumped in the seat, and you haven’t bothered to buckle him in.

You climb inside the driver’s seat, reversing quickly to make it back to the motel. The lack of guests will make patching him up easier, but the prospect of what unfolded is not providing much comfort. You’re speeding down the strip of unpaved road, eventually greeted by the few street lights illuminating the town.

You slow when you reach the parking space, claiming the one directly across from your room, so transporting Simon is easier. Luckily, the few residents that live there have retreated in for the night, leaving no prying eyes around.

You palm his pockets, locating the room key. There’s no time for slippery fingers or trembling hands. You make way for yourself and him by opening the door first, then pulling him out of the truck. He’s putting as much weight on himself as he can, but you’re left to do most of the literal heavy lifting.

Simon was otiosely dropped onto his bed, left to writhe only for a few seconds while you grabbed the rest of the camping kit from the backseat. When you return and lock the doors behind you, you’re quick to dig through the luggage for pieces of clothing. Ones you can put underneath his torso to prevent the mess his wounds are going to make.

You fish the knife he kept in his pocket out, cutting through the soaked t-shirt fabric. It glides off easily, allowing your amateur eyes to feast on the punctures. They aren’t deep, clearly not done with enough force to do serious internal damage, but there’s enough for the blood loss to be his biggest problem.

Simon must’ve finished him off before he could rough him up more—you could tell by how jagged the last stab was—like the man’s blade had been ripped away hastily.

“The bourbon…” He murmurs, bringing the bottle to your attention. Something you’ll be able to use. The self-medication that was slowly killing him might just be his saving grace.

You zip to the counter, unscrewing the cap from the bottle. He nods his head, bracing himself like he’s been through his a hundred times. He probably has, for all you know. The fawn-tinted liquid sizzles at his wounds, both disinfecting and irritating the reddened, puffy flesh.

He’s gritting his teeth under the mask, clenching one of the towels you laid out for dear life. Still, handling the pain better than you expected. You, on the other hand, were minutes from spewing.

The blood was coming out faster than you could keep up with, and no matter how many times you dug through that camping kit, it was only small bandages and ointment. You had no choice, you had to get to that pharmacy.

First, you’re hunched over the sink, scrubbing away the crimson coating you. You take off your jacket, ridding yourself of your bloodied clothes. One of his hoodies will have to do, and it will cover the remnants remaining in your hair. From how squeamish the sight was making you, you could swear you were paler than the man actively bleeding out.

Next, you’re out the door again, darting down the slick streets. Those storm clouds you saw earlier had begun to rain down on you. Good for the crime scene miles away, but not for your joints. That taste of blood, pinching in your side as you forced yourself to keep going, closing in on the pharmacy eventually.

Heaving in the first-aid aisle, grabbing any sterile gauze you see, then a box of gloves. Of course, the selection is limited. The townsfolk probably aren’t playing mob doctor like you are right now.

Once you’ve made uneducated guesses on what to get, it’s like you’re reminded of the dying man in your hotel room. There’s no time to pay, and no active cameras—no time to question the logistics of it all. Besides, the geriatric clerk barely gave you a passing glance when you stormed inside.

You’re out the back door, looping around the building until you’re back on the sidewalk again, racing with the supplies hooked under your arm. You’ve only been away minutes, but those were precious minutes where he could’ve hemorrhaged even more.

The rain putters heavily, coating your lashes like it did in the parking lot of the supermarket, daring you to stumble in disorientation.

You fiddle with the key, nearly kicking the door down when it struggles. It gives way eventually, and you’ve slammed it, already sitting on the edge of the bed. He kept a hand on his wounds while you were away, luckily, but he’s starting to slip again.

You peel Simon’s large fingers away, then look at the supplies before you. You rush to the sink and sterilize your fingers, darting your gaze from the sink back to him.

You look down at it—the engagement ring you haven’t been able to take off all this time.

“Fuck it.” You mutter, tearing it off your finger. It clatters somewhere in the sink, and you leave it there to get back to Simon. You tear the cardboard encasing the gloves, slipping them onto your trembling fingers—partially from the cold rain, as well as the know-nothing decisions you’re going to make to treat him.

Stitches are out of the question, so you’re going to have to pack the wounds—something you've seen on a medical show once. You unravel the roll of gauze, cutting off small sections of it with the knife, and then get to work.

He’s lucky he’s knocked out because he’d probably cringing right now—from your medical care, not your fingers digging around at his wounds.

You loop the bandage around your index finger, trying to recall the steps. You push it deep enough to prevent it from bleeding through, stuffing the gashes in a zig-zag pattern. One by one, you move to the next wound until they’re all packed.

If these stabs had been any deeper, there would be two bodies in the bed of the truck right now—one of which would be the owner. Opportunely, they hadn’t bled through the gauze so far.

The exhaustion caught up with you quickly, but you were determined to keep an eye on him. Without him, you were screwed, plain and simple. He wasn’t going to die and leave you with this unexplainable mess, one that he got you into when he took you on this hellacious joyride.

—

You must’ve dozed sometime in the night because the sunrise was peaking through the gaps of the curtains when your eyes opened. Not to mention, Simon was shoving you away from him, grunting as he was finally able to sit up.

He peered down at the evidence of the unpractised medical attention you’d given him. His fingers found the bottle of Kentucky still on the nightstand, and he took a slug from it, feeling the tension release a little bit.

The sight of the room surprised him a bit—the medical supplies and luggage thrown around, the clothing laid out below him, and not to mention the blood still dried on your fingers.

He finds his footing, despite the frazzled expression you’re maintaining. He’s been here before, in fact, been closer to death many times. This was nothing to Simon—“just a scratch” as he’d say. He grabs one of the only clean shirts left, slipping it on to cover himself.

After he’s taken another drink, he turns to you, standing above you with authority. This was no longer a game of cat and mouse, it was past that now. He had bigger problems, like the corpse in the bed of his truck, and the prospect of more of those men coming.

He finally finds the words when he sees you’re no longer wearing your ring. “What’s this bloke's name, the one who sent his dogs on us?”

You shake your head in confusion, but his clenched jaw is persistent and only going tighter. You’re forced to swallow the lump forming in your throat. You, too, can tell things are changing, and it’s become more personal for Simon than he’d like to admit.

You utter his name, as he’s forced you to reveal it. “Cal. His name is Cal.”

He takes a sharp inhale, taking in the information. The hands that were resting at his sides have now turned to fits. “After we take care of that problem in the back of my truck, we’re gonna find this bastard.” You could swear steam would be coming out of his ears by now.

He grabs his truck keys off the table and starts towards the door, growling something under his breath that you didn’t make out,

“I’m gonna find this bastard…”

TAGLIST: @random-thot-generator @littleobsessionsandlifeslessons @illyanam1011

#mw2 fanfic #mw2 #simon riley #simon riley x reader #call of duty #ghost mw2 #task force 141 #task force 141 x reader #simon riley smut #simon riley fluff #simon riley angst

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kuroosdarling · 8 months

Text

WHAT ARE FRIENDS FOR — ༉‧₊˚.

ft. roomie!mattsun !

꒰ SYNOPSIS ꒱ : working at a funeral home can take its toll. aka mattsun comes home after a bad day at work.

꒰ CONTENTS ꒱ : hurt/comfort, pining, cigarette smoking, mentions of death, mattsun has the beginnings of an existential crisis : WC — 1.7k

꒰ NOTES ꒱ : i wanted to take a closer look at mattsun & readers relationship. it was going to be more suggestive but i wanted to show a diff side of their relationship :3 enjoy !!

reblogs and interactions are always appreciated ! (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)♡*.ﾟ

it was one of those days that felt too quiet. living with mattsun and makki ensured living a life that was always full of laughter, full of life. but there were certain days where it felt like the earth stood still.

days when mattsun would come home from work, the light shifted from his eyes as he was off in a far off space that neither you nor makki could pull him from. one where he would slip through the halls, directly to the balcony, and with a shaky hand — he’d light his cigarette.

he loved his job, he always told you guys that. but you also knew that some days took a toll. one where he had to remove himself from reality a bit just to cope with whatever horror he had to deal with. because when you’re dealing with the dead, it’s hard not to let it seep into your soul.

“think he’ll be okay?” you ask makki. the two of you seated on the couch with some show playing in the background. but your conjoined attention was on him, even though you tried your best not to make it obvious.

“he always pulls through.” he nods. but you can tell in his eyes he’s just as worried. usually makki could crack a joke or two and bring a smile back out on his face, but when he tried today, he was met with a blank stare. “maybe you’ll have better luck breaking through to him.”

“huh? why?” you ask, pivoting your body towards him. “you already tried and it didn’t work. what makes you think i’d have better luck?”

“well, for starters, you are fucking him.” he said nonchalantly. the heat rose to your face as you reached for the nearest pillow, throwing it at his face. he easily dodged it as it flew past, hitting the blinds and ultimately, the glass door to the balcony mattsun was still standing on.

you gulp as mattsun turns to look at the commotion inside, his attention now fully on you instead of wherever distant place it was before. you offer him a small smile before he turns back around, taking another drag of his cigarette.

“i cant believe you said that.” you hissed out at makki who could only laugh.

“oh, was it supposed to be a secret? you guys are not very subtle then.” he giggled before he peeked outside again. “but now you’ve done it, so why don’t you go out there?”

“you really think he’ll want to talk to me?” your voice was small, insecurity closing around your throat. makki offered you a genuine look, one that told you more than words ever could.

“yeah. i really do.”

with that, you make your way outside while makki retreats into his bedroom. you open the door and you’re met with a gust of wind that has you stumbling outside.

“watch your step.” mattsun muttered before sticking the cigarette back in his mouth. it was clear he was frustrated, the wind constantly blowing out his cigarette certainly didn’t help either.

he goes to light it again, the lighter stubbornly refusing to work. he let out a loud groan, throwing the cigarette beside him on the ground before pocketing the lighter. you almost wince.

“issei-“ you coo, getting closer.

“what?” his voice wasn’t harsh but it wasn’t his usual laid back tone either. everything in you wanted to rush back inside and hide out in your room.

“you wanna talk about it?” you ask softly, standing next to him as you both look out at the city. he glances at you quickly before looking back out there.

“not really.”

“okay.” you nod, still not moving. after a few moments of silence, you feel mattsun shift, his forehead crashing down against your shoulder as he leans against you for support. you almost jump at the sudden contact.

“it was just a bad day.” he sighed, his breath tickling your skin. “a long week, really. it felt more busier than usual. so many families to talk to, so many things to do to prepare the bodies, i’m just exhausted.”

and you could hear it in his voice. his earlier clipped tongue melted into something softer and syrupy sweet. one that tugged at your heart.

“i’m sorry ‘sei, that sounds like a lot.” you keep your voice light as you pivot your body around to hold onto him better. you could tell he’s been holding this in for far too long.

“that’s not all.” his chin rested on your shoulder now and you knew he was looking far off again. “something else happened today when they brought a new body in that pushed me over the edge.”

“what was it?” for a moment, he didn’t answer, trying to summon up the words he desperately wanted to say. you could tell he was twisting them around in his mouth before he spewed it all out in one breath.

“they couldn’t identify the body for awhile. they kept saying it was a jane doe coming in. and then she came in, all covered up and her hair—“ he swallowed thickly. “looked just like yours.”

“oh.” was all you could say before he kept going.

“i thought-“ his arms tightly wound around you. “i don’t really know what i thought. i knew it wasn’t you, but there was just a voice that kept saying, what if? and i freaked out. i could barely do it.”

“hey, it’s okay.” you rub his back soothingly, letting him fall apart a little bit. you squeeze him back so tightly to try and mend him back together. and part of you almost believes it works. “i’m okay, you’re okay.”

“days like these i hate my job because it just puts too much in perspective. i try not to have a negative outlook on life but it’s hard when all i see everyday is how it ends.” he sighs as your fingers find his hair, smoothing through the small, tangled waves that have taken refugee.

“what’s that one quote? it’s not the destination, it’s the journey?” your voice as a light lilt to it that has him letting out an amused scoff. “i’m sorry you had a rough week, issei. your job is a heavy one and i know it’s hard to remain optimistic. but it’s a hell of a reminder that you’re alive right now and you can make the best of it. we’ll make every day count, even if it’s something as simple as eating our favorite foods. okay? you’re not alone.”

he lets out a soft hum in response and everything’s quiet for a moment. even the wind simmers down into a softer breeze while issei finds sanctuary in your arms. it’s a rare sight seeing him like this — one that never failed to tear at your heartstrings, clipping them one by one until it relents and falls right into his hands.

“thank you.” he sighs out, straightening up and loosening his hold on you. it’s sickening how much you already miss the closeness, and it only grows worse as he steps back and out of reach. “i needed that.”

“anytime.” you bite back the ‘that’s what friends are for’ line you’d normally use because you’re pretty sure you’ve crossed that line. plus that could potentially start a whole new conversation that you weren’t ready to open just yet.

issei takes out a fresh cigarette and successfully lights it this time, a look of brief satisfaction taking over his features. you almost want to remind him that there’s a better use for his oral fixation but decide against it as you watch him inhale.

there was still something swirling around in the air, mixing itself within the smoke before drifting away from your grasp. no matter how hard you fought to hold onto it, it wasn’t yours to take. the question sits on your tongue, marinating with your thoughts as it takes you further and further away from him.

“so, what’s up with you?” issei’s voice breaks the silence, shattering the glass wall you were desperately trying to build a second ago.

“what do you mean?” you tilt you head, hoping to feign innocence long enough for him to drop the loaded question and move on.

“it’s just—“ he looks at you, studying you for a moment with his slightly narrowing eyes as if he was trying to peer into your very soul, piercing through your skin so he can see what truly lies under it. “you seem unsure lately.”

“what would i have to be unsure about?” you breath out so quickly all the words melt together.

“you tell me.” those three words sent your mind reeling. leave it to him to stir up all your thoughts, all the ones you tried hiding between the lines.

“its nothing.” you sigh. “i was just worried about you this week, that’s all.”

“that’s all?”

“yep.” you brace yourself to look back at him and almost wish you didn’t. a chill that had nothing to do with the wind ran down your back, almost nudging you closer to him. but you steel yourself, holding his gaze. “that’s all.”

“okay then.” he sighs, turning around so he’s facing the glass door to your apartment. “let’s just order take out and hang out then.”

the invitation was so simple. something that felt practiced, routine. every cell in your body was ready to agree to it without a second thought but something stopped you. how deep were you willing to go for him without a promise of more? and why did it seem like the length was endless, you’d free fall even if he wasn’t there to catch you. and the thought scared you to your core.

something had to be done though, you couldn’t keep trying to tread this riptide. maybe if you took some space from him, tried going on a date with someone else…

you shake the thought from your head. regardless of what should be done, it wasn’t the time right now. mattsun was standing in between the glass door waiting for you with a foot on either side. the small smile growing on his face filled you with so much warmth, dousing another level of confusion to your swamped mind.

“yeah.” you nod, making your way to the door. “better tell makki though, i have a hunch he’s been feeling left out lately.”

taglist : @otoyastoy @deliqwuette @seisitive @zorosdimples @petriquors @misfit-megumi @the-tenth-shadow @bokutone @justsomeoneyoudontknow @sleepysnorlaxsblog @sugurini @himboos

#⁺. ʚ now streaming:#ᥫ᭡. — and they were roommates #matsukawa issei #matsukawa issei x reader #matsukawa x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader

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unfinshedsentec · 2 years

Text

WHEN YOU GET HIT ON❕

a/n: I loveeee stuff like this sooo…..

And also thank you clover for helping me decide on doing a headcanon! I’m beyond indecisive😂

reader is gender neutral!

characters: mikey, chifuyu, waka, ran, and rindou

tw: cursing and people being assholes and hitting on you

mikey

o Since Mikey is such a well-known gang-leader, you getting hit on rarely ever happens

o People are usually too scared or have enough respect for Mikey to just leave you and your relationship alone

o But when it does happen, Mikey….snaps

o Mikey hates seeing other people hit on you, and I mean HATES

o Don’t get me wrong, he has enough trust in you to know you won’t let anything happen, but he still hates it when people disrespect you like that

o It really hits a nerve

o So, when people do have the audacity to hit on you, Mikey goes all dark-impulse mode

o Seriously, his eyes will change and a whole scary aura come around him.

o “What the fuck are you doing with my s/o?”

o Usually that’s enough to scare off the person but, if they’re still stubborn, he’ll beat their ass. No exceptions.

o They won’t mess with you then

o Afterwards he just goes back to normal and acts fine

o “Let’s go get some Dorayaki Y/n-chin!”

o The only thing he’ll do is act a little more clingy…but he’s already clingy so nothing unusual there!

o Mikey is truly the most unpredictable, weird person you know, but hey, you love him. And lord knows Mikey will protect you till the end of time

o He’s proven that more than once

chifuyu

o Honestly, when you get hit on, Chifuyu just lets you handle the situation!

o He has enough trust in you that he known that you won’t let anything happen, not over your dead body

o Now, he doesn’t exactly like when people flirt, but his trust tells him to let you deal with it

o That said, when your clearly uncomfortable and the person doesn’t stop, Chifuyu will step in

o He usually starts off by being all lovey-dovey with you, to show the person your clearly taken

o Hugs, kisses, cuddles, literally anything that CLEARLY shows them you’re his

o And of they still don’t stop, he’ll get even more touchy

o Seriously, if he has to, he’ll go as far as to make out with you, right there, in front of someone

o And if they STILL don’t stop…. he’ll just call Baji and they’ll beat the person’s ass together

o Hell, they’ll strip them naked and beat them up till they beg for mercy

o They may have a little too much fun with that…

o When Chifuyu is finally done with his ass-beating, he’ll become all sulky and sad, so be sure to give him some extra love!

o “Are you okay Fuyu?”

o “I wish people would just leave you alone! Like, you clearly hate it!”

o “I know...but, when it happens, you’ll always protect me, right?”

o “Always”

o Overall, although Chifuyu hates when people hit on you, but he trusts you enough to deal with it

o If they’re an asshole though and they don’t stop….he and Baji will take care of them

o And trust me, you will never see that person ever AGAIN

wakasa (waka)

o Waka really isn’t someone who shows his jealousy, so when you get hit on, he’ll act normal

o He’ll be stoic and he’ll just continue to suck on his lollipop

o On the inside though, he’s enraged

o He desperately wants to call Benkei and beat up the asshole until they can no longer walk

o But he doesn’t want to do it in front of you

o So, instead, he stays calm and will casually bring you closer

o But trust me, he’s got a killer glare on his face the whole time

o Usually, this does the charm

o Afterall, Waka’s glare is SCARY

o But, if the person still persists, he won’t hesitate to kick them…and HARD

o “Waka!”

o “Oopsie, I accidently knocked that guy unconscious”

o Yeah, Waka doesn’t stand that stuff AT ALL

o Overall, Waka is pretty calm (on the outside), but trust me, that guy will get a good kick in the face…one way or another

ran

o Since Ran is so well-known, it’s pretty unusual for you to get hit on

o But sometimes it still happens

o And when it does, Ran absolutely hates it

o He makes it KNOWN that you’re his, and when people have the audacity to still go for you, he gets pissed

o But he doesn’t beat them up!

o Instead, he’ll just walk up to you, put his hand on your ass, and starts making out with you

o “The fuck are you doing? They’re clearly busy”

o What can I say, he lovesss to make it CLEAR you’re his

o That and…..

o He likes touching your ass

o That is usually what he does, but is the person goes too far, he’ll just bring out that fancy stick of his and beat the shit out of them

o He doesn’t hold back either

o …..they won’t be messing with you again

o Overall, Ran shows them you’re his and trust me, he’ll make sure no one will hit on you ever again

rindou

o Rindou, like Ran, is well-known enough that people leave you alone out of fear

o But inevitably, someone will hit on you

o And surprisingly, Rindou just sort’ve lets you handle it

o You’ve made it clear to him several times that when people hit on you, you like to be the one to tell them to fuck off

o So, he lets you curse them out, and sort’ve glares at them in the corner (while sulking on the inside)

o It’s when the flirting foes too far that he’ll step in, and well….

o He gives them a hard punch in the face, knocks them out, and angrily drags you away

o He’ll have a frown on his face the whole time and he’ll be all bratty

o Hell, he denies that he’s not throwing a fit

o “Rin, are you okay?”

o “I’m fine”

o “Bu-“

o “I’m fine”

o You have to give him all the hugs in the world and tell him everything’s okay before he finally returns to normal

o But he’ll still have a sour taste in his mouth, so, he’ll go back and beta the person up again, before he finally feels satisfied

o Overall, Rindou hates when people hit on you and trust me, when they dare to do so, he’ll NEVER forget their face

o I mean NEVER

masterlist || reblogs are very appreciated <33

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ateezreactionsandscenarios · 10 months

Text

Caught in the act

Pairing: Song Mingi x Reader

Genre: Angst

CW: Cheating.

Prompts: 10) “Please don’t go.”

30) “I don’t hate you”

50) “Please, let me in.”

Word Count: 2205

Summary: You thought your relationship was perfect, Mingi was all you could ever ask for in a partner, but it all changes when he betrays you in the worst way.

Prompt List MasterList Buy me a Coffee

It's close to closing time, and you just can't wait to get out of work. The day felt like it's dragged on but you couldn't be more excited to get home to surprise Mingi, who's been working extremely hard himself so you just want to do something nice for him.

With a few moments to spare, you couldn't resist checking your phone, noticing a message from Mingi himself.

[16.36] Mingi: Hey baby, I'll be running a little bit late tonight, work has run over. I'm so sorry, but I'll make it up to you when you get home.

Perfect, you thought. You'd have more than enough time to ensure that everything is perfect, there's no way he wouldn't have a smile on his face when he gets home and that got you bouncing on your feet.

Through the last of the customers rushing through the shop to grab the last coffee of their day, you keep an eye on the clock, eyes switching between that and the coffees that you make. It was evident that you wanted to leave by the way you were able to smash out all the coffees with a quickened pace, going from the longest queue to the last few stragglers who managed to slide their way into the door just before it was time to lock up.

With the last coffee handed to the last customer, turn to face your manager who's got a reassuring smile on his face. "You're free to go now, there's already two of us on to close the shop so you can go. You've done brilliant today, thank you for your hard work."

There was no way you could say no to that, knowing you'd have to make a quick stop at the store to grab your essentials to make Mingi his favourite meal and grab his favourite wine before he finishes work himself.

"Thank you, see you the weekend!" Excitedly, you grab your belongings and exit the building, running the quick errands that you needed to make before going to the store and finally making your way back to Mingi's apartment.

Holding the spare key he gave you made you feel special and comfortable... Happy even. You couldn't be more grateful that your relationship with him has been nothing but genuine and amazing, and the fact that he trusts you with a key? It kept your mind at ease.

With the light clicking of your keys crashing against each other as you rush towards his front door, you sigh to yourself in contentment, planning the night in your head and making a mental note of a checklist of to-do's before he gets home.

It still felt strange letting yourself into his apartment, but it also felt extremely right. Though you knew he wasn't home, you still let yourself in quietly. Just a little habit that you've picked up as usually he's passed out asleep on the couch after work, exhausted from such busy and tiring days.

Expecting it to be dead silent in the flat, you weren't sure if you were hearing things or if the neighbours were being louder than usual. Hearing faint noises coming from somewhere puts you on edge a little, practically tip-toeing around the apartment to get closer to the sound, which seemed to be coming from Mingi's room.

"Did he finish early himself? Damn." You thought to yourself, the excitement of surprising him quickly wearing off as the voice became more apparent that it was his.

It was going to be a case of brushing it off and feeling lucky that he's home and you'll be able to spend more time with him but when another voice answers him, you're on edge. The closer you got to the room, the more sounds that are audible, his low grunts paired with a feminine moan and the creak of his bed makes your stomach turn, physically causing you pain.

He isn't? He wouldn't.

No matter how much you try to deny it to yourself, the pain of hearing the noises getting progressively louder, the sound of Mingi's pleasured moans becoming more frequent, there was no way it was not what you thought it was.

It was your sign to turn away and never look back again, but with the war inside your head, you needed proof. You needed clarity. But what a huge mistake that turns out to be when you open the door as quietly as you could to have your heart ripped into shreds at the sight of what's going on in the room.

Tears sting at the corners of your eyes at the sight of this girl you have never seen before, laying under Mingi with her legs over his shoulders, his lips firmly pressed against hers. Oblivious to your presence at the door.

After the initial shock wears off a little, a loud crash from the glass breaking of the wine bottles and the bang of the groceries hitting the floor could be heard, but you're already heading towards the front door. Unable to think straight, you were suffocating and felt like you were going to pass out if you stayed in the apartment any longer.

"Y/N! Wait" Mingi calls out from behind you, fumbling to get his jeans back on and almost tripping around the place, managing to get a hold of your wrist before you successfully make it out of the door.

It was a struggle to try and get out of his grasp, cursing at him through gritted teeth and glassy eyes, unable to even face him. The more he held on, the more you were unable to stand up straight, finally releasing yourself from his grasp.

"Let me explain! Please don't go!" He bellows, the girl pushing past you partially dressed and seemingly ashamed as she rushes off down the hallway.

Without looking at him, you stop in your tracks, barely looking over your shoulder and give him a cold, harsh tone, "There's no need. I've seen it all".

Before he could even grab you again, you're already halfway down the corridor, getting the urge to run out of the building and onto the street. With no sign of him chasing you, you crumble onto the steps, pouring your heart out as the tears crash against the stone steps.

Saying you hardly slept that night would be an understatement, no sleep was had, all you could do was sit awake on the couch and cry your heart out. Your whole relationship with Mingi, gone, the relationship you thought was bulletproof was now all gone in a flash.

All night your phone had been going crazy, call after call, text after text, all from Mingi who was begging you to hear him out and let him explain. Of course you ignored them all, what could he possibly explain? What is his reason to betray you like that? You were done, done with him and done with dating as a whole. How were you going to trust anyone at this point? Mingi was someone who gave you the world, made you fee like the only thing that ever mattered, the perfect gentleman and he pulls this shit. If he could do it to you then anyone else could and you weren’t going to risk it.

The hours blurred into one, you only knew it was midday thanks to your clock on the wall. You’d been awake over 24 hours and you were exhausted, yet you still couldn’t sleep, the image of that girls legs draped over Mingi’s shoulders was burned into your brain and was all you could see when you shut your eyes. Coffee was your only friend now.

Pouring probably your 5th coffee you were disturbed by an urgent knock at the door. You were in no hurry to answer it, if you left it long enough the person would go away, but he knocking continued.

“Y/n, please, let me in.” You heard Mingi practically sobbing from the other side of the door. Your heart fell to your feet, you didn’t want to face him...not yet.

“Y/n, I’m begging you, please open the door.”

You don’t know what too over you, you didn’t know if it was the exhaustion making you think irrationally or if it was the sound of his sobs that go to you, but you found yourself approaching the door and opening it a crack.

Mingi’s face was blotchy from crying and from what you could guess, he’d been crying for hours, not that you cared, he did this to himself, he had no right to cry. You tried to slam the door in his face but he was fast enough to slip his foot in the doorway, letting out a small wince of pain as you jammed his foot in the door.

“Get your foot out of the door.”

“Please, can you let me in for a little bit, I just want to explain.” Everything in your head was telling you not to and to just kick his foot from the door, lock it and never speak to him again, but part of you felt it could do with a really good laugh and maybe listening to his pathetic excuses could give you just that.

You let go of the door and turn to walk into your living room. Entering your apartment, Mingi tries to wrap his arms around you in an attempt of a hug.

“Get...off me, I didn’t say you could come near me.” You warned, shoving his arms from you and creating distance between the both of you.

“Y/n, I need you to know I love you so much.” Mingi tries pleading but the statement makes you scoff.

“You’re kidding me right?”

“No, I really, really lo..”

“Cut the shit Mingi, you and I both know what you did that night so don’t you dare even think to pull the ‘I love you’ card on me and think I’ll drop the whole thing and come crawling back.”

“Just let me explain.”

“Okay, go on then, explain, amuse me.” You say, folding your arms across your chest and waiting for what ever sorry excuse was going to spill from his mouth.

“I was drunk ok, it was a stupid drunken mistake. I went out with a few of the guys, I had a little too much and the rest was a blur until I saw you walking out.”

“Bullshit.” You spat. First he cheats and now he’s lying to your face, what more did he have up his sleeve?

“You told me you were going to be late home because work was running late, not once did you say anything about drinks with the guys, so don’t tell me this was all a stupid mistake when you had been lying to me from the beginning. How can I even trust you when you say it was a drunken mistake?”

Mingi attempts to hold your hands wanting to wholeheartedly tell you it really was a mistake but when you took a big step back away from him he tucked his arms behind his back.

“I’ve broken your trust, I know that, and you probably hate me too but I swear to you y/n, hand on heart it was a dumb mistake.” His eyes started to fill with tears again, his whole body trembling as he willed himself not to break down again.

“Mingi...I don’t hate you.” You sigh. He looks at you, eyes wide and with a small glint of hope in them, hope that you’d forgive him. You could see the way he perked up and you had to put a stop to it before he got the wrong idea.

“I don’t hate you, but I also don’t forgive you. I’m done, this can’t be undone or taken back and a simple sorry isn’t going to cut it. You were my world and you go and do that to me, the lying, the cheating, drunk or not I couldn’t give a shit, you did it and that’s all that matters.”

Mingi didn’t think he could hurt anymore than what he already had, but hearing those words leave your lips and the look on your face that told him you meant every word cut deep with him. He’d lost you and it was his own fault.

“I...I’m sorry.” He whispers before finally letting the tears escape.

“I want my stuff back from your apartment. I’ll gather all your stuff today and I’ll be over tomorrow with it all and I want mine in return, after that I don’t want to see you.” He could only nod in reply. If it’s what you wanted then it was what you’d get, you don’t want to see or hear from from him then he’ll disappear, but if you ever for some reason wanted to see him again he’d welcome you back with open arms.

With a small nod of your head you lead him towards the door and shut it behind him. That was it, it was all over, tomorrow will be the last time you see him and right now you were okay with that, meanwhile Mingi found himself slumped against your front door, silently sobbing to himself wishing things could have been different.

Tag list: @stardragongalaxy @kpopjust4u @whatudowhennooneseesyou @8tinytings @jenotation @grim-adventures58 @owjohny @ker1 @tinkerbell460 @haylstoney @scuzmunkie @halesandy @multihunbun @kodzukein @maskedmochii @woosannie

#ateez #ateez scenarios #ateez angst #mingi #mingi angst #mingi scenarios #song mingi #song mingi scenarios #song ming angst #kpop #kpop scenarios #kpop angst

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peterman-spideyparker · 2 years

Text

Mr. Russo (Billy Russo x Secretary!Reader)

Author’s Note: I’ve had this fic and other Billy Russo stories in my drafts for ages, and I figured while I was working on other Daredevil and Moon Knight fics, I’d throw in some of these older ones that I’ve never posted. I think the original intention was for this to be longer and a multi-part series, but I don’t like that idea anymore. I cut about a thousand words, and I might include those as a bonus separate part--I’m not sure yet. Enjoy! :)

Summary: Working for Billy Russo wasn’t a challenge like most people would expect. You know how to do your job and how to do it well. One late night of working allows something about your past come to the surface, changing the trajectory of the relationship you share with your boss.

Warnings: Fluff, Billy softening up, angst (mentions of crappy experience in New York and the foster care system/Billy Russo being brooding and sad/hurt and rage/delicious tension), implied smut, cursing, mentions of addiction (drugs/alcohol)

Other Characters: Frank Castle

Word Count: 5,495

Another day in the books. Although everyday at Anvil is never the same, it can get a little monotonous. You answer the phone, respond to emails, draw up contacts, and do whatever Mr. Russo needs.

Oh, Mr. William Russo.

Intelligent, suave, cultured, and the definition of sex on two legs.

He works so hard in his business, and he cares about what he does. Anything that you can do to make his day less stressful, you’ll do it, and that definitely came in handy today, even if it still is a late night for him. You catch a glimpse at the clock on your screen—7:14pm. With a tired sigh, you hear him shuffle some papers around and push his chair out, moving a short distance to slide on his coat. You hear the click of his Italian leather shoes move closer to where you sit, and you smell his expensive cologne in the gentle breeze he brings by. You watch him as he walks with a purpose when he stops in his tracks, turning around to address you. “Do you ever even go home?” he asks.

“Sir?” you ask, unsure where he’s going with this.

“You’re always here before I get here—no matter how early—and you always stay after me. I just don’t get it.”

“I do my job,” you tell him. “It’s that simple. I do it, and I make sure that I do it well.”

“You also deserve a break—a life. Don’t you have friends around to go out for a drink or anything?”

“No, actually,” you admit. “Last friend I made in New York was one from when I got here. She then took 180 dollars from my wallet and ran away, making me scrape by for food for the rest of that week. My family isn’t nearby, either, if that was your next question. Work—this—is all I have, really.” Oh God, do you sound pathetic.

“Where is your family?” Mr. Russo asks, slowly moving back to your desk.

You scrunch up your bottom lip in a frown and shake your head. “I don’t know. I grew up in the system. I’m assuming whoever my parents are, they live in the Boston area, since that’s were I grew up.”

His expression softens to something to one that you have only seen twice before. It’s not quite pity, but it’s deeper than sadness. “You grew up in the system?” he asks softly.

You give a small nod. “It changes you pretty quickly.”

“It does.” His lips part like he wants to say something more, but he presses them in a tight line and sticks his hand in his jacket pocket, his eyes swirling with a mix of emotions.

“Is there anything I can do for you before you leave, Mr. Russo?”

He blinks a few times before he shakes his head. “N-No,” Billy breathes. “Have a nice night, (Y/N).”

“You too, sir.”

There’s flowers on your desk when you walk in the next morning. How are there flowers on your desk?

“Hello?” you call into the office, sliding pepper spray out of your purse. “Anyone here?” Dead silence. Nothing looks out of place except for the bouquet, and after a quick sweep of the office, you see that you are alone. You look through the flowers and don’t see any card. Logging into your computer, you quickly pull up surveillance to see who delivered these. Your jaw drops when you see Mr. William Russo himself walk in at four in the morning with the same giant vase of flowers to your right. You lean back in your chair, your brain not really comprehending what you just saw. After a few minutes, you move towards the beautiful assortment of white gardenias, yellow lilies, red tulips, and magenta lilacs. You stick your nose to the flowers and take in a perfume of scents that make your chest happy and bring a smile to your face, and that smile remains on your face as you get to work and organize Billy’s day.

“Mornin’,” Billy says with a nod, walking a few hours later, not acknowledging the assortment on your desk.

“Morning,” you respond as he moves closer. “Thank you,” you say just before he enters his office. You don’t need to turn around to know exactly where he is—about a stride and a half from being in the doorway to his office, his right foot mid-step. “They’re beautiful.”

He doesn’t respond, but he takes a minute before he continues his gait into his office.

The rest of the day proceeds as it normally does: you respond to client emails, answer the phones, do other office work, and hand Billy files, briefing him before his meetings.

“Have a nice night, (Y/N),” he says, adjusting his scarf on his peacoat as he walks past your desk.

“You too, sir,” you say. “And remember you have a 7:30 meeting tomorrow morning at the Four Seasons with Thaddeus Ross to discuss security for the SHIELD weapons conference.”

“Thank you for the reminder,” he says, turning to look at you, flashing you the faintest of smiles. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Well, considering you built this company from the ground up, I think you’d manage.” His smile grows a hair bigger. “Safe travels, Mr. Russo.”

The next few weeks proceed as they usually do, but you are dumbfounded yet again when you walk in Monday, about a month after you found the flowers on your desk.

“Morning,” Billy says, placing a coffee cup on your desk as he walks by. “Sweet cream cold brew, right?”

You turn in your chair and look at him, confusion and surprise written all over your face.

“Yeah,” you say. You notice he has a hot cup for himself in his hands. “You hate Starbucks.”

“I needed some extra caffeine this morning,” he shrugs.

“So the ‘shit-water jet fuel’ is what you were craving this morning?”

He nods, taking a sip of the drink in his hand. “Exactly,” he answers after he swallows. You can tell he still hates the brew.

“Well, thank you for thinking of me,” you say. “If you find yourself needing some more caffeine, just let me know and I’ll make a pot.”

His face says I’ll be taking you up on that in five minutes, but his lips say, “Thanks, (Y/N).”

The next morning, there is a bouquet of blush colored peonies, white gardenias, and purple roses on your desk.

“Vultures today, huh?” Billy says as he comes out of his office and to your desk, placing some outgoing mail in your organizer, adjusting some of the flowers in the assortment of roses, chrysanthemums, and asters. “That phone hasn’t stopped ringing all morning.”

“It’s the political season,” you hum as you shift your gaze upward. “All the big wigs want the best security money can buy. You’ve made it clear that you and your people are the ones for that job.”

“You know how to flatter a man,” he chuckles, shaking some nuts you’re snacking on in his hand before plopping them in his mouth.

“While you’re here,” you say, picking up a few slips of paper, handing them to him in an ordered fashion. “These are those calls back you were waiting for, these are inquiries from the three biggest politicians running for Senate, this is a message from Frank wanting to know if you’re on for dinner at Karen’s, and these are the Ulrich files you were waiting on.”

“Thank you, paperwork Santa,” he says, moving his gaze to quickly examine what is in front of him. “And here I thought it was gonna be a slow day.”

“Around here? Unlikely,” you grin.

He is about to say something more when he turns his head to the ringing of his direct line in his office. “Sorry,” he apologizes. “We’ll talk more later.”

You turn back to your computer in astonishment. We’ll talk more later? Is this the same Billy Russo that hired you? And does he mean casual talk or work talk? He would have made it clear, wouldn’t he?

“Anvil, this is (Y/N),” you say as you continue typing a contract on your desktop.

“(Y/N), hi,” you hear Mr. Russo say on the other end of the line.

“Is everything alright, sir?” you ask, spinning around in your chair and watching your boss give you a little wave through the industrial loft windows.

“We’ve been over this, you can call me Billy,” he reminds. “We’ve known each other long enough.”

“Sorry, it’s a force of habit.” You have to suppress a blush. “What’s going on?”

“I just got off of a call about that veteran’s fundraiser,” he says, and you shift to flip through the calendar.

“The one on Saturday night?”

“Exactly. They asked me to present an award and introduce a speaker that night. So in addition to networking and schmoozing, I’m gonna need to do some more things.”

“Let me know what you need to have ready, and it’ll be good to go by Friday night.”

“Actually, I was hoping you’d come with me Saturday. With my upgrade in duties, they gave me a plus one.”

What? “I appreciate the invitation, but I don’t know if I have anything black tie like that,” you say.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll have it all taken care of. So can I take that as I yes?”

“Y-Yes,” you stutter. “And—.”

“Perfect, you’re the best,” he says, having up the phone with a click.

Did your boss just ask you out? Or is this really just a work engagement?

When you come home from work on Friday, you see a black dress bag hanging off a garment rack with black bag hanging next to it. Locking up and putting down your things on the table by your door, you slowly move over to it.

“Told you I had it taken care of,” the note reads on the bag.

“What did you do, Russo?” you breathe, undoing the zipper. Inside, there is a stunning pine green gown. You look at the label and your mouth drops open: Oscar de la Renta. Taking it out of the bag, you see that it has a v-back, but has fabric coming off of each shoulder to give it a kind of cape effect. You feel like you��re moving in slow motion when you dare look over at the jewelry bag on the right next to it, seeing Harry Winston embossed in gold lettering. Carefully, you take it off of the hangar and peak inside, seeing three boxes neatly arranged. Placing it on your breakfast bar, you pull out the large necklace box, opening it to reveal both a sparkling diamond necklace and its matching earrings. Shocked, you pull the other two boxes out and find that they are the corresponding bracelet and ring. As you look down in disbelief, you catch a Louis Vuitton shoe box at the bottom of the rack.

You sit down on the barstool, lightheaded about the luxury that is around you. As if on cue, you see Billy’s contact light up on your phone.

“I’m assuming you’ve seen what you’ll be wearing tomorrow?” he says after you pick up.

“It’s way too much,” you say. “I appreciate it, but all this is more—it’s too much.”

“It fits the event,” he shrugs off. “It’s a ritzy event full of high-rolling investors, contributors, and other people within the top one per cent. Trust me, you’ll fit right in.”

“I just . . .”

“It’s a lot?” You swear he’s smiling like a devil on the other end.

“A hell of a lot.”

“If it makes you feel any better, the jewelry is on loan,” he says. “But the dress and shoes are yours to keep. Oh, and before I forget, you have an appointment to get your hair and nails done tomorrow with Donna at the Marigold Spa. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Before your brain can think to ask him more, he is off the line, leaving you stunned in your apartment.

“Who is it?” you call from your apartment, responding to the rap at the door.

“Your chariot has arrived,” Billy says through the wood.

“I’m almost ready,” you say, nearly falling over as you try to put on the heels standing up. “Come in! It’s open.” You hear the door open and shut, and the click of expensive shoes against the vinyl floor.

“You know, for someone that works for a security company, leaving the door unlocked isn’t secure,” he teases.

“I knew you’d be over soon and I was still getting ready,” you say. “Just a courtesy.”

“To robbers.”

You chuckle as you successfully gain your footing in one of the shoes. “There’s water in the fridge if you’re thirsty,” you start as you slide on the other shoe, throwing a few last minute things in your clutch, and taking one final look at yourself in the mirror.

“I’m good," you hear him chuckle in a low timbre as you clack your way out of your room. “Thank you, though.”

“Alright, I’m all set to go,” you say as you enter the main living space.

Billy turns toward you and stands stock still. His eyes slowly look over your body from head to toe. It’s as if he’s drinking you in.

“Wow,” he finally says, his dark eyes twinkling in the lights of your kitchen.

“Well, the guy that picked it out has really good taste,” you say with a small grin and a blush rising up from your neck to your cheeks. “Thank you.”

He continues to look at you for a little while longer before he realizes that he’s staring.

“These are for you,” he says, holding out a bouquet of burgundy, cream, and lavender roses. “A little thank you for agreeing to come.”

“They’re beautiful,” you say, smelling them. You move to find a vase, getting the flowers settled before walking back towards Billy.

He puts out his arm for you to take.

“Shall we?”

“I still can’t figure out how you manage to do it,” you say as you walk beside Billy after he schmoozes the last of the big-wigs in tuxedos.

“Do what?” Billy asks with a lift of his eyebrow.

“Work so well with these upper-crusty people. Some of them very clearly just a face at this fundraiser and don’t care the same way you do. I don’t know if I could do that.”

“Unfortunately, that’s just what the business is sometimes,” he sighs. “But then I remember that Anvil gives veterans an outlet when they get home—a legitimate career. Then it makes the schmoozing and pretending to care about their Hamptons houses easier.”

“That’s a great way to think about it,” you say softly.

“Sometimes that’s all you can do.”

Instead of walking to the direction of your table, Billy leads you to the edge of the dance floor.

“Care do dance?” Billy smiles.

“I can’t promise that I won’t step on your toes,” you say, feeling a blush prick at your cheeks and your ears.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll have the band play something slow.”

You wouldn’t be surprised if his Marine-trained ears could hear how hard your heart is beating.

“How can I say no to that, then?” you say with a small smile, your mouth suddenly very dry.

Billy takes your hand and leads you in. As if the band knows, the song shifts to something slow. Billy holds one of your hands in his while the other rests on the small of your back, his palm spread wide, securely holding you as you both move across the floor.

“And here I was thinking you had two left feet,” he grins.

“Well, I guess it helps that it’s not a formal ballroom dance,” you blush. Seriously, he has to know how fast your heart is racing right now.

“Is this what you thought you’d be doing with your life?” Billy asks as you slowly move in a circle. “Being a secretary, dealing with executives and government officials, and going to charity fundraisers?”

“Isn’t it every little girls dream?” you smirk, quirking an eyebrow.

He chuckles, twirling you to the music before he pulls you back into frame.

“No, really,” Billy whispers. “What did you want to be when you were younger?”

You think about it, but only briefly. “An author, I think. With all the time I spent in the system, I always tried to figure out how I could get out or what it would be like when I did. I’d just write about it. It moved from that to creating these different worlds and different people that were everything that I wasn’t and everything that I couldn’t be. Those are what made me happy. Scholarships from those stories is what got me through college to get my undergrad.”

There’s something soft in his eyes, tender even, as he listens to you talk about your childhood dream. It’s soul-churning and completely devastating in every sense of the word.

“What about you?” you return. “I’m assuming that the military wasn’t six-year-old Billy’s dream.”

“No, it wasn’t,” he admits. “I wanted to be a baseball player. But there were things that happened when I was a kid . . .” He clears his throat. You’ve touched a nerve.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—.”

“No, it’s okay. Saying that my childhood was shitty is an understatement, but it made me who I am and brought me here. In a way, I think the Marines was the only thing that made sense for me.” He gives you a gentle smile, pushing away the dark cloud that emerged on his face. “And just think: without it, we wouldn’t have met. And I don’t know about you, but our time together makes me happier.”

Your heart stops and leaps into your throat. He has to just mean as a coworker—maybe just even someone who isn’t an ex-Marine that he gets to see to break up his environment. You can’t let your mind go to these conclusions. It’d just be a disappointment, and he’s my boss. Still, you find yourself unable to look away from his hypnotic gaze, the tenderness in his expression making you melt. The song stops and he drops the frame, and you let your eyes flutter a few times so you can adjust your head out of the haze he has placed you in. Billy keeps his hand in yours as you stand, pointing his head towards your table.

“C’mon,” he says. “I heard the steak was supposed to be amazing.”

“Did you have fun tonight?” Billy asks as you hand him a bottle of water, his elbow cooly leaning against the island.

“Surprisingly, yes,” you admit, taking off the heavy jewels. “I don’t know, I hear fancy fundraiser, and I don’t think ‘party.’”

“That’s cuz you’ve never been to a Billy Russo fundraiser,” he smirks.

“I guess those are the only ones worth going to, then.”

“You know, I’m really glad you came tonight.”

“You are?”

“You sound surprised.”

“Oh,” you blush, but a nagging question starts to echo in the back of your brain. “I-I didn’t mean to. Just tired.”

“Well, if that’s the case, I’ll let you be for the night,” he says with a soft smile, giving you hand a gentle squeeze on the island before he moves away. “See you Monday, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart.

Okay, that’s it.

“Are you only being nice to me because you found out I grew up in foster care?” you blurt as he walks towards the door. There’s no turning back now. “Before, you’d never say more than you needed to to me, and now for five months, you’ve gotten me flowers, you ask about my day, you know my coffee order, and you left me an insanely gorgeous gown and jewelry to wear to a fundraiser that I wasn’t supposed to go to in the first place.” You pause for a moment, processing that you’re probably running a bond that you’ve wanted for a long time, not to mention your job, probably. “What’s changed?”

“You know I grew up in the system?” he asks, his head turned to the side while his back is still to you.

“I do,” you answer. You had done some deep digging when you were applying for the job, trying to find out as much about the company and its founder as possible.

“Then you should realize that I sympathize with you. Pouring your life into something to move yourself as far away from your past as possible.”

“What I’m really hearing is that all of this from the last few months has just been pity,” you say bitterly, and you try to push away the feeling of tears stinging at your waterline. “And if that’s what this job has turned into, then I don’t need it. I know my worth, and it’s more than that—than whatever this is.”

Your statement causes him to spin around so fast you think he’s gonna get whiplash. He strides over to you so quickly you almost can’t process it. He drops his keys to the ground before kissing you hard, one hand on your waist as the other holds onto the back of your head. He almost knocks you off your feet, but his hands on your body assure that it can’t be a possibility. Your hands rest on his shoulder as your lips move against him, kissing him back just as urgently. His beard tickles a little, but you’re not moving in a way that makes it scratch. When Billy finally pulls away, you’re both left panting for air.

“It’s not pity,” he clarifies. “It’s admiration. I had always thought you were some brown-noser with daddy issues, but you always had this integrity and determination. And then . . .” he trails, his eyes intent and glassy. “I know that drive you have, and that fear of being a disappointment. Hell, that’s how I got here. I wanted to show you that we’re not that shit that happened to us. I wanted to show you that I care.”

“It’s a hell of a way to show it,” you say quietly, looking at his big brown eyes. “I, um . . .” you swallow hard and let emotion contort your face, reeling your feelings in before you continue. “Every time someone finds out, they treat me differently. I really didn’t want you to be one of those people. You might not have thought so, but the way you treated me before made me feel like I finally had a place, y’know? I had a purpose to do something. That I was needed and wanted.”

“I know,” he nods.

“I guess I’m just confused why now.”

“You’ve been my secretary for four years. You know things about me that I don’t even know all the time. You know things about me that you don’t need to know, but you care enough to. I’ve always wanted to know those things about you, but . . . I’m not great at communication with people that—.” He stops to clear his throat, furrowing his brows together. “The only good relationships I have are with Frank and Curtis, and that’s because we’ve been through hell and back with and for one another. I didn’t know where to start with you, because you just come in and you’re like this . . . force to be reckoned with. I guess that finding out we had something in common made me think I could know you better.”

Billy tucks some stray hair behind your ear as he looks at you. “I don’t want to go back to what this was before,” he says softly. “I like this. Having a friend. Connecting with someone. And . . . I like to think this has the potential to be more than that. Than friends.”

“Well, I guess I need to know if you kiss all your friends like that.”

A small smile spreads across Billy’s face. “Just the ones that use lemon shampoo and look good in designer dresses.”

“I’m not fired, am I?” you whisper. “Because I think a kiss like that is some kind of HR violation.”

“Not if you don’t want to be,” he responds. “I will say, though, the job market is tough right now.”

“Is this something we can do?”

“I’m willing to make it work if you are.”

You nod your head. “Let’s try it.”

Billy leans back in for a kiss, this one more gentle that the last, but just as deep. Your arms wrap around him and settle on his back, and you feel him lift you up slightly as he pulls you into him.

“We’re gonna do this slowly,” he breathes, brushing his nose against yours, his chocolate eyes staring into your soul.

“Okay,” you quietly agree. “Slow.”

“We have different definitions of slow,” you hum as Billy presses a kiss to the back of your naked shoulder.

“Trust me, I wanted to, but I have a thing for brunettes in designer dresses,” he says, dragging his hands down the bare curves of your body in post-sex bliss. “And it looks just as good on the floor as it did on you tonight.”

You laugh as you roll onto your back, your head resting on his shoulder.

“Hi,” he says with a dreamy look on his face.

“Hi,” you say, returning his gaze. He leans down and presses a soft, tender kiss to your lips before resting his cheek on the crown of your head. You lay like this in blissful silence as his fingers play with yours, the pale moonlight trickling into your bedroom through the curtains. You think he has fallen asleep—and you almost have—when he shifts a little on the mattress.

“Did you ever think of finding them?” he asks quietly. You know exactly who “them” is.

“I did find them,” you say. “I found out all about them, too. A little after I told you about growing up in the system, actually—curiosity got the best of me.” You think about what you know, and the silence weighs heavy in the bedroom. “My father was an alcoholic, and my mother used all kinds of drugs. They had a short and nasty relationship and split before I was born. My dad worked on the docks, showed up one day drunk, hit is head, and drowned. Based on his obituary, I was six when he died. My mom sobered up around that time, got married, and lives in Cape Cod.” You feel hot, angry tears sting at your waterline. “Two kids, and a freakin golden retriever.”

“And I’m guessing you don’t want to reach out?” he asks carefully.

You scoff. “No. Didn’t want me then, won’t want me now. I’m a part of that past that she worked to forget. I don’t want to go near her with a ten-foot pole. Besides, if she wanted to know me, she’d find me. She’d find a way. And she hasn’t. That says all I need to know.”

Billy wraps his arm around you and pulls you close, pressing a long kiss to your forehead.

“She’s missing out on the best person that I know,” he whispers.

Too emotional to respond, you snuggle into him and nuzzle your head into the crook of his neck.

“Have you?” you whisper. “Found yours?”

“I found my mom,” he swallows. “She chose meth over me—she safe-havened me. From then on it was group homes.” He’s quiet for a moment. “I think I’ve made my peace with it all. Can’t change it. But it made me who I am, and I’m okay with who I am.”

You don’t ask any more onto the subject. Instead, you snuggle in closer to him.

“For what it’s worth,” you breathe. “I really like who you are, too.”

Billy turns so you’re huddled together chest-to-chest, his arms holding onto you tightly, kissing your forehead before tucking your head under his chin. You fall asleep to the sound of his beating heart.

You practically jump out of your skin when you feel a pair of arms loosely wrap around your middle.

“Jesus, Billy,” you sigh. “You really don’t make a sound if you’re not wearing Italian leather shoes.”

His laugh comes out as a hum as he places a kiss on the back of your neck, right on a bundle of nerves he found out about last night.

“I woke up and you weren’t there,” he murmurs into your skin. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” you grin as you turn the waffle maker.

He kisses your neck again before resting his chin on your shoulder. “I thought the guy was supposed to make breakfast.”

“Not in my house,” you say, running your fingers through his hair as you move to flip some bacon. “My place, my job to make you some food.”

“Fine,” he sighs, moving from you, but not before placing a light smack on your rear. “But I make the coffee.”

“You want any eggs?” you ask.

“Nah,” he says, pouring coffee grounds into the filter. “This all is more than enough. I don’t usually get to enjoy this part.”

“Well, if we’re gonna make a habit of this, it’s something you better get used to.”

You finish making breakfast in harmony, exchanging sections of the newspaper as you eat.

“Wow,” Billy chews, taking a sip of his coffee. “You’re destroying the crossword.”

“It’s a talent,” you smirk as you pause before filling in the rest of your answer. “Now, is it ‘ei’ or ‘ie’ in Steinbeck? I can never remember.”

“I guess you got cocky too soon,” he smiles.

“Yes, and I’m big enough to admit it. Which is it?”

“I’ll tell you, but it’ll cost ya.”

“Oh?” you say as his hand slides into mine, silently inviting you to get up and sit in his lap. You do, and his free hand squeezes your thigh.

“It’s gonna cost you a kiss,” he hums.

“Mm, you run a hard bargain, but I think I can afford that,” you smile, biting your lip as you press your mouth into his. It’s tender, and even with coffee in your systems, there’s something sexily sleepy about the embrace.

“It’s ‘ei’,” he breathes, his lips brushing against yours before placing another kiss on you lips.

“Thank you,” you say, filling in the squares and placing a soft kiss on the freckle just below his eye. His hand then gently holds your cheek, bringing your lips down to his. The kisses grow more needy, and just after he adjusts you so your legs straddle his lap, his phone starts to ring. Reluctantly, he pulls away and looks at his phone.

“Shit,” he hisses before he answers. “Hey, Frankie.”

“Brother, where are you?” you hear Frank ask through the phone.

“Yeah, no, I’m on my way,” he sighs. “I just got a little held up this morning.”

“Mm, yeah,” you hear him chuckle. “Where’d you find this one?”

Billy looks at you with warm, sparkling eyes. “I think she found me.”

“And the Grinch’s heart grew three sizes that day.”

“Yeah, shut up,” he chuckles. “I’ll be there soon.”

Billy hangs up to avoid any more snark over the line from his friend, but not before kissing you once more.

“I didn’t realize it was this late,” he sighs. “I’m sorry. I gotta go.”

“I know: ten o’clock runs with Frank, every Sunday. And if you go by the office, you have some extra workout clothes there so you don’t have to run in a tuxedo.”

“Nothin’ gets by you.”

“Nope,” you smile, popping the ‘p’.

You get up from his lap and begin to clean up the table while Billy moves back to your room to get his clothes.

“I will trade you one dress shirt for one very soft and fluffy robe,” he offers when he comes back into the kitchen, your Hello Kitty robe hanging from his finger.

“I guess I accept,” you sigh dramatically. You slide Billy’s shirt off of your body and hand it to him as he slides the robe onto your shoulders.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asks, adjusting the collar on your robe.

“Tomorrow,” you nod. “Have fun with Frank.”

“Somethin’ tells me I’d be havin’ more fun here.”

He leans down to kiss you, repeatedly procrastinating his delay with each punctuation of his lips.

“Okay,” he kisses. “I’ll see you—.” Kiss. “—tomorrow morning—.” Kiss. “—bright—.” Kiss. “—and—.” Kiss. “—early.”

You giggle as he takes you in for more kisses. You pull away from his reach, only to be swept back in for one final kiss.

“I really gotta go, now,” he sighs, tucking hair behind your ear.

“I know. I’ll see you soon.”

Permanent Taglist: @majesticavenger @steampowerednightvaler @themusingsofmany @just-the-hiddles @toozmanykids @dangertoozmanykids101 @clints-worldavengers @theburningbookshop @itwasthereaminuteago @peter1ismybrother

#billy russo #billy russo x reader #billy russo fluff #billy russo angst #billy russo smut #billy russo x you #billy russo fanfic #billy russo fanfiction #ben barnes #billy russo punisher #the punisher #the punisher netflix #the punisher disney+

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loveandmurders · 1 year

Note

I read the “Why am I not dead already?” Which had Bo having a fight with his S/O and asks Vincent why wasn’t she dead (I prefer to keep it g/n please)…. Could you do a Vincent one? Similar thing too on how the reader was telling Vincent “Why am I still alive? Why haven’t you turned me into a wax statue like the rest of the group I came here with?” Keep up your great work 🖤🤘🏻❤️‍🔥

Hello there! I’m so happy you sent me this request and I hope you’ll enjoy this <3

You can find Bo’s version here.

Gender neutral reader with no physical description.

WHY AM I NOT DEAD ALREADY (Vincent’s version)

Warnings: mention of murders, Bo being an ass, two cute insecure babies, angst/comfort

It had been a few months you were now living with the Sinclairs. You even had your own bedroom in their house.

You came to Ambrose with a touristic bus, and you never left. Like the rest of the group; except you were alive when none of them were.

You were the little artist of the group, drawing and looking around with bright curious eyes. You caught Vincent’s attention right away and you got spared.

But you didn’t know for how long.

You were sitting in the House of Wax, in front of three people of your group, now turned into wax sculptures.

You were staring at them, as if they could answer your silent questions.

Bo hadn’t been very nice with you this morning; and he had reminded you to be good or you would end badly.

Vincent hadn’t been there to stand up for you. And truth to be told, it wouldn’t have changed anything.

You had asked yourself quite often why you were still there, and Bo’s words only reminded you even more that you clearly were an accident.

There was no way you should still be alive in the Sinclairs’ plan.

And it worried you. You didn’t want to get killed now you had started a relationship with Vincent. You truly liked him and enjoyed your time with him, and the little dates and cute cuddles with him.

You were afraid you were naïve and Vincent was just toying with you, ready to kill you when you wouldn’t think about it.

You sighed and were so caught up with your thoughts that you didn’t hear the masked twin walking closer to you.

He was surprised to find you in front of those sculptures, and by how silent and thoughtful you seemed to be. You looked a little bit sad as well, and it broke his heart.

He knew he wasn’t offering you the best of life, and he was really afraid you were “dating” him only because you thought he would kill you otherwise.

He hated how he couldn’t find the right words to let you know that he had fallen in love with you pretty much the instant he saw you the first time. And how his affection toward you only grew, because you were perfect to him.

He silently sat next to you, on the ground, and he softly reached for your hand that he brought on his lap.

You had tensed a little before relaxing again under his familiar touch. He brought your hand to his masked lips and you gently smiled at him, even though the questions swirling inside your head were hurting you.

You stayed like that, silent. But it wasn’t really comfortable like it usually was.

Vincent wasn’t an idiot and he knew that something was wrong because usually, your head would be on his shoulder and you would be tenderly kissing his neck and shoulder before cuddling closer and settling on his lap.

You were very affectionate with him and it never failed to flutter him, but at the same time he absolutely loved it. You could even make him forget about his art when you were snuggling against him and loving on him.

He was touch and love starved, and you were making him happy like never in his life.

And even if Bo was still a little bit suspicious you would run away, one day, he liked you because Vincent was so full of joy and energy and renewed passion for life now you were around. Lester also loved the warmth you were bringing to Ambrose and enjoyed chatting with you.

Vincent turned toward you and started to sign: What’s wrong, my love?

You shook your head; you didn’t want to talk about it because you weren’t sure how Vincent would react.

Even if you liked him, your instincts never failed to remind you that you were now living with killers who could so easily hurt you. Vincent could destroy you - you really believed he was the most dangerous out of the three boys -, and you didn’t want to upset him.

But Vincent wasn’t going to let the subject go that easily. Even if he understood boundaries, he needed to know. He couldn’t stand the idea of losing you.

Did I upset you? If so, I’m very sorry and I’d love to make it up to you, he tried again and you nibbled on your lips.

“You promise you won’t be mad at me?” you asked and his eye widened at this question. He really didn’t want you to be afraid of him.

He was quick to shake his head and to lift his mask so he could kiss the back of your hand, as to show you he could only love you.

You took a deep breath.

“Why am I not dead, Vinny? Why didn’t you turn me into a wax sculpture like the rest of the group I came with? Why did you keep me around?” You babbled without looking at him. His mask was preventing you from knowing what he was thinking anyways.

Vincent’s heart dropped at those questions.

He had really hoped you would know by now that if he kept you around was that because he couldn’t imagine going back to an existence without you by his side.

He was silently panicking, trying to find the appropriate answer, the one that would appease you and prove you that you have nothing to worry about him, or Bo or Lester.

But his silence was actually frightening you and you finally looked up at him.

“Oh so you’re going to kill me at one point” you said and you smiled very weakly at him. You really should have known better.

So far, you had always tried to convince yourself that if you were still alive it was because you were special or something like that; but the boys were probably getting lonely and Vincent just needed a pet for a little while before getting rid of it.

But you should have known better: you had never been special to anyone before; so why would it be different now?

You looked down at your lap but Vincent grabbed your chin to make you look up at him. He shook his head.

You’re my partner, I would never hurt you, even less kill you, he finally signed because he thought the easiest was to be straight forward.

You nibbled on your lips once again and he gently moved a finger over them so you wouldn’t hurt yourself.

“I don’t understand… I mean even Bo said this morning I needed to obey or I would get killed. And there are so many tourists, and hot and smart people coming by to Ambrose, so why would you keep me?” you continued to voice out your fears.

Bo is an asshole, but he likes you more than you think Vincent replied but he made a mental note to kick Bo’s ass for having said such things to you. Vincent needed you to feel safe around them, more than anything.

He would go insane if you ever tried to leave him.

And you are hot, and smart, and crafty and affectionate and a ray of sunshine in there. It… It is impossible to not fall in love with you. Vincent finally admitted. It was the first time he told you he loved you, but he knew you needed to hear it even if you weren’t ready to say it back.

You watched him with wide eyes. You weren’t certain he was saying the truth or if he was manipulating you. It was hard to know with Vincent but the way he gently tried to bring you closer to him, the way he softly stroked your hand, the way he was so worryingly looking at your reactions… It was saying a lot.

You were too shocked to answer at first.

Say something, please? He pleaded with you and you went back to reality.

“So I’m here because you love me?” you said, even though you couldn’t believe someone as amazing as Vincent could be in love with you.

When I first saw you, I thought you were an angel. And your laugh was the most beautiful sound I ever heard. It was the first time I didn’t think my art could do justice to someone. You were so lively, so curious about everything around here. Even Bo was amused by all the questions you were asking. Turning you into a wax sculpture would have been a waste. Even though I wanted to keep you here, as my muse. I’m so grateful you have started to feel affection towards me.

“Your muse?” you repeated, completely taken aback by everything Vincent was telling you.

He nodded, I’m awfully late in my House of Wax projects because I spent hours drawing and sculpting you, but it’s never good enough for me to show you. You are beyond perfection and my art can’t reach it.

You were absolutely speechless so you simply wrapped your arms around his waist and hugged him. He brought you closer, making you straddle his lap so he could have you all against his chest. His hands were tenderly stroking your back and sides.

“So no one will hurt me here?” you asked, just to be sure

I promise you you’re safe. I’ll have a discussion with Bo but he would never dare touch you, Lester either. And we all keep an eye on you when tourists are around.

You didn’t ask if they were watching over you to protect you or preventing you from escaping them.

And you…? He started but stopped mid sentence, not sure how to ask you to appease his own insecurities.

“And me?” you wondered

Do you really like me or do you just pretend so I don’t kill you? And before you could answer he quickly added: I mean it wouldn’t change anything about what I feel for you. Even if you didn’t want me anymore, you would still be safe. It would just be very heartbreaking for me to have to keep my hands from you after you let me worship you for months.

Worship was definitely the word and you would lie if you said you didn’t adore it.

“I was scared at first, you know. You killed all those people with your brothers and I didn’t know what you were going to do with me. So yeah, I was docile because I wanted to live. But then you’ve always been good to me, and no one ever treated me so well actually. And you’re a genius, I love to talk with you and watch you create. You’re really amazing and I really like you, even though a little voice in my head never stops telling me that one day you’ll grow tired of me, because everyone always do and you are a killer” you tried to explain

Vincent was very flustered that you called him “a genius” and “amazing”, and he almost felt shy. He couldn’t believe you liked him either, but it warmed his heart. He couldn’t get enough of you, and he was so relieved he could continue to treat you like his personal little divinity.

I’m afraid you will change your mind when you’ll see my face though he admitted but you shook your head

“I strongly disagree… And as long as you have me, I’ll have you too” you reassured him as you leaned your forehead against his.

He held you even more tightly and let out a little sound of happiness, like a soft purr and you truly smiled.

You stayed like that for a little while, enjoying each other’s warmth and affection.

You both felt quite safe, reassured and appeased after this conversation. You were glad you had it, even though you were aware you might need to have it again from time to time, just to be certain that he was still in love with you, and that you weren’t afraid of him.

“Vinny?”

“Hmmm?”

“I wanna see the drawings you made of me. And before you say no, because they aren’t good enough. As your muse, I feel like I have the right to see them”

Vincent looked up at you, a little bit surprised by this new side of your personality.

You were going to be such a playful tease now Vincent had reassured you… Not that he minded one bit, quite the contrary actually.

Taglist:

@feathery-ass

@g0thl3zz

@erasable-mustache

@cavern-creature

@peachycupotea

#House of Wax #house of wax x reader #house of wax x you #vincent sinclair x reader #vincent sinclair x you #vincent sinclair x y/n #vincent sinclair x s/o #vincent sinclair headcanon #house of wax headcanon #bo sinclair x reader #lester sinclair x reader #slasher headcanons #slasher x reader #slasher x s/o #slasher x you #slasher x y/n

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digital-domain · 5 months

Text

A Prologue to the End

Nanami x Reader

in which nanami has time to warn you, the love of his life, that he might not be coming home at the end of this.

taking place in a slightly altered timeline, I suppose

Word Count: 1500

Content Tags: Angst!! Obviously. With a hint of comfort. Implied talk of death. Established relationship. One kiss. Me very clearly not being okay.

Note: I don’t think that Nanami would ever let himself get into a relationship once he went back to Jujutsu High. Not with all the risks he takes on. He’s simply Too Responsible. But for the sake of closure, let’s pretend.

Because of Nanami, you’ve learned to distinguish between different kinds of serious. There’s one that isn’t really serious at all - a deadpan voice with raised brows, a smile threatening to break out from the thin crease of his lips. You learned to read that one quickly. Quicker than most, he’s told you. He’s used to it being misunderstood.

When he’s dead serious - that’s a different story. He doesn’t use that voice with you. It’s dispassionate, saved for situations where there’s too much on the line to let emotions get away. There are too many of those in his life. They show in the lines on his face, the bags underneath his eyes. They’ve become more prominent in the years you’ve known him.

Some nights, you can tell it’s been a harrowing day, because he barely says a word. On those days, you pull him close, and sit in the silence with him. Reliving details is painful, and you don’t need the whole story right away. You’ll hear it eventually - you always do - but when it’s fresh, it’s enough just to be there by his side. Enough to meet him when he arrives home, and stay by his side until he’s ready to go on. Until he’s ready to wake up in the morning and do it all over again.

He’s shown more courage than the world has any right to ask of him. He’s also shown you that there’s a difference between being brave and being fearless. When the fear comes out…that’s the kind of serious that chills you. It means things are worse than you can imagine. It means he’s in trouble.

It’s what you see on his face tonight. He’s not making a secret of it. Sometimes, he tries to hide it from you (as if he could), but tonight, he wants to talk. He needs to. Soon.

“Sit with me?”

He nods wordlessly, takes his seat beside you on the couch. “It’s…different this time.”

You can tell. He’s not looking at you. Even when everything has gone to shit, he makes a point of looking you in the eyes. Tonight, though, his gaze is fixed on the carpet beneath your feet.

“The fights ahead…it’s possible that they’ll alter the world forever.” He inhales deeply, eyes flicking upwards and fixing on some set point on the ceiling of your apartment. “I can’t just stand by. My presence there…it will make a difference. I know it will.” His nails dig into the couch cushion beneath him, knuckles whitening under the warm glow of the lamp in the corner. “But with all the forces at play, I’ll be outmatched. And if things don’t go right…” He cuts himself off, leaving the words dangling in midair. It doesn’t matter - you know how the sentence would end.

“I don’t think I’m a lucky man,” he continues. “But meeting you made me feel, for once, like fate was in my favor. The last three years with you have been…well, it would be a lie to say that they’ve been perfect years. But you made them better. You’ve brought me joy for the first time in a long time.”

“Kento…” You move closer, brush his hand with your fingertip. “You’re scaring me. It sounds like…” It sounds like you’re saying goodbye.

“I don’t want to scare you. I wouldn’t, if I had any choice.” Finally, he turns his head, and meets your gaze. It brings you no comfort - his face is obscured by an empty expression that you’ve only seen a few times before. “There’s nothing I want more than to make you happy.”

“Then…” Don’t fight. It’s on the tip of your tongue. But you can’t bring yourself to say it. If you did, and he listened to you, he’d regret it for the rest of his life. When he says he needs to go - he means it.

“You’re talking like you know exactly how this is going to play out,” you say instead. “Like it’s inevitable that…that something bad will happen. But you don’t know that. There’s no way for you to tell.”

He shifts in his seat, and his eyes slip from your face. “You’re right,” he says quietly. “I don’t know how this all will end…but there’s a chance that it will go wrong. And if it does, I’ll never make you happy again.” He cups his head in his hand, takes a shallow breath. “I should have understood from the beginning… someone like me shouldn’t let people get close. It’s too dangerous.” He sighs, and covers his face. “I shouldn’t have been so selfish.”

“Don’t say that.” You shake your head in disbelief. “You never did anything wrong. I knew what I was getting myself into.”

“You didn’t,” he argues. “Not completely. I told you everything I could, but unless you’ve seen what I’ve seen…you can’t understand.”

“I can.” You can feel tears beginning to choke your words, but you don’t let them out. You’re going to be strong for him. “I can, because I trust you. And when you tell me something…even if it’s terrible, even if I don’t want to believe it, I do. When you told me that someday this could fall apart, that you could get hurt, that I could get hurt, I believed you. With all my heart. And I stayed, and I convinced you to stay, because…”

He lowers his hand and stares back at you, hanging onto your every word.

“Because I decided I’d rather take that risk than never have you at all.”

As your tears blur your vision, a pair of strong arms envelopes you. Nanami buries his face in the crook of your neck, lips brushing over your skin. “I want you forever,” he whispers. “I want to know every day that I’m coming home to you. And if there’s a chance that I won’t…you deserve to know.”

“That’s true,” you manage. You hook your arms under his shoulders, clinging onto him. “But if there’s a chance that you’ll be okay, I want to know that, too.”

“There’s a chance,” he murmurs. “It could go either way. Truly. But I want to prepare you. Want you to know what could happen.”

“I’ll never be prepared,” you confess. “But I’m strong.”

“I know.”

“And you’re strong.”

He says nothing at this.

“I believe that you’re capable of anything. I believe you’ll be okay. But if you’re not, if this does end in the worst possible way… I’ll go on living. Life will be different. Life will be worse. But I’ll carry on. You always have, despite everything. I can do it too.” You pull back, and are relieved to see a a flash of light return to his eyes, even as his arms fall back to his sides. “There’s a reason you do what you do. It’s to protect people like me.”

“People like you…and you.” He smiles faintly - you swear that it’s the most beautiful sight you’ve even seen. “Sometimes, when I feel hopeless, I picture your face, the way it looks when you wake up beside me. And then, I keep going.” His voice lowers, and the smile slips from his face. “If I don’t keep going this time, you might soon wake up in an unrecognizable world. I’d rather risk my life than risk that.”

“I want to stop you,” you whisper. “But I won’t.” You hold your head high. “And I won’t make you promise to come back to me. Just…just swear you’ll do everything you can to make it out.”

“I will.” He bows his head, eyes half-closed. “And if I can’t make it out…I’ll at least make it worth the cost.”

“I know you will. But I pray that you won’t have to.” You bring your hand to the side of his face, fingers brushing gently against his hair. “I think…I think we need to stop thinking about it. Just for a little while. We have time before you have to go, don’t we?”

He looks up. “We do. Not much, but…we do.”

“Then I don’t want to spend that time being scared.”

Again, you see the barest hint of a smile cross his face. “How do you want to spend it?”

“Like I want to spend all my time. Happily, with you.”

“Then that’s exactly what we’ll do.” He moves closer, seeming to come alive again as his hand falls over yours, fingertips lacing together.

Later, you’ll say a proper farewell. Later, you’ll spend hours frozen on this exact couch, waiting for any word of what’s happened. But for now, you push every anxious thought of the future away. In his mind, you hope that he does the same.

“I want to kiss you,” he says. After three years, he still likes to ask. “May I?”

You nod silently.

His lips meet yours, and for just that moment, you’re sure that you both are at peace. It may be temporary. It may be merely the eye of a monstrous hurricane. It may be the last peace either of you truly feel. But for you, at this second, it’s enough. You surge into him, drowning out the sounds of the storm bearing down upon you. It’s not time to step into it just yet.

#jjk spoilers #jujutsu kaisen spoilers #jjk ep 42 #jjk x reader #nanami x reader #nanami x you #jjk nanami #nanami kento #nanami angst

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corazondebeskar-reads · 7 months

Text

well it's love, make it hurt - chapter seven

well it’s love, make it hurt series

seven: you say who I am is quite enough

series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

dom!Din Djarin x sub!f!reader

Word Count: 6.6k

Summary: Boundaries get blurred when following a trail for a big-ticket bounty leads to a nightclub catering to clients of a specific taste. AKA you and Mando go to a sex club (but for work.)

Warnings: BDSM, bdsm club, bdsm scene, dom! Din Djarin and sub!reader, established relationship, minor original characters, bondage, p in v unprotected sex, orgasm denial, use of a vibrator, nipple clamps, bounty hunting, soft!dom Din Djarin, aftercare

Originally written for Kinktober Day 12 - Orgasm Denial, inspired by @absurdthirst’s wonderful prompt list,

also on ao3

3 ABY - Winter

“There,” Mando says, “Wait, go back.” He takes the datapad from you and scrolls back up, pointing out a location ping from the target’s log. “I know that place.”

The bounty, Olin Vanda, was former ISB who had made a lot of enemies in his time terrorizing the citizens of Morlana One. Without any recent location data to work with and most of the ISB scattered or underground, you were stuck digging for clues.

“What is it?” you say, pulling the map’s edges to get closer to the grid.

“It’s a nightclub in the leisure district.”

“He sure was a frequent visitor.” Vanda’s records show him at the club once a week or so over his three-year stint on planet. “I thought we decided Morlana was a dead end.”

“We thought there wouldn’t be anyone with anything of value to tell us. But I know someone there.”

“Oh, were you also a frequent visitor at a nightclub in the leisure district?” You tease, but he looks away for a moment, thumb rubbing against the side of his fidgety fingers while the other twitched where it rested on his knee.

“Oh, shit, you were.”

He heaves a world-weary sigh, shoulders slumping, and looks up at the ceiling. “Yes.”

“What do you do at a nightclub? Do you dance?” You grin ear to ear, poking him in the side.

He groans, gloved hands covering his visor. “It’s not that kind of club.”

“There are other types of nightclubs? Oh, kriff, are you saying—”

“Yes. It’s a sex club. I went to a sex club.” He has his arms crossed now, looking at you with his helmet tilted slightly forward. Waiting for you to say something stupid.

But you flush and shut your mouth.

“Nothing smart to say?”

You shake your head.

“Go on. Ask me.”

“It’s fine, that’s, um. That’s your business.”

“You’ll have to know before we get there, anyway.” He kicks back, legs crossed at the ankle, and leans against the wall with his arms behind his head.

You don’t dare speak, and after he gives you a moment to interrupt, he focuses on you, wanting to see how you react to his story.

“I ran with a group for a while when I was younger. Rougher types. I was a different man, then. Angrier. They liked to blow off steam in a lot of ways, most of which I couldn’t or wouldn’t participate.” He dips his helmet briefly.

“They’d give me a lot of shit over it, so I started going when they went to these clubs. It was something I could do, that I wanted to do. But Axis was different. It caters to a certain kind of clientele. With particular tastes.”

He looks down for a moment, and you gasp softly. “Oh,” you brush a hand over your collar. “That’s—”

“Yes. That’s where I learned about all the little games you let me play, sweetheart. They all thought it was a fun laugh. Some of it hot, but a lot of it just a big joke. But I kept going back. After a few times on my own, one of the Madames who runs—or ran, I guess I don’t know—started to show me things. Back then, I thought she pitied me for being clueless. Now, I think she was more worried that I was dangerous.”

“Because you’re Mandalorian?”

“No, because I was a headstrong, large being with a clear rage issue. There are so many ways things can go wrong like that. I guess she wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to hurt anyone.”

It was your turn to tilt your head a little, examining him under the new information you had greedily absorbed. “I can’t imagine you being capable.”

“You didn’t know me then. Anyway, I wouldn’t have. The whole idea of abusing your sub was too baffling to me—the beauty of it is in the symbiosis. The give and take.”

You smirk. “You are very good at both.”

He lowers an arm to reach for you, pulling you across the crate to sit beside him as soon as you scooch near enough. “Thank you, cyar’ika,” he murmurs, arm wrapping around your shoulder.

You lean against him, tucked into the warm gap where his arm and side are free of beskar.

“So we’re going to see if she still works there?”

“I was close with a few of the workers. Couple of the professionals, bartenders, other management. I used to help out a little with the troublemakers. If someone was crossing a line.”

You shake your head. “Knew it. You were a softie even then.”

“Oh, I’m a softie?”

“Very much so.”

“That's what those bruises on your ass mean to you?”

You nudge him with your shoulder, laughing. “Kind of. I mean, I did ask for it. All I ever have to do is ask nicely.”

“Hmm.” He taps his foot, and you suddenly don’t like the way he fell deep in thought. “I’ll remember that.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Uh-oh is right, sweetheart. But we have a job to do.”

You land on Morlana One two days later. You pace in the cockpit, with nothing to do but wait for evening.

Mando was in the hull, working on modifiers for one of his pistols. Or, he was trying, but the possibility you would wear a hole in the floor and fall through was distracting.

“Come down here,” he calls, setting his tools to the side.

You clamber down the ladder, jumping off halfway. “What?”

“Sit,” he points at the stack of crates where your old bedroll still lives.

You hop up and cross your legs. He watches as your right knee bounces and your eyes cast around the hull, head swiveling like a convor.

“You’re nervous.”

You stop moving entirely, his scrutiny a wedge in your gears. “Why would I be nervous about recon? There’s not even going to be a fight today.”

“Hmm.” He's not so sure. But the fight he anticipates is a little more internal, and he wagers a bet you were struggling with the same thing.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you ask. Your knee slips back into motion.

“Like what.” he says flatly.

“Oh, ha ha. Yes, it’s funny, see, because you have a helmet, and no one knows what you’re thinking, but you can see everyone else’s feelings and—”

“Hey. Take a breath.” He stands and walks to sit next to you.

You sigh. “You’re so calm about this.”

“No reason to be anything else,” he shrugs.

Easy for him to say. You had both agreed this had to go a certain way. If no one there remembered him, he was an armed bounty hunter walking into a club of people who would not want to be recognized.

People who would probably be more comfortable if they saw him on the same level.

So you had agreed, yes, to “pose” as his sub. You would wear his collar. You would dress and act the part.

You were used to playing stupid or flirting with marks, but you still held the power in those situations. You had the advantage. This time, you would have no way to influence the outcome. Unarmed, and weak.

“We don’t have to do this,” he says, reaching to hold your hand. He's not geared up yet, and the warm strength of his grasp helps a little.

“I’ll be fine, it’s just weird.” Even the outfit felt weird. It was yours; you had worn it for a hundred ops—it fit in perfectly on Cantonica. Granted, it wasn’t a lot of clothing, but you usually felt good in it. Strong.

Right now, you just feel exposed. The nylon shorts areshort, with straps not unlike a holster down one thigh. The shirt is cut short, too, with thick bands that crisscross your shoulders. It has a soft linen cloak attached, with a generous hood and a split panel that runs about mid-calf down your back.

The design was meant to help you conceal weapons. Actual holsters blend into the strappy patterns, and the cloak helps conceal firearms. Not that you’ll be taking any, this time.

You shift on the bench, tugging at the hemline of your shorts.

“It is a little weird,” he agrees. “There’s going to be people fucking and tying each other up, and I’m supposed to keep my hands off you?”

You huff a laugh that doesn’t reach your eyes. “I don’t want this to change how you see me as a partner.”

“Cyar’ika, if anything, I know better than anyone how absolutely terrifying you can be.”

“Shut up,” you mumble, but smile.

On your walk to the district, though, it becomes apparent that he is not as calm as he wanted to be.

“You probably shouldn’t make eye contact with anyone,” he says as you turn a corner. He had been dropping these little fun suggestions the whole way.

“Okay,” you had agreed to each. Don’t talk to anyone who doesn’t talk to you first. Sit still and listen. Look to him before agreeing to anything you’re asked. And on and on.

“Will they kick us out if I forget any of this?”

“No, just. There’s a certain expectation for experienced guests. And we don’t want anyone to think you aren’t experienced. Or that I’m not. Draws attention from the wrong people.”

You consider this quietly until you're steps away from the club. “Mando,” you grab his arm to stop him. “If these are expectations, do you—are you—”

“Do I wish you did all of those things?”

You nod, rubbing your arm and focusing on the neon reflecting off the puddles.

“No. If I wished you would behave a certain way, I’d tell you. Like now, when you’re not looking at me.”

You look up at him immediately, feeling very foolish for worrying about it in the first place. He hasn’t been shy about correcting your behavior or coaching you on the way he likes things done.

He puts his hands on your shoulders. “Everything you do for me is perfect. And this is going to be fine.”

You can only nod, nausea eating away at your nerve.

He shows something to the Devaronian at the door, who steps aside to let you both through. Mando guides you by the hand so you can keep your eyes down.

It's so hard. The club is noisy, claustrophobic despite its sprawling footprint, with red velvet and leather and the smell of polish and sweat. You don’t dare look closer.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the blur of bodies. People sitting and chatting, sipping at drinks. Someone dancing on a small stage. Someone with a cock down their throat, kneeling before someone else in tall leather boots.

Mando stops by the bar and leans over, talking quietly to the Twi’lek mixing drinks. She nods and ducks through a curtain behind the counter, and Mando leads you over to an open sofa. He settles, but you waver. Should you sit next to him? Should you kneel on the floor?

He makes the decision for you, tugging you into his lap so you're straddling his thighs, allowing you to hide your face in his cowl, or—as he probably intended—lean your ear down near the helmet to hear him.

“Doing okay?” he murmurs, and you nod into his shoulder. “You can hide this time,” he says, a hand settling on your lower back.

You take a few deep breaths, willing your body into holding a loose, relaxed position. Like you're comfortable here. Like you do this all the time.

He scoops the tails of your cloak to the side, tucked up and out of the way, but unfortunately, also showing off how high the shorts ride up on your thighs. Before you can fuss, though, he solves the problem by wrapping his other hand around your ass.

He lounges, idly watching the activities. He nudges you and points at a couple in the corner nearby. An older man is tied securely to a post, arms above his head and ankles bound to brackets in the floor so his legs are spread wide. His partner works him over with a short whip. They are both clearly enjoying themselves.

You promptly bury your face back in his shoulder, and he chuckles. “Too much? Or would you let me try it?”

Your hips give a very small jerk forward, catching on the seam of his pants before you get control of yourself. “Um.”

But whatever you were about to say is cut off when a stranger approaches. “I have to tell you, I didn’t quite believe Nia when she said you were looking for me.”

“Anissa,” he says, reaching his arm away from your back to accept a sideways hug from the woman. “It’s been a long time.”

“It’s been a damn decade, Mando. Too busy to visit me?” She pauses, seeming to notice you for the first time. “Well, certainly a little busy.”

He nudges you, dipping his head to let you know it was okay to look. It was harder than you would ever admit to pull yourself away from him. You hadn’t felt this unmoored in a situation in decades.

“This is my girl,” he says, warm pride in the undercurrent of his soothing voice. “Cyar’ika, I’d like you to meet my good friend, Madame Anissa.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Madame,” you say softly, inclining your head. My girl. Your brain trips over the echo of his voice, and you forget what comes next. Should you shake her hand? Was it okay for you to have addressed her directly?

“It is very nice to meet you,” she says, extending her own hand to save you the trouble. You shake it, and she clasps your hand gently between both of hers. Her hands are soft and dark, with short nails painted bright blue. She's tall and very beautiful, older, with some white in her curls, and laugh lines deep in her face. Her eyes, though. Pretty as they are, what holds your gaze was the inherent kindness behind them.

When she lets go, you take a quick look around, which is when you notice the woman kneeling patiently at her feet. She's looking at you already, not hesitant about where her eyes linger, though she does not look at Mando.

She looks tense, almost defensive. Her shoulders are taut and her spine straight, hands clasped in her lap. Not defensive, you realize. Postured. A practiced pose. When you look up at her face, she smiles.

You smile back, somehow, despite the constant beat of run run run in your chest.

“So, Mando, business or pleasure?” Anissa asks with the rise of a carefully groomed eyebrow.

“Both, unfortunately,” he says.

You look at him, a little perplexed at the honesty in his tone. He strokes gloved fingers up and down your spine, and you hold your tongue.

“Business first, shall we? Why don’t we let the girls go to the lounge while we talk?”

“She can stay,” Mando says immediately. “She knows my business.”

“I wouldn’t want Mara to be left alone,” Anissa says. Her meaning us clear, and so Mando looks to you.

“The lounge is just over there, and it’s for subs only,” he says. “You stay with Mara.”

“Yes, sir,” you say, rising from his lap. It makes you jittery to call him that in public. While working.

Mara stands and offers you her hand. Not usually one to be tactile with a stranger, you take it anyway and let her lead the way.

She punches in a code at the door’s panel, and it slides to the side to reveal a small parlor in shades of blue. The walls are pale, and there is a soft, lush carpet in navy. An archway leads to a dressing room of sorts, with tables and lighted mirrors and cushioned stools. Mara points out the door to the refresher inside.

“So we don’t have to share with the doms,” she says. “Y’know.”

You nod, trying to get your bearings. It's like being two people at once. Bounty Hunter you takes in every detail, noting the faces of each being, and registering the single exit and entry point. But the Other you, the new one who never had to talk to anyone but Mando, is overwhelmed.

She leads you over to a corner where a small kitchenette is set up and offers you a drink or snack. You accept a bottle of water but, as good as they look, pass on the iced cookies. You aren’t sure of the integrity of your lunch with the way your nerves refuse to settle, so something sweet feels like an invitation for disaster.

When you were seated on a plush sofa, legs tucked underneath you and twisting the lid on and off the water, she sets a hand on your knee.

“Do you need help?” she asks, voice soft. leaning forward so her long, red hair fell over where her arm reached for you.

“What?”

“Just, you know. Are you safe? We can help you if you aren’t.” Her dark eyes are wide and genuine.

Warm relief washes through you. “Oh! Yes, I promise. He looks scary, but he’s very kind.”

“And you’re allowed to say no?” Mara asks, still very serious.

“Yes. And we have a… a safeword?” You aren’t sure if the term he used was universal.

She sighs and smiles. “If that changes, you let me know, okay?”

You agree easily, though you doubt you’ll ever be here again.

She pulls out a small datapad and stands. “Wait here, I’ll be right back. Madame wants a drink,” she says, with an exaggerated roll of her eyes.

Mando pauses mid-sentence when Mara ducks in to slip a pink cocktail to her Madame. He waits until she's gone back toward the lounge.

“I take it I passed the test.”

Madame Anissa laughs, setting the drink down since there is no need for the pretense. “It has been ten years,” she says.

“I’m glad you did it,” he agrees.

“She seems like a sweet girl,” Anissa muses, “if maybe inexperienced.”

“I thought you wanted to talk business first?”

“You haven’t changed at all, have you? Good.” She claps her hands together and rests them on her knees. “What do you need?”

Mara returns to find you talking to a man, a younger Twi’lek named Ari, whose light green skin is barely visible through his extensive tattoos.

“So you don’t know what he looks like?” he was asking you.

You shake your head. “I don’t know what his face looks like. Except, I don’t know. I do?”

“You peeked?” Mara asks as she takes her seat back beside you.

“No! No, I just mean. The helmet is the only face I’ll ever know, right? So, I don’t know. I don’t really think about the other one.” Except when he was between your legs, hot mouth making you see stars.

“You’re not curious at all?” Ari asks.

“I didn’t say that. But it’s not important.” You shrug. “That’s just him, to me.”

They let you change the subject and chat a little about their own lives, who they are outside of their relationships. The whole time, though, your stomach churns. You don’t belong here, it seemed to say. These are good people.

And something horrible aches inside you. You like them. You want to stay here on this little couch and talk and laugh. They're nice and so comfortable with themselves, even in this weird tiny room where you all exist between two halves of yourselves.

Another life hangs in the air. A bad habit of yours, to conjure what you can’t have. A life where Mando brings you here all the time, to be together outside of the Crest. Where you’d lay your head in Ari’s lap and listen to him gossip about the will-they-won’t-they customers or Nia’s affair with the doorman. Where Mara would let you braid her hair, and you could swap secrets and laugh at jokes only the two of you understood.

A life with Mando in it for a long, long time.

You're saved from them asking why you had gone quiet, saved from your childish desires, when Mara’s datapad chirps.

“They want us to come back out now. Or, I’m guessing, your Mandalorian is getting lonely,” she teases.

More like he had completed his mission and was ready to move on, you think.

But instead of standing to leave when you find him, he gestures for you to sit back down on his lap. Mara helps herself to Madame Anissa’s lap, earning a swat for being cheeky, but no other scolding.

“Mando,” Anissa drawls. “Is she wearing a collar?”

His grip tightens, his fingers digging into your waist a little. “Yes.”

You hold very still, breathing shallow, trying to parse his reaction.

“I never thought I’d see the day,” Anissa shakes her head. “Maybe you have changed.”

“I like to think so,” he says quietly.

You stare at the edge of the sofa just over his shoulder. Afraid if you move, draw his attention by hiding your face, that you’d be caught listening. Not that they really could expect you not to, you reason.

“Cyar’ika,” Mando says.

“Yes, sir?”

He's quiet, this conversation just for you. “Madame Anissa offered us a room, if you’d like. A private room, I mean. For a couple hours, or for the night. We could get going in the morning.”

The air is thick and cloying, catching in your throat. He wants to stay here? He didn’t want to get on the trail, sleep through the journey?

“We don’t have to,” he rushes to assure you.

You bite your lip. Your gut says yes, please, let me have you like this for a little bit longer. “If you’d like,” you test.

He quirks his head, and you raise your eyebrows before you realize your mistake. He was asking your opinion and expected you to give it.

“I’d like that, I mean,” you confess, looking right into his visor.

“Is that a yes, then?” Anissa asks, not at all ashamed for eavesdropping.

“Yes, please,” Mando tells her.

She stands, Mara scrambling off her lap in time to avoid falling.

Mando makes to follow her, but Mara grabs your hand before you can go with him.

“I meant it,” she says. “You come find me if you need anything.” She stares unwaveringly into your eyes.

“I will,” you say, squeezing her hand. “I won’t need to, though.”

She squeezes back and lets you go.

The room is intimidating. It wasn’t meant to be, draped in shades of green and brown. But in addition to the huge bed is an assortment of furniture and accessories unlike you had ever seen. Not that it was hard to guess what they were for.

When Anissa leaves, door clicking into place behind her, it's the most awkward you’d felt with Mando in nearly a year. He, of course, didn’t miss a thing.

“We can just sleep,” he says, tugging your hand to sit beside him on the edge of the bed.

You shake your head and sink to kneel in front of him, leaning your head against his leg.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he says, tugging his gloves off and cupping your cheek. “You’ve been on the edge all day, haven’t you?”

You nod against his palm, eyes slipping closed. The floor is warm, unusually so, like there was a heating system beneath. The planks were practical for a room that probably saw a lot of fluids, but not uncomfortable.

“So if you don’t want to sleep…” he says, running a thumb over your bottom lip.

You look up at him, something warm in your gaze. “Let me guess,” you say, pressing a soft kiss to his digit. “You want to try something.”

He laughs, and the last of the uneasiness leaves you in a soft sigh.

“I do. But not with any of that,” he gestures to what you could only describe as sex furniture. “Not tonight, anyway. Just something simple. Easy.”

“That sounds nice,” you agree. Your limbs are heavy, and you're starting to come down from the adrenaline rush from all the new and intimidating stimuli from the day.

“Climb up here, cyar’ika, and get comfortable.”

You obey. The mattress is thick and covered with a dense layer of blankets. Enough pillows to fill the Crest are piled against the headboard. You sink into it, face first, and sigh.

“Goodnight,” you tell Mando.

He gives your ass a light smack. “Too late for that, sweetheart.”

You groan dramatically, flopping over onto your back and throwing an arm over your face. “You’re so cruel to me.”

“Oh? I thought I was a big softie?”

Your eyes shoot open. “Uh oh.”

“Told you I’d remember that, cyar’ika.” He had procured soft cuffs from somewhere, and is already in the process of wrapping them around your ankles and securing them to the bed, which you realize then has little u-shaped brackets all over the supports.

“Whoa, that’s kind of neat,” you say, sitting up on your elbows to get a better look.

He pushes you back to the bed, shaking his head, and makes quick work of your wrists.

You tug gently, a sharp rush of arousal and a heavy warmth spreading when nothing budges. You lift your head to watch as he carefully removes his armor, setting each piece aside on the long padded table across the room. It also has brackets down the sides, you notice, and looks like it could be raised and lowered at multiple points. Your mouth goes dry thinking about finding yourself atop it.

“This is such a pretty outfit, cyar’ika. Did you like everyone seeing you like this?” He runs his hand over your bare midriff, teasing up the bottom of your shirt.

“I’ve worn this before.”

“Not with me, you haven’t. I’d remember.” His fingers wander just under your breasts before he withdraws his hand, smoothing back down across your stomach. “It’s practically underwear, sweetheart. Does it make you feel pretty?”

“I guess,” you mumble. He's treading into uncomfortable waters, and he knows it.

“It should. You look so strong and soft. Makes me wish I could taste you.”

You whine, his hand trailing over your shorts. The thin, stretchy fabric was great for being on the move, but it does nothing to dampen sensation.

“Sorry, sweetheart, not tonight. I shouldn’t tease.” The tips of his fingers trace the seam of your cunt, and you buck up toward him. He draws his hand back immediately and grins as the realization spreads across your face.

“Figured out what game I want to play tonight?”

“Fuck.”

“What’s the matter? Are you worried I’m going to be mean?”

“Uh-huh,” you whine as he resumed his caresses, hardly more than a breeze.

“I thought you said I’m soft? That all you have to do is ask nicely?” He scrapes a fingernail across your shorts, and you jerk your hips again, whimpering and straining against the cuffs as he draws back.

“I haven’t even gotten started, and you’re already this desperate.”

You burn at the taunt, biting your tongue to keep from whining again. You force yourself to take a deep breath, closing your eyes and trying to center yourself. You could play his game.

He doesn’t like that, apparently, reaching up to flick a nail where your shirt pulls over your hard nipple. It startles a yelp out of you, turning the wrath of your glare to him.

“I wonder which of us will tire out first,” he muses, tweaking it with a quick pinch before rolling his palm over your other nipple.

You. It would be you. You know it, he knows it. But you set your jaw and steel yourself to take whatever he gives you.

Though you hadn’t counted on the cabinet of toys. When he walks away from the bed, you sigh and take a moment to gather your wits.

His saunter on the way back should have warned you. He holds up a hand, three foreign items clutched within. “Know what these are?”

You shake your head.

“You will.” He sets them down on the mattress in your line of sight. “But not yet.”

The two small clamps aren’t hard to figure out, and a shiver runs over you. It goes straight to your cunt, where you're sure you've soaked through.

The wet patch doesn’t escape his notice, either, and he resumes brushing his hand over you with incredible gentleness.

A scream is building in your chest, a ferocious thing. You focus on breathing again and not trying to figure out what the little capsule is for.

He takes his time teasing you through your clothes before finally lifting your shirt over your breasts. While he had intended to resume the same impossibly soft touch, he can’t resist giving your tits a few firm slaps, watching them bounce and reaping the reward of your breathy little moans.

Having had his fun, he switches back to barely touching you. His cock is painfully hard, but easy to ignore as he watches your face screw up in delicious agony. You’d taken the bait and were refusing to beg.

Good. It’ll be so much more satisfying when you break down and plead with him.

By the time he begins to apply gentle pressure, you're starting to lose your battle. Your chest heaves with the effort, desperate cries falling from your lips. You writhe against the bonds, trying to shake his hand away.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart? You need something?”

You let out a sob, flinching away from him and wrestling with your conviction.

So he presses his thumb down firmly against your clit. You jerk, unable to get far enough away.

“Please,” you cry, voice breaking. “Please, please, please.”

“What was that?”

“Please,” another breathless sob. “Please, can I cum, sir? Please?”

“You are good at asking nicely,” he muses, rubbing a soft circle against your clit. “But no.”

“What?” your head snaps up, tears welling.

“Not yet, cyar’ika.” He removes his hand and watches as your hips twitch to chase him.

“You’re sweating, sweetheart. Let’s give you a break and get you out of those clothes.” He unclipps the cuffs and brings you a bottle of water. You gulp half of it down, glaring at him.

“Alright, up. Strip.”

You don’t budge from where you sit on the edge of the bed, holding the water to your chest.

He tilts the helmet. “You’re mad I said no, so you’re going to be disobedient? That seem like a wise choice?”

“No,” you grumble but don’t move.

He can see the fight you're having as you chew on your lip, scowling at the floor. You take another drink of water and stand, reaffixing your glare on his visor.

He waits, one hand on a hip. “Watch yourself, sweetheart.”

You set the water bottle on the nightstand, fingers flexing near the hem of your shirt.

“Take it off—”

“Or you will?” You roll your eyes. But you realize your mistake the minute the words slip out. “Oh, kriff. I'm sorry.” You scramble to pull your clothes off.

He lets you frantically fumble, watching as you even fold your clothes and set them neatly on the nightstand.

You go to kneel in front of him and apologize, but he cuts you off.

“Back on the bed.”

When you're in place, he moves to strap you back down. Your lip trembles, and he knows it's killing you not to beg forgiveness. He strokes your cheek.

“Done pouting?”

“Yes, sir, I—”

“Quiet,” he says, not unkindly. “I knew this would be hard for you. I do spoil you. You get through the rest of this without the attitude, and I’ll consider it forgiven.”

You nod, lips pursed.

“You can beg. But you’ll accept my answers.”

“Yes, sir,” you whisper.

Satisfied, he moves to better access your cunt. He runs a hand over your trembling thigh and finally parts you with one finger, not quite dipping inside. Your groan wracks your whole body, your hole clenching at nothing as his finger traces the outside.

After a while (and you had no concept of the passage of time, it could have been years), he abruptly shoves two fingers in to the knuckle.

You scream. It sensd a rush through his body, his cock twitching where it still lay beneath his clothes.

“No, no, no, please,” you cry as he begins to pull his fingers out, only to break into a moan when he shoves them back in.

“Doing okay? Do you need a break?”

“No, please don’t stop, fuck,” you gasp.

He slides his thumb up to rub against your clit, smirking at the way you wail and struggle against the cuffs.

It wasn’t enough. He needs you to break again. He flicks his thumbnail against your swollen bud, and you fall apart.

“Please, please, please,” you're full-out sobbing, now. “Please, can I cum, Sir?”

He pinches your clit harshly. “No.”

You scream, thrash, and fight to keep control of yourself. He lets go, letting you back away from the edge. His goal isn’t to make you disobey, but simply to toy with you until he's had his fill.

“Time for something a little different, cyar’ika,” he says, standing up to walk around to the side where he had left the toys.

Your head snaps to the side, and your cries stopped abruptly, fear curling in your gut.

“I really think you’re going to like these,” he says, showing you the little clips in his hand. “Hold still.”

You suck in a breath and hold your body tight, eyes squeezed shut.

“Look at you, pretty girl. You’re being so good for me.” He holds your left breast in one hand and brings the clamp to it, easing the pressure off to let it slowly close. The moan reverberates through your body, and when the accompanying shudder shakes the clamp, it gets even louder.

“How’s that feel? Is it too tight?” He’s fairly sure you’re fine, from your reaction, but it would be remiss not to check.

You groan. “S’good, fuck.”

“Ready for the other one?”

“Oh, fuck,” you sob, nodding.

He takes his time, now that you know what to expect, and drags the tip of the clamp around your nipple first just to watch you squirm. After he eases it on, he gives you a firm slap on the side of your breast.

It's fucking ethereal, the way your back arches and the desperate way you cry for permission to cum.

“Still no, cyare, sorry.”

You have the sense of mind still to stare at him incredulously. “Sorry?!”

He laughs. “You’re right. I’m not sorry.” And he hits you again. The way your whole body shakes with the effort to be good has him moaning and stroking his cock through his pants. “Osik, I might just cum from this.”

It doesn't have the reaction he wanted this time. Instead, you still and looked at him, eyes wide and lip trembling. “You’re not going to fuck me?” you whisper.

He rubs his hand over your side, letting the soothing motion distract you from your throbbing cunt. “Depends,” he lies. “You going to keep being good for me?”

“Please, I will, I’ll be good, I’ll do anything, please.”

He knows you're about to break. Harder than you ever have before, he expects. “I know you will, cyar’ika. I’ve got one more, can you take one more challenge?”

You try to choke back the sobs wracking your body, nodding.

He hesitates. “It’s not going to be easy.” He sits, for a moment, watching. Waiting to see if you calm down. When your sobs subside, and you're breathing easier, he stands up and retrieves the water, pressing it to your lips.

Once you've had a few sips, you blink your wet lashes open and look at him. “I can, I swear. I want to. I can take it.”

“Okay,” he says, standing up, and he shows you the little cylinder.

“I’m going to fuck you now,” he says. “And I’m going to turn this on and hold it against your clit until you can’t stand it anymore.” He twists the base, and the vibrator jumps to life. He holds it against your side for a moment so you know what to expect. “Or we can stop, and I’ll still fuck you, and we can go to sleep.”

You don't hesitate. “I can take it,” you insist.

He had intended to fuck you after you begged from the vibrator, but it seems unwise. So he climbs onto the bed between your spread legs before unclipping your ankles.

You don't even notice, too distracted by the smooth way he pushes into you.

“You’re fucking soaked,” he groans.

“No shit,” you moan. “Someone’s been torturing me for hours.”

He pulls back and began fucking into you, too wound up to take it slow. Plus, he knows when he turns the vibrator on, you are going to fall apart in just minutes. “Hmm, that doesn’t sound like me. I’m a softie.”

“Shut up,” you groan, words punching out of you as his cock batters into you. “I take it back.”

“Oh good,” he says. “Then I can do this now.”

He pauses his movements, to your disappointment, but your whine is cut off when he pushes the vibrator right up to your clit and turns it on.

He meant to keep fucking into you, but you clamp down so tight he thinks his cock might snap. You scream silently until he tugs the clamps off, and it cracks into a wail.

“Cum, cyar’ika,” he says, grinding his hips to reach into you, to carve out a place for himself in you, and you fall apart.

He joins you, holding your legs tight against him so he won’t slip out, and as soon as your cries turn sharp, he pulls the vibrator away, turning it off and tossing it to the ground. You keep your legs wrapped around him and don’t let up, so he doesn’t try to pull out just yet. He lets his cock stay warm within you as you twitch through the aftershocks.

The sheets are soaked, your cunt leaking as he softened. He runs his hands over your hips and stomach, crooning praises.

Finally, your legs fall limp to his sides, and he slides carefully out, wincing at how swollen you are. You're still twitching, but also very clearly falling asleep. Fuck it, he thinks, and leaves the mess. Carefully, he releases your wrists from the cuffs, red marks dug in where you had struggled. He lays your arms carefully down and then climbs in next to you.

You nestle up to his chest, and he wraps himself around you, stroking your hair. “You’re right, cyar’ika,” he whispers as you drift off. “You make me soft.”

*title from "New Again" by Taking Back Sunday.

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #dom din djarin #make it hurt verse #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian smut

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