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jeniffercheck · 10 months

Text

i think i believe in getting saved (it’ll hit all at once)

shivlina: canon divergent, shivlina origins pre-season 1; my take on how they could’ve gotten together. CWs below the cut.

words: 14k

read here or on ao3

cw: no scenes of actual domestic violence but there are a few detailed descriptions, self harm is mostly referenced/implied with no graphic descriptions, mental health issues is for panic attacks/anxiety. there's a lot of humor but this fic gets decently dark at some points so please be safe

Karolina meets Shiv Roy on a Monday.

They’re closing a deal and Logan let them know late into Sunday evening that they were expected at the office bright and early. PR would need to draft the terms immediately in ways that the media could understand, and in ways that made it look like Waystar wasn’t losing prestige or power, which Karolina couldn’t say she isn’t concerned about with every new deal they seem to take on.

This normally wouldn’t be an issue; she generally thinks she’s excited to go to work and draft press releases for these otherworldly things, type out numbers she can’t even conceive of and be one of the people who gets to go out into the world and speak it into existence, but she’d barely had time to sleep over the weekend do a different, more pressing PR crisis at Waystar. A kid died in one of the theme parks. It wasn’t their fault. The autopsy disclosed an unknown heart problem that had been triggered during a rollercoaster ride. There’s no evidence as to whether or not the ride could’ve actually been the cause, rather than the incident just occurring while he happened to be on it, but that’s not the part that Karolina is fixated on.

The autopsy didn’t include that a successful combination of CPR and defibrillation have been shown to lower the risk of death from a cardiac event related to this disease, if treated in time.

She hasn’t been able to stop thinking about the after-action report she received.

Response Time: 15 minutes.

She kept looking at the paper, wondering if maybe a Xerox machine had hidden a dot somewhere between the one and the five, or if maybe they meant to put one but then thought it was five and whichever number they erased just wasn’t erased enough. She knows she had nothing to do with it, that she has no control over the on-site medical services in a theme park three states away from her with an entire management team of their own, but it’s hard, when you’re the one making the excuses. When it’s your face they see as they’re being made.

She also knows that the report will disappear. That when she goes to lunch later, she’ll come back and they’ll just be gone, and when she mentions it again, they’ll say that page didn’t exist and that she must be mistaken. She wonders briefly if any of this is even worth it, but she doesn’t have time to contemplate because her coffee order is being announced by the pick-up bar.

She picks up the coffee, and then a voice rings out.

“I think that’s mine.”

She looks up to find a redhead, looking unamused.

“Um, no…” Karolina says, trying to get a better read on the cup’s marking, “This was my order.”

She worries that the woman is going to start a fight with her in the middle of the coffee shop, which she absolutely does not have time for, and she checks her watch, thinking about just abandoning the coffee and heading off to the office. As she does so, the woman speaks up again.

“Wait—do I know you?”

Karolina looks up again, inspecting the woman closer, and then she realizes. Shiv Roy.

“I work for Waystar,” Karolina says. “I don’t think we’ve met before.”

Karolina thinks it must be weird, knowing there’s an entire ecosystem of people who know everything about your existence, yet you know nothing of theirs.

“Are you sure?” Shiv asks. “What’s your name?”

“Karolina,” Karolina says. “I’m in the PR department.”

Shiv’s eyes widen, and an amused smirk forms across her face.

“I know you,” she says. “Your press releases were all the rage when Kendall went on his last bender.”

She’s unsure of how she should respond to one Roy sibling being amused by another’s devastatingly public mental breakdown, but she figures she should just please whichever Roy is in front of her at any given moment, and right now, that means Shiv.

“Well, I wasn’t aware I had an audience,” she says. “I’m glad he’s doing better.”

“Right,” Shiv says. “We all are.”

Karolina can’t tell whether she’s being sarcastic or genuine, but she decides she doesn’t want to know, and anyway, she needs to get into the office to get all of this theme park shit squared away before the new deal briefing. She was left with the coffee in the grabbing war, but she offers it to Shiv instead, who immediately waves her off.

“No, take it,” Shiv says. “It’ll piss my dad off if I’m late.”

She’s smirking again and the flash of unbridled rebellion in her eyes is unmissable. It’s the kind of pleasure that can only be found in a child doing something specifically to mess with their parents.

“You’re coming into the office?” Karolina asks, surprised. She can already feel her sleep schedule go to ruin at the thought of the pages and pages of internal memos and presentations she’ll have to draft about what it means for another Roy to be entering the ranks of the C-Suite.

“Just election stuff,” Shiv says, as if she were reading Karolina’s mind. “Dad doesn’t like my candidate so, he dragged me all the way out here just to let me know.”

“Kind of him,” Karolina says, feigning a smile. If she sees Shiv squint at her inquisitively, she doesn’t let it show, and she holds up the coffee in front of her. “Um, thanks, and good luck, with the uh, pissing him off.”

“See you around?” Shiv says, her words trailing off like it’s some sort of proposal that Karolina better say yes to. She finds that she wants to, but Karolina will be the first to admit she finds no pleasure in pleasing.

“Bye, Shiv,” she says, not looking back to see the expression on Shiv’s face.

—

The deal goes through, and Logan is elated. The whole room is, really, but Karolina’s been mulling over this theme park case and can’t find it in her to be happy over something as trivial as money when they’ve got a negligent death on their hands. Karolina tries to leave the room as fast as possible, to go deal with this in the peace and quiet of her own office, but Logan stops her before she can escape.

“How’s that kid?” he asks her.

She grips her laptop tight against her chest, and in the heat of the moment, she can’t stop from snapping. Albeit calmly.

“You mean the dead one?” she asks, her voice tight.

She stares at Logan, and she knows her own expression is unreadable. Everyone in the room seems to hold their breath, but she just quirks an eyebrow.

“The situation,” Logan clarifies.

“It’s under control,” Karolina confirms, which really, is all she had to say in the first place.

“Very well,” he says, gesturing for her to leave.

She ignores Shiv’s impressed gaze on her way out.

—

The parents want to sue.

Logan agrees to settle, not uncommon for theme park accidents regardless of who is the faulty party, as long as the problem can be swept away as quickly as possible and kept out of public court records. She feels sick thinking about how she’d explained the situation.

Due to the waivers upon entry into the park and the necessary warning signage for each ride, we are under no liability when a park attendee suffers a medical incident due to their own personal negligence. In this particular case, there is still cause for concern in how we administered first aid, but if we settle with the parents now, we’ll still be able to control the narrative in the media.

Then, she empties her lunch into the toilet as she recounts the lawyers telling the parents Logan’s offer.

Give them one-seven and lifetime passes.

She pushes the shame back somewhere unreachable, and when she exits the stall, one Shiv Roy is reapplying her lipstick in the mirror.

“Didn’t think that was in anymore,” Shiv says, absentmindedly.

Karolina rolls her eyes as she walks to the sink, wondering why Shiv Roy suddenly thinks they’re sparring partners.

“I ate something bad for lunch,” Karolina says, feeling annoyed that she’s even trying to explain herself at all, and she rinses out her mouth and washes her hands, hoping it’ll cleanse away even a little bit of the guilt that’s still lingering.

She can feel Shiv’s eyes on her as she dries her hands and lifts her purse onto the counter, digging through it. She successfully ignores the unwanted attention until there’s a hand in front of her, holding out a piece of gum in a sleek, silver wrapper. She stares at it for a second, and then grabs it.

“Thanks,” she says, flicking her eyes to Shiv’s through the mirror.

Shiv shrugs, closing her own bag and propping it back on her shoulder.

“I liked the way you talked back to my dad,” she says, then leaves the bathroom.

Karolina wonders if a Roy liking anything about her is a good thing.

—

Somehow, Shiv gets her number.

Her immediate thought is no, because she thinks getting involved in any capacity with the political strategist-daughter of her temperamental boss is the last thing she should consider, especially during an election year, but Shiv says it’s strictly business and that she could use some advice and just a quick round of drinks?

So, what’s the harm? Worst case, Shiv does have ulterior motives and Karolina just has to tread lightly, best case, she genuinely wants advice and Karolina gets to restore some of the karmic balance in her morally disturbed life.

That’s how she finds herself sitting at a high top in a dingy dive bar, watching a news anchor read her press release about the theme park death on national television. Her words feel so sterile being read out to her, and she tries to gauge the reactions of the other patrons of the bar, but it doesn’t seem like anyone’s paying attention. She suddenly wonders if she cared too much, but then she remembers the way the mother had cried during the legal proceedings, and she doesn’t think she could have ever cared enough.

By the time Shiv shows up, Karolina’s on edge.

“Shiv, I’m not really authorized to give out advice that might conflict with the interests of Waystar,” she warns.

“The conflicts are all economic,” Shiv waves off. “Tax breaks and antitrust. Nothing that’ll take down the company, I promise.”

She’s not sure how much a promise is worth coming from Shiv, but she decides to stay cordial.

“Sure,” Karolina says. She’s also not sure how much the economy would warrant such a lengthy visit from his youngest child, but she lets it slide. ‘So, what do you need help with?”

“Narrative,” Shiv says. “How to spin something ugly, in your favor.”

Karolina’s strength.

“How ugly?” she asks.

“Pretty ugly.”

A number of options run through Karolina’s mind.

Denial. Payouts. Intimidation. Convoluted paper trails. Victim-blaming.

“Is this something you can stop from getting out?” she asks instead.

Shiv shakes her head, and Karolina sighs.

“For a political candidate, you obviously need to be in control. Ten steps ahead,” she says. “Simply ignoring allegations creates a sense of distrust but addressing them head-on after they’ve come out or minimizing them feels dishonest, especially if this is going to be a big story.”

“So…what?” Shiv asks, “You admit to it?”

“Whatever you say, it needs to be believable, and you need to say it first. It doesn’t have to be an admission of guilt,” Karolina says. “It can also be an admission of rehabilitation.”

Shiv writes something down in a small notebook she’d brought, and Karolina finds that she’s surprised by Shiv's reason for this meeting actually being true. Shiv looks up as she writes, and Karolina takes it as a sign to continue.

“Say it’s a DUI charge,” Karolina says. “You emphasize that the client has worked hard to move on from a troubled time in their past and they’ve been consistently making great strides in doing so. They attend regular AA meetings, they’ve been sober for ten years, they have a happy and wonderful family. Show that they’re human.”

“What if they’re a truly terrible human?” Shiv asks.

Karolina twists her beer bottle in her hand. It’s a fragile game, helping terrible people escape the consequences of everyday life. She just wishes she weren’t so good at it.

“Donations are a decent safety net,” Karolina says. “People like to see a rich man put his money where his mouth is.”

Shiv writes more on the notepad and Karolina takes a sip of her beer.

“I think I’ve seen one or two of these things on Kendall’s Instagram story before,” Shiv says as she looks up again.

“You have,” Karolina replies, unamused. She chews on her lip, starting to feel uneasy. “I assume it’s worse than a DUI?”

“Just a little,” Shiv says. “Any advice for something more…unconventional?”

Karolina’s been trying to avoid setting Shiv up for the truly amoral routes, but there are only a few ways that situations like this can go. Still, she opts for one of the easier-to-stomach strategies in her arsenal.

“I’d go with sex addict,” Karolina says. “It’s still stigmatized, but there’s some sympathy to be had if you’re labeling the problem as something that can be worked on. A lot of people won’t buy it but…some will.”

“That’s…” Shiv trails off.

“Horrible,” Karolina finishes for her.

“I was going to say smart,” Shiv says, “but horrible works too.”

Karolina feels sick again. She wonders if she looks it, because Shiv closes her notebook and leans back in her seat, trading her pen for a swig of beer.

“And what if you get paid the same amount, regardless of how this scandal affects the outcome of the election?”

Karolina raises her eyebrows and takes a deep breath as she thinks.

“Then…you suggest your client’s donation is very sizable, and you leave some room for legal action in their public statement, if needed,” Karolina says. “Like, that they’d be willing to speak with those they’ve affected to apologize, or something to that nature. The victim’s lawyers will come crawling.”

“And I can still sleep easy at night,” Shiv says.

Karolina averts her eyes.

“Sometimes,” she says, drinking her beer.

“Well,” Shiv says, “maybe that’s a pipe dream in this line of work.”

Karolina used to think it wasn’t, but the decisions add up. The choices add up.

“Is this your first?” she asks.

“Scandal?”

Karolina nods.

“No,” Shiv says, shaking her head. “My first as the lead, though.”

Karolina remembers her first. It was at some hedge fund straight out of college and the Chief Financial Officer was found embezzling. She wishes things were still that simple.

“You’ll get used to it,” Karolina says, seeing ATN has moved on from discussing the theme park. “Enough people won’t give a fuck.”

Shiv follows her eyes, frowning slightly at the TV. She turns back to Karolina, sympathetic eyes now boring into her. Shiv leans forward.

“I’m sorry about my dad being dismissive over that kid,” she says. “Obviously you know what he’s like, but…yeah. On behalf of the Roys. For whatever it’s worth.”

Karolina shifts in her seat. She’s not sure why this specific assignment is hitting so hard. Maybe it’s as simple as the fact that a kid died, but she’s also been running ragged the past few months with acquisition after acquisition and deal after deal. It’s possible she just needs a damn vacation.

“Thanks, Shiv,” she says. “I appreciate it, really.”

When she’s in bed that night, unable to close her eyes, she finds it doesn’t really make a difference.

—

She doesn’t see Shiv for another five weeks, until the annual Waystar Gala.

It’s usually a nice night. The Waystar team focuses on making sure the shareholders and board members feel like their money is worth something more than just brainwashing Middle America with right-wing news and shiny new cruises and theme parks. It should be a night where the executives are distracted and Karolina can slip away, not have to clean up twenty-billion messes that shouldn’t even exist, but she could never be so lucky.

The parents of the kid didn’t accept the terms of the settlement. Somehow, the red tape got muddled and the after-action report was discovered, so they’re suing for medical negligence. It’s impossible to spin now. Waystar killed a kid.

So, instead of drinking champagne and leaning against a wall somewhere with Gerri playing daughter or wife?, she’s in Logan’s suite-turned-war room, staring him down as he yells at her. He’s spouting something about, how the fuck did you miss this and this is why need killers in the room instead of soft crybabies who are worried about doing the right thing and back in my day if you died in a theme park that would just be the end of it and you’d just be fucking dead, which, Karolina doesn’t think is true, but she’s not going to argue that one with him right now. His rant goes on for a while, and she’s not brand new to being the target of his rage, but it’s definitely the most intense treatment she’s ever received, and it doesn’t help that it’s about a faulty death of a child and she’s being berated since it’s somehow her fault they got caught.

“Well?” Logan shouts when he’s finished, a cue that it’s her turn to get a word in.

“I have a meeting with legal scheduled,” Karolina says calmly. “We’re going to discuss what our exact options are, and we’ll work from there. If we have to hang some brass at the park, we will, but there’s a chance we can still sway the parents into settling if we offer enough.”

“Sure, drain my fucking pockets for a bunch of deadbeats,” Logan grumbles. “That’s all?”

“Unless you need something else?” she asks, which, she really hopes he doesn’t because she doesn’t think she can stand to be in this room longer than it takes to end the conversation. He watches her carefully, but she stands her ground, her hands gripped tight around her phone but her expression neutral.

“Fuck off,” he finally says.

She wastes no time leaving the room. Gerri knows better than to try and follow her, but Shiv tries to stop her on her way out of the suite to which she can only offer a raised hand a shaking head. She just needs to get outside. She finds her way to a staircase labeled with roof access, figuring a few floors up is quicker than fourteen floors down, and she briefly thinks about how this definitely has to be a disaster waiting to happen for the hotel, because of course, the only thing Karolina knows how to think about is managing the crises of wealthy people who have no regards for anything at all.

By the time she makes it up (the door was unlocked, by the way) she’s not entirely sure whether she’s totally out of breath due to the two flights of stairs or because she’s on the verge of needing a gallon of sedatives her in system, but her educated guess is that it’s definitely the sedatives and she should at least try to get her head on straight before she ruins her whole career because she couldn’t handle five minutes of reprimanding.

She feels the familiar swell of anxiety in her chest, and although it makes her feel better to know she’s not suddenly become a ‘soft crybaby,’ it doesn’t make her feel better to know an issue she thought was behind her is back, because really, the timing could not be worse. She frantically digs through her purse, hoping for some odd reason there’s a pill left over, but there’s nothing, her old emergency stash gone from years of dormancy. Her back is turned to the door she came out of, but she can hear the door swing open and a pair of heels slick toward her.

If she could just find a cigarette.

“How do you do that?” Shiv’s voice rings out, though it sounds distant and muffled, and she finally finds a smoke and a lighter.

She turns around, not quite able to figure out what Shiv is referencing. She’s using everything in her to just stay calm, hoping the encouraging infusion of nicotine can help soothe her quickly rising panic levels. Except she can’t hold her fucking hand steady enough to spark the lighter.

“Do what?” she asks, cigarette hanging out of her mouth and lungs inflating and deflating at a very rapid pace. She tries to spark the lighter again, but her shaking hand shifts just as she gets it and the flame nicks her thumb, causing her to drop the lighter in a quick yelp of pain, “Fuck!”

“Woah, woah,” Shiv says, rushing forward. She bends down and picks up the lighter, “It’s okay, come on, I’ll do it.”

Karolina looks to her briefly, still confused as to why Shiv’s even on the roof with her, but she nods, raising the cigarette back to her mouth, hand still trembling at an embarrassingly high rate. Shiv lights it and Karolina closes her eyes as she inhales, welcoming the dizzying distraction for the few seconds it lingers. She holds the smoke in for as long as she physically can, and then blows it out into a steady stream, making her way to a wall across from the edge of the rooftop. She leans against it, grateful she can move some of her energy from trying not to fall over to trying to breathe, and Shiv follows her.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” Shiv says, and Karolina thinks it’s a stupid thing to say, because why would Shiv even know whether or not she smoked?

“I don’t,” she says. “I quit.”

“Well, you’re doing a great job,” Shiv says, laughing to herself.

Karolina might laugh if they were under any other circumstance, but she can’t and she feels bad because her attempt probably comes out more like a strangled gasp of air than anything else. She’s definitely still a misstep away from hyperventilating her lungs out, so she can’t find it in herself to feel too bad.

“Sorry,” Shiv then backtracks, “I can leave—if you need—”

“No,” Karolina says, surprising herself. “You can stay.”

“Okay,” Shiv says. “Okay. Yeah, um…I’ll just, I’ll be right here.”

Karolina nods, closing her eyes and resting her head against the cool brick of the roof. Her neck tingles as she does so, but before she can spiral about what that means, she tries to focus on Shiv’s presence, the shifting of her dress against the brick and the sounds her heels make as she gets comfortable. She just tries to breathe through it, waiting for her body to catch up with her mind and realize she’s not in any immediate danger.

“I saw your, um…fuck—your story break,” Karolina says between deep breaths. She thinks she must sound incredibly silly trying to have a conversation like this when she can barely even breathe, but she thinks a conversation might help her through it. Force her to find some semblance of air. “The supportive wife on Good Morning America—it was a, um, it was a nice touch.”

She can’t gauge Shiv’s reaction, because her eyes are still closed, but she seems to take the hint as she carries the conversation on like nothing is actually wrong and they’re just casually having a smoke out on a rooftop.

“Well, I thought about the strategy you proposed, you know, victimize and humanize the client, so when the wife seemed amenable, I thought, why not take it one step further and turn the whole family unit into victims?” Shiv says. “If his wife can forgive him, you can too.”

“You gonna vote for him?” Karolina asks.

“You know, unfortunately, I’m still not a registered voter in the District of Columbia,” Shiv says, feigning disappointment. “So, I’ll just have to sit this one out.”

Karolina laughs, very briefly, trading it inward for another shallow breath. She pushes herself against the back wall harder, just willing it to keep her steady enough to not fucking topple to the ground.

“You sure you don’t want me to get someone?” Shiv asks. “Something?”

Karolina tries to think, but she can’t really go beyond what’s in front of her, and right now, that’s Shiv.

“I don’t know, um…the talking—that was helping,” Karolina manages to get out.

“Okay,” Shiv says, sounding slightly nervous. “Uh, beautiful weather out here to have a panic attack in, really, I must say. You picked a great night.”

Karolina can’t help her eyes from opening at that, even cracking a smile through the labored breaths.

“Jesus,” she says. “That was bad.”

“Well, this isn’t really something they teach you about in political strategist school, so,” Shiv says, though she looks a little proud of herself for the small bit of progress, even if wasn’t intentional.

“Maybe not when you buy your way through a degree,” Karolina says. She’s not sure the remark has her usual bite, which is probably good because it’s a risky joke when she doesn’t know Shiv that well, but Shiv actually laughs once Karolina’s said it.

“Fuck off,” Shiv says, an unlike her father, it sounds warm and comforting and she actually has a ghost of a smile.

Karolina tries backing off the wall, just a little bit, but the sudden movement brings back another bout of dizziness. She brings a hand to her forehead, as if she can somehow just will it to pass, but the aggressive thinking just sends her nerves skyrocketing again, as if she’s in quicksand and the struggle keeps making it worse. She tries quickly turning around, resting an arm against the wall and she hangs her head in the space next to arm, hoping the small enclosure can somehow create a false sense of stability.

“I’m sorry,” Karolina says. “I just need another second.”

She thinks she probably needs more than just a second, and she’s sure Shiv can guess that too, but Shiv obliges, and Karolina uses the silence to actually focus on her breathing, counting ins and outs, until the pattern is a little less erratic. Shiv doesn’t speak again until Karolina’s turned back around, no longer stumbling at just trying to stand.

“Does this happen often?” Shiv asks, her voice softer than Karolina has ever heard from her.

“Not anymore,” Karolina manages to say, and then immediately regrets it, because this is Shiv Roy and there’s really no reason to be divulging anything to her at all like she’s some kind of emotional dumping ground.

“I’m sorry, I—I shouldn’t—” Karolina shakes her head, still battling to find words in her malfunctioning head. “You can go. You don’t have to stay.”

“What, and go back down to that reenactment of the House of Usher?” Shiv chuckles. “I’d rather be up here. Watch the family crumble from afar.”

Karolina goes to take another drag of the cigarette, but it’s mostly burned out. Her hand is still shaking, though far less, and she’s able to take a steadier huff than before, getting what she can out of it and dropping it to the ground.

“Didn’t the whole house fall?” Karolina asks. “I’m not sure the roof would be the best place to stand.”

“In that case…” Shiv sounds nervous. “Do you want to get out of here?”

Karolina raps her knuckles against the wall, the statement makes her breath hitch again.

“To go where?”

“Uh, presumably an apartment,” Shiv says. “With a bed.”

Karolina laughs nervously and eyes Shiv, Shiv just staring back at her with a smug smile. Karolina stops laughing.

“Shiv, I don’t know what makes you think—”

“I’m joking,” Shiv says.

Karolina immediately sighs a relieved breath of air, nearly having forgotten that she was supposed to be trying to breathe at all.

“I mean, unless young, business-savvy redheads are your type,” Shiv says, still shining a sickeningly arrogant smile. “Though, maybe you’ve been eying one of the geriatrics downstairs? Might be tough competition for me.”

“God,” Karolina says, Shiv’s words finally making her laugh for real.

Shiv looks almost a little too proud of herself for making Karolina fully smile, and she wonders if there’s any hint of truth in Shiv’s initial invite, but she tries to not let her mind even go there. She does think it would be nice to just rid herself of this evening, but…with Shiv?

A softer expression then takes hold of Shiv’s face, and Karolina’s again surprised at this nicer side of a Roy. She wasn’t actually sure any of the bloodline had it in them.

“I’m serious, why don’t we just blow this fucking raisin farm,” she says. “Crack open a bottle of wine, get out of these heels…shit talk my dad?”

Karolina almost wants to say yes, but then she remembers the mountain of new paperwork she still has to get through the pounding headache that she knows is due any second.

“I appreciate the offer, really, but I think I just need to go home,” she says, hoping she comes across as genuine. For whatever reason, there’s still a small part of her that would like to take Shiv up on it. Maybe she would have if the night turned out differently. Shiv seems to accept the response easily, though Karolina’s sure Shiv is a pusher under the right conditions. In any case, she does feel ready to sleep for the next three days, and she knows it’s the right thing to do, so she texts Gerri to let her know that she hasn’t offed herself and that she’s just going to go home for the night, and pulls up her car service app.

“Hey, at least let me get you a ride?” Shiv asks, gesturing to Karolina’s phone. “Just so I know you’re okay.”

Karolina isn’t shocked at the gesture. She thinks maybe if her father treated employees like this, she’d also go out of her way to avoid a lawsuit waiting to happen, but there’s also a certain vulnerability to Shiv’s tone, like maybe she is doing it completely out of the goodness of her own heart. Maybe a small part of Karolina is hoping Shiv is doing it for selfish reasons as well. She’s finding that despite the circumstance, some small part of her has actually been enjoying Shiv’s company.

“Okay,” she finally says, nodding her head. “Um, and thank you for, you know, this…”

Her voice trails off, because really, she’d lying if she said she wasn’t a little embarrassed.

“Don’t mention it,” Shiv says. “I’ve seen worse.”

Karolina thinks back to her last Kendall Roy press release and cringes, deridingly feeling less bad about her episode. She follows Shiv to valet, and she uses the car ride to regain some of her energy, letting the potholes and honking taxis lull her back into a state of semi-normalcy. Shiv seems to respect the quiet, not really speaking beyond offering her water and asking whether she prefers the radio on or off, and Karolina feels a little bad that she’d underestimated Shiv’s capacity for genuineness.

When they get to her apartment, she pretends like she doesn’t want to change her mind and invite Shiv up.

—

Shiv starts texting her.

It beings with a checkup, asking her how she’s feeling and if Shiv can do anything for her, which, fine, fair enough, but then she starts texting more. Asking Karolina how her day’s going, sending her funny (in Shiv’s opinion) headlines about her brothers, asking for Karolina’s thoughts on her work, making suggestive passes that Karolina has to constantly dodge. She doesn’t notice at which point she gives into it, only realizing she’s gone too far when Shiv says she’s going to be back in town again for a few days and asks if they can go out to dinner. No, not asks. Insists.

Karolina, in all her stature and fortitude, can’t find it in her to say no.

Which has her rushing into a crowded restaurant after work on Friday night,

“No worries,” Shiv says. “I’ve been having fun trying to guess what kind of fire you could’ve been putting out so late on a Friday. I wrote down my best guess, wanna hear them?”

“Sure,” Karolina says, her voice letting Shiv know that this is an indulgence and not anything more.

Shiv laughs to herself as she pulls out the list, and Karolina finds it cute.

“Ready?” Shiv asks.

“As I’ll ever be,” Karolina says.

“Karl and Frank have been outed as lovers?”

Karolina nearly chokes on her wine, “Karl wishes.”

“Dad purchased a sex shop chain.”

Karolina quirks an eyebrow, thinking Shiv sounds suspiciously hopeful about that one.

“That would be fun to explain to ATN viewers,” Karolina says. “But no.”

“Boring,” Shiv huffs. “Okay, next one. Roman gave out MDMA at his keynote?”

Karolina thinks her expression must actually be horrified, because Shiv immediately defends the guess.

“Don’t act like he wouldn’t do it,” Shiv says.

“I don’t even want to speak that into existence, Shiv,” Karolina says, letting out a disbelieving laugh. “That would be the worst day of my life.”

“And it would be the best day of mine,” Shiv says, as if she’s waxing poetic. “Okay. Ready for the last one?”

“I’m not sure I am,” she says, eying the crowd in the restaurant. Their table is secluded enough, but it takes one person hearing Shiv Roy out of context and running to page 6 to create a media frenzy. “But go on.”

“Shiv Roy and Karolina Novotney seen on a date?”

Karolina tries her best to look unamused, though she thinks she’s failing miserably, because she can feel her lip twitch upwards just a fraction, and Shiv can’t be bothered to wipe a dramatically shit-eating grin off her face.

“Close,” Karolina says, teasingly.

“Oh really?” Shiv asks, looking smug as ever.

Karolina rolls her eyes, mostly playfully, but then her expression falters a bit when she thinks about the actual hold-up. “It was the last of the theme park settlement. We were stuck in litigation all day, but the parents ultimately agreed to the settlement.”

Shiv leans forward across the table, all hints of humor discarded.

“And?”

Karolina looks down.

“Airtight NDA,” she says.

Shiv makes a noise of disapproval.

“Silenced,” Shiv says.

Karolina shrugs, “It’s what your father wanted.”

At least, that’s what she tries to keep telling herself.

“My dad also wants four wives and to own the entire island of Manhattan,” Shiv says, taking a sip of her wine. “Doesn’t mean it’s a good thing.”

Karolina can’t help her defenses rise.

“I’m not saying it’s right, Shiv,” she says. “I’m just saying it like it is.”

Shiv immediately looks sorry, and Karolina feels bad for snapping.

“Of course not,” Shiv says. “You’re just doing your job, I know.”

Karolina isn’t sure how to respond, worried that all she’s good for lately is just souring the mood, but Shiv seems intent on making it a good dinner.

“Hey, we’re due for a subject change, yeah?” Shiv says. “You grow up around here?”

“Pittsburg,” Karolina says. “I moved down here for college. Never left.”

“Really?” Shiv asks, intrigued. “What school?”

“Columbia,” Karolina says, and Shiv suddenly looks excited?

“I went to Barnard,” she says.

And Karolina can’t help but roll her eyes, because—

“Of course you did,” she says.

Shiv rolls her eyes in return, but then leans closer across the table, as if she needs to whisper.

“This kind of makes us sisters, doesn’t it?”

She wags her eyebrows and Karolina can’t help herself from falling to the bait.

“I hope not,” she says, and Shiv wastes no time going in.

“Oh, so you don’t want to be sisters?” she asks, feigning offense, then confusion. “I wonder why that is?”

Karolina pauses, knowing she has to tread lightly for the rest of this conversation.

“Shiv, I don’t think we should even go there.”

“Come on,” Shiv whines. “I can’t even make a joke?”

“Well, are you joking?”

Shiv seems to think, and then rests her chin in her palm, elbow on the table.

“Do you want me to be joking?”

Shiv sits there expectantly, waiting so patiently it’s almost defiant, and Karolina wills herself to just shut Shiv down.

“You are…” she trails off.

“Diabolical? Conniving? I’ve always been partial to cu—”

“Very pretty,” Karolina finishes.

Shiv pauses. She looks extremely satisfied, but not like she thinks she’s won yet.

“But?” Shiv asks.

“But,” Karolina draws out, “You’re my boss’s daughter.”

“Well, what, are you gonna send him a detailed report in the morning if we have sexual intercourse?” Shiv laughs. “He’s not gonna know.”

Karolina looks around, still concerned there could be prying ears or eyes, and she subconsciously toys with the silverware in front of her.

“I can’t assure that,” Karolina says, quirking an eyebrow at Shiv.

“If I want to keep my inheritance, you sure as shit can,” Shiv says. “Which I very much do.”

Karolina fully believes her on that front, but she’s still not sold on the idea. She likes Shiv, she really does, but…is this too far?

“Shiv, I really don’t think it’s appropriate.”

“I’m sorry, is there a clause somewhere in your contract that says it isn’t allowed?” Shiv asks. “You know my dad has been trying to pawn me off of the12th floor for years, right?”

Karolina eyes Shiv closely, looking for any hint of a set-up, or disingenuousness. She downs the rest of her wine, just as the waiter arrives with their meal.

“Buy my dinner and I’ll think about it.”

Shiv smirks.

“Deal.”

—

It’s not until they’re halfway undressed in Shiv’s bed, and Karolina’s hovering over her that Shiv says it.

“I have a boyfriend, by the way,” she says, hands paused around Karolina’s waist. “Do you care?”

Her immediate thought is yes, and this is wrong, and we shouldn’t be doing this, but she thinks through all of the truly awful shit she’s done recently and thinks that this won’t even take the cake. Fuck it.

“Do you?”

—

It doesn’t become a regular thing, but it’s about as regular as it can get when Shiv is constantly between DC and NYC. Karolina tries not to think about it too often. She keeps her head down and does her work, she dodges the usual comments and questions about her love life from male clients, she dodges Gerri’s questioning gaze when her answers seem less snarky and more serious than usual. So, maybe she isn’t keeping her head down, but it’s like, mid-level, for sure. And besides, does she have to entertain sleazy men all the time?

Shiv texts her more frequently, sending her something funny she thinks they’ll both enjoy or send something suggestive that she thinks Karolina will enjoy, which no, she doesn’t think it’s a crime for banning Shiv from trying to sext while she’s at work. That issue comes to a head when they’re on the jet traveling for a business meeting, and she can’t help but scrunch her face at Shiv texting, “Come on, everyone does it,” because, really, everyone?

“What is it?” Gerri says, at the same time Karl pipes up, “Bad news?” and she wonders how used they are to her being stoic as a fucking stone that the one time her expression shows any emotion, they think the company is on the verge of collapse. Though, she does fear for the health of the lot if they found out she’s fucking Shiv Roy while twenty-thousand feet up in the air.

“Nothing,” Karolina says, locking her phone. “I just read something.”

“Oh,” Karl muses sarcastically, “You just read something.”

He and Frank still look uneasy, but Gerri just looks suspicious. Karolina eyes her and Gerri pulls a face, as if to say, the fuck? and Karolina just makes a face back, as if to say, shut the fuck up, until she remembers that when a man is being annoying, she’s supposed to be snarky. That’s normal for her. Karolina Novotney makes fun of men and is definitely not fuck-buddies with Logan Roy’s daughter.

“I did,” she finally says. “Do you still remember how to read, Karl?”

His face freezes in the way that he knows he’s been bested, and Gerri and Frank just laugh at him until Logan shouts from the other end of the cabin and they all simmer down like a bunch of school children who have just been put in quiet time.

She resists picking up her phone for the rest of the flight.

—

Situations like that continue, Shiv pushing and pulling and Karolina trying her best to stay malleable. She’s having fun, she is, but she can’t stop thinking about Shiv’s boyfriend, how he’d feel if he found out. It’d be one thing if Karolina didn’t know, but the fact that she does and she’s still a willing participant—it doesn’t feel good. She lets it break her one night when Shiv is in town and they’re having one of their usual meets and she catches a glance at Shiv’s lock screen. He keeps texting her. Karolina does everything she can to not read his name, but she knows it’s him, especially since by the third ding she just flips the phone over.

“Shiv—wait,” Karolina says, lightly pushing Shiv off of her.

“What’s wrong?” Shiv immediately asks, eyes giving Karolina a once-over. She suddenly feels self-conscious in the bed, pants already gone and shirt almost entirely unbuttoned.

“Nothing,” Karolina says, almost as if on instinct, but then, “Not nothing, I’m just…I feel like this is…wrong.”

Karolina’s eyes quickly dart in the direction of the phone, and Shiv’s follow. Shiv sighs, and Karolina thinks if Shiv could pick any superpower in the world right now, she’d figure out how to explode common objects with her eyes.

“You’re worried about Nate?” Shiv asks, and Karolina wishes she didn’t just give him a name because it only makes this all a million times worse.

“It’s not really a nice thing to do to someone, Shiv,” Karolina says. “Fucking his girlfriend when I know he exists.”

Shiv scoffs, and Karolina braces herself for impact.

“You just successfully paid off a family suing Waystar for killing their kid and you’re worried about fucking over a guy you don’t even know?”

In Shiv’s defense, she does seem to regret the words as soon as they come out of her mouth, but the damage is already done once they do. Karolina tries to let them roll off of her, but a blatant reminder of the fact that she’s complete and utter shit doesn’t really help, especially when she hasn’t even finished beating herself up over it just yet. She gets out of the bed silently, not even able to look at Shiv (out of anger or shame, she’s not quite sure) and starts buttoning up her shirt.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” Shiv says, following her out of bed. “That wasn’t fair of me—”

“I know I’m not a good person, Shiv…it’s not some, secret,” Karolina says. “I go to work, and I cover up bad behavior and I make awful people sound like saints and I do it with a smile on my face because I’m good at it, I am. But I don’t need that to follow me home.”

“That’s not—”

“If I can just have one piece of my life where I’m not a villain just for existing, that would keep me sane,” Karolina says. “So, no, I don’t want to be your fucking—homewrecker, Shiv. I don’t need to imagine the upset face of your boyfriend every time I close my eyes, and I certainly don’t need the excess guilt, because I promise you, I already have enough.”

Her chest heaves and she has to take a few deep breaths to stop herself from completely breaking down over the outburst. She makes a mental note to schedule someone to talk to, because really, this is getting out of hand, but it certainly doesn’t help when your fuck-buddy insinuates that you personally covered up a murder.

Shiv seems slightly frozen in place, and Karolina gets it, because how can this girl even think about other people as if they’re humans with feelings when it’s blatantly clear that nobody has ever extended that same care to her?

“Karolina, I—”

“It’s okay,” Karolina interrupts, “It’s okay, Shiv, I’m sorry, that was—”

Shiv nods along encouragingly with a type of patience that feels almost undeserved when Karolina is the one that keeps putting them both in this fucking tired savior dynamic, but she really feels like this moment might be her breaking point because she doesn’t know how much longer she can keep pretending that it doesn’t feel like she walked into that theme park and ripped out that child’s heart herself.

“Will you just…I mean can you—can you just hug me?” she feels stupid for asking, she feels stupid standing here in Shiv’s penthouse just being absolutely pathetic, but she doesn’t know what else to do.

“Okay,” Shiv says quietly, and although there’s a supportive lull to her voice, the hug is still hesitant.

It’s not until Karolina actually starts crying that Shiv seems to understand that Karolina just needs to be comforted, and Karolina can feel this realization when Shiv just holds her tighter and then brings them back to the bed. Shiv lets Karolina lay in her arms, and she plays with Karolina’s hair, and occasionally whispers something that Karolina’s too distracted to understand but likes the sound of anyway, and she wishes that Shiv thought more highly of herself as a person who can be there for others, because she’s doing a pretty good job at it.

Sometime later, when Karolina’s stopped and she thinks Shiv has fallen asleep, Shiv speaks up.

“I’m breaking up with Nate.”

Which, Karolina doesn’t necessarily believe because it would’ve made the night a lot better if it had been brought up sooner, and she also doesn’t want to believe it because what does it mean if Shiv’s out there breaking up with people just so they can continue to fool around?

“Shiv, I’m not trying to give you an ultimatum here,” Karolina says, voice tired. “And I don’t want you to lie to me, either.”

If Shiv takes offense to the accusation, she doesn’t let it show. She just sighs and plays with Karolina’s hair again, and turns off the bedside lamp illuminating the room.

“It was a dead-end relationship long before you came into the picture.”

For some reason, Karolina believes that.

—

Shiv didn’t lie to her.

Karolina’s not a stalker, but it is her job to keep tabs on people, so why not keep tabs on the one person who happens to be with the same person she’s…involved with? The tabs are showing that he has a new girlfriend. Some blonde off of Capitol Hill with a degree from Georgetown and a few low-profile successes. A downgrade from Shiv. Karolina feels another twinge of guilt still lingering from the situation, but she’s been dealing with it better, thanks to actually following through with speaking to someone.

She tries to remember phrases like healthy guilt and unhealthy guilt. The theme park payoff is a grey area, but at the end of the day, she was just doing her job. Being the messenger doesn’t make you the bad guy: unhealthy guilty.

Fucking a woman who told you she had a boyfriend, but recognizing you were doing something wrong and attempting to fix it, only for her to break his heart: unhealthy guilt.

She finds it works for her, being able to put things into boxes and categories. She can be more rational about it all that way.

“I’m glad it’s helping,” Shiv says, one night as they’re laying on the couch after dinner. She’d been back in town more frequently because she has a high-profile election coming up that’s going to keep her busy. She said she wanted to spend all the time with Karolina that she could get. They’ve had a rotation of movies on that neither of them is paying attention to, just enjoying one another’s company.

“Me too,” Karolina says, shifting her arms closer around Shiv. “Thank you, for being there.”

Shiv just shrugs, always nonchalant when it comes to accepting gratitude.

“Just promise to be there for me too when I’m going through my menopausal midlife crisis.”

Karolina can’t see her face, but she can certainly hear the smirk in Shiv’s words, and she just scoffs.

“Just remember who’s controlling the PR narrative when you do,” she replies, and Shiv laughs, then looks up.

“You know you’d make me look like an angel,” Shiv says, then mimicking Karolina’s voice, “Waystar Royco is aware of Shiv Roy’s recent behavior and the Roy family is taking all of the measures necessary to ensure she is receiving the proper care at this time—”

Karolina rolls her eyes.

“How am I doing?” Shiv asks. Her playfulness has been the biggest surprise in getting to know her.

“Sounds like someone reads all of my press releases.”

“Well, you know I’m your biggest fan,” Shiv says, smiling.

Karolina blushes, something she’s found herself doing more and more around Shiv recently.

“I think I’m going to put in for a promotion at the end of the year,” Karolina says. Shiv looks surprised, but she definitely doesn’t look worried, so that has to be a good sign, right?

“Oh?” Shiv says. “Feeling bossy?”

The one thing that hasn’t surprised her is Shiv’s ability to make an innuendo out of any situation. Karolina knows she must pull a face because Shiv’s immediately sitting up, giving Karolina her undivided attention.

“Come on, tell me about this promotion,” she says.

“My boss suggested to me that he might be leaving,” Karolina explains. Hugo from Cruises has also been eying the position for a while, but, I don’t know. I think I’m better.”

“Well, my dad certainly likes you,” Shiv says.

Karolina frowns.

“You think?”

“You’re like, the only person I’ve never seen him insult for longer than a sentence without giving up,” Shiv says. “I think he respects you.”

“As much as he can respect a woman,” Karolina says.

“Still more than some people get,” Shiv says.

Karolina nods, letting that thought sit.

“I think you’d do amazing,” Shiv says. “You’re already doing half the leg work. They’d fall apart without you.”

Shiv lays back down, settling into Karolina’s chest again.

“Thanks, Shiv.”

Shiv just squeezes Karolina’s hand and turns her attention back to the movie. They’re like that for a while, and Karolina’s just getting into the plot again when Shiv speaks.

“Do you think we could ever…” she pauses. “Be a real couple?”

The question sends a sharp pang through her stomach. She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t thought about it. She’d also be lying if she told Shiv yes.

“I think if you want your father in your life and I want to continue having a career…” she shakes her head, not wanting to finish the sentence. “I don’t know, Shiv. I don’t think so.”

“It could work out,” Shiv reasons. “Maybe he’d find the idea of lesbians hot.”

“You’ve been hanging out with Roman too much,” Karolina says, not wanting to even consider the idea of Logan finding her hot.

“I think that would hurt Roman’s feelings if he knew you’ve been saying that,” Shiv says.

“He’ll cope,” Karolina says, eyes following some train-based action sequence that’s on the television.

“I’m not being serious-serious,” Shiv says, continuing the main conversation. “I just…think about it sometimes.”

Karolina sighs. This conversation just makes her sad, because she genuinely believes that it would be a dramatic fall from grace for Shiv if they were to actually do it.

“Maybe if you found another billionaire-heiress your own age who wasn’t in a high-level position at his flagship company,” Karolina says. “Maybe he’d stomach it enough to not disown you.”

“He’s not that bad,” Shiv says, though it doesn’t sound like she necessarily believes herself, and Karolina hesitates on responding.

She likes to think Logan might not be that bad deep down, but she hears the things he says behind closed doors and cleans the messes he makes in front of open ones. She’s sure Shiv’s seen more and worse, though, so she won’t press it. It’s not for her to decide whether or not Shiv should believe there’s good in her father.

“What’s your dad like?” Shiv asks.

Karolina’s breath hitches slightly at the question, and she knows Shiv isn’t going to get the answer she wants. She briefly considers lying, like it’ll help them both somehow if there’s an imaginary good father between them, but it’s useless.

“He was a very sad man who liked to hit my mother,” Karolina admits.

Shiv’s hand twitches against Karolina’s torso. Karolina doesn’t really scream issues the way Shiv and her siblings do, but she thinks that maybe it’s different when your dad isn’t the founder of a multi-billion-dollar Fortune 500. Maybe there’s less pressure to stay. Karolina’s father never had to pretend to love her. He just pretended to not hate her.

“Did he ever hit you?” Shiv asks.

Karolina thinks it would be a more upsetting question coming from anyone else. Because it is, a prying and awful question that she feels sick just even thinking about, but she finds she feels comfortable with Shiv. Maybe it was that first night on the rooftop, or maybe even as far back as the gum in the bathroom, but Shiv has consistently shown up for her. Karolina trusts her.

“Once,” Karolina says. “Right before I went away to college.”

He was mad that she was leaving. Mad she figured it all out without him, mad that he wasn’t a better father. Sometimes, if she’s not paying attention it’ll creep up on her, the way he slammed her against the wall of their living room and the picture frames behind her just shattered to the floor. How she had to sleep on her side for the first two weeks of school because she’d had to get stitched on the back of her neck and she couldn’t lay down any other way. The way he’d slapped her and pointed his finger in her face and just yelled when she tried to fight back.

Shiv just nods, like this all makes perfect sense. Like this is just how fathers should be expected to behave.

“Sometimes I wish he would just finally hit me,” Shiv says. “Then it might be easier to hate him.”

Karolina just holds Shiv tighter, intertwining their hands together. Shiv rubs her thumb along the side of Karolina’s hand, and Karolina battles all the different words swirling around in her head.

“It wouldn’t be,” she eventually says.

—

Shiv goes back to DC to work with the client. She calls Karolina a lot, like when she’s commuting to work or waiting for the office’s lunch order. Karolina laughs at her because she thinks it’s funny imagining Shiv Roy picking up the group lunch order for an office, but Shiv seems extra keen on impressing this client. Shiv won’t talk about him with her, which she does find odd.

Past clients would have her sending diaries worth of complaints and personal details, but this one gets virtually nothing out of her. At first, she thinks maybe Shiv’s just being respectful. Turning a new leaf because it’s her biggest client so far and she doesn’t want to accidentally cause trouble. Karolina can respect that.

They’re making out in Karolina’s bed, finishing off a short trip Shiv made back home for the weekend, when there’s just one question she can’t shake.

“Why don’t you ever say his name?” Karolina asks.

Shiv pauses over her immediately, one hand still on Karolina’s waist and the other much lower. She looks thoughtful, but Karolina would be lying if she didn’t think there was a twinge of annoyance in Shiv’s response.

“I don’t want this to be a thing, Karolina.”

Karolina stiffens.

She can’t help it when a shocked, “Oh,” leaves her mouth. Shiv’s fucking him.

Shiv sighs and runs a hand over her face. She reaches over Karolina and turns the lamp on, excusing herself to the bathroom.

It’s not until Shiv’s walking away from Karolina that she sees a small littering of bruises on the backs of Shiv’s arms. They don’t look new, but they don’t look old either. She tries not to jump to the worst-case scenario, especially given the new information she’s just acquired, and she pushes it to the back of her mind. Shiv likes it rough. She would know.

When Shiv returns, she just crawls back into the bed, seemingly giving up on their previous position.

“Do you want to…?” Karolina’s at a loss, because there’s usually only one thing Shiv wants, and it’s hard to stop her once she’s gotten started, but Shiv just shakes her head and lays down in Karolina’s lap.

“Ca we just stay here?” she asks.

“Of course,” Karolina says, relaxing into the pillows behind her. She runs a hand lazily through Shiv’s hair and lets her fingers brush over the remnants of the bruising she can now see up close. “Whatever you want.”

She pretends not to notice as Shiv silently cries.

—

Their calls become less frequent. The campaign trail is picking up, of course, Karolina doesn’t live under a rock, so she knows it’s a busy time, but ever since that weekend she’s been sick with worry.

After work, she decides to call Shiv and ask her to cut the shit. She’s feeling good about it, until a man picks up.

“What?” His voice is angry and mean.

“Uh…I’m sorry, is Shiv there?”

The line is silent until she thinks she hears Shiv’s voice, distant in the background of the other end.

She hears a, just give me my fucking phone, and then a, is that her? and Karolina has to stop herself from shouting at this man into the line because she’s afraid she’s already put Shiv in enough danger just by trying to call her.

There’s some indistinguishable arguing until his voice is back on the line, “Don’t call this number again,” and then the call cuts out.

She doesn’t call again, because she’s not an idiot, but she does pace for a good fifteen minutes before deciding to send Shiv an email from her burner account. It was from when they first started hanging out, and Karolina was paranoid about everything. She thinks now that maybe they were right to be careful back then, if this is where it’s led them.

She doesn’t get a response for two sleepless nights and three horrifyingly long days, until her phone wakes her up in the middle of the night, Shiv’s contact illuminating the room. It knocks the sleep out of her immediately.

“Shiv?” she says, worriedly.

“Can I come to your apartment?” Shiv asks, getting right to the point. Karolina tries to listen for anything wrong in her voice, but if there is, she’s doing a good job at hiding it.

“Where are you?” Karolina asks, turning on her lamp.

“At the airport,” Shiv says. “There’s a car coming, I—I don’t want to be—Can I just come over?”

“Yes, of course,” Karolina says. “The doorman will let you in, okay? Just come up when you’re here.”

Karolina waits anxiously in her living room. She turns on the TV, but the sound of the trashy late-night laugh-tracks becomes too overwhelming and she turns it off, opting to sit in silence while she waits, trying not to let her mind wander too much. Maybe they just got into a fight. A normal fight. She lets that thought consume her until she hears her front door handle twist, and she rushes into the foyer.

She gives Shiv space, and Shiv doesn’t say anything as she removes her coat, and then her hat, and Karolina tries to inspect her movements from the angle she’s at, but Shiv still hasn’t turned to look at her and when she starts to fuss with something in her bag it feels like might be avoiding it altogether. Karolina can feel an awful dread settle in her stomach.

“Shiv, will you please look at me?”

She can see Shiv’s eyebrow furrow and her chest rise a little faster.

“I just need to find something,” Shiv says, kneeling down with the bag. She’s still off to the side, not letting Karolina get a good view apart from her profile.

“Can you please just let me see your face?” Silence. “Shiv—”

“What?” Shiv shouts, finally fully looking at Karolina. For a moment, Karolina wishes she could go back in time and not push Shiv to turn around so quickly, because she doesn’t think she was ready for the way it feels having Shiv stare her down with a bruised and bloody eye. It’s not the worst Karolina’s ever seen, but the contrasting purples and reds on Shiv’s pale skin make it look more alarming, not to mention the fact that it’s Shiv. Her Shiv.

Shiv stands and Karolina takes a tentative step forward, careful not to invade Shiv’s space, and she notices there’s also a gash above Shiv’s eyebrows. It doesn’t look fresh, which she can only assume means this happens a few days ago, which also narrows down the suspects in confirming her suspicion.

“How’d that happen?” she asks, anyway.

Shiv looks deeply uncomfortable, and Karolina’s heart breaks at how small she looks.

“My phone, it—it hit me, accidentally,” Shiv says.

“Your phone hit you, accidentally,” Karolina says, not buying it.

Shiv nods, looking away from her.

“And was it in someone else’s hand, accidentally?” Karolina asks.

Shiv pretends to think, and Karolina can tell she’s staving off tears.

“Um..no, I think it—it might’ve been in the air, yeah,” she sniffs. “Like, maybe someone threw it.”

“So, someone threw your phone, and it accidentally hit you,” Karolina clarifies.

“But it wasn’t supposed to,” Shiv says.

“What was it supposed to hit, Shiv?”

Shiv shrugs.

“The wall?” she says, as if that makes it any better.

Which, it doesn’t. Because Karolina doesn’t buy the story and Shiv knows she doesn’t buy the story, but that’s still the only story she’ll ever get, and Karolina accepts this about Shiv. That Karolina will tear her heart open wide and Shiv will only ever meet her a quarter of the way. That doesn’t matter though, not now, at least, because Shiv clearly needs all of Karolina, whether she can face admitting it or not.

She approaches Shiv slowly, testing the waters of contact until she reaches an arm around Shiv and the floodgates finally open, anything she’d been holding in the last few months just pouring out. Karolina thinks that not long ago, the roles were reversed, but somehow, she’s not optimistic that there’s a clear way out of this one, the strange debt that Shiv thinks she owes to the various men who worm their way into her life.

For now, she just hugs Shiv and pretends like it might all be okay.

—

Shiv asks to stay for the week.

On one of the nights, Karolina finds Shiv on the balcony after waking up in the middle of the night to an empty bed. She’s toying with a carton of cigarettes, a lit one in her hand, just simmering away as Shiv watches.

“I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to use the first-hand smoke,” Karolina says, sitting down next to her. “Not the second.”

Shiv smiles, though it doesn’t nearly reach her eyes, and she taps the growing ash off of the cigarette before moving it towards Karolina, offering it to her. Karolina hesitates, thinking there are few things she could use more than a smoke right now, but decides not to take it. Shiv seems to remember then that they’ve spoken about this before.

“Sorry,” she says. “I forgot that you quit.”

“It’s okay,” Karolina says. “I’m a little grey about the rules sometimes.”

Shiv looks at her with an inquisitive gleam in her eye. That look usually means trouble, but tonight, it just feels pensive. Karolina hesitates again though, because she’s shared so much of her past with Shiv and she can’t remember the last time she let someone know this much about herself. She’s happy to share again though, if it means getting Shiv out of whatever headspace has her sitting out on a balcony at four in the morning.

“I was in a pretty serious relationship,” Karolina says. “We’d started talking about family planning, so…”

“Did you…?” Shiv’s voice drifts off, but Karolina can imagine the question.

“Get pregnant?” she finishes for Shiv, and Shiv nods. She shakes her head. “The first round didn’t take. Which isn’t uncommon, but…my partner, it gave her cold feet.”

“Was this recent?” Shiv asks, an edge of concern now coating her voice.

“No,” Karolina assures, grabbing Shiv’s empty hand in her own. “Almost ten years ago, now.”

The statement makes Karolina feel like a walking warning for Shiv. Like she better get her shit together now or she’ll end up a lonely workaholic with all those years of living and nothing material to show for it. Except Shiv doesn’t look alarmed, she just seems sad.

“Well, you’re a stronger person than me,” Shiv says. “I probably would’ve become the world’s most talented smoker after that.”

Karolina smiles sadly.

“I guess I’m good at letting things go.”

She doesn’t look at Shiv as she says it, but Shiv’s hand shifts in her own and she momentarily feels bad for saying it at all. She decides to change the topic, if only just a little bit.

“I didn’t know you smoked too,” she says. “I’ve never seen you do it.”

She feels Shiv tense up next to her.

“Oh, um…yeah, I don’t really,” Shiv says, stumbling through her answer. Karolina eyes the ashtray, noticing a couple of butts already in there, burned down to the brim, but she doesn’t think chain-smoking makes much sense for someone she’s never even seen bring a cigarette to their lips.

“You a secret pyro?” she asks, hoping to get even a small smile out of Shiv, but it doesn’t work.

“I don’t know what the fuck I am,” Shiv says, sighing. “Just, royally fucked up, maybe.”

Shiv lets go of Karolina’s hand and wraps her arm around her torso, her fingers stopping in a spot that makes Karolina go very still. She’s not sure how she didn’t put the pieces together sooner. She remembers seeing marred skin in that exact spot across Shiv’s hipbone. An inconsequential spot, the kind that nobody can ever get close enough to see unless they’re also receiving NDA and a lay in the pitch dark. It was faded then, and Karolina doesn’t think she would’ve noticed if they hadn’t screwed so many times, and when you’re paying attention to someone you like, you notice. The middle of an orgasm isn’t necessarily the time and place to ask about it though, so she never brought it up. It wasn’t her business anyway.

Right now, it feels a little bit like her business.

“Shiv…” Karolina says, sitting up. She’s sure Shiv can follow her eyes as they dart from the ash tray to Shiv’s hovering hand with the cigarette and clearly all over Shiv’s body as she looks for damage, and Shiv’s body tenses up in defense.

“No, it’s not—I haven’t done anything,” Shiv rushes out. It sounds like she’s trying to convince Karolina, but Karolina can only ever trust Shiv as far as her eye can see, and currently, she can’t see a lot.

“But you have?” Karolina asks.” Before?”

Because if Shiv can pry, then Karolina can pry too and she worries that she’s being too hard, being too mechanical, but this is scary and it’s right in front of her. Shiv looks away from her and taps more cigarette ash into the tray, the bulk of it almost burned out, as if it’s a timer that dictates when Shiv is going to stop entertaining this conversation.

“In college, I—” she cuts herself off. “I just needed something to make the pain different. Something I could see.”

Sometimes I wish he would finally just hit me.

Karolina’s breath hitches. Her gaze hovers over Shiv’s eye and Karolina wonders if she still thinks that.

“And what about right now?” Karolina asks.

Shiv cocks her head and her face twists in that way that Karolina knows she’s using everything in her to stay in a place of control.

“I just want to feel anything,” she says, in a low voice. A few silent tears finally escape her eyes, leaving tracks over the now lighter smothering of purple and yellow hues surrounding her eye. The bruise had gotten larger as it faded, trailing from her eye, to her hairline, and then slightly across her cheekbone.

Karolina shifts back next to her and coaxes Shiv into her arms, lightly taking the cigarette and putting the last of it out. If Shiv flinches at the crackle of the embers meeting the ashtray, Karolina doesn’t mention it.

Karolina knows that in the morning they won’t talk about this, that they’ll get out of bed and Shiv will say something dismissive like, “Last night was interesting, huh?” and Karolina will have to laugh it off, assure Shiv that Karolina still sees her as something formidable, like she’s not a little girl that the universe has tasked Karolina with fixing and that Karolina doesn’t hold all of the cards in their dynamic even though sometimes it feels like she actually does.

(She thinks deep down, that Shiv has to know. Every action they take, every step they’ve gone forward, has been due to Shiv’s brazenness, sure, but it’s all been contingent on Karolina saying yes. She has the power of veto, yet they both seem to ignore that until a reminder rips through their lives.)

She’ll make Shiv coffee, just the way Shiv likes it, and Shiv will spout off polling numbers for the man that Karolina is pretty sure she should find and publicly maim in the middle of Washington, and she’ll act happy. She’ll say, “That’s great, Shiv. Really, you’re doing a great job,” and Shiv will pretend she means it. It’s their dance.

Karolina thinks if she were a better person, she might not tolerate it.

—

Then, Shiv starts to slip from her. Not in noticeable ways, and not like before, but it’s noticeable to Karolina, and it feels like she’s being avoided. Like, their calls that had resumed frequency suddenly slow down again. When they do get a chance to talk it’s like Shiv is rushing through their conversations, itching to get on the line with someone else. When she asks what Shiv’s been up to, she just gets vague answers.

“Work. Sleep. Strategy meeting. Sleep. It’s all the same these days.”

Karolina tries not to care. Shiv was never hers, not really. She was an idea, a playmate. If she has to let her go, then whatever, she has to let her go, but that doesn’t stop it from hurting.

The confirmation eventually comes from the last person she ever thought it would, because Logan of all people asks Karolina the most bizarre question when he calls her in early before a morning briefing.

“What do you think about that Tom guy?” he asks.

“Tom?” she asks, feigning ignorance. Because of course she knows Tom. He’s the biggest kiss-ass below the top floor, not to mention the rumors. Which Karolina thinks should’ve been enough for her to get a clue, but maybe she was being obtuse on purpose. Maybe she thought Shiv would have the decency to tell her this time.

“From the Resorts Division,” he says. “Any rumblings about him? Errant behavior?”

Karolina has half a mind to lie, to say that she’s heard whispers that he could be trouble, that he’s a little too eager to make it to the top—but if Shiv’s happy…then fine. If it can’t be her, then fine.

“Nothing I’m privy to, sir,” she says, sending him a curt smile.

Logan makes a noise of contentment.

“Will you keep an eye on him?” he asks. “Let me know if the image down there is…inadequate.”

“Of course,” Karolina says, taking her seat.

She thinks it’s kind of fucked up that she has to give a presentation right after this news, like finding out the girl you’re fucking has probably been lying to you and seeing someone else should qualify for at least a half-day off or something, especially if your boss is the one who told you and the girl is his daughter, because really, is she seriously not even worth a, by the way?

They have plans to see each other that night. She’s going over to Shiv’s place and they’re supposed to make dinner together and do whatever the fuck it is that they do these days. How to bring it up tortures her all day until she gets there, and all she can do is act cold. She knows silent treatment is juvenile and bordering on cruelty, but she can’t help it. She’s just so angry.

“Okay,” Shiv finally says, putting her utensils down. “What’s wrong?”

The question makes Karolina halt, but then she finishes chopping the tomato in front of her, not slowing down until it’s fully cut. She slides the diced vegetable off the cutting board and into a bowl, and then sets it all down, wiping her hands clean.

“How long?” she asks, looking to Shiv.

“What?” Shiv asks, expression immediately confused.

Karolina can’t help but to roll her eyes, and she can’t stop the accusatory tone from coming out as she speaks.

“You know what.”

Which only makes Shiv angry, because if any of the Roys have a short fuse, it’s her.

“I’m not a fuckin’ mind reader, Kay,” she says.

Karolina can’t stop it as a sarcastic laugh escapes her, and she crosses her arms, still somehow in disbelief that Shiv won’t just fucking tell her.

“I seriously had to find out from Logan,” she says, almost to herself, and she turns away from Shiv.

“Yeah, still not getting whatever telepathic link you suddenly think we have,” Shiv says.

Karolina turns back around, almost willing Shiv to take the opportunity that Karolina’s giving her, to just tell her straight up so that Karolina can still pretend that Shiv cares about her the way she cares about Shiv. But Shiv doesn’t bite. It’s like Shiv can see Karolina at her worst but the one time the cards finally flipped she couldn’t take it. Shiv Roy would rather ruin it all than let Karolina be a witness to her vulnerability.

“Tom?” Karolina says, Shiv’s face finally dropping in recognition. “Does that name ring any bells?”

Shiv crosses her arms. If Karolina is going to give her a second chance to fix it, this would be the moment.

“Uh—No, I—that doesn’t sound..” Shiv clears her throat. “Doesn’t sound familiar, no.”

Karolina clearly hoped for too much.

“No?” she says. “Okay.”

She walks away from the kitchen, and starts going around the apartment, picking up various things she knows belong to her. She hadn’t realized how much their lives were intertwined at this point, and she wonders if that’s why it hurts so much. She spent so much time letting Shiv in, sharing parts of herself that nobody gets the privilege of these days and Shiv just couldn’t handle doing it back. She reminds herself that they could never be anything more than what they were, that it was always a dead end, but maybe she’d tricked herself. Let herself think briefly that they could make it work in their own, private and fucked up way.

“What are you doing?” Shiv asks, following her trail.

“I’m going home,” Karolina says, shoving her work files into her bag. “I’m going to run a bath, and I’m going to drink my wine, and I’m going to pretend you didn’t just lie straight to my fucking face.”

Shiv’s expression hardens, and she runs a hand across her face as if Karolina’s just told her something trivial that’s simply inconveniencing her day.

“Come on,” she says. “What do you want me to say?”

Karolina lets out a hostile huff of air, turning quickly from her bag to face Shiv.

“What do I want you to say?” she repeats. “How about, hey, Karolina, remember how you told me you weren’t comfortable seeing me if I was in a relationship? Well, this just in, I’ve actually been in one, so, get fucked I guess!”

She stalks away, heading for the door.

“You can’t be fucking serious,” Shiv says, quickly following her.

Karolina stops in her tracks abruptly and turns around, Shiv nearly running into her as she does so. One more chance.

“How long?” she asks.

“Queen of lies and manipulation wants to sit on moral high ground now,” Shiv says, a new bite in her voice. “Were Nate and TK not fully deserving of your mercy?”

Which is a low blow, because they’d talked about this. Karolina had almost let the guilt from Nate blow up her life and now Shiv’s weaponizing it against her. But if Shiv wants to go low, Karolina can go low.

“You’re admitting those were real relationships now?” Karolina asks. “I thought they were just placeholders for when you couldn’t find someone willing to hug you at night.”

Shiv laughs sharply, shaking her head.

“That’s real rich coming from you,” Shiv says. “At least I have people. Don’t you get lonely waiting for your young piece of ass to come visit you in secret once every two months? Might wanna get serious about love, babe. The clock’s ticking.”

Karolina’s face twists, and there are strings and strings of insults and blows she’d like to deal Shiv right now, but one simple word just takes hold.

“You’re rotten, Shiv.”

It’s at that moment that Shiv seems to realize the gravity of her actions, because she was right, Karolina is the queen of being a fucking bitch, and if she’s backing down from a fight, then you’ve probably gone too far. Shiv’s chest rises and falls in a small huff and she runs her hand through her hair, looking frustrated.

“I’m sorry,” she says, though it sounds forced and somehow, Karolina’s not quite buying that she means it.

“How long, Shiv?” she asks, even though she thinks the chances are over. She just needs to know. “I’m not asking again.”

Shiv’s body stiffens and she averts her eyes, the classic Siobhan Roy tell that Karolina is never going to get what she wants.

“I don’t know,” she says, shrugging. “A month? Two? Maybe, less—I, I don’t know, Karolina. I’m not keeping score of how many dates I’ve been on recently.”

“Jesus,” Karolina says to herself, not wanting to believe that Shiv had been lying to her for this long.

“I don’t understand why it’s such a big deal,” Shiv says, which makes Karolina snap, because Shiv does know. They’ve had endless conversations why it’s such a big deal and Shiv still chose to disrespect her. “Tom’s not even—”

“It’s not fucking about Tom, Shiv!” Karolina finally bursts. “It’s about you. Did you just think all this time we’ve been hanging out without fucking was just fucked up domestic foreplay? You’re my friend, and you lied to me. About something I really tried to trust you with.”

She thinks Shiv looks regretful, she thinks Shiv looks a little bit ashamed, and she also thinks Shiv looks sorry, but Karolina knows that she isn’t going to back down. Shiv is going to dig her heel in and make it worse because what else should she expect from a Roy who’s been backed into a corner?

“He’s never gonna know, Karolina,” Shiv argues, and Karolina can’t believe that months later they’re still having this conversation.

“But I’ll know,” Karolina says. “I’m going to have to go into work and see his fucking face every day, and the only thing I’ll be able to think about is how I’m fucking his girlfriend. Do you even care how that makes me feel?”

“I don’t see why it has to make you feel like anything,” Shiv says. “He doesn’t matter to you.”

It’s in that moment Karolina truly accepts that Shiv isn’t going to let her go. Can’t let her go. She feels like she walked into this, like from that first mischievous smile in the coffee shop she should’ve known that this would ultimately crash and burn. She sniffs, and realizes she’s crying. As she brushes away a tear, she sees the way Shiv jerks on instinct, like she knows there’s something catastrophically wrong with being the reason for Karolina to cry. Karolina just takes a calming breath.

“Shiv, I think we need to be done here.”

Shiv’s expression immediately falls, any anger and understanding immediately overcome with shock.

“You don’t mean that,” Shiv says, and if Karolina didn’t know any better, she’d think Shiv was about to start crying too.

“I do mean that,” Karolina says. “I don’t want to mean it, but I do.”

Shiv turns away from her for a second as if the mere sight of Karolina is suddenly too much, and Karolina gets it because looking at Shiv right now, it’s taking everything in her not to just fall to Shiv’s feet and take everything that she’s said back. It kind of feels like their worlds are falling apart, and in some sense, Karolina thinks they are.

“This couldn’t go on forever, right?” Karolina says, a sad resignation in her tone.

But Shiv grows slightly angry again, because Karolina knows this isn’t the outcome that she wanted, and Shiv certainly gets everything she wants. Karolina thinks that’s just what she tells herself.

“You’re making a mistake,” Shiv says, coldly.

“I’m making a choice that you don’t have the guts to make,” Karolina says.

If she were a better person, she would hug Shiv, one last time. If she were less selfish, she’d drop the act and she’d pour her heart out one last time, assure Shiv that things will be okay and one day they’ll move on from this, but she doesn’t. Instead, she picks up her bag, and those are the words Karolina leaves her with. She briefly wonders if she’s not so different from Shiv. If she also took the cowardly way out because leaving Shiv crying in her doorway was easier than begging Shiv to just be with her for real; but she’s not a better person, and she likes being selfish because it’s always been practical. Shiv Roy would’ve destroyed her, if she weren’t. Karolina almost let her.

So she goes home, and cries for a day, busying herself with emails and press inquiries and she lets it sink in all that she’s losing, all that she’s lost. She eventually finds the last of Shiv’s things, a sweater here and a book there, and ships them off, and has to move on. Pretend like none of it ever happened.

“You’ve been keeping an eye on Tom?” Logan asks one day, late into the next week. The thought of him still makes her hands curl in an undetectable fit of jealousy.

“He’s on vacation currently,” Karolina says. “There are rumblings that he went off to Paris.”

There are also rumblings that Siobhan Roy was spotted in Paris with a mystery man. Karolina swallows the anger of knowing he won, and she thinks it’s stupid, because he didn’t even know there was competition.

Logan seems pleased with the update, and she’s sure he’s seen the tabloids anyway.

“Very well,” he says.

When she goes to leave, he beckons her back.

“Yes, Logan?”

“I heard you put your hat in the ring to step up,” he says, shuffling papers on his desk. He pauses, and then looks up at her.

“I did, I…thought it might be time,” she says, arms wrapped tightly around her binder.

He eyes her and she holds her breath, thinking it’s funny how one man has seemingly held the key to everything in her life recently. She thinks she should hate him, then she remembers how Shiv can’t.

“We should have a talk about what that would mean for you,” Logan finally says. “Block out an appointment with Joan.”

She bites down the excitement in favor of keeping her exterior calm, simply nodding her head.

“Okay, I will,” she says. “Thank you, Logan.”

He returns to his work, not bothering to say you’re welcome, and Karolina takes that as her cue to exit the office. She unlocks her phone, not even realizing where her fingers are heading until she’s already there, hovering over Shiv’s contact. Her heart swells and her step falters for a moment. She hesitates, wanting so badly to just give in and press it. She knows she shouldn’t. She takes a deep breath, and then locks her phone.

Maybe not a better person, but at the very least, better off.

#succession #shivlina #shiv x karolina #shivlina fic #succession fic #shiv roy #karolina novotney #mine #wow #ok #duskfalls

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rina-writes · 2 years

Text

Season’s Greetings

Warnings: Fem!reader, smut (18+ minor dni - male!oral, penetration, suggestive language), fluff

Summary: You are visiting Jack’s hometown, Louisville, for the first time and it’s also Christmas. This means you are feeling a bit of pressure to make a good impression on Jack’s family, but Jack’s mind is on other things.

You felt Jack’s clear blue eyes on you. Your gaze was fixated forward. You worried what you might miss if you turned your head for a second. His sedan, an expensive black rental that he requested last minute from the airport, was moving at a pretty decent clip for the suburban area. Your eyes were darting around looking for small animals and young children who could jump in front of the car. If you were in your own hometown or one of your usual haunts with Jack, you wouldn’t be as paranoid. However, out here, you didn’t want a single thing to ruin today. Being this stressed was exhausting. It didn’t help that your boyfriend was watching you more than he was monitoring the road. You pressed your lips together and sighed,

“Eyes on the road, Jack.” You said calmly making him laugh.

“What makes you think I’m staring at you?” Jack teased, winking at you. “You’re cute, but not that cute.”

You turned toward him, rolling your eyes dramatically. “I am that cute, actually.”

Jack turned to look at you and grinned. “Yeah, you are.”

His toothy grin warmed your heart. Suddenly, you realized this was what he wanted this whole time: For you to look at him, banter with him, and tease him like you usually do. He was an attention whore, but so were you. It had been a year since you and Jack started dating, but you two were still obsessed with each other. After all, in that year, you probably spent the equivalent of about three months together in person. With him traveling for work and your personal commitments, it was difficult to meet face-to-face. When you did, you spent most of the time in the bedroom. If you weren’t in the process of love making, you were cooking and eating food. Outside of music, Jack thoughts were controlled by his stomach and his dick. You couldn’t judge: you weren’t much different.

Jack’s large, pale hand gripped your knee through your dress. His palm enveloped your knee, his fingers stretched to tickle the top of your leg. He moved his hand in a circular motion, not so subtly bunching the dress up in the process. You knew it was a matter of time before that hand started to head north towards your heat. You squeezed your thighs together instinctually, causing a low chuckle to rumble in his chest. There was a twinkle in his bright blue eyes as he spoke,

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you dressed like this. You look so innocent.” He smiled, “I kinda like it.”

You stared down at the dress. You were sure you had one similar when you were kid. It was a bright red a-line dress with a v-neckline that didn’t go too far down, but gave your chest a bit of oomph. The material was thick and long sleeved, with a bit of glittery detailing on the sleeves and the hem of the dress, which extended past your knees. You were wearing your most fashionable black snow boots so you would be able to walk around in the snow. Just in case you got sent on an errand or volunteered to help out with something in the yard.

“It’s new.” You confessed. “I wasn’t sure what to wear and this seemed…festive.”

“Relax, mamas.” Jack’s voice had it’s usual calm pitch as he tapped leg comfortingly. “My folks are happy to have you for Christmas. Just be yourself.”

“I am!” You argued. “I’m just being the best version of myself. I have prepared for everything. I even have a plan if you hit that squirrel over there since you aren’t paying attention to the road.”

Jack laughed as he noticed the squirrel clearly on someone’s lawn with no intention of moving.

“You worry too much. You met my folks and my brother already.” Jack smiled, glancing at you. “And then love you just as much as I do.”

“For now…” You folded your arms. “And I would like to keep it that way. That’s why I got the perfect gifts and wore the perfect outfit and ---”

“How long have you been planning this?” Jack asked, concern evident in his voice. “I mean, my family is super chill. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“It’s a huge deal!” You raised your voice slightly. “This is my first time meeting your extended family, and probably the longest time I’ll spend with your parents. I want to make a good impression.”

“Hmm, good thing you left your hooker dresses at home.” Jack nodded thoughtfully.

Your mouth fell open and you shoved him playfully. Jack broke into a smile, revealing his façade as he chuckled.

“You never complained about my hooker dresses before.” You retorted.

“Yeah, cause I’m a slut too.” Jack laughed, making you laugh more. “Seriously though, baby, you look great. A little bit like sexy Santa Claus, but you look great.”

“Santa Claus is fine,” You nodded. “I don’t want to look like the Homewrecker Who Ruined Christmas.”

“Huh, I missed that one on the Hallmark Channel.” Jack joked, making you laugh.

There was a silence as the laughter died down and Jack focused back on the road. You weren’t quite sure how much longer you had to drive, but you were getting more nervous by the second. Jack pulled his hand back to lower the heat in the car, shifting in his oversized sweater. It was a black sweater with a white polo underneath tucked into his tan slacks. You both looked like a bunch of preppy kids on their way to country club’s Christmas party, but at least your aesthetics matched. As you were thinking about your image again, you realized Jack also had something on his mind as he spoke once more.

“Give me the number.” He requested cryptically. There was no change in his expression, but he knew that you knew exactly what he wanted.

Your eyes shot over to him warningly. “Jack, we’re going to see your parents.”

“Come on,” Jack cooed. “It’s been four months. I need this.”

“You know when we get there, you’ll just want more.” You groaned. “Do you not remember the hoe conversation from fifteen minutes ago?”

“Number.” Jack said forcefully. Then his expression softened and he pouted. In a soft, cute voice he added, “...please?”

“Three.” You sighed out your response knowing you couldn’t say no to cute Jack. Cocky dominant Jack could get a slap to the face, but cutie Jack was too precious. That didn’t mean you would make it easy though.

“Three?!” Jack yelled back, his eyes still on the road. He twisted his lip to the side as he mumbled, “Fine, if that’s how you want to play.”

You smiled to yourself as you looked out the window. You propped your chin up with the help of the arm rest attached to the door. You waited for his first guess.

“Black.” He said, finally.

You thought about it and then shook your head. “Nope, good guess though.”

“Red.” Jack guessed quickly after, clearly feeling proud of himself.

“Nope, another good guess, but wrong.” You grinned, now feeling confident.

Jack groaned. He glanced at you from the corner of his eyes, tracing your silhouette. His eyes seemed to linger on your chest for awhile before a smile broke out on his lips.

“Dark purple.”

Your eyes widened as you tore your eyes away from the window. You frowned at him, folding your arms.

“You saw them this morning, didn’t you?” You said, accusingly. “I don’t have any other dark purple ones. You must have saw them.”

Jack grinned, clearly proud of himself. “I didn’t actually. I noticed the girls had a bit of lift.” He took one hand off the steering wheel to point at his own chest. “You gotta be wearing the purple one. The lacy one that makes ‘em look yummy.”

You blushed softly. “How’d you know I got the matching underwear for it? It’s been sold out for months. I finally got it during the Black Friday sale.”

“You’re so nervous, I figured you would probably wear a matching set under there.” Jack laughed. “Just in case, you know, you get put in the ambulance and they have to rip your clothes off. You’d hate for my mom to see you in terrible underwear.”

You laughed. The thought did cross your mind. Not explicitly, but it was something your family always said. As a result, you always wore good undergarments when visiting someone’s house or going to a special event. It also made you feel confident. This was one of your favorite bras because of aforementioned reasons, but the unique violet color made it difficult to match. You were over the moon when the panties were back in stock. Jack knew you so well.

“Well-played.” You commented.

“Mhmm.” Jack said, his face turning a bit serious. “You know what my prize is…get to it.”

“Jack…” You bit your lip, whining. “We’re going to your parents’ house. I don’t think…”

“I won.” Jack’s voice was filled with confidence as he smiled you. There was also a finality in his tone. He was commanding you in the gentlest of ways. You felt like you were going to melt right there. His eyes met yours with a mix of pride, lust, and adoration. You were compelled to do it despite your reservations.

“You did win fair and square,” You confirmed, convincing yourself.

With a sigh, you awkwardly maneuvered in your seat. Lifting your butt up, you bunched your dress to your waist. You tried to ignore Jack’s constantly glances between you and the road, clearly trying to sneak a peek. With a bit of wiggling and a few grunts, you slipped your underwear off. You bunched the garment into a ball and tossed it into Jack’s lap.

He glanced down quickly, to pick up the garment in one hand. He unrolled it with a flick of his wrist and brought it to eye level.

“Oh my god, what if someone sees you.” You chastised him, glancing around at the empty roads.

“Relax.” Jack cooed, putting it in his pocket. “God, these are tiny. Probably barely covered your pretty little…”

“Alright, alright.” You cut him off, pulling your dress down as far as it could go.

“Kinda wished I saw them on.” Jack admitted. “Next time…I’ll keep them safe, don’t worry.”

Jack reached over to let his thumb caress your cheek softly. You realized you had been shifting back and forth, rubbing your thighs together. You suddenly stopped at his touch.

“Seeing you all prim and proper and knowing your panties are in my pocket is going to drive me wild.” Jack’s voice was a bit raspy, making you swallow. He was definitely horny.

“Jack, behave.” You warned. “I want your family to like me. The last thing I need is to start with a negative reputation.”

“I can’t make any promises.” Jack grinned, putting both hands on the wheel again.

“I don’t expect you to.” You huffed. “Not the way you write about our sex life in your songs.”

“Oh come on…” Jack rolled his eyes. “I don’t talk about you that much. Besides, I never say it’s us, it could be metaphor or a former flame. They won’t know it’s about you.”

“I don’t know…” You folded your arms.

After being shown many pictures of Jack’s childhood home, once the car turned the corner you recognized it immediately. Your heart dropped to your stomach, seeing the amount of car parked around the house, clearly for the Christmas dinner.

“Trust me…no one is going to know.” Jack laughed. “I don’t even know if they listen to my music.”

“Wow, you really do have big, beautiful eyes and nice behind to boot.” Jack’s cousin said, looking you up and down. “Does that mean you were also ‘waiting for him on the hotel balcony, doing a handstand in your birthday ---’”

“Ricky!” Jack interrupted, as if he could feel your anger rising with each lyric being recited back to you. “I think Aunt Helen is calling you to help with the ice cooler.”

Ricky slapped his forehead. “Oh damn, I forgot. Be right back, Y/N.” He said, giving you a finger gun before running towards the garage.

You glared at Jack, who was doing a bad job of pretending to not make eye contact.

“What was that about not knowing which songs are about me?” You whispered harshly.

“Babe, you’re my muse.” He put his arm around you. “What can I say?”

This exchange with Jack’s cousin was your greeting when you emerged from the car. Jack had parked up front and opened the door for you. You stepped out as gracefully as you could, pulling your long black jacket close to your body. The cool air seemed to shoot right up you dress and between your legs with nothing to protect you. It was a cruel reminder that you lost the guessing game. You moved toward the trunk to pull out the gifts you bought, truly feeling like Santa with your sack of presents.

You heard someone barreling over toward you and naturally assumed it was Jack’s brother. To your surprise, it was Ricky, a distant cousin you heard a couple of stories about here and there. He looked nothing like Jack, he was a bit tanner with dark straight hair and a more stocky build. You would have bet money he played football in high school.

You had practiced what you would say if small talk did arise and was happy to put it into action. As you expected, Ricky recognized you immediately and went in for a hug. He made a comment about how he heard so much about you and started teasing Jack about hiding you away. It was then that he started to make comments about you through Jack’s music. Some of it was not about your relationship, but a lot of it was spot on. Before you realized it, your boyfriend’s catalog was being recited to you. You feel like a witness being interrogated by Sherlock Holmes.

You shrugged out of Jack’s arm, playfully as you huffed away. Jack chuckled and followed after you. “Don’t be like that, baby.” He cooed.

“If this is what the rest of the day is going to look like, I’m just going to go home.” You threatened emptily.

“I promise, he’s the only one without tact.” Jack reassured you. “He’s just trying to rile you up and get me in trouble, that’s all. He’s a joker.”

“Still,” You looked pensively towards the house. “Even if he’s the only one saying it out loud, I feel like I’m already building a negative reputation.”

Jack cupped your face in between his hands. They were soft, but his hold was firm as he cradled your jaw. He pressed a hard kiss to your forehead before placing a soft kiss on your lips.

“You don’t have to worry about that. You are the most amazing person I’ve ever brought into this house. There is no doubt in my mind that they are going to wonder what dark magic I used to make you fall for me. You are going to knock their socks off by just being you. Don’t let my cousin make you worried for a second. Got that, beautiful?”

You blinked away tears and gave Jack the brightest smile. “Yeah.”

“Good.” Jack pecked your lips again before pushing you towards the front door.

You were greeted immediately by his mother who hugged you tightly.

“Merry Christmas, darling. I’m so glad you’re here.” She said, warmly.

She was wearing an “ugly” Christmas sweater along with most of the older people in the family. There were a few young folks dressed up like you and Jack, so you didn’t feel out of place. Her eyes darted down to the giant bag in your hand making you blush.

“I can put these under the tree. I tried to get something for everyone, plus a few stocking stuffers.” You explained, feeling self-conscious at the amount that you brought.

“You’re very sweet, Y/N.” Jack’s mother said as she gestured towards the large decorated tree. “Do you need help carrying it?”

The carrying of the bag wasn’t too bad. It was the fact that everyone was in the living room and you had to walk through the crowd to get there. You gulped. You smiled and shook your head.

“I got it.” You confirmed. “Thank you though.”

Jack immediately dashed to your side. “I’ll help you unpack, Santa.” He teased, winking at you.

With Jack next to you, the short walk to the tree was a lot more bearable. You were introduced to all of the guests as Jack smoothly navigating the conversation while you continued marching forward. Once you stood in front of the tree, you let out a sigh of relief making Jack laugh.

“There, the worst of it is over now.” He whispered, smiling at you. He kissed your temple.

You unloaded the presents one by one. You were grateful this dress was so long because the air tickling your folds was distracting. You tried to focus on the moment: inspecting the ornaments and layout of the tree. You saw some homemade ones, your eyes lingering on a couple with Jack’s name scrawled on it. You also noticed a large volume of them at the bottom of the tree indicating that a lot of young kids helped decorate. With both of their sons being older, the Harlow family still seemed to have youngsters to spoil with Christmas traditions.

Jack caught your eye on some of the ornaments and began to explain each one. Seeing him up close to the lights was magical. His hair looked reddish brown in the glow, his blue eyes looked almost gray, and his lips looked very pink. You were tempted to knock him down under the tree just to stare down at him as you kissed him passionately. You forced yourself to focus on the stories of his childhood. His voice was smooth and buttery which made you visibly relax. The rest of the room was melting away. You weren’t quite sure how long you were sitting on the carpet, the heat of the lights warming your skin.

“Come on,” Jack said, standing up. He extended a hand toward you to help you stand up.

“Where are we going?” You asked as you stood, already missing the warmth and safety of sitting next to the tree.

“I’m going to give you the tour.” Jack grinned.

You walked around the first floor, passing by the kitchen. You inspected the spread of food, typical American fare: a ham, mashed potatoes, potato salad, some kind of vegetable dish, and lots of sweets for later. You passed pictures of young Jack and his brother and other imprints of life that could be found in their walls. You smiled as you touched the markings that shown how he had grown over the years. You laughed at Jack’s stories behind dents in walls and peeled paints. Most of what you saw backed up your imagination from Jack’s previously told stories of Kentucky.

Once you made the lap back to the living room, Jack removed his sweater and placed on the back of a chair. He looked great in his polo, as usual.

“You still good?” Jack asked, giving you a thumbs up.

“Yeah.” You nodded, smiling.

“Alright, let me take you upstairs.” Jack pointed upward and you nodded once more.

He grabbed your hand and started to lead you up the stairs. Ricky perked up as though hearing your foot press against the step awoken some thing inside of him. He smiled and called out to you both loudly,

“You crazy kids better leave the door open.” He warned.

If it wasn’t embarrassing enough, Ricky was sitting on the couch in the middle of the living room. It felt like everyone turned to watch you both. You blushed deeply, unable to think of a witty retort or an explanation. Luckily, Jack was happy to take over for you.

“You would like that, you sick puppy.” Jack shook his head as though he felt bad for him. “Listen mommy and daddy are going upstairs right now, try and play with the other kids alright.”

“Jack!” His mother admonished him, covering her mouth to hide a chuckle.

Ricky roared with laughter, obviously the type who could take what they dish. The rest of the group laughed, some albeit a bit awkwardly, before resuming conversation. Jack continued to walk upstairs, pulling you along with him. Once there, he made a beeline for his old room. You were thrilled at seeing Jack’s old room. It wasn’t that long since he had been in there. Probably under five years since he had officially moved out. However, it was completely different from his room in Atlanta.

His childhood room was decorated. His walls had a darkish colored paint on all of the walls except one which was white. The paint was mostly covered by posters from music albums, movies, and his own lyrics. You smiled seeing his small book collection, running your fingers against the spines as you walked past. Jack leaned against the doorframe. He was looking at his room with nostalgia, but also with a newness thanks to you. He was curious what items you gravitated toward and was happy to answer any of your questions.

Jack slowly walked in, pushing the door closed. Your eyes shot over to him. You pressed your lips into a line that showed your disapproval.

“We really shouldn’t do anything, Jack.” You said, looking at an old snow globe that you were flipping up and down.

“I’m 23 years old.” Jack reminded you, resting his hands on your hips. He pulled you into his chest and kissed your forehead. “I am also a very horny 23 year old with his girlfriend’s thong in his pocket. Why can’t we have a little fun?”

“Because, almost your entire family is downstairs.” You argued. “Don’t you feel any shame?”

“Yeah, but not for this. As long as you’re quiet, I think we’ll be fine.” Jack grabbed your chin. “But the real shame is denying them the pleasure of hearing the beautiful sounds you make. They always send a chill up my spine.”

You folded your arms, stepping further away from his bed. You shook your head before turning it to the side to look away from him. Jack pressed your bodies closer together, his hands now snaking around your waist to grab your behind and pull you into him. He grabbed you hard making you gasp softly and meet his eyes.

“Make those beautiful sounds for me, baby.” He kissed your jaw as he whispered in his ear. “I’ll be quick, I promise.”

You felt weak to his touch. You closed your eyes and allowed his hands to roam your body. Jack slowly led your to the bed. Your back connected with the mattress, your arms sprawled out on either side of you. His hands went up and down your thighs. Jack was muttering to himself.

“God, the kid that used to live in this room. With his way too long curly hair, his big glasses and even bigger dreams would have killed to have such a beautiful girl in his bed.” Jack reached up to caress your cheek. “You’re my dream come true, baby. Damn, look at you.”

His hand ran down your neck, down the valley between your breasts to rest on your stomach. His eyes were filled with lust, but there were specks of adoration. A strange feeling welded up inside of you. On the one hand, you were aroused. With Jack’s knee pressing so close to your core, you were resisting grinding against it for friction. On the other hand, you were touched by his confession. Jack always talked with an air of confidence. He never doubted himself. To hear that there was something he thought was unattainable, even in his youth, was shocking. More so, that it was someone like you.

You reached up and wrapped your arms around his neck. You looked at him through your lashes and smiled. “I’m yours, Jackman.”

There was a silence before Jack crashed his lips on top of yours. In between kisses and gasps for airs he finally muttered. “I think I almost nutted in my pants.”

You giggled softly and reached down between you two. You grabbed his crotch. “Let’s check shall we.”

You started to sit up, but he gently pushed you back down.

“No, we’ll make this quick. Just lay back and enjoy, sweetheart. ” Jack said, keeping his promise. “Since my princess is already disrobed from the bottom down, I better catch up.”

He unbuckled his pants quickly. He undid the button of his pants and dropped his waistband just enough to reveal his member. It was thick with an angry red tip already dripping with arousal. You licked your lips, sitting up on your elbows to get a better look. There was something about seeing Jack dressed in frat boy chic of a polo shirt and tanned pants, with his dick out. You wanted to roleplay as a sorority girl and give him head next to a keg…or something. You’d hash out the details later. You had plenty of time for games, this was business.

“Baby, please you’re drooling.” Jack grinned, proudly. “Unfortunately, we don’t have enough time for you to taste it today. Maybe later.”

He pressed his knees on the bed either side of you. He held his member in one hand, teasingly stroking it. You spread your legs making him smile wider. He pulled out his wallet to pull out a condom, earning an eye roll.

“Must you always be prepared?” You huffed. “At least pretend to look around for a condom or something. It almost seems like you planned this.”

“I’m always ready for you, baby girl. You do something to me.” He caged your between his arms and kissed you deeply.

Your lips met his with the same intensity. All of your inhibitions seemed to fade away. You were enjoying the thrill of making love in his childhood bedroom. You felt like a high schooler, trying to keep the sounds of your movement quiet to not reveal the passion to others.

Jack reached down, not breaking the kiss, to grab his member and gently rub it against your thigh. You sighed in his mouth and he swallowed it, a smile evident on his lips. He moved closer to your warmth with teasing taps up your thigh along the way. Once at your entrance, his tip felt heavy pressing against your lower lips. He pulled back to look at you. His eyes were dark now and he looked as if he was holding back everything in him to make this pause.

“Ready, Y/N?” He asked, saying your name so softly and so tenderly you had bite back a moan.

With your lower lip trapped beneath your teeth, you gave him a quick nod. Jack loved your enthusiasm and showed his appreciation by entering you. The first half of his shaft went in quickly and he immediately clasped his hand over your mouth. You moaned into his hand, your eyes wide and excited. He felt so good inside you. He stretched your walls making you feel full, but you knew that you could take it all. You looked at him expectantly, your hips naturally trying to pull more of him in by leaping off the bed.

“Patience, princess.” Jack cooed. “This bed is creaky as hell, we gotta be careful.”

You nodded, but Jack knew better than to uncover your mouth.. The moment he bottomed out inside of you, your legs wrapped around his waist, your hands gripped the comforter and your head tossed back. You were definitely a sight for sore eyes, your chest heaving up and down as your little muffled moans escaped through his fingers. Most of your lower half was off the bed to avoid the aforementioned creaking so Jack placed his free hand in the small of your back to keep you up. The hand alternated between grabbing on one of your butt cheeks and going back to supporting you every few thrusts. His movements were fast and sharp. He knew that if he wanted you both to orgasm quickly, he needed to be rough and hard. He could see tears welding in your eyes from the force and sheer pleasure. He always felt guilty making a mess out of you knowing how hard you worked on your makeup. He just hoped that after being together for this long you would have known to wear waterproof stuff.

Jack felt the familiar clench of your walls around him. Your legs’ hold on him got tighter and your hands were clamoring for him, settling for the arm connected to the hand silencing you. He bent down to get a better angle, allowing for his mouth to be closer to your ear. Now you could hear his soft grunts and moans carefully. He was muttering incoherent nonsense. You could extrapolate a few things: how amazing you felt, how much of a good girl you were, how glad he was to ruin you. It sent chill after chill up your spine. Just his deep breathing as he tried to hold back was making your toes curl. It was so intimate and close. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, blurring your vision as your orgasm shook through you.

Jack was a champ, continuing to thrust at the same intensity and speed despite his release. You could feel the violent spurts as a warm puddle inside of the condom which only made you clench harder. You placed a hand on his back to tell him that you had enough and he slowed his movements. It was gradual as you both came off of your highs. Once your breathing slowed down, he removed his hand from your mouth. He pulled out of you, making quick work to dispose of the condom. The box of tissues on his nightstand were a life saver. He used the tissues to wrap up the condom, clean himself up, clean you up down below, and then gave your a few to wipe off any smudged makeup.

You tidied yourself up in the mirror while Jack straightened out the bed. He cracked the window to vent out the smell of sweat and sex that was lingering in the air. You did another once over you both and smiled looking at Jack.

You waltzed over to him and zipped up his fly. You let your fingers stay on the zipper as he leaned down for a peck on the lips.

“Missed a spot?” You teased.

“You always got my back, mamas.” He kissed your forehead. “Although, usually when my zipper is between your fingers, it’s going in a different direction…”

“Haven’t I given you enough?” You rolled your eyes.

“More than enough, but I’m a greedy bastard.” Jack grinned.

When Jack’s mother came upstairs to check on you both, you were innocently sitting on Jack’s bedroom floor together, looking at his old yearbooks. You looked up nonchalantly, as though you didn’t hear her footsteps from the moment she walked up the stairs.

“We’re going to sit in the family room to open presents before dinner in ten minutes.” His mother announced before adding in a sing-songy voice. “Wrap it up, kiddos…”

“Yeah, we’ll be down soon, mom. Thanks.” Jack smiled, his arm around you as he looked back her.

Once she was gone, he gave you a mischievous grin. “See, she didn’t even notice.”

“Listen, there’s like 100 stories across many cultures about how someone gets lucky and then tries to push their luck.” You narrowed your eyes at him. “They all die in the end.”

Jack shrugged. “Good thing I got lucky in more ways than one.” He pecked your cheek.

Just as you were about to compliment his sweet comment, he pulls part of your underwear out of his pocket while wiggling his brows at you.

“Why do I tolerate you?” You asked laughing.

“Cause I’m so gosh darn cute.” Jack smiled before adding, “ …duh.”

Opening presents with his family was fun. You sat politely on the floor with the other young people as gifts were passed to their expected recipient. Your presents were a hit. For the family members you did know, you got them items that had come up in conversation. For the ones you kind of knew, you got things based on what Jack had told you about them. For the remaining folks, you had back up general gifts like lotion, candles and other knick knacks. Those presents, you addressed as “For the person who like to smell great…” and other hints like that. They all found it to be creative and thoughtful.

His family also bought you a few gifts as well. Of course, you were most excited for Jack’s. You had went the sentimental route with your gift for him. You commissioned 5 artists in Louisville to paint five of Jack’s iconic stage moments into a mural. It was 25 by 32 inches and required you to enlist Urban for his help the night before to sneak it into Jack’s parents’ house for you. Jack teared up a bit and so did some of his relative, so you considered it a big win.

You could tell Jack was proud of his gift as he handed you the bag. There were a few goodies inside.

The first item was perfume. It was from your favorite brand and in a very large bottle. You didn’t even know they sold this size. The second item was a simple necklace with your favorite symbol on it (think like a heart or a butterfly -- whatever you like). It was platinum and diamond encrusted. It was the kind of necklace you could see yourself wearing every day and happily had Jack put it on you right there and then. For your last item, you opened it and upon seeing the Rolex brand, your jaw dropped.

“Jack no…” You shook your head. “...I don’t even want to look.”

“You know I gotta have my girl matching me.” Jack was sitting next to you, and reached over to help you open the box. His left hand stayed near the box for you to see how similar the watches were.

Yours had the same sky blue face with white gold band, but the band and face were slightly smaller. They was also a bit more glam on the face with a few more diamonds by the 12, 3, 6, and 9. You were at a loss for words so, luckily his family hooting and applause filled the silence.

“Take it…” Jack whispered to you, sensing your reluctance. “...I’ve been saving it for awhile. Thank you for being with me. I know it isn’t easy, but you’re mine and I want to show you that I’m proud of that.”

You nodded, feeling yourself tear up and kissed his cheek. You wanted to thank whatever grandma or aunt transitioned to the next present so you could sob quietly on the side. It only made you more sappy when Jack patted your head as you rested it gently on his shoulder.

The drive back to the hotel was much more relaxing than when you were driving to his parents’ home. You were very grateful that Jack politely declined his parents’ offer for you both to stay with them during the holidays. Although you had a lovely time, you definitely felt like you could breathe more now. Jack seemed to be more relaxed as well, but you guessed it was because you were acting like your usual self.

“Thanks again for my watch, baby.” You cooed, reaching over to put your hand on his knee.

Your watch was glittering with the help of the passing streetlights as you drove more into the downtown area of Louisville. Jack grabbed your hand and kissed the back of it.

“Looks so good on you, mamas.” There was pride in his voice. “I swear I’m going to drown you in the best of the best. Spoil you rotten.”

You cupped his chin in your hand, your fingertips tangling themselves in his beard. “I’ll spoil you too. Maybe not with all the fancy things, but I can think of a few other ways to ruin you for someone else.”

Jack’s eyes darted towards you. “Yeah? Like what?” That was a challenge and you happily accepted.

You let your hand drop to his lap again, this time right on his crotch. His legs widened naturally as he groaned. You palmed him through his pants, feeling him harden almost instantly. You took your time undoing his belt, unbuttoning his pants, and zipping them down. Once his dick was freed, a low guttural moan left Jack’s lips.

“You know, five hours ago you were very concerned about me keeping my eyes on the road.” Jack said, adjusting his hips.

“And you should…” You said, slipping your seat belt underneath your arm. “Don’t worry about little ol’ me.”

The moment you started to lean over to the driver’s seat, you heard his indicator flick on.

“I’m pulling over.” His voice was so deep it sent vibrations through your hand. You grinned, continuing to lean down.

It was difficult leaning over with the seatbelt on. It was pushing into your stomach and the bottom half of your chest. But no pain no gain. You had a mission.

You stroked him lightly, rubbing you thumb against the tip. You leaned as far as you could, sticking out your tongue to measure how much further you had to push yourself. By the time, you had his tip in your mouth, Jack had pulled into the parking lot of a Walmart. He pushed his seat back a little, reached over to undo your seatbelt, and, as you scrambled closer to get more of him in your mouth, he put a hand on top of your head to guide your movements. It was a lot more bearable for you, resting your chest on the space behind the gear stick with the rest of your body laying flat, feet up against the door. Now, you could get to work. He threw his head back on the head rest and closed his eyes.

He let out a breath as you took even more of him in. He wasn’t always a fan of head. He made that clear to his partners, but also made a couple of comments about it publicly. But you were really changing his mind. Your head was gentle, but sloppy. You used your hands. You weren’t afraid to use your saliva as lube to give your hands more slip. Your fingers added the right amount of pressure to the under side, massaging the prominent vein in a way that made him feel like his soul was leaving his body.

When you pulled back abruptly, he opened his eyes slowly in a bit of frustration. That dissipated when he saw the eager look in your eyes as you continued to pump his cock with your hand, your tongue occasionally jutting out to give his tip tiny little licks.

“What do you want, princess?” Jack asked, rubbing your head lovingly.

You smiled. “I don’t want my hard work to go to waste…”

You sat up again only to shuffle over to his seat, bending down to step over the gear shift to sit in his lap. You were going to face the windshield when he guided your hips to turn you around.

“I wanna see that beautiful face.” His voice was huskier than usual and you loved it. Once you sat on his lap, he quickly added. “And the girls too. I missed them earlier.”

He pushed up your dress to just above your bra. He pulled your breasts out with ease. The smushed cups of your bra propped your breasts up right to his eye level, your nipples standing to attention at the cold air. Your expression and your exposed frame was enough to send him over the edge.

“Am I in heaven?” He asked, before he reached in the back seat to grab his bag. He was fumbling for awhile to get to the condoms in the front pocket. It probably would have went faster if he hadn’t gotten distracted by sucking on one of your nipples. You didn’t mind so much. You entangled your fingers in his curls and let the moans roll out of your mouth.

He put on the condom and you happily sunk down on top of him. If Jack thought his younger self would have fainted at the sight from this afternoon, this one would have put young Jack in the grave. Your breasts danced in front of his face, your stomach slightly bulging at the bottom thanks to his member, and your pretty pussy squeezing for dear life while on full display. He slapped and squeezed your behind a few times just to make sure he covered all the bases as he captured your lips for a kiss.

“I’m gonna finish way too early…” He confessed, clearly frustrated. “...slow down, baby.”

“I can’t…” You choked out, your voice shrill.

“Please…” Jack grabbed your hips, attempting to halt your movements. But damn, you were strong.

“Feels too good and I’m close too.” Your cheeks were flushed as you admitted. “Something about doing it here…I can’t take it.”

Jack made the mental note as he put his hands back on your behind. “I can’t argue with that, princess. Go on, use Zaddy to the fullest.”

“Oh!” It was definitely a shout more than a moan as your hips regained speed, now with the help of Jack’s thrusts from below.

It didn’t take long for you to orgasm and from Jack’s stilted movement you guess he came around the same time if not a few seconds earlier. The sound of both your breathing was the only thing in the car, not realizing the engine had shut itself off much earlier. Jack kissed you sweetly, his hand resting on the back of your neck.

“That was sinful.” He muttered on against your lips. “You really are spoiling me. Won’t be able to f*ck anyone else, that’s for sure.”

“Good.” You gave him a coy smile as you pulled yourself off of him.

He fixed your bra and pulled down your dress before tapping your thigh as a sign for you to move to the passenger seat. He cleaned up himself, with the help of a pack of tissues you had in your purse.

“You want anything from the Walmart?” Jack asked casually, as though nothing happened. He had already fixed himself up and looked completely normal.

You looked at him incredulously, your thighs still sticky from your arousal. From the passenger side mirror, you could see that you looked exactly like some who just had sex with her boyfriend in a car. You were in the process of removing your makeup with a wipe that you also had in your purse. After all, despite your protests, you knew your boyfriend. You had to be prepared for anything.

But, really, Walmart? What were you gonna get a juice or something?

“Actually…” As you thought about it. “...I kinda do. Wanna get some snacks or something?”

Jack grinned brightly. “Yes, mamas” He leaned in to kiss your cheek. “I think you’re perfect for me.”

“Ditto.” You stuck out your tongue, before opening the door to sneak out the car. You loved teasing Jack whenever he said really gushy stuff. The best was a simple “same” or “ditto” to make him give you the annoyed glare you relished in.

Jack exited the car as well. He watched you speed walk towards the Walmart, looking back comically every second to show him you were messing with him. He laughed, shouting at you,

“Keep that attitude up and I’ll do you raw on top of this damn car.”

His voice practically echoed it was so loud. You blushed, your eyes widening. Sure you were a freak, but one in the sheets. He was ruining your reputation in the streets.

You gasped loudly, “Oh my god!” You started frantically waving around to the empty parking lot. “He’s kidding, he’s kidding! We’re good citizens!”

Jack laughed, walking faster to catch up with you. His hands shoved his pocket, with the lucky one absentmindedly playing with your thong by wrapping it around his fingers. He could get used to this and, thankfully, so could you.

A/N: As always with smut, do lmk if I miss anything with the warnings. Also, I wrote a double smut! That was fun doing two small smut scenes instead of a big one. I originally wrote this inspired by the idea of having sex in his childhood room, but the car one came to me while I was editing. Jack is an amazing muse tbh. I really enjoy writing for him because his personality is *chef’s kiss*. Can’t wait to read more fics and write more as well :D

#jack harlow #jack harlow imagine #jack harlow x reader #r-writes-fic

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teasty · 3 years

Text

hold on tight || b.c (m)

"hi! can you write something about streetracer!chan x f reader where things got heated up 🥺🥺 i really like your works by the way, kiss yourself really is one of my jisung’s fav fic !!" - anon

a/n: holyashjdljzhldsa just the thought of streetracer!chan makes me... omg i don’t even KNOW, i'd actually go crazy... and omg tysm! that means so much to me :,( and you're gonna have to excuse me since there's so many things heated could mean i'm just gonna make it angsty and smutty,, also kinda went off for a fluffy ending because it's bang chan, the christiano bangnaldo, how can i not???

● pairing: bang chan x (fem) reader

● genre: a lil bit of fluff at the beginning | angst | smut (mdi!)

● requested? yes!

● words: 8.7k

→ summary:

You’ve never known about your boyfriend’s secret and very illegal job, if you could even call it that.

"Shut up, buckle up and hold on tight 'cause it's gonna be one hell of a night for us, darling."

It’s a cold, rainy night. You’re waiting comfortably on the couch, sitting there wrapped up in one of Chan’s blankets, waiting ever so patiently for his return. He’s not usually out this late, neither did his job usually end this late. Your mind was getting the worst kinds of ideas as you held your phone in your hand, more worry than anger coming over you. You couldn’t be mad at him, really, you were just worried something happened to him, since he wasn’t picking up your calls or even looking at your texts.

It’s around midnight, and you swore you wouldn’t sleep until you watched Chan, in all his glory, walk through the front door of your guys’s shared apartment. You’ve been dating Chan for years, ever since high school. And, now, even after graduating college and finding a stable job and apartment, Chan still tended to keep things from you. It was a bad habit of his, yes, but you couldn’t really be too mad at him for it. Besides, you’ll be able to help him out of that habit. Once he comes back, at least.

To wait, you decided to watch a bit of television to let your mind wander from the thought of something bad happening to Chan. Of course, the subtle thought of him cheating crossed your mind a few times, but Chan’s only ever been the most loyal and dedicated boyfriend, even past his pretty hard shell. He acts pretty tough sometimes, but you know that he’s just a little bit insecure about himself on the inside. Which, to you, is completely normal. Everyone’s at least a little bit insecure. You couldn’t blame him for that.

Getting with Chan was actually very difficult at first. You both had a rocky start before you started dating, since Chan was kind of like the cliche popular bad boy, and you were the snarky book nerd. You both started off arguing and bickering about everything. But, when you both got closer and closer, you began to see a softer, kinder side to him. And, like magic, you two started dating. You don’t really remember how it happened. It might’ve been just Chan saying, “Wanna date me?” or something like that just ‘cause it’s simple. However, getting it past your parents about your relationship with Chan was the most difficult in the world. They did not approve of him whatsoever. Even today, they’re still cautious of him even though Chan’s already proven his loyalty to you and swore to your parents that he’d never lay an aggressive finger on you.

You’re parents didn’t really like him because of his choice of outfits and friends, which was a stupid way to judge somebody in your opinion. So, no matter how many times they tried to break things off or distance you from Chan, you two always found your way back to each other. Though it was fun, all the sneaking out at three in the morning, saying you’re going over to a friends house when you’re really going to go see Chan and all the late night calls in a hushed tone, you’re glad you can finally relax about it and live peacefully with Chan without the need to sneak around.

But, your mind hasn’t been so peaceful these last few hours. There’s still no sign of Chan and no opened messages. You gave up on calling him after the fifth call had gone unanswered, and just decided to wait. Clutching your phone to your chest in case he were to call or text. Your eyes switch between the screen and the front door (which led into the living room).

You nearly jumped out of your blanket when your phone started ringing obnoxiously loud. Your heart beat loudly as you scrambled to look at the caller’s I.D. And, thankfully, it’s Chan. You’ve never answered so quickly.

“Chan?” Your excited voice squeaked out when you brought the phone close to your ear, a bright smile etching over your lips. Just happy that he’s in contact with you.

“Hey, darling,” Chan’s voice was husky and tired, and a little deeper than you remember. He must be exhausted, and you wondered if he had to stay late at work, “I’m so sorry for being out late. I’ll be home soon.”

“Alright… Is everything okay? What were you doing out so late?” You ask carefully, wrapping the blanket tightly around you.

“Work. My boss had me work over time. I would have texted you, but I was pretty busy,” in the distance, you can hear the sound of his car’s engine. He must be driving pretty fast. Chan also has a really nice car he saved up for and worked really hard for. It’s a smaller, good looking and really, really fast car. You could recognize that engine anywhere.

“Oh… I’m sorry about that,” You respond after a moment.

“It’s alright. Nothing to worry too much over,” you can hear Chan’s smile even through the phone, “And, by the way, could you do something for me before I get home?”

“Sure.”

“Could you make me something small to eat? I didn’t have the chance to eat dinner at work. If you could do that, that’d be so great, baby.” Chan says, and you get up off of the couch. Already heading for the kitchen.

“I could make you some jjajangmyeon? We have all the ingredients,” you say, surfing through your pantry.

“That’d be great, (Y/N). Thank you,” Chan sighs through the phone, and you pull out the ingredients.

“Of course. When will you be home?” You ask before he could hang up.

“I’ll be home in the next ten to fifteen minutes, at the least.” He says, and you can hear the engine get a little bit louder behind him, “I have to focus on the road. I’ll be home soon. I love you, baby.”

“Love you, too, Chan.” You respond, and hang up. Now with the satisfaction and the relief of knowing Chan’s coming home, you separate the ingredients out and start cooking (thank god you took that home economics class back in high school. You couldn’t cook for shit before that). Since Jjajangmyeon is a pretty slow cooked dish, you try your best with temperature control to fit it into the timeframe for when Chan gets home, wanting it to be ready for him.

You had your hair tied back as you cooked, occasionally looking up to watch the television, which was still on the random news channel from before. It talked about things you weren’t too interested in, so you only kept it on for background noise.

You were so immersed in cooking, you didn’t even notice the door slamming open and closed and a pair of heavy footsteps walking up to the kitchen. You jumped when Chan’s arms wrapped around your waist, his chin planting itself on your shoulder. He laughs tiredly at your reaction, and you turn to give him a subtle glare, but your smile deceived you.

“Hey, baby. I’m sorry for coming home so late. I promise it wasn’t my intention,” Chan grumbles out, his words low and slightly slurred, mostly because he’s tired.

“It’s alright, don’t apologize,” you chuckle softly as you arrange two portions of the jjajangmyeon into two different bowls. Chan watches silently over your shoulder, “I’m just glad you’re home. You worried me. Please text me next time, before you stay overtime and don’t bother texting me. I worry a lot, you know?”

“I know, (Y/N). I know you worry too much for your own good,” Chan smiles softly, chuckling tiredly, “It’s one of the reasons I love you so much.”

You smile, flustered, and raise a warm hand to press against Chan’s cheek, turning your head to press a loving kiss to his temple, which is cold, even in the warm kitchen. “Dinner’s ready. Do you want to eat in bed?”

“Not if you’ll make me do the dishes directly afterwards,” Chan lets go of you to take his dish, and you take yours.

You cock a brow at him, “I was going to make you do them anyways. You’re not getting out of it that easily.” You giggle and tap his nose with the tip of your finger. “Come on. Take mine, too. I’ll shut everything down.” You hand your bowl to Chan, who takes it quickly as you scurry around, turning off the television. Turning off lights and putting the dishes in the sink.

Once Chan’s changed into more comfortable wear and you’re both comfortable in bed, watching some show on the TV while eating. Time at home was usually like this; relaxing. You’re cuddled up to Chan while he ate slowly. Once you both finished, you placed them on the nightstands for the time being.

Chan was asleep instantly. You were up a bit longer, still a bit run on adrenaline from worrying so much earlier, despite knowing you have to be up early for work. Chan didn’t have to work till the afternoon, but you had to be up early since you’re a librarian at the local public high school. Chan’s an assistant producer and works under a decently big entertainment company. It’s quite the drastic difference, but you being a pretty big book worm yourself, you decided it would be fun to be a librarian (mostly using your literature degree), even if it’s stressful at times. Chan’s work, however, is much more tedious than your own. Where you can usually go at your own pace, he has more strict deadlines and sometimes more difficult work.

So, you let Chan sleep on your stomach. His arms wrapped around you securely as his face nuzzled into the soft fabric of the oversized shirt you were wearing. You were up a bit longer, watching the TV while running your hands through Chan’s soft hair. Enjoying the moment for the time being before you, yourself, drifted off into a deep sleep.

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

You were the first one to wake up the next morning, per usual. You woke up to your alarm that Chan thankfully slept through. You got ready as quickly and quietly as you could. Since you work in a pretty professional environment, you wear something modest, but fits well with the fall weather and your fashion style. You wore a white long sleeved shirt and a pair of black slacks under a jacket with your university’s logo on it and a pair of sneakers. They weren’t too big on dress code for the teachers at the school, but the students still had to wear uniforms.

Before you left, you made Chan lunch for the day and yourself a lunch. You even bothered to wake him up briefly to give him a kiss goodbye and that you’ll be back early afternoon, although he’ll probably be at work, then. Chan, although three fourths asleep, gave you a tight hug and a kiss with a slurred ‘Love you’ before plopping back onto the bed and instantly falling back asleep.

Although Chan had quite the expensive car, he wasn’t quite fond of you driving it. You have your own car, and it’s fine. Mostly used to drive to and from work and nothing more, since most other things you were with Chan, so you both usually took his car. It’s not so much a matter of richer and poorer, his car just had more little trinkets and things that are just more convenient. You’re not completely sure what model his car is, all you know is that it’s expensive.

The school isn’t too far. It’s actually a ten minute drive from your apartment. You have to make it there pretty early, so the roads aren’t jam packed like they would be when Chan has to drive to work. So, you have a bit of an advantage there. When you get there, you’re met with the people in the front office, who bow respectfully to you, and you make your way to the library.

You set up at the large, round desk. You especially like being a librarian, because it’s quiet. You don’t think you’d do too well as a teacher, so you settled for a librarian since it was a good and easy way to use your literature degree and put it to good use, other than the fact you’re writing a novel, but that’s a whole other story (hehet).

It’s about half an hour before some students pile in, bidding you good morning and sitting down at the tables to study for whatever assignment or test they have, or to finish homework. Some of them go around to look at books, but most just sit by their lonesome and work on whatever while blasting profane music into their poor ears.

You were busying yourself going through overdue books, and emailing parents about student’s overdue books. You were immersed in your work, so you were somewhat shocked when someone tapped your shoulder. When you turned, you were met with the smiling face of your coworker. A middle aged, pretty woman named Jung Migyeong, who gave you the permission to call her ‘unnie’. She’s considerably your work - best friend. She’s the only person who really delved into conversation with you, unlike most of the other teachers who only talked to you about whatever book they’re class reading or for book suggestions (and you just choose the first book in the library that comes to mind).

“Oh, you scared me!” You giggle in a hushed tone, and Eunmi smiled brightly, her motherly aura giving you a sense of calmness.

“Sorry, sorry!” Eunmi sits on your desk, more leaning against it. Eunmi is really a pretty lady. Her hair is cut short to her shoulders, and she never wears makeup. Her natural tone is without blemishes or acne. She always wears pretty dresses to work, and she always carries around her purse for some odd reason. “I wanted to catch up with you. I didn’t realize you were so immersed in your work. I should’ve known, you’re more responsible than half the teachers here.”

“I try, I really do,” You respond, leaning back in the chair and smiling up at her, “Do you have a free period for the first hour?”

Eunmi nods, “Yes, I do. They switched it up just ‘cause of something wrong in the student's schedules. But, that’s past the point. How have things been going? In the home life?”

You shrug a shoulder, your smile dropping, “It’s… going. My boyfriend didn’t come home until, like, twelve - thirty last night. He said he had to stay late for work, but I don’t get it, Eunmi. He wouldn’t answer my calls or texts, and I don’t think his job prevents him from at least opening a text until he gets off, you know?”

“You said he’s a producer, right?” Eunmi asks, her head tilting down to look at you more clearly. You nod, “Well, he might’ve been busy with the idol. It’s pretty difficult work, I’m surprised he’s been able to keep up with it well.”

“Well, he came home hungry and tired,” you sigh again, “Which is weird because if he stays late he usually grabs something from the kitchen at the company building or fast food and eats it before he comes home. But, he was hungry… not super hungry, but I made him jjajangmyeon.”

"Jajangmyeon?" Eunmi’s head tilts, and one brow lifts and she scoffs, “That’s like a fifty minute dinner.”

“Not if you toy around with the temperatures, no,” you smile, and Eunmi shrugs a shoulder, “Eh, I was the one who suggested it to him. It’s one of his favorites, and he sounded exhausted and overworked so I though, you know, might as well. But, after eating, he was out like a light. You wouldn’t think that producing would make someone so tired.”

“You never know,” Eunmi reassures, “You seem to be really worried about this. You don’t think he’s cheating, do you?”

You quickly shake your head, “No, no! I know him, and I know that he would never do that to me. I think he’s just trying to hide something from me. I’m not mad at him, I just don’t want him to keep anything from me.”

“You’re not mad… yet!” Eunmi corrects, and your lips purse, “If he’s really hiding something from you, it must be pretty big. I would personally be surprised if you were able to keep your temper if you found out whatever it is he’s hiding. Cheating or not.”

You’ve never really been one to get extremely mad or even start arguments. As said before, you and Chan did have petty arguments back in high school, but since then, you’ve both matured. Chan always shut down a fight if you were getting too agitated, and you were usually never the first one to start up an argument, since your patience isn’t as thin as before. You will admit, though, you’d be decently upset if you found out Chan really was hiding something from you. You trust him so much, you thought there should’ve been nothing to hide.

“I suppose you’re right,” you lean your head against your hand, resting your elbow on the desk, “If there’s a good chance, I’ll talk to him about it tonight. If I want things to really work out with him, then there has to be complete trust and honesty with each other.”

“That’s the spirit,” Eunmi proudly says, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“I want to spend the rest of my life with him, unnie,” you admit shamelessly, and Eunmi smiles wistfully, “I want to grow old with him. But I don’t want to live waking up every day at four in the morning and coming home to no one for hours on end. And, sometimes he won't come till midnight or morning.”

“Well, my husband and I used to have a lot of secrets, too. That we kept from each other,” Eunmi admits, reassuring you that you’re not the only one going through something like this, “The only way we were able to sort things through was by sitting down and talking to each other. Just telling all of our secrets to each other, even if they’re embarrassing or stupid. Just knowing the fact that we can trust each other with everything gives us that reassurance that we’re meant to be. Honesty is everything.”

You look down, thinking about the advice Eunmi had just given you, and you swallow down the growing lump of frustration in your throat, “Thank you for the advice, unnie. It means a lot to me.”

“Of course. I’m always free to talk, and you have my number if anything happens,” Eunmi smiles fondly, “And my doors are always open to you. I’ve spoken to my husband about you and he said that he’s always willing to keep our doors open. Just in case anything happens. You can’t be too careful, right?”

“Right,” you smile, flustered by Eunmi’s kindness, “Thank you so much. I’m… you’re right. If the worst of the worst happens and I’m booted out of my own apartment, then I’m at least glad to know that there’s some place I can go to that’s not three cities over.”

Eunmi laughs softly, and you laugh along with her, “I’m glad. Anyways, it’s about that time. I’m going to start heading back to my classroom. Let Chan know that I said hello, and that I wish you both well. Good luck, (Y/N).”

“Thanks, unnie. I’ll call you later,” you wave briefly as Eunmi makes her way out of the library, students bowing briefly to her as she passes.

You’re glad to have a friend like Eunmi. You’re lucky to have someone open their doors to you. Sometimes, you wonder if Eunmi views you as a younger sister, since she constantly rambles on and on about how she loves being called unnie or noona by her younger coworkers, even if she’s among the younger teachers. She’s like the sister you’ve never had. Sure, things had to be professional, but you’d like to spend more time with her out of the workplace. That would be fun.

The rest of the day is pretty slow. You had a few classes come in to pick up literature books, math books and to check out some books, but that was really it. You didn’t see Eunmi again, and left a few hours after the school closed. There was a bit of traffic on the way home, but it was mostly cleared up.

When you got home, you weren’t surprised to be met with an empty house. No sign of Chan, except the lunch you made him was gone, meaning he took it with him, thankfully, and he left a cute little note on a sticky note saying his thanks to you for making it for him. Which he usually did for you (you never bothered to throw them away. You actually kept them all in a little cigar box for safekeeping. Why? You didn’t know. You just felt like it.)

Like every day when you come home, you change into a pair of more comfortable clothing, which was just one of Chan’s hoodies you took out of his side of the closet, and a pair of ripped jeans. Since Chan didn’t do the dishes before he left, like you thought he would, you decided to do them to pass the time. In doing so, you turned on the TV for some background noise as you rolled up your sleeves to start scrubbing the dishes.

However, your attention was soon caught by the TV when the regular news anchor started talking about crime. At first, it was just about a robbery that took place in uptown, and that didn’t really suit your interest. What did catch your attention, enough to turn off the faucet and ignore the dishes to watch the TV, was when an all - too familiar black car with tinted windows and no license plate appeared on the screen, and there was a red car, too, but you didn’t recognize that one.

You turned up the volume, “Today, police are trying to look for these cars with no license plates caught on camera last night. They were suspected to be illegally street racing and gambling last night at around eleven o’ clock at night before being caught on security footage of a hotel nearby. If you can identify these cars, please contact the police immediately. One has been identified as a black Ferrari SF90 Stradale. The other has yet to be identified. If you see anything suspicious on the streets, please contact authorities. Here’s a clearer picture of both cars.”

And, that’s when it sparked you. One of the pictures of the black Ferrari was of the front. Despite the tinted window, you could clearly see a black ice Little Tree air freshener hanging from the mirror and a familiar hand gripping the wheel tightly. How could you recognize it? Despite the low quality, you can see a familiar ring on the middle finger. A celtic design Chan loved so much.

“Oh… my fucking god,” your mouth drops open as realization hits, and you immediately dash to the bedroom to yank open Chan’s dresser drawer, one left vacant for paperwork to “keep things safe”, and you pull out his insurance for his car. And, there it is, in plain sight. Ferrari SF90 Stradale. Color; black. Windows; tinted. At first, shock pools through you. Doubt climbing up. There’s no way Chan’s a criminal. There’s no way that he’s the one in the Ferrari. It has to be someone else.

But, there was only one way to find out. You had to be sure it was him.

So, you grabbed your purse and your keys and threw on a pair of slip - on vans. The sun was already setting, and you nearly forgot to lock up before running to your car. Barely unlocking it before you throw yourself into it, not even bothering to buckle your seatbelt before driving off to god knows where. Your gut leading you, immediately driving towards the area shown on the news. You pull out your phone, trusting the wheel in one hand as you pull up Chan’s profile and call him, pressing the phone to your ear.

The ringing carries on and on until the familiar voice of Chan speaks up, telling you that he’s not available and to leave a message after the beep.

“Oh, fuck off!” You scream at your phone before trying to call him again. Again and again it led to voicemail. Voicemail after voicemail. You couldn’t text him, not with you driving.

After the tenth call, you let out a frustrated yell, hitting your wheel with your palm and trying your best not to cry. You might be overreacting, since there’s a large chance that it isn’t Chan. But, for some reason, you believed it. You believed, at least somewhat, that it was Chan’s car. That it was Chan in the car. You didn’t want to believe it, but you did.

And your questions coursing through your mind were soon answered when you pulled up to the spot from the news, it now twilight, the sun just being set over the city’s horizon. You pulled onto an empty freeway, and parked in an alley between two buildings. There’s a group of people and a ton of expensive cars around the freeway. There were people crowded around a table. Some girls sat on top of cars, talking and laughing to each other while wearing vulgar and revealing clothes. Your brows furrow, deciding to stay low for a while. You turn off the engine to your car and watch carefully, gripping your phone in your hand. They seemed to be enjoying themselves, popping beer bottles, laughing and talking amongst themselves.

But, it’s when the sound of a loud engine came into earshot, and everyone, including you, turned to see the source of the sound. The moment the crowd of people see who it is, they start to cheer loudly. Throwing up their hands. However, your mouth falls open once more as the black Ferrari SF90 Stradale with tinted windows and a black ice Little Tree air freshener hanging from the rear - view mirror. It pulls up to the crowd, and they all part to make way for it.

Instead of shock or sadness, anger and rage begins to boil inside of you, and you grip your steering wheel tightly as you watch Chan, Christopher Bang, step out of the car. People pat his shoulder, and he smiles widely at them. Giving a few people hugs and even smiling to some of the women, who tried to steal a hug from him, too. He’s wearing clothes you don’t ever remember seeing. He wears a black leather jacket over a white button up and black skinny jeans. You’d be impressed by how good he looks if you weren’t so upset.

You didn’t even have to look at your phone as you pulled up Chan’s profile and called him, pressing the phone roughly to your ear.

“Pick up… Pick the fuck up,” you grumble under your breath as you watch Chan. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, and looks at it briefly.

Not even hesitating to hang up.

As you heard the familiar sound of Chan’s sweet voice telling you he’s not available at the moment and to leave a message after the beep, you finally have enough courage to get out of your car. Slamming the door shut and making your way out of the alley. They’re not too far, but it's a long enough walk for you to catch the eye of some people. You don’t even pause to rethink your decisions when a girl taps the chest of one of the guys, who glares at you with a raised brow.

The man that glared at you stepped away from the crowd, and you could barely see Chan over the people. He walks over to you, and you stop when the man is right in front of you, peering down you. The smell of cheap beer oozing off of him.

“And who the fuck are you?”

“Chan’s girlfriend, now get the fuck out of my way,” you try to push past him, but he grabs you by the arm. Tightly, too. Probably tight enough to leave a bruise after a while. “Hey! Let go of me.”

“No can do, princess,” the man says, smirking mercilessly down at you, his grip not loosening one bit, “Whether or not you’re Chan’s bitch doesn’t matter to me. It’s either you leave or I take you home and we have a good time. Well, I will, at least.” So, you tried to yank your arm from his, trying your best not to use your free hand to punch him in the face.

“Where’s Chan? Bring him to me.” You demand, and the man scoffs, chuckling.

“Fine, have it your way,” the man turns his head towards the crowd, a few people watch, and he says, “Grab Chan. This chick says she’s his girlfriend.” A few of them laugh at him, thinking it’s a joke. But, you stand your ground, glaring through the crowd. One of the people that laughed pushed through a few people. It takes a minute, and there’s a tense silence between you and the man as you try to pry his hand off.

But, as you suspected, a smiling Chan pushes through, but his smile instantly drops when he sees you.

“Hey, Chan. This chick’s babbling on about being your girl. Should I kick-”

“Get your hands off her right now before I shoot you in the face.” Chan interrupts, anger lacing his dark, deep voice. The man holding your arm instantly lets go and steps away, his hands rising in defense. Mumbling something about just ‘trying to keep things safe’. Once the man is away, Chan walks up to you, now being the one tightly gripping your arms. Leaning down so his face is close to yours.

“Why are you here, (Y/N)? Why the hell are you here?” He asks harshly, his voice full of surprise and desperation. He even shakes you slightly.

“You seriously thought I wouldn’t find out?” You snap, ignoring his question all together, “You thought I was dumb enough to let this go under? Well, I’ve been dumb for too long, Christopher. I’m not going to be like that anymore.” You know he’s not too big a fan of being called by his real name, but you do it anyway.

“Go home (Y/N). I’ll explain everything to you afterwards.” Chan says, placing a hand on your shoulder, trying to turn you away.

“No!” You yell, pushing his arms off you, “I am not going home, Chan! I am staying with you. I need to know what the hell all of this is. Right. Now.” You demand, and Chan shakes his head.

“No. You’re going home, (Y/N),” Chan tries to push you away again, his hands gripping your shoulders tightly and trying to turn you from the curious crowd. However, you weren’t going to be let off so easily. You swiftly turned around, letting your flying hand come in contact with Chan’s cheek. Smacking him. You made sure not to backhand him, knowing how much that could hurt. Besides, you don’t want to hurt him too much, you just want to get your point across, and he wasn’t listening to your words. He lets go of you again, his head flinging to the side because of the impact.

“I said no. I’m staying here,” You repeat yourself, and Chan’s eyes no longer lace with aggression, but worry. He doesn’t seem upset that you hit him. In fact, he seems to gloss over it. “I need to know what’s going on-”

You weren’t able to finish your sentence until Chan grabs you by the wrist and pulls you into the crowd. They part to make way for him, and you aren’t able to muster out a sentence before Chan unlocked his car and shoves you forcefully into the passenger seat.

“Chan, what -”

“Shut up, buckle up and hold on tight ‘cause it’s gonna be one hell of a night for us, darling,” Chan snaps, and your lips clamp close at his harsh words. You didn’t expect that out of him. You could nearly cry right there. Chan backs away and slams the door shut, and you quickly scramble to put the seatbelt on as Chan yells something at the crowd, and they erupt in cheers. A few people scramble to get into different cars, and the rest stay back, keeping their distance. However, Chan didn’t seem too pleased as he walked around the car and into the passenger’s seat, locking the doors.

“Chan…”

“Quiet,” Chan snaps, revving the engine of the car. You can faintly hear the cheer of the onlookers behind as Chan pulls alongside the other three cars. A young woman wearing small shorts and an exposed shirt too small for fall walks ahead, and pulls a red cloth out of her back pocket. Her red lips smile bright as she lifts her red cloth. She holds up one finger, and Chan’s engine growls from behind, the car shaking along with it. Your hands go to grip the first thing, which is the cup holder in the center console and the door. Bracing yourself for what’s about to happen.

“Chan!”

“I said quiet!” Chan yells, sparing you a glance and your brows creased with worry as the woman holds up a second finger, and Chan’s hand grips the wheel as the other rests over the buttons.

She doesn’t hold up a third finger. Instead, she throws down the red cloth, and the moment she does so, Chan is off on the road. His foot slammed against the gas as he pushed his back against the seat and used one hand to effortlessly steer. You feel so impossibly scared in the car. A small part of you was debating whether or not you should have gone home, but you knew that it was the right decision to stay. To truly understand what’s been going on and what this is all about.

You try your best not to scream as the loud engine nearly bursts your eardrums.

“Chan… Chan, stop the car!” You scream, the need to vomit creeping up, even though you try to gulp it down.

“I can’t, (Y/N). I really can’t right now.” He says loudly over the engine.

“Please, Chan, just stop the car…!” You yell out again, and Chan finally glances at you, seeing your distressed look before his head snaps ahead again.

His hand swiftly reaches over to grip your thigh, as if trying to prove that you’re secure, “Calm down, (Y/N). You’ll be fine. We’re fine. I’m not stopping the car. Sorry, but I just can’t.”

“I should hate you for this, Chan!” You say, and you can see the way his knuckles turn white from gripping the wheel. “But I can’t… I just… Goddamn it, why!?”

“I can’t tell you that right now!” He yells back, looking over briefly before making a sharp turn, making you clutch onto the seat belt for protection, his hand now back over the buttons, “You just need to sit there until this is over, got it? I don’t care how scared you are, you’re gonna get through it like the strong woman you are, (Y/N), and I’m not taking no for an answer.”

You look over to Chan, and his lips are downturned, his brows furrowed and his eyes glossed over, as if he could cry right there.

“But why didn’t you just tell me?! We wouldn’t be like this right now if you just told me, Chan, and that’s the truth.” You yell over the engine, and Chan bitterly and breathily chuckles, shaking his head as an angry smile casts over his lips.

“You wouldn’t have stayed with me if I told you, (Y/N), you know that.” His voice is a little softer. If any softer, you wouldn’t have heard him. “You would’ve left me.”

Your mouth falls open, and you shake your head, “Never… Never! Never, ever, accuse me of that. I would never leave you even if you killed a man, Chan, and that’s the truth!” He doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even look at you as he turns another sharp corner, and you can see the other cars following behind, closing in. He sees it, too, and he presses some buttons you didn’t bother reading and slams his foot on the gas again. You let out a deep breath, still clutching the seat belt, “I just want to know why, Chan. Why are you resulting to this even though you have a stable job at the entertainment company, I-... I just want you to be honest with me.”

“I’ll tell you later, (Y/N). Just sit tight and keep your mouth shut. I need to focus or we’ll fucking crash, you got it!” He yells, and you flinch at his harsh tone. Finally keeping quiet.

The race seems like it lasts forever, when it was probably only five minutes. With sharp twists and turns and screeching of the engine in wheels, it feels like torture. You hate this, but there’s no backing out yet.

Chan doesn’t utter a word. Only cursing at the other cars when they do something that they weren’t supposed to do, or somehow start catching up to him. You let a few tears slip as you watch his hands and Chan as he focuses solely on the road. The lump in your throat is growing bigger and bigger, and swallowing it down seems to get more and more difficult.

But, it’s over at some point. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding and Chan finally slowed down after reaching a pathetic excuse of a finish line. Your trembling hands grip the hem of the hoodie you were wearing as Chan comes to a steady stop. People come cheering as the other three cars pull up behind, being careful not to bump into anyone from the crowd. You breath heavily, and look over to Chan, who rolls down his window, plastering a triumphant smile on his lips.

“I don’t even get why I race against you, mate. You always win. Just take the money and get outta here,” says one of the racers playfully, tossing Chan a briefcase through the window.

“Thanks man. Good race,” Chan says, “Now, I have business to attend to. If you’ll excuse me.”

He rolls up the window, and the man who handed Chan the briefcase smacks the window playfully as Chan rushes off, his smile instantly vanishing as he goes through backgrounds to try and get to a main road without drawing too much attention. Chan’s smile drops, and he hands you the briefcase.

“You want to know so badly? Open it and be careful. It’ll be hell to clean up if you drop it,” Chan grumbles, looking over as you look to him for reassurance. He only gives you a cocked brow as you look back to the case in your lap before unlocking it and opening it. Your jaw falls as you look at the thousands of bills stacked on top of each other, rubber bands holding equal stacks together, and you gawk at just how much money Chan won from one race.

After a minute of you staring at the money, Chan slams the case closed in your lap, locking it with one hand and tossing it in the backseat making you jump at how hasty he is.

You both sit there, Chan driving to god knows where in tense silence. You're holding your head in your hands as Chan shifted his gaze between you and the road.

It’s about fifteen minutes until you look up, surprised that he’s still driving and nowhere near home. It’s an emptier city, but Chan seems to know the area well.

“Chan, where are we?” You ask, but Chan gives no answer. Only driving a bit further before pulling into an alley between two old buildings. “Chan, I said -”

You were quickly by Chan yanking off his seatbelt and leaning over the center console to firmly grab your face and pull you into a rough kiss. It isn’t too rushed, but it’s not at all gentle. You’re caught by surprise at first, but couldn’t help melting into it. It’s almost instinct at this point to kiss him back, but you push him away after a moment. “What… What the fuck are you doing?”

“Kissing you,” Chan answers briefly before grabbing locks of your hair at the back of your head and pulling you into another kiss, his other hand creeping down to unbuckle your seatbelt, and you let it slam against the car as it flies off you.

“No, Chan… We need to talk,” You grumble out as you try to pull away, and he presses wet, sloppy kisses to the side of your mouth. His eyes are fluttered shut, and your’s are half lidded. You will admit, you love this. The kisses and how unnaturally aggressive Chan is being. But, you knew that you have to talk things out, or you’d never get to figure out how the hell things turned out like this, “Chan, I’m serious right now.”

“Then relax, baby,” Chan breathily whispers out, and your thighs squeeze together, “Let me make things up to you, okay? I’ll fuck you so good, baby.” He pulls away for a moment, and he stares at you with a teasing smirk, “Think of it as my apology, alright?”

“Chan, I’m… I’m - ah! Chan!” You gasp when Chan’s lips come in contact with the side of your neck. Your neck is already tilting to give him more room, despite trying pathetically to push him away. There’s no getting through to him anymore. You’ve passed the point of no return, and there’s not much you could get past him without slapping him again. And that didn’t seem like a very good idea to you. Your hand flies up to grip the back of his neck, the other loosely clutching the hem of his button up.

“You know that… ah… that we are going to talk about this at some point…” you groan out, and Chan only groans against your neck, sucking on the sensitive skin. “You can’t get out of it like this…”

“Shut it, (Y/N),” Chan snaps, and your head falls back. Chan leans his seat back, aggressively grabbing you by the thighs to pull you over and sit on top of him. Straddling his waist despite it being such a tight environment. He pulls you down by the hoodie, into another kiss. You could feel how frustrated Chan is by the way he grips you tightly, as if you’re going to magically vanish, and by how he talks to you.

It’s rushed, too. Chan is impossibly quick to pull up your hoodie, his hot, sweaty hands creeping up your warm back, caressing it with a different, quick sense of gentleness. His lips connect with yours once again. His tongue already pressing against your lips. The quick, sloppy kiss all too lust filled. The erotic sounds coming from the both of you almost making you gloss over the fact that you should still be very mad at Chan. But, you just can’t find the need to pull away from him. You need to let off the steam, too.

You flush your body firm against him, one hand on his chest and the other by his head, holding onto the head of the seat for support. Breathing as slowly as you can through your nose to savor the air Chan so selfishly takes from you from the heated kiss. Your thoughts begin to vanish and your worry and concern for Chan’s life choices begin to falter for the time being. So immersed in the heated kiss to forget about it entirely. All your focus is now on Chan. You can tell how stressed he is, and the loving part of you wants to help him let off that steam. But, now, you’re in the same boat. So, he’s going to have to do so much for you as you’ve been doing for him.

Chan’s hands don’t bother to hesitate before they loop underneath your jeans, not caring to unbutton them as he tries his best to pull them off by himself. Because of how restricted you both are because of the size of the car, you had to do it yourself. You parted from the kiss and pressed your head against his shoulder to unbutton your jeans and pull them down as quickly as you could before throwing them in the back (along with your shoes and socks. You can already see how hard Chan’s gotten as his rough hands massage and knead your ass, only covered by the thin, black cloth keeping you at least somewhat covered. But, if this was like any other time, they’d be gone quicker than you’d imagine.

Your hands fly up again once your pants are thrown to the back, resting on either side of Chan’s head as he grips your hips, grinding your womanhood against his clothed hardon (you’re also clothed, but it’s so wet from your juices that it basically attaches itself to your skin). His head throws itself back, his eyes closing and a pleasure filled smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. You press yourself against him, now propped up to be looming over him, sitting on him.

When you do press against him, his head snaps forward again, and his dark eyes glare up at you, “Don’t start getting proud, (Y/N). I’m gonna fucking break you.” His hand crawls up to grip your face in his hand. One of your hands weakly comes up to grip his wrist. His hand moving down to grip your throat, and your lips part blissfully as his fingers press into the sides of your neck, still allowing airflow through you. “Oh, fuck. You like being choked, huh? You like being choked like a slut don’t you?” You don’t answer, too nervous to and too caught up in the pleasure to actually let something other than a moan escape your lips.

“Talk to me, (Y/N). Use your fucking words,” Chan growls, and you swallow. The lump in your throat pressing painfully, yet blissfully against Chan’s hand.

“Fuck me, Chris. Fuck me…” You utter out his name, and Chan’s brow raises. But, he smirks nonetheless and lets go of your neck, and you let out a breath as he undoes his jeans and pulls them down to his feet. His hand palming his clothed cock briefly before pulling it out. His hard dick already leaking with precum.

“Condom…” You mutter, and Chan shakes his head. You look up to him with worry.

“Trust me, baby,” he mutters, and you sigh, leaning against him, pressing your body against his as Chan moves your panties out of the way before he aligns your throbbing cunt with his dick, and slowly pushing himself into you, raw. As his raw cock slowly becomes engulfed by your heat, Chan lets out low groans. Your face nuzzles into the side of his neck as Chan slowly guides you down until you’re sitting on his cock.

At first, he stays there like that. Not moving. You suspect it’s because the sane part of him wants you to get used to the feeling of his cock so deep in you without a condom, but Chan seems to keep you there for a few moments just for the sake of how good it feels without a condom. The way his head is leaned back, his lips slightly ajar and his eyes fluttered shut.

But, it doesn’t last long before Chan’s strong arms wrap around your waist, holding you up and starts ramming into you. His hips move so quickly, yet so efficiently as he burns your wet walls. You erupt in a series of loud moans, mixtures of Chan’s name and curses spilling out, too. Chan groans sometimes, right next to your ear. The sound of skin slapping against the fabric of Chan’s boxers echoing through the air tight car.

Your pussy burns from how fast Chan thrusts into you, keeping you at a steady position so he could have an easier time ramming himself into you without the difficulty of it being such a confined and restrictive place in the car (especially in the driver’s seat). The burn is so good for you, though. It’s such a numbing, euphoric feeling that you’ll crave later. A type of burn you could never provide yourself, only Chan.

Chan’s hands go from gripping your body to sliding up your side to gripping your hair and yanking your head back so he could look at you. A judgemental, sexy smirk adorning his lips as he sees how fucked out you are. Your mouth open as you moan, and your half lidded eyes occasionally closing from the bliss.

“Fucking hell… you’re so good for me, (Y/N). You take my cock so fucking well, don’t you?” You let out a choked moan as Chan’s hand grips harder on your hair, craning your neck. “Mmm… Baby girl can’t even talk to me… I know I said to shut it…” he laughs darkly through his moans, and your moans get louder when Chan lets go of your hair, letting your face fall back onto his shoulder as his hands grip your ass. Kneading them as he fucks himself into you. You clench helplessly around his cock.

“Oh… fuck, you’re gonna cum, aren’t you? You wanna cum around my cock, baby girl?” You nod frantically, your climax climbing up as you push your body back to meet with Chan’s aggressive thrusts. Your overstimulated cunt only being destroyed by Chan’s cock as he thrusts harder into you, his hips staggering slightly as you clench around him. “Mmm! - Cum for me, baby. Cum for me.” Chan growls out as his hand grips your face again, forcing your head up as your eyes roll into the back of your head, a loud string of moans escaping your lips as you cum all over Chan’s cock, and he pulls out just quick enough to spurt out a string of cum along your ass.

He lets go of your face, and you breath heavily as you rest your head on Chan’s chest, closing your eyes to catch your breath. A burning sensation still resting in your core as you relax, your womanhood’s muscles contracting every now and then from the orgasm.

Chan cleans you both up with a napkin he had in the center console and helped you put your jeans back on (deciding to toss your soiled panties) and he slipped his jeans back on silently. It’s not until you’re sitting on his lap, resting your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat when he speaks.

“You know I love you so much, right?” Chan mumbles out, and you look up to him. “I was so mean to you today… when you must’ve been so confused.” His head falls back, and he looks out the window with a longing look in his eyes, “I’m the worst boyfriend in the world, aren’t I?”

“No, you’re not. Don’t even think things like that. Yes, I am still a bit upset, but you know what? We’re going to get past this because I love you, too, Channie.” You stare at him with an adoring expression adorning your sparkling eyes (trying to ignore the burning in your core).

“You… You want to know the real reason I’m a street racer, (Y/N)? Why the fuck I'm doing this?” Chan asks softly, his hand stroking your hair.

“If you could… I’ve been asking all day,” you chuckle softly, and Chan smiles bitterly.

“Well… I… I’m doing this all for you.”

“What do you mean?”

“No job will pay for the things I want to give you, (Y/N).” He turns over, reaching into the center console to pull out a black box, and your eyes widen as he opens it. You can’t see it, but you can barely see the sparkle of a something reflective. “I… I couldn’t pay for this myself. I knew I couldn’t. I hate how this is how I’m asking you… but, (Y/N), will you-”

“Oh my god, yes!”

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ourloveisforthelovely · 3 years

Text

Walburga Comes for Dinner (one shot)

Regulus Black AU

Summary: Walburga comes for dinner and sees her children for the first time in a very long time. (goes with the Dinner with the Dursleys and Tuesday night dinner one shot...see below for links)

Pairings: Regulus Black x Reader

Rating: T

Dinner with the Dursleys

Tuesday Night Dinners

_______

This will be interesting…

That was the thought that went through your mind when Regulus stepped through the front door after a long day at work. Joanna immediately waddled over to her father, hopping up and down screaming “daddy” until he was able to get his coat off and pay attention to the child.

“Good, Joanna. Get him buttered up.”

You thought as Regulus came into the kitchen snuggling his face against Joanna’s head.

“You look pretty, darling.’’

Regulus commented, looking you over. He was ready for nothing more than a quiet Thursday night. By quiet this meant having dinner, giving Joanna a bath, getting the child in bed without her needing twenty hugs while making Regulus look for a random spider under her bed that she was convinced would eat her toes, and alone time with you. People at the Ministry were driving him batty and Regulus didn’t have the patience for any calamities that night.

“I’m pretty too.”

Joanna said in an extra sassy tone that earned a smile from Regulus.

“Of course you are love. You’re the prettiest little girl ever. Why don’t you go play with your dollhouse?”

Joanna, appeased with Regulus’ comment, didn't fuss when he put her down. She toddled off. Regulus waited until Joanna was quietly amused before wrapping his arms around you.

“Now, as I was saying, you look beyond pretty...absolutely ravishing is more like it.”

You relaxed in Regulus’ arms enjoying the moment of quiet uninterrupted alone time. As much as you didn’t want to, you knew that you had to break the news to him.

“Guess who is coming to dinner?”

“Merlin, I don’t feel like entertaining.”

Regulus groaned. You had expected this reaction. Things were only about to get more interesting.

“It’s your mother.”

Regulus’ mouth dropped. He hadn’t seen his mother in ages. She wasn’t there when Joanna was born or through your pregnancy. Walburga had sworn that she would never speak to Regulus as long as he was married to “that mudblood girl.” Regulus was just fine with his mother’s promise. He had no use for the woman if she was going to insult his wife. All Regulus needed to be happy was Joanna and yourself. Walburga no longer fit into the equation of his life. When Regulus stopped believing in the “Black family way” he realized how messed up everything truly was.

“Why?”

Regulus said, crossing his arms over his chest. You put down the bowl that you were holding. To say that you were looking forward to meeting Walburga was a far stretch. You would much rather it be your mother and father coming for dinner.

“She wants to see you. I suppose she’s feeling guilty about not seeing Joanna yet. Maybe she even feels a bit guilty because she is getting old and has no son to look after her now that your father is dead.”

Regulus mumbled something under his breath before going off to search for the bottle of fire whiskey. He needed some liquid motivation if his mother was going to be stepping foot inside of his home.

“She can go to a home for the elderly. I am not looking after her. I was the good son long enough.”

Regulus commented before smiling coldly.

“Watch this.”

He said before picking up the muggle telephone and calling Sirius. You had picked up your teacup and were keeping an eye on your husband. He was up to something and you had a sneaking suspicion on what he was going to do

“Hey, it's me. Want to come over for dinner?I know you never wait for an invitation. See you at six.”

Regulus hung up the phone before grinning at you.

“He can’t wait to see his mother.”

You shook your head. Now things were about to be a shit show.

An hour later there was a knock at the door. Regulus stood up knowing who that was. Walburga fucking Black was back to ruin his life and cause problems.

“I’ll get it, love.”

He commented before going to the door. Walburga stood on the other side with her usual snobby expression. She forced a smile as she looked at her youngest son. Regulus was handsome and well put together as always.

“Regulus.”

“Mother.”

Regulus kept his tone cold and icy. Walburga expected Regulus’ off-putting and unfriendly attitude. She assumed that he was still angry over her calling you mudblood. In Walburga’s mind, she was correct. Her “darling boy” married a less than desirable woman and this seemed to wedge between the two.

“Come in.”

Regulus said, keeping his eyes locked Walburga’s unfriendly face. He reached out and stopped her before she was able to get too far inside.

“I’m warning you now. If you are the least bit rude to my family, I will not hesitate to throw you out.”

Walburga glared at him. She wanted nothing more than to throw a few nasty mudblood comments out but decided if she didn’t want to die alone it would be in her best interest to be decent.

“I understand.”

Walburga looked around the homey living room. The house was very nice. Clearly, Regulus was doing well for his family.

“Daddy, come play with me.”

Walburga’s head snapped up the moment she heard the little voice that she had been wanting to hear for some time. She would never admit it but she had wanted to see her granddaughter from the time that the birth announcement came in the mail. Walburga had sent Joanna an “add-a-pearl” necklace as a way to say “welcome to the world” and that was that.

Regulus never took the time to send Walburga a photo or anything. Now before her stood the most lovely child that she had ever seen (with the exception of Regulus, of course).

Walburga watched as Regulus bent down to pick the little girl up. Joanna’s raven curls wildly fell down her back as she pressed her face into her father’s cheek. It wasn’t until Joanna pulled away from cuddling Regulus did she notice the new face in the room. She looked at Walburga carefully. Clearly, the little girl was well versed in “not talking to strangers.”

“Joanna, this is your grandma.”

Walbruga forced a small smile as Joanna put her head on Regulus’ shoulder.

She’s shy...just like he used to be.

Watching Regulus with Joanna, made Walburga’s heartache. Had she really lost so much time with her own son? While Walburga had wanted no part of being a mother originally, after losing Sirius then Regulus walking away for a muggle-born she realized how much that she actually loved her children.

“You can sit down, mother. I’m going to check on Y/n.”

Walburga immediately did as her son said as Regulus sat Joanna down.

“Keep grandma company.”

Regulus said softly. Part of him was screaming about leaving his darling baby alone with the hateful old woman but he knew Joanna would cause Walburga more annoyance. That in itself would be amusing enough. Besides, from his place in the kitchen door, Regulus could see the two perfectly.

You had just pulled the ham out of the oven when Regulus stepped into the room.

“Everything okay?”

You questioned. Regulus shrugged.

“She just walked in the door and I already feel like the love has been sucked out of me.”

You put the oven mitts down and wrapped your arms around Regulus’ shoulders. Kissing him softly, you chose to ignore Walburga who was watching the whole thing.

“I’ll suck something else out of you later.”

You said in a low suggestive tone. Regulus slightly blushed to know exactly what you meant and he would argue.

“That sounds tempting. We can throw her out, put the baby in bed, and have all evening alone.”

Before you could respond the back door opened and closed. Sirius stepped into the kitchen and smirked looking at Regulus and yourself.

“It's a wonder I only have one niece. The way you two snog there should be three or four kids running around here.”

Regulus rolled his eyes.

“One is enough. What about your love life?”

Sirius’ amused expression faded.

“Moony can’t get pregnant.”

Regulus put a hand over his face while you quietly laughed.

“How are we related?”

Regulus questioned as Sirius moved to go into the living room to see what his precious little niece was up to. He froze the moment that he saw the biggest demon from hell parked on his little brother’s couch talking to Joanna.

“Oh hell no.”

Sirius snapped before turning to make a line for the door but was stopped when Regulus brought him to the ground.

“If I’m stuck with her then you should be too.”

Sirius fought the urge to scream.

“You’re just evil!”

“Is everything alright in here?”

Both Sirius and Regulus got off of the kitchen floor as Walburga came in. Her cold grey eyes locked on her eldest son. The disappointment returned in full force as she looked between both Sirius and Regulus. While Regulus was dressed in a nice suit, Sirius looked like he had just gotten out of bed in tight clothing that he had worn for a few days.

“Sirius.”

“Walburga.”

Sirius decided not to call her “mum” to antagonize her. Regulus fought the urge to put a hand over his face as he remembered you standing beside him.

“Mum, this is my Y/n.”

Walburga’s vulture-like gaze turned to you.

So this is the girl that stole my baby from me.

Walburga thought before muttering a quiet and unfriendly hello. You only nodded. It was probably best that you kept your mouth shut. You were afraid that you would start going off on the woman for the way that she did both of her sons.

“Uncle Siri!”

Sirius had to tear himself away from watching you plot evilly as Joanna came running to him holding her hands out. He quickly reached down and scooped Joanna up, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“Jojo, where have you been all of my life?”

“In the living room. Did you bring me my pony?”

Sirius laughed as Regulus immediately started shaking his head.

“Do you want your daddy to kill me?”

“No, daddy wouldn't notice it if you stuck it in the back garden and tied it to a bush.”

Joanna commented, adding a sneaky little blink. Sirius laughed again.

“First things first, sugar, your daddy is standing right over there and can hear. Let's get you ready to eat.”

Dinner started off smoothly. You tried to speak quietly to Walburga but were only getting one or two-word responses. If you needed any more proof that your mother-in-law didn’t like you...this was it. You could feel Regulus tense beside you.

“It's okay, love.”

You whispered quietly as Sirius leaned back in his chair. He gave you an eyebrow wiggle before speaking.

“So, mum, what got you out of the stone-cold manor? Did you get that steak out of your heart finally? You have surely missed a lot of Joanna’s life...although she doesn't look very concerned.”

Joanna was happily ignoring everyone and nibbling on her little plate of noodles. She didn’t seem the least bit concerned with anything that was going on around her.

“That’s very amusing, Sirius. I thought that the two of you should know that I am remarrying.”

Both Regulus and Sirius dropped their forks as your eyes rolled up, clearly shocked.

“Is that supposed to be a joke?”

Regulus questioned. Sirius started laughing so hard that he had to put his head down.

“Is the guy desperate or already on the verge of death? Did you meet him on evil witch weekly’s personal page?”

Walburga frowned. This was clearly not the reaction that she expected. She had planned on Regulus being a little more supportive than her elder son.

“You’re not funny, Sirius. I decided to meet someone who enjoys my company?”

Sirius snorted.

“Does he enjoy you smacking him around or just ignoring him like you did dad?”

Walburga put her fork down.

“Regulus, do you have anything to say?”

Regulus chuckled. This whole situation was completely ludicrous.

“I thought that you only loved yourself.”

Walburga stood up and threw her napkin down on the table.

“I thought that I would get some support from my son. I didn’t come here to be made a fool.”

Walburga turned and stormed from the house without another word. Joanna was the next to speak.

“Granny needs a nap.”

Sirius nodded and stood up to take his plate to the sink.

“Sure does, Jojo, a nice nap in a big wooden box...six feet under. Who wants cake?”

_________

@amelie-black @vixen @fandomsxxregulus @realgaytrash @acciosiriusblack @fific7 @jessyballet @knreidy1 @wolfstar4lifee @saturntomars @sxsalvatore @georgeweasleydumbhoe @zievyimas @buttercup-beeee @justfinishthis @vvipgot7be @whymyparentscheckmyphone @criminalyetminimal @bennyberry @mimisparkle12 @teletubiswszpilkach @siriuslyceleste @dumybitch @quuenofblacks @lucasfilms77 @spiderxalmighty @moonythemilf @fangirlforever2412 @brokencasbutt67-writer @authoressskr @moldy-old-boot @hankypranky @summer-novak @emiwrites3reads @shaylybaby2032 @li0nh34rt @tas898 @deanwherescas @untoldshortsofthefandoms @knight-of-gleefulness @stuckinsaudi1 @shadows-and-padlocked-hearts @sprnaturallover @shitfaceddaniel @wontlookaway @mycuddlycorner @rubyroscoe1 @hazncalsgal

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angelicspaceprince · 3 years

Text

NSFW Alphabet Heisenberg Headcanons

For obvious reasons, this contains smut and is for 18+ only readers. Again, I’m posting only my headcanons onto tumblr, both can be found on my AO3

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Very grabby, has a tendency to be a little softer. Loves a good cuddle after sex, definitely praises you constantly. He loves to wash you down with a cloth, wiping away all of the cum, the sweat, the blood, the tears, as he murmurs soft words of praise and encouragement, pressing a small kiss here and there as he does so.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

I’m not entirely sure if Heisenberg would like any part of his body - it's just a vessel to him I believe. I think his favourite part of himself would be his discount magneto powers because that gives him the ability to create so many new tools to play with when it comes to having sex with you, some even on the spot.

For you, he loves your hands. He sees them as soft and gentle and he loves the feel of them in his work-worn, rough hands as he pushes you down into the bed, or them cupping his face as you pepper his face with kisses, telling him what a good boy he’s being for you, or when their wrapped around his dick as you jerk him off in a way that has him melting against your back and rolling his hips up into your palm.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

He loves cumming inside or on you, there is no way in hell he’d ever wear a condom. It’s a marking thing, he needs to make sure you know that you’re his. He doesn’t have a preference for where he cums, just as long as it’s somewhere on you. If you spit and not swallow, he thinks it’s a waste of his seed and gets huffy about it - he’d much rather see it across your face than down the sink.

He cums a lot and it’s ungodly thick as well.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He’s fucked a lycan, been fucked by a lycan, and he fucking loved it. Was tempted to fuck a soldat but that was a little too much for him.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing? )

I’d say pretty experience, if anything, he fucks the girls at the village mostly to spite and in an attempt piss off Miranda. He’d mellowed out about a decade before you met him, but definitely he’s had the time to gain quite a lot of experience.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

Lotus, or any position where you’re on top of him. He enjoys grinding up into you and watching you come undone on top of him, but also means it's easier for him to grab at different parts of you - this goes for eating out too, he loves it when you sit on his face and ride him to completion. Loves mating press too, when he’s feeling particularly primal.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

By ‘goofy’ for H, I more think of sadomasochism or teasing you when you cum so hard you can’t see straight. I think he’d crack a few jokes here and there to make you laugh and you’d definitely have fun but for the most part, I think he’s more all about getting you riled up until you’re a trembling, begging mess.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

He is a hairy, hairy man who doesn’t give a shit about his grooming - he would have a thick and large amount of pubes that are wiry just like his beard. If you asked, he’d probably tame it down a little, but if you don’t care, it wouldn’t even cross his mind.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Only after leaving the village will he 100% let his guard down to be intimate during sex I think. There would be a lot of praise and stuff whilst you’re at the village, but it doesn’t really become too intimate until after everything has washed over. I fully believe the first time he says ‘I love you’ was in German and whilst you two were having possibly the most intimate round of sex you’d ever had in your life the first night after your escape from the village. After sex is usually where he’s the most intimate - where he will murmur softly against your skin about how good you are to him and how he adores you and can’t believe that you’re in his life.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

I feel like he’d jack off quite frequently before you were around and even then, it probably doesn’t change much once you’re there. If he has no time for sex with you and it’s literally just an urge to deal with so he can concentrate on his work? Then yeah, he’ll pull out his dick and stroke himself off as he continues to work without a care in the world. It’s just to clear his mind so he can focus on the task at hand, to him it's no different than eating or sleeping. Just something he has to do to get by.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

It’d be a lot easier to list the kinks he doesn’t have - shit, vomit and death. Beyond that, anything else is on the tables. His favourites would definitely include pred/prey, bondage, overstim, bloodplay, watersports, knife play, choking, cumplay/breeding kink, cockwarming, exhibitionism/voyeurism and marking/biting. He does have a preference for an active and willing partner, that being said CNC is also something he would enjoy as long as it was clear that both parties wanted it prior to the scene being played out.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

Loves fucking at his desk - cockwarming especially. Loves cockwarming during inappropriate times too, like during family meetings. Or fucking you at Lady D’s house, edging you on and reminding you not to make a sound whilst making it impossible for you not to moan or scream his name. Anywhere and everywhere is an option for Heisenberg, but the riskier it is, the more he seems to love it.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Literally, anything and everything. A breeze hitting him the right way will get him horny. You could be walking past in sweatpants and a baggy jumper and he will want you bent over the bench with his dick railing into you. It doesn’t take much, the man ain’t fussy.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Killing someone during sex would be a big turn off. Involving any talk of Miranda or Lady D would also be off limits.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

Doesn’t really have a preference. Is a master at getting you off with his mouth and will gladly spend hours dedicated to mapping you out and causing you to cum again and again with his just tongue. By the time he’s finished with you, you won’t be able to walk and you definitely will have a number of bruises and bite marks against your thighs as well as a pretty decent beard burn going on. His favourite thing to do once he’s pulled away is to put his cold hands against your thighs specifically where his beard burn is, just to feel you squirm and attempt to kick him away.

Receiving - he loves throat fucking you, or having you kneel under his workbench, tied up nice and tight, with his dick resting heavy on your tongue as he works, occasionally reaching down to stroke your hair, scratch at your scalp or fucking his hips up into you so you don’t get too cozy down there. Your jaw and throat always aches afterwards and he loves hearing how hoarse he’s made your voice - he will always have a drink waiting for you afterwards, but first he needs to hear how well he’s fucked your voice out.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

It’ll depend on the mood - definitely after leaving the village there is more of an opportunity for Heisenberg to reach a more romantic, slow and sensual pace (although it definitely happened whilst in the village, it was just rare as often Heisenberg used sex as a stress release as well as a way to feel like he’s achieved something or made someone proud), but his more natural pace will always be fast, deep and on the rougher side.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Good way to scratch an itch and was, for a good portion at the beginning of your relationship, the only way you’d have sex as the only reason you were having sex was to scratch an itch or for stress relief. As time went on, things changed and although ‘proper’ sex and longer sessions became the norm (especially because he loved to dedicate the time to map out every inch of your body and see exactly what makes you tick), he still loves a good quickie during the day.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

He will try anything once, after all it’s how you figure out if you like something or not! In terms of risks, if it's a risk of getting caught, he is more than happy to take it. If it's a risk to your safety? Not on his life.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

It doesn’t take long for Heisenberg to recover - unless you’re having a quickie, you best be ready for multiple rounds. Even if he can’t get it up, he will plaster his mouth between your thighs until your voice is hoarse and you’re squirming and weakly tugging at his hair in a vain attempt to pull him away. He loves feeling your strength pull away with each orgasm, seeing how weak and tired you become because of him. He’d never go too fair without prior warning, and if you safe-word out he will pull away instantly and be straight into aftercare mode. As for how long he lasts…..it really does depend on the situation, but if you have enough time and are in an environment where he feels safe, who knows how long he’d last. You have sat in his lap, cock buried deep inside of you for the entirety of many a family meeting, having to hide the fact that he was hard and throbbing inside of you. So, you know for a fact, he can last that long under stressful situations.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

He’d make his own and have a little collection. He’d definitely think of something whilst working on his metal army, make it and instantly turn to find you to test them out. If it’s something a bit more intense, he’ll test it on himself first before seeking you out.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He loves to tease you and keep you on edge of your first orgasm, making it out that he’s close to making you scream only to pull back and watch you pout, beg or even scream in frustration. His favourite place to tease you, though, is in a place where you can’t protest or beg, where you need to be silent or keep whatever you’re doing a secret. That’s definitely when the worst of his teasing will come out.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

It will depend on the situation (see wild card for submissive!H), but usually? He wants to drink in the sounds he has you make - he’s all short grunt and growls and soft murmurs of praise against your skin and dark promises that merge seamlessly with general dirty talk with small groans and moans peppered throughout. If he’s had an awful day, however? He’s much louder, much more aggressive. He needs to fuck his emotions out - and this is definately when his pred/prey kink comes into full swing. He will chase you throughout the village, throughout his factory, wherever he can, and is nothing but growls and snarls, every sound coming from his throat animalistic. He also bites a lot more too, claiming you as his, and it’s the only time that his sounds are muffled slightly.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

If you get him worked up enough if you get the chance to dom him (he will sub for a selected few), he will always end up babbling out his begs in German. If you ask nice enough, he may order you around in German or Romanian, but the only time it naturally comes out is when he’s so far gone into subspace, so needy and desperate, that it’s just natural for him to speak his first language. In general, if you get him to sub for you, he will not shut the fuck up - all moans and whimpers and broken groans, small promises to be good for you if you would just touch him already . Bratty sub for sure, definitely into pet play. Will only ever be able to handle a gentle dom for obvious reasons, and has a major, major, major praise kink, both giving and receiving but get this boy into subspace and praise him and just watch him whine and squirm and ask for more. If he’s misbehaving at home and you jokingly say ‘behave pup’, he will get flustered so quickly.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

Body wise, he is quite muscular but has a nice layer of fat to soften things out - it actually surprises you how strong he is from brute strength alone because he definitely doesn’t look it at first glance.

Cock wise - he’s more thick than he is long, average length but with a good amount of girth that has you feeling that stretch for hours afterwards.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

I’d say pretty high, but he is also good at distracting himself from it? During his tenure at the village, he’s so focused on escaping that it looks like his sex drive is low to normal. But the moment you get out of the village? Have your own place where it’s safe and no one is there to stop you? All bets are off, he cannot keep his hands off of you. Half of it is catching up for lost time, half of it is just the fact that the man is permanently horny.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

When domming: He doesn’t fall asleep often, but he will doze or rest his eyes for a second and enjoy the afterglow. He won’t leave to go back to work until you’ve fully conked out though, unless something desperately pressing comes up and he has to go. He’d rather spend this small amount of quality time with you and making sure you’re okay before leaving you alone and even when he does leave when you’re asleep, he has his eyes on his monitor with a live feed of you sleeping, just in case something goes wrong and you need him.

After subbing: He usually passes out pretty quickly. Subbing takes a lot more energy out of him than domming does, so once he’s cleaned up and has received his dose of praise and love, he usually falls asleep with his head in your lap, on your tummy or on your chest. He can’t wake up alone after a sub scene, even the very idea of it freaks him out, so you better make sure you have something to do as he naps because once he’s out, he’s asleep for hours.

#toby writes #fanfiction #toby's writing #fanfic #angelicspaceprince #bd/sm dynamics #karl heisenberg x reader #karl heisenberg/reader #karl heisenberg #ns/fw headcanons #resident evil 8 #resident evil village

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mcyt-imagines · 3 years

Note

Hey, can you do a dream x fem!reader where the chat hears the reader mumble to herself in the background of dreams stream and he introduces her to his fans. I hope this is ok, thanks in advance xx

Thanks so much for the request! I hope you enjoy :) Also, I’ve used she/her pronouns, as requested!

Once A Silent Bystander

Dream’s quick rise to popularity left little space for you to believe that introducing yourself beside him in the limelight was ever going to be a good idea. Part of you thought that you wouldn’t be able to handle the pressure of so many eyes being on you at all times. You’d seen firsthand the highs and lows that came with internet fame, you had shared countless sleepless nights with Dream in the early days. His popularity was still rising but now his drama and controversy had begun to plateau nicely, leaving him far more mental energy to focus on bigger and better projects to further his channel. One of these ‘projects’ was a commitment to stick to a concrete streaming schedule for as long as he could.

This had led to Dream frequently texting you whenever he would start streaming, knowing you could come into his streaming room unaware of him being live. However, Dream is merely human and quite forgetful if he’s distracted, and he is easily distracted. Dream hadn’t planned on streaming for at least a few more hours but upon receiving several messages from George and Sapnap pestering him to join them in a discord VC he gladly joins them, going live as he does so. This spur of the moment stream decision is what allows you to slip from his mind as his friends’ laughter reaches his ears upon his arrival into the VC.

“Hey, babe! I ordered your usual from the Chinese place, is that okay?” Your voice pours into the room, Dream’s door now wide open as you look up from our phone to realise the damage you had just caused. Your eyes lock onto the microphone sat on his desk the little red ‘on’ button tauntingly blinking at you, silently mocking you. Dream stills for a moment when you initially enter, looking over to you.

He presses something on his stream board, you assume he’s muted his mic. “I’m streaming, and they definitely heard you. And yeah, my usual is fine.” He motions for you to join him at his desk as you groan. “You’re sure they heard?” You shuffle over to him, when you grow close, he happily pulls you onto his lap. His chin comes to rest on your shoulder, arms wrapping tightly around your middle. “Look at the chat.” You tentatively cast your gaze onto Dream’s second monitor; the chat is running a mile a minute and you can only make out a few phrases. Most of them being a mixture of, ‘WHO WAS THAT?’, ‘IS THAT A GIRL?’ or ‘DREAM HAS A GIRLFRIEND??’

You both knew this day was going to come eventually, keeping it a secret, unfortunately, couldn’t last forever. “What do you think we should do?” You peel your eyes away from chat to watch your boyfriend hum thoughtfully, he’s spent a decent chunk of his time online dealing with controversies and drama. So surely, he has some idea on where we should start with this whole thing, or if we should just refuse to open that can of worms at all. He can always just lie and say it was a tv in the background, or someone passing by a nearby open window.

His suggestion catches you off guard, “Why don’t we just tell them? You don’t have to come on stream or anything but there’s no real point in denying it now. They heard you clear as day babe.” He offers a hopeful look, hand moving to intertwine with one of your own and squeezing. “But it’s entirely up to you. I’ll follow your lead.” Dream presses a soft kiss to your forehead watching as panic continues to flash behind your eyes, his eyebrows are drawn together in worry. “I wouldn’t have been able to survive without you in the early days of my channel. You know I will always return the favour. I’m here for you sweetheart.” His tone lightens at the cheeky pet name, giving your waist a soft squeeze.

With a deep breath, you make your decision. “We’ll tell them. You’re right, there’s no point denying it. I mean, we were gonna tell them eventually anyway.” You shrug a little trying to relax your tense shoulders, he notices and places his cheek against one of your shoulders. “Exactly, this is just a natural progression! Plus, the guys have been asking me for ages about playing with you on stream.” He chuckles, “But we’ll only do that when you start to feel more comfortable obviously.” Dream adds pressing soft kisses to your neck, you feel his grin against your skin as you giggle at the ticklish sensation. “Alright, I’ve been muted long enough. You ready angel?” You nod with mock confidence.

Dream presses a blinking button on his stream board, “Sorry for the short break guys! But I’m back and with a special guest.” Dreams tone lightens as he looks to you expectantly, “Hi chat.” Your voice sounds foreign when you speak mouth feeling as if it was filled with cotton. You watch as the chat explodes with messages, “To all of you who guessed she was my girlfriend, give yourselves a little pat on the back.”

He mocks knowing that the whole chat was begging for that outcome, “Now be nice or I’ll end the stream. Yes, that is a threat.” He smirks as you blush, “Baaaabe.” You smile softly shaking your head exasperatedly, somehow the chat runs by even quicker. “Sorry mods, I’d planned on giving you guys a heads up for when we were gonna announce this but uh, not everything always goes to plan.” Dream chuckles his own eyes widening a little at the sheer number of people who are tuning into the stream, obviously, news has already gotten around Twitter.

Dream leans forward to type furiously on his second monitor trying to control chat as you stammer through your personal introduction, refusing to use your real name of course. Chat runs by with nicknames to call you akin to the naming conventions of ‘Drista’ “Drearlfriend? Like dream and girlfriend? Is that really something I just read in chat?” You laugh, Dream watching as your shoulders relax and a soft smile grace your face. “C’mon chat you guys can do better than that! I was hyping you guys up earlier and this is the reception my angel gets?”

Dream looks to you happily gauging your reaction as you blush and stammer, “Baaaaaaabe.” You groan, trying to cover your face with one of your hands. “Oh no, I want to see that blushing face.” He grins, “Hey! Not on stream!” You cry, face only growing a darker shade of red. He continues to grin but backs off to stop pestering you, your phone buzzes. “Okaaaay. But you’ve gotta stay and keep chat company, because I need to go and grab the Chinese.” He is quick to hop up from the seat, placing you gently back down where he had been. “Wait don’t leave me here!” You cry as he waves with a cheeky grin and disappears from your view.

You audibly gulp before looking back at Dream’s screen pulling on his headphones, “Now that he’s gone put in chat what kind of embarrassing stories you guys want me to spill before he gets back.” You giggle lightly watching chat explode with cheers and suggestions.

Dream returns in a few minutes to see you interacting with chat and laughing along with their jokes like a natural. He simply stands in the doorway for a few moments dumbfounded over how lucky he is to be able to call you his.

#dream x reader #dream #minecraft dream #mcyt #minecraft youtubers #x reader #mcyt x reader

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archaxwii · 3 years

Text

The Tiny Fox Thief

Warnings: This story contains soft, safe, vore. Scott catches Fundy trying to steal his stuff for the 100th time and decides to punish him to deter him from doing it again.

I promise I didn’t stop wanting to write these, I originally wrote this like two months ago but works been rough recently and killing my motivation and time to write, but hey at least I got this out in time for Origins to come back? I’m hoping the next one won’t take as long but I can’t make any promises. Despite the long wait I hope you enjoy!

A tiny fox man was rummaging through his things.

Again.

Scott had causally walked into his house to get some payment for Ranboo and Tubbo for a trade they were doing for his new build, and he was greeted with a familiar sight.

He opened one of his chests to grab some gold and out of the corner of his eye he spotted a tiny ball of orange fluff hiding behind a diamond that was suspiciously not with the other diamonds.

Scott rolled his eyes, he grabbed the gold he needed and safely stored it away from the greedy fox before plucking Fundy up from behind the diamond.

Said fox yelped a little at being caught and now being so close to the giant.

Scott shifted his grip so Fundy was gently held in his hands instead of dangling by the fingers. Even if he was a little thief Scott didn't want to hurt his friend.

Scott raised an eyebrow at him." This is the fifth time this month Fundy, don't you ever get tired of gong through people's things?" He questioned flatly.

Fundy gave Scott a sheepish look." Uh, heyyy, Scott...I uhh, don't know what you're talking about, I was just looking at your pretty gems, they're uhh, very shiny from down here, you know?" His eyes darted around, trying not to make eye contact with the agitated giant.

Scott didn't seem convinced.

"You know, you'd have your own shiny diamonds to look at if you went and got them yourself instead of stealing from other people." He deadpanned.

"Pshh, what's the fun in that?" A look of fear crossed his face as he realized his mistake." Uhh, not that I was stealing, cause, uh, heh I was totally not doing that, I promise haha." His ears flattened against the back of his head as he grinned nervously.

" What am I gonna do with you? You know I could blow you to smithereens right?" Scott shook his head. He was obviously joking, but a little intimidation never hurt anybody.

"Ahah, but you'd never do that right?" In the back of his mind he knew Scott wouldn't do that, but Fundy did shrink a little further into Scott's hand nonetheless.

"Hmm, maybe I should, teach you a lesson to quit stealin' from everyone." Scott threatened.

At first it was an empty threat, but a small rumble from his stomach gave him a different idea.

It wasn't uncommon for someone to go missing for a little while due to being tucked away in a persons belly. Most of the giants in this server had the ability to protect their prey and keep them safe for as long as they wanted, and for the ones who didn't have those powers there were potions that could easily help keep prey safe as well.

That's why Fundy knew as soon as he heard that growl, with the look that crossed Scott's face, that it was time to bolt. He immediately panicked and started trying to squirm out of the hand he was trapped in.

"I think I know a good place I can put you for tonight, maybe it'll teach you a lesson." Scott himself had never eaten anyone before, but he knew he had a control over his own digestive system, so he wouldn't actually hurt Fundy.

"P-please, Scott! I-I promise I won't steal again, I've changed, I've mended my ways and all that!" He stuttered frantically.

Now, Fundy has spent a fair few nights in the belly of one of his friends, especially after he'd been caught stealing from them, but just because he knew it was safe didn't mean he liked it. It was just so humiliating.

And I mean do you know how long it takes to get saliva out of fur?

In a stroke of luck, Fundy managed to squirm out of Scott's grip and he leapt off of Scott's hand onto the floor.

Fundy was speedier than the average tiny, fast enough to almost make it to the little hole the tinies used to get into Scott's house.

Key word there is almost.

Right as he got to the entrance, as the scent of the outside hit his muzzle...he was swept right back up into Scott's hands.

He whined as Scott's grinning face looked down at him." So close, yet so far Fundy." He petted Fundy's head with his thumb." I promise it's just for tonight, it'll be a good nights sleep and I'll let you out in the morning." Scott tried to reassure.

It was quite warm inside, it was soft and it was easy to fall asleep knowing he was safe.

Fundy huffed. That didn't mean he liked it! It was slimy and gross, it was so loud, and being eaten was so just embarrassing, and don't even get started on the trip down! No, he most certainly did not want to get eaten.

Scott kept a firm grip on him as he lifted Fundy above his head. Fundy yelped as Scott opened his mouth and unceremoniously dropped him in.

To Fundy this was a familiar hell. To Scott this was an unfamiliar heaven.

He hummed as he felt squirming around. Fundy battered his tiny paws at his teeth, trying to get him to open his mouth.

Scott didn't relent and instead started licking the little fox. He had a very salty taste that made his mouth water.

After Scott figured Fundy had been covered in enough saliva, he tilted his head back so Fundy knew what was coming. It was strange to feel Fundy physically tense, and after a couple seconds he swallowed him down.

Fundy yelped as he was shoved into the dark tunnel.

This was always his least favorite part. Not that he liked any of it, mind you. But this always left him dizzy and disoriented and feeling a bit sick.

He squirmed at the painful crushing that slowly pulled him down. He could tell Scott had never eaten someone before, it was much more painful than usual.

After a few more swallows his feet were pressed against something, he whined as he was squeezed through something much tighter and then unceremoniously dropped into a shallow pool of liquid.

Tired as the decent down left him, Fundy didn't hesitate to scramble up and start battering at the walls. He didn't want to actually hurt Scott, but he was still upset, it was so disgusting and humiliating. Why did they always do this to him?

Scott stumbled a bit, leaning against the chest at the unexpected assault on his stomach.

He didn't expect to be able to feel everything so strongly, and it felt kinda nice, despite the attack inside.

He hummed, pressing a hand to his stomach." You doing alright in there Fundy?" He inquired. He wanted to make sure he wasn't gonna actually hurt him.

"No, Scott, you just ate me!" He growled, trying to jump and climb up the slick walls to no avail." Please let me out, it's really gross in here!" He whined.

Scott chuckled, rubbing circles on his belly." Well I didn't exactly swallow you for your enjoyment, this is meant to be a punishment after all." He lowered his voice, tone more serious." Are you actually ok in there? I'm not hurting you, right?"

"...If I said yes would you let me out?"

"Fundy."

"Ok, ok, yeah I'm not dying or whatever." Fundy huffed, slumping against the wall with his arms over his chest.

"It's just for the night Fundy, I promise I'll let you out in the morning." He reassured.

Fundy remained grumpily silent, until Scott heard the thumping of footsteps and a figure appeared in the doorway.

"Scott?" Inquired the dark, imposing figure of Ranboo. The poor ender hybrid had to duck to see into the door.

Caught up in catching Fundy, Scott had forgotten his original goal when coming in here.

"Oh, I'm sorry Ranboo, I was trying to grab the gold for you guys and found a certain someone rummaging through my things again, so I had to deal with that." He quickly explained, sliding off the chest.

At the mention of Ranboo, Fundy scrambled up trying to claw at the walls again." Ranboo! Help me! I don't want to stay in here please!" He cried.

Unfortunately for Fundy, Ranboo couldn't hear him from the inside, but from the slight glance to Scott's belly he seemed to be able to figure out what happened.

Regardless of whether he knew or not Ranboo only lightly chuckled." You'd think he'd get tired of stealing one day." He stepped into the house, shaking his head." Well, do you have our stuff?"

Scott did a little "Oh yeah!" jump before turning around to dig in his chests. Fundy was still fiercely trying to get Ranboo's attention, which Scott blithely ignored.

After a couple seconds Ranboo was in the possession of 3 stacks of Redstone, a couple gold blocks, and some obsidian, and Scott now owned several stacks of concrete that he couldn't be bothered to harvest himself for a new build he was working on.

After saying their goodbye's Ranboo wandered off to...wherever he and Tubbo wandered off to, and Scott was left alone with Fundy, who was now grumpily sulking against the stomach wall.

After shifting his spades of concrete into his chests Scott retired to his room, flopping backwards onto his bed, trying not to jostle Fundy around too much.

He curled up around his middle, wrapping his arms around his stomach and allowing himself to revel in the sensation of Fundy being in there. Fundy wasn't moving much anymore but Scott could feel his weight, like a warm stone sat in the center of his belly. If he concentrated enough he could even feel the fox's soft breathing.

As much as Scott wanted to punish Fundy he did still feel bad for trapping him all night." You gonna be alright in there?" He softly asked.

Fundy huffed tiredly. It wasn't...that bad. It could actually be quite calming if he had wanted this to happen. It was much warmer than his cave and softer than the bed he slept on. The deep sounds of Scott's lungs and organs working around him did much better to soothe him than the dead silence he slept in at home. It wasn't really that bad in here if you ignored the disgusting amounts of slime...it's just that he hated feeling like food. And he knew nobody on the server felt like that towards him, but it didn't stop his brain from thinking about it that way.

He curled up tighter in a ball." I don't like being food for you guys." He mumbled, Scott could barely even hear the fox.

Scott pressed a hand to his belly, surprised at the sudden vulnerability. He didn't know Fundy felt that way about being eaten. Scott had assumed it was a fun game to him like it was everyone else." Fundy...none of us think like that about you, any of you, we like to have fun and mess with you guys but I-none of us- would ever think of you as food." He reassured. He'd never taken much consideration into how tinies really felt about being eaten, since people like Tubbo, Tommy, and Niki seemed to enjoy it (most of the time) and with the knowledge that it was safe, he didn't consider how negative it could be for some tinies.

He rubbed circles into his belly, feeling regretful." Do you actually want me to let you out? I don't want you to be in there if it upsets you."

Fundy sighed, licking at the few stray salty tears on his face."...No, there's no point when I'm already in here. And it isn't...that bad, I just...hate being reminded of where I am."

Scott chuckled lightly." Just think of it like a really weird waterbed, except with more slime." He offered.

Fundy snorted. It was like a waterbed of sorts, except it felt more like you were inside it than on top of it.

He laid his head down on his arms, closing his eyes. He didn't fall asleep immediately, but Scott's words soothed his nerves enough to where he found the stomach much less distressing than it had previously been. With Scott gently rubbing him and the sound of his heartbeat filling his ears and drowning out his thoughts, Fundy drifted to sleep.

Scott wasn't tired just yet. Being a Starborne, he much preferred being out at night and as such he was mostly nocturnal. He didn't mind staying awake anyway. He didn't know the next time he would be able to do something like this and wanted to enjoy himself as much as possible.

For now, Scott was content to just settle down and comfort Fundy. He'd had a rough couple hours thanks to him so he wanted to make him feel better as much as possible. He hadn't eaten tonight, but Fundy filled his belly enough where he didn't need to, a nice comfortable weight to keep the hunger at bay. He softly rubbed circles into his belly around Fundy, who seemed to slowly be drifting off. He was happy to lay like that for another few hours, enjoying the feeling of Fundy inside, as close and safe to him as a friend could be.

#tw vore #mcyt g/t #mcyt gt #soft vore #ember's writing #feel free to give any feedback if you want

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tg-headcanons · 3 years

Note

Kaneki nsfw alphabet 👉👈?

He needs therapy but until then dick is a decent substitute 😌

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex): after sex he’s gonna be the one needing aftercare. Even if he topped it’s still a vulnerable act that can be emotionally intense, and if bottoming, well, he’ll need some help cleaning up. He wants to be immediately cared for when it’s done

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s): on himself he likes his ass, I mean Hide takes every opportunity to compliment him on it so eventually he’s gonna accept that he’s double caked up. On his partner, he likes a good smile

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically): he likes when his partner finishes in him. Even he is surprised about just how much he likes the feeling of having his partner come undone while still inside him

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs): he masturbates with his kakuhou. Ever since becoming a ghoul he’s been enjoying just how sensitive that new organ can be, and when he goes to get himself off he rubs over it to add to the sensation

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?): lmao fucking virgin. He has never fucked in his life, never even gotten close. He doesn’t know what he’s doing and needs his partner to lead

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying): he likes anything where he can kiss his partner, he prefers bridge so his partner can also get their hand against his back to touch his kakuhou

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.): he’s surprisingly able to joke. Not as much as Hide but every so often he can collect himself enough to make some little remark. Is it to goad his partner into going harder? Perhaps

H = Heat (what are heats like for them? How do they handle it?): his are pretty average for a ghoul, but since he was human until recently he was not prepared. They last between 5-6 days and the intensity fluctuates, his worst symptom usually being temperature and a little loss of kagune control. He deals with them by going to a hotel with his partner and getting fucked through it. Since his partner is human he uses a cage muzzle to avoid biting them, and since heats cause muscle weakness he’s happy to spend them on his elbows and knees and let his partner take care of him

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect): he’s pretty intimate and he likes when his partner reminds him that they love him while blowing his back out

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon): pretty often. He’s a horny dude and if he’s in his room alone, he’s probably going to do it. He usually does it sitting up now that he has a kakuhou, touching the new organ as well as his cock

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks): being tied up. Nothing painful or straining, but having his body bound with some soft rope and giving up some autonomy is hot

L = Location (favorite places to do the do): anywhere but the anteiku apartments after an embarrassing incident regarding a lack of soundproofing

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going): being touched suggestively. Being grabbed by the hips, having his partner press up against him from behind, especially them petting over his kakuhou. That’s the Horny Button

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs): handcuffs and blindfolds. He loves being restrained, but those can trigger panic attacks

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.): he’s pretty split. He likes receiving because it feels good, and likes giving because he can make his partner feel good…. Also it tastes good

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.): he loves it to gradually get fast when he’s bottoming, but isn’t too quick when on top

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.): loves them! He was actually surprised, he always imagined himself being into the whole sensual romantic setting, and he is but there’s something excellent about a spontaneous fuck when he didn’t expect it. Sure he may be limping a little at work since they had to speed up with the prep but it’s worth it for the rush

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.): he’s pretty cool with whatever so long as he’s told about it first. He trusts that his partner will be kind to him and respect him for it, and he knows he can safeword whenever he wants

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?): he’s pretty average most of the time, but every so often he’ll have nights where he’s insatiable

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?): he has a small egg vibe. He likes being teased with it, and isn’t opposed to letting his partner put it in him when he’s sucking them off or on nights when he’s topping, he’s come to really like having something working on his prostate

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease): he loves being teased until he’s begging

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.): he is SO. LOUD. He is the reason for anteiku’s “don’t have sex in the apartments when other people are home” rule. He is the reason his partner’s neighbors hate them. He is so loud. He doesn’t try to be loud, but when he’s feeling good he just ends up moaning like a porn star

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character): since he never practiced using his kagune as a kid seeing as how he didn’t have it back then, he has a little trouble controlling them outside of battle. Fighting is all muscle memory, and relaxing is all… well the kagune really just do whatever they want when he’s not paying attention. When he has sex they come out, and they curl and wrap as they please. If his partner isn’t going deep enough, they push him deeper

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes): a little under seven inches and curved upwards when hard

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?): he doesn’t think of himself as a horny person, but he absolutely is. He’s constantly down to fuck and once he gets over those early relationship jitters and is willing to initiate, he makes that very clear

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards): he’s so tired after sex but doesn’t actually sleep too fast unless he’s in heat. He mostly just wants to hold his partner and hear them talking to him

#tokyo ghoul #hidekane #ken kaneki #tokyo ghoul headcanon #notsfw alphabet #notsfw

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aetherarf · 3 years

Note

You should write that Scaramouche story, hehe! I'm sorry but imagining him being a sobbing mess is just.. [drools]

Decided to write it and just attach it to this ask because reasons

[[ WARNING: N. SFW CONTENT, BONDAGE, OVERSTIM ]] [[ Summary: Scaramouche loves taking care of you, but sometimes even he needs to relax... even if he's not very good at it, you figure tying him up and filling him up, forcing him to cum until he's too exhausted to be stressed, is the best course of action.

Word Count: 2'387 ]] Scaramouche looked at the long, slick ribbon of silk. He rubbed his fingertips on it, it was gentle enough that it wouldn't hurt his scarred skin, but he still seemed so suspicious of it, almost angry, as though this long strip of fabric had personally offended him. "It's just silk," you said, as he examined it intensely, "It won't kill you."

"How do I know you won't?" He asked, not meaning it in the slightest. He balled up much of the silk, tossing it onto the bed he sat on, "Are you sure this is a great idea?" "Absolutely," you said, full of confidence and conviction. After all, everyone needs a break... No matter how it comes about. Scaramouche sighed, "Right, right. I just..." "Do you not want to?" You asked, knowing you and Scaramouche had talked about it several times already, but with how slow Scaramouche was to accept new things...

"I do," He sighed, "Dread of change is worse than change itself."

"So wise," you teased, "About getting--"

"Say it and I'm changing my mind."

It was an empty promise, but you decided to be kind. "Right. Well, I do have somewhere to be," you teased, grabbing the cloth and swinging it in a small circle.

He knew, you both knew that if he really wasn't okay with this, you'd stay with him and reassure him, but this little song and dance was a part of the whole play.

"Fine, fine, did you get everything?" He asked, grabbing his hat and setting it off to the side before he began to undo the rest of his clothes, setting them off to the side in a, relatively, neat pile. Just as he was finishing, you didn't give him a spare second to breathe, already holding the silk rope, looping it around his neck, and grabbing his arm to pull it behind his back, tugging on the rope like a leash, to get better leverage, watching how perfectly his back arched.

"You're eager," He hissed, voice low and irritated.

"Your friend is eager, too," you teased, only for him to huff,

"Don't tie my wrists too tight."

"I know, I know, you can get out if you fight enough." You tie a knot around one of his wrists, sticking two fingers under it, "Is that okay?"

"Yeah, it's fine, it's fine."

You quickly tied another knot, and again, it was loose enough to pull off with some effort, but not too easy. His hands clenched into fists as you went about continuing to tie him up, a few more loops around his arms, a little star design over his chest, and his legs... but the ribbon was long enough for a bit more.

For a good reason.

"Stay still," you whisper, and he huffed,

"I couldn't really move if I wanted to."

In your hands, you toyed with a much smaller ribbon... a cutting from the original, since it was more than long enough, but you had a specific idea in mind for its purpose.

"Before we... you know, do anything, do you want to be gagged? Just a ribbon over your mouth."

"Why? You won't hear me." He huffed,

"Because I feel like you enjoy having your mouth stuffed. So, do you?"

He just muttered, a little flustered as he looked away...

"Scara?"

He refused to even look at the ribbon you wanted to tie over his mouth.

"Scara, I need a clear answer."

"Yes! Archons, take a hint."

"Sometimes the hints you give me are very very vague," you mention, "Say ah..."

He didn't make any noise, but he did open his mouth, the ribbon set between his teeth, and he clenched his jaw on it, as though he couldn't help it.

You tied a knot at the back of his head, "Say something?"

He just muffled against the silk, likely an insult or a witty comment like I can't exactly talk, now can I?

You pressed a gag over his clothed mouth, onto his lips, and he almost chases... but stops, knowing he can't really kiss you back, not with how he couldn't even completely seal his lips anymore.

"Snap your fingers once if no, twice if yes, are you ready?"

He hesitated, then in quick succession, he snapped twice. You shoved him inbetween the shoulder blades, to be pushed onto his chest, and he groaned, hissed at this treatment, but you didn't mind. He prepared himself before hand, but, oh, how pretty he looked, tied up and forced to do whatever you want...

You just had one desire. To push him. You reached back over to the small box of supplies, pulling out a bottle and a device.... a toy.

A vibrator, it didn't have many ridges or curves, but it was large, and just shaped well enough that once inserted... it wouldn't be easy to get out without hands. The bottle only had lubricant, to make it easier and less painful, hopefully not painful at all.

Liberally, you poured it over the top, and you noticed Scaramouche staring... he looked... nearly hungry. You wonder if Scaramouche could fit this device, as large as it was, inside of his mouth... maybe even his other end couldn't take it. A disappointment, but you were about to find out.

You pressed it against his hole, that was shiny and slick, "Relax," you coo, and he exhales through his nose... and relaxes. Just as he does, you finally shift your palm to the end of the toy, pressing on it with some force--it slips barely an inch in before it stops, and he groans.

"Scara," you whisper, "You need to relax... or do you want to stop?"

He snapped his fingers once... which meant no. You assumed it was in response to the latter. Then, he took a deep breath, exhaled... and relaxed again.

You pushed it in, slower this time, a little amazed a man as little as him could take it... at all, really. Eventually, there was a soft pop, and all but the end that was meant to stick out, the end with a switch with a few numbers tacked to the side, was left. You looked down at Scaramouche, tears in his eyes, breathing heavily, and his legs shook, until he couldn't stabilize himself, and he fell onto his side, the landing soft and cushy by the bed.

"Sca-oh."

You saw his tummy, a little bulge. You reached down, rubbing it. If it wasn't for how familiar you were with him, and his arched back, you wouldn't have noticed, oh, but you did... He whined softly as you even touched it, and as you looked further down, you saw his dick leaking little drops of liquid. You grabbed the end of the silk rope, and tied it so it pressed on the toy, just to make sure it stayed in place... like adding insult to injury.

"Here... Let's just get into it," you cooed, and he made a low moan, but it turned into a shout as the device turned on--3, you decided was a low enough number to not overwhelm him, but not so low that he couldn't enjoy himself, too. Out of 10, that could seem pathetic... but you'd rather understimulate him than overstimulate.

For now, at least. You wanted him frustrated, not destroyed.

"Is that okay?" You asked, tilting your head to the side--His eyelashes fluttering as he was struggling to adjust, "Snap twice to tell me you're okay."

There was a second of silence... Then he snapped, once, then twice, nodding as well. You gently brush his bangs out of his face, and he sighs through his nose...

"Well, I'll see you later, Scara." You leaned down, pressing a kiss to his cheek, "Unless you don't want me to?"

You, really, were just going out for a short amount of time, likely no more than an hour. But, that was the point, to leave him alone, trapped... but in a good way.

He didn't say anything, but he hid his face away from you, unwilling to admit, even silently, that he was enjoying this already.

"See you later, Scara!" You left, leaving the door to the bedroom cracked open... but you'd make sure to leave the front door shut and locked, just so only you could see him in this state. No one else should, after all.

And Scaramouche was...alone. For a few long moments, he laid there, just trying to rationalize his breathing, but eventually, he was able to calm down a decent amount. But as soon as he was calm, he was disappointed. There was pleasure, but it wasn't... enough. If it was just, maybe, a little more, he wouldn't still be able to think.

I don't want you to think, you had said, in response to how he was chronic overthinker, driving himself to paranoia, but this wasn't working.

With how his legs were tied, if he was sitting up he'd be sitting on his knees... he could probably buck his foot enough to either turn it off--so it wasn't infuriatingly enticing, or turn it up, which was what he wanted... Sure, he could undo the silk, just by determination to wiggle out of it, but he didn't want to do this a second time, he couldn't tie himself up...

A few tries, and he failed. He managed to jostle it within him, causing him to cry out, but it wasn't enough.

One last try, and...

He all but screamed a low, desperate moan, as the device was turned to max power, his insides burned like they were being forced to mush, and he came, shooting his load further than he thought his body was possible--But his hips were bucking, unable to move from the ribbon that bound him, thighs desperately clenching and unclenching as he felt tears pour from his eyes, realizing he was sobbing, screaming from the sensation.

With how his body buckled, he could only sob and cry out, unable to gather himself enough with each orgasm wracking him, to undo the rope, to try and flick the device down to a lower power...

and, a sick, twisted part of his mind loved this abuse.

...

You were holding a few things you bought. A few things you've been needing for awhile, a cute little bracelet you thought Scaramouche might like, since it was subtle but still nice, things like that... When you looked at the time, you realized you were gone far longer than intended, but... well, what was an hour compared to three?

Walking in, you shut the door behind you quickly, and then you froze, hearing Scaramouche moan so... so whorishly. You turned and looked to the hallway, did he get bored of it, undo it and begin riding the toy for his own amusement? He sounded like he was muffled, and he didn't seem like he'd ever keep on a gag if he could 'help' it, or at least, pretend he couldn't.

You set down everything on the table, resolving to deal with it later, as you rushed to the bedroom, knocking the door open.

He was still on his side, breathing heavily... Tied completely, but he was moaning so much, so... endlessly. He looked the same before you left, but...

You walked over--he seemed so dazed, he didn't even notice you. The first problem was the mess--he seemed to have came over and over again, and even as you watched, his spent dick, barely even hard at all, spewed out a few clear drops of liquid, unable to muster anything else. You were suddenly very thankful for the towels you had set down. You looked back to the toy, and your face dropped--

It was at max. You, immediately reached over, turning it off. The sound of buzzing stopped, one you only now noticed, and his moans immediately ceased. You half wanted to take it out now, but... oh, the rope, that wouldn't let you. It was fine, you set this up to fall off him as soon as a single knot was removed.

Gently, you reached up to the back of his neck and tugged on the end of the rope that hung out, and it all loosened. Scaramouche wasn't moving, but he was breathing... how exhausted must he be?

You finally removed the ribbons, deciding to show a little extra mercy and to untie his mouth, and he took ragged gasps.

With a steady hand, you grabbed onto the end... and gently, you tugged, and he moaned, prompting you to stop... was it best to leave it in? No, no, it wasn't a wound, it was a vibrator up his ass, of course it was better to get it out.

It was hard to ignore how he moaned, with each little movement, as you tried to be as gentle as possible when removing it... until it finally flopped onto the bed, his hole oozing with the excess lube, gaped from the massive size, clenching and loosening...

Oh, how destroyed he looked. He was beautiful, but you were still worried, gathering him up in your arms, not minding how he was coated in sweat and drool.

"Scara, talk to me," You half-pleaded, wondering if there was something wrong.

"Tuh.. tie...rd..."

"... Tired?"

He grunted weakly, of course he would be... you should probably get him water. But, you were distracted, as he weakly lifted his hand, grabbing your wrist and bringing it to his stomach...

Oh, despite everything, he was hard... his poor little cock, red and oozing, covered in mess.

"Pleah..." He whined desperately. Slowly, you moved your hand, wrapping around him, and he moaned, nodding as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, mouthing at it... likely his attempt at kissing.

It only took a few strokes for him to cum one last time, a pathetic mess of liquid that looked no thicker than water, and just as clear.

"Are you okay?" You asked, not minding the mess... there was potential for something bad happening, but...

"Yeh... yes..." he weakly forced out, "Stay..." He whined, the first fully coherent word he could muster.

Well... You could hold him for a few moments. You'd deal with his sweatiness, and getting him water, soon... just after he's gotten the affection he, clearly, so desperately needs...

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #genshin scaramouche x reader #// this is so bad #// am sorry #naughty bark #anonymous

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mirkosintern · 3 years

Text

Crawlin’ back to you

pairing: dabi x fem!reader

genre: smut with a lil angst and fluff if you squint

notes: reader is a member of the lov, set in the meta liberation army arc (before the war!), possessive dabi, wowee this is my first work!! I never expected myself to be able to write a piece but here we are ehehe this was inspired by a certain tiktok actually. U may have already noticed but the title is from the song do I wanna know? by the arctic monkeys<3

warnings: 18+, unprotected sex, breeding, cum play, dubcon-ish?, toxic relationship, degradation, vulgar language, alcohol

word count: 3k

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That the nights were mainly made for saying things that you can't say tomorrow day Crawlin’ back to you Ever thought of callin’ when you've had a few? 'Cause I always do Maybe I'm too busy bein’ yours to fall for somebody new Now I've thought it through

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Dabi wasn’t one to do feelings. He’s screwed numerous women, but they were nothing more than some toys to fulfill his sexual needs. Neither did he want to have feelings, nor did he need to. Afterall, his side hoes who begged to stay with him even after all the degradation he’s given them disgusted him the most. He would snicker at their pathetic attempts and cut them off ruthlessly.

However, you were an only exception.

No, he did not have feelings for you, he swears he never did and never will. But you were different from his other disposable sluts--he kept you around. He didn’t ghost you, instead, he kept coming back. It is only because you’re a member of the lov as well, he thinks. You are easy to access since you’re always around the lov base, and he doesn’t even have to worry about getting caught by civilians or stupid bitches who suddenly decide to turn him into the police. You guys were practically co-workers with benefits, fuck buddies where the “buddies” part is questionable.

Dabi didn’t mind that he made an exception for you until that night. That very night where you sleepily decided to crawl into his arms after a rough round and whispered him how you loved the rough texture of his skin against yours. That very night where you pressed delicate kisses beneath his jaw. The moment of intimacy—making his heart pound and warmth spread beneath his cold skin—was threatening. You were threatening.

That’s where he cut you off completely. He did not knock on your bedroom door located in the lov base anymore. He stopped sending those “you up?” texts at 3am. He didn’t even lock eyes with you or talk to you anymore.

It feels as if something heavy dropped inside you, squashing your heart to the point where it’s painful. You try your best to ignore the pang in your chest and remind yourself that you guys were nothing more than co-workers with benefits. However, the enduring heartburn only functions to make you realize how attached you were to him. He’s Dabi, the biggest scumbag you will ever meet, what did you expect? What were you thinking? It should be no surprise this happened, right? But having to encounter his stupidly handsome face every day was not doing any help. You are a girl with dignity, you tell yourself, trying your best to ignore his strong scent of campfire and cologne drowning you every time you guys are in the same room.

The pain is suffocating you for weeks, and you finally decide to completely get over him. The night Dabi brings a bimbo to his room and fucks her loud enough for everyone in the lov to hear—for you to hear—you’re done with everything. You step outside, get drunk, do anything to numbify the pain the raven-haired guy has caused you, and even meet a nice-looking guy who seems to be interested in you.

You are doing good without Dabi.

You don’t need Dabi anymore.

You are not letting him get to your head.

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A party.

League of villains is all about privacy, but they also started having some fun after uniting with the meta liberation army. Now they had sufficient money, people and place to throw parties every now and then without the danger of getting caught by civilians. Afterall, a number of heroes were in their side as well.

“Not gonna lie, you guys do know how to host parties.” Keigo smirks, picking up a glass of bourbon whiskey. “It’s fuckin’ lame,” Dabi answers as he downs a glass of liquor.

“So, what happened with y/n?” Keigo throws a suggestive smile.

“The hell you mean what happened with her?” Dabi frowns.

“Y’know, didn’t you guys used to be a thing or something?”

“Nah, she was an occasional fuck and that’s it.”

“Oh really? The Dabi I know never fucks a same bitch twice though. I thought she was something special.”

“Special?”

“Yeah, thought maybe you actually wanted her.”

A smug grin appears on Dabi’s face. “Never even liked her.”

“Have you seen her and her new boyfriend?”

The smile is quick to vanish from his face after hearing the word boyfriend. Dabi’s eyes widen, immediately glaring at Keigo. Before he could say anything, Keigo tilts his chin to point something.

“There they are.”

Dabi turns his head only to find you clinging onto some guy’s arm. Your cheeks are flushed –a pretty, pink glow on your face—as you bat your eyelashes at the guy. Bubbly giggles escape from your lips while you stare at him through half-lidded eyes. The guy’s arm is secured around your waists, pulling you closer to him.

Dabi sees red.

His entire body freezes as his grip around the liquor glass tighten. Dabi doesn’t say anything for a moment, but there is no way Keigo wouldn’t pick up how his cerulean eyes are flaming at the sight. “Well, I thought you knew.” Keigo pats Dabi’s shoulder. “Wouldn’t matter anyways right? You never liked her.”

“…Right.” Dabi takes another sip from the liquor, his eyes still fixed to you.

Keigo’s words are true; at least they are supposed to be true. Dabi didn’t have feelings for you. He doesn’t do romance. No feelings were ever involved with any of the women he’s slept with, and he made sure of it. It was so clear for Dabi without a question.

But why is it unable for him to erase the sight of you with some guy as he forces himself to sleep that night? Why are your sweet giggles echoing his head? Why can’t he get rid of the thought of you in that tight, black dress that perfectly complements the curves of your body? Why is the moment where the guy places his hand on your inner thigh replaying in his head? Why are thoughts of you messing with his mind?

“Fucking hell.”

Dabi gets up. This was fucking annoying. You were truly fucking annoying.

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You tilt your head to check the glowing digits of your digital clock on the nightstand. 2:15am. It’s late, and you haven’t even taken off the dress you wore to the party. You are too tired both physically and emotionally. You’ve done quite a decent job in entertaining the man who’s accompanied you through the whole party, but it was truly an energy-consuming task. You and him walked around as if you guys were the happiest couple in the party; but the truth is that you guys aren’t even properly dating yet. Solely because you have constantly been refusing to properly answer him asking you to be his girlfriend. It’s not that he’s bad looking or anything, but the idea of being with him just doesn’t sit right with you. Ever since you’ve met him, he couldn’t keep his hands off you without asking you anything about consent. You always had to pull his hand away with an uncomfortable smile, yet he never took a hint. However, when a dating rumor about you and him started and spread quickly, you didn’t try to correct anything. Maybe it was because you wanted to pull out a reaction from a certain villain. Maybe your unusual actions at today’s party; clinging onto the guy and laughing at every single word he spoke; was to make Dabi witness how happy you were.

Truthfully, you were dying inside.

What was even worse was that none of your attempts seemed to bring an ounce of reaction from Dabi. When have you become so pathetic and desperate? You feel tears welling up in your eyes, hot and burning, but you don’t want to cry. Not for an asshole like him. You take out your phone, find the guy’s name, and text him that you don’t want to see him anymore. You feel a little guilty, thinking that you may have used him to provoke something from Dabi, but your thoughts are too worn out for you to comprehend anything. You flop onto your bed and bury your face in your pillow. You huff out a deep sigh, and the soft texture of your cotton pillow feels warm on your cheeks. In all honesty, you were thinking about Dabi the whole time you were at the party. Whenever the guy’s hand creeped up your thighs or gripped on your ass, you imagined it was Dabi’s, trying your hardest to feel something from the contact.

You weren’t over Dabi. You never were. Realization hurts, leaving a sour feeling in your mouth.

Your body shoots up at the sudden, loud slamming sound emerged from your door. Your teary eyes widen at the lean man slamming the door shut. “Dabi?” You ask, not believing your eyes. “What the hell are you doing here?” Without an answer, Dabi’s one hand reaches for your throat as his other hand grips your wrist. His large body is towering over you, and you feel your bed shift as he dips one knee in the mattress. His sapphire eyes pierce through your soul, and you can feel his raging anger just from looking at him.

“You’re such a pain in the ass, y’know that?”

“Dabi, what are you-“

He doesn’t let you finish the sentence, pulling you in for a heated kiss. Your lips open reflexively, enabling him to deepen the kiss. The kiss is aggressive, and he doesn’t know whether it is because of his anger or his pent-up desires towards you that he has been suppressing. The kiss gets sloppier over time, hot and wet with saliva and tongue. He lets go of the grip on your wrist and starts tracing your inner thigh with his thumb, and you let out a soft moan. You finally pull away from the kiss to catch your breath, but he doesn’t cease to caress your thigh. Instead, he lowers himself to your ear. “You seem to really love thigh touches, don’t you?” His low voice and hot breath brushing the shell of your ear sends chills down your spine.

“Huh?”

“I always knew you were a slut, but never knew you were this much of a whore. You would bend over any guy who offers you some touches, right?”

Tears swell in your eyes again at his vile words, but it’s hard to talk when his knuckles are repeatedly brushing your clit.

“I’m… not a slut…nngh.” Suppressed moans escape your lips.

“Yeah? Why are you making those sounds then?”

“Dabi…”

He yanks your dress up and dips two fingers inside your lace panties, making you let out a weak yelp. Dabi raises his brows with a smug grin on his face.

“Oh, so she indeed is a slut huh? You get this fucking wet from a kiss?”

His two digits start pumping inside you, and you grip on his white shirt at the sudden sensation. Your gasps and moans get louder, and you suddenly feel his wet lips against your neck. Dabi sucks hard, making sure to leave dark purple marks from your jaw to your neck and shoulder, as he repeats the step of curling his fingers and pulling them inside and out your hole. “Dabi…too fast.” You whine out. “Yeah?” A sadistic grin appears on Dabi’s face. “Be a good slut and take what I give you.” His thumb reaches for your clit, making your legs shiver.

“Nngh…stop, I’m gonna… Dabi I’m gonna cum.”

“Stop? You want me to stop?”

“No!”

“Do you deserve it though?” he slows his pace while teasing your clit. “Beg.”

It’s humiliating, really—but do you have any other choice when you are this close?

“Please, Dabi… I’ll be your good slut. Please let me cum!” Your desperate cries have him pumping his fingers fast again, and soon you’re seeing white. Hot drops of release coat Dabi’s fingers as he pulls out.

“Say ah.”

“A-ah.”

You obey, and Dabi sticks his digits inside your mouth. Your mouth wraps around them immediately, sucking as if it’s a pacifier. “Good girl,” Dabi says as he pats your head, and it makes your stomach swoop with sick pride.

The bulge in his pants is becoming painful, and he contemplates on fucking your mouth. But he’s too impatient; He feels the need to abuse your cunt right now. He wants to hear your screams and cries as he proves who you belong to.

“Take that off.” Dabi gestures at your dress, and you start undressing as he demands. Dabi pulls down his sweatpants and boxers, causing his cock to spring out. It’s so pretty, you think, and you can’t help but admire his red tip, glistening with precum. He pumps his length a few times and lines it up with your entrance. You inhale a sharp gasp as you feel his whole length inside you. It feels so full; it feels as if he’s gonna split you in half if he starts moving.

“Ah, too big.”

“I know.” Dabi looks down on you. “Take it like a little slut you are.”

Before you could even talk back, he is moving inside you. Your moans blend with the noise of the bed creaking; a perfectly harmonized orchestra to Dabi’s ears.

You knew Dabi wasn’t one to prep you or go slow, but you feel like he’s going way rougher than usual. His wild thrusts have your head lolling backwards, and Dabi does not miss the chance to take a hard bite on your neck. You scream out of both pain and pleasure, and you feel two hot streams of tears on your flushed cheeks.

“Aww, she’s crying.” Dabi says in a mocking tone. “Bet you love the pain.”

Humiliation fills your chest and you turn your head away, but Dabi quickly grabs your chin with one hand, forcing you to directly face him.

“Who’s the one making you feel this full?” he asks.

“Y-you.”

“Did he ever make you feel this way?”

Wait, he? Who does he mean by he? Your alleged boyfriend? Could it be possible that Dabi was doing this out of jealousy? You try to comprehend, but it’s impossible for you to think clearly, not when Dabi is fucking you stupid. “No!” You shout.

Dabi’s free hand reaches for your clit and starts rubbing circles. “Tell me, who does this pussy belong to?”

“You…” You try to answer, but he suddenly lifts up your lower body and slams into your cervix in the right angle. It has you moaning even louder, your insides spasming around his cock.

“I can’t hear you.” He smirks sadistically.

“You, Dabi, it belongs to you! I belong to you!” You’re screaming his name like it’s the only word you know, making his cock twitch. “That’s right. You are all for me, all for me to use. Just a pathetic little slut for my cock.” A satisfactory grin appears on Dabi’s face.

Dabi lowers his body down and grunts directly into your ear as he thrusts even faster. The sound of his skin slamming into yours is so erotic, and you can feel how close you are.

“You wanna cum huh?” His words have you nodding frantically, babbling incoherent words. Yes Dabi—wanna cum so bad—wanna be yours—wanna be your good girl—please, dabi.

“Then do it. Make a mess on my cock.”

“Nngh, Dabi!” You scream out his name as euphoria washes down your body. His release follows you soon enough, painting your walls white. You feel warmth filling your belly while his groans echo in your ear. You’re still sobbing and panting after he pulls out, without any energy left to move. As your blurry vision starts getting clearer, you feel his warm skin and the sting of his cold staples against your back. His long arms wrap around your oversensitive body, pulling you closer to him.

“You’re messing with my head.” Dabi rests his forehead on the back of your shoulder.

“Huh?”

You’re confused, but Dabi doesn’t elaborate. His ego doesn’t let him do such thing.

“When you said you belonged to me, did you mean it?”

You bite your lower lip, not knowing how to respond to his sudden question. Millions of unspoken words and feelings are hanging in the back of your throat, creating a huge lump. You swallow them all and spit out a question instead. “Do you want me to belong to you?”

“Yeah.” Your eyes widen at his unexpected response, butterflies fluttering inside your chest. “Be mine.” His low voice vibrates against your soft skin. Your heart melts at his words, and you cannot stop your feelings from overspilling anymore. At that moment you both realize; you and Dabi were meant to crawl back to each other, no matter how hard you both try and struggle.

“I’m yours.” You smile, “I’m all yours.”

#dabi x reader #dabi x y/n #dabi smut #bnha x reader #bnha smut #mha x reader #bnha x y/n #touya x reader #touya x y/n #todoroki touya x reader #dabi #todoroki touya #dabi lemon #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #dabi fanfic #dabi fic

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greenninjagal-blog · 3 years

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The Rumor Mill Game (pt4)

I swear I didn’t forget about this au. This chapter is just....long.

Welcome back to this mess of an au :) If you need a refresher, you can find Part Three [here!] Or if you’re new check out the first part [here!]

Summary: Logan is...dealing with the fallout of him and his coworker, Remus, having created a rumor about them being married and now apparently having a kid except not because Logan screamed at the top of his lungs that Virgil wasn’t his kid. His boss has a different definition for what “dealing” actually means.

Words: 8292 (Holy shit remember when this au was 2k words)

Read on Ao3 || My General Writing Masterlist

When Logan had seen his boss after he made Virgil cry, he hadn’t expected it to end up like this.

Granted when he hadn’t exactly been expecting anything. He hadn’t been looking ahead, hadn’t been making plans, hadn’t been thinking at all. Which was most likely how he ended up outside the bar in the first place.

Logan could, of course, count the number of times he had been drunk on one hand. College had been a time for experimenting, and of course for his twenty-first birthday his friends at the time had been insistent that he needed to imbibe an unholy amount of alcohol in one night. They had turned it into an experiment, where Logan documented exactly what he was feeling after each drink and he still had the notes in his desk at home, despite the fact that his handwriting had become illegible after the fifth drink and someone had spilled an orange soda based tonic on the third page. The notes themselves were worthless, but they served as a memoir to people who he no longer associated with and a younger version of himself who had still been learning.

And Logan did have a soft spot for that imbecile: Twenty-one-year-old Logan Ackroyd who still believed in the goodness of people and who wanted to change the world and who could fall in lov--

Logan pitied him-- that kid he used to be-- which he was certain that his younger self would be indignant about. Logan always did hate when people pitied him. Those emotions had rarely ever been genuine, rarely ever been helpful, rarely been productive. What was he to do about people feeling bad for him? About others being disappointed? About others making assumptions about him and how he felt?

He didn’t need pity, and he didn’t want it. Not when he got rejected to his first three colleges, not when flunked that English class and had to pay to retake it the next year, not when he had bought that ring and gotten down on one knee and made a whole carefully edited speech and--

And he’s not nearly drunk enough to deal with these types of thoughts. Or any thoughts for that matter. Wouldn’t it just be great to stop thinking?

Then he wouldn’t have to remember the looks on his coworkers faces when he storming into the office less than fifteen minutes after initially leaving for lunch and demanded that Beatrice turn in her overdue spreadsheets in twenty minutes or he’d have her fired before slamming his office door hard enough to crack that frosted glass, or the look on Remus- fucking- Prince’s face when he tried to act like everything that had happened was not his fault and that Logan had taken the game to far by himself without any sort of prompting from Remus, or the look on Virgil’s face when Logan lost his self control.

Like an idiot. Like an asshole. Like someone who doesn’t think before he acts.

Like someone who should be alone for the rest of his life, because he can’t seem to get a hold of those useless emotions of his.

And Logan wanted so very badly to blame Remus Prince for this whole endeavor, the whole production, the whole catastrophe. He wanted to say that without Remus he never would have gotten that angry, wouldn’t have had that conversation, wouldn’t have even gotten Thai today.

Logan wanted to say that, but really it's his own fault. If he had just dismissed Remus’s rumor in the beginning, if he had just told Jen and Quin that his personal business was his own, if he had just ignored the urge to get coffee and finished the spreadsheets without getting up that last night.

His fourth finger itched around the base, the area where that little silver ring had been sitting for less than a day. It was ridiculous, utterly ridiculous, because Logan had never worn a ring before and now suddenly the absence of it caused his skin to crawl in a most unpleasant, unproductive way.

Distantly Logan realized that by gifting Remus such a wonderful present, he had also thrown away four hundred dollars. And perhaps ironically Logan noted that he feels annoyed about it-- four hundred dollars had been sitting in a pocket of a dress jacket in the corner of his office for over nine months and he had tossed it aside in a fit of impulsive anger.

Logan had not been hurting for money recently, with how decently he was paid, and the amount of overtime he worked, and how little time he had taken off since that disastrous night.

But perhaps he might have been able to return it to the jewelers and weathered the terrible, awful pitying looks they would give him when he requested about their refund policy or a location where he might be able to sell it himself. It was a ring that was worth four hundred dollars and he had given it to Remus, and isn’t it funny that that’s farther than he got with the one for whom the ring had been originally intended?

And as Logan downed his next rum and coke of the night, he hoped that Remus found a better use for it. Newton knows it hadn't done any good for Logan.

(Its stupid, Logan knew, to blame a ring for the way that he had screeched “He’s not and never will be our son!” Its stupid, Logan knew, to blame a ring for the way that Remus had hummed mischievously “I think I enjoy being fake-married to you, Logan." Its stupid, Logan knew, to blame a ring for the the way his last partner had said “We should see other people”. Its stupid, stupid, stupid--)

“Hmmm,” A voice behind him said, “I thought I would find you here!”

Logan didn’t realize he had closed his eyes until he heard the voice and felt every atom in his body figuratively threaten to combust. He wasn’t drunk enough to be thinking about him, and he most certainly wasn’t drunk enough to turn and look at the incessantly, perky man that had decided to sit down next to him.

Logan waved at the bartender and ordered another rum and coke and watched his freshly emptied glass disappear like the handful of others he didn’t bother to keep count of.

“And I’ll have two waters, please!” Patton Hart added with one of his peppy, happy, insufferable laughs, before turning to face Logan. “Hiya, Lo! It's been so long since we’ve seen each other!”

“Not long enough,” Logan disagreed, with a rueful smile that should very clearly, very precisely detail how much he does not want company at the current moment. “Don’t you have things to be doing tonight, Mr. Hart?”

Patton hummed, pressing his lips together as he thought-- a monumental task for someone like him, surely. Logan was partially convinced that if he removed his glasses he might be able to see the squirrels beginning to run on that rusted wheel in the other man’s brain. If Logan was of a less logical mind he might even be brazen enough to call this the first time Patton had used his brain all week.

“Well,” Patton said, carefully settling himself on the stool next to Logan. “I was graciously informed by my son that he would be enjoying the perks of being a teenager with no bedtime tonight and along with where exactly I could shove my homemade lasagna.” He laughed lightly, “Kids, these days! He really does keep me on my toes!”

Logan did his best not to roll his eyes. “I do not know the whereabouts of your son, Mr. Hart.”

“Patton,” He said easily, “And I’m not here for my son. I’m here for you, Logan.”

“If this is about the glass in my door, you are very capable of taking that out of my paycheck.” Logan told him.

The bartender placed Logan’s new rum and coke in front of him and he reached for it almost immediately, only stopping when Patton’s hand landed on his forearm.

“Mr. Hart--”

“Patton,” Patton corrected with that smile that Logan suspected was the worst thing in the world. Worse than Virgil’s blank expression when he told them to get out, worse than Remus’s smug one when he suggested that Logan did indeed enjoy the ability to manipulate his coworkers, worse than Beatrice faulty excel sheets, than broken glass of his door, than a ring he never wanted to see again and yet he still felt like it was missing from his finger.

“Mr. Hart,” Logan said again, “I am going to get horrifically drunk tonight, and I will be calling out sick tomorrow, regardless of what you say. So my advice to you is, say anything of importance now, before I am too incoherent to register and respond accordingly.”

“That doesn’t sound too smart there, kiddo!” Patton said, like he was any older than Logan was.

“I do not feel like being smart right now,” Logan said snippily. Because being smart involved thinking, and Logan had done quite enough thinking for the day. He was tired of thinking, tired of memories, tired of the lump in his chest that had formed during his lunch break and hadn’t dissolved in the eight hours since. He was tired.

“Would you like me to be smart for you?” Patton asked.

Ah.

Yes, Logan remembered suddenly with just a few words why he hated Patton Hart so much. Why he hated those too-wide brown eyes, those stupid freckles, that soft smile. Why he hated the way that Patton had tracked him down despite the fact that he had turned off his phone, the way that Patton had ordered two waters, the way that he hadn’t taken off his jacket. The way that he had taken out his keys and put them on the bar counter between them and Logan could pick out his own house key from the jumbled mess of bits and bobs.

“I heard something pretty interesting today,” Patton said, when Logan didn’t reply because he was too busy remembering why he hated Patton so much.

“Please don’t pretend like you didn’t know about my so-called affair before I did.” Logan snapped. “Honestly, Patton!” Logan dropped his arm from the glass and instead pressed his knuckles to his forehead. “Playing dumb about your own company is my least favroite thing about you.”

“I thought you hated my laugh the most.” Patton looked at him, letting the smile slip into something more serious.

“I hate everything about you.”

“Pay for the drinks, Lo.” Patton told him, “And I’ll take you home. We can have some of my lasagna and watch a space documentary, like we’re twenty years old again.”

Logan hated Patton and hated the way his chest ached at the offer. His knuckles bore into the side of his head, jabbing the frame of his own glasses into this temple. He hated the way that Patton was looking at him, soft and sweet and naive.

He hated the way his fingers itched to take Patton’s hand and go home.

“And after all that,” Patton continued so lightly, “You can tell me all about how Remus Prince got under your skin.”

Logan’s hand slammed on the counter, so suddenly he surprised himself. Patton, however, didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink, didn’t react other than to hold that smile.

“I am not drunk enough to be talking about Remus Prince,” Logan spat. “Especially not to you, Patton.”

Patton was quiet and at first, Logan really had thought that he had won something-- he thought that perhaps Patton would grant him mercy and let him drown his sorrows alone and miserable in a bar until he forgot his own name. But Patton was too good of a friend and Logan really should hate him less for that.

“You know,” Patton said with a cold type of humor that doused Logan with awareness. Bad awareness. The type of awareness that sunk it’s metaphorical claws into Logan’s chest and pierced straight through his heart before Patton finished what he was saying. “I think….yeah that does sound familiar. Do you remember the last time you said you weren’t drunk enough to tell me something?”

Logan did.

Logan couldn’t forget if he tried.

And he had tried so very hard for so very long-- except that Remus Prince had waltzed into Logan’s life, had called him a Robot, had smirked at him and run their coworkers around like cattle with pretty little words. Except that Remus Prince had gotten bored and decided that the only logical next course of action was to mess with Logan’s personal life.

Except that Remus Prince had played along with the rumor game, and smiled at him, and kissed him, and---

And Logan had started thinking---

And Logan’s mouth had started moving--

And Virgil face had--

Logan reached for the glass in front of him, reaching for the cool ice and the spritzy carbonation and the burn of the rum.

Patton watched him, blinking in the long, slow, dumb way of his that had fooled just about every person that he had come in contact with. With the goofy smile and the habit of deliberately misunderstanding key phrases and making puns and jokes when things were tense, it was hard to see him as anything other than a rich son who became CEO via thinly veiled nepotism.

Logan knocked back the drink, blinking back the burn behind his eyes that were from the alcohol and definitely not from the lump in his throat that had started dissolving.

He didn’t want to close his eyes, because he knew what he would see when he did: a nice suit, a fancy dinner, a walk to the bridge dotted with fairy lights of all things. He’d see that stupid ring, that stupid face, that stupid end of the night that everyone had told him would be nice, and perfect, and everything he would ever want!

And he didn’t want to think about how it had not been nice or perfect or anything either of them had ever wanted!

He didn’t want to think about how years ago he had come to a bar just like this, and tried to get so drunk he could pretend that it hadn’t happened, and Patton had shown up then and offered him a job and--

“He wants to go by Janus now,” Patton said, picking up one of the waters and taking a sip.

Logan squinted at him and tried not to be happy about the distraction from his own thoughts, “Who?”

“My son,” Patton said, like it was obvious he had switched back to a neutral topic. “He told me earlier during our phone call he wants to go by Janus, now. He said he’s hated the name Dante for forever. Can you believe it, Lo?”

Logan couldn’t actually. Because he had known Patton since they themselves were teenagers, since before Patton had brought up how empty being a CEO was without anyone to come home too, since Patton had first invited him to Sunday brunch and introduced him to the child he called “son”. Logan had babysat Dante when Patton had business trips and Dante had always been proud of himself, of his better-than-the-status-quo lifestyle, of his name that held power and prestige and weight.

Dante had been practicing saying his name in the mirror since before his voice cracked. Dante Hart, future CEO. Dante Hart, son of Patton Hart. Dante Hart.

“He’s a teenager,” Logan said, “He’s rebelling.”

“Maybe so!” Patton laughed, and it dwindled down to something that was easier felt in the air than definable in terms Logan was familiar with, “Gosh, I love him so much, Lo. My baby! He’s growing up so fast now! The other day he told me he had a boyfriend. He’s at that stage where he doesn’t want me to help him anymore!”

And despite the buffoon having not had a single drop of alcohol, Patton was tearing up. Logan gritted his teeth at the implications of a weepy, teary, so-full-of-emotions Patton. He had spent enough time in college trying to console him as he figured out the whole “Why does it always have to be about sex? Why can’t I just love hugging someone, Lo? Why does everyone make me feel so broken?” Logan hadn’t been any good back then, and he definitely hadn’t gotten better with time.

After that disaster with the last guy, Logan had decided that feeling things, frivolous things, emotion-like things, were not something he was into anymore.

Logan learned from his mistakes, after all.

Even the mistakes that started with “R” and ended in a $400 ring being thrown away.

“Is that why you’re here, Mr. Hart?” Logan asked, in that way of his that told even Patton with his squirrel run brain that it wasn’t actually a question at all. “You can’t baby your son anymore so you’ve moved on to the next best thing?”

Patton stuck his tongue in his cheek and set his water back down. “Patton.” He stressed. “And I’m not here to baby you, Logan. I’m here to be your friend.”

He said “friend” like it was a word in the dictionary Logan didn’t know. It was infuriating: the insinuation that Logan had never cracked open a dictionary before, that he was so unknowledgeable about the concept of a friend that Patton was about to show him the online Oxford dictionary definition, like someone who played dumb all day and peppered his windows with sticky notes in the shape of a game of Frogger knew more about something than Logan who had clawed his way up from nothing and was constantly needing to prove how he earned his position.

Patton nudged the second water in Logan’s direction.

Logan stared at it, at the condensation on the glass, at the ice cubes, at the refraction of the low lights from the bar counter. He stared at it like it was a portal back through time that would allow him to slam some sense into poor, pitiful twenty-one-years-old Logan before he let himself fall in Love.

Before he bought a ring or stopped taking days off unless Patton tromped down to his office himself. Before Remus Prince borrowed his cup and before Logan got it in his head that he was serving revenge rather than idiocracy. Before he let himself think too little and say too much and hurt a kid that had never deserved to be upset before in his life.

“If my son wants to be called Janus, I’ll call him that,” Patton says softly. “Because even if it doesn’t make sense to me, it means something to him. And even if my friend is struggling with emotions that don’t make sense to me, I’m still gonna try to help him, Lo.”

Patton ducked his head just a little, just enough that he managed to catch Logan’s strategically averted gaze and make something out of it: a swell of guilt, a sense of hope, a pinch of safety and unadulterated kindness.

His throat was dry, but it was the type of dry that couldn’t be fixed with a glass of water.

“I made a kid cry,” Logan said, because self loathing is a coat he had thought he’d outgrown but he can still fit his arms in the sleeves.

Patton nodded. “Yeah, I heard about that.” He sipped his water. “I think we all have at one point or another.”

“See, the distinct difference that you are missing here, Patton, is that you are a father.” Logan snapped, “And your son will cry at the drop of a hat if he thinks he can get something out of it. And you would never harm a child! Not for any reason in the entire world!”

“And you would?”

“I did.” Logan felt himself sink into the chair, sink like an anchor in the ocean, sink like the floor below him had turned into a blackhole. “I did, I did it. What type of person does that make me?”

“I hate to break it to you, Lo,” Patton said, as kindly as he could, which Logan knew was truly, sickenly nice. He wanted to choke on the sentiment but he found that he couldn’t quite make his chest hurt the way he wanted it too when it came to Patton’s pity.

“But that just means you’re a normal person.” Patton smiled dumbly, tilting his head and shrugging. “Everyone says things they don’t mean sometimes.”

“You don’t.”

“I do,” Patton countered gently, “Like when I hired Beatrice before realizing that she had lied about knowing how to use Excel.”

“Fuck, Beatrice,” Logan agreed, because if he closed his eyes too hard he thought he might still see grid patterns as much as he might see Virgil’s hurt expression and he hated it so much. So much.

“I also told-- Janus once that I would get him anything he wanted for his birthday, and he asked for a snake.” Patton shuddered, almost comically, “And you saw how that turned out.”

“I’ve always been impressed with his ability to sneak things into the school buildings,” Logan sighed. “I doubt anyone has ever forgotten that Show-and-Tell.”

Patton chuckled quietly. It was almost lost in the buzz of the other patrons in the bar. He drew a smiley face in the condensation on his glass and Logan reached over to wipe it away, like he had done a hundred seventeen times since college.

“So….Lasagna?” Patton offered. “We can make some garlic bread too.”

“I regret ever meeting you,” Logan said, even as he picked up the keys on the counter between them. He wished that Patton didn’t look so self satisfied, so pleased, so smug when the words tumbled from his lips, but Patton had never been one to pertain to the wishes and whims of Logan like that.

Settling his tab was quick; a pile of bills from his wallet that he didn’t actually check, but decided the bartender deserved anyway and then Patton linked their elbows together so that Logan couldn’t walk off the way that he used to when he would agree with Patton just to get him to shut up. Logan snagged Patton’s glasses from his head and fogged them up with his breath, before taking on the tedious task of cleaning the fingerprints off the lens meticulously while walking in a wobbling straight line.

Patton laughed like silver bells and it alone brightened the entire street with a type of magic that Logan had long since given up on trying to scientifically explain. The poet in him that Logan had buried under Calculus classes and Statistics courses and a Business degree and only let out when the alcohol out weighed the blood in his system, whispered that it was because it was Patton and his aloofness, and his kindness, and his generosity that never made any sense, and wasn’t that reason enough for the universe to lighten up?

It was drizzling outside, scattered raindrops and dark heavy clouds that whispered of a thunderstorm later. Patton skipped, Logan rolled his eyes and let himself be dragged towards the familiar pale blue punch buggy. It was the same exact car from their college time together, if one ignored the frankenstein replacements of just about every single component in it. Patton clung to the car the same way he had clung to the delusion of Logan being a good friend; sticking close through every breakdown, excusing every letdown, and spending far too much money on it when economically it would have been more beneficial to just let them go.

A wave of self loathing wrapped over Logan again when he pulled on the car door. Patton was genuinely a good person, a good friend. He was stupid at times and he made decisions that made Logan was to strangle him, but he cared so much more than other people. He offered fourth and fifth chances when Logan would have stone-walled his offender at one.

Not to mention, he had come out in the rain to find Logan specifically, probably traversing through three other bars to find the one that Logan had chosen to be his misery echo chamber.

By some sort of lucky happenstance, Logan had originally walked far enough to hail a taxi to get to this bar, leaving his car in the safety of the parking garage where Patton’s company paid a nice sum for security. Logan had tried to argue about that expense with him back in the day, but Patton had pulled out a picture of his toothy grinning son-- Janus-- and said “Lo!! What if my son comes to visit when he learns to drive?! I don’t want to worry about him getting attacked in the parking garage!”

Logan had brutally pointed out that his son would never visit him during work, and so far he had been correct in that assessment, but that didn’t stop him from feeling the slightest bit guilty about his bluntness even so much time later.

Patton had always looked for the best in people, had more strength than most of humanity, had more hope in happy endings that Logan had trust in fact and numbers.

“Is your son okay with me calling him Janus? I’m unsure of etiquette on this. Should I wait until he tells me his preference or should I just make the switch and not bring it up to him?” Logan asked with a sigh as Patton pulled out of the parking spot and set them towards Patton’s house on the other side of town. Unobstructed and following the driving laws, it would only take them about fifteen minutes, and yet Logan wondered about the possibility of Patton having Advil in the car.

The back of his head was already aching from the days events: banging his head on the keyboard all morning leading up to his disastrous lunch date, Remus, Virgil, squinting at spreadsheets until he couldn’t make out the numbers anymore, and the of course stumbling his way to the bar and dealing with Patton.

Patton giggled. “Oh yeah! I asked him earlier if it was okay to tell you. He said he wanted you to call him Janus now. He also said to tell you, you can take a hike.”

Knowing Janus, it was probably something more volatile than “taking a hike”. Most likely it had been something that might have required him to put a full five dollars in the swear jar that they kept on the counter next to the cookie jar. Not that it would matter much. Logan had stayed over at their house dozens of times and every single time he had come across Janus taking that money back out of that swear jar.

As far as Logan was aware, the swear jar had never actually been full. Patton must have noticed at some point-- probably that very first time Janus had taken the money back out-- but he was irritating insistent that he play dumb about it. Thus, Janus continued to swear in excess, Patton continued to make him put money in a swear jar for no real reason, and Logan continued to never understand either of them.

The radio in Patton’s car had been broken fifteen times since Patton had gotten it, but Logan assumed from the silence of the drive that it was now sixteen. He rested his elbow on the window and watched the drizzle turn into a steady rain and the windshield wipers flutter across their vision to occasionally bring them clarity.

The night life was somewhat dreary. The driving pace was slow, and they hit every single stop light in the city because that was just Logan’s luck. There were a few people running around in the rain: a family with a small child who was jumping in every slowly forming puddle on the sidewalk, a couple sharing an umbrella walking so close together they appeared as if to be one misshapen form, a group of friends chatting outside a 24 hour dinner in raincoats, and a few smokers huddled under an alcove with embers burning just enough for Logan to make out their forms through the downpour.

Logan realized almost immediately that the pit in his stomach was much more bearable if he instead focused on the raindrops on the window that are much easier to look at, much less representing something that Logan had always expected he might one day have, much less accusatory in wondering what is wrong with him that he can’t act like a normal human being, this isn’t working, who wants to marry a robot like you--

That was the reason why he wasn’t expecting the sudden jerk of the car coming to a hard stop at a yellow light that they absolutely could have made.

“PATTON!” Logan yelled.

The car behind them blared it’s horn and Logan rubbed his neck and reset his glasses from the sudden movement, ready to question what exactly Patton thought he was doing, because truly of all the things Logan was not in the mood for, this was one of them.

Except that before Logan could get any words out, Patton had put the car in park and whipped off his seatbelt to kick open his door. A wave of rain came pouring into the car as the man threw himself from the driver's seat like there was something wrong with the car, and for a second Logan entertained the absurd idea that they were going to blow up.

Which truly, would have just been a fitting end to his horrific day.

“Patton!” Logan hissed, grabbing after the other’s coat to pull him back inside before the rain soaked into the seats. “Get back in th--”

The other man ignored him, frantically waving to someone in the rain. “REMUS!! MR. PRINCE!! OVER HERE!!”

If Logan knew slightly less about human biology he might have been inclined to say that his heart jumped straight to his throat and climbed its way up his esophagus to strangle him. He wouldn’t have recognized the figure on the street corner on his own: Remus Prince was wearing a black leather jacket and jeans with holes in the knees. He was soaked to the bone, without an umbrella, and his usual bouncy brown curls were matted to his head, as if he had been walking out in the rain for much longer than the rain had been sweeping through the city.

He was standing with the smokers under their minimal tarp, although he, himself, was without a cigarette at all. When he turned at the call of his name, there was only confusion and exhaustion in his face. None of the smugness, or the ego, or the energy that he usually had.

Logan didn’t know why that bothered him. He was hurting from earlier; that was good.

After all, it was Remus’s ridiculous game that he had dragged everyone else into.

((Logan’s finger itched and he dug his nails into his skin so deeply he was afraid to glance down in case there was blood pouring off hands.))

Remus ventured out to meet them, dodging across the lanes of traffic without a care in the world, or perhaps with a death wish. Remus didn’t seem particularly like he would mind getting run over by the way that he opened the back door, climbed in, and shook the excess water out in the interior of the car like some type of undomesticated dog.

“Is this a kidnapping?” He asked, rain dripping down his face. “A murder? Do I get to know your name before you dismember me, cutie?”

Patton laughed joyfully, even as Logan felt his face screw up at the sound of Remus calling their boss “cutie”. It was beyond unprofessional, even if Remus was apparently unaware that his career hinged entirely on not insulting Patton. It took a lot to make Patton angry enough to fire someone-- his patience was the best and worst thing about him, as Logan had been reminded every time they interacted-- but once Remus crossed that line, not even a cockroach like him would be able to drag himself out of the metaphorical wasteland Patton would make out of his life.

Cutie, honestly. Who calls anyone they’ve just met cutie. Logan could understand Remus having called him Lovebug and Lolo, but cutie?

For Patton?

Patton climbed back into the car, snapping on his seatbelt and managed to get out of park at the very same moment as the light turned green. He wiped his sleeve along his glasses, and brightly said, “I’m Patton! And you already know Logie here!”

“Logie?” Remus repeated, sitting back against the seat taking in Logan for the first time. “Oh shi--”

“Do not call me that,” Logan said. “Patton, you can drop me off at the next corner. I will walk home.”

“Don’t be silly!” Patton said, in the same tone that he had used during their college days to coax Logan into driving him to the nearest grocery store after he had successfully managed to pull two all nighters in a row. Logan hated that tone, and Patton knew that well.

“If you do not stop the car, I will throw myself from it while it is still moving.”

“I can get out, actually!” Remus said far too loud for the small car. Logan resisted the urge to turn around and scowl at him. Surely, his pea-sized brain had managed to figure out that he was the point of contention here and that his best move would be to shut up, so why had he decided to open his mouth? “I need to get home anyway. Big day tomorrow and everything.”

“Oh?” Patton said delightedly because Logan would not ever play into subject changes willingly. “What’s tomorrow?”

“I’m getting fired,” Remus said with a nonchalant shrug.

Patton blinked for a moment-- his squirrel-run brain jamming at the sudden twist of the words because whatever he was expecting from his visitor it was not that. Logan resisted the urge to reach over and give him a shake at the shoulders: of course he wouldn’t be able to expect anything with Remus Prince. The man was insufferable and illogical and he wrought chaos for fun.

With everything that had happened, did Patton really think that there was an exaggeration in there?

Remus wanted attention. And he said whatever he needed to in order to get it: a fake affair, a fake divorce, a fake child-- Of course he would say he was getting fired tomorrow if it got Patton to have to use all of his meager brain cells to figure out how serious he was.

“Is that something to celebrate, Mr. Prince?” Logan cut in coldly. “Getting fired?”

“And here I thought that you would be happy, Ackroyd,” Remus said. “Unless you think you’re going to miss me.”

“If only I would be so lucky,” Logan said, digging his phone from his pocket, and turning it back on. The screen was blindingly bright and Logan’s eyes ached just glancing at it in the corner of his vision. “Patton, pull over. I am not doing this tonight. Or tomorrow. Or ever again.”

“I’m not going to let you walk home after however many rum and cokes you had, Logan.”

“Patton,” Logan snarled. “If you continue to treat me like you treat your son, I will tender my resignation tonight. Pull over now.”

Patton opened his mouth, but whatever he was going to say was swallowed up in Remus’s empty voice speaking.

“You went drinking?”

“Do not talk to me, Mr. Prince.”

“You’re not even yelling.”

Logan wasn’t sure what that was supposed to mean, which may have irritated him more than the fact that he was so insistent about continuing to talk when Logan was liable to push the car to crash and kill all three of them. Remus was already staring at him, his expression dark and serious in the passing car lights and somehow Logan thought that he looked vulnerable.

Logan gritted his teeth as his headache pulsed behind his eyes.

“Shut up,” he said. “And put on your seat belt.”

“Or what? You’ll divorce me?” Remus pushed forward between the seats until he was just a few inches from Logan’s own face, grinning with all his teeth. It was at once the same smile that Logan had catalogued through every week of working with him and also something completely foreign.

Remus had pulled him into a kiss earlier that morning, and Logan remembered the taste of pickles on his lips just as well as the smirk he kept as Logan walked away. But this expression is somehow inverted, somehow shifted, somehow a weapon more than a challenge.

“Boys,” Patton said. “Please don’t fight in my car!”

“If you did not want us to fight, why did you invite him in this car?” Logan asked. “You, of all people, know my opinions on--”

“Logan, you’re drunk.”

“What does that have to do with this?!” Logan bit out. He glared at his phone: there were three missed calls from Patton and a handful of text messages from him that Logan couldn’t actually read in the combination of the bright phone light and darkness around them. His eyes were blurry even with his glasses on and the frustration of not being able to read only heightened as he made out the notification for his email which meant that Beatrice had managed to finish her work (allowing Logan to be able to go fix it) or that news of him yelling at a child made it around the office and now he was going to harassed by them as well.

All because of Remus Prince’s inability to shut up.

Patton threw a hand out and grabbed Logan’s phone from his hand and carelessly tossed it over both their shoulders to Remus.

“Patton!” Logan hissed, rubbing the irritated tears from his eyes. “Remus, give it back!”

Remus, however, was just staring at the phone in his lap like it was some type of bomb. Logan’s phone locked itself and the screen went dark, and still Remus sat inhumanely still in the seat, staring at it, with a type of blank expression that Logan oftentimes related to their coworkers when Logan asked them to perform any sort of math without a calculator.

“Remus,” Logan said again.

Remus jerked at the sound of his voice, snapping out of whatever fit the phone had put him in almost meekly-- if Logan could describe anything Remus did as meekly without it being a blatant falsehood. “Meekly” itself had never seemed to be a word in Remus’s vocabulary which was another irritating fact about him that made Logan break out in figurative hives.

Logan knew how Remus was.

He knew Remus.

It didn’t matter that he had never talked to Remus before today, that his thinly veiled contempt for his coworkers kept him from being willing to stand in their presence more than he was being paid to, that this fake affair was the first stupid relationship of any kind he had gotten outside of Patton and his son since his last boyfriend had dumped him on the night he was going to propose and hadn’t he thought he’d known him too? Isn’t that what led to all this?

It didn’t matter.

Logan was smarter, now. Logan was better now. Logan was--

“I don’t…” Remus said, trailing off as he stared at the messages popping up on Logan’s phone and Logan wondered why it felt like his lungs had shrunk right in his chest. “I don’t think you should be reading these right now.”

“He definitely should not!” Patton said, with a very convincing amount of forced happiness. “Hold that for him will you, Remus? Oh and why do you think you’re going to get fired tomorrow?”

Remus looked up at Logan and then at Patton and then back at Logan, like Logan was supposed to know what that meant in addition to every other stupid look he’d given Logan all evening. Logan shoved his glasses up to his hairline and rubbed his aching eyes, and yet somehow that still didn’t fix the pounding in his head or the exhaustion hollowing out his bones. It also didn’t make Remus disappear from the backseat, which was equally annoying, even though Logan hadn’t truly thought he was a shared apparition for him and Patton.

“You didn’t mention anything about today to your… what are you a fuck buddy?” Remus said.

And Patton laughed.

Logan grabbed the door handle and yanked on it, but of course the ridiculous safety locks were engaged, and Logan had spent far too many sober years getting locked in this car to try to puzzle out the broken locking system in order to drunkenly throw himself out of the car. He was not in the habit of wishing for miracles, or even believing in deities, but he imagined that some powerful entity was finding ruining Logan’s life to be semi enjoyable.

“See this is why I can’t fire him!” Patton said through giggles and Logan thought maybe he was being addressed for this. Patton met Remus’s gaze through the rearview mirror and shook the last bit of water from his damp hair. “You make everything so entertaining!”

“What?”

Logan grit his teeth and yanked on the door handle again. “Remus, meet Mr. Hart, the CEO and your boss. Also put on your seatbelt.”

Remus blinked at them both, leaning between the seats and definitely not putting on his seatbelt. Logan counted backward from ten, reminding himself that one of the hiring requirements for Patton’s company has always been must be the stupid beyond belief. He’d known for a while that his coworkers were idiots on a good day, hazards to his health on bad ones, and yet somehow in the whirlwind of the day he’s had, Logan had forgotten that Remus counted as a coworker still.

“I’m not… getting fired?” Remus said, acting much like a computer after being turned on. “Why do you know my name then?”

Patton shrugged, flicking on his blinker to change lanes before the next light. “You have interesting ideas for your advertising strategy! Of course I would know your name! I’m sorry about vetoing that last one. I know Logan liked it, but I wanted to stick to the family-as-a-whole angle.”

“Patton,” Logan warned with an edge.

“Logan liked…?” Remus echoed, before turning towards Logan with a look of bewilderment that annoyed Logan far more than it had any right to. “You actually look at my shit?”

“Put on your seatbelt, Remus,” he said, because wasn’t it obvious that Logan looked at his things? Before the whole Robot incident Logan hadn’t had a problem with Remus at all: he was effective and efficient and the rumors were irritating but below him to indulge in. Before Remus had dragged him figuratively kicking and screaming into this mess, Logan approved the budgets that came with the projects Remus created.

He still did that, just with more anger than before. Petty feelings for Remus himself aside, his work was objectively good.

Logan knew that about him.

“So!” Patton said over both of them, with his signature grin that Logan suspected he would still be wearing even if Logan decided to kill him right now. It must be the by-product of being controlled by rodents running on a wheel. “How was your volunteer work Remus?”

Remus froze in the back seat, going unnaturally still again. “Are you some kind of stalker-- uh sir?”

“Will you knock that off?” Logan snapped, which only made Remus’s shoulders jump straight to his ears. “And put on your seatbelt.”

“Just curious!” Patton said, ignoring Logan entirely. “Darlene is a good friend of mine! I make sure to send monthly donations to the organization since I don’t have a lot of free time to jump over and help.”

Remus didn’t say anything to that. He swallowed audibly and leaned back against the seat, dragging fingers through his wet hair and then tucked his arms in his own armpits. Logan pressed a palm to his forehead watching the street lights bend from behind his eyelids because that was easier than staring at Remus act like Patton was trying to pull his teeth out.

“You actually do volunteer work?” Logan said. “You don’t seem like the type.”

“Ha,” Remus said without any inflection. Logan thought that was the quietest that he had ever been. Where was that stupid ass smirk? Where was the stubbornness that pushed back against everything? Where was that loud voice and that confidence?

“Put on your seatbelt,” Logan said again.

“Why do you care if I wear the belt or not?”

“Remus put on your seatbelt or, so help me Newton, I will climb back there and put it on for you, myself!”

The air simmered from the acid in his tone, making the silence figurative chafe against his ribs. Remus stared at him, blinking slowly, with the street lights casting roving shadows on his face. His dark eyes were just so-- so--

Logan dug his nails into his palm. Why was it Remus Prince could make him feel like this? What gave him the right?

“It’s okay!” Patton said, setting the car to park. “We’re here anyway!”

Logan reached up and pulled his glasses back onto his face properly, but it still took him a moment to realize that they were near a bunch of townhouses, double parked outside one that Logan had considered moving into all those years ago when he had first been looking for an apartment for after college.

Remus too, apparently needed a moment to recognize the area. “We… are at my apartment? Holy shit, you are a stalker.”

Patton giggled, flashing Remus with his blinding smile and reached back to pick up Logan’s phone from his hands. “Thank you so much, kiddo! We’ll wait until you get inside all safe and sound, and I’ll see you tomorrow!”

“You will not,” Logan said. “Tomorrow you have a business deal two hours away to complete and if you miss it--”

Patton stretched back in his seat and let out a hugely exaggerated yawn. “But they’re so boring! Maybe I should bring Janus with me. He always makes my business deals entertaining. I love when he sets his snake on people. He looks so happy and he laughs and--”

Logan squeezed his eyes closed and recited the first twenty digits of pi in his head to keep from grabbing Patton’s squirrel run brain and slamming it into the steering wheel.

“Homicide is wrong,” Logan said.

“I’ll help you vouch for insanity,” Remus said. “I mean, tied together through a murder, and possibly hiding a body is much more juicy than a fake marriage that’s falling apart. We’d be the talk of the office.”

“They would not find any body that I hid,” Logan said. “Nobody would.”

Remus opened his mouth to say something more, but whatever it is he decided against it. Instead he slid over the seats and kicked open the door right behind Logan and stepped out into the night air.

“Thanks for the ride, Mr. Hart, sir,” he said, strangely formal, then squinted and added, “Daddy?”

“I’m not firing you, Remus,” Patton said. “No matter what you call me!”

Logan ran his tongue over his teeth counting each and every one. Remus looked at him but ultimately finally adhered to that whole shutting up thing. He closed the door to Patton’s blue punch buggy and started towards the door to the apartments.

“Oh,” Remus said, and turned back at the last second. He knocked his knuckles on Logan’s window a few inches from where Logan’s gaze fixed itself on a light. Patton apparently knew more about what to do than Logan because he pressed the window lowering button and Remus reached his entire arm into the window to drop a small object right into Logan’s lap.

Logan caught it mainly due to reaction rather than skill and his skin tingled at the familiar item. Even in the dark, Logan’s fingers roll over the shape of the ring that had always reminded him of the worst day of his life. It was still warm from being in Remus’s pocket.

“I think that should stay with you,” Remus said, like it wasn’t a big deal at all. “You know… for the next boytoy you take to your sex dungeon or whatever nerds like you do on weekends.”

And then he turned around and fled towards the apartment building. Patton turned off the hazard lights and slipped back into traffic and Logan wondered if he would be polite enough to not comment if Logan started crying right then and there.

His throat felt swollen, his tongue too big for his mouth, and the headache thrummmmmmed painfully.

Logan knew Remus Prince.

“You know that Remus Prince isn’t gonna be like him,” Patton said to fill the silence.

“Remus Prince isn’t like anyone.” Logan didn’t whine. To whine would be unbecoming. And childish. And embarrassing.

So Logan didn’t whine and Patton mercifully didn't call him out on his not-whining.

And neither of them mention the choked tone that Logan had for the rest of the night.

When Logan had seen his boss after he made Virgil cry, he hadn’t expected it to end up with him clutching that ring like a lifeline, but as he ran his fingers around the rim, he wondered if it had fit on Remus’s finger at all.

(Part Five)

#intrulogical #sanders sides #logan sanders #remus sanders #patton sanders #Far too many OCs gross #Rumor Mill Au #rumors #well fake marriage #sympathetic remus #Logan is bad at feelings #so bad #now with more logan angst #Patton is a good friend #This au is so old that I called Janus Dante and I decided to fix that #alcohol #drunk logan

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imthepunchlord · 3 years

Note

Do you have any thoughts on how the guardian role is handled lore wise? Would you change much about being the guardian?

Oh yes I do and there's so much that I would change up.

The more we see of the Guardians, the dumber they are and the more pointless they are. To a point it's a wonder if they were worth the inclusion as they don't amount to much and are just useless. I'm putting this undercut as I just go off.

- Lore wise, they set it up that adults are naturally more powerful, so why did Fu pick two kids to fight his battles for him? Why not adults? Why did he leave them on their own instead of offering them some means to have an edge over HM?

- Of the Ladybug and Cat, we have yet to see anything unique that the Cat brings to these fights that the other 15 miraculi that Fu has with him couldn't do. You need a distraction that's going to mess up the akuma? Monkey and Fox. You need a protector/aggressor? Bee, Turtle, or Dragon. Ladybug is a must as its the only cleanser so far and has ML to boot, but Cat doesn't need to be out there, and as soon as HM had quite publicly stated that he wants LB and Cat, Fu should've reclaimed the Cat immediately to secure its safety and that HM won't get both. Another or two could go out to replace it.

- Why was picking Adrien a good idea? If Fu had just arrived in Paris, ok, but Backwarder reveals he's been living in Paris for a while. And with that, he's seen Adrien's face everywhere.s Adrien is potentially the most well known kid in Pari. Technically, for Fu's want of secrecy, why pick the most iconic face in Paris to get a miraculous? That sets up one of your heroes to always have attention on him. Fu picking Adrien doesn't make any logical sense.

- Why is Fu ok with endangering one kid but not the other? Why does Marinette get a test set up that risks her life and Fu's if it hadn't gone well and Adrien just helps an old man up, a common decency that most would do. It's like two extreme differences that don't work well in comparison as Marinette gets the risky test and Adrien it looks like he got his miraculous on a silver platter as he got the far easier one that takes the least effort to be a decent human being.

- Fu being a terrible mentor and hero picker in general and the whole shebang with Syren. If Adrien is not meeting his standards or if he doesn't trust Adrien at all, why is Adrien being allowed to continue as a hero? Or if he really wants Adrien to stay, why isn't he doing anything about Adrien? Why isn't he telling Plagg to encourage Adrien to step up and get serious? If he can take on the role of being Adrien's Chinese teacher, why not do that to try and guide Adrien to improvement so he can also be trusted with Guardian secrets too and truly help Marinette out. He's got two options when he doesn't trust Adrien or finds that he's meeting his standards: he takes the miraculous back or he addresses this issue himself.

- I also call big BS about him not doing anything at all when he comes upon Adrien detransformed on the roof with Plagg. Cause he's risking himself going out to find Chat Noir only to find him detransformed. That realistically should raise some brows and concern him. Adrien at least should've gotten a lecture or warning.

- Also the reveal that kwamis aren't allowed to know about their own power. that to me is off putting. It really stresses that kwamis are beneath them, these very ancient and powerful beings that have probably seen a lot. And canon validates it by making them children (which to me is the writers being lazy so they don't have to do complex characters).

- The whole thing with Fu's backstory. Dumbest backstory I've ever heard and it just paints Guardians in a really bad light, and by extension, real life monks. Monks didn't go to people's homes to take children. If they did take kids with them, those kids had nowhere else to go and offered them a place to stay until old enough to be on their own. And that test, omg, wtf. Ok, I can get the idea of a test of temptation, but there are other ways to perform it without starving a kid. Especially leaving said kid alone unsupervised with 19 powerful miraculi two of which have wish granting abilities. How would the Guardians even know if Fu used a miraculous as they left him alone with mriaculi. If Fu wanted to, he could've made a wish to never be picked.

- Fu didn't even do shit when he finally had a chance to face off against HM. He just sat in his damb ball and allowed himself to get knocked around. At least try and roll over him! Be a ping-pong ball! DO SOMETHING. Like, why did you even pick Turtle??? Turtle wasn't able to do anything against Butterfly! I thought it could as Fu had been ready to go in Origins, plus the 5 are based off Wu Xing, by set up, Fox and Turtle should have some sort of an edge over the Butterfly. But I guess that means there could be other options aside form LB and we can't have that, Marinette's miraculous needs to be the only thing to take on the Butterfly to really stress on the fact that it comes down to only her.

- The memory wipe thing that's an apparently must when you retire from being the Guardian. Honestly I think that should've been saved as a last resort if you're ever captured and could be forced to leak info, not when you retire. Doing so removes a valid source of advisement that a new Guardian can rely on. History is there to learn from it and this tradition removes a source of history to learn from, either from having guidance or seeing what the old did and how you want to change things. This also makes me concerned as I see Adrien taking advantage of an amnesiac Marinette.

- I went off about the NY Special revealing there's more Orders here.

- And lastly, Su-Han, the other Guardian to see aside from Fu. And with him, it solidifies how stupid they all are. When the Butterfly is being misused in Paris, why is someone aggressive and judgmental coming to Paris? Why is this guy even working with kids when he doesn't like kids? And the reveal that Guardians don't use miraculi at all. That just makes that test all the dumber with testers being unsupervised. And for Guardians not meant to use miraculi, how come Marinette gets a nice perk as LB that she can pull a miraculous out of her yo-yo? They're probably playing that she's "the first" to do so but realistically, I'm pressing x to doubt. In the long history of miraculi and when Guardians were around, you expect me to believe that Guardians never used miraculi themselves? What if there was no one to turn to, do they just the disaster happen? ...Well, based on how terrible canon is setting them up, I wouldn't be surprised.

SO.

There is a lot I would change up about the Guardians and for this, I'll adjust canon.

- Adrien gets the ring another way, maybe a gift from his mom or aunt or grandparents. Realistically, there's no logical reason for Fu to pick Adrien. He just has too much attention on him and Chat being an unexpected miraculous user can make him wary, adding to him only trusting Marinette.

- I'd have Fu be more present in Marinette's life, a customer who comes in a lot. This way he can offer advise when needed but not take away from Tikki. And this has him more closely keeping an eye on things.

- I'd change up Fu's backstory. He got separated from his family in a flood, the previous Turtle saved him, tried to help him find his family and with no luck, took him to the Temple, but only the section where other orphans are where they work to help take care of it, oblivious to the miraculous near them. After a year, Fu is one of the few selected to be entrusted with miraculous knowledge. He's surprised but not all that for it as he'd rather go find his family still. Idk how Temple falls but its not that. That was just dumb and avoidable.

- I wouldn't have Adrien meet Fu at all. In truth, it actually could've been cut out entirely as Adrien meeting Fu didn't amount to anything. He doesn't help with Guardian duties, doesn't help pick heroes, hasn't stepped up at all in his role as a partner. And he's not as torn up about Fu's loss as Marinette is. Adrien meeting Fu was pointless in the grand scheme of things. Nothing was progressed or changed from Adrien meeting Fu.

- I'd have HM ONLY getting an edge on Fu because Mayura was there to help him, catching Fu off guard. I want to see the Turtle truly in action, to see what else it can do cause sitting there to be smacked around was just unimpressive. And if Asstruck even did as much research as he could, he'd know that in Chinese mythology, the Turtle is a boss. It's the keeper of history and symbol of immortality, and it's up there with Tiger as an animal that can go toe to toe with the Dragon. And of the Four Symbols (associated with 4 seasons), the Black Turtle is also known as the Black Warrior. There should've been a lot more to Turtle than just sitting in your shell and allowing yourself to be knocked around.

- Su-Han I'd drastically change up. I'd keep in him being critical and stern, but he approaches things smartly and patiently. Before he dives into aggression and accusations, he wants to know what's going on. Why does this 14 yo have the Miracle Box? How was the Butterfly obtained and misused? And what the hell is going on??? How are these people so small and how did they get into this thin glass box?? Computer? What's a computer??? Essentially, have fun with the fact that Su-Han is essentially a time traveler and one great bonding experience to have with Marinette while also offering some good comedy is him learning about the modern time and her acting as his guide. Su-Han can give her guidance that Fu hadn't been able to give, and Marinette can offer her own in a way that Su-Han will need. Which by extension could remove Marinette having a near mental breaking point and revealing herself to Alya, and could avoid some of that drama of what's coming.

- Speaking of which, Adrien. I'd use Su-Han to finally address the issues with Adrien as a hero and partner. Su-Han prioritized Marinette as she has the Miracle Box, but Adrien is someone he'd take the miraculous away from. Adrien would get a very clear warning and call out for his actions and role.

#ask Punchie #long post #Adrien salt #Fu salt #Guardian salt

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dracoladon · 4 years

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oh my god I absolutely ADORED lucid and born slippy, so the chance to prompt you with something is so so exciting!! as always, no pressure, but how about something about undressing each other? i've always LOVED the unlacing/undressing tropes in capri, and I bet it would be incredible applied to some lovely drarry. do with this what you wish!!!

sidjdjfnndkff thank you, and thank u again for this ungodly prompt. if there’s three things i love, they’re captive prince, drarry, and soft smutty tropes such as the one u hath so kindly bestowed upon me.

i accidentally made a fair few lucid references in here (prizes for all who can spot them, the prize is a poem about u as composed by me) so i suppose, if you’ve read that one and so wish, u can consider this part of the same universe. or smth ://

maybe i’m just hideously unimaginative when it comes to topics for my banter. anywho

rated e, 1732 words.

The thing about Draco’s work robes, is that they’re buttoned all the way up to the throat. Which, hm, doesn’t sound like an issue in and of itself. But becomes one, of sorts, when Harry is overcome by the need to unbutton them every time he lays eyes on pale, elegant throat, the column of it under stiff black fabric.

The thing is, that Draco looks so austere, so tightly laced, and the thing. Is. That Harry just wants to unlace him.

Draco is, of course, not austere. He’s in fact very, erm, flexible. Pliant. He told Harry once, when they first starting fucking, that his body reformed around Harry’s, and he liked the way he went malleable in Harry’s hands.

“I can’t do that with anyone else,” Draco said. Then frowned. “That didn’t make much sense.”

But the buttons. The buttons. The high-necked buttons. They give Draco a look of frigidity, that he’s not to be spoken to, touched (all in a very sexy, aristocratic kind of way, of course), and it’s so bloody hot that Harry’s taken to banishing his glasses and burying his head under a pillow when Draco dresses in the mornings, just to stop himself getting so hard he goes properly blind with it.

Draco asked him, the third time he burrowed under the bedclothes like a “demented ferret” (glass houses, Harry said), what he was doing.

“The buttons,” Harry murmured. “Want to undo them.”

“The buttons?”

“The buttons.”

“You sick, kinky twist, Harry Potter.”

Harry unearthed himself, at that. “Shut up? It’s not about the buttons, you horror. It’s about what’s underneath the buttons.”

“How touching.”

And then more teasing, and Harry had it up to here and said, “I’ll burrow again.”

So Draco sat next to him on the bed, robes all secured, and said, softly, but still smiling like a git, “Tell me, love. Why the buttons?”

“You’re just—they’re, you know. So—God,” and then Harry had reached out and rent the sides of Draco’s robes apart, the little cloth covered studs clattering over his polished walnut floors, and pulled Draco down on top of him, and fucked him right there until Draco was late for work, and later still because they’d had to spend half an hour charming the wretched things back into place.

Now, Draco says, “the buttons are still wonky from that little stunt you pulled.”

Harry can see only Draco’s legs (crossed over each other on the couch, back flat on the ground, because Draco feels it centres him to drape upended from the furniture at the end of a long day) from where he’s decanting the wine in the kitchen. “I’ve always been pants at tailoring charms.”

“Was that a pun?” says Draco, sounding pained. “I’m leaving you, if that was a pun.”

“But then who will do your bidding? Aerate your wine, iron your silk pants—”

“I’ll get a house elf.”

“—not finished, suck your brains out your cock, make you pasta with butter and cheese when it’s cold and you’re in a mood—”

“I’ll get a gigolo, too.”

“I still wasn’t finished,” Harry says, and Levitates the wine into the living room in front of him.

Draco says, “did you get the right glasses, this time?”

“You’re very funny,” Harry says, because after months of trying to educate Harry, Draco has finally accepted that his one true love is cheap beer, and sorted all the wine glasses he keeps at Harry’s flat into labelled little boxes. (‘This is a coupe, Potter. If you bring me red wine in it again, I’ll throw it at you.’ ‘These are for dessert wine — after dinner, before a good hard boffing.’)

“Why don’t you just go snag one of those fucking — sommiliars.”

“Sommelier.”

“Yeah,” Harry says, happy because Draco’s wearing his work robes and speaking French and looking all twisty, and it’s Friday night, and there’s wine and music from the record Draco put on, and Harry gets to untwist him.

“Did you know,” Draco says, arching his back into a luxurious stretch before rearranging himself right side up and plucking a glass from the air, “that Amantea is starting her own firm.”

“God. Really?”

“Quite. It’s a pro bono thing, evidently. You know she’s been on the exec’s for months about how they direct all their mandatory hours towards corporations, not, you know, people who actually can’t afford legal counsel.”

“‘Course.” Harry distinctly remembers being cornered by Amantea when Draco brought him along to last year's Christmas drinks — he was a decent few in, and Draco kept palming at him through his formal robes when no one was looking, and he thinks he may have agreed to some kind of public crusade in the name of her cause that he doesn’t remember the details of to this day.

“Merlin, that’s incredible. She’s just quit, then? Starting it from the ground up?”

Draco nods, sips his wine. “She asked me to come with her. Ford, too.” And then, into his glass, “Said yes.”

Harry chokes, and Draco smirks at him behind the rim while he expires into his Pinot. “Bastard,” Harry coughs.

“Mm,” Draco hums.

“That’s—fuck, hang on—that’s great, love. Draco, it’s brilliant.”

“Really?” Draco says, tangling his fingers in Harry’s. He can see now that he’s doing that Very Draco Thing where his eyes go a bit too wide and his tongue keeps darting out to wet his bottom lip. “Cause I haven’t quit yet.”

“Of course. I think it’s really, really incredible.”

Draco rolls his eyes, but his cheeks flush pink. “Any more of that, and I won’t go near your cock for a week.”

“I’m proud of you,” Harry says, smiling.

“Two weeks.”

He leans on his haunches, hooks a blond tendril behind Draco’s ear. “I’m so proud of you, Draco. Everything you are.”

“A month. A year! Harry,” Draco complains.

Harry snorts. Sits back. “Fine. So would you still be doing all the same work?”

Draco nods. “I’d still be a defence counsel. I’d just be, you know. Not getting paid. At least, not for a while.”

“Good,” Harry says. “We’ve got a horrific amount of money, between the two of us.”

“I’m glad you think so, because we’ll be living off your salary alone. What’s the going rate for darling of the Wizarding world?”

Harry walks his fingers over Draco’s knee, daubed in the heavy black wool of his robes. “Several million a year darling. Are you excited, then?”

Draco shuffles around so he can rest his back against the couch, keeping Harry’s palm pressed to his knee with his own hand as he moves. “Yes. Very. I love my job, but the fees they charge our time at are outrageous. I was always thinking, Mother and I wouldn’t have been able to afford that right after the war. Had we even been allowed a solicitor, but don’t get me bloody started.”

Harry thinks that’s Draco down to his bones. He gives cold little glares to people he doesn’t want to talk to, and shrinks in on himself like a turtle whenever Molly tries to hug him at Sunday lunch, and he’s selfish about stupid things, like letting Ron have the last of his chips at pub night.

And then he does things like drop lunch by Hermione’s office when he has afternoon meetings with the Wizengamot, or quit the job he loves so much, where he’s finally respected and secure, to work for free with Scary Amantea because he actually cares about the abysmal state of the Wizarding justice system, or rent out an entire Muggle theme park for Harry’s birthday, because he’d said, off handed, one night in Draco’s arms, that he’d always been left behind when the Dursley’s took Dudley as a child.

“You’re so nice,” Harry says.

Draco frowns. “Take it back.”

Harry says, “Won’t,” and gives him a good, slow kiss that tastes like wine. Wine from a proper glass.

“I have bad news, too,” Draco says into Harry’s lips.

Harry can’t think of how anything could be bad, wrong, when Draco’s mouth is so soft and so close, but he murmurs, “What,” anyway.

“No dress code, at the new firm.”

Harry pulls back, stricken. “No more buttons?”

“Less regular buttons,” Draco amends, and Harry places a protective hand over Draco’s clavicles.

“This is completely tragic,” Harry says.

“Dare I say, Potter, you’ll just have to make the most of them. While you can.”

Harry nods, leans down again, a hand either side of Draco’s hips, and kisses him again.

When he pulls back, it’s so he can get his hands on the reeling column of buttons that runs from Draco’s navel to his Adam’s apple.

There was a certain carnal appeal in tearing them off him that first time, but now Harry likes this. His hands on Draco, his mouth following. Pushing the silken studs through the loops, undressing Draco inch by milk white inch.

“Yes,” Draco says, as Harry licks and nips his way down every bit of skin he exposes. When Draco swallows, Harry feels the movement of it roll beneath his palm. When Draco’s legs fall open, Harry mouths at his hip bone as it shifts under his tongue.

Harry disrobes himself with slightly less worshipping finesse. Pushes the tailored cloth off Draco’s shoulders, helps him arrange himself underneath Harry, ankles clasped lazily at his back. Fucks him slow, and sweet, and two more times.

Really, Harry doesn’t know why the robes do it for him so utterly and completely. They look kind of like the type of thing a vicar would wear, which is also what Harry remembers thinking when he saw Draco in his dress robes at the Yule Ball (although now it’s more a very rich, very sleek sort of vicar vibe, and less of the fusty, I-took-a-celibacy-oath-at-thirteen-and-am- now-seventy-two thing he had going back then. With all the velvet. Draco looks much better in silk. Anyway.)

On that, it’s probably because it’s a reminder that it’s Malfoy who he’s with. Malfoy, not Death Eater, tormentor, but pale limbs, plush, pink mouth and naked vulnerability before him. It’s how far they’ve both come, and how Draco presents himself to the world — so far away from what Harry gets to see. What’s Harry’s. What’s theirs.

“Also,” Draco says, when Harry tells him this in bed that night, “I look positively indecent in black.”

#my writing #answered #theestarryknight #prompts #drarry

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waywardrose13 · 3 years

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Crimson Leaves- Chapter Seven: Calm Before the Storm

Masterlist // Series Masterlist

Crimson Leaves- Zombie Apocalypse AU series

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: The dead have risen. Amid a global pandemic that causes the dead to prowl the Earth, a leader of a small camp in North Carolina fights for survival. Y/N Y/L/N was certain of three things: One, only a bite would turn you. Two, the brain must be destroyed in order to completely kill the thing. Three, trust no one. When a stranger is brought to her camp half alive, Y/N must make the decision to throw him to the walkers, or let the mystery man heal within the gates. As Dean Winchester recovers from a zombie attack, he worms his way into the camp, and eventually into Y/N’s heart. Love is a dangerous game, especially when it’s played with the dead.

Chapter Warnings: Angst, language, some fluff, *Graphic depictions of gore and murder*, implied cannibalism, death

Bingo squares: None for this chapter

A/N- This chapter was commissioned! Thank you to the beautiful individual who motivated me to write this chapter. This one is for you:)

<<Chapter Six

“Seriously?”

Y/n’s heart nearly leaped from her chest. She cursed under her breath and turned slowly to face him. Smiling sheepishly, she tried to ignore the flutters of butterflies in her chest at the sight of Dean: arms crossed, eyes narrowed, lips pursed. Why was an angry Dean turning her on? And why was she letting it?

“Hey, Dean,” she said. She sent him her most innocent smile, which was not reciprocated in the slightest. “Why are you up so early?”

“Because I’m a light sleeper and I heard you leave,” he replied. “Haven’t you learned from last time? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I have a list,” she said, shrugging. “People need these items and the runners can’t get them.”

“Why not?”

“Because they’re personal items that people trust me with,” she said. “I have to go.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“I’m amazing.”

“You’re a pain in the ass.”

“I’m endearing.”

Dean sighed and rubbed his temples. “Okay, well I’m coming with you.”

“Dean-”

“Not up for discussion. I don’t want to imagine what would have happened if you were alone last time. I’m coming with you.” Dean gripped her chin and planted a quick kiss on her lips before stepping around her to open the gate. “Come on, you.”

Y/n’s lip quirked into a small smile. She slipped through the gate, Dean right behind her. “Ladies first” he had said the first time they left on a run together. She hadn’t taken it, of course. He had sauntered through the gates when she scowled at him. But now, she brushed a hand over his bicep as she passed, giving him a sly grin that he sent right back as she walked through the gates. He latched it back up and followed Y/n down the marked path before he reached out silently to intertwine his fingers with hers. She sent him a shy smile and squeezed his hand.

The sun hadn’t risen quite yet. The hints of a rosy pink bled through the trees from atop the mountain. The sunrise over the mountain-top was gorgeous. A perk of being on the east coast.

The two settled into a comfortable silence. The birds began to wake, their melodious songs echoing off the trees, creating a calming morning atmosphere. It wasn’t very humid, and the temperature wasn’t too high, so the air was comfortable, a soft wind blowing atop the mountain. With mornings like these, it’s hard to think of the death and destruction happening on Earth right now. These moments of tranquility were cherished by Y/n. She knew it couldn’t last, but she liked to pretend.

They arrived at the Jeep in no time. Dean offered to drive, and Y/n reluctantly let him. She knew the roads better, but she was still tired, so she conceded.

“We aren’t going into Brevard today,” she said. “When you get to the fork, take a left instead.”

“Copy that,” Dean said.

They drove in silence for the most part, one of Dean’s hands still laced with one of Y/n’s. Y/n huffed a small laugh at the thought of the last time they were outside the walls of the camp on a run. How she had been so annoyed and pissy with him. How he had called her a grade-A bitch.

Now, their hands were laced and her skin was abuzz with the feel of him. That attraction and that feeling had been there, hidden beneath denial and anger and self hatred. But Dean had set that feeling free. He had nudged open the door to her heart and let those feelings loose.

And it scared the fuck out of her.

She knew she wasn’t easy to be around. She knew she wasn’t easy to love. She knew that before the apocalypse. She had always had a temper. She was always a bit odd. She had been through some shit in her life that molded her into someone who locked away her trust and lashed out when she was hurt.

It’s not like she wanted to be this way. A build up of unresolved trauma, the dismissal of her own feelings, and not knowing how to express her emotions in a healthy way led to it.

So, no. She wasn’t easy to be around. It’s why most people in her life left. Even her own family had a hard time dealing with her sometimes.

“You make us all miserable.”

It was so long ago, she couldn’t remember if it was one of her siblings or parents, but those words had stuck with her for a long time. And it stung, even after all these years. She wished she could fix it. She had always wanted to be loved despite her flaws.

She knew Dean didn’t love her. She knew the capability of someone loving her was low. But he cared for her. And he shared her affections.

She just hoped she didn’t scare him off.

The general store was nestled in yet another small town at the bottom of the mountain. The runners didn’t know about it. They traveled mostly west or to Brevard. But Y/n had come to the small town on a few occasions. It was one of the last untouched towns. Long abandoned, it wasn’t on many maps, and the general store still had many valuables to spare.

“What are we looking for?” Dean asked as they stepped inside. He closed the door softly behind him and locked it. The store was dark and full of cobwebs, dust, and leaves, but the shelves were still intact and covered in items. They weren’t full, but they had enough.

Y/n read over her list for the tenth time. “Some enemas, condoms, and hemorrhoid cream.”

Dean stared at her. “Personal. Right.”

“Told you,” she said, setting off into the isles. “Not everyone trusts all the runners. As their leader, most people entrust the more personal items with me. I think they know if they asked the runners for stuff like this, stuff that doesn’t benefit the camp as a whole, the runners would ignore it.”

“You’re a good leader, Y/n.”

Her skin warmed at his pride. “Thank you.”

They searched the store for the items, finding them all as well as a few more packs of batteries, lighter fluid, and a half empty tank of gas in the back. They poured the gas into the Jeep’s tank, stuffed all of the items into Y/n’s backpack, and climbed back into the car.

***

“That went by much more smoothly than our last outing.”

Y/n whistled and nodded, slumping down onto her couch when they got back to her cabin. They had dropped the items off at the respectable tents, dumped the batteries off at the nerve center, passed the lighter fluid off to the kitchens, and returned to Y/n’s cabin before their daily duties.

“I would say so,” she said, reaching a hand up for Dean to grab. He grinned and took it, sinking down onto the couch beside her and lifting her up into his lap. She laid her head in the crook of his neck, his hands resting on her waist and knee.

“What do you have planned today, Lord Commander?” Dean asked, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

Y/n rolled her eyes. “I’m stuck at the nerve center today. I have some role change requests and Luke and I are drafting a plan for some cabin construction.”

“Really?” Dean asked.

“Yep. We’re growing rapidly. We’re thinking about some bunk houses, that way people don’t always have to stay in tents. There’s a man who worked construction who’s currently over in security, but he said he’d direct the building efforts.”

“That would be a lot of work,” Dean said. He peered down at her. “Where would the materials come from?”

“It would be mostly wood. Maybe some clay to help keep the logs together. But if we build a sturdy enough structure and use some of the tarps over the roofs to keep the rain from pouring in, I think we could build decent log houses. They wouldn’t be perfect, but the tents are filling up and we’re running out.”

Dean nodded at her words and squeezed her hip. “Not a bad idea.”

“Of course it isn’t. I came up with it.”

Dean chuckled. “So modest.”

She looked up at him, their eyes locking for a moment before Dean bent down to plant a chaste kiss to her lips.

Y/n didn’t think she would ever get used to Dean kissing her. Every time he did, she felt as if she was swept up into a new dance amongst the stars, or as if she was soaring up into the sky. Every touch sent her skin aflame and every kiss left her breathless in the best way. He was her drug, and the more of him she got, the more of him she craved.

He lifted her and laid her back on the couch, his hands warm on her hips as he held her down, skimming them up her sides. She arched into his touch and kissed him feverishly, wrapping her legs around his waist to rub against him. Groaning, he broke away from her to duck into her neck, kissing the skin there.

“Sweetheart,” he rasped as she grinded against him.

“Yes?” She asked sweetly.

“Keep doing that, and I won’t be able to hold back,” he said. She knew that wasn’t true. If she told him to leave and never come back, he’d respect her wishes. But his words still sent heat slithering to her core.

“Who’s asking you to?”

Dean growled and nipped her earlobe. “I don’t want your first time to be us rutting against each other on your couch like a couple teenagers.” He bucked his hips into hers, though, making her gasp. “When we fuck, we’re going to do it right.”

When.

“So sure of yourself, aren’t you?” She asked.

Dean pulled back to look her straight in the eye. “Very.”

And he kissed her again.

This time, he pulled her up to his chest, keeping her legs locked around his, and stood. How he did that so gracefully with her wrapped around him like a koala, she didn’t know. But he carried her across the room and to her bed, where he broke apart and set her down gently.

And took a step back.

Dean laughed as Y/n sagged with a pout. She looked up at him through her lashes and reached for him again.

“You’re cruel. Come here.”

“I told you, I won't do this now.”

“You said not on the couch,” she pointed out. She snapped her fingers. “Come back now.”

Dean grinned and clasped the sides of her head, bending to give her one last gentle kiss.

“I thought you weren’t ready.”

Y/n thought for a moment. Twenty-three years of sexual frustration had built, and he was right in front of her, willing to be her outlet. And in the moment, she was definitely ready. But taking a step back…

“We don’t have to do it now. Just come lie with me.”

“I need to shower,” Dean said. He shifted uncomfortably and Y/n’s eyes flashed down to where his jeans were definitely straining against his crotch. She smirked and looked up at him again.

“Naughty boy.”

“It’s your fault, Lord Commander.” He pointed at her and shot her a wink. “Your fault.”

He disappeared into the bathroom and Y/n laughed. A warmth had spread over her chest and seeped into the deepest parts of her heart. That hole that had formed inside her, the one that had concaved in on itself when she lost her family and sunk into a survival mode that changed her and tore her very being apart, had begun to fill.

And she had Dean to thank for that.

She wasn’t in love. Of course, she wasn’t sure what love really was. But she felt herself falling. She knew she was falling. Which was ridiculous, right? It wasn’t as if she knew him very long. Not even two months had passed since she met him. Yet he was nestling into the depths of her heart and mind, rooting himself there.

Fuck was it terryfiying.

He was helping fill that empty void she always felt. But what if she lost him? What if she lost him like she lost her family? The ones who mattered most to her? She didn’t think she would be able to handle losing someone she loved again.

And while she could easily lose herself in love, in a romance that she had wanted for so long, it wasn’t what was important. The camp was the most important thing in her life right now. She wouldn’t let feelings get in the way of protecting the camp or its people.

Perhaps throwing herself into her work would help stow those feelings away. They would be kept at bay so she could focus, so that maybe she wouldn’t inevitably become hurt by his leaving. Because everyone in her life left. What would make him so different? He could say he wouldn’t leave, say he wouldn’t do the same thing as everyone else had.

But every one of those people who left said the same thing, yet they still turned their backs on her.

Sighing, Y/n slumped further onto her bed, burrowing into the blankets and pressing her head into the pillow. She had been up so early that morning and exhaustion was weighing down on her. She had been working throughout the day and into the night before waking up before the sun the next day. She was beat.

As her eyes began to droop, Dean emerged from her bathroom. She peeked and eyes open and watched as he toweled off his wet hair, dressed in simple jeans and a henley. Hanging the towel on the rack before he sauntered over to the bed where Y/n was laying. He gently reached down to run a hand along the back of her head.

“Are you okay?” He asked, fingers lightly caressing her head, worry etched into his face.

“Yes. Why?”

“You seem sad,” he told her. He sat down on the edge of the mattress and rested a hand on her back. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, not at all,” she promised. She sat up and locked eyes with him. “That’s kind of the problem.”

He cocked his head. “I don’t understand.”

“I don’t know how to keep myself from falling for you,” she said honestly. May as well speak the truth in the apocalypse, no beating around the bush when you could die at any moment. “I don’t know how to keep myself from getting hurt.”

Dean frowned. “Is that what’s happening here?”

Y/n swallowed the lump in her throat and gave a slight shrug. “I don’t know.”

Dean hesitated but nodded briefly and looked away. “You might want to figure that out.”

“I know.”

He sighed and squeezed her hip affectionately. “I thought I told you I wasn’t going anywhere.” He still didn’t make eye contact when he added despondently, “don’t you trust me?”

Y/n’s heart thumped roughly in her chest. “Of course I do.”

“Then why do you still question my motives? Why don’t you believe anyone could love you?”

Suddenly her heart was in her throat. Love her? He couldn’t love her. This couldn't be love with him. Not yet. Maybe infatuation or attraction, but he couldn’t possibly love her. He seemed to catch what he said because his face turned red and he stiffened.

“Because everyone always says that. They never plan to leave in the beginning.”

“Well sorry, sweetheart. You’re stuck with me,” Dean said.

“For now.”

He rolled his eyes and stood up, beckoning her to the door. “I don’t want to argue with nonsense.”

“It’s not nonsense if it’s true,” Y/n muttered, taking his hand. He scowled.

“That in of itself is nonsense,” he said. “But come on, let’s get some work done before we say something we regret.”

Before the two could reach the door, it crashed open, Luke’s frantic face stepping into view as he nearly fell inside with the force he used to open the door. Y/n jumped and Dean crouched into a defensive stance automatically.

“Jesus, Luke!” Y/n said. “What the hell?”

“It’s… you have to look… I don't even…” Luke sucked in breaths rapidly, his face turning ashy pale as he hyperventilated. Y/n wasted no time in moving in front of her closest friend and second-in-command, placing her hands on his shoulders.

“Breathe, Luke,” she said. “Like me. In, hold, out, good. Again.”

He did his best to match her breathing, the terror still written on his face and glowing in his eyes, body trembling. He looked as if he had seen a ghost.

“Now, tell me what happened.”

“The barbarians. The runners left this morning for a hunt. They hadn’t come back in time-”

“Wait, they didn’t? Why wasn’t I informed?” Y/n asked, fingers tightening on Luke’s shoulders.

“Well… Mikela thought it best if we didn’t tell you. You’re finally back to health, well for the most part. Don’t think we haven’t noticed how you stare into space sometimes or forget something right after it happened. Your head is still healing and-”

“It doesn’t fucking matter.” She let go of him roughly, moving to the door. “I’m still the fucking leader.”

“We need a leader who is well enough to lead. She came to me and-”

Y/n spun around to face him. He stumbled back on the look on her face. She was furious, feeling betrayed. “Excuse me?”

“I’m second in command. I didn’t think it was right so I came to you and-”

“I’m not some fucking weakling,” she snarled. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not, and that’s okay. You’re not fine. You haven’t been fine in a long time,” Luke said. She nearly vibrated with rage.

“I’m fine enough to lead this camp. I’m fine enough to fulfill the duties I promised to fulfill when I took this position. You are second in command, not first. Which means I am the one they come to. Not you.”

“I know,” he said quietly. He looked down at his shoes.

“Now. What the hell happened?”

“Runners two and six went hunting this morning.”

“Sophie and Gary. I wrote the schedule,” she said flatly. Luke nodded.

“They didn’t come back. So Mikela went out with runner three, Matthew, and-and they came back but we need you. Just… come with me. I have to show you.”

Glancing at Dean for a moment, who looked back at her with equal confusion, Y/n followed Luke outside. Some people were gathered by the front gate, but the guards were holding their line firmly. The small crowd of people parted to let Y/n through.

“What happened?”

“Where’s Gary?”

“If they’re dead, I blame you!”

Y/n stepped through the gate that the guards opened for her, ignoring the shouts from the crowd. Mikela was there, face as stony as ever, with Matthew and Richard at her sides. Y/n cocked her head.

“What happened? Luke was very vague.”

Mikela jerked her head behind her and led Y/n through the trees. Clouds covered the sky, but slivers of sunlight cut through the curtain of gray and down into the breaks of the leaves. They were on alert as they walked, Matthew, Dean, and Luke trailing behind the two women as they went.

“Why is he here?” Luke asked.

Y/n glanced back at them. Dean had turned his head to glare at Luke, who tried not to look in his direction. Y/n shrugged.

“He’s going to be a guard. He needs some field experience.”

Luke scoffed. “You’re only letting him trail you like a puppy because you’re fucking him.”

Everyone stopped walking collectively. Luke had paled and taken a step back, knowing he had gone too far. Dean’s face hardened as he gripped Luke’s shirt collar and dragged him within inches of his face.

“Watch your damn mouth,” he snarled. Luke shoved against Dean’s chest hard and stumbled back as the man let go.

“Luke,” Y/n spoke calmly. He turned to her.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-”

“If I hear one more word from your mouth, Dean won’t be the one you have to worry about. Speak to me or any other woman like that and I’ll boot you from your role here, and then contemplate your stay here at the camp. Is that understood?”

Luke nodded and swallowed hard.

“Good,” Y/n said. “You’ve tested my patience enough today. Go back to the camp and stay there.”

“Yes, Lord Commander,” he said, trying to lift the spirits with her nickname. But it didn’t work, and he turned to slink back through the trees.

“Come on, we don’t have much time,” Mikela said lowly, gripping Y/n’s elbow to tug her along. They only walked for about a minute before she stopped and turned away. “Look.”

Mikela lifted her hand to point a few yards away. Y/n followed her finger and gasped in shock before she almost cried out in horror. She slapped her hands over her mouth to muffle the sounds.

There, strung up by his neck, Gary hung from a thick branch of a tree. His eyes had been ripped from his head- dark, bloody sockets remaining. His throat had been hacked at, his clothes had been stolen, and his body had been utterly disfigured. Chunks of thigh had been cut away, one of his arms was missing.

The only way she knew it was Gary was by the tattoo on his chest, a family crest that sat over his heart. It had been cut into with a knife, an X marking it.

Y/n thought she may faint. Her knees wobbled at the sight and she quickly turned away, forcing the vomit that threatened to come up down.

“Oh my God.”

“We haven’t found Sophie. We think it was the barbarians.”

“You’re sure?” Y/n asked. Mikela nodded and held out a piece of paper. It was crumpled and bloody.

“This was nailed to his foot when we found him.”

Y/n took the paper tentatively, clenching her jaw as she read it.

“Thanks for the meal and for the fun. They’ll have to do until I get you back, Y/n. -R.”

Y/n looked up at Dean, fear gripping her heart. Rick. He was still alive.

“Why?” Was all she could say. Dean shook his head and closed his eyes for a moment.

“It has to be them, right?” Mikela asked. “R. He’s one of the guys who we fought last year. One of the guys who took you?”

Y/n nodded and folded the letter before shoving into her pocket. She cleared her throat and loosed a breath. “Yeah. Yeah, this was the barbarians. Rick. He uh… he’s threatened me on more than one occasion. He’s pissed that I got away from him again.”

“So what do we do?” Matthew asked. Y/n looked between the three of them, chewing on her lip as she thought. Sighing, she turned to the body hanging in the tree and winced.

“We have to give him a proper burial.” She took her switchblade from her pocket and put it in her mouth to hold it as she hauled herself up the tree, climbing it enough by the branches to reach the rope that held Gary hanging. She suppressed a gag at the smell of blood and decay and flicked the knife open. She sawed at the rope a few times until it gave away and Gary fell to the ground. “We’ll bury him in the cemetery with the others.”

“I’ll run back and grab a sheet or something,” Matthew said. He broke out into a run, desperate to get far away from their mutilated friend.

“Poor Gary,” Mikela said softly. “He was always so nice.”

“And what about the other one? Sophie, was it?” Dean asked. “You think they… they took her?”

“I hope not,” Y/n said. She swallowed the lump in her throat. “God, I hope not.”

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