#i finally quit drinking for good now i drink for evil | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

moonlightspencie · 2 months

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darling, i fancy you

Description: James Potter is in his second year of university. He's with his friends, having the time of his life! His only problem... a horrible, evil, beautiful, wonderful girl who doesn't seem to return the feelings he's developing for her. His dramatics and flirtatious antics usually work. He just can't quite figure out how to hook this girl.

Pairing: James Potter x Reader

Warnings: drinking, idiots to lovers, reader is described as american in one line because what is fanfiction if not a bit of self-service on occasion

Word Count: 8.2k

Coming into his second year of university was supposed to be fun. He was no longer jittery or nervous about classes since he’d already been there and done that for a full year. Besides, he was James Potter. Of course he had gotten down the routines like they were nothing to him. It was easy as pie. Now, as he brimming with confidence, he was looking forward to seeing old friends, and meeting new ones. It seemed bright and exciting: and it was, so far!

Until his second day.

James walked into his final Thursday afternoon class and sat in a seat near the front. He might enjoy goofing off here and there, but he’d be damned if he was going to do any less than stellar in his classes. The class filled fairly quickly, seats being taken all around him. He barely noticed when a girl sat in the seat next to him as he pulled out a notebook and a pen. Until he turned with a small smile that melted off his face as quickly as it arrived.

“Great,” he grumbled under his breath.

She looked in the direction of the utterance curiously, blissfully unaware that one of the last few open seats, and the one she just had to choose, was right next to James Potter.

“Perfect,” she muttered bitterly, shaking her head. “I suppose you’re going to try to get me to convince my roommate to fall in love with you again, yeah?”

“Not after last time.”

She scoffed a laugh. “Oh, yeah? Why’s that?”

“Because you’re selfish and don’t care about the happiness and general wellbeing of others.”

“Right. As if your happiness should be my number one priority,” she rolled her eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

James turned his head to her abruptly, feeling quite put off that she’d say such a thing. Him, insufferable? He thought it might do her some good to do a bit of self reflection, and had told her as much last year. It didn’t do any good, obviously, considering she was still just as irritating as ever.

“She’s dating someone anyway. So you’re out of luck,” she said, seeming quite pleased with herself.

James was annoyed again. “Dating someone? Great. That could’ve been me if you weren’t so horrible, and now I’ve got to wait until they inevitably break up to—”

“She’s dating a girl, so good luck with that plan of yours, Potter.”

James blinked in surprise. He supposed he never exactly saw Lily with a boy before. But… But he liked her so she couldn’t possibly be interested in girls. What a silly notion, he thought.

“You’re sure?”

She stared at him for a moment. “Uh… yeah. Pretty sure.”

James hummed in thought. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t know until summer,” she shrugged. “She came out to me shortly before she told me she’d been asked out by her current girlfriend.”

“How odd.”

“Excuse me?” she asked, looking at him with a bewildered expression.

His eyes widened. “No! Not like that. I just… I didn’t realize. I just assumed—”

“Careful how you phrase things, maybe,” she said, looking at him a little suspiciously.

He nodded quickly. “Right.”

He fell silent for a moment. A few blissful seconds that she basked in. Until he opened his mouth again.

“I just…” he said, then sighed. He thought for a couple seconds. “I don’t think I’ve ever not been able to win someone over before. And this seems pretty bleak for me, doesn’t it?”

She snorted a laugh, nodding. “Yeah. More than bleak, I’d say.”

James smiled a little, then internally scolded himself. There was no reason to laugh at a joke a girl like her made. How terrible. He was better than that. He straightened in his seat, determined to ignore her now that he really had no use for her with his precious Lily too far out of reach for even him to pull in, all things considered. He pouted for a bit, feeling terribly sorry for himself as the class started. He took his notes, of course, but not without sighing every five minutes or so.

“Can you cut that out?”

James looked offended again, glancing at the girl.

“Cut what out?” he whispered back.

“The constant sighing. It’s irritating.”

“I’m upset.”

She rolled her eyes, going back to taking notes. He fell silent, but only for a few seconds.

“You try finding out the girl you’re in love with is gay.”

“For me, that would actually work out.”

James rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“Get over it,” she said after a beat.

He glared at her, then went back to his notes. Again, really only for a few seconds.

“Wait. Are you gay, too?”

“So what if I am? That’s not really your business, is it?”

“I— Maybe not. But I’m curious,” James said, looking at her.

“Stop talking.”

“I just wanna know.”

“You sound like a child,” she sighed, exasperated. “You’re distracting me.”

James gave her one more sour look before turning back to his notes. He was feeling quite annoyed now. Maybe it wasn’t necessarily ‘his business’ what her sexuality was, but he couldn’t help but be curious. Why was that his fault? He couldn’t quite figure it out. He waited until the class ended this time to turn to her again.

“I don’t mean to intrude—”

“I’m sure you will, though,” she stated.

James sighed. “You’re so difficult. I’m only curious. I don’t mean anything by it.”

She huffed a breath, then looked at him straight on. He raised his brows in question, hoping she might answer if he tried looking innocent enough. She shook her head.

“It’s a bit of a rude question, you know?”

“How?” he asked, feeling a little offended.

“It’s personal.”

“Well I—“ James started to argue, though his voice died. His eye twitched slightly as he thought about it for a few seconds. “Okay. I guess… I guess that makes sense. I just thought it was, like, knowing your hair color or something like that.”

“Personally, it’s something I usually only discuss with my friends. Not with a strange boy who I’ve only spoken to when he decided he liked my roommate.”

“That’s mean.”

“We aren’t friends.”

“It’s still mean,” James said, standing up with his bag.

She did the same.

“It’s honest.”

James pouted a little. “I’m only trying to make conversation.”

She looked at him for a moment, and he looked right back, his hand on the strap of his bag. He quirked a brow when she was silent for a second.

“I’ll see you around,” she said at last, not unkindly, but definitely not in a friendly manner.

Of course, James had to relay this ridiculous interaction to his roommates when he got back to his flat. He sprawled out on the couch, his hand flipping off the side to touch the floor and his cheek pressed against the cushions.

“She’s evil. There’s something in her that isn’t right. I’m sure of it.”

Sirius furrowed his brow. He’d been hearing about James’s plights with this woman since last year. It always seemed that his buttons got pushed so easily by her, and Sirius couldn’t help but wonder how on earth James kept getting himself into these situations

He sighed softly, leaning back into the armchair to the left of James, a hand running through his long, dark hair before settling over his face.

“You’ve been dramatic plenty of times before, Prongs, but this might be a new height you’ve climbed to,” Sirius said, his voice slightly muffled through his hand.

“Mm. Not quite evil to keep that sort of thing to yourself. I don’t run around campus advertising that I’m queer,” Remus added, walking into the living room with a cup of tea.

Remus settled on the ground near Sirius’s chair, leaning his back into the arm of it as he stretched his long legs out. He did plan on doing so on the couch, but it seemed that James had beaten him to it with his dramatics.

“That’s not what I mean,” James groans. “It’s how she acted. I don’t care if she keeps that to herself, but she didn’t have to be so mean to me. It’s like she delights in making me feel stupid.”

Peter laughed from the chair across the way from Sirius’s. “It’s not always hard to do.”

James scowled at the boy, but before he could say something back, Sirius sighed loudly.

“James. Just back off of the girl.”

James turned to Sirius. “What do you mean?”

“If you ignore her, she’ll ignore you.”

“How do you know?”

“Because she probably finds you just as irritating as you find her,” Remus says pointedly.

“You guys are supposed to be on my side,” James says.

His friends all exchange a look, then stare back at him.

Sirius leans forward on his chair to come to eye-level with James.

“James. You are like a brother to me. I love you dearly. But leave the poor girl alone before she hits you.”

James buried his face in the couch cushion and groaned loudly in protest. Maybe they were right, but he didn’t have to like it. He knew he was being dramatic and probably a bit annoying, but he couldn’t help it. He hadn’t met someone who got under his skin so easily in a long time, and he didn’t like it. After a few minutes, he lifted his head, looking at his friends. He didn’t like to upset them, and he was afraid if he kept this up, that he might do just that.

“You guys want to go get dinner on me?” he offered.

They smiled, Sirius in particular shaking his head at his friend in amusement. James felt a little better then as he scrambled off the couch.

James’s first encounter with the girl of his dreams, who he begrudgingly accepted no longer could be, happened a few days later. He walked into a café just off of campus to get a little fuel for his first essay of the semester when he saw a familiar head of red hair. His first instinct, of course, was to rush her with a smile and that classic Potter-charm of his… but then he deflated.

There she was: the wretched girl who had stolen his dear Lily from him. He looked sour for a moment, then sighed, shrugging it off internally. He supposed that he couldn’t really be mad since he wasn’t also a girl, so Lily wouldn’t like him no matter what.

But if he was, he was determined he’d be very upset about the whole ordeal.

He sat down at a table across the small coffee shop, inadvertently staring at Lily and her girlfriend. He had to admit: the girl she was dating was very pretty. And they did seem happy together. But it was still a little bit annoying. He hardly paid attention to someone approaching with his drink until he heard an unfortunately-familiar voice.

“I would tell you that a picture would last longer, but I don’t think I can condone borderline-stalking my roommate,” the girl said, setting his latte down in front of him.

He looked up at her in a bit of surprise. She just seemed to pop up everywhere.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

She looked down at her apron, then back at him with a puzzled expression.

“I— I work here?” she stated, shaking her head a bit. “Thought you may have gathered that from me bringing you your drink and wearing an apron.”

He deadpanned, unamused. “I just didn’t expect to see you here is all. It’s like you’re everywhere.”

“It’s been like a week and half and we’ve seen each other twice,” she said, huffing a breath at his dramatics. “Anyway. Is there anything else you need, besides maybe a magazine or a blindfold?”

“Why would I need those?” he asked, immediately annoyed.

She pointedly looked at Lily and her girlfriend, then back at James. He made a face of realization, then chuckled a little despite his better judgment.

“Oh. No. I’ll stop staring, I’m just…”

She paused waiting for him to finish, but it didn’t seem like he was going to. She nodded slowly after a beat.

“Well… it’s been a pleasure as always.”

James nodded, but then he leaned forward to grab her wrist. “Wait.”

She turned around, giving him a look that told him to let go immediately.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, dropping her wrist. “Just wanted to ask if you got that western civilization assignment done for tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? Tomorrow is Tuesday.”

He raised a brow. “Yeah. It’s a Tuesday-Thursday class.”

She paused, looking a little lost. “What?”

“It’s on Tuesday and Thursday evenings. The assignment is supposed to be done for tomorrow’s class.”

“You’re joking.”

James shook his head. “No. Why would I be?”

“Shit,” she sighed heavily, throwing her head back. “How hard is it to do?”

“Not hard, but it took some time.”

She groaned. “God, I feel so stupid.”

“You’re not stupid. Just forgetful, obviously,” James laughed.

She did not look amused. “Right. Well… Fuck. Thanks for the heads up, then.”

James looked quite pleased with himself. He actually got a ‘thank you’ out of her. He nodded quickly.

“What would you do without me?” he smirked.

She glanced at him, looking somehow even more unimpressed. James didn’t like that look.

“I’d have missed one class. Don’t give yourself too much credit.”

James watched her walk off, feeling annoyed once again. It’s like she couldn’t help but ruin his mood every time they talked. He sipped his latte, and suddenly felt more irritated: this might have been one of the best latte’s he’d ever had, and she just had to work there. Great.

He kept his eyes on the girl as she walked back behind the counter, getting started on whatever task came next for her. She seemed to be making some kind of drink. He watched her as she flitted around back there easily, taking note of the way she’d occasionally scrunch her nose in a weak attempt to adjust her glasses as her hands were full. He took in every detail of her outfit that he could see from the other side of the counter: a simple black t-shirt and jeans that looked annoyingly good on her. Like it wasn’t enough to be irritating all the time, she had to be pretty, too. How was he supposed to just ignore her completely? He scoffed to himself at Sirius’s stupid advice as he sipped at his drink again.

That same thought snuck into his head as she walked into class the next day, dropping into that same seat right next to him. He took note of her slightly messy hair, and the crewneck sweatshirt that hung on her a little loosely. He looked at her nails as she pulled out her laptop, smiling a little at the baby blue that was painted on them. He liked blue quite a lot. He was in the middle of looking at the minimal makeup on her face, especially the gloss on her lips, when she just had to interrupt him.

“What are you doing?” she asked, looking at him as if he’d grown a second head.

“None of your business,” he replied quite defensively.

“You’re staring at me. It feels like my business, Potter.”

He rolled his eyes. Why did she always have to be so difficult? It’s like she had fun making him feel like an idiot.

“I wasn’t staring. I was observing.”

She sighed, softly, shaking her head as she went back about her business, logging into her laptop. He tried really hard to remember what Sirius had told him and just ignore her as well as he could, but it wasn’t exactly his fault that she had a photo of herself and some guy on her computer.

“I thought you were gay?” he said curiously.

She turned her head to him slowly, and if he thought she looked at him like he was stupid before, it was nothing compared to how she looked now.

“What?”

“I thought you said you were gay,” he clarified, though it made nothing clearer for her. He pointed at her laptop background, “but, there’s a boy with you on your computer.”

“I never said I was gay. I said it wasn’t your business if I was or not.”

“But you must not be if you have a boyfriend.”

“Ugh,” she groaned. “That’s my brother, nosey. And I’m not gay.”

“Thought you said that wasn’t my business?”

“I’m going to slap you.”

“That’s what Sirius said,” James replied, though it was mostly to himself.

She snorted once. “Your friends are telling you you’re gonna get hit by someone?”

“By you,” he corrected.

Now, this piqued her interest. She looked at him curiously.

“Your friends tell you that I am going to slap you? Why?”

“I told them we don’t really get along. Sirius thinks I should just ignore you.”

“You’re doing a shit job of it,” she laughed a little.

He wanted to be annoyed, but he couldn’t help but smile a bit back at her. She had a nice laugh. He thought to himself that maybe he’d like to hear it more. It would certainly be better than the grating sound of her always being annoyed with him.

“Can’t help it if I’m curious.”

“You can help if you’re peering over my shoulder at my personal laptop.”

“I’d hardly call it peering. Plus you have a large screen, it’s easy to see.”

She cracked another small smile against her better judgment, and decided on ignoring him the rest of the class. It didn’t work. At all.

“So…” James started up when the professor decided on padding the rest of the class time with an ‘opportunity’ to get a headstart on the next assignment. “Did you end up finishing that assignment that was due today.”

“Clearly.”

James furrowed his brow. “Huh? How is that clear?”

“I’m a mess. I look like I just rolled out of bed, because I practically did in order to finish the assignment today before the rest of my classes. I haven’t even been in my apartment since like eight this morning.”

James still looked on in a bit of confusion, glancing over at her again, taking in her appearance. Sure, she wasn’t extremely put together, but she still looked pretty. James, ever the one to speak exactly what’s on his mind, decided on telling her that.

“I think you look really pretty today.”

She swallowed once, looking at him in a moment of mild shock. She usually wasn’t one to clam up around anyone, but she certainly was now, and James took notice.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or anything…”

“No. No, it isn’t that. I just…” she trailed off, then shook her head. “Nevermind. Just… work on your assignment. It’s what we’re meant to be doing anyways.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry,” James nodded, feeling a little bad now that he’d apparently made her uncomfortable.

Though, as much as it was a sense of discomfort that she felt at his compliment, there was also much more to it. Not that she would ever tell him that. No, it was much worse than the normal annoyance she felt for the boy when he looked her up and down and gave her that sweet smile. It was terrible and evil and made her face a bit warm. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, his cheek smushed in his hand nearly making her smile being all the more evidence: she was developing a crush on James Potter.

James was in the process of waking up on a cold Saturday morning in early October. Usually he’d be able to pull himself out of bed somewhat easily, only really needing a good shower to get his blood pumping for the day ahead. The ‘process’ part came into play as a rare, true hangover made him feel both dizzy and like a rock stuck in bed.

He wasn’t a stranger to a late night of drinking with his friends, or a party here and there while he was at school. Even in his highschool days, he would sometimes sneak out from under his parents’ watchful eyes with Sirius to go live it up for a night. But it rarely resulted in an actual hangover. Sometimes a headache, occasionally he’d throw up before bed, but this? This was hell on earth. He was convinced. It certainly didn’t help that he hardly remembered past drink number seven the night prior. He decided on not letting the frat boys fill his cup anymore.

After an hour of laying in bed, he finally decided that it might be time to at least try to join the world of the living. He rolled off of his mattress, shuffling into the bathroom to take a cool shower. He effectively did as much, only having to bend over the toilet bowl to empty his stomach twice! He was quite proud of himself for that, considering he felt nauseous the entirety of the shower. He stumbled back into his room, haphazardly drying off his body and hair before slipping into a sweater, jeans, and a warm coat. He slipped on his boots, grabbed his keys, and walked out the front door. He thought that maybe his favorite cafe would have something to lift his spirits and fill his now-empty stomach. He also thought that maybe a certain girl might be working. That would definitely lift his spirits.

He walked into the cafe around 11am, finding it surprisingly empty for a Saturday afternoon. He had started making a habit of visiting the place probably more often than he needed to. He knew the usual flow at this point.

He frowned when his favorite table was taken, and ended up dropping into a seat near the back by a window after he had ordered. He sat his order number marker on the table, and waited for a familiar face to show. He started to smile when he saw his coffee and a chocolate pastry being set in front of him, but it dropped as he looked up to see a less familiar man. He thanked him anyway, despite the fact that he was quite disappointed. He picked at his pastry, and sipped his drink, letting the carbs and caffeine make him feel a bit like a human being again after such a rough night. He decided to stick around for a while after he finished both, just sitting and thinking. He always liked being alone with his thoughts, but they seemed to flow a little better with the hum of something in the background. A cafe full of people did the trick for the day. After an hour or so of staring out the window, he decided he could use another cup of coffee.

He went to wait to order behind a small line of people, fiddling on his phone until he was finally called up to order next. A smile grew on his face when he saw who was taking orders now.

“Hi!” he said to her cheerily.

“Oh. James. Hi,” she said, a little surprised to see him. “What can I get you?”

“You weren’t here earlier. I got here a little past 11, and some guy brought me my drink.”

“Yeah. I just got in at 12. So… what do you want to drink?”

James ignored her question with another smile. “How long are you working today? Don’t you normally come in earlier?”

“Five hour shift today,” she said with a small sigh. “I just didn’t start early this time.”

“Oh. Well, it’s good you’re here now. I’d have hated to admit that I might have missed you when I saw you in class on Tuesday.”

She fought a smile at that, determined to remain irritated at him.

“Are you going to order? You’re kind of holding up the line.”

“Right!” he exclaimed suddenly, looking up at the menu as if he didn’t get the same thing every time.

“Do you just want your usual?”

James stilled at that. She knew his normal order? He smiled a bit to himself, trying not to seem too delighted at that fact. But he shook his head quickly, even though that’s exactly what he planned on getting.

“What’s your favorite drink?”

“I like the lavender oatmilk latte.”

“Lavender? In coffee?” He made a sour face.

“James,” she said, somewhat shortly as he dawdled.

“I’ll have one of those, then.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah. But if it’s gross, I’m blaming you.”

She smirked a little as she shook her head, typing in the order.

“Alright. It’s in,” she said, nodding to the side for him to get out of the way.

“But I didn’t pay.”

“It’s on me,” she replied. But, she continued before he could think it was too sweet, “It’ll get you out of the way faster.”

He nodded, giving her a thanks with a shy smile. He went back to his seat, expecting that same wretched boy to come back out instead of her with his drink. Though it certainly took a long time for him to do so. Just as James was looking over his shoulder to see what was taking so long, he saw that same familiar face coming towards him with a mug of coffee. He smiled up at her as she set down the mug.

“I thought you were on the register.”

“I was.”

“But you just had to come see me, right?”

She scoffed a laugh, rolling her eyes. “Enough out of you. I came to ask about the test on Tuesday.”

“Oh?” he asked, looking down into the coffee she brought. It didn’t look gross, at the very least, but he still wasn’t sure about lavender in his coffee.

“I can’t find my notes from two weeks ago anywhere. Do you think I could borrow yours by any chance?”

“You want to borrow my notes?”

“You can be an idiot sometimes, but you’re not stupid. Unfortunately, you are actually really smart under that…” she gestures vaguely at him. “You know. Your whole vibe.”

“Hey!” he exclaimed, pouting a little.

“It’s a compliment.”

“Still mean. I thought you Americans were supposed to be nice.”

“I think you’re thinking of Canada, but I mean it in a nice way.”

He huffed a small sigh, tilting his head as he looked up at her. She tried not to look at him for too long, sure she’d start grinning for real this time. Why did he have to be so handsome? And so annoying. And ridiculously charming. She merely quirked a brow at his silent tantrum, waiting for him to speak again.

“I guess. You can have my notes, but you have to come get them from me at my apartment.”

“You can’t just email them to me?”

He smiled. “Nope. I take ‘em on paper. You can come get them.”

“It would be easier to take a photo of them.”

“I want my roommates to have to meet the girl who hates me so much anyways. They’ve been dying to properly see you without me having to point you out across campus.”

“You talk about me a lot?” she asks with a little smirk, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Enough,” he smiles at her brightly. “Come on. Just humor me.”

“I don’t have your address,” she argued weakly.

He laughed a bit at that. God, she was adorable when she was being difficult.

“Give me your phone, then.”

“What for?”

“I’m going to put my address in. And my phone number so I don’t always have to try to catch you here or in class when I want to talk to you.”

“Who says I want to talk to you?”

“I think you secretly like me.”

“I think you’re annoying.”

“I think you secretly like me, even though I’m annoying. You’re trying to tell me I’m not a delight to be around?”

She sighed softly, clinging hard onto that small sliver of irritation, even if it didn’t do much good against the boy. She pulled out her phone, unlocking it and handing it over to him. She watched as he typed in all his information, and even took a cheesy little selfie for his contact photo.

“No, no, no…” she said, trying to take her phone back when he started messaging himself.

He put out his arm with a giddy grin, blocking her from getting the phone back as he continued on his path with the other hand.

“How else was I meant to get your number?” he giggled, hitting send and handing the device back to her. “Just wanted to make sure you wouldn’t be the only one with the option to contact me. If you were the only one of us who could text, we’d never get the ball rolling on a proper friendship.”

“Maybe I don’t want to be your friend,” she snorted once, pocketing her phone again. “You’re a nuisance.”

“I’ll see you tonight then, right?” He ignored her poor insult. “To get the notes, I mean.”

She fell quiet for a moment before begrudgingly nodding. “Yeah. I’ll see you then. When will you be home?”

“For you? All day.”

She rolled her eyes again, but she couldn’t help but fight a warmth in her cheeks as she turned to get back to work.

As it turned out, much like she was suspecting, letting James put his number in her phone, and consequently exchanging numbers, was a horrific idea. It seemed that every time she went to check her phone, even if it was the middle of the night, he had something to say. Whether it be an actual message or just a strange meme he found online, he was constantly sending her texts. She was convinced he was testing out a kind of exposure therapy. That maybe, in his head, if he kept bugging her all hours of the day she would learn not to act so annoyed by him. To his merit, he was mostly right. But it helped that she was harboring a secret crush on him to begin with.

James, on the other hand, was getting non-stop reprimands from his friends. Every time he pulled his phone out and started typing, they’d groan in annoyance, knowing exactly who he was trying to talk to.

“Mate, you’ve got to lay off the poor girl,” Remus grumbled softly, his head dropping onto the back of the couch when he clocked James texting her in the middle of a movie night with the boys.

“I just thought she might think this movie is good. I’m recommending it,” James shrugged a little, still typing away.

“She probably doesn’t care,” Peter said casually.

“Shut up, Pete,” James huffed, setting his phone down. Though he left it up to make sure he’d see exactly when she texted back. “It’s funny. She likes funny stuff.”

“You’ve got it bad, Prongs,” Sirius shook his head as he came back into the living room from his brief excursion to the bathroom. Remus pulled him right back into his lap as he came out, hugging him tightly.

James looked at them, making a disgusted face and groaning.

“You guys aren’t allowed to talk about me when you’re always clinging onto each other like that.”

“You’re just jealous,” Sirius smirked.

“Maybe I am! I have to watch you two cuddling all the time, all in love. It’s sickening,” James crossed his arms as he looked back at the television. “I shouldn’t have to watch that and hear about how I shouldn’t text a girl I fancy.”

Remus and Sirius shared a look. Remus then set his sights on James with a raised brow.

“So you fancy her now, do you?”

“Shut up.”

“Just saying,” Remus chuckled. “When we started the school year you said she was evil. Now you fancy her.”

“She is evil. She doesn’t like me back,” James sighed dramatically, slumping in his seat. “I don’t get it. Girls loved me in high school. Then all of a sudden we’re at uni, and the first girl I like turns out to be a lesbian and the second one thinks I’m annoying.”

“Poor boy,” Sirius cooed at his dear friend jokingly. “You’ll find one soon. Maybe she just isn’t the one for you.”

“But I want her to be! It isn’t fair. She probably doesn’t like English boys at all. I bet that’s what it is.”

“What?” Remus asked incredulously.

“She’s from the States. I bet she only likes, like… farmers or surfers or something stupid.”

That earned a laugh from his friends, brushing off his dramatics as usual. James merely pouted to himself as he watched the movie until his phone buzzed next to him. He grabbed it like his life depended on it when he saw who the notification was from, smiling like a giddy child as he read the message.

“alright. thanks for the rec, I’ll check it out :)”

He giggled a little to himself. “She sent me a smiley face! You guys think that actually made her smile? I bet it did.”

His friends merely sighed, ignoring him again since he wouldn’t have listened to their response anyways as he typed away.

“Maybe we could watch it together some time! I think my friends would really like you. They didn’t get to know you well enough last time they saw you since it was only a couple of minutes. You should come over!! :)”

He sent the message, but as soon as the excitement calmed down a smidge, he sent another message.

“If you want to, of course. I don’t want to pressure you. But I do want to hang out with you. I think you’ll like me if you decided to stop hating me lol”

“Sorry, that sounded weird”

“I just mean that we could be good friends, I think. You’re funny and cool, and I’m also funny and cool. It’s like we’re made for each other haha!”

“I don’t mean it like that. You know what I mean, yeah?”

“Fuck, mate, you writing a novel over there?” Sirius laughed with wide eyes, looking at the phone in James’s hands.

“I keep fucking up and sending weird stuff,” he groaned. “Trying to do damage control.”

“Not much damage control to do when she already talks to you in person,” Sirius retorts with a smirk.

“Shove off, Pads.”

His phone buzzed again.

“right lol. maybe sometime? do you plan on talking through the whole thing though? you tend to be a motormouth, you know lmao”

He let out a breath of relief, smiling to himself again when he saw that he didn’t screw things too badly.

“I’ll be quiet during all the important parts at least. Promise!”

He waited for a moment, staring at the screen as a little text bubble popped up almost immediately.

“maybe then, yeah. i’ll let you know next time i’m getting too happy with my peace and quiet. or the next time lils and her girlfriend are making out in front of me again”

He laughed softly, ignoring the looks he was getting from the others as he texted the girl. They were all in happy relationships, they certainly were not allowed to judge him for being excited to be speaking to somebody cute.

“Might not be much better with Sirius and Remus here, but misery loves company, right?”

“Those are two of my mates you met when you picked up those notes a while back, btw. In case you forgot their names.”

“They’re dating now.”

He waited patiently, not even paying an ounce of attention to the movie still playing. Besides, if he was going to watch it with her again some time soon, who cares if he missed a bit of it?

“good for them, they’re probably super cute together. but yeah, i’ll text you next time then”

James smiled brightly.

“Great!!! I’m looking forward to it! We can order dinner and everything.”

“But not like a date.”

“Unless you wanted it to be lol. Just kidding. We don’t have to do that.”

“But I’ll still buy dinner so you don’t go hungry.”

He waited again as the speech bottle popped up, and frowned a little when it went away. Then, there was a little heart on the first message he sent about ordering in, which, to him, felt like everything.

She was surprised with herself when she was all nerves before going to see James and his friends for that promised movie night. Though, she quickly realized that was incredibly silly.

As she got to know James’s friends, she kind of started understanding why he talked so highly of them. She adored them, and thought it was pretty funny that they always seemed a little bit lovingly exasperated with his antics. She couldn’t help but wonder if that’s how she’d start feeling about him, or if that bothersome crush would never fade into a casual friendship.

The answer seemed to come after Sirius and Remus ran off together after dinner, and Peter left to go hang out with his girlfriend. She didn't expect to find herself opening up to the Potter boy so easily about her past, nor for him to become so serious and thoughtful when talking about his own.

She really didn’t expect for herself to say yes to hanging out with him again. And again. And again.

It’s like he somehow found his way under her skin. She knew he was capable of such a thing from how he was easily able to bug her from their first meeting. It was exasperation at first sight. But the way he charmed his way into her heart was an entirely new kind of annoying. He was all boyish smiles, silly stories, and dramatism… and it was fucking endearing.

But their tipping point came in March.

Much to her chagrin, they had become close friends. They spent a lot of time together, and not just in the classroom or at work. She’d become friends with his friends, and James had become friends with Lily and Marlene after he finally accepted that Lily really wouldn’t ever like him. Though, realistically, he was pretty much over that the second he realized he had feelings for someone else. That slightly-grumpy, highly caffeinated, lovely, hilarious, complaining, sweet, smart, ridiculously difficult angel of a girl.

The girl that made him embarrass himself in front of a party full of people.

He stood with Peter and his girlfriend at a table, chatting as they started sipping on freshly made drinks. James was, admittedly, probably a few too many in. But he couldn’t always exercise impeccable self-control, he decided. So, he stood there, staring at the girl from across the room as she danced with Lily’s girlfriend Marlene with a smile on his face.

“You look ridiculous staring at her like that, mate,” Peter said to James, nudging him lightly.

“I don’t know what you mean,” James snorted, pulling his eyes away from her to smirk at his friend. “Besides, I can stare at my girl all I want.”

“Only she isn’t your girl, James,” Peter reminded him.

“I’d like her to be,” James sighed dreamily, turning his head to look at her again. But this time, a frown overtook his face.

She was now being tapped on the shoulder by some tall, terribly handsome looking guy. James’s stomach lurched a little at the sight. What did this guy think he was doing?

He looked on for a moment as the two talked, growing more and more frustrated. He knew they weren’t together, but that was still his girl. He knew he had to take immediate action. This couldn’t just slide without consequence. James looked around the room almost frantically, trying to figure it out. How could he get all her attention on him instead of that stupid dude hanging off her shoulder?

Aha!

He pushed his cup into Peter’s hand, ignoring his friend questioning what on earth he was doing. He walked, though it was more of a drunken stumble, to the nearest table, clambering up on top of it. He cleared his throat, looking around as more and more people started looking up at him in confusion. Perfect! An audience.

He called her name over the crowd, looking at her intently until she turned to him with wide eyes, shrugging off the other guy that was still trying to get an arm around her. He smiled brightly, though she looked less than amused, shaking her head a little at him.

“I want everyone in this room, and… and everyone forever, everywhere, to know something. I am so, stupidly, madly…” he stopped as he stumbled a little, his foot slipping off of the table’s edge in front of him. “Shit!”

He crashed to the floor, scraping his hand on something on the table as he tried to stop himself from landing too hard on the ground. He winced, both from the tumble to the ground and the pain in his hand. What the hell was so sharp on that table?

“Ow,” he muttered, not even trying to get up yet, rubbing his head a little as he felt quite dizzy.

“James!”

He squinted up with a small, pained smile as her saccharine voice reached his ears as she came rushing over. He groaned a little when she dropped on her knees in front of him, trying to look at his hand. It was bleeding a little bit.

“You’re so fucking stupid,” she mumbled, but he still noticed the worry in her eyes. It made him feel good.

“I’m drunk.”

“Clearly,” she sighed softly, then stood, reaching for his opposite hand. “Come on. Let’s go get you home.”

“I didn’t finish what I wanted–”

“You need to get to bed. You’re a mess, Jamie.”

He smiled a little more at that little nickname. He loved it when she called him that. He agreed instantly to her at that point. How could he say no?

“Okay. Lead the way, mama.”

“...Don’t call me that.”

“Mm,” he shrugged, letting her help him stand up. He hung off of her, practically using her as a human crutch. “You’re so sweet to me.”

She stayed quiet, trying to bring him out of the room of people either staring or laughing at him. It was a miracle she got him home, but she did after a lengthy battle against the sidewalks and stairs. She sat him on his bed, making him stay put as she went to get disinfectant and a bandage for his hand.

He blinked slowly, looking after her with a dopey smile as she left and returned. She sat in front of him on the bed, taking his hand in hers. He barely whined at all when she cleaned off his hand, muttering something about him being a ‘clumsy, ridiculous cunt’. He thought it was cute how she could take care of him so well while still insulting him for being an absolute idiot. He reasoned that at least he would be her idiot.

“Sorry, love,” he mumbled when she finished up with his hand. “But you’re awfully good at this stuff. Maybe I got hurt on purpose just so you’d take care of me.”

“No, you didn’t,” she said, practically force-feeding him some water.

He swallowed. “No, I didn’t. But I could have. I like it like this.”

“You like having your hand all fucked up, and a room full of people laughing at you?”

“I like you sitting with me like this. Giving me alllll your attention,” he giggled. “Besides, you’re really pretty when you’re concentrating. I don’t mind getting hurt if it means you’ll do that silly little thing where your tongue sticks out a bit when you’re focusing.”

“You need to go to sleep,” she said softly, fighting a smile.

“But I didn’t finish what I was gonna say on the table.”

“Too late.”

“I don’t want you to go.”

“Too bad.”

He whined. “Please? That douchebag who was all over you is gonna go right back to it if you go back to the party.”

“I’m not going back to the party. And what do you even mean? What guy?”

“The one who was on you when I got up on the table,” he pouted.

She quirked a brow. “I don’t even know that guy.”

“That’s worse! He’s gonna steal you away!” James exclaimed. “That isn’t fair. I had you first.”

She swallowed once, looking at him curiously. “What?”

“I don’t like boys looking at you or… or touching you or talking to you or anything. You were mine first. They need to back off,” he said, getting increasingly irritated. “I don’t care if you think I’m annoying or you don’t like me. Doesn’t mean some other boy gets to just… take you.”

“Slow down,” she said, grabbing his arm. “First of all, I do like you, if not evidenced by us becoming friends the past several months. Second… some dude I don’t even know isn’t gonna come along and ‘take me’. That doesn’t even make sense. Besides…”

“It does make sense! You’re so beautiful, and funny, and caring, and really mean but in a way that is super hot…”

“I don’t want to date some random frat boy, James.”

“But they want to date you!”

“Who gives a fuck?”

“I do! I love you! They shouldn’t get to butter you up and take you away from me, it isn’t fair,” he groaned, tossing himself back onto the pillows.

As a result, he didn’t see her mouth drop open at the accidental confession, nor the way her eyes widened as she looked at him.

“You love me?”

“What?”

“You just said you love me.”

James opens his eyes, though he doesn’t look at her. “...no I didn’t.”

“You’re a shit liar, Jamie. I know what I heard.”

He winced a little. “Well… maybe I do. That’s what I was gonna say on the table, anyway.”

“So you’re brave enough to say it in front of a crowd, but you get scared to admit to it one-on-one?” She snorted a laugh.

“It’s easier to not get rejected right away when we’re around other people. Then at least I could figure out your reaction when you were still far away,” he said meekly, finally looking at her.

“You think I’d reject you?”

“Maybe? You kind of hated me when we first met.”

“And now? Who do I spend every waking moment with, dummy?”

“...me?”

She merely raised her brows, opening her hands in an ‘obviously, dumbass’ kind of gesture. He smiled at her.

“So…?” he asked vaguely.

“So… you love me, huh?”

He merely nodded, looking a little sheepish and still pretty drunk. She was thanking her lucky stars that she was still extremely tipsy as well, or else she probably would’ve passed out from nerves.

“What if I said… like, me too?”

His eyes widened. “You too?”

“Yeah.”

“You love me too? Like, also?”

“Yes, like, also,” she laughed. “I’ve honestly had a crush on you since the second day of classes this year.”

“Really?” He smiled brightly. “Ugh, you’re horrible!”

“What?” she scoffed a laugh.

“You are evil! I’ve been saying it since day one. This whole time I thought I was an idiot for liking you so much, and you had a crush on me?”

“To be fair, I really didn’t want to. You were pretty insufferable,” she chuckled, brushing some of his messy hair out of his face.

“Then what changed for me?”

“Nothing. I just started thinking all of your irritating traits were becoming irritatingly adorable.”

“You think I’m adorable?” He giggled to himself.

“Don’t push your luck, Potter.”

“Don’t call me that. I like it better when you call me Jamie.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Makes me all soft and mushy inside.”

“You’re such a sap,” she sighed softly, leaning down over him to kiss his cheek.

He felt his cheeks heat up quickly at the sweet gesture, and even more when she didn’t pull her face away from his. He looked up at her with a soft smile. How could he not have fallen head over heels?

He leaned up slightly, glancing down at her lips before closing his eyes to let her make the first official move. He hoped she’d make that move. Butterflies fluttered in his stomach, and sparks all over his body when he felt her lips meet his for the first time. He smiled into the kiss, unable to stop himself from it.

He kissed her back, though it was admittedly sloppy with the both of them still fairly inebriated, James being even more so. But to him at the very least, it was perfect.

Against his preference, she pulled away. He pouted, as he usually did when he didn’t get as much attention from her as he’d like.

“You have to promise me something,” she said quietly.

His ears perked up. “Anything.”

“We won’t become annoying like Lily and Marls or Sirius and Remus.”

He grinned. “Does that mean you want to date me?”

“God, you’re dense,” she muttered against his lips, kissing him again with no intention of ever stopping.

#london boy mention ‼️#james potter #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x reader #james potter x you #james potter au #james potter college au #james potter fluff #james potter fic #james potter fanfiction #marauders #marauders fluff #marauders fanfiction #marauders au #luna still hates jk

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stevebabey · 4 months

Note

uhm shyly comes into your inbox to give a steve idea :’)

finding him so so so pretty in that stupid dark blue polo, not being able to really look at him properly. it’s tight against his chest and stomach which makes him look delicious, wanting to be devoured really. he’s simply so pretty. worst thing is: he fucking knows it. so he’s cocky about it and teasing, it’s never relenting. he loves it and honestly so do you.

(feel free to ignore!)

trying to get my steve groove back on!!! thank u for sending something nonnie!! a lil bit of shy!reader <3 just a blurb too

Steve doesn’t know it’s a favourite of yours.

One of his polos fits his chest pretty perfectly if anyone asks your opinion. It’s that nice navy colour that looks good against his tan skin, with a bold stripe of white through the middle. A little plain but classic.

It hugs his biceps snugly and stretches ever so slightly over his chest. At the right angle, you can see the definition of his pecs and it’s awfully good at reminding you of what they look like with no shirt on at all.

The thought makes you fluster a bit.

He’s got plenty of polos but this one— this is your favourite. And he’s wearing it tonight, on Valentine’s day, and now you’re not quite sure you’ve been as slick with your wandering eyes as you hoped.

Across the booth, Steve smiles at you, his lashes kissing in the corner. He reaches up to scratch at the back of his neck and your eyes zero in on the bulge of his bicep instantly.

Steve’s smiles melts into a grin, a tad wicked.

Yeah, okay, maybe he does know it’s your favourite.

You fluster again. Something nudges at your foot under the table, right as Steve says, “What?”

He’s teasing. He definitely knows what.

“Stop,” you murmur, on the side of embarrassed. “You know what.”

Steve smiles again and drops his arm, thankfully, only to fold them and lean forward on the table. It does wonders for his arms, especially in that shirt. Damn that shirt. Damn him. He’s evil.

“Do I know what?” He pretends to muse thoughtfully.

He tilts his pretty head to the side just an inch. His eyes stay locked on you, drinking up every second your flustered reaction. You’re beautiful, even more so when you get all embarrassed about liking him.

“Steve.”

“What?”

“I will not be responsible for any further inflation of your ego, thank you very much.” You mumble it as you take a sip of your soda, eyes on the table. Why is it so terrible to have him know you were leering at him?

Steve laughs loudly. He finally slides his arms back and off the table, giving you a temporary relief.

“You’re the only one who can inflate my ego, actually.” Steve counters, his brows raising. He steals a fry off your plate and chews it slowly.

You eye him over your cup, skeptical.

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” He shrugs, swallowing his food. He takes a sip of his own milkshake, oh-so casual when he says, “Your opinion is the only one that really matters to me anyways.”

He grins across the table at you, a more mischievous shine in his eyes.

“Why do you think I picked this shirt?”

You’re equal parts mortified and enthralled at what he’s said. In your surprise, you accidentally inhale a bit of your soda and it burns as it goes down the wrong way— you cough awkwardly to clear it. Okay, less equal, more mortified now.

It’s your turn to ask. “What?”

Steve nudges your foot under the table again, teasing and flirting all in one. His pink lips curve into that grin that makes your heart flip flop— and there’s even a slight pink tinge to his cheeks. As though he’s also endeared but embarrassed by your attention.

“It’s your favourite.”

“It’s—” You splutter and for some reason, decide to lie. “No, it’s not!”

“Yes, it is!”

“No, it’s—” You pivot mid-sentence. “Who told you?”

Steve laughs again, that big loud belly-laugh where his cheeks get all chipmunk-y cos he’s grinning so hard. When he stops laughing enough to talk, he’s reaching across the table. You’re not quick enough to pretend to avoid his hand as he snags it with his own.

“Baby,” he says. “Nobody had to tell me. I could just tell.”

Somehow when he says it like that, when he calls you baby in a voice all sticky with fondness, it doesn’t seem like such a bad thing at all.

You nudge him back under the table and sip your sofa again to try think of something to say. He knows what you look like when you love something. How terrifying. How intimate.

Another sip of soda. Steve rubs his thumb over the back of your hand, content to gaze you. His view is sweet enough he must have cartoon hearts circling above his head.

You can’t think of anything to say in the end, so you just squeeze his hand and nudge his foot again — and trust that he’ll just be able to tell what you mean.

#this was fun! thank u so much for sending one #it was a challenge to make something go with it #i’m feeling very into new relationship getting used to each other jitters <3 #ruby writes steve #steve x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x reader blurb #steve harrington x you #steve x you #a baby baby blurb :) enjoy !

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thehighladywrites · 5 months

Text

The Airhead Chronicles

…and the surprise

pairing: cassian x bimbo reader, inner circle x reader, nesta

summary: Not being able to avoid his family anymore, cassian brings you to meet them, despite the new bond. You all get along great and someone particular catches your eye👀 does the night end as amazingly as it began, though?

warnings: tragic backstory, reader’s mysterious aura is finally explained, i’m so sorry but i’ll have to villainize Nesta in this but I love her and will make a fluff fic with her soon

amara’s note: i’m sorry this took a while, life was kinda hectic but it’s all good now. This is quite a short bc i’m trying to build up some angst…

part one part two part three

“Wha- Rhysie? What are you doing here?” Confusion washed over you as Rhys appeared, equally bewildered.

“This is mine and Feyre’s home, we live here, y/n. What brings you here?”

Your puzzled expression deepened. This wasn't adding up. You were supposed to meet Cassian's friends. Maybe you'd gotten the wrong house.

“I’m visiting my mate's friends. Look, I even baked a cake! Doesn’t it look so tasty?” You held up the cake as you flashed him your usual smile as he nodded absentmindedly.

“You two know each other?” Cassian's raised eyebrows reflected his confusion.

“Cassie, this is Rhys. He’s the friend I’ve been telling you about. You know, the one that helped me move and who I work for.” You introduced Cassian to Rhysand, unaware they'd been friends for half a millennium.

“Y/n, why don't you come inside? Feyre and Nyx are here too. I know they’d be thrilled to meet you,” Rhysand suggested, maintaining eye contact with Cassian, whose expression remained unreadable.

“Oh, I wish we could stay, but we have to like go. Gonna meet my handsome man’s friends, and just between us, they’re like super important people, so I need to prepare myself. But you might now them since you’re high lord.” You leaned in, whispering lowly.

Cassian squeezed your hands reassuringly. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Go ahead and say hi, I’ll just talk to Rhys for a second.”

With a smile, you kissed his cheek and skipped inside to greet with your dear friend Feyre and favorite little guy, Nyx.

Cassians pov:

“You want to tell me how the hell you know her?” Cassian struggled to process the revelation. The idea of you and Rhys already knowing each other left him in disbelief. He couldn't fathom how he was being vexed by your super amazing friend, only to find out he was Cassian's friend too.

“Listen, I didn’t know you were mated or anything. I’ve known her since we were faelings.” Rhysand raised his hands, signaling that he harbored no ill intentions towards you and hadn't done anything wrong.

Cassian backed away, hands on his hips, strolling to the drink cabinet. He grabbed two cups, plopping down on the sofa and ruffling his wings in a mix of frustration and contemplation.

“Rhysie, I’m not going to eat you up, unless you want me to. Come sit down and just talk to me.” Cassian huffed, a hint of amusement in his expression as he noticed Rhysand practically glued behind his desk. With a roll of his eyes, Rhys rounded the table and settled down next to his friend.

They sat in silence, downing their third glass of Rhysand's expensive scotch. A nod from Rhys indicated he was ready to explain everything, and he met Cassian's gaze as he began.

“Alright, so when me and my sister were younger, my father made us switch from our private education in Velaris to Hewn City. The bastard claimed he wanted us to toughen up a bit. It was pure evil if you ask me.” A disgusted expression crossed Rhys's face as he recalled the horrors the new educators put him and his sister through in an attempt to toughen them up. The treatment was truly horrible for all the children there.

“There, I met Y/n and her sisters. They were downright horrendous towards her, and so were her parents because she wasn’t learning as quickly as us. She was also highly sought after due to her beauty and kindness, something her sisters envied. Her father is the Master of Coin, so they're loaded, and they had us do classes together. All the masters' children had classes together, separate from the other children of the city, to showcase how higher educated we were, in my father’s words.”

Rhys sighed, taking a sip of his drink before continuing, “Me and Selene befriended her, and you should’ve seen how jealous her sisters were. As heir, I had a lot of ladies interested in my title, and her sisters were among them. So they spread lies, telling everyone how I was bedding her as mere teenagers when, in reality, I was teaching her the work our educator couldn’t be bothered to teach her. After the rumors spread, her parents pulled her out of school to stay at home and learn her place in the court—how to talk to suitors, how to dress and act in front others with higher titles. She was raised like some sort of prized horse, ready to be sold. It was disgusting, the number of times her parents tried to marry her off for the sake of a title. Every time they tried, I intervened.” He smirked at the memory of your parents angry faces as the high lords son interrupted yet another proposal.

Cassian was shocked, slowly taking in the information as he nuged Rhys to continue.

“So, what happened when you became high lord? Did she stay in the city or did she move?”

“After I became High Lord, I finally banned forced marriages and made it punishable. Her parents suddenly found no need for her, so they told her that she either found someone appropriate herself and convinced me it was love, or they would’ve gotten rid of her.”

Cassian's jaw tightened, his fist instinctively knuckling up. He was seriously one second away from flying there and taking matters into his own hands.

“So I told her parents that she was marrying a well-off lord in the Day Court and that she’d be well taken care of, not that they really cared.”

“And, before you jump to conclusions, yes, I did ask her if I should take care of them for her, but she's not keen on the idea. She's way more merciful than I am. Y/n actually asked me to keep my father as the Master of Coin and, believe it or not, she told me not to kill them. According to her, it's better to let them live and witness her thriving one day. Quite the plot twist, no?” Rhysand smiled at your words, thankful that he had a friend to help him survive back in the city.

His smile faded as he remembered the 49 years he spent away from his family friends and city.

“I got her a house in Aetherian Crest, and she has lived there ever since, even during Amarantha’s reign. The only ones who know she exists are Feyre and, well, Nyx too, but he isn’t old enough to understand that.”

A shared laugh echoed through the room at the mention of Nyx, the thought of the little one adding a touch of warmth to the heavy conversation.

Cassian, still perplexed, glanced between Rhysand and the glass in his hand. He couldn't quite grasp what you worked on and the role you played in his life.

“She says to work for you. What exactly does she do, and why did you have her swear to secrecy with that bargain tattoo?” Cassian's irritation grew as he contemplated the idea of you engaging in something so dangerous that it required an irreversible oath.

Rhysand took a deep breath, sensing Cassian's increasing irritation.

“Y/n handles delicate matters, specializing in extracting information from people. Her bubbly personality and openness make it easy for others to confide in her. Y/n oversees a team, playing a crucial role in our court. She chooses to stay hidden because she doesn’t want the weight of our responsibilities. The intel she gathers is extremely essential; I pass it on to Azriel, who acts based on her information. You know those thrilling missions you love so much? Many are based on her information. She is absolutely irreplaceable and knows everything about every court. I made her swear the same oath that you all have sworn for the protection of Velaris.”

Cassian was stunned, yet it all made perfect sense. It dawned on him that he had shared his childhood and spilled secrets to you in just a few weeks. It had taken him centuries to truly open up to the inner circle, and here you were, extracting information within a matter of days. You were so smooth; he hadn't even noticed it happening. Your ability to weave into his life seamlessly left him both amazed and, oddly, more enamored with you.

It would be insulting to express surprise. Cassian had a hunch that you were doing something extraordinary; he just didn't know the specifics. Now that he had the full picture, he felt an overwhelming sense of pride and admiration, realizing that you were even more remarkable than he had initially thought, if that was even possible.

“What? You thought we only had boring study sessions together? Me and Selene taught her how to spy, just the basics of listening for information; the rest is all her.” Rhysand snorted, raising an amused brow at Cassian while taking a sip of his drink.

Cassian sat back, absorbing the revelation. A mix of awe and admiration colored his expression.

“Damn,” he breathed, his eyes fixed on Rhysand. “I didn't know all this about her. Rhys, I'm proud of her. More than I thought possible. Fuck, I’m falling even harder for her, if that's even possible.”

Rhysand chuckled at Cassian's reaction and clapped him on the shoulder. “Congratulations on the bond, brother. You'll find you fall for her in ways you never imagined. It's normal when you're bonded, trust me. The other day, Feyre showed me a new move she had practiced and I fell even harder.”

With a shared laugh, Rhysand and Cassian returned to the gathering, joining you and the others for dinner. The weight of revelations lingered but was set aside for the warmth of camaraderie, good company, and a meal shared among friends.

—

As he explained that the friends you had come to see were Rhysand and the rest of the Inner Circle, a blush crept onto your cheeks. The realization hit you – you had interacted with them so casually, forgetting for a moment that they were the most significant figures in the Night Court. But they were so nice to you, so did it really matter that you talked about ideal sex positions with the girls?

Seated at the dinner table, everyone enjoyed the meal together. You found yourself leaning into Cassian, the atmosphere around the table filled with laughter, shared stories, and the comforting feeling of being among friends.

Azriel had been sneaking glances at you, not really making much conversation, but occasionally cracked a dry joke or expressed his opinion on topics when asked. He found you interesting, not anything scandalous, he just knew there was more to you, his spymaster instincts picking up a mysterious vibe from you.

Amren just looked at you from head to to, nodding with a tiny movement, one you almost missed, and kept to herself the entire dinner, disappearing the second the food was gone.

Elain had been the most welcoming and openly discussed similar interests with you. She seemed to bond with you the most, appreciating your shared interests. You found her adorable and had complimented everything from her dress and hair to the flowers she planted on the table.

Later, in the sitting room, you and Cassian settled on the sofa, and Elain sat across the room. Eager to chat with her, you sauntered over, sitting extremely close.

Leaning in, you began, “Elain, I find you really, really cute. You remind me of a deer; I love them, they’re so adorable. And i heard tou killed the king of hybern. You’re soo brave!! ” Your words hung in the air, creating a bit of a nervous atmosphere, but Elain let out a small giggle at the proximity and the compliment.

“Ohh, thanks. You’re very pretty too. I like the bows in your hair. And it was nothing really, just protected my sisters.”

Your eyes widened at her cute stutter and the way she squirmed. Gods, she was sooo cute you thought you were gonna die!! You so desperately wanted to be friends with her.

You smiled at her one last time, leaving her with a pounding heart and a nervous smile. You skipped happily back to Cassian who looked mighty amused, ready to enjoy the rest of the evening with his mate.

—

Later during the evening, your arms wrapped around his massive bicep. Leaning your head on it, the warmth of the meal making you sleepy, you scooted closer to Cassian, placing both of your legs on one of his thighs as you rested on his arm.

In that moment, safety, warmth, and reassurance radiates from your mate.

“Cassie, I wanna sleep. M'soooo tired,” you mumbled against his warm skin. His rich laughter rumbled through his body, making you smile like a fool.

Holy fuck, you were so in love with him.

“It’s okay, baby. Do you want me to fly us back to your home or do you want to sleep in my old room?”

You perked up at the thought of seeing his old bedroom, filled with everything that defined him.

“Yes, please! Your old bedroom sounds super cool. Can't wait to see it. And, you know, maybe I could blow you or something?” you said, mundane, as if you were discussing the weather or the latest book you read

Honestly, like, who even cares if anyone hears you talking? It's totally okay to wanna please your mate, right? Ugh, people and their silly fucking rules, it was driving you crazy. If you wanna announce to the world that Cassian fucks you like there’s no tomorrow, then you totally should, no questions asked!

Giggles and laughs filled the room at your crude comment, everyone a bit tipsy after several bottles of wine were shared between you.

—

Cassian's strong and sturdy body carried you on his back as he gave you a piggyback ride through the house, providing a private tour before reaching his designated room in Rhysand's massive estate.

With your boobs pressed softly against his back, you tightened your arms around him, excitedly expressing your dirty wishes for what you wanted to do together.

His arousal was evident as his pants tightened around his cock.

His heart craved to cherish you eternally, eager to bring you joy in every way possible. In this short time, Cassian found himself wholeheartedly falling for you. Filled with a urgency, he yearned to share just how much you meant to him and the extraordinary lengths he'd go, wrapped in those three words and eight letters.

But life wasn’t a fairytale, especially his.

His body froze in shock as he swung open the door, completely taken aback by the unexpected sight of his old lover standing in the middle of his room. Her hands fidgeted nervously before a palpable wave of hatred emanated from her eyes as she shifted her gaze towards you, intensifying the unexpected and shocking nature of her visit.

You, still on top if Cassian, missed the tension in the air as he locked eyes with his old lover. The atmosphere crackled with unresolved emotions.

Cassian, with you still on his back, shifted uncomfortably, trying to gauge the situation.

He took a deep breath, attempting to regain control of the unexpected encounter. “Nesta,” he said her name with a forced calmness that couldn't hide the turmoil beneath the surface. “What are you doing here?”

Nesta's lips curled into a bitter smile, and her gaze never wavered. “I heard you found someone new. Thought I'd see what kind of female you thought could replace me.”

Your heart raced, realizing the depth of the history between them. The room felt charged with a mixture of tension and heartache.

“Cassie, who is she?”

You hopped down, stepping back, a rush of emotions hitting you as you witnessed a scene too familiar. Many before had desired to take you to bed but had never chosen commitment, leaving you with a lingering sense of being used and discarded.

In that moment, you couldn't help but feel the weight of past disappointments. Praying to every god, you desperately hoped this wasn't another painful chapter repeating itself.

Cassian wouldn’t do that to you. He wouldn’t fuck you and toss you aside for a past flame, right?

You were utterly convinced that he couldn’t change that quickly.

So why did doubt and fear take root in you?

And why did his hand tense and curl in when you tried to touch it?

🏷️ taglist: @just-a-social-casualty-1 @wallacewillow0773638 @dominika20hella10black @pinksmellslikelove @hellsenthero @val-writesstuff @paasrin

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seillarium · 13 days

Text

melt my heart and claim it as yours

tl;dr. the classic 5+1 fic for my one and only love

pairings : portgas d. ace x reader

notes : mild angst (?), happy ending, no pronouns used (as far as i know) but written with fem reader in mind, no proofread, lowercase intended, a few profanities, english isn't my first language, overuse of italics lol, PORTGAS D. ACE LIVESSSS

word count : roughly 3.5k words

sincerely, sei : AAAAAARGHHH OMGOMG I FINALLY FINISHED IT ACTUALLY HOLY SH 😭😭 anyway, please lmk if there are grammatical errors, or typos, hopefully i don't fumble this, i think it's not rlly good. but to be fair, i was experimenting 😥 and how the fuck did i write 3k words??? where did that even come from

─────── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ───────

you're a new recruit of the whitebeard pirates, having been rescued from an organization that experiments on people—honestly you didn't think you'd live this long with how things were going with your life.

you were hesitant at first, meekly greeting the members of the seemingly kind pirates around you. as far as you knew, pirates were pictured as barbaric, evil, and cruel. but all that you see are warm people that see each other as family. it left a foreign feeling in your chest, one that you can't seem to decipher.

but you have only one thing in mind: do you belong here?

your first day on the moby dick was chaos. good chaos, you convince yourself. you were utterly overwhelmed by the amount of people, and holy fuck, did you just get a thousand siblings in less than a day??

they threw a party, for the new nakama, they said. it was heartwarming to say the least, and a small smile appeared on your face for the first time ever since you were put into that hell.

you try to put your mind into what was happening now, 'stop thinking about that, you have a new life ahead of you.' there were a lot of people introducing themselves, though you can't understand most of them. you were dragged, pushed even, as the dining area was suddenly filled. maybe the term 'barbaric' was fitting for them, after all.

the first to approach you one on one was the first division commander; marco. he had checked if you were doing alright, and all you did was smile and nod—biting your tongue, trying not to mention how you think he looks like a pineapple.

the second would be thatch, he was a tad drunk drunk and his mind is cooked. his flirtatious words were slurred. he called you multiple names, he claimed that your smile is quite fetching. you weren't really affected, he is amusing, though.

a few more approached you, some just greeting briefly, some were inviting you to drink (you didn't, the taste of alcohol is shit anyway), and some just gave you a warm "welcome to the crew!"

they sure are a rowdy bunch, you think, as you were leaning on the railing. then another person approached you. he leaned on the railing next to you, copying your position.

when you finally looked at him, your mind short-circuited for a moment. the mysterious man was certainly attractive. he's topless, that's what stupefied you for a second. not that you never saw any other guy who walks without any shirt—this one just has a nice figure, definitely easy to look at.

"hey there! you're the new recruit, yeah? my name is portgas d. ace, it's nice to meet you."

his voice startled you, whoops, you're staring, how inappropriate. he's bowing politely, and it baffled you for the nth time today because; what is this, a pirate crew whose motto is 'we're different from other pirates'?! you had never met a pirate this polite your whole life. you ought to pinch yourself; maybe this is a silly dream after all.

"hello? earth to you, er.." he waved a hand to your face, only then did you look to his face. great, so you were looking at his open tits first?

"(name). it's nice to meet you." you greeted back with a small smile, and he grinned. oh, he looks so... kind. you felt your heart thump—or did it actually stop?

"(name), huh? what a pretty name for a pretty face." oh, cheeky. he's got a coy grin on his lips now. he's like thatch, then. but he succeeded to make you blush slightly.

"thanks...?" wow, way to go! you honestly didn't know what to reply, given that you were locked up for about 5 years with almost no social interaction with others.

he didn't seem to mind, in fact, he looked pleased at your answer. though, he did seem to notice your uncomfortable shift. he props his elbow to the railing, resting his cheek on his hand. "you're adorable."

and your mind clogged again, face exploding into a deep red as you furrowed your eyebrows, forming a confused expression. he seems sober, and he says it like he means it. the temperature just skyrocketed, must be from how flushed your cheeks are.

he laughed at your expression, and you found yourself liking the carefree sound and his boyish grin. he gazed at your eyes again, slightly pink cheeks and a grin that screams mischief. more compliments spill from his mouth. looks like you're in for an embarrassing night.

once the night ended, ace slapped a hand on his mouth, his cheeks flushed—fuck, he's on fire, literally. he was mesmerized by you, thus, the sudden compliment escaped him. he didn't mean to, but with your reaction? oh he wanted more. he honestly thought flirting would be a good way to take your mind off of things, thank god he didn't fumble. such a miracle you didn't notice how his back was on fire the whole time...

II.

weeks had passed since you became a whitebeard pirate. you learned a lot of things. one, you were living under a rock, literally and figuratively. the lab that you were once in was underground. you've been there since you were 15, causing you to lack knowledge about the recent happenings in the outside world.

two, it was hard to keep up and remember each of their names. your overwhelmed brain is turning into mush at this point, thankfully they're kind enough to say their names over and over again for you.

three, ace. that's it, ace. you learned that he's some kind of lost dog. trailing you everywhere you go, not that you're complaining. honestly if he wasn't sticking to you, you'd be sticking to him.

there's this magnetic pull that drags you to him, seems like you couldn't resist his warm nature. like a moth to a flame you were attracted to him. and you feel yourself burn, not in a bad way—like you were succumbing to his very fire and you think you'll be fine as ashes if it meant you'd be closer to him.

but it's like, his fire flickers when you move forward. he let's you near, but never close. it's like you know him, but you can't get a grasp on what he's thinking at times. like he's keeping you at arm's length.

that does not stop the flirting, though.

"hey, I'm lost, can you give me directions to your heart?"

"if you were a triangle, you'd be acute one."

"aren't you tired? you've been running through my mind all day."

you're becoming a puddle of goo, it just gets embarrassing to the point you can't even form words.

"hey, (name), do you have a pen and a paper?" he suddenly approached you as you were walking around the ship. you shook your head 'no', surprised he's not making moves today.

"damn, no pen, no paper, yet you still draw my attention." he said with a shit-eating grin and a wink. "...."

"wait! (name)!!"

III.

a day alone with ace in a strange island is absolute havoc. you wonder how it's possible for one person to destroy half of a forest. well, to be fair, he is fire.

"are you a dumbass?!" you screeched, running away as fast as you can while a strange lion goes after you both. ace tried to pet it, you almost did too and out of a sudden everything went haywire.

"i didn't know it would be immune to fire!!" he screeched back, holding your wrist and practically dragging you.

"why the hell did you even try and pet a wild lion in the first place?!"

you're now sitting by a bonfire, lit by yours truly. you hug your knees to your chest, watching as the fire dances in the air.

the lion incident has passed, finding out it's actually frightened by water. you crossed a river and found a hilltop—which is where you are right now.

"you still cold?" he asked, sitting next beside you.

"kind of," not really, you're not exactly freezing, you just want more. of him, preferably.

he scooted closer, your shoulders touching. and heat immediately seeps through you. and for a moment you just relished his body temperature.

then the next thing you knew, your whole being was enveloped by his warmth. his arms looped on your waist, his head resting on your shoulder. he sent you a smile, and god, everything about him is warm.

"are you a campfire? because you're hot and i want s'more." and just when you though you could sit in peace.

"ace, you're literally the hot one between the two of us." you answered, exasperated to your wits' end. "aww, you think I'm hot?" you didn't know if you want to slap the smirk off his face or bury yourself 6 foor under.

"n-no?! i mean, you are, literally—" his grin widens. "y-you know what i mean!! and I'm cold.."

"think i can make your heart melt?" oh he did. you sighed, does he really mean all of this? you never really gave him replies, not that you could even form words with how your brain turns into a puddle when he throws you the most cheesy ass pick up line ever. where does he even gets all of these?

"Is it chilly out, or is that just the chill you send down my spine every time I see you?" a scoff escaped you. "it's cold right now."

"well, thank god i brought some socks, you're giving me cold feet." he said rathed dramatically, his body sagging against yours.

"do you really mean all of this?" you asked out of the blue. is he just messing with you? is he really gonna burn you after all? maybe his flames would just combust your lonely heart to oblivion, then leave it to heave in the remaining smoke.

"of course." he replies almost immediately, his eyes seeking yours. sincerity swam in his dark orbs, a soft yet genuine smile on his lips. oh. maybe he was just trying to cradle you with his warmth, after all.

he takes a mental note to take this more seriously. thus, you didn't fail to notice how his lines were a bit more genuine, it still has a hint of playfulness—but everytime he looks into your eyes, it seems as though he's swallowing each emotion in them, fully drowning in you with those obvious lovesick orbs.

IV.

the night was cold, so was your heart. thatch had died, murdered by the hands of his own family. his own nakama. you sat on your bed, blank eyes staring to the window. it was pouring, as if the clouds were affected by the loss. the raindrops fell harder and harder, jut like the pounding in your chest as his death sinks in.

there were sudden knocks on your door. you didn't have to sit up, you knew who it was. "come in.." you croaked, voice breaking slightly.

the door opened and revealed a disheveled ace. he was quiet as he invited himself in, the familiar scent of your room filling his senses. "hey.." he greeted, yet it lacked the familiar warmth he always held. it was replaced by the bitter cold, gnawing at his insides.

"hey, you." despite his state, you felt warm. everytime the pirate comes into view, your heart is immediately filled with fervor. sparks surging through your veins.

ace wordlessly sat down beside you, head hung low and you know why. "I'm going to kill teach." he muttered, his resentment surfacing with each passing second.

"what?" you gaped, and you don't know whether to let him go or not. you weren't sure if the awful pit on your stomach was something worth noting. before you could speak further, his voice cuts into the air. sharp and determined.

"and you can't do anything to stop me." and for the first time ever, he made you cold. unpleasant shivers went down your spine and your heart dropped to the depths of doubt. and before you know it, protests escapes your lips while you shake him. it's unsettling, how you're holding onto him yet he's so cold.

"i don't care if it's dangerous, he killed thatch, he betrayed his own!" he raises his voice, but you can't find it in yourself to even flinch, still seeking that certain fire in his eyes. it's there, it's ignited, but not the kind of flame that you're looking for.

"i just... didn't want to leave without telling you goodbye." he mumbled, voice softening significantly.

"are you saying this will be the last time I'll see you?" you can't ignore it anymore, tears are stinging your eyes.

".... i—" he hesitated, breath hitching. "of course not, I'll come back for you."

for you.

his words rang in your ears, he sounds so genuine yet so full of doubt. and as your gaze on him lingers, all you could see is a lost boy, his judgement crumbling right before your eyes.

"come back alive, okay? I'll wait for you." you told him with such warmth and affection, your hand cupping his cheek.

at that moment, he looks like he'll break, your warmth seeping through his freckled cheek and straight through his heart and soul. it felt so surreal for him, he's made of fire, but it feels as though you were burning him.

"i don't know, it's like you're already killing me here, 'cause you took my breath away."

sigh.

you're on fire.

not literally, but it may as well be with how you can feel the intense determination and fear in your bones. you stood near pops, the tense atmosphere wafting through the thick air in marineford.

ace is there, at the execution grounds—chained, bruised, bloodied, and regretful. you could see him clearly, yet he feels so far away.

and once the war started, you did your best to avoid the attacks sent to you, sprinting straight towards ace. you knew it was futile, the marines surrounding him far too strong compared to you. but you can't stop.

I'm coming for you, ace. the rapid thumping of your heart is all that you could hear, ignoring his desperate pleas of 'don't come here! it's not worth it!'

ace, ace, ace. you repeat his name in your head like a mantra. ace, ace, ACE. you creamed this time, voice breaking.

you legs stopped once you saw the dark hair of a young boy—screaming his lungs as he calls for his dear brogher, along with the intense surge of his haki. you weren't weakened by it, but you felt a sense of relief as he ran through the sea of marines ready to take his life.

instead of heading to ace, you sprinted to the boy—luffy, you assumed based on the countless stories from his brother. you helped fight off anyone in his way, putting all your trust in him.

you watch as he somehow freed ace. in awe as they fought alongside together, having perfect harmony.

you could only watch as he finally ran, straight to were you and the others were. and you felt so light seeing him, alive and well.

yet, you could only watch, as he was provoked by admiral akainu. you could only scream at him to stop, to just let it go. but of course you knew it was pointless. he's ace, he'll never let anyone dare to throw dirt on the name of his savior. he wouldn't let anyone insult the man who kindly called him as his son.

and thus, you could only watch as magma seeped through his chest. the ring in your ears eating up all your sanity, you couldn't even hear nor feel as the others dragged you away—unaware that you were running to him again.

you only watched as he whispered words to his brother, hugging him helplessly.

then everything became a blur.

VI.

the morning birds chirped, or was it the seagulls handing out the newspapers? nonetheless, the light from the window indicates that a new day is starting.

a new day, as you sat next to ace's bed. you never left his ever since you woke up. his organs were ruined, and you wonder how marco and the others had healed him.

but you didn't care about how. all you could ever care about is ace. he's alive. still, he's yet to wake up.

it's been a week, the familiar routine of sitting next to his bed was slowly embedding in your mind. you want nothing more than to see his eyes again, to see that bright smile that makes you think that the sun was nothing but an irrelevant orb up in the sky.

his chest was filled with bandages—another reminder of an ugly memory. you stared at him solemnly, fingers tracing his freckled cheeks.

then he stirred, and you flinched. your mind went blank. the gears in your head only turned once he gazed at you with those pretty eyes—effectively pulling you into the depths of your emotions.

"why are you crying?" were his first words, his voice was strained, his throat dry. only then did you realize everything was blurry.

"y-you—!" clutching his arm almost desperately, you found yourself crumbling in front of him. "you said you'd come back alive!"

"but i am alive." he said matter-of-factly.

"what if you died?!" honestly, you didn't know nor cared if you were making a point. all you did was sob his name over and over again, you arms coming up to wrap around his neck. crying as the man stroked your unkempt hair.

"...is this real?" he then asked, and the doubtful tone you once heard was at it again. you looked into his eyes, witnessing a broken man who looked as though he couldn't believe what has happened. "I'm actually alive?"

"of course you are! you're here, ace. you're fine." you said, partly to yourself, but mainly to him who looks like he'll break you with how he's holding you.

"you're alive. thank god you're alive, ace." and he cries. he cries and sobs and you don't know what else to do but to hold him.

"do i deserve to live? do i really deserve to survive?" and you felt your own tears falling. he sounds so broken, so lost, so doubtful.

you didn't question why he was asking that, rather, you cupped his cheeks and stared lovingly in his eyes.

"you do, ace." was all you have to say. was all he needed to hear. it won't be easy to remove those thoughts, no. but for now, it was enough.

"yeah?" he sniffled, a lopsided grin on his lips. you kissed his tears away, as he closed his eyes in bliss.

"yeah."

he grinned from ear to ear, and you returned it. and you both sat there, just giggling to each other.

"can i borrow your sunglasses? i can't stare at you too much 'cuz you're hotter than the sun." instead of laughing or blushing like you always do, your eyes softened.

"really? your eyes must be weak then. i can stare at you for hours." and before he could even so much as react, you continued.

"you know, you're like the sun. so bright, so warm. and every time i see you, i don't know whether i should bask in you or to hide because you burn me. god, you set my heart on fire, ace. and i don't care if i turn into ashes as long as i can be beside you all the time." you finished, staring at him like a lovesick fool.

he was out of words, his face exploding in a bright red and you wondered how much restraint he has right now to not burst into flames on the spot. he gaped at you as you stared at him like he hung the stars in the sky.

"i love you." he muttered. now you were the one rendered speechless. no words can express how he makes you feel. and you all but grinned, giddy and drunk off of the feeling of his love.

"i love you too." and before you two could lean in and share that sweet sweet kiss, the door opened and you saw the half of the crew falling down from their pile. looks like they've been eavesdropping.

and they didn't even had any shame as they cheered, chanting 'kiss, kiss, kiss!' loud screams of jovial voices filled the cabin once you two actually did.

familiar warmth seeped through your body and cradled your heart. and you had an epiphany at that moment: you belong here, right at this very moment, forever and more.

─────── ⋅ ⋅ ── ✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ ───────

ps. : NAHHH CAN YALL TELL I GOT LAZY AT THE END im sorry it took so long i procrastinated for like 2 days 🙏 thank you for reading!!

taglist : @captainportgasdace @malxoxo (there's so many of yall who liked my previous post, my lazy ass could never, i might tag yall later tho if i get my energy back <33)

#portgas ace x reader #portgas d. ace x reader #fire fist ace #portgas d ace x reader #portgas d ace #ace x reader #op ace x reader #ARGGGHH I CANT BELIEVE THIS #where did those 3k words come from? definitely not from my lazy ass #sincerely‚ sei

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teatreeoilll · 4 months

Text

𝐓𝐎 𝐄𝐑𝐑 𝐈𝐒 𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐄 (𝐂𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐨 𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮 𝐗 𝐕𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)

˚• . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . •

w/c - 9k content - MDNI! 18 + , minors and ageless blogs do not interact! fem!reader, evil!reader, a lot of plot with porn, much hurt, much angst, cussing, mention of drinking and smoking, VERY shitty parenting, child abuse, character death but not one of the mains, manipulative themes, i invented suguru's parents names, did i say much hurt? everyone's in their early twenties, cellist!Geto, saxophonist!Gojo, violinist!reader, shitty!everyone, kinda dark really i guess so please read at your own discretion, I'm sorry, really

a/n - there will probs be a second part based on the ending, if my back will ever stop hurting from being hunched over my laptop for four days straight writing this insanity.

Dedicated to the dear @telvess who read every scene like five times while I wrote and re-wrote this.

• . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° .•

Jealousy. As a result of your young age, you couldn't put it into words quite yet, but you felt it - choking up your dry throat as your father held your head steady with his fingers digging deep into your scalp to make sure your head wouldn't move an inch.

"Look, child," he said, "really look."

"M-My head, Dad," you sniffled, "It hurts."

You peered through the tiny crack in the large white doors into an empty rehearsal room. Bare walls, empty chairs - all but one, where a young boy sat in the middle, dragging his bow across the strings of a cello like it would be the last thing he does in his life. He did it fervently, desperately, repeatedly over the strings to rumble the sounds through the room. His brows furrowed. His raven black hair was a cluster of strands jolting up and falling on his face each time he moved. It made him look exactly like what you felt - electrified.

Your jaw slacked, and your heart raced within the confines of your chest.

"You see, child?" Your father's words lingered above your head, "Can you finally hear what beauty sounds like?"

You heard, and it haunted you.

When he's playing, anyone would agree that Geto Suguru is breathtaking. Below the cuffs of his white button-down are pale hands, guiding long, strained fingers to move feverishly across the fingerboard. Above them, his face, a marble carving with half-lidded eyes, pointed idly at his cello.

Weary music for weary people, he thinks, lifting his gaze just enough to meet the dull faces with greying hair filling the large hall. Their constipated expressions stare back at him. They're just waiting for the cue to clap, although he doesn't mind - not as long as each note of the concerto* he played was perfect.

And by god, do they clap. A standing ovation, long enough to escort him in his path to the stage exit, loud enough for the echoes to linger as he greets the tall, blue-eyed man waiting for him there and frenzied enough to make your knees buckle under the tight fabric of your tailored evening dress.

"It was a good one," the blue-eyed man says, "as far as alarm clock music goes, that is."

"Funny how you keep calling it that, Satoru," Geto chastises, his fingers undoing the clasps of his cello case, "but you're always on the verge of falling asleep when you hear it."

Oh, you think, fiddling with the violin in your hands, so that's Gojo Satoru. Everyone knew who he was; the Gojo family name was arrogantly plastered on the walls of every concert hall in the city, including the one you were about to play in now.

Your tremble. You can't help it - that standing ovation set the bar so high you fear the bow in your hands might snap from the intensity of your grip. But it doesn't, and someone briefly introduces your name on stage.

You glance at the two men, catching Geto's uninterested expression. Your stomach churns. The dignified way it graces his annoyingly good-looking features makes your muscles tense; it's as if he's exhausted from doing the crowd a favor by allowing them to worship his playing.

Arrogant fucker. You think, and he nods at you stiffly, acknowledging the misfortune of performing after him.

As you drag your feet across the polished floor, you can only hear the sound of your own erratic breathing. "Breathe in, breathe out," you mutter under your breath as your shaking knees give the last of their strength to get you to the center stage.

And then a twitch, a breath hitch, and a loud thud.

The room hums with gasps for an instant before going silent again, and every eye in the vicinity watches you lay splayed across the wooden floor.

The shame burns in your cheeks, rushing through your face down to warm your aching body. As a desperate escape you turn your head away from the crowd, only to catch in the corner of your eye the two men still standing at the stage exit.

Don't look at me. Don't look at me. Don't look at me.

"Oof," Gojo huffs, wincing at the sight as he turns to his friend, "Come on, we'll be late if we don't head out now."

Like looking at a trainwreck, Geto's unable to turn away. His lips purse; what a pity.

The silence grew, and you knew you must do something - anything to let this moment pass. You push yourself up, throwing a quick glance at your violin, a string snapped, fuck. "I hope -," you grunt, your voice hoarse from disuse, "I hope Rachmaninoff* gets the same gasps." A wave of suppressed chuckles and claps gushes around you. Oh, thank god.

Your cheeks are still hot, and the first stroke of your bow is hesitant, just a soft flick of the wrist to see if the three remaining strings are still in tune. Is this a good idea? But the crowd's anticipating gaze burns through you, rendering you unable to move. You focus on replacing the missing notes and play the piece - with jagged strokes coming from your still shaking hands, some notes cut it, but just barely.

Gojo nudges his friend's shoulder, "Hey, I said we'll be late."

Geto's pursed lips open lightly, his dark eyes fix intently on your bow, "Hmm?" He hums at his friend's words, dragging him back from his thoughts.

a/n - * - Bach's Cello Suite in C Minor, Sarabande. * - Rachmaninoff's Prelude in G minor, originally for piano, transcribed for violin.

"A Jazz club?" you furrow your brows at the music and the tang of smoke already reaching you from the narrow entrance hall.

You'd only met Shoko a few short weeks ago when college started, and she quickly became your only friend - as often happens to two people in a room who prefer to be alone.

"Yes, my friend's playing - you'll hate him," she says. Shoko has that thing where she doesn't change her tone when she says something sarcastic, so you're stuck nodding at her words with an uncomfortable grin on your face.

She tugs you by the sleeve of your shirt, guiding you down the stairs and through the prematurely drunken crowd that eagerly awaits what would be the third song of the evening.

"This would never pass in our concerts," you mutter under your breath, although you kind of wish it did as you look at the people laughing, reaching for another drink, huffing smoke from their mouths while making idle chatter as the players take a short break between songs.

A bright, warm note pierces the room, and like an obedient platoon to an officer's 'attention,' all the eyes fall back on stage. The white-haired man under the mellow spotlight makes a swift move to wipe the mouthpiece of his saxophone before returning it to his lips and blowing into it again - this time, a cue for the drummer, who starts a ruthless pace on his cymbals.

"If jazz is a god," Gojo's voice rings through the room, "then the saxophone is its altar."

How could he say that with a straight face? You think, unable to take your eyes off his clearly pretentious demeanor that would be borderline comical if it wasn't redeemed by his outstandingly handsome face, from the rolled-up sleeves and undone button of his blue dress shirt to the round sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose, he looks like pure sin.

"The Voice of Chunk*," he announces the piece and the room booms with shouts of excitement as the saxophone howls its first long and angelic Mi.

By the time the set ends, Gojo's a mess. A dusty red color flushes his pale cheeks as he pants, a mad gleam in his eyes when he looks at the crowd, which only shouts for another encore. He wipes the sweat off his brow and leaves the stage without a word.

Shoko drags you down to an empty table near the stage, a cigarette propped between her lips as she utters, "Ah," to the sound of a squeaking chair, which Gojo Satoru plops on, splaying his limbs on the wood.

He turns to Shoko, pointing a thumb at you, "Your friend?"

"Mhmm," Shoko confirms, "(Name)." She takes a sip of her cheap beer.

Perpetually assuming everyone already knew him, Satoru Gojo doesn't introduce himself. "What'd you think?" He asks.

"It was very good," you say, and mean it. He wasn't humble, but as far as performances go, he didn't need to be.

"Good?" He turns back to Shoko, looking at her like a wounded puppy, "Shoko.."

"She did say very, Satoru." Shoko sighs, "He hates the word good."

Your breath hitches as Gojo lays a large hand on your thigh, "Calling jazz good is terrible." He says, "It means it did nothing to you. Even calling it horrifying is a much better choice."

Another chair squeaks in your proximity, and Gojo removes the hand from your thigh to place it on the table, "Suguru!" He exclaims. "How was it?"

God, what's he doing here?

"Horrifying," Geto smirks at his friend.

His dark eyes turn to you as he says, "Geto Suguru," and extends a large, calloused palm, which you hesitantly shake. The skin contact makes you shudder. His eyes narrow, "Have we met before?"

The truth is - Geto knows rather well that you have met before. He spent two days after the concert thinking about your figure lying on the wooden floor, and it wasn't for the curve of your ass that pointed towards him, although that didn't escape his thoughts either. His mind raced with thoughts of how quickly you bounced back from your fall, made a joke, and started playing. Could it really be so easy?

"Oh - maybe it's - uh," you babble, your mind already trying to devise an excuse to leave.

"Ah, I know!" Gojo chimes in, "It's our tumbling violinist," he chuckles, "I never forget a girl after I've seen her on all fours."

Geto raises an eyebrow. "We both know that's hardly true."

You stare at Shoko with desperate eyes pleading for a change in topic. She puts down her drink, "Where were you Suguru? I didn't see you the entire gig." Thank god.

"Just there," Geto motions to the side of the bar, where a beautiful light-haired girl sips on a drink, "I've seen him play plenty of times."

I should be polite. "Oh, so you like jazz?" You ask.

Gojo chuckles, removing his sunglasses to reveal clear sky-blue eyes, "Entertain our guest, Suguru."

Geto leans back, arms crossed over his chest, and even his words sound carefully rehearsed - as if he's being interviewed, "It's not that I don't like it. There's just no merit to it." Against your wishes, you meet his gaze, restraining yourself from rolling your eyes at him. "It's mostly improvisation. Not one jazz piece stays the same over time - it blatantly disregards why we value music. Can you imagine someone changing even one note in Rachmaninoff's preludes?"

Is he talking about the ones I played?

Geto leans back, "And that's without mentioning the mistakes."

You furrow your brows, and your chest tightens at his words, "The mistakes?"

"Suguru's just jealous," Gojo smirks, and his arm snakes around your shoulders, "because I've got an ability he doesn't. I like to call it blue." His other hand traces lines across the wooden table, making an invisible note staff, "You see, in jazz, there's no such thing as a mistake. It's considered beautiful even if you play a note a bit too harsh or out of key. They're called blue notes."

"Well, a mistake is just a mistake, isn't it?" You lie, too proud to admit you were ashamed of the embarrassing performance they witnessed, "You shouldn't be proud or overcritical of it - it just is."

"It's a good philosophy," Geto says softly, and a faint smile appears on his lips, it makes sense now, "It works well if you just play for fun."

A decade of rigorous violin practice flashes before your eyes, the callouses on your fingers you were teased for as a child, and he dares to say it's for fun?

Your cheeks heat up, "Well, what do you play for? Suffering?"

"Perfection," he answers. Prick.

"Perfection?" You sneer, clenching your jaw, "Then what about improvisation?"

"Leave that vice for the jazz musicians." He says, and his expression suddenly changes, "I'm sorry, I know you improvised in your Rachmaninoff; you did the best you could - considering." He means it earnestly.

The veins throb in your forehead, Is he pitying me?

Gojo laughs, "If you keep bickering, I won't remain the star of the show tonight," and you notice the not-so-discreet looks of the people at the other tables ogling you.

"It's getting kind of late anyway," Shoko says, smothering her cigarette butt against the ashtray's bottom, "Why don't we go before we miss the train?"

"I'll give you a lift," Geto says, and you stare at Shoko, hoping that your wide, begging eyes will lead her to decline, "Come on," He adds, standing up, "It's raining outside, and our violinist can slip up even on dry flooring."

a/n - * - Voice of Chunk, The Lounge Lizards, 1988

"I'll see you in school," You say to Shoko, who exits the back seat of the silver Toyota, leaving nothing but a bitter smell of smoke and a long, strained silence lingering in the car.

"Which way?" Geto points to a fork in the road.

"Left, then straight for a while." And could you be so kind as to crash us into the nearest wall? You chuckle inside your head.

He turns his head as if he heard you, "So, a mistake is just a mistake, is it?"

And your fists clench momentarily, their tension softened only by the quiet, sweet sound of Samuel Barber* playing through the radio, weaving its melody with the heavy pounding of rain on the car roof, "Well, if you dwell on them too much, you're not going to have any time left to fix them." You wish you meant it.

He ponders silently before asking, "How'd you start playing?"

Is he only asking to make a snide remark? You decide to keep your answer curt. "My father gave me his violin when I was young."

The windscreen wipers work full force to make the dark road ahead visible, "My mother never let me touch her cello," he says, his unbothered tone now laced with somber notes, "I hated the thing."

The ache in your chest is almost unbearable, your fingers dig into the fabric of your trousers. He hated it, and he still plays like that?

"Then why play?" You inquire, watching the streetlights' reflections glint in his dark eyes.

Because it matters, it has to matter.

He laughs, and you can't help but notice how his face softens when he does, "It pays for college," a speck of red tint dusts his cheeks, and a strange pull flares in your chest at his defenseless look, "Don't I look like a scholarship boy?"

"Maybe if I squint," you say as he turns to look at you. You narrow your eyes, "Nope, can't see it," and he laughs again, making the remnants of alcohol turn in your stomach.

When you arrive, you step out of the car and he watches you disappear into the building's front, his fingers tapping restlessly on the wheel. A weak, burning sensation plagued the muscles around his jaw; were they really so unaccustomed to laughing?

a/n - * - Samuel Barber's Adagio for Strings, Op.11

15 years ago

The Geto residence was an ever-tastefully decorated one-story house in the rural areas outside Tokyo, always graced by the echoing sounds of an Italian-made cello. Geto Suguru himself was a wide-eyed child, six years old, and already praised for being prematurely intelligent by his parents' arrogant friends; "Your little Suguru is so clever," one of his mother's friends said, leaning over the dinner table to tug mercilessly on his cheek, "I bet he'd skip a grade as soon as he starts school, don't you think, Kieko?"

To which his mother only hummed in response, quickly diverting the subject, "The Bolshoi* is performing in the city next month. Will you come?"

Suguru didn't mind these things much. He wasn't the kind of child to look for praise; he didn't care for it from strangers' mouths and never knew the delight of hearing it come out of his mother's ever-pursed lips.

The next morning, Kieko Geto sat on a sturdy, padded stool and played with unwavering concentration until the midday sun sipped through the windows, blinding her eyes. Only then did she stop, turning back to notice her son's inquisitive gaze peering from the doorway.

"Come," she instructed, and Suguru took a few hesitant steps to the middle of the room. His mother positioned the cello upright, the wooden beast towering over him as she pressed a flat palm to the middle of the fingerboard, measuring his height against it. "One day," she said, "you'll be big enough to play it, Suguru."

A phone rang, and his mother stepped out. Suguru stood a long while staring at the instrument that leaned lazily against the wall. One day - he didn't want to wait for some vague, distant day, and his arm itched with impulse.

Suguru lifted the bow from the stool, ramming it violently across the strings. It made such a horrendous sound that he thought for a moment he hurt it, and now the thing was howling in pain.

"Suguru!" his mother shrieked as she shoved him out of the way, "What did you do?" Her pale fingers grazed the cello, searching for new marks on the wood.

The bow in her hand glinted like a Katana under the sunlight as she swung it at his head.

The next few minutes were a blur. Suguru guessed he screamed since his father stormed into the room, pushing him to stand behind his back. His eyes were fixed on the creases on the back of his father's shirt, changing their shape like sand dunes as the man's arms moved frantically through the air as if he were conducting his own shouts.

The boy placed a hand on his forehead. "Dad," he tugged hesitantly on the creases, leaving red stains on the pale blue shirt, "Dad."

a/n - * - The Bolshoi Ballet

A failed poet turned local journalist once described Geto Suguru's playing as having a gut-wrenching elegance, and as you stood at the large doors leading to the conservatory's hall, you couldn't help but hear what he meant. Angelic strokes on the rumbling strings, and each note is -

"Shit," he cusses, dragging the bow harshly along the strings as if it could saw the instrument in half if he tried hard enough. Even as he does so, he can't seem to make it sound bad. The bow drops on the floor with a hollow thud, and he runs a defeated hand through his hair, brushing back a long black strand to reveal a two-inch, pale scar on the side of his forehead.

He lifts his gaze up, noticing you standing by the door. How long has she stood there? "Violinst," he says. "Come to practice?"

Seeing him laugh a few days ago must have been a figment of your imagination. "Yes," you utter.

"It's occupied until six."

You make your way to the low stage through the aisle between the empty rows of seats, "It's ten past six," you remark, and Geto glances at the clock, frowning at it like it broke a long-standing promise.

You reach the stage, putting your violin case on the still-warm seat of the lone chair in the middle. You shudder at the warmth, watching Geto lift the massive cello case as his other hand reaches into his pocket, taking out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, "You want one?" he asks, holding it open.

You shake your head, "Thank you."

He puts one smoke between his lips, patting down his pockets, "Got a light?"

You shake your head again, "Sorry."

He shrugs, his eyes fixing on the violin in your hand, and you notice the slight puffiness under his eyes. "Not my day, I guess." And it's a long gaping silence while he puts the cigarette back in the pack, "Do you mind if I stay?"

"No," Yes. "But if you scrunch your nose at my mistakes, you leave."

"I don't scrunch my nose," he retorts.

"You do."

Geto runs a long finger along the bridge of his nose down to the tip, leaning forward slightly to meet your eyes, "Straight as an arrow," he says without a smile, and you turn red at the sudden proximity, fixing your gaze on the shiny white floor beneath your feet.

"Alright then," you mumble.

Geto sits in the front row, reclining on the backrest of the crimson-colored seat with his hands resting on his spread thighs while his cello case leans on the seat next to him like a second observer. You might as well put on a burlesque show from how naked you feel under his steady gaze.

You drag the bow across the strings, echoing a dissonant tone throughout the room.

"Are you testing me?" He says with a smug smile plastered on his lips, but you hoped for a heartfelt one instead.

"Mhmm," you hum, taking a few steps forward to the verge of the stage, where you take a seat with your legs dangling from the edge, "You passed." and he chuckles, soft and low.

As you begin to play, Geto gets up from his seat to pace back and forth along the aisle, his brows furrowed and his thumb pressed against his lips while he listens to the music.

Your muscles strain, bracing themselves for the suite's climax, now's the hard part, you think, letting out a frustrated huff as your eyes fix on Geto. You miss the first note.

He halts, and your bow leaves the strings as you await his reaction in the irksome silence of the hall.

For a moment, he's desperate. Desperate for you to do what he thought was an almost inhuman feat after such a mistake.

He takes a few steps closer, towering over you while his eyes stare intently into yours, "Keep playing," he demands.

Your breath hitches as you watch him slowly lower himself to his knees beneath you. He places large, calloused palms on your knees, eagerly spreading your legs while his eyes are still honed on your face, relishing in the red flush burning your cheeks. He runs a hand under your skirt, grazing your thigh with long, rough fingers, a hint of a smile on his lips when he hears your breathless gasps, "Keep playing," he repeats.

Smile, god, you hated that smile.

You play a few jagged notes before your arms give in, and you place the violin on the floor with a soft clunk. Your now free hands grasp his hair, freeing it from his neatly tied bun to fall down his shoulders.

"Eager girl," he mutters, tracing his finger along your wet panties, and you tug harder at his hair. I'm the eager one?

"Q-Quit teasing," you stammer as he yanks you closer to the edge of the stage, pulling off your panties with a swift move. You shudder as his warm breath fans over your exposed cunt, panting heavily as his fingers dig deep into your thighs.

"Hmm?" He murmurs, placing soft kisses against your inner thighs, letting his teeth graze the skin but stopping every time right before he reaches your soaked pussy. Just do it, for the love of god, just do it.

You're reduced to a quivering mess, fighting the urge to push his head into your wetness, "Please," you whimper breathlessly, frowning at the loss of your pride under his touch, "p-please stop teasing," and you finally feel his tongue lick a stripe up your clit as he grunts softly at your taste.

"Good girl," he groans out, letting his lips wrap around your bud, burying his face so deep in your cunt you feel his nose rub against your clit while he rasps out a soft "Fuck," that sends shivers up your spine.

He was messy, fervent, eager as his tongue worked on your clit, and you grew dizzy at the sight of the usually calm and collected man disheveled and red-faced between your legs, moaning out his name as you felt yourself clench against his lips, "S-Suguru, fuck -."

He'd never heard his name come out of your lips before, but this was a better first time than he could imagine. He grew unbearably hard in his jeans, rutting against thin air almost instinctively every time you rolled your hips into his face, "Say it again," he demands, and his deep voice sends a rush of heat to your face.

Can he do it? Can he make you even more of a mess on his fingers? Can he watch while you stutter his name, while your face is a beautiful flushed mixture of those blunders he loved seeing you make?

"Suguru," you look at him through glazed eyes, and he frees the hand that grabbed your thigh to slide two skilled fingers into your soaked cunt, "S-Suguru," you whimper out when they sink deeper, pumping into your sweet spot with a harsh pace.

A drunk smile grazes his lips when you clench against his fingers. It takes him all his strength to pull away from your cunt, "You want more, princess?" He teased, fingers pumping lazily into you.

You manage to whine a quiet, "Y-Yes."

"Then ask," he coos, his smile turning into a devilish grin, and you squirm at the loss of his tongue, clutching his hair tighter.

"Please, Suguru," you breathe. How many times will he put me through this? And your muscles contract when he flicks his tongue over your cunt again, "p-please, Suguru - I'm - " you babble as he resumes his harsh pace, your thighs closing on his head, hips rutting desperately for some more sweet friction against his tongue.

"Please, fuck - " you moan, arching your back. His fingers still push into you as he groans at the taste of your wetness gushing on his tongue, licking it hungrily while you pant almost inaudible whispers of his name, and he thinks he might come from the sweet sound of your voice alone.

His lips finally let go of your clit. He pushes himself up from his knees to face you, his mouth wet with your essence as he brushes his lips against yours. Barely a kiss, but you grow dizzy anyhow, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt, running your other hand along his T-shirt-clad stomach down to the bulge in his jeans.

"No," he utters. No?

"Huh?" Your brows furrow, "Do you want me to take you out for a cup of coffee first?" It was supposed to be a thought, shit.

He laughs, and you watch the lines form in the corners of his eyes, "Could be nice," he says, "besides, it's your rehearsal hours; don't you want to practice?"

"Not really," you grumble, "You can use them if you like." You reach down to pick up your panties from the floor where he discarded them, only to see him grab them first.

"I could," he muses aloud, "I'm playing the Grand Hall opening in a few weeks," and he catches your gaze for a second, "but I'd rather watch you play." And you blush as he tucks your panties into the front pocket of his jeans, "You'll get them later," he says, "If you're good."

"If I'm good?" You furrow your brows, "If I don't make any mistakes, you mean."

"No," he asserts, his words a bit loud, catching you off-guard as you fumble for your violin, "If you're good."

After you refuse his ride home, it's a long walk of shame back to your apartment. You feel as though your pride was left in his pocket together with your underwear, but maybe, just maybe, you'll make something good come out of it.

"Dad put it - " Suguru's arm held his father's in a tight grip across the coffee shop's table, urging it to release the silver spoon in his hand, "Put it back, please."

"They've got plenty," his father barks, his eyes darting around to observe the busy staff of the cafe while he hides the spoon carefully in his bag.

Suguru lets out a weary sigh, focusing on the swirling cream in his coffee mug, "So do you," he says, the taste of stale regret mixing in with his drink when he lifts it to his mouth.

"Eh?" His father's eyebrows knit together, wrinkles forming under his five o'clock shadow when his lips purse, "You here to judge me, boy?"

Suguru takes a sip from his coffee but finds it stuck bitterly in his throat under his father's hostile stare.

"Thought so," the man says, his dirty fingernails tapping on the wooden table as he adds, "Now, will you finally quit fooling around with that thing?"

"I don't know, Dad," Suguru chokes out.

"She croaked this morning, the bitch. She won't come to see you play now, would she?"

Suguru's eyes widen, his hands quivering, pads of his fingers digging into the scortching coffee mug, threatening to tumble the liquid over the rim, "What?"

"Croaked, gone, dead. She left you that cursed cello of hers," his father eyes the sugar dispenser on the table, brushing his fingertips on it, "So you'll sell it. And give the money to your father," his shoulders draw back, he's proud, "for all the things he did for you, yes?"

"I don't know, Dad," Suguru mutters.

The man's agitated expression deepens the wrinkles on his forehead, "'I don't know Dad," his father mocked, "I'll tell you what you need to know. I took you away from that vicious whore when she'd done your face in with her bow, and you've never thanked me once, just begged me to buy you a damn cello when you knew that all our money was left in that house." A brute splatter of spit lands on the table as he sneers, "And I did, didn't I? Bought you the damn thing, drove you around with it like some chauffeur. Where's my thanks? Eh, brat? Where's my money?"

The man raises his arm, and a young, blonde waitress appears momentarily by their table, all smiles when she says, "The check, sir?"

"Yes," Suguru's father says, the chair under him screeching as he gets up, "My son will pay."

For hours now he'd been contemplating where to go. Who he wanted to see. but when Geto finally gets to your door, his face still flushes with the soft pink of an irredeemable shame while his urgent, stiff knuckles pound on the door. He knew you were home. He wasn't a brute - he texted to check, but he still couldn't calm the restless ache burning in his chest.

When you open the door, there's no hello, just the unyielding feeling of his body flat against yours as he presses sloppy kisses along your jaw, groaning when his teeth graze the tender skin of your neck, "Fuck," his breath fans over you neck as he pants out the words, "you smell sweet."

His face lingers in the crook of your neck, relishing in the warmth like a cold-blooded animal who'd die without the heat. His fingers dig into your thighs so harshly you fear they might bruise them as he lifts you up, "Smell so fucking sweet - " he keeps muttering under his breath as your legs wrap around his waist, your hands clinging to the muscles on his back to keep your balance.

"Suguru," you pant when he drops you on the bed, noticing the unfamiliar ruthless look in his eyes, hardly the same one you saw between your legs a few days ago, "Did something - "

"D'you want to stop and talk?" He chuckles, large, warm hands running across your body to discard your clothes, "Hmm?" He purrs, already confining you under his body, planting soft, teasing kisses on the valley between your breasts.

"N-No," you whimper at the feeling of his teeth against your hardened nipple, and you run a hand through his dark hair to yank him away, while the other hand tugs at his shirt to signal him to fuck, take it off.

He almost doesn't want to break away from your body, not even for the sake of finally feeling your skin rub against his. But he manages to regain his composure long enough to use swift movements to discard his clothes as you watch him, strong and veiny, a body that could be carved in marble if it ever stopped moving with devious intent.

"Suguru," you knew he loved it, the sound of his name coming from your mouth. "Please," you writhe under him, desperate for any kind of touch as he looms over you, holding himself up while deep pants escape his parted lips. He's too far for you to crash your lips against his, no matter how you try. You lift your head from the pillow, and he chuckles at your efforts, pumping his already hard and leaking cock, groaning when he lets the tip brush against your folds.

"So wet already, hmm?" His hand abandons his cock to push a finger inside your cunt, the squelching noises making the blood rush to your head. He's mad with need but can't let your squirming be over so soon, "All for me?"

"Fuck, Sugu - " you cut yourself off to grip his hair, making your lips crash, feeling his tongue swallow your moans as he takes his finger out only to push his cock into you with a deep thrust, "Ah - fuck - " you moaned into his mouth, feeling his tip rub against your sweet spot when he finally bottomed out.

He starts a mean pace, and a hint of pain jolts through you while you adjust to his size, loud moans escaping your lips, "Oh my, ah - God."

"Suguru," he corrects, reaching a hand to adjust your hips, and you moan at the friction against his abdomen, "moan it for me, princess," he groans out against your neck when you pant his name, "louder - fuck - " he pleas, his breath hitches when you clench against him.

He knows he can't hold it much longer, threatening to spill his load at every pant and moan and brush of his lips against your skin, "S- Suguru - " you whine, feeling his fingers draw circles against your clit, digging your nails into his back to leave shallow red scratches along his shoulder blades.

"You close, princess?" He lets out a shaky breath when he feels you clench again, gritting his teeth at the tightness around his cock.

The coil in your stomach tightens, and your eyes shut at the feeling of his messy, erratic thrusts, "Suguru - ," you moan, "Suguru - I - " you pull his head back by the hair.

"Mhmm," he coos, "you what?" he growls, his thrusts feeling almost impossibly deep when the heat pools in your stomach.

"I - I'm - close - " And it's all he needs to hear, locks of black hair falling to brush against your face as he smashes his lips onto yours, savoring the taste of your mouth as your back arches and walls contract around him.

"Good girl," he rasps into your mouth, pounding a few harsh thrusts before his hips stutter. You watch through glazed eyes how muscles tighten as he spills his seed into you with a low groan.

He collapses atop you, pressing his sweat-dampened face against your chest to relish in the sound of the fast, thumping beat of your heart. A few more seconds, and he can measure the tempo.

"Listen," Suguru says, smoking a cigarette out of the open window of your room while he watches you get dressed in the corner, "there's a few things I have to do early tomorrow," his eyes trail out to the street lamps out the window, their blinking lights reflecting on his car outside.

"Suguru," you stand over him, brushing the pads of your fingers against the scratches you left on his back, "did something - "

"Just a few things I have to do," he says, looking around the room for his shirt, "so I'll call you, yeah?"

"Uhm, so, did you hear from Su-" You cut yourself off, watching Shoko take a long drag from her smoke with her eyes waiting for you to finish your sentence. "I mean - " you clear your throat, "You know how a guy does something, and then he -" Your face grows red at the memory of Suguru's naked body, "And you think it was nice because you had fun, and then he -"

Shoko watches you babble for a while before saying a confused, "Yes?"

"Suguru didn't call me back," you finally utter. Wasn't it enough for him that I called first?

"Oh," Shoko takes a long drag from her cigarette, "and he needs to call you because..?"

Your face flushes crimson as you bury your face in your hands, "B-Because we fucked and I haven't heard from him since," you mutter through your palms.

Gojo Satoru has a habit of entering places like his presence was eagerly anticipated, swinging the door open with a dramatic expression, "Shoko!" He cuts through the conversation, his height exaggerated by the confines of Shoko's small dorm room as he puts his saxophone on the table, "The key is stuck. I'm going to need you to fix it again -"

"Later," Shoko sounds like a reprimanding mother as she motions toward your sulking face.

Gojo's eyebrows knit together, "Did something happen?"

"Suguru didn't call her after - " Shoko reconsiders her words for a moment, "after they had a nice time together."

"Hmm?" Gojo plops down on the bed in the corner, "Well, he won't call for a while."

You raise your gaze from your palms, tilting your head at the man, "What do you mean?" And your mind races, Oh god. He can't - hate me?

"You didn't hear?" Gojo's smirk fades from his lips, "His mother died last Saturday."

Wait, the same day he came and - ?

You widen your eyes at Shoko, who only shakes her head in response.

"His parents were divorced for quite a while," Gojo continues, "he hasn't seen his mother in over a decade - "

"But she's still his mother," Shoko remarks, huffing a cloud of smoke into the room that lingers stagnant above the table.

Gojo sulks, "I was about to say that. He's been stuck in his room for a week now. My father's pissed."

"Your father?" You puzzle, watching Gojo wipe his sunglasses on the edge of his shirt.

"He was supposed to play the Grand Hall this weekend." And you squint your eyes, waiting for him to continue, "My father pays his tuition for these shows, y'know."

"Your father pays Suguru's tuition?" You repeat.

Gojo chuckles, "Well, I'm not sure for how long, now that Suguru won't even answer his phone. Dad's been planning this grand opening for a year now."

Oh?

"Can't you talk to him?" Shoko was still holding onto the smoking cigarette butt in her hand.

"It's like talking to a - " Gojo cut himself off to knock twice at the white plaster wall beside the bed.

Your muscles tense, and the sound of your own racing pulse deafens your ears.

I should say something. "He's your friend," you croak out.

Gojo's expression changes to a stern one, a terrifying sight on his soft features, "What would have me do? Make him play while he's mourning for his mother? Fight with my father only to have him cut Suguru off anyway?"

You go silent, mulling over his words, but find nothing to say.

Shoko picks up the saxophone from the table, "Which key is broken?" she asks, and there's a hint of defeat in her voice as she waits for Satoru's answer so, at the very least, she can fix something.

Suguru had stared at the cello case for days now, hesitant to take the instrument out of its shell. He started staring at it when he took it from his mother's house after the funeral and kept staring at it on the two-hour bus ride and the three-hour train journey, and then, when he leaned it against the wall of his apartment, he still couldn't take his eyes off of it.

It called him. Not in the way you called him - the kind that made his heart flutter when he saw your name pop on his phone screen, which he ignored, simply having no clue as to what to say.

He still ran the imaginary conversations in his head every time you did, letting out sad chuckles into the stale air of his room. How have you been? Oh yes, my mother died, and I'm sitting here with her instrument, which she always loved more than me. Is it nice? Oh, it's more like a successful older brother - you want to hug him just as much as you want to chuck him out the window. Would you like to grab a coffee?

"It's been almost two weeks since you sat there," Geto stands in the little kitchen of his apartment, making a cup of tea he knew would join the others piled up on his bedside table. I'm talking to it now, he thinks, I've finally gone insane. "How about you pay rent?" He chastises the instrument.

For a moment, he thinks it really might pay his rent - for about four years - if he decides to sell it, and keep the money to himself. His hands find themselves opening the case.

He inspects it for a long while, his hands brushing reluctantly over the wood until they find the small scratch in the varnish, the one he'd left there over a decade ago, and he focuses on it. It's small, pale looking, almost too tiny to notice, like the scar on his forehead.

"Maybe it's fair," he mutters at it, "I hurt you, and she hurt me. Balance."

A knock on the door makes his hand falter.

"Suguru," you bang on the door, feeling your leg squash something under it. "Mochi?" you mutter as you pick up a bag from the floor, and the lock clicks.

He looks terrible, you think, with tired eyes and strands sticking out from his usually perfect hair. You hand him the crumpled bag, trying no to smile, "It was just here," you point to the doorway.

"Hmm?" He takes it from your hands, "Satoru's been leaving those here every day. I've got plenty. You can have it if you like."

The air in the room reeks of smoke and coffee grounds, and he steps away, losing your eyes as he moves clothes from a chair to his bed for you to sit on.

"How are you?" you ask.

"Fine," he responds instinctively. Silence. "Would you like some coffee?"

"Sure." Silence again. A good time to pick up smoking, you think.

Your gaze lands on the cello peaking from its case in the corner. "A new one?" You puzzle as he puts a cup of coffee in front of you.

"My mother's," Geto says, sitting on the chair across from you.

"It's beautiful," you say, and you watch a sullen look settle in his eyes. "Wrong thing to say?" you give him a half-hearted smile, attempting to lift his mood, "Because in that case, it looks terrible."

"I like it when you say the wrong things," He suddenly says, "They don't feel so wrong when you say them."

You take the cup of coffee in your hands, warming your palms against the glass, "You can say them too sometimes, y'know."

He takes a sip from his coffee, only to find he can't stand the taste anymore, wrinkling his nose, "I hate that thing. I've been contemplating whether to sell it or just throw it out the window."

"And what's the verdict?"

"Play it," he says.

"Then play it."

He gets up, pushing the chair back to the middle of the room as he walks to take the instrument out of its case. You're almost startled by how stiff he looks leaning it between his legs, a hold so tight on the bow his knuckles turn white.

He puts the bow to the strings with a feather-light stroke, and halts.

He looks scared of it.

Is that what stage fright feels like? He thinks as he watches you lean forward against the table, eyes honed on his hands.

"You just need to play it, y'know? Like children do, just wiggle the bow a few times." You say.

Like children do. "It'll be dissonant," Geto utters sternly, releasing his grip on the bow.

"That's how they laugh," your lips curl into a soft smile, "That's what my father used to tell me when he heard the horrible screeches I made on his violin when he first gave it to me, 'Don't worry, that's how they laugh.'"

His chest tightened at the words, and he forced the bow onto the strings, making a loud, off-key tone penetrate the room.

It's the first time you've heard him make a mistake, and it made every nerve in your system tingle. Your head went euphorically dizzy. This is much better.

He almost stopped at your wide-eyed look, but you just laughed, "Oh, please, you call that dissonant?" And you watch him push the bow onto the strings again, brows furrowed at the terrible sounds, but his movements unwavering.

It's fine to play it like this, he thinks, as long as it's accompanied by your laughter.

"Suguru," you utter, and he lifts his gaze from the instrument, "Will you play the Grand Hall tonight?"

He ponders for a moment, "I think I will."

"Then you better answer your phone," you motion towards the buzzing cell phone on the counter, "and take a shower," you laugh.

He looks down on his disheveled clothes, "That bad, huh?" He chuckles.

"Just a little."

You hear the shower water running as you fiddle with your phone, still dazed at what just happened. You press the contact and dial.

"Hey, Dad?" You chirp into the cell phone, "Are you still coming to the Grand Hall opening tonight?"

The new Grand Hall is a sea of white marble floors and golden framed artworks, crowded by black-suited CEOs and their overly lavish trophy wives.

Geto sits on the lone stool in the middle of the stage, watching them all take their seats, still busy exchanging pleasantries with each other while they wait for the show to start. His eyes drift constantly to the stage exit, where you stand with Gojo, smiling softly, mouthing, "Don't worry," at his stiff figure.

His mother's cello is still unfamiliar to the touch, a beast different than the one he owns which he had already spent years taming.

People fill the seats like ants, and the lights dim above his head. The pianist behind him is a weak-looking man, and he adjusts his glasses on the bridge of his thin nose before giving Geto the cue to start.

The first stroke of the bow is a hesitant one across the strings that once earned him a blow to the head, but the second one has more vigor, and his eyes, half-lidded still, find your smiling face again to soothe his nerves. His bow falters; he didn't have time to change the rusty strings; what would Elgar* say?

And you can't help but smile at each terrible pitch echoing around you; each horribly dissonant tone is more beautiful than the next to your ears.

The sounds are low and deep, growling against the marble hall. He almost has it - the feeling - the one that'd let him stop quivering in his seat. His bow jitters. He never knew he could make so many mistakes in a piece that he played hundreds of times, but with your smile at the corner of his eyes, he feels it creep up his fingertips, rushing through his chest - joy.

"My son!" The doors to the concert hall bust open with a bang; it overpowers the soothing sounds of his cello and the melody of the piano, "He's my fucking son. Let me see him!" Suguru's father stumbles drunkenly into the hall, two dark-suited men at his heels.

The hall washes over with whispers, women pressing their carefully manicured hands to their painted mouths in awe while their husbands are already halfway out of their seats with a proud "I'll take care of the bastard, honey" stuck on their lips.

"Fuck off, pig." Suguru's father spews at the guard trying to drag him away, "He owes it all to me, the brat. Play for our guests, Suguru! " He turns to the crowd, "Enjoying the show, money-rolling cunts?"

Suguru stiffens, his eyes two dull, widened orbs staring at the scene as he stops his playing, ignoring the piano player's whispers to just play, kid.

Gojo rushes to the man screaming in the hall, "Mr. Geto, long time no see," he says, one hand gripping him by the edge of his booze-soaked shirt, the other wrapping around the man's neck in an almost affable way, "How about you see your son after the show?" A smile is frozen on his soft lips, his blue eyes staring daggers at the man, "Now be nice, or they'll tase you," he breathes down the man's ear, motioning to the guards whose fingers are already clutching the tasers.

"Fucking bastard," Geto's father mutters at the white-haired man, "Money-rolling cunts," he slurs all the way out of the doors. They close with a soft thud, leaving the hall in a dead silence.

a/n - * - Edward Elgar, Cello Concerto in E minor, Op.85

12 years ago

"You hear that?" Your father stood over you in the rehearsal room of the conservatory, his arms crossed over his chest as he paced back and forth, "That's how they laugh. Every time you make a mistake, they laugh at you, girl."

Your eyes were red as you stopped your playing, "L-Laugh?"

"Instruments make that sound so they can mock you," your father explained, correcting your grip on the bow, "and you have to do everything so they don't do that."

Every day, he'd drive you up to the conservatory and stand over you in that room for hours on end, brows knitted together at each whine the violin screeched out. And when it was finally over, he'd walk you down the long white corridor to the room at the end, where a small, dark-haired boy would play his cello.

"See that, girl?" He'd point through the crack in the door, "Perfection."

Perhaps that was when you started to despise Geto Suguru. Over the years, the feeling only grew, but it hadn't peaked before his smug smile sat next to you in a jazz club, finally uttering the first words he ever directed at you, "Geto Suguru, have we met before?"

And it felt strange because you had - or at least you thought you had, over a decade ago. Not that he'd know that you watched him play almost every day through that time, with the scrutinizing words your father whispered above your head, "Look. Really look," your father held your head steady with his fingers digging into your scalp, "It doesn't laugh at him, see?"

And you did see. And you wished that it laughed at him, too. Why were you the only one supposed to be laughed at?

You didn't mean to at first, really. Something about him just ticked it off, the urge for revenge. How dare he hate his instrument and play it so well, when you loved the violin and it betrayed you with every stroke?

You didn't mind the sex; he was still a handsome man. It made him trust you - and as long as you made him make a mistake - every laugh, every encouraging smile, every word, was worth it.

"Fucking bastard," Geto's father mutters at the white-haired man, "Money-rolling cunts," he slurs all the way out of the doors. They close with a soft thud, leaving the hall in a dead silence.

Suguru looks for them - your eyes, and that smile that seems to perpetually grace your lips - but when his eyes finally land on you, he finds it gone. You mouth something he doesn't quite catch before disappearing from the stage exit. He can't do it; he can't play anymore. His hand freezes against the strings.

You finally made a fool of yourself, Suguru.

You wait outside the Grand Hall doors, body shivering with anticipation when the crowd finally starts to leave the hall.

"Dad!" You shout when you see him, making your way through the people, heels clacking against the marble until you grab your father's arm, "Dad! It was horrible, wasn't it?"

"Hmm? Who'd you come with dear?" Your father inquires.

"Leave it, Dad. He was horrible, right?"

He looks at you a long time before saying, "It's a shame for that boy, the beginning was perfect."

10 years later

When he's conducting, anyone would agree that Suguru Geto is breathtaking. The moment he dropped playing the cello ten years prior, every one of his admirers had almost lost hope - that is, until he picked up the baton. A true genius, they'd say, forgetting his last horrible performance, which graced the headlines for a long time after he ditched it in the middle, and how he disappeared for the next two years after it. Lonley? Gods no, he's a busy man, or perhaps struggling with all his greatness to find a mind akin to his own.

But only the small orchestra that played under him knew that all these words were just flattery - he was cold and unforgiving of any and all mistakes, and he really, truly despised the violinists.

Or he did, until the new violinist ran late to the first rehearsal of the year.

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unreliablesnake · 1 year

Text

Animals (Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader)

Summary: Ghost hates you. But he's also slightly obsessed with you. This duality leads to an encounter that satisfies his needs, but only releases the beast inside.

Note: Based on this poll and Maroon 5's song Animals. I hope you'll like this. Tell me what you think.

Part 2

Warnings: toxic!Ghost, afab!reader, p in v, oral sex (m receiving), deepthroat, unprotected sex, etc. MINORS DNI!!!

You ending up in the 141 was a punishment. Well, at least it felt like it. Every time you moved, you felt Ghost's darkened eyes following you suspiciously, making sure you didn't do anything stupid, anything that could compromise the task force.

You had worked together in the past, before this team was even assembled, and you went against his order on that mission. He was fucking pissed, refusing to talk to you because otherwise he would have yelled at you without stopping. He didn't tell you why exactly he was mad, after all the mission was a success despite your disobedience.

And now he held a grudge, making you uncomfortable with the heavy silence whenever you were left alone somewhere. You tried to avoid him, desperately clinging to the other members of the team to be saved, but somehow he always found a way to make you feel like shit.

"Behave out there," he once barked as he looked over at you gearing up before leaving the base.

That was all he said. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Price give him a disapproving look, but that didn't seem to bother him. He just returned his attention to his vest, checking if everything was in place. Soap asked him why he was so mad, but Ghost ignored him.

Under the quiet surface the lieutenant was fuming from anger, feeling desperate now that he had to babysit you on the field. He had tried to convince Price to let you work with him and Gaz, hoping this way he would have to spend as little time with you as it was absolutely necessary. But it didn't work and he was stuck with you.

You were annoying, and reckless, and disobedient, but god damn it, you were so hard to resist. A deeply hidden part of his brain was craving you, flashing images of you being naked in his bed, whimpering pathetically as he fucked you.

It was excruciating, having these opposite feelings for you. One half hated you and would have given everything to be able to cut you out of his life entirely, while his other half wanted to own every inch of you.

When the mission was over, things returned to normal. You went home, relieved to be able to spend some time away from his judging eyes. You went to a beauty salon to have your hair done, you did some grocery shopping, and once you got back to your apartment, you cooked yourself a delicious meal.

It was such a nice change, just sitting at the dining table with the plate in front of you, a glass of wine waiting for you to drink it, and your favorite playlist playing in the background. Nights like this you considered quitting, giving up your current lifestyle to have a relatively normal life. Maybe you could finally have a stable relationship, something more meaningful than a string of one-night stands.

Later you poured yourself another glass of wine and went to the living room, getting lost in the rhythm of the music your body swayed to without thinking. You were having fun on your own, for the first time in months feeling good in your skin. No evil glares, no rude comments. Only the safety of your home.

What you couldn't know was that you weren't completely alone. From down the street, Ghost was watching you, his phone's camera focusing on you before snapping some photos. Photos he would store on a safe drive at home, hidden in secret folders along with the hundreds if not thousands of pictures he had taken of you in secret.

He wondered if you knew everyone could see you in nothing but your lingerie, a piece of clothing that wrapped around your skin so perfectly that the sight made his mouth water under the mask.

Ghost was the predator and you were his prey, the innocent little animal having no idea that a beast like him was stalking her. If you knew, you would probably run and hide, but he would find you, after all he could smell your scent from miles.

When you turned off the lights and probably went to bed finally, he went home as well and spent the rest of the night lying awake in bed, thinking about you with his hand tightly wrapped around his cock, pumping slowly as he imagined finally having you the way he wanted.

The next day he was in front of your apartment again, knowing perfectly well you had only gone to a bakery across the street to get something for breakfast. While on a mission about a year ago, around the same time his twisted obsession with you had begun, he stole your phone and installed a software to keep track of your whereabouts.

He hated himself for feeling this way about you, he despised this primal need to have you pinned under his body. It was all so vulgar, so obscene that he tried not to think about it when he was on a mission. But when he was home? Then he would let his needs loose, which usually ended up with him following you around.

Today was shopping day. You went to buy some clothes apparently, and while he waited for you outside the stores, Ghost couldn't help but imagine the way you undressed in the fitting room. He wished he could see you strip for him, slowly getting rid of your clothes, taking them off one by one before throwing them into a corner.

You met a friend for lunch, the two of you chatting casually about their relationship issues, even gossiping about friends you both knew. Who dated who, who had a new job, plastic surgery, family issues, and so on. It was all so normal that you couldn't thank them enough for their time.

What you didn't talk about was work. Your job, specifically. The tiring months away from home, the constant sense of danger, the sleepless nights in uncomfortable cots and beds, and the disappointed looks you constantly got from your superior.

Because Ghost was always in the back of your mind, the look he gave you whenever his eyes landed on you engraved in your brain. It was suffocating you, giving you barely enough time to fully relax. Alcohol could help, but you didn't want to turn yourself into an alcoholic just to get through the day.

After you got home you began to binge-watch rom-coms from the early 2000s, completely forgetting about time along the way. You were only snapped out of this sweet haze when your doorbell rang, reminding you that people outside this apartment existed.

Your good mood evaporated the moment you opened the door and found yourself looking at Ghost's tall frame, his tattooed forearm resting on the doorframe as he looked down at you. You opened your mouth to say something, to find out what in the hell he was doing there, but no sound left your throat.

The lieutenant had enough of waiting and simply let himself in, pushing you out of the way to enter. As he had sat in the cafe across the street about an hour ago, keeping an eye on the main entrance of the building, Ghost thought about what to do with you.

"We need to sort things out," he announced when you closed the door and slowly dragged yourself closer to him.

You froze like a deer in the headlights, your big beautiful eyes slowly blinking at him as if you didn't understand a word he said. Then he noticed a glint in your eyes, as if you'd just woken up from a dream.

"Get the fuck out of my place. We'll sort this out when we're on a mission," you said angrily, your voice surprisingly stern as you spoke.

You were confident now, okay. He could handle that. He could sure as hell fuck this confidence out of you. Without hesitation he pushed off his mask then put a hand on the back of your neck, pulling you into a messy and hungry kiss. You tried to resist, to push him away, but he only used his free hand to stop you from squirming around.

In a matter of short minutes you stopped resisting him, giving up your common sense and giving in to the need he knew you also felt. It had to end this way, there was no other ending to your story. When he gently bit your lower lip, a deep moan escaped your throat, a sound that only made it harder to behave.

"I hate you," you breathed between kisses.

It was okay. He didn't need you to love him or even like him. What he felt wasn't love. It was lust with a hint of some dangerous obsession, something he simply couldn't control. "The feeling's mutual, love. But let's be honest, you're enjoying it just as much as I do."

And damn it, he was right. His kiss, his touch was intoxicating, making you feel so good in such a short amount of time. When he asked you where the bedroom was, you immediately told him, this time obeying him without thinking.

He undressed you, taking away each piece of clothing with care, his fingers exploring the skin they had been hiding all along. When you were standing in front of him completely naked, he ordered you to lie down on the bed with your head hanging down over the edge. Deep down you knew what he wanted to do, and it made you excited.

As you got into position, he quickly undressed himself, revealing his hard, throbbing cock that made your mouth water. You were a little worried, having no idea if his length would fit into your mouth, and already knowing your jaw would hurt after this. But you wanted to do it, you wanted him to use your mouth and throat like a fleshlight.

And Ghost was more than happy to give you what you were waiting for, he also needed this to ease the excitement that was slowly killing him. He took his cock in his hand, stroking it a few times to cover it with his pre-cum before reaching out with his free hand to pry your pretty mouth open. "Open up, baby," he told you.

You obediently did what he ordered, and he slowly pushed the head between your lips, at first just warming you up with small thrusts. But then he dived in deeper, going until the tip reached your throat, making you gag a little.

That didn't stop him, though, he kept fucking your mouth without hesitation. "Fuck, you're such a good little slut, taking my cock like this," he groaned, his hand stroking your cheek. Once he knew you relaxed enough to take him so well, he reached out to tease your cunt, brushing it with his palm, enjoying the wetness that covered his hand.

You could feel the tears form in your eyes as he kept going, wondering how long you would be able to have him in you without feeling your jaw being too sore for it. But when he touched you, all of your doubt disappeared, giving space to the need to have his long fingers inside you, fucking you on both sides.

When he finally began to pump his fingers inside you, you moaned against his cock, a sound that made him groan. "You like it? I can do this all day to you, sweetheart," he said, out of breath. He was close, you could feel it, but you weren't too far behind thanks to his experienced fingers.

It was embarrassing to even think about this happening to you. It wasn't the sex that bothered you, more that it was him from all people. Ghost hated you, you knew he had been honest when he told you that, and you weren't lying either. But this was different, this was so dirty and primal, something you definitely wouldn't tell anyone.

Something that shouldn't happen again.

But now you enjoyed it. You loved to feel his cum on your face when he came, while your juices were dripping out of you, covering his fingers that kept fucking you through your orgasm.

When he was done, he went to the bathroom to get a towel so he could clean your face, an act that was surprisingly tender. He kept telling you what a good girl you'd been, how much he enjoyed having you like this. "It's probably the tension between us. Hate sex suits us," he offered a possible explanation with the hint of a smile.

It didn't take him long to get hard again, and he picked you up like a ragdoll and tossed you into the position he wanted you to be in for him. Ass in the air, resting your weight on your forearms. That's what he wanted, admiring the view of your cunt that was still glistering from the remains of your high.

He couldn't hold himself back, he simply couldn't wait to let you get used to his girth, to slowly and carefully stretch you for himself. Instead he pushed all of length inside with one thrust, the tip reaching your cervix and drawing a pathetic cry out of you. He loved this sound, it only made him go on harder, soon picking up a steady pace.

His hands were gripping your hips so tightly that you just knew it would leave a bruise behind, but you didn't mind, not as long as he made you feel this good. He was pushing you close to your limit, testing how much you could take without breaking.

Your forehead hit the mattress, teeth sinking into your hand to bite back your moans, for some reason thinking you had to be quiet because of your neighbors. But Ghost wasn't fond of the muffled noises apparently, because he reached out to pull your head away from your hand. "I wanna hear you, love," he said quietly.

His breathing suddenly changed, a telltale sign that he was close to his own climax. He put one hand on your stomach, and another arm around your neck to pull you up against his chest, his pace never slowing, his thrusts just as deep as before.

You were lost in the sensation, your brain not functioning properly anymore as you let him use you as some filthy fucktoy. Ghost knew what he was doing, and he could certainly read your body language perfectly well to know what you did and didn't like. Whenever he got too rough, the chokehold he had you in becoming too tight for you liking, he eased up.

But when he came, filling you with his cum in the company of a series of deep growls and groans, he reached down to rub your clit, making sure you climaxed as well. You threw your head back against his shoulder, looking him in the eye as you came down from your high.

Your body went limp, and if he hadn't held you tightly, you would've fallen face first into the mattress. "Are you okay?" he asked you quietly, placing a kiss on your head.

You mumbled something under your breath, but it didn't make any sense. You couldn't speak, not yet. This was more intense than anything you'd ever experienced, your brain definitely needed time to catch up with your body.

"Hey, are you listening?" When you didn't answer, he began to laugh. "Damn, I really fucked you brainless, didn't I?"

Ghost couldn't hide his smile, satisfied to see you in this state, feeling proud that he could achieve his goal. You weren't cocky or confident anymore, you were just a brainless meat sack, with no coherent thoughts in your brain.

Not long after this you fell asleep, and Ghost used this time to take a look around your apartment. He checked your clothes, surprised to find so many beautiful dresses in your closet, along with some sexy lace bras that you definitely didn't wear on missions. Then he went to the living room where he found photos on the shelves, probably ones with your family on them.

Your phone was on the coffee table so he checked that as well, glad to know your password. He went through your emails and instant messages to see who you were talking to, and he became furious when he saw your Tinder dates messaging you, asking for another meeting.

That was more than enough for him, he simply gathered his things and left without waking you or leaving a note behind. He needed time to calm down, preferably far from you. While he still hated you, still wished he could get rid of you forever, that stupid obsessed part of him was still there in the back of his mind, making him feel jealous.

When he returned home, he connected his secret drive to his laptop to go through the photos and videos he stored on it. Fucking you wasn't enough apparently, his mind kept returning to you, the need to keep an eye on you coming back without a warning.

With a sigh he checked the app on his phone the next evening, noting that you were in some bar near your apartment. You probably went there with a friend, but something told him it could just as well be some guy that was sending messages to you. He had to go there and see it for himself. If he didn't, he wouldn't be able to sleep that night.

Weeks passed without you hearing from Ghost. You still thought about him, feeling disgusted that you actually liked the way he fucked you that day. But now that you were going on another mission, you began to wonder what things would be like between you now. Would he be nicer to you finally? Would he at least give you some credit?

In the end none of this happened. When you met again, you were greeted by his cold, dead eyes, his words sounding harsher than ever before. You overheard Soap telling about this to Gaz, and the two men began to wonder how long it would be before Price stepped in. They were right. The captain wasn't fond of this kind of behavior, especially not when it was a lieutenant treating his own sergeant like this.

"You stay put," Ghost told you when you began to get out of the car.

You looked over at Soap with a questioning look, but he only shrugged in response, having no idea what was happening. "Why?" you asked your superior.

He inhaled and exhaled slowly with closed eyes to calm himself. "Because I said so. Stay in the car and don't move."

"Lt., we need all the help we can get out there," Soap tried as he walked around the car and stopped next to the other man. "Just let her come with us."

But he didn't listen, only shut the door in your face and signaled the Scot to follow him. You didn't know why he had to be like this with you. Apart from that one time you had disobeyed him, you never gave him a reason to treat you like this.

Ghost's blood pressure had to be off the charts as he walked away from the car. Soap kept talking, trying to convince him to let you join them, but he didn't give in. He couldn't give in. His mixed feelings for you couldn't cloud his judgment. He was your higher up, he had every right to tell you what to do.

Even if that need probably came from the frustration he felt whenever he followed you around outside of missions. There he couldn't talk to you, couldn't tell you what to do, where to go, who to talk to. Nothing. He had absolutely no control over your life.

Fuck. So his decision really did come from those mixed feelings. Price had noticed something was wrong between the two of you a long time ago, and he warned him before leaving the base that day. "Treat her right. I don't want unnecessary tension in the team," he said.

Letting out a sigh, he turned to the sergeant. "Soap, go back for her. I hope she won't fuck this up for us this time," he said, hoping he would pass this message on.

"Aye, sir," the Scot said with a smile. "I'll be right back with her."

Ghost truly hoped he wouldn't regret this. You were distracting him, especially since he finally had to chance to sleep with you. He had withdrawal symptoms that were getting worse by each day, reminding him that you were like a fucking drug that he couldn't get out of his mind.

No. Focus. He had to focus. Shit. Why was this so hard all of a sudden?

"What changed your mind? Suddenly remembered that I'm part of the team?" you asked when you and Soap caught up with him.

Turning to you, the lieutenant gave you a sharp look. If he ever had the chance to fuck you again, you would definitely pay for this question. Just one chance. That's all he wanted to correct your behavior.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #ghost #modern warfare ii #modern warfare #mw2 #call of duty #ghost smut #simon riley smut

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teriri-sayes · 8 months

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Reactions to Deal Maker's Chapter 199

TL;DR - Sima Pyeong and Jegal Mi Ryeo figure out that Cale was an otherworlder. HD having a drink date with CH. Cale returns to Roan and gets greeted by a very polite Alberu and 6 dragons.

The Good and Evil Factions Today's the last chapter of the murim arc, so we get our final scenes with the key figures of the two factions. Apparently, news of the emperor arriving in Hainan Island reached the murim people's ears, so everyone was behaving well. The murim people were scared of the emperor because he was kind to the civilians but harsh on the murim people.

However, we didn't get more scenes of the emperor. The first half was about Sima Pyeong and the Good Faction's meeting. The smart ones of the two factions - Sima Pyeong and Jegal Mi Ryeo, figured out that Cale was an otherworlder. Sima Pyeong's clue was the magic Raon taught him, and the Good Faction's clue was Cale's power in stopping the tsunami.

Both factions also realized that Cale was leaving soon, and began to prepare gifts to their benefactor. And Jegal Mi Ryeo also decided to carry out some reforms to the Good Faction because of their realization that they had been arrogant.

And that was it for these two factions. No mention of what happened to Toonka who was still probably hanging out with the Evil Faction people. 😂

A Drink Under the Moonlight Our cheater HD was having a drink with CH in the garden under the moonlight. BUT. It was actually CH who asked to meet HD, even getting Cale's permission to do so. What? CH making the first move? He even refilled HD's cup? 😂

Anyway, CH wanted to meet HD because he wanted to learn how to remove the dead mana from one's body. HD went on to say that he had actually not completely removed the dead mana from his body as the human body had hundreds of miniscule blood vessels, so a complete removal would take time.

And when HD said that the method only worked if you had dead mana in your body, CH clarified that it was not for him but for two people - Hannah and Clopeh. Yes, a Clopeh mention! 🥳

But it was quite funny when CH was thinking that it would be good for Clopeh to remove the dead mana in his body, and then frowned when he realized that he actually thought/cared about that crazy guy... 🤣🤣🤣

Why did Cale even agree in CH meeting HD? Because he wanted CH to pass to HD a map of the Absolute God of War's tomb location (that he ripped off from Jungwon) and have HD learn the martial arts of that man in order to become stronger. I think this man was mentioned earlier in the murim arc, though I forgot how EAP translated the name.

Ah, why do I see a parallel here to Alberu? Cale once gave Alberu the dead mana of a dragon to make Alberu stronger, and now he's doing the same to HD for the same reason?

However, HD refused it, saying that he wanted to follow his own path (of martial arts), and even asked CH to spar with him next time. CH agreed but also made himself as the goal that HD should catch up to.

We also get CH praising HD for being amazing (because HD had gotten this far at his young age), and HD replying that it was CH who was amazing. Wait, our last scene of HD is him bonding with CH and not Cale? 😂

Moving on, HD was excited to learn that Cale could summon him in Cale's future fights. Or was he more excited to spar with CH? I dunno. I didn't expect HD to be friendly with CH. Then again, I didn't expect to have a scene of CH calmly drinking with someone else, or CH missing his hometown in Roan.

Traitor Alberu Cale had been really careful about the Aipotu stuff because he was worried about the young Raon handling all of that heavy stuff. But when Alberu heard all about it from Cale, Alberu went on and told about it to the dragons.

So when Cale finally arrived back in Roan, his welcoming party was a very nervous Alberu (who was acting politely) surrounded by 6 dragons (if you count the half-blood dragon as a dragon). There was Eruhaben, Rasheel, Dodori, and Mila. Sheritt and the half-blood dragon were seen in the video communication device Alberu was holding.

Given how serious all the dragons looked, Cale realized that Alberu had tattled on the Raon stuff to the dragons. And he glared at Alberu who avoided his gaze... 😂 For the first time in his life, Cale felt betrayed by Alberu. 🤣🤣🤣 Maybe he even regrets wanting to work under Alberu than become a god? 😂

Ending Remarks FINALLY, THE MURIM ARC IS OVER!!! It took us around 119 chapters for this arc alone. My suffering from reading confusing MTL because of murim terms finally ends! 🥳Next up is a brief interlude in Roan before the Aipotu arc. Will we finally get Cale's conversation with the Molans? And what happened to CJS? Why was there no mention of him today? Did he break up with Cale's group? Or did he go with them? What about the Orsena sisters? Where is Karin? So many questions still left unanswered.

#tcf spoilers #trash of the count's family

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gourmetjello · 3 months

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nikto x reader : intimidated

oh gosh loves it feels so good to be back after such a long break! i’m sorry i disappeared for over a month. sickness, late trainings, writer’s block, studying and barely hanging on by a thread took a toll on me but i’ll try to be back ◝(ᵔᵕᵔ)◜

i know it sounds unusual but i’ll try my best to write for other characters too. i know i’ve teased a little list before but now i’m starting to see a pattern form and these are the people i’m most likely going to write for : könig, krueger, ghost, ‘09 ghost, nikto, roach, soap, capt. soap, ‘09 makarov (•̀ᴗ•́ )و

hopefully you all are satisfied with the list! if you have any more suggestions just let me know somehow. now hope you enjoy the fic! ♡

tw ; alcohol, mention of drugs.

—

“drink up, drink up!”

a voice yelled from behind you and all you could hear was the sound of shot glasses being knocked against each other once again. the sound was so familiar by now that you even made a mental note on how glasses sound different when they’re filled and when they’re empty. actually, why was someone raising toasts with an empty glass?

“bottoms up, y’all, don’t be pussies-“

but you didn’t have a glass in your hand, not now. you just stared at the people that were having fun and you couldn’t help but think about how you even ended up here.

there was a friend that you shared with this one guy, that’s quite literally all you were one hundred percent sure about — basically nothing. you could be looking at them directly and you would have no idea who they are, thanks to the cliche ‘friend of a friend’ circle going around this whole party. nobody knew each other, but friends and relationships don’t exist when you’re just drinking, right?

so there was that guy. and when you finally saw his face for the first time, you got the chills down your spine. he immediately seemed like someone you shouldn’t really be messing with — like he was planning something evil? or maybe he already did something bad, it felt childish to think about things like these at your grown age and you couldn’t even put your finger on what your senses told you about this person. just leave him alone and get the fuck out of here as soon as possible.

just as that thought crossed your mind, a yell broke through the happy little murmurs and drunken words.

“y’all, what the fuck! get outta’ here! right now! cops outside! holy fucking shit!”

cops outside? what the hell? why?

before the panic settled in, you blinked outside and you were amost immediately sure this wasn’t the fucking police. at least ten men dressed in black tactical outfits stood right next to the huge outdoors pool in the nicely maintained backyard. the well trimmed trees gave them an even scarier look too, painting shadows in the night all over their already dark forms.

you could even see from the corner of your eye that some were equipped with ballistic shields like it was some kind of movie. you have never seen one of those in real life before, and now it gave you a really bad feeling (pretty obviously). their faces were hidden and they were coming closer and closer to the main building all of you and your.. acquaintances were inside.

the guns hanging from their torsos.. wasn’t a nice sight, to be honest. you were convinced that these men were probably legally allowed to do anything as long as they got a bit closer to what they wanted to achieve. and for that, you weren’t exactly sure what it was. come on, shutting down a (not so) little house party with people who look like came straight out of a counter-terrorism organization? isn’t that a tiny exaggeration?

you could have sworn that you only looked away for a few seconds but the next moment you looked around the whole room was empty. fuck. well that’s a situation coming your way for sure, because one of those monsters was heading right towards your direction with a slightly wrinkled paper in his hands.

you wanted to yell and scream at him, to let him know that you absolutely had no clue what this whole thing was about and that you weren’t involved with whatever stupid drug smuggling anyone around you did — since you were sure that you weren’t the target, and they knew that too. but they had to listen to anyone they could catch.

“party’s over..” a deep voice mumbled with a heavy accent. you could recognize it anywhere. a russian accent, gosh.. you’re fucked.

and soon the paper was pressed right into your face. your nose was rubbed against the thin material, not even allowing you to see whatever was printed on it. but it was most likely a person, or at least that was what you could make out when he held it a little further away from you.

“missy, you know this fella?” the man asked.

you had no idea who was on the photo. it was a man with a beard and he seemed way too damn old to be right here, in a house party with some silly college students? he couldn’t be here, you’ve never even seen his face before.

you hesitated a little, not knowing which answer would get you out of here quicker.

“do not keep that mouth shut, come on. you’ll get outta’ here faster, come on.”

your brain immediately sobered up and a small whine left your mouth as you finally took the time to examine the terrifying person that was standing right in front of you. face mask made of kevlar, a gun hanging from his side and a pistol on his right thigh. bulletproof from head to toe. ballistic shield placed next to his other leg.

this guy was going to kill you. one hundred percent. or at least le looked like he would try to do that.

“come on, we don’t bite?”

he tried to speak normally but his statement sounded a lot more like a question, like he wasn’t sure about it either. it could have been the fact that it probably wasn’t usual for them to talk to people that look like they don’t even know where they are. and you were just like that right now. lost as fuck.

you stared up at the photo of the man once again. the black and white printing was so bad that you were barely able to make out the details on it.

“i- um.. no idea w-who’s on the photo.”

“do not lie, missy.”

“i really- i don’t know!”

“well, then let me tell you so you maybe remember, hm? this dude right here,” he gently knocked the face of the man on the paper, the material gently crumbling under his heavy, gloved finger “whose house you’re at right fucking now, has a fuck ton of cocaine under these,” now he kicked the flooring, “these little tiles.”

your eyes widened and to a person who had no clue that you were just as lost here as they are, it would probably come across as some realization. but no, it wasn’t any kind of realization — you really didn’t know about any of this! and it was hard to believe too. you didn’t even see a single line of coke on this party, it was too expensive to be wasted on little college student get-togethers?

“s-sir, i really don’t-“

“we know you know.”

“but i don’t!”

the man’s eyes widened as you started losing your shit. he probably heard the unsure shake in your voice as you slightly raised it — which was probably a stupid idea, but the situation was already bad enough when you’re locked into a burning hot little room that smelled like alcohol with someone who’s straight up dressed in carbon from head to toe? this was getting out of hand.

“missy, i’ve got the legal right to shock you, and if you refuse to give out any information then i’ll just have to do that..”

you were becoming annoyed. you were intimidated as hell and you knew that you couldn’t do anything in a situation like this, you were shaking scared. this man was making you feel so uneasy.

maybe he did it on purpose because as you stayed silent he just stared into your eyes, like a madman. he wasn’t even blinking behind that mask, the black face paint covering the area around his eyes making the color of his irises pop out from the black atmosphere around it. you just weren’t sure why he was doing this.

he placed a hand on his gun now, like he was about to slip out his pistol. but he didn’t have the right to kill or shoot you or anything like that, right? right? panic was filling your brain and goosebumps were running up and down your body as you had no idea about what these men could and could not do to an innocent civillian that actually had no clue about whatever was going on!

“we can play this game, missy. but you won’t like it.”

“i’ve said everything i know! nothing.”

“for fuck’s sake, just say something, anything.”

“but i don’t know! i accidentally ended up here, too.”

“whatever. fuck you, missy.” the man grunted as he finally let his pistol down, letting you back out from the corner he had held you in this whole time. it felt like you could finally breathe again and the cold sweat running down your temples felt like a normal reaction again.

“get the fuck outta’ here and if you know anything. keep your mouth fucking shut. am i understood?”

“y-yes sir.”

you were breathing heavy as you finally made it out of that room. it was a feeling you never wanted to experience ever again — you almost got yourself killed. and you were 99% sure that if you said the wrong stuff he wouldn’t have hesitated to use that pistol. what is wrong with humanity..

the man peeked above his shoulder to look at you walk away. he didn’t take his eyes off of you until you finally exited the whole damn house. you’re never ever coming back and that’s for sure. holy shit.

—

sorry about how bad and rushed this was! :(

#cod #call of duty #cod oneshot #cod nikto #nikto x reader #nikto #call of duty nikto #mwii nikto #andre nikto #cod mw2 #cod x reader #cod x you

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setsugekka · 2 years

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❥open 24 hours (m)

↳ The little store just below doesn’t have much to offer beyond stale chips and lukewarm drinks, but the guy who works there more than makes up for it.

han jisung x gn!reader — meet cute, strangers to lovers, explicit sexual content. [4.5k wc] cws: reader has a vulva/vagina!! penetrative sex, barrier method used, exhibitionism(+vague voyeruism), filmed sexual activity but both parties are fine with it.

The little corner store just at the edge of your apartment building isn't known for much.

A barely functional refrigerator, coffee that always comes out just a bit too hot to be any sort of drinkable in a timely manner, and habitually expired bags of chips often found lining the shelves.

None too great, but if the place has nothing else going for it, then it does have one thing: it's open twenty-four hours.

"Hey."

The single word is heard over the loud chime of a doorbell just above your head as you enter the establishment long past the business hours of any other place within a reasonable walking distance. A sort of bizarre greeting that takes you back just a bit — lacking in professionalism and a bit familiar in a sense — regardless, you're aware enough to understand that this is just a corner store, and operating in the middle of the night, at that. Professionalism not all that much of a requirement, all things considered.

The agenda? An energy drink — actually, make that a few energy drinks, on account of you having more than a handful of all-nighters to pull in the upcoming weeks.

With three cans in hand, you make your way to the counter where the very same effortless greeting met you — hardly any empty space lining the way, there's only the smallest sliver of countertop that allows for you to set your belongings down for the man across the way to ring up. Tall, brightly decorative standees selling a plethora of things that you cannot possibly tell one from the other, for a moment you certainly do get caught up in the colorful displays before your attention is pulled back to reality by aforementioned familiar voice.

"Anything else?"

Looking up at him; messy, brown hair that hangs carelessly into his eyes and a charming set of teeth that flash you an all too brief smile, your eyes quickly carry down from his face and along the navy blue fabric of his uniform to a name tag that tells you more information than it is that you're telling him.

"Han, huh?"

His eyes linger on you just a bit longer, and you can tell that he's attempting to figure out why it is that you know his name. Understanding hits him abruptly and quite evidently as far as you can tell when he reels at the realization of such a thing and chuckles under his breath, finally reaching up to lazily finger at the plastic attached to his chest.

"Yeah, well — Jisung, I thought it'd be cute to go by a nickname at work but now it's just kind of annoying because I don't even answer to that when people call for me."

"Might be for the best, usually not a sign of great things to come when you're being called for at work," you reply in kind. It garners another laugh from him as he punches in your total and hands you the card swipe.

"Not so much of a problem for me, I pretty much exclusively work the overnight shift."

Huh. Fascinating.

For a moment, you can't really imagine why anyone would want to work at such bizarre hours of the night. Sure, you're familiar with the concept of the 'night owl,' but overnight shifts — and almost exclusively, at that — pulling all-nighters is a necessary evil, as far as you are concerned, when it just so happens that the things on your plate get ever so slightly out of hand.

Choosing to do so, though? There must be something severely unwell about this guy.

Bagging your items, you bring them to your side and turn to head back towards the door once again.

"Have a good night then, Han."

And with elbows pressed into the counter, he leverages himself just ever so slightly over it before answering you in return.

"Thanks, come back any time!"

"Are you the only person that works here?"

The question is tongue-in-cheek, and you don't mean it particularly literally, but the amusement that Jisung appears to feel as a result of it certainly hits its mark as intended, and placing another can on the counter as you dig into your back pocket for your wallet, the man takes the beverage into his own possession to calculate the total before answering you straight away with a snort.

"As far as either of us can tell, yeah, I guess I might as well be. Though, I do have to answer to the big guy up stairs."

With that comment, Jisung notions upwards with a nod to a camera that hangs just above your head, and aimed precisely where the two of you stand now.

Glancing back down towards him, you drop your tone down to a whisper, as if very much being actively surveilled right here, and right now. "Are you going to get in trouble for chatting with me when I come in here?"

To that, Jisung shrugs incredibly nonchalantly. "I don't actually think anyone ever watches the tapes. They're always recording in the event of some crazy shit going down, but if it doesn't then I'm pretty sure all the footage just gets overlapped with new footage after a set amount of time. All of the stuff is in the back and I've looked at it a handful of times but...let's just say that the owner isn't particularly technologically savvy so I can't imagine he's got a livestream hooked up to his phone or anything like that."

"So basically," you start questioningly, allowing the volume of your voice to raise ever so slightly, though leaning down and across the island that separates the both of you. "You're here all alone, all night long."

Jisung's eyes linger heavy on you at that — perhaps picking up on the fact that you're testing the waters of flirting with him a bit — to you, you're coming onto him hard, and though you don't necessarily have a plan of action as far as whatever that means; flirting with the cute guy from the corner store in the odd hours of the night certainly makes for entertainment that you otherwise wouldn't be partaking in, and breaks up the mundane workflow of the bullshit that awaits you just upstairs.

Do you want to fuck the corner store clerk? Maybe, if he plays his cards right. It's far from off the table, that much is for sure.

"Basically. Got my phone and my charger and the little television just up there that gets approximately three channels on a good night, so really, the world is in the palm of my hand."

You sort of wouldn't mind being in the palm of his hand.

There's a brief moment of silence after he finishes his sentence, and with that, you grab your drink and head out towards the door once again. You figure there's something exciting about leaving them hanging a little bit — if Jisung is quick-witted enough to pick up what it is that you're putting down for him, then the chase of not knowing the when or how this may or may not play out for him will only incentivize him that much more to continue on with playing your little cat and mouse game.

"Try not to have too much fun without me," you finally say as you push the door open, and with Jisung once again hurling himself over the counter to keep his eyes glued to you for as long as humanly possible — you know you've won, in a sense.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he replies with a certain type of smugness, and just like that — the evening door bell ends another bout of banter between you and the cute corner store clerk who almost certainly wants to see you bent over the very same counter where the verbal tennis takes place.

On your next visit, it's far less about the energy drink that's meant to keep you busy at your desk, and much more about visiting the friend that you know to be waiting for you downstairs.

Still, you bring a relatively warm can of something-or-another to the counter — you know, to maintain a bit of the charade — and set it atop the wood before planting an elbow just beside it and cradling your chin into your palm with intent to carry on with the evenings plans.

A knowing grin pulls at your lips, and as a result, his as well. "How many customers do you typically get during your shifts?"

Jisung mimics your stance, his own chin in hand as he bends over the counter to look you in the eye. Like this, you become starkly aware of how little space now resides between the both of you, and you can't help enjoying the pleasant flutter of anticipation that alights in your stomach.

"Depends on the day," he starts quietly, glancing up towards the ceiling as if in thought but the both of you knowing damn well that there's not much to contemplate as far as the questioning goes. "Friday's can be busy, but on a weekday like this? Can usually count the entries on one hand."

Him mentioning his hands brings your attention to them: nicely attended to and no dirt to be seen collected under the nails. You look back towards him.

"They should hire someone else to take over some of the shifts, at least then you'd have someone you could train."

Jisung's eyes narrow assumingly at that, and pulling himself back up into standing position, he waves you back onto the other side of the counter. "Don't need to hire someone for that, get over here, I can show you the ropes."

Eyebrows lifting in a bit of shock, you're somewhat reluctant to do as instructed. "Are you sure? I really doubt I'm allowed back there..."

"I told you, no one checks the cameras, no one is going to know. Besides, I already told you how the entire surveillance of this store works which is arguably a far more fireable offense than teaching you how to ring up a bag of chips."

Can't really argue with that.

Making your way around, it feels so bizarre to be on the other end of the store like this — it reminds you so much of every first day at work that you've ever had — feeling so wildly out of place and with a twinge of doing something and being somewhere that you're not meant to be, at all.

It's messy, too. Cardboard boxes displaying a plethora of different brand names of items that you couldn't ever possibly remember, accompanying them are rolls of receipt paper and a couple of handy rags should there be some kind of spill of any sort — all of the essentials for a typical, overnight stay you would imagine.

But more than that, now that you have the entirety of Jisung in your sights, you come to find his stature far more enticing than you had originally anticipated it being.

What the man lacks in height, he obviously makes up for in time spent at the gym; he's wearing long sleeves, but standing next to him now you can see the snug fit of the fabric along his arms, and more than that is how unreasonably broad his shoulders are in contrast to the pointed dip of a waist that's much littler than you ever would have thought it to be.

And rather than having you stand next to him, Jisung reaches out to pull you in front of him — now sandwiched between his front and the hard wood of the countertop that no longer separates the budding attraction between the two of you.

"Hey."

That damn greeting again, only this time he's standing so closely behind you that you can feel the feathering of warm breath as it gently wafts over your ear.

Jisung takes the opportunity to cage you in; both hands gripping at the edge of the wood that digs into your front as he presses his body just that much more against your own.

"Can I be honest with you?"

Your mind responds in a sort of pathetic insistence, but you don't want to make it that easy for him just yet. Instead, you push that back for a much more reasonable answer to his inquiry.

"Sure."

Jisung's face dips down closer to the juncture between your neck and shoulder. His lips don't quite make contact with the skin there, though he's close enough that the heat radiates off of him nearly as much. You feel as though you're on fire just the same as the anticipation of what's to come sizzles just beneath your skin at every passing second that the man not divulge precisely what it is that hangs in his mind.

Then, a whisper escapes from his lips. Only meant for your ears, as if others lie in wait anyway.

"I don't think you care about learning how to use the register."

You swallow hard, because obviously, but you don't necessarily want to gift him the pleasure of hearing the way your voice trembles just yet, either. "No? What makes you say that?"

Hips jutting forward and into your behind, it's only then that you feel the erection forming within well-fitted jeans. The feeling of him distracts you just enough to lose sight of one of his hands, but you're quickly reminded of its whereabouts when the feeling of nimble fingers sliding into the front of your own jeans brings your attention back to all the more pressing matters.

"Just a hunch."

Middle finger dipping into your slit and pressed flat against your clit, you can't help but press yourself back and against him — an effort to feel the hardness that awaits you should you wish to partake in it — the friction pulls an airy groan out of Jisung's throat that spurs your desire for him on even more. Quick on the uptake, the pads of his fingers press flat against your mound and begin slow, deliberate circles against you in a way that has your knees ever so slightly threatening to give out from beneath you already.

You wouldn't have thought yourself to be inclined towards exhibitionism before, but with the way things are turning out now? Who knows.

Jisung hums against the shell of your ear before pressing his palm deeper into your pants in an effort to find what it is that he's looking for; and find it he does as the tip of his middle finger dips down towards the wetness pooling at your opening. As if pleased with his findings, he continues the drive of his finger into you — unbelievably smooth and easy to bury himself to the last knuckle inside of your heat.

Then, you feel even more weight of his chest against your back; his other hand disappearing from beside you, and the distinct rustling of him quick at work to free himself from the confines of his own jeans.

Withdrawing from you, he adds another finger to press inside, and it has you melting underneath his touch with unbelievable simplicity.

"Want to fuck you," he finally whispers against you, teeth delicately grazing the skin of your ear and neck as the words sinfully drip from him. "Right here, just like this. You ever been fucked like this?"

It's a simple enough admission, but with the heat of things as they are and the neediness in his voice, it sends your mind reeling at the reality of it: no, you haven't, and it's not something you ever thought to desire, either. However, now that you're right here, right now...

"Do you have a condom?"

Kind of a stupid question you come to realize all too late, and Jisung scoffs at it just the same as he ever so slightly brings the weight of himself off of you in preparation for finding precisely that.

"Are you kidding me? We have more condoms here than a porn star would know what to do with."

Yeah, that makes sense, but in your defense, you've sort of forgotten where you are for a second on account of it being completely fucking insane.

You don't bother giving the explicit 'okay' to move forward on account of the questioning of protection more or less being evidence enough of your interest, and Jisung is quick to retract his hand from you in order to kneel down and dig around beneath the counter for exactly that in which you've requested.

Only a few seconds go by before he comes back up, and though you can't see what it is that he's doing back there, you can hear what are effectively the goings on of such an endeavor: the ripping of the package followed by the swift shimmy of his pants down his legs — a few more seconds of silence that you can only figure of him sliding the rubber along himself — and then the distinct feeling of his fingers curling into the sides of your own pants to pull them down your thighs just enough to grant him the access to you that he's searching for.

Body weight pressed against you again, you feel the pointed nudge of his cock between your legs before familiar fingers find your face and turn your head to meet him in a kiss.

It's sloppy and ill-coordinated, but there's life behind his intentions. Jisung kisses you because he wants to kiss you, and you have to figure that to some degree, the experience must be lacking in something should the two of you not share something so small and simple.

His teeth snag into your bottom lip all while the head of his cock teases at you, and with hooded eyes the both of you look at one another.

"Been thinking about this since the first time you came in here," he says with no shame to be found in voice. "Beat off to the thought almost every night."

You press back against him in an attempt to impale yourself along his length, but he doesn't afford you as much.

"Yeah? Fuck, that's hot," you just as readily admit. Jisung kisses you again.

"Like the thought of me making myself cum for you?"

Pushing back against him again, this time you're pleased to find far less resistance from him in relation to him burying himself inside of you, and as the blunt head of his length slowly sinks into you, your jaw falls open against his mouth as the gasp of being filled is drunk down by him.

Jisung allows your face to fall away from his own in favor of the both of you assuming better positions for the next step of your undertaking together. With one hand firmly at the dip between your neck and shoulder, you can't help but feel like Jisung's cock pries you apart for an eternity — you haven't seen him, nor have you felt him outside of this, but with such a dedicated, long push of himself into you before you feel the final meeting of his hips steady against your ass — paired with the distinct feeling of teetering on the edge of too much and too deep...

He must be comfortably endowed.

Arms curling up and under your face, Jisung slowly pulls back from you before delivering yet another slow, pointed drive of his cock inside of you. Far more electrifying than the first, you exhale an unsteady breath at the feeling of him as he stills deeply pressed flush between your walls.

"Okay?" he asks, and you nod hurriedly with a breathy, verbal admission as much.

That's all the encouragement he needs from there; pulling himself from your warmth and this time burying his entire length with a single, quick stroke and accompanied by an all too telling smack of flesh against flesh. You hardly have time to collect yourself before he delivers another, and then another — and before you know it you're all but laid out across the countertop as Jisung

pounds you into the wood, and all for the viewing pleasure of a camera with film that you're hopeful for nobody else to find.

"Fuck, your pussy feels good," Jisung hisses through ardent snaps of his hip. "Feel good? Like getting bent over in public and fucked?"

You can't lie, and thus, you whimper out the most pathetic 'yes' in response; because if the circumstances weren't doing it for you already, and the long, full stroke of his cock inside of you wasn't doing it, then the absolutely filth spilling out of his mouth now certainly would be plenty to make up for it all.

And worse than that — Jisung coos in reaction to you. Voice dropping to barely more than a lewd whisper as he folds himself over to bring his mouth against your back as he relentlessly and repeatedly fills you with himself. "That's why you kept coming in here, after all, isn't it? Just hoping I'd pull you around back and fuck you open. Not caring if anyone sees you, huh? Want my dick that bad?"

"Fuck, Jisung, yes—"

That familiar tightening in every muscle in your lower body informing you of all of the ways in which every collection of these circumstances is doing you in — hurling you swiftly towards orgasmic inevitability — Jisung must be able to tell with how fast his hand dips down between your legs and begins rubbing circles at your pussy just above where he disappears inside of you. It's a messy and ill-coordinated effort, and you can't really blame him all things considered, but it's certainly enough to get the job done if he keeps it up as you press hard against him with every thrust up into you, babbling and begging him not to stop, that you're so close, please's and repeated, breathy, chants of his name falling all the while from your dry, red lips.

Hips harder against you now in an attempt to push you over the edge, his cock feels divine with every smooth glide inside of you, and as you teeter on the edge of release, you desperately attempt to bite back the shriek that threatens to rip from your throat as you finish.

"Cum for me, you can do it," he insists, every word pointed with a deep, drive of his length into your cunt. "Lemmie feel you cum around my dick, lemmie see it—"

It hits you hard and fast; ripping through your body and lighting every nerve ending in your body on fire as your orgasm takes you. Bottom lip snugly pulled between your teeth in an attempt to not cry out and alert every other person within a block radius of precisely what it is that's currently going on within his place of employment, Jisung groans loudly right along with you and no doubt on account of the way your pussy grips down on him as he diligently works to fuck you all of the way through your finish. He just about makes it, too; fingers curling hard into your shoulder and hips faltering in motion as he desperately exhales something of a whimper and a pained groan at the feeling of your walls milking his load from him with every orgasmic pulse of his cum emptying into the barrier between the both of you.

A few slow, shallow thrusts accompanying the come down of such an event before Jisung pulls himself from you to quickly deal with the remainder of the situation at hand.

And quietly reaching down to pull your pants back up and into place, the awkwardness of such an encounter begins to set in with no other words spoken between the two of you since the mans wild insistence on feeling you fuck him dry.

Jisung tucks himself back into his jeans with a wince, and glancing at him ever so slightly, you contemplate simply leaving without much more of a word, and resigning yourself to no more late night beverage trips so long as the both of you shall live here.

But then, you hear him chuckle under his breath, buttoning his jeans and exhaling with a worn out sigh.

"I'm going to jerk off to that surveillance video for the rest of my life."

The words wash any discomfort you had from this straight away, and instead, a sort of fondness sets in in its place. You laugh.

"Well, now what? Can't say I've ever done something as crazy as this so I don't really know the protocol."

"You think I have!?" Jisung is quick to amend with nothing more than explicit shock to his tone. "I don't know! I mean, I'm off work in three hours so...if you want to get coffee or something..."

It's charming to you how a sort of awkward innocence to the man only now sets in after having already fucked him, but you suppose it's part of the appeal. You're far from turned off by it, or by him as a result, so all things considered, the idea of grabbing coffee — albeit a bit out of typical order of events — doesn't sound half bad.

So, you shrug. "Okay, I can hang around and keep you company. Can't imagine my loitering in the store to be the worst thing caught on camera at this point."

Then, Jisung kisses you again. It's softer, sweeter, less full of heady want and more something of an adoring fondness for you. You're happy to meet him halfway in it.

Pulling back, his eyes meet your own, but you're quick to recognize something wicked behind them.

"Besides, could always go for a round two—" his lips trail down to your neck, and head falling back and to the side to grant him access to the skin there, you sort of want to chastise him for the mere thought of it, but with the way that he's coming onto you now, you'd be hard pressed to admit to not being just a bit interested in taking him up on the offer.

"—Fuck you in the back room; lay you out on the table with your legs on my shoulders so I can watch you take every inch of me..."

"Jisung!"

"What!" he whines just as quickly as he recoils at the playful slap coming straight from you and with intent to land upon his arm. "Just saying, it's an option."

Granted, you have every intention of taking him up on that offer, but best not to let him know that just let — where's the fun in that, after all?

"Let's stick to the coffee plan for now," you insist, fingers digging into his shirt to pull his body flush against yours all over again. "What have you got for me?"

Double entendre.

Corners of his lips curling upwards, his eyes drag down to your lips just for a moment before coming back up to meet yours once again.

"I know a guy," he whispers out against your lips, barely allowing for the two of you to meet through the touch at all as the words escape him in a throaty whisper. "I know just the place."

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ hope you enjoyed! please check out my navigation for more (´｡• ᵕ •｡`)

—this is a oneshot, there will be no part 2.

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save-the-villainous-cat · 2 years

Note

was gonna go off anon but actually i don't need to be horny jailed on main

anyways consider: a pretty flirty villain who makes like constant dirty jokes, and the stoic hero who's just kinda like "oh fuck" but anyways my point here is that imagine how funny it would be if the villain had like zero experience but the hero did and got to turn the tables on them

idk sounds like spice waiting to happen

“Isn’t that what everybody wants?” the villain purred, their voice full of sweet promises. If they continued this, they’d be sitting on the hero’s lap real soon. “To be truly understood, to be…interlinked…”

“Interlinked?” the hero asked absentmindedly. Their eyes were still on the businesspeople discussing their deals with each other. In this room, politics was being made. And they were a part of it, if they wanted or not.

“Interlinked,” the villain said. The tip of their nose touched the hero’s ear. Their chest was pressed against the hero’s shoulder. By now, the hero was long used to the villain touching a lot — they didn’t mind that much — but the amount of touchiness was especially noticeable on social gatherings.

The villain was shy.

And though they didn’t want the hero to know that, the hero knew better than anyone.

“We’re a good fit. We’re interlinked,” the villain whispered. “I could give you things you didn’t even know you needed in the first place. All of it in just one night.”

“I know, darling,” the hero answered, nearly bored. They didn’t want to screw this up. Their… personal relationships couldn’t get in the way of this. What happened here would define the following legislative period.

But still, the hero loathed politics.

And the villain was so sweet.

“So, it’s a yes?” The villain finally stood up from their seat and sat down on their enemy’s lap. “To all the things I’m gonna do to you?”

The hero broke eye contact with the most powerful politician to look at their enemy. Yes, they wanted to say. It’s definitely a certain yes.

“Do you not have some evil scheme to take care of? Is there a bomb here somewhere?” they asked.

“You’re the only bomb in this room,” the villain said, winking.

“I think you can do better than that.” The hero looked back at the talking people. They scrutinised the commander of the heroes league talking to one of the richest men in the city.

But their mind was occupied with the villain. Their sweet villain who tried so desperately not to show their social anxiety. Their hands were shaking, they were clinging to the hero…tough everything in their mind told them to follow what was happening in the room, the hero wanted to see what was happening with their enemy.

“Oh, if I’m allowed to show you…my hands are really good, they say.” And then. Then, the hero focused on the villain’s lips.

“I bet your mouth is better.” The hero’s hand wandered to the villain’s upper thigh and with the happiest smile a human being could make, they looked at the villain’s wide eyes.

“Woah, I’m—”

“Still a virgin?” The villain got pale.

“Hey, that’s not—”

“I know you’re nervous, darling. I know there’s a lot of people. So why aren’t we ditching this place after I’m done observing? Maybe my hands and mouth can show you a thing or two.” They squeezed the villain’s thigh affectionately.

Their villain seemed embarrassed but not quite as nervous as before.

“I…I gotta get a drink—” they mumbled and the hero had to grin when they added “don’t leave, though.”

“Be a doll and fetch one for me too, alright?” they asked. The villain glowered at them but eventually came back with two champagne glasses.

The hero didn’t let go of the villain for the rest of the night.

#I’m a busy beeeeee #writing snippet #heroxvillain prompt #heroxvillain snippet #heroes and villains #hero #villain #hero x villain #heroxvillain #an answer for an ask #request #suggestive #but also fluff 🤨

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nightghoul381 · 6 months

Text

No Room to Breathe~ Harrison Gray

Premium End

This a fan translation so it is definitely not 100% accurate. I do not own anything related to Ikemen Villains. Support Cybird by buying their amazing stories!

No Warnings for this part

Part 1 | Part 2 | Premium End | Epilogue

…Hey…Wake up….Hey.

Harrison: “Oh, you woke up. Hello, leader.”

Ferris Circus Leader: “…Huh? ….Eh, what? What is….this.”

When the man wakes up, he finally realizes he’s in a cage.

Harrison: “Magic that switches our places while we’re asleep. What a lie.”

Ferris Circus Leader: “??...?”

Harrison: “Do you always make your children make the tea you drink?”

Ferris Circus Leader: “After drinking tea, I suddenly felt tired…w-well no way.”

Ferris Circus Leader: “B-but there’s no one other than you who could do such a thing. Did you have friends?”

Kate: “No, it’s just us.”

Ferris Circus Leader: “Well then—”

Harrison: “Ah, that’s right. Your precious children lent a hand.”

Ferris Circus Leader: “That can’t happen! They are my pawns, dolls with no will!”

Harrison: “That may have been the case before. But it’s different now.”

Harrison: “That’s a shame. People change. It’s your fault for ignoring that fact.”

Lionel: “Big brother, big sister! I’m ready.”

Harrison: “Well the show is about to begin, leader. That’s good. You’re the star of the show tonight.”

Ferris Circus Leader: “Huh? H-Hey you guys! Where are you taking me?”

Ferris Circus Leader: “No way… you’re going to put me in tonight’s show!?”

The cage containing the leader is pushed onto the stage on a platform with casters.

Harry and I stood in the shadows, staring at the spotlight on stage.

Tonight, the eyes of the overflowing audience are focused on the stage.

Oliver: “Now, the next thing you’ll see is Escape from Handcuffs!”

Oliver: “This man in the cage is actually an evil felon! Let me first handcuff his arms!.”

Ferris Circus Leader: “H-Hey… Oliver is lying…”

Oliver whispers under his breath, leaning his face close to the cage.

Oliver: “…I appreciate you picking us up. Thank you.”

Oliver: “And—Goodbye, leader.”

With a click, Oliver put on the handcuffs and smiled.

Oliver: “Come on, let’s remove these handcuffs from here!”

Oliver: “And 1, 2, 3! Oh, it won’t come off, will it?”

Oliver: “I’m sorry, but it looks like these handcuffs are no longer coming off.”

Oliver: “Let’s just throw this man in the pig pen.”

Ferris Circus Leader: “…The pig pen…Damn it, damn it!”

Amid the storm of boos from the audience, only the children were cheering.

Kate: “So, what will happen to that guy?”

Harrison: “Victor comes to collect him. Either that or the police will—Either way, he’s going to hell.”

Harrison: “Mission accomplished for now. Good night, Kate.”

Kate: “You too, Harry. Thank you for helping me so much.”

At that moment, I heard multiple footsteps running toward us from behind.

Oliver: “Hey, wait. This guy (Lionel) has something he wants to talk to you about.”

Lionel: “…Big brother, big sister. This.”

Kate: “The key! What happened to it?”

Lionel: “I was hiding it.”

Kate: “…what?”

Lionel: “When I bumped into you, big sister, you were kind to me… that’s why...”

Lionel: “I thought that maybe, somehow, big brother and big sister could help us.”

Harrison: “…Really.”

Lionel: “I’m sorry, it’s my fault—”

Harrison: “You have a good eye for small things.”

Lionel: “…What?”

Harrison: “Yes, you were right to rely on Kate.”

Harrison: “This woman is stupidly good-natured and straightforward…she never abandons anyone.”

(…..Harry.)

Harrison: “There are many things that can’t be done in this world. But…”

Harrison: “Remember that there are people like Kate. This will surely be an inspiration for you in the future.”

Harrison: “…Ah, I’ll remember it. We’ll continue to do our best and continue the circus.”

Kate: “I see. Well then, I’m looking forward to seeing another wonderful show.”

Lionel: “Who are you two? Heroes of justice?”

Children: “Okay, it’s the police!”

Harrison: “Not quite.”

Harrison: “Just a villain.”

We sat on the bed in his room and unlocked the handcuffs.

Kate: “It came off… that’s good.”

Harrison: “Does that mean the case is solved? Or does it mean something is wrong?”

Kate: “Well…both. I’m glad the case was solved, and Harry, you won’t be bothered by me anymore, right?”

Harrison: “You said earlier that you were a nuisance. Why did you think you bothered me?”

Kate: “Uh, because every time I didn’t act in sync with you, you looked down….”

Harrison: “So that’s why….It was.”

Kate: “…?”

Harrison: “That was, um…”

Harrison: “…”

Harrison: “I just looked down and laughed.”

Harrison: “…The way you moved in the exact opposite direction to me was so cute.”

My heart skipped a beat at Harry’s unexpected words.

Harrison: “…what’s with that face?”

Kate: “Uh…. It was just so unexpected, I guess.”

Harrison: “You’re such a…”

Harrison sighed and then smiled, taking it all in.

Harrison: “…Kate. As you said, we are complete opposites.”

Kate: “That’s my line. Right now, I’m just thinking about your feelings, Harry.”

Harrison: “But…”

Harrison: “That’s why I like you.”

Kate: “…”

Harrison: “I could see that you were a different person from me, and I started to love you rather a lot.”

I find it endearing that Harry is so blunt.

(I see. I tried my best to be just like Harry, but I couldn’t.)

(Because, we were attracted to each other precisely because we are different.)

Harrison: “Well, if we were the same person, we’d have nothing but narcissism and self-loathing—woah!”

I interrupt him, unable to resist hugging his neck.

Kate: “I love you too Harry. I love, love, love you because you’re different.”

Harrison: “…”

Harrison: “Pfft, hahaha! I know. I know you like me.”

Kate: “Oh, but I don’t get carried away with different things, do I?”

Kate: “I imagine a lot of what you’re thinking and feeling in the moment.”

Kate: “I love you, Harry, and I want to be with you forever.”

Harrison: “Hmm…Well then, let me think about it.”

Kate: “…?”

Harrison: “What do I want to do with you now?”

Harry’s mint-colored eyes narrowed maliciously, and there was heat in his gaze.

I already know what Harry wants to do in a situation like this.

Kate: “…I don’t know.”

Harrison: “Yeah, that’s a lie. Don’t let me see through your lies just because you’re embarrassed.”

Harrison: “…….See, come here.”

He hugged me by the waist and our lips touched deeply.

Kate: “Nngh…..mmm”

Harrison: “Hey, did you know? Today was the first time I kissed you on the mouth in a while.”

Kate: “Yes, it was….mmmm….”

Harrison: “Hmmm, and I didn’t hold you yesterday. You were in a panic when we were tied up, so I tried to be patient.”

Kate: “Mmm…Harry…I can’t breathe….”

As I was at the mercy of the raining kisses, the tip of my nose rubs against his…

Harrison: “I want to hold you. Do you want me?”

(You’re always vague about important things, but you’re direct at times like this…cunning.)

(…I want you too, Harry.)

Kate: “…Me too. I also….want to.”

Harrison: “… If you look at me like that, I won’t be able to be kind.”

Kate: “…look like what?”

Harrison: “Like it’s okay to do whatever I want.”

Harrison: “I mean, I’m pent up and I’m not going to go easy on you tonight.”

Harry lays me on the bed, picking up the handcuffs that had fallen. And--.

(…eh?)

Both of my hands were handcuffed.

Kate: “…Why did you put these on?”

Harrison: “Because you thought I was annoyed. Because you were about to put yourself in danger again. And the rest.”

Kate: “Whaa…”

Harrison: “But the main reason is… I want to see all the different sides of you.”

Harry grinned and his fingertips slipped into my blouse, tickling my skin.

Kate: “Ngh……”

Harrison: “I got excited thinking about touching you wearing these, you’ll show me your cute face won’t you?”

Harrison: “Kate…. Tonight, let me do a lot of mean things to you.”

Part 1 | Part 2 | Premium End | Epilogue

#ikemen villains #ikevil #ikemen villains translation #ikevil translation #harrison gray #ikevil harrison #ikevil harrison gray #ikemen villains harrison #ikemen villains harrison gray

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annie-creates · 1 year

Text

Just a few grapes

Pairing: Lady Lesso x reader

Genre: fluff

Words: 1000

Note: Reader has trouble eating, so even tho there's nothing explicit be aware of possible triggers. Thank you so much for the kind message and request, notes like these are what gives everything I do meaning. I hope I did your idea justice.

You were what people would describe as sunshine. Everyone knew your peculiar ability to make your vicinity feel better. Your mere presence conjured smiles on people’s faces and your aura radiated peace and calm. Many would seek you out to help them forget about sad thoughts or just to make them feel a little happier. You were quite popular around the school for good. There was no doubt the universe prepared great things for you. Dean Dovey would often say you’re the definition of the greatest good, the white swan of innocence and purity.

Maybe the noble treatment was the reason why the real life took by such surprise. Graduating and claiming your own story was supposed to be something magical, yet you found yourself on a path of hardships and struggles. You weren’t treated like a godly princess anymore, people in the real world found you average, if not a bit annoying. Your fate dimmed your light of innocence and purity, making you experience all the doom of those who aren’t prepared.

When you returned to the school for good and evil, you weren’t the enchanted girl who left, full of silly hope and innocent imaginations. You were a woman carrying her own ills and scars. Yet your presence still calmed others and your smile made everyone’s day just the tiniest bit better. You were tested by the life, coming back wise and cannie. Who was once a naïve little girl came back as experienced sharp-witted woman.

Now years later you found yourself at the side of your girlfriend, mingling the dinning hall as others chatted the night away. It was a significant evening, celebrating the equinox as per an old tradition. Tables were full of the most remarkable food and drinks, successfully satisfying everyone’s taste. You’d find anything you could imagine, yet you didn’t feel like using the opportunity right now. You just couldn’t find the need within yourself. Everything looked boring and tasteless to you.

Leonora gave you a side eye seeing you just nibbling in your dinner, not really eating. She was used to all your routines and bad habits by now, having trouble eating properly being one of them. You couldn’t help it, it was just one of the things your brought back from your uneasy life in the outside world. She’d lie if she said she couldn’t understand it though, having worked through traumas and vices herself when she was younger.

You excused yourself from the table, having been counting seconds for the past couple minutes until it was formally okay to do so. You weren’t going to spend more hours sitting around pretending to enjoy the food and conversation for longer than absolutely necessary. Snuggling into bed you had no intention waiting awake for your girlfriend, but your rumbling stomach didn’t wanna let you fall into a peaceful slumber, so you just tossed and turned around in the sheets.

You were finally distracted by Lesso coming through the door, carefully assessing the situation in the room to not wake you up in case you’d be already sleeping. To your dismay you weren’t. She smiled at you as you sat up in the bed, knowing there’s no reason trying to fall asleep anymore. You didn’t like to sleep without her anyway, her arm was your favorite pillow and the beat of her heart your favorite lullaby.

“Hi, did I wake you up?” Lesso asked as she came into the room, gently sitting on her side of the bed.

“Nah, I couldn’t sleep,” you shook your head hair flying into you face.

“Good. I’ve brought you a little snack, in case you were hungry,” Leonora placed a plate on the bed, knowing you might eat something little.

“You didn’t have to…” you tried to dismiss it before even looking at the plate full of apples, bananas and grapes cut into little pieces and ridden of seeds so you can easily eat it. The thought and care behind it almost brought tears into your eyes. “Wow, thank you.”

“Don’t even mention it. You can take whatever you want if you want,” your girlfriend knew there’s no reason trying to force you to eat, it only made you shut down more. Giving the option while making it the most accessible was the way.

“How was your day?” you asked her to distract yourself, and just because you loved listening to her voice.

“Well, I had a few successful attempts in death traps today, Satan knows those kids might actually be of some good use. And Avery, remember the reader kid? She actually got her first magic trick, I bet she’ll be a real deal with her finger glow…” she went on about her day and anything she could think of that would be of any interest to you.

“Wasn’t she one of the Nevers you said had no business in your school?” you asked with a smile, stuffing your mouth with more grapes.

“Yea, but she was actually good this week. I mean bad… evil… you know what I mean,” you both laughed over it. “I think that with a little guidance, the right friends and a few nights in the doom room she could actually achieve something.”

“Well if anyone can make her a good evil it’s you,” you admitted cleaning the plate of a few last pieces. “Thanks for the fruit, it was actually good.”

“No problem love,” Leonora put the plate away, proud of your progress in eating. You still needed to be focused on something else, but you ate more easily.

Crawling into bed with you, she fluffed up the pillows and sheets to have a good warm cozy nest to sleep in. Laying down together you placed your ear over her heart being calmed by her even breath as she tucked you closer to her chest with her strong arms. To you the only nest you needed was her.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” you whispered before falling asleep.

“Always.”

#lady lesso fluff #lady lesso x you #lady lesso x reader #lady lesso #lady leonora lesso #lady leonora lesso x reader #leonora lesso #leonora lesso x reader #tsfgae #sge #charlize theron #the school for good and evil #school for good and evil

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chronic-ghost · 1 year

Text

Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire

rating: M (just for language)

pairing: javier peña x f!reader

word count: 5619

summary: you're a human lie detector-- so you tell the handsome man at the Jim Bo’s Burger Barn at 3AM. Too bad you're too drunk to catch up to his lies.

warnings: language, references to drugs/cartels, drinking, smoking, this one is pretty tame, no use of y/n

a/n: this is my Poker Face adjacent fic and inspired by the scene where Javi so innocently flirts with that american wife in the lounge. might become a series but not quite sure yet. lemme know which direction I should take this, if I should take it anywhere at all!

🤍Series Masterlist | Next

🤍AO3 Link

You attract trouble.

You attract trouble like you put on your nicest dress, did your hair, fixed up your tits, and doused yourself in trouble-pheromones. Like you found trouble curled up on the side of the road, sad and alone like a lost dog, and you gave it a cookie and now it swings around your ankles, always moments away from knocking you on your ass. Except it’s not a dog, it’s a chimpanzee that’s finally snapped and it’s pissed– it’s beating on the bars of its cage, it’s yowling, howling, it’s coming after you to eat off your goddamn face and–

Okay, back up a bit.

You have a thing that gets you into trouble. No, not like a self-destructive habit or a weird twitch. It’s not drugs or alcohol or even a dumbass ex. It’s this thing you’ve always been able to do, always known, and because of your big mouth, it’s always gotten you into hot water with the wrong people.

You know when someone is lying. Don’t ask how. It’s a thing. But you know, without a shadow of a doubt, if what’s coming out of someone’s mouth is the God’s honest truth or total and utter bullshit.

You know when someone is lying and generally, folks don’t really appreciate it when you a) catch them on a lie and b) call them out on it. You and your big mouth.

Okay, that’s two things that get you into trouble, but it’s primarily the lying thing and the mouth thing is more or less a fun bonus. Used for good or evil, or whatever.

The point – the point is – you know when someone is lying. Every single time. So, sure, the audience may say, it’s a weird quirk, kinda bizarre, may or may not be difficult to prove, but trouble? Real actual trouble? How could you possibly get into chimpanzee-face-eating trouble with just this little thing?

Well, rather easy actually. If you don’t have any particular skills, that is. If you barely finished high school, and street smarts was the only kind of smarts they were selling the day your mom smacked you on the ass and told you to find your way in the world. It was hard keeping a job too. Minimum wage living is terrible, especially when the customers lie to you, or to each other, or to their children. Even worse when management lies about why there’s no cash payout this month or why they’re late with this month’s checks. Getting by is fucking hard as shit, but when you know there’s something wrong being done and you’ve got this big fucking mouth, well, you’ve never been one to not court trouble.

Maybe trouble is easier to find because you like to wave and flirt with it when you drive by. Give a little wink.

You work here, you work there. Nothing serious. Always temporary. And then, one day, during your shift as a maid at the Economy 99 on route 10, the elderly night guard asks if you’ve ever played poker.

Nah, you say. Go Fish, that’s really your game.

So he offers to teach you, along with a few of the other maids and staff waiting around for someone to blow chunks in the swimming pool because you always managed to find the really classy places.

Okay, so you barely finished high school, you don’t have real marketable skills, you’ve got a big mouth and you’re not afraid to use it and –

– and –

You’re really fucking good at poker.

And who here would like to venture a guess as to why?

You always know when someone is lying and what is poker if not Advance Bullshit for Adults? Fuckin’ Astronomical Physics for Liars and Dumbasses. Hell, you gotta fuckin’ PhD in Bovine Excrement and it’s time you graduated to the big leagues. Sayonara community college, hello Stanford for Assholes.

Okay, maybe that’s just regular Stanford.

You learn to hustle too. Lose a few rounds so they don’t catch onto you and can’t accuse you of anything as you wipe their clocks clean. You change your name too, in different towns, in different back alley poker halls, because unfortunately the poker and casino community in this place is too small.

This place being all of the United States.

You can’t exactly go online and work your literal magic– you gotta at least see or hear the person to know if they’re lying. Bluffing over pixels just isn’t the same. Isn’t sexy enough.

So, with your big mouth and exceptional poker skills, you go hunting off the coast. It was an invite only poker tournament in Florida. You hadn’t managed to burn your ‘Marlene Green’ identify just yet and she was fucking crushing it up and down the east coast. You barely blinked at the ten grand buy-in– baby money, suckers ducks, little Tikes casino royale.

This was also the last one, you told yourself. One for all the marbles.

Because the thing about disreputable poker halls, they tend to be filled with unpleasant, disreputable, very angry characters that, like a chimpanzee, will rip your face off and eat it if they think they’ve been cheated.

Exit strategy. Mama always said you gotta have an exit strategy. Well, Mama said a lot of things and the actual literal exit strategy was Monterey Marina with a gorgeous trawler for sale. Older than shit, but damn that baby could purr. You were gonna take the money, offer up stone-cold cash (no questions asked), and sail off into the sunset. Or, well, sunrise because you were definitely getting the fuck out of Florida.

But here it comes, the real kick in the goddamn teeth, the real screw in the rack. This is where your mouth and your talent– gift, power, is this a fucking superhero movie?– whatever– tended to get all mishmashed with one other thing that always– and you mean always– got you in the hot seat. Got you in Trouble, with a capital T, that rhymes with P and stands for pool hall – breathing down your neck.

You alway had shitdumb, bad, fucking luck.

So it’s not some lowtime, grumpy townies you piss off when you win the pot, it turns out its members of a goddamn drug cartel! And they are PISSED.

P-I-S-S-E-D

You don’t wanna ask the barrel of their guns if they’re going to kill you because you don’t actually want to be sure of their answer, so you’ve got your hands up, thinking this is definitely it– I’ve played my last hand, I’ve sunk my last boat, I’ve cursed my last fuck– when police sirens go off. It’s not a relief, but a distraction.

You’ve got a big mouth, wacky abilities, and reflexes like someone who’s been running their whole life. You smash a bottle against the back of the head of the blonde one closest to you, flip the table– chips and bullets go flying– and with the case holding the winnings still in your hands, you sprint out the back door.

To your lovely Chevy Camaro waiting for you.

And you drive.

“And I drive and I drive and I drive, all the way down to this lovely little diner in . . .”

You swivel on the red seat, nearly knocking over the five little plastic bottles of Crown Royal on the counter that is making your head thick and puffy. You squint at the sign that boasts the best burgers in – “Texas, yes, thank you, Texas! Lone Star State. The most hated state, of all fifty of them, for Wile E Coyote. His nemesis. His haunting. His apocalypse now . . .”

The man seated next to you, the same man who’s been there for an hour, quietly listening to you drunkenly ramble at the counter of Jim Bo’s Burger Barn, smirks. His mustache twitches.

“Why is it the Wile E Coyote’s least favorite state?”

Your mouth drops at him. You slouch as though indignant about his very question. “Roadrunner, duh, state bird of the Lone Star State. That and blue bonnets. I mean, the flower. Blue bonnets are the state bird and the road runner is the state flower of the Looney Star State . . . wait . . .”

He laughs, softly, his elbows under him as he leans forward on the counter, his brown jacket looking like it smells amazing. Drunker than you meant to be, you eye him from his classic cowboy boots, up his hips, and to the edges of that lovely brown jacket as it hangs around his waist. He has the prettiest eyes.

“You were saying something about driving here?” He asks, very much aware of your shameless staring. “Do you still have that money?”

“Sure, sure,” you mutter and turn back to your chocolate milkshake that’s pretty much just chocolate soup at this point. You snatch up a remaining fry from your long gone burger and swirl it in the soup. “Got the keys and the money locked up tight. I worry more about someone fucking with my baby more than the money, you know. Lots of sentimental value in that car. ‘Is where I lost my virginity.”

At that, the man sputters on his coffee, his third of the night. Black, almost as dark as his hair.

You sigh, frowning into your lumpy, ice-creamy soup. “So hard to get laid when you’re running for your life.”

You swivel back to him as he’s patting his jacket dry of coffee. “Wait. You.”

“Me what?” You think his cheeks warm pink for a moment.

“What the hell are you doing out here at 3AM, listening to me babble endlessly? You don’t look shifty, but maybe you are.”

He smirks again and tosses his napkins into the now empty coffee mug.

“I’m Javi,” he says in a deep, soothing voice as he extends his hand across to you. You take it, with the proper amount of trepidation. “And I’m on my way to see my niece in Flagstaff.”

You click your tongue and withdraw your hand, disappointed. “Bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

“I mean, your name is definitely Javi.” You pick up your own coffee mug and see that it’s unfortunately empty. You pick out some fleck that’s fallen into it. “Well, almost – is that short for something? – but you are definitely not on your way to see your niece in Flagstaff. Does she not live in Flagstaff or . . . do you not even have a niece?” You gasp, mouth agape. He has the decency to look uneasy. His eyes narrow at you. You scoff. “That is fucked up, hombre. Starting off a conversation with a lie is not a good way to make a friend.”

“Why do you think I’m lying?”

You roll your eyes, the coffee cup dangling loosely in your fingers. “We’ve been over this, my dude. See the court documents. Jeez, how hard is it to order a refill at three in the morning? Paragraph B, Subsection I’m really fucking good at poker. I don’t think, I know. I have this thing, always had, and when people lie to me, I . . . wriggle. Squirm. Not exactly ‘spoiled lunch meat’ but not ‘just clocked a hottie from across the bar and I like their vibes’ either.”

He watches as the waitress, glaring, comes over and refills your mug. You immediately dive into five packets of sugar, shredding them like a racoon with a bag of popcorn.

“But I don’t take it too personally,” you continue, flicking the sugar packet to make sure every single crystal falls into the cup. “People lie all the time. About stupid shit too. I don’t think they even mean to do it. It just happens.”

“Does it bother you? That people lie?”

“Eh. Once upon a time. But fuck, if you could hear the bullshit firehose that comes outta people’s mouths on the daily, you’d stop shaking it off too, if you know what I mean.” Satisfied that you’d be able to see through both time and space with your sugar high, you take a sip. Needs milk. You reach across his plate, wobbling on the edge of the seat, his chest inches from your forearm, and snag the little tin milk pitcher. Your cup becomes more milk than coffee. “People lie for the best of reasons, mostly. Or at least, best for them. Either to save hurting someone else's feelings or their own. We humans don’t like pain, generally, as a rule. But rules are meant to be broken, I suppose.”

Javi, or as close to his real name as you’re going to get, is quiet. That tends to be more of his natural state, given that he had barely said two words while you recounted the past few weeks to him whether he wanted it or not. You sip your coffee again, delighted to have found the right balance of sugar, milk, and burnt coffee, when he taps the rim of his mug with his nail.

“I do have a niece, but she lives in Austin. Haven’t seen her in a while, actually, but I want to.”

“Oh, yeah?” That was all true. You bend forward, eyes trying to watch him as you sip the delicate, hovering brown line that threatens to spill over the edge of the cup. “What’s stopping you from seeing her?”

“Work.”

Well, that was fucking ominous.

“Wait. Fuck. What do you do for a living?”

Javi slides off the seat and turns those slim hips towards you and, like a fucking idiot, you just now register the bulk at his waist.

You whimper. Of course the one nice person who wanted to spare you a second glance was from the cartel. They found you. Somehow they tracked you down to the middle of nowhere, which was exactly what you wanted when you still had your life ahead of you. But now it seemed like a terrible fucking idea because there was no one around to at least make sure Baby Girl Camaro went to a good home.

“Ah, fuck. Fuck! That’s a gun. Fuck, you’re gonna kill me right here in this goddamn diner,” you whine and put your head on the counter, hands covering the back as if you were preparing for a tornado.

He sighs. “I’m not going to kill you.”

Truth.

“Then what do you want with me?” You glare at him, bleary-eyed. “Because the whole cover as a kindly stranger with baby cow eyes is officially fucking blown, my guy.”

“Let’s go outside and – wait, what? Baby cow eyes? What the hell does that mean?”

“What? You’ve never watched Dr. Pole? TV veterinarian?” You unwind from your prone position and frown at him. “He takes care of those little baby cows, lookin’ up at their mama with those big, sweet, gentle, loving brown eyes. Cutest thing in the world. Almost made me wanna give up beef for a whole two minutes. But seriously, dude, there’s this hamburger joint in Miami that makes you just wanna lick the juices right off your fingers– hey!”

He grabs you by the upper arms and, as casually as a kidnapping can go, hauls you out of the diner. The bell above the door rings joyfully as he pulls you through.

The reality of your situation hits you like a sixteen-wheeler truck and tears spring up in your eyes as panic bites into your spine. His grip is like iron around your bicep.

“Dude, I’m so sorry I rambled on like that but I swear I didn’t know who you were. Please, please don’t kill me – o-o-or hurt me. Please don’t take me back to the cartel. You can have the money, I swear, j-j-just take it–,”

His eyes widen and immediately lets you go. The neon sign and lights of the diner behind him blur his face in shadow. You wipe at your eyes.

“Lady, look, if you’re gonna survive on the run from the Cali Cartel, you can’t be telling your whole life story to anyone who asks.” He’s got his hands on his hips as if disappointed with you. You pout with your bottom lip out.

“Wasn’t telling just anyone. Was telling you.” You cross your arms and sniff, suddenly rather embarrassed to be crying in front of a man so genuinely hot it makes you go a little cross-eyed. Well, it was either him or the whiskey. TBD. “Not that I’m encouraging you or anything, but if you don’t kill me, aren’t your cartel bosses gonna be pissed?”

“I don’t work for the cartel. I work for the DEA.”

If crying was embarrassing, you are going to be fucking traumatized if you puked all over his cowboy boots.

“Aw shit. Shitshitshitshitshit.” You press your knuckles into your eyes, groaning. You wander backwards. Your head starts to spin and so do you. “The fucking government is after me? Holy shit, this is not good.”

“You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”

You frown and spin back around. He looks exasperated.

“Well, how many words does it take to read me my Miranda rights?” You tick off the words on your fingers as you speak them aloud. “You. Have. The. Right. To. Remain. Silent. Anything – is that one word or two? – You. Say–,”

“Jesus Christ–,” He claps his wide hand over yours, squishing your tally between his palms. “Are you always like this or just because you’re drunk?”

“I’m a delight, pal, okay?” You scowl up at him. “I am a barrel full of monkeys at all times. I am a waterslide with chocolate and whipped cream, okay? I am a–,”

His hands leap to your shoulders. His touch is gentle like he knows he shouldn’t scare you but he’s considering throwing you into oncoming traffic.

“Just . . . show me the case of money you stole,” he begs with his baby cow eyes, “alright? Let’s start there.”

Your eyes narrow at him. “If I do, what’s to keep you from knocking me out and throwing me in the trunk?”

“I’m not going to do that.”

No tingle. You purse your lips and wiggle out from under his palms. “Say it. Say, I’m not going to knock you out and throw you in the trunk and steal all of your money.”

“It’s not exactly your money, is it?”

“Say it!”

“Fine!” He says, throwing his hands in the air. “I’m not going to knock you out and throw you in the trunk and steal all of your money.”

Still nothing. No tingle. Well, no tingle about him lying anyway.

“You passed the test. Now come here.”

Hesitantly, he nudges towards you, those thick eyebrows dipping down as if expecting you to pull a bazooka out of your bra.

“C’mere, c’mere. Good.” You clap a hand on his shoulder and lean into him. You shift your weight onto one leg and wiggle off your other boot. You get a whiff of his cologne – dark, woodsy, a little too much, as if to cover for a lack of deodorant. “Now, as you so annoyingly identified earlier, I have had a little, insy-tintsy bit to drink, and if I tried to take off my shoe by myself, I would, as the kids say, eat shit. And once you’ve fallen on your ass in front of one cop, you’ve fallen on your ass in front of them all.”

His warm hands find your waist, steadying you, just as you pop your heel out of your boot. “I’m not a cop,” he grumbles.

“And I’m not a walking lie detector.” You shake your boot and your car keys tinkle as they hit the dirt. “Ah, ha! Got ‘em.”

You shake them in front of his baby cow eyes, grinning, before spinning back to your car and popping the trunk, hopping as you went to slide your boot back on.

“Do you work out?” You ask as he rounds the edge. Half of you is buried in the trunk, feet in the air.

“Uh, yeah, when I can. Why?”

“What do you bench?”

“256. Why?”

“Oh, then this should be easy for you.”

You groan, struggling with something and he dives to help you – and his knees buckle.

“Why the hell do you have a tire for a sixteen wheeler in your trunk?”

“Same reason you’re sweating, toots. Heavy as fuck and hard to move. But now that we have . . .”

You pull out a slim silver case. You pop the handles and sigh.

You haven’t moved a single bill since that night. You haven’t even breathed on it, as if doing so would set off a series of alarms, bells, and whistles.

“So small for so much trouble,” you whisper as he crowds in next to you. “Fifty thousand dollars. Make or break a life. Well, at least, a life like mine.”

Javi makes a face. “Should be one hundred, but those fuckers switched it out.”

“Wait, how do you know that?”

He sighs and slams the lid of the trunk shut. You snatch up the case before he does and hold it tight to your chest. Javi stands there for a moment, with his hand on Baby’s trunk, head down, thinking.

“Look, I want to help you . . . and I can. But you’ve gotta start being honest with me. How did you really get into that poker game?”

“What do you mean?”

He crosses his arms, frowning. “That little party trick you do. The human lie detector thing. What is it? How did you know Veracruz had that shit hand?”

“Uh, because I asked him and he said he didn’t have a shit hand, and I knew he was lying.”

“Yeah, that. How did you know he was lying?”

“I just did.”

“Bullshit.”

“That’s my line!” You glare up at him, very much aware of his height and very much aware how hot he is. “I’m not lying to you. I just know when people are lying. If you believe it, I’ll know.”

Javi rolls his eyes. “That’s not a real thing people can do. Have you done forensic work before? Studied body language somewhere?”

You scoff and step back, showing off your black fringe vest, dirty jeans, and combat boots. “Do I look like I’ve studied anything anywhere ever? Where would I even have gotten the money to go study somewhere? Oh right, the forensic fairy, just beating the shit outta people with a bag of cash.”

He puts his hands on his hips and you match him because you can do the scary cop thing too. It’s not that hard.

“I broke my arm when I was seven on a bike ride.”

“True.”

“I had a dog named Benji.”

“Dog’s right, but not named Benji.” You grin, rubbing your hands together, then putting them on your thighs. “C’mon, gimme something you’ve never told anyone. This is exciting. Your mustache does this little twitch thing when I’m right.”

“When I was twelve, I cheated off my friend’s math test.”

You frown, dropping your shoulders. “That’s your big secret? Whoof, buddy, and here I thought the big scary man gunning for me was mean and lean, when he’s actually just an All-American—,”

“I need your help to arrest the men who are trying to kill you.”

Your mouth snaps shut so fast your teeth click.

“That’s what all of this is about.” He crosses his arms and leans against Baby. “Aren’t you curious how I found you so fast? Faster than the cartel who's been on your ass for two weeks now?”

“I’d like to think it was just kismet that we found each other,” you grumble. “Serendipity. Movie magic. Lady Luck doing me a fuckin’ solid for once.”

“That case has a tracker in it. We had a plant in that game who was supposed to win, but not before he could distribute the cash out in the pot. We’d be able to follow them back to their stashes and track their movements.” He bit his lip, disapprovingly. “And then you showed up. Cleaned their fucking clocks like it was nothing. Had their goddamn numbers from minute one and none of us could figure it out. Steve was probably relieved when you knocked him out with that bottle.”

“Oh, shit, the blonde was your partner?” You grimace. “My bad, dude, my bad. Is he, uh, okay?”

Javi nods, eyes distant, as if subtly trying to work something out in his brain. Like testing to see if you could read minds or something. “He’ll be fine. His wife Connie is thrilled to have him home for a few weeks.”

“Ah. And that means you pulled the shit straw to go after the girl who ran off with all your government money . . .” It was finally all coming together. “Shit, should I add your wife to the list of people I’ve pissed off? I can’t imagine she’s thrilled about any of this.”

His jaw works, as if he was chewing on something, eyes dark, before he pulls a packet of cigarettes out of the pocket of his jacket. He holds one out to you.

You stay where you are, hesitant.

“C’mon, don’t tell me you’re not a smoker.” He spins an unlit cigarette between his fingers. “I don’t bite.”

You scowl and trudge forward. You snatch the cigarette from his thick fingers and wait your turn for the lighter.

“What gave it away? I haven’t had a smoke in hours.”

The shadow of the flame flickered in his palm as he held out the lighter close to your lips, his hand blocking the wind. His brown eyes looked black in the absence of light.

“Chain-smoking and playing poker with idiots is a combo deal. Two vices for the price of one.”

“Ha. Ha.”

You match his lean against Baby’s trunk, the pair of you watching the occasional car or truck go by on the interstate in the distance. The paper crinkles when you suck in the smoke. God, there really is nothing like the first bite of a cigarette.

“So, what’s the play here?” You ask, after a moment. “You have the money. Why do you need me?”

“You won’t have to worry about kindly strangers with baby cow eyes for starters.” You scowl at him. Maybe it’s the orange light of the flame, but you swear you see a twinkle in his eyes. “But you tell me. You seem smart. What would the government want with you?”

He likes a chase, you realize. He likes to play, to tease. He likes to be in control. Something inside you knots up, threatening goosebumps on your skin, but you shake it back. Down, girl.

You take a sip from your cigarette, thinking.

There is nothing else around except the highway and this diner. Seemed like such a good idea at the time. Who’d ever find your ass all the way out here? You lick the bottom of your lip before pulling it between your teeth.

“I’m your only witness to the mountains of coke being produced out in the open when they brought us in. Everyone else at that table was cartel or DEA. You want me to testify.

He nods slowly. If he was impressed, he didn’t show it.

“We didn’t know who the hell you were when you showed up and planned to arrest you before everything went tits up.” He taps the ash onto the gray dirt and you watch his fingers. “If you do this, you’re out from under the cartel. We can give you a new identity, and you can start grifting again across America. All of this’ll be a bad dream.”

He flicks the butt of his cigarette into the dark, just at the edge of the light from the neon sign. You follow suit a second later. The keys to Baby are still in your pocket.

“And if I don’t? If I don’t do this, then what?”

His answer is a single arched eyebrow.

You dart to the left, trying to get around him, but he’s there first, arms outstretched like he’s guarding a goal. He frowns at you. Seriously?

You lunge again, this time to the right, and he’s again in front.

Your brow sweating, you hook your foot onto Baby’s trunk, desperately trying to scramble over the top. You get about halfway up before those annoyingly large hands snatch you around the waist and haul you off the car.

“Would you stop it?” He plops you down between his solid chest and the car door. This close to him, air temporarily leaves your lungs. “I’m being honest when I say I’m here to help you.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Am I lying?” Again, that beautiful eyebrow of disapproval.

“No, but I’ve officially decided you’re shifty.”

He shakes his head and steps back, allowing blood flow to return to your brain.

“Is this what you want for your life? Driving from small town to small town, picking up bullshit jobs, sleeping in shit beds, when there’s so much more you could do? You’re smart, resourceful, funny, weirdly agile . . . but you wanna spend your life hiding from the world.”

There’s something hot and sharp in your throat.

“It’s what I’m good at,” you croak.

His expression softens. The gravel crackles beneath his boots as he comes closer. Javi, the DEA officer, has temporarily left the building. In his place, this Javi is smoothed out, dulled, not all jagged edges and razor burns. Maybe tastes sweeter than day-old coffee and stale cigarettes. You want to tell him there’s nothing wrong with either– you happily take both– but seeing him unguarded, even for a moment, threatens to topple you over. There’s a light in his eyes when he takes in your face. Your eyes. Your nose. Your mouth.

He looks . . . hopeful.

One hesitant finger brushes away a stray strand of hair from your forehead.

Do not tremble. Do not tremble. Do not do it, I swear, ladies, keep it together!

“I bet you are,” he says softly. Jesus Christ, his hands are so big up close. “I bet you are good at a lot of things. You seem like the type who could genuinely surprise me. And I think you might surprise yourself one day.”

You grimace, deeply, deeply regretful.

“Yeah,” you mutter glumly. “I do surprise people a lot, actually. Unfortunately, you didn’t seem to be listening.”

“Wha–,”

From your other pocket in your vest, you yank out a one-time-use stun gun and stab his thigh through his jeans. Fifty-thousand volts lights up his entire body, arched, and tensed, before the grown man collapses at your feet.

Unconscious, Javi hits the ground so hard you squeal, landing on his face and no doubt earning a nasty bruise.

“Exit strategy, dude! Always gotta have an exit strategy. But I’m so, so sorry!” Grabbing his deadweight shoulder, you roll him onto his back and try to get him in a comfortable position. There’s dust in his mustache. .You fold his hands onto his chest like he was casually napping.

Then because you were in fact the nicest or stupidest person on the planet, you dig your arms under his and pull him out of the parking lot. It would be a true sin if he got run over and anything happened to that beautiful face. Huffing, you drop him off by the bike rack. “I’m sorry. You are so gorgeous but I gotta get outta here and I can’t have you following me. This hurts me way more than it hurts you.”

You bend down and rifle through his jacket. You find what you’re looking for and take his phone out of his pocket. Old, probably a burner. With a shake, you crack off the battery and throw it on the ground. The crunch is loud beneath your heel. That should give you some more time. Can’t haul you back to HeadQuarters if he can’t call them.

This close to him, you can see the bags beneath his eyes. You remember he didn’t eat the entire time he sat with you in the diner. He didn’t respond to your question about a wife. Guilt clangs into your ribs. Slowly, you loosely brush your fingers through his hair. It’s soft, curls around his neck and ears. He looks like he needs sleep.

You had been blasting across state lines, hardly eating, barely sleeping, restless and fearful. Maybe he had been too.

“God, I am such a fucking idiot.” You grimace as you see a ripe purple bump growing on his cheek. “I am so sorry and I am so going to hell for this.”

Over the road to the highway, the dawn rises, purple and pink and heavy.

Baby purrs, when you start the engine, welcoming and warm. Where to today, Mama?

Jim Croce’s twang eases out of the radio as you adjust your mirror and see his long legs still out by the concrete. Somebody would find him soon enough.

Uptown got its hustlers

The bowery got it's bums

42nd street got big Jim Walker

He's a pool shootin' son of a gun

Yeah, he big and dumb as a man can come

But he stronger than a country hoss

You shake your head, guilt gnawing at your gut. Baby roars as you pull out onto the road and up onto the highway. Into the burning dawn.

What was it that he said?

And when the bad folks all get together at night

You know they all call big Jim boss, just because

He called you funny. Resourceful. Full of potential. And smart. He thought you were smart.

Liar, liar.

And they say

You don't tug on superman's cape

You don't spit into the wind

You don't pull the mask off that old lone ranger

And you don't mess around with Jim

#trying to get back into the flow of writing frequently if not just for one fic #javier peña #javier pena fic #javier pena one shot #javier pena x y/n #javier peña x y/n #javier peña x reader #javier peña x ofc #narcos #narcos netflix #also gonna tag this as #poker face #because more people need to see that damn show #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters

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lenalooom · 4 months

Text

Monster Among Men - d.w.

Summary: Dean finally realized that this life was never meant for him. So he took the final step.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: Angst

Word Count: around 1700

~~~

A drop of whiskey slowly rolled down his chin. He didn't seem to mind that much as his eyes stayed fixated on the wall. Lazily he lifted his arm to wipe away the alcoholic beverage with his sleeve. Even when the door opened, he didn't care enough to direct his attention elsewhere.

"Dean? ", a voice softly called. He didn't answer. "I'm back."

The person still in the door frame dared to take a step into the room. The caution in her movements made her wonder. This was her room as well, so why would she hesitate now? The answer to that question was just taking another sip out of the bottle filled with the amber liquid.

The only thing in the room was the sound of Dean swallowing more of his drink. The sickening scent of alcohol filled the room but this didn't stop the woman from entering further.

For a moment no one dared to speak a word. She took off her jacket only to throw it towards the chair before sitting down beside him on the bed. The mattress screeched loudly under both their weight.

She didn't know what was worse. The fact that she didn't know what to say to him, again, or that he hadn't been talking to her either, again. Truth is, she was scared. It wasn't that she didn't notice something was going on. She just chose to ignore it. Dean had always been having periods in which he distanced himself and shut out everyone and everything. He was never the type to talk about his feelings which she learned to accept.

However, he was acting differently this time. Usually Dean would just be quite but now he was eerily silent. It kind of scared her because she didn't know how to act around him. She was used to deal with her boyfriend's angry outbursts when things went downhill, but him not talking to her at all? She wasn't familiar with this behavior of his.

Surprisingly it was Dean who broke the silence. "You know", he cleared his throat. His raspy voice echoed off the walls. "The way I was raised, it was always 'bout killing monsters."

While lowering his gaze he put down the half empty liquor bottle. Sighing he closed his eyes before he continued. "I was fine with that. At least for a long time. Ganking monsters is something I'm good at.”

A small frown formed on his face, contemplating on how to carry on. But before he could even sort his thoughts, the woman beside him spoke up. "Dean, why are you telling me this?" Her gaze found Dean's who still didn't meet her eyes.

"Are you even sober?” His back straightens at this question. "I might have had a few shots", he began vaguely. "But that's not the point."

The pressure he had been putting himself under the last weeks finally showed on his tensed shoulders. He took in one last deep breath before he continued. "All these years, Dad taught me everything he knew and I never asked questions." Dean began biting his finger nails which he rarely did. "I-“, he hesitated.

For a moment, he wanted to get out of the room to take a deep breath but instead he ran his hands through his hair. "But I never asked how monsters actually become evil. And believe me I-I thought about that a lot." With his head in his hands he spoke the next sentence which nearly broke his girlfriends heart.

"You know, if you're treated like a monster for long enough, you become one. And I think the same thing happened to me."

Silence filled the room. Dean didn't know if he even wanted an answer. For him, this conversation was long due but he dreaded it nonetheless. The last thing he ever wanted was to hurt the people he loved. However in his mind, there was no other possibility to protect her than this. Minuets passed and neither of them made a sound until - "I know where this is going." A short pause. "And I don't like it."

The older Winchester brother didn't have enough confidence to look into his girlfriends eyes. It was ridiculous, he'd thought. He was dealing with terrifying beings on a daily basis and now he was scared to bits by a mere conversation. In contrast to the man on the bed, she stared at him with an intensity in her gaze that Dean knew if he had looked, he would have started to cry which he frankly almost never did.

"Dean", she tried to get through his stubborn mind. "You know, you're not a monster, right? Because you are not, you understand?“ Telling Dean this was like talking to a brick wall. When he had something made up, he was not so easily turned.

"Look", he sighed clearly distressed. "I-“

"No, listen t-"

"I've killed people, okay? I'm no good man!”, he nearly yelled. Frustated with himself he tried calming down. Why was she not realizing that he was not good for her?

In the long run, he’ll be the reason she’d be dead and he couldn't let that happen. He'd already lost too much, so there was no way he'd let her die a painful death like everybody he'd ever loved. She won't be part of the crossfire that's been following him his whole life. That was exactly the reason why they were having this conversation.

She's gonna be living a long, apple-pie life, and if that meant him letting go of her forever, he'd be fine with this decision. As long as she was happy and alive, he'd do anything. She might be sad for a while but eventually she'll find someone new who she's gonna have a life with. But that person won't be Dean. His life style was just too dangerous to have people dear to him around. She was his weakness and he knew that so he had to do something about that. And he took the final step.

"And even if I don't want this, lots of people die because of me, and not once was I able to do something about it.“

Finally he searched the eyes of the woman beside him. Dean's word got stuck in his throat as he had to remind himself what he was doing this for. It was though seeing her like this. Tears at the brim of her eyes but not yet rolling down her cheeks. For a moment he wondered if he could even do this while looking at her. But there was no choice, he wouldn't spend their last few moments together seeing anything different than the honey color of her eyes. He made his bed, so now he had to lay in it. He cleared his throat before beginning for hopefully the last time.

"What I'm trying to say is that I'm not good and especially not good enough for you. You deserve someone better, someone who can actually give you security."

An explosion of emotions happened inside her. She didn't know whether to stab the hunter with the knife on the bedside table or to just break down before him. Crying actually felt like the best option but still, she didn't dare to shed on single tear. She knew that if she'd started bawling her eyes out here and there that this would have meant giving up on them. Crying was for mourning a loss and that hasn't happened, right?

"I want you to know I-" - "Don't you dare tell me why you're doing this when there's no reason to hurt me.” Her entire body tensed and she thought she'd tear apart.

"Don't tell me how you're doing this for me when you didn't even once think about how I'd feel without you."

Dean lowered his gaze again. There was nothing he could do to make it easier for the both of them. Her feelings were all over the place right now but it hurt him just as much as it broke her heart as well. But in the end the two of them had to adapt eventually.

"You make this great decision to supposedly keep me safe, not realizing that the only time in my life when I actually felt safe was with you."

Ignoring her words made his skin crawl under his nails. However otherwise he would have folded under her sweet voice filled with anxiety. So he just stayed silent. She'll eventually understand, he told himself, even though he wasn't really sure about this.

"I'm sorry." And she believed him. Truth was, he indeed felt sorry. Not particularly about leaving - no - but about putting her in danger in the first place, about making her false hopes. He really thought he'd deserved this, at least this one time, but he hadn't been thinking straight. The luck he found wasn't meant for him. This kind of life was never meant for any Winchester. But still, he had this hope for it to work. It possibly couldn't.

"You know, it's okay to love. It's okay to accept love." Breathing in, Dean closed his eyes. This was pure torture for the hunter. With every word of protest it was like being in hell all over again.

"It's okay to love me, you deserve to be happy." With the next sentence her voice broke. "Please love me.”

His head shot up, searching for her eyes. His gaze followed the single tear running down her cheek. For a moment he was tempted to softly brush it away but this would have been selfish. It would have meant hiding her pain and he didn't deserve that. It was his fault she was hurting, so consequently he had to endure seeing her like this.

"That's the problem.", he muttered while getting up. That's it, he thought. The last goodbye.

Slowly he leaned down and took her face into his hands. His fingers lightly caressed the reddened skin under her eyes. His lips softly touched her forehead. Dean had closed his eyes and tried to savor this last touch. It seemed like time had stopped but when he distanced himself again it still felt too early. But then, how could it ever feel long enough when both of them didn't want it to end?

"I love you. Don't you ever forget that.” This were his last words before leaving the room which seemed to be a lot colder than before.

~~~

#supernatural #dean x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #light angst #angst #breakup #spn

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fairsexynasty · 11 months

Text

—DIFFICULT THINGS

jamie tartt x lasso!reader

ONE. TOWNIE

summary: lucy moves to richmond with a memory that doesn’t quite forget what her dad did to her. however, ted is as happy as a goldfish.

warnings: cursing, unlikeable female protagonist, father issues, abandonment issues, resentment

a/n: welcome to this very new series i WILL finish. my love for this show has overtaken my time and i am very excited to be writing this. this chapter is set during “two aces.”

——————

Leonard Cohen once said, “There’s a crack in everything; that’s how the light gets in.” But my world has been infused with the darkest of shadows. Everywhere I search is covered by a dark spot. It seeps into my life from my dreams, nightmares, and memories. I don’t think I was delivered by the hand of God, nor will I be expecting any blessing in the near future. It’s the hope that kills you.

I had that epiphany when I turned seven. No one had ever seen a child so jaded, so self-aware. When I learned that the father I wished for wasn’t that interested in fully being in my life, I accepted it entirely, for what it was worth. He’s popped in and out, coming in as quickly as he leaves, only sticking around for moments he deemed essential to me.

And the worse part is that he’s a good man—a good man with a daughter who felt evil.

I used to wish something terrible would happen to me. A broken collarbone. A car accident. Cancer. If something like that happened to me, I thought he’d return and stay for good.

But those things never happened. I’ve never broken any bones. I’ve never crashed my car into a tree. I’m perfectly healthy. And after all this time, Dad has moved on.

I have a half-brother. Thirteen or fourteen years my junior, it’s disgusting how I’m not too sure about the gap. I’ve never met him, nor do I want to meet him. I envy a child who cannot understand the weight of the word ‘father’ because he’ll always take it for granted.

When I crawl through my memories, I can see Dad crystal clear. He showed up to every one of my birthdays until age sixteen. That’s probably because my brother was old enough to ask and understand why Dad was leaving him. Dad came to my first dance, a father-daughter dance. It was one of the nights I honestly felt pretty. He and I danced the night away, stuffing our faces with candy and desserts and drinking our weight’s worth of soda pop. Dad taught me how to ride a bike. Although it ended with scraping my knees, he helped me up, cleaned my knees, and kissed each one. Dad drove me to my first day of high school. The morning went by quickly, but I can still remember the smile on his face as I waved goodbye to him and walked through the school doors.

I want to be thankful for what I’ve gotten from my dad. But he could have done so much more. Am I not worth the effort?

And it hurts to hate my mother as much as I do.

She could clean up her act for Dad, but once he was on his way home, she’d finally ease into consciousness. We would fight. She’d accuse me of not appreciating her. She’d belittle me and never congratulated me on my accomplishments. She’s manipulative. Controlling. Narcissistic. Evil. I know I’m no good, either. But women like that love confrontation. And she got the best of me every single time.

But I’m a grown woman now. I’m twenty. I have a life. A freedom I’ve never known. I’m trying to be honest, to prove I am everything Mom never thought I’d be. I’m trying to make Dad proud of me. Because everyone else is sure as hell proud of him, he’s Ted Lasso: a simple man with a simple plan who was pulled to spread his kindness in Richmond, England, by coaching their god-awful team. I watched the news with a frown as soon as they announced his new endeavor. If he got a new beginning, why can’t I?

And that’s why I decided to pack up my things and move to England.

I’ve been here before. My mother and I moved around due to her line of work. Whether it was Shanghai, Princeton, Kuala Lumpur, or Rome, I could never call those places home. I feel like Richmond is going to be different. I’m not hopeful. Just curious.

——

The park seems comforting. There appears to be a rhythm that compliments the people. Kids playing soccer, and shops opening for the day.

I sit and watch the world awaken. People pass me by as I sit on the bench, not one of them stopping their routine for me, except one.

lHis greetings were met with responses of “Wanker,” a word I found oddly endearing. He continued down the park trail, saying ‘good morning’ to me mindlessly.

I replied with a deadpan “Wanker,” which surprised him, given my American accent. He turned back, his eyes lighting up in recognition.

“Oh, my lordy-lord,” he muttered, smiling as he said my name, “Lucy.” He looks at me as if I’m a fucking unicorn. His eyes soften, and the smile that always reaches his eyes is suddenly on his face. “ Lucy !” he breathes out as if he’s too scared to say it louder like I’ll run away and leave.

“Hi, Dad.” He pulls me from my seat on the bench and envelops me into the biggest bear hug I’ve ever gotten from him. And those hugs are grizzly and unrelenting.

He lifts me off my feet and holds my head to his shoulder. “Oh, how I love you, Lucy girl. I can’t believe it!”

I groan, feeling slightly embarrassed. "Dad, please put me down. I'm not as tiny as Henry is," I say with a laugh. He puts me down with a smile, but there’s a flash of a solemn look on his face. I guess my mention of Henry has filled him with some semblance of guilt. I can’t tell if that satisfies me or not. "I think you're wondering why I'm here," I say, the false smile still on my face. "And the only reason is because I wanted to see you, Dad. I missed you," I add, trying to perfect the role of the doting daughter, even though it doesn't come naturally.

“Oh, I missed you too, Pumpkin. I’m glad you’re here.” He spots my luggage standing against the bench. “Looks like you’re gonna be visiting for a while, huh?”

I nod slowly, my gaze briefly shifting away. "Yeah, I am. Needed a change of scenery for a while," I admit, hoping he won't probe further into my true reasons for being here.

Dad nods, but I spot him scanning my face for any information I won’t outwardly tell him. Perhaps it’s a parently instinct, or maybe it’s just a Ted Lasso thing. The smile on my face doesn’t falter.

“So, how’s your mom?”

The question hangs in the air, and I can sense the curiosity in his eyes. I clench my jaw and roll my eyes in annoyance. "I really don't want to talk about her right now," I say firmly, hoping to steer the conversation away from a topic I'd rather avoid.

Dad gives me one of those fatherly smiles, understanding my need for privacy but also indicating he'll inquire about it later. "Alright then. How about we get you settled into my place? Don't care if you've found one already. I got you here with me, and you're not going anywhere, missy. I hope that's alright with you," he adds, his face hopeful as he waits for my response.

I acquiesce to his requests. It’s the least I can do. “Sure, Dad. I’d love to.”

He cheers with a fist pump, then wrangles me into yet another bear hug before I tell him he’s crushing my ribs, and he dramatically lets me go with a pout on his face.

I follow him down the streets to his apartment door. We enter, and it’s pretty lovely, yet it feels so hollow. There’s an opened jar of peanut butter on the island. I can tell he radiates joy as we unpack my things into an extra bedroom. I wonder how lonely he’s been without his son and wife.

Yeah. This is the least I can do.

——

After unpacking and settling in, Dad practically begs me to come to Nelson Road with him, and since I’m already feeling a bit guilty, I come along with him.

Upon entering, some guy with a full beard and eyebrows that make him look perpetually constipated looks at me. Well, it’s more of a glare. He walks up to Dad and me, not once taking his eyes off me. I narrow my eyes in response, shooting him a cold glare of my own. “Who the fuck is this? Don’t tell me Rebecca hired another fucking American.” His voice is deep and rumbling and full of snark.

"Seriously, do all British guys walk around with a stick up their ass?" I quip, but my remark falls on deaf ears. I catch the man clenching his jaw at my question. Ah, it seems he doesn't take kindly to being disrespected. One jab at his masculinity, and he's ready to go to war without a second thought.

"Roy Kent, meet my daughter, Lucille," Dad introduces, but I quickly interject, "Lucy to you." I emphasize my preference, not one to stand on formality. "Who the fuck are you, Roy Kent?" I ask, gauging his reaction as he looks between me and my dad, clearly trying to figure something out. I decide to clear the air, "Yeah, my mom isn't Michelle," I clarify, hoping to put any confusion to rest.

Roy's response is a simple "Oh," followed by a grunt as he exits the scene. My dad remains unfazed and carries on, guiding me towards the locker room with his arm casually draped around my shoulder.

"Coach Beard! We've got a new cast member!" Dad announces to the room as we walk out together, seemingly excited to introduce me to his colleagues.

A man with a book and a golf hat turns his chair around and observes us. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t the fussbudget,” he says. “Hello, Lucy. I’m Coach Beard. I’ve heard all about you.”

I can't help but snort at the situation. "That's impossible," I retort with a snarky tone. Coach Beard finds my reaction amusing, letting out a chuckle, while my dad gives a slight frown, but I know a few jabs won't easily rattle him.

Suddenly, a strong voice breaks the chatter, announcing, "Ayo, the gaffer's got another kid!" The rest of the men turn their attention to me, their eyes filled with wonder and intrigue. They excitedly chat, asking if they saw what they think they did.

Exiting the office, we step into the open room where my dad proudly introduces me to the team. "Fellas, I'd like to introduce you to my daughter. This is Lucy, everyone."

The players greet me with waves and hellos, except for one guy sitting on the bench, engrossed in his phone, occasionally laughing. I point him out, asking, "Who's that?"

"Jamie Tartt. Hey, Beard, what's the deal with Jamie?" my dad inquires, and seemingly out of nowhere, Jamie appears beside us without making a sound.

Beard responds, "Says he can't practice today. Says he's hurt."

I observe my dad's face dropping with disappointment as he turns to walk out the door and over to Jamie, concern etched across his features.

The whole situation was intense, and I couldn't recall ever seeing my father this angry before. It seemed like there had never been an opportunity for him to get this worked up until now. Watching him unleash his frustration on Jamie reminded me of my mom, who had her share of heated moments. While my dad appeared to be justified in his outburst, Jamie's disrespectful behavior only reinforced my 'British men suck shit' theory.

Feeling overwhelmed, a tingling sensation crept into my head, and my heart raced with the familiar signs of an impending panic attack. I needed to escape, so I swiftly turned on my heel and walked out of the office, trying to distract myself by fiddling with the rings on my fingers.

Wandering aimlessly down the halls, I searched for a private space to catch my breath and calm down. Passing a laughing man, a short guy carrying a laundry bag, and a stunning blonde woman who seemed out of place here, I stopped in my tracks when I heard my dad's name mentioned in a hushed conversation.

"Rebecca, I don't think Coach Lasso will be too thrilled about you trading Jamie away.”

“Higgins, listen to me. I don't care if Lasso is trying to get through to Jamie or if he begs him to come back. Jamie is not returning, and that's precisely what I need," she asserts before abruptly changing the subject, "Now, let me go hunt down my biscuits. They're late."

Realization hits me like a ton of bricks. Dad is being sabotaged. All this time, I believed he was here to make a positive impact on the team, but it turns out they see him as nothing more than a joke. Stepping away from the door, I attempt to make a quick exit, only to collide with a statuesque woman who towers over me.

She glances down at me, exuding power through her stature and fashion, but I'm not intimidated. "Why, hello there, whoever you are. Are you lost?" she inquires.

Ah, this must be Rebecca. The woman who plans to screw my father over. I can't help but roll my eyes at her. "No. Just looking for the bathroom," I retort.

Rebecca gestures towards the sign, displaying her passive-aggressiveness. "Well, it's just around the corner. Right where the 'bathroom' sign is," she points out.

"Cool," I respond nonchalantly, not letting her faze me. "Oh, and by the way, my name's Lucy. Thanks for hiring my dad to coach!"

I catch a flicker of terror in Rebecca's eyes before I walk away, grinning to myself. Drama seems to follow me wherever I go, even in Richmond. Old habits die hard, I suppose.

——

After my quick trip to the loo, I wander over to the dog track, where Dad and Beard stand, closely observing the team's training session. I can't help but chuckle at Jamie's predicament as he wears a penny and sets up cones.

Dad notices my arrival and playfully calls out, "Oh, there you are, Waldo! What were you doing?"

His attempts at humor fail to catch me off guard. While I understand his references, I refuse to engage in the corniness. "Nothing, just using the bathroom," I reply with a mischievous grin, not willing to spill the beans about Rebecca's scheming ways. "Oh, and I met Rebecca. She seems nice," I lie sarcastically, well aware of her conniving nature.

Before Dad can respond, a rather handsome player approaches us gracefully. "Hello there. Sorry, Coach Lasso, but I couldn't continue practice without introducing myself to our guest," he says with a charming smile. "My name is Sam Obisanya. It's a pleasure to meet you, Lucy. The other players and I were wondering if you'd care to join us on the field for a few minutes. We'd like to have some fun at Jamie's expense. Is that alright?"

I return Sam's smile and reply, "Uh, sure. But I haven't played in years, dude. Not sure I'll be any good among you professionals.”

Sam brushes off my concerns, reassuring me, "Oh, that's alright, Lucy. I'm sure Thierry will let you score a couple of goals. Come on!" With that, he guides me towards the field, announcing to the team, "She said yes, you guys!" Their enthusiastic cheers fill the air.

As we assemble for a quick game, a guy with a buzzed fade named Isaac addresses me, confirming my name, "Alright, Lucy, is it?" I nod, and he explains the teams, "We're gonna split into five and five, and you're gonna play with the lads who ain't got a kit on."

"Sounds good," I respond with enthusiasm. I turn to the guys without kits, and each extends a hand for a handshake. I go down the line, shaking hands with each one. There's a short man with curly hair, Bumbercatch, followed by a tall fellow with a broad smile, Jan Maas. Then, a highly energetic man named Dani Rojas greets me, not wasting any time to exclaim, "Football is life!" right in front of me. The last guy, a mousey brunette named Colin, completes the line-up.

Quickly getting into formation with my newfound teammates, they place me front and center for the play. I'm facing off with Sam, who gives me a friendly smile. At the sound of the whistle, we both dash for the ball, but I swiftly take control and dribble it down the field. Roy Kent charges towards me, determined to tackle the ball away, but I outmaneuver him with a quick juke, causing him to land on his ass. The guys react with astonishment, and suddenly, the game shifts from Sam's gentle start to full intensity.

Isaac rushes towards me, sporting a determined expression, but I pass the ball to Dani Rojas, who's open and ready. Dani drives it down the field, but as soon as he spots an opportunity, he passes it back to me. With precision, I shoot the ball into the goal, leaving the goalkeeper stunned as it whizzes past him.

The entire team stands in complete silence, including my dad and Coach Beard, who are both staring at me with their mouths agape. The momentary hush is broken by Jamie Tartt, who teasingly remarks, "Ay, wanker's kid just got you real good, lads." He winks at me, provoking a gag from me followed by a flip-off.

Isaac can't contain his excitement, exclaiming, "Shit, bruv! You just broke Roy Kent's ankles!"

Roy growls behind me, clearly not pleased with being outplayed. "You got fucking lucky, kid," he grumbles.

I don't back down, confidently replying, "Luck's got nothing to do with it. Either you're cursed or you just ate shit, Kent."

I have to admit, Richmond has exceeded my expectations thus far, but I won't let it get the best of me just yet.

#fairsexynasty #ted lasso x reader #jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt x ofc #ted lasso fanfiction

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