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cameronspecial · 5 months

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Her Protector And His Hubris

Pairing: Bodyguard!Drew Starkey x Reader

Warnings: Being Stalked, SMUT, Mother's Death, Mentions of Attempted School Shooting, and Getting Shot.

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 11.4K

Summary: Drew's job is to protect her, but he falls for the brilliance of his client and this turns into a whirlwind romance. What can go wrong?

A/N: Damn, this is so long. Also, this is inspired by the Twisted series by Ana Huang, specifically Twisted Games. I hope you enjoy it!

Masterlist

The sounds of glassware clinking and small talk fill Drew’s ears as he surveys the restaurant. The dim lighting makes him anxious because it impedes his ability to notice any threats. At least, it’s better than when she goes to those ridiculous house parties. Those were not only a safety risk, but irritating to the thirty-year-old man. Her laughter draws his eyes back to her. Ugh, she’s laughing at something he said. Drew doesn’t know what Y/N sees in Sean. This is her third date with him and Drew can easily see that they wouldn’t make it far in the relationship. Sean doesn’t give a tip when they go out to eat. Volunteering in any capacity would be beneath him. And she seemed oblivious to the way he would ogle at her breasts. Drew’s fist tightens as he observes Sean reach over and take Y/N’s hand. Sean brings it up to his lips, kissing up her wrist to her elbow. Drew wants to take Sean’s hands and crush his fingers for the way he touches Y/N. Sean’s touch is consensual with the girl, yet it isn’t welcomed by her bodyguard. Drew knows he shouldn’t be feeling this way about her as her protector. It’s not his place.

Drew is supposed to be a professional. He’s a bodyguard for heaven's sake; one wrong move and she could be in danger. But what is it about the way her eyes sparkle when she eats those incredibly expensive macarons? What is it about the way her hips move in a teasing manner as she walks ahead of him? What is it about the way her nails glide across the table that makes him wish they are scratching down his back? What is it about her that drives him crazy? Y/N Y/L/N has been his client for a year now and it hasn’t been easy. Not because there are constant threats against her, but because she makes him want to throw away any sense of duty to the job and ravage her. At first, he thought it was just his primal sexual needs that attracted him to her. However, over the year of getting to know her, he realizes he genuinely loves and admires her.

He began working for Magnus Y/L/N after one of Magnus’s competitors threatened the CEO’s daughter. Magnus didn’t waste any time in hiring Drew to protect Y/N. Drew thought that Y/N was going to be like all his other clients. Spoiled. Rude. Self-centred. Greedy. She was none, but one of those things. Being spoiled by her father her whole life engraving the trait into the twenty-three-year-old woman. She was spoiled in the sense she could get whatever she wanted, not in the sense that she would demand the riches of the world. He was pleasantly surprised to find she would always use please and thank you with everyone, even those far below her social class. She would volunteer to read to children at the library purely because she enjoyed the company of the kids. She would not hesitate to help her friends out with money for rent if they needed it. So far, Magnus’s rival has yet to act on his threat; nevertheless, Drew would be there to protect her if he does. It is not only his career; it is his life purpose because he has fallen in love with the young socialite he is tasked to protect. He would lay down his life for her.

The bubbles of jealousy in Drew’s stomach start to subside when he sees Y/N’s face fall at something Sean said. Irritation replaces her smile and Drew feels satisfied with this turn of events. He can see she just wants to get away from the man ahead of her and Drew wants nothing more but to take her back home. Y/N calls over the waiter asking for the bill. Drew knows she will pay for the cheque. She is all for taking turns with paying for dates. Sean never pays though and she is too nice to point it out. It’s not like Sean can’t afford it. He works at the most prestigious corporate law firm, which happens to be his father’s. Drew isn’t going to complain if it’s the reason why Y/N no longer wants to be around the man.

As the waiter approaches the table with the chequebook, Drew heads over to the table, ready to escort Y/N out of the restaurant. She pays for the bill, standing up with a glare at Sean. “I wish I could’ve seen what a pig you were before I went on two more dates with you,” she snarls at him. Drew helps her put her coat on and hovers his hands over her lower back to guide her toward the front door. Sean scoffs, “Whatever. You wouldn’t have been that good of a lay anyways.” Y/N doesn’t so much as look over her shoulder at the childish man. She refuses to let him get to her. Drew’s hand turns into a fist and he leans closer to her. “Do you want me to take care of him?” She shakes her head, “No, it’s fine. He doesn’t deserve any more of my brain space. He’s a pig.” The only thing that could stew Drew’s anger is the need to comfort Y/N. They walk towards her car and Drew holds the passenger’s side door open for her. She whispers a thank you as she slips into the seat. “Home?” he asks once he gets behind the wheel. She nods, letting her attention be drawn out the window. His lip tightens at her upset look, “I’m sorry he was a jerk. He doesn’t deserve you.” She keeps the silence going, only returning with a hum in thanks.

When they get back to Y/N’s penthouse, Drew opens the door for her and does a quick visual sweep of the living room to make sure nothing is amiss. He is satisfied with her safety and holds her hands as she takes off her heels. She walks to her bathroom to get rid of her makeup and change into more comfortable clothes, while Drew heads to the kitchen to take out the dulce de leche ice cream from the freezer. He finds her waiting on the couch in sweatpants, an old t-shirt and a claw clip in her hair. She holds out her hand for the ice cream and he hands it to her, joining her on the couch to view whatever show she chooses.

He isn’t surprised to hear the familiar jingle of Bob’s Burgers’ theme song. She has been re-watching the show recently on Disney+. This tradition has been a part of their daily schedule since she made him crack nine months ago. During the first three months of his employment, he would listen to her beg him to join her nightly unwindings. Drew refused, stating it was unprofessional of him to do so. He gave in after three months when he saw she had a hard day and she needed some comfort from someone. She had been late for work because the car wouldn’t start. Her lunch, which she had packed and was looking forward to, was dropped on the floor after an idiot bumped into her. And to top it off, she got into an argument with her father about a charity she wanted to support. Drew knew she needed someone in her corner, so he didn’t even wait for her to ask to sit down beside her on the couch with a pint of ice cream he knew she loved.

They spend the night in comfortable silence, laughing at the Belcher family’s hilarious hijinks. He can speak up and ask her what Sean had said, but he knows all she needs right now is something to get it off of her mind and Drew would give her that. He would do anything for her.

———

Drew hates it when Y/N goes to parties. They are loud, crowded and dark. It makes his job ten times harder. Add the fact that he has to deal with a drunk client and he dreads the times when she announces she is going out for a party. Y/N doesn’t normally get drunk. She rarely drinks more than two drinks at any event because she hates the creeping headache that happens even as she drinks her first one. However, tonight, Drew can see she just needs to let go of everything just for a night. He stays close behind her, towering over everyone in the party, which gives him an advantage in terms of her protection. His eyes are caught by a commotion in the room. It looks like a fight is breaking out in the other corner and Drew wants to get Y/N out of here before it can escalate to harm her. In the split second, he turns away from her, Y/N has managed to get up on the table behind him and is now dancing without her shirt on.

The party people’s cheers draw Drew’s attention back to his charge. His eyes widen at her drunk dance and he tries to ignore the aching strain in his pants. The swell of her breasts is on full display thanks to her lack of a shirt; her skin pressing against the lacey bra that she wearing. He looks around the room to see the arousal of the other men in the room and all he wants to do is punch every single person eyeing her. He needs to get her down from there; if not for her safety, then because he doesn’t want to get in trouble for causing a scene at the party. How is he going to get her down from there safely? “Y/N, Precious. Please, come down from there,” he pleads, holding his hand out for her to take so she can get down. He can hear the boos of the drunk boys around them. He shakes off his annoyance at them and looks back toward her. Her arms cross, “No, I like it up here.” She turns her back to him, continuing her dance for the crowd.

Drew sighs, knowing that was probably the answer he was going to get. If he pulls her down by the arm, he risks dislocating her shoulder or her falling and hitting her head. So he only has one choice. He hops up on the table and sweeps her off her feet. Now carrying her bridal style, Drew gets off of the table and walks toward the front door. The men in the room yell at him for stopping her show; he couldn't care less. He looks as she comes down from the excitement of the party and relaxes in his arms. His heart flutters when she lets out a soft breath, resting her head against his chest with her eyes falling closed. As he heads to the carl, Drew knows Y/N Y/L/N is going to spell out trouble for him.

———

It’s been one week since her drunk performance and everything has been calm in her life. Y/N remembered what had happened the next morning, instantly mortified by her behaviour and thankful Drew was there to stop her from causing even more of a commotion. The party was filled with children of the country’s richest and most powerful people, so she doubted she would be in any scandal tabloids, yet just the thought that she had behaved like that embarrassed her. Y/N knows she shouldn’t look at her bodyguard the way she does. He is there to protect her and he always maintains his work composure, but she can’t help it. He understands her like the back of his hand and can provide her comfort like no one else by doing little things. His contract stipulates he is supposed to cook her breakfast in the morning and he goes one step further by making her favourites. Her father wanted her to have sustenance in the morning because he knew she was one to skip the first meal of her day, so Drew could’ve just made her eggs or microwaved oatmeal, but he didn’t. The breakfast she receives is picture-perfect and tastes just as good.

She gets out of the car, thanking Drew for holding the door open for her. They head to the apartment building’s elevator and wait in silence as they reach her penthouse floor. The note taped to the door is Drew’s first indicator that something is amidst. His hand finds the gun at his side and this pulls Y/N away from her phone. “What’s wrong?” she questions, looking around the room for something she has missed. Her eyes spot the white paper standing out against the dark wood of the floor. He heads ahead of her, checking over his shoulder that there are no threats in the small hallway. No one should have access to this floor. It requires her fingerprint and keycard in the elevator to enter. All mail is vetted before passing on in her mail room and any building updates are left there as well. So there is no regular reason why the paper should be on there.

As their feet reach in front of the door, she is finally able to read the words scattered across it. I saw your little dance, last week, doll. You really should be more careful with showing people what is mine. A picture of the scene in question is printed below. She lets out a terrified gasp, covering her mouth with her hand.

Violated. She feels violated by what she has just read. She may have been okay with the idea of feeling shirtless in front of everyone at the party in her own intoxicated state, but having someone speak about her in that way feels is a violation. Couple that with the fact the speaker had the guts to put the thought on her door and it is an invasion of her privacy. The picture is the cherry on top of the unsettling cake. The person, who dared threaten her, must be someone in her inner circle. Why else would they be at the party? How else could they have gotten into her heavily guarded apartment building?

Drew can see the panic and fear in her eyes. He turns her away from the door, pulling out his phone to call for backup. She can hear him ordering the police to be called and his security company’s tech analysts come down to sweep the whole building. Her mind goes numb with what to do as more and more people arrive to assess the situation. She can only stand there and watch as everyone who comes tears her home apart, looking for anything out of place. When her bedroom needs to be searched, Drew takes the responsibility of looking through it with her cautious eye on him from the doorway. He makes sure to put everything back exactly how he finds it, taking especially care with the notebooks he knows are her journals. He finishes with her room and invites her to sit on her bed while they wait for the rest of the house to be checked. The all-clear is given around eight o’clock and everyone leaves the apartment in search of clues somewhere else, leaving behind a small army of extra security to guard her house. With a new active threat, Drew’s presence alone isn’t enough to keep her safe.

Until they know more about the situation, Drew thought it would be safer to remain in her apartment, where he knew every inch of the building and the security measures in place already. There have been no indications the person, who made the threat, had made it into the actual apartment. Not sure if her cook is the one putting her at risk, Drew takes dinner into his own hands. He isn’t much of a cook, but he finds pasta and a jar of sauce in the pantry. He gets to work, making a note to search up how to make some of her favourite dinner meals like he did when he first got the job and had to make her breakfast.

He finishes the meal and places it in front of Y/N, who sits waiting at the dining room table with a blank stare and her knees to her chest. He sits to her right and pushes the plate toward her to snap her out of her thoughts. “I know it’s scary to be here right now, but we’ve checked the whole house and there is no sign the intruder came into the house. It’s safe. I’m here and I promise I won’t let anyone or anything hurt you,” he whispers. The last part is mostly a silent vow to himself. Her eyes glance upward at him, “I’m not hungry.” The only thing she manages to get out. The unreasonable side of her is telling her the intruder had somehow touched her food. Drew sighs, “Precious, you have to eat something. You haven’t eaten anything since breakfast this morning. I let not eating lunch slide, but I really need you to eat dinner. Do you want me to make you something else?” The care in his voice causes her to pull the plate closer to her; she can feel his eyes on her as she brings the fork to her food and then her mouth. He gives her a smile before digging into his own food.

She follows him into the kitchen after dinner and watches him do the dishes. He doesn’t let her help out, so she leans against the counter. Once he is done with the chore, she heads to her bedroom and listens as his footsteps stay close to hers. She starts going through her nighttime routine, getting her pyjamas and heading to the master bathroom to change. She can feel his eyes on her the whole time and she is comforted by the fact that he is still taking care of her. He should probably leave her alone. They’ve checked the whole apartment. No one is there and his room is down the hall, so an invader would have to go past his room first without his notice to get to her and that is impossible. He doesn’t want to leave though; he wants to make sure she is okay.

The door to the bathroom creaks open and she walks out in light pink sweatpants and an old white t-shirt. He knows she is getting ready to go to sleep. He is about to leave the room when her voice calls out. “Can you stay please?” He turns back to her with knitted brows. She points to her bed, “Can you stay with me in my room?” “Y/N, I don’t think that’s wise,” he advises, leaning against her door frame. She steps closer to him, “Please, I’m scared to be alone. I don’t think I’ll get any sleep if I am.” This hits a nerve in him. Drew is always caring for her well-being. Telling her to eat. Reminding her to go to sleep. Little things like that. Drew lets out a loud breath, nodding his head. “Let me just go change my clothes and I’ll be back,” he notifies her. He leaves her room and she settles herself into her bed. For tonight, she has to stay in this house, but tomorrow, they’ll be able to get their barrings and maybe find somewhere else to stay. Her skin crawls at the idea someone thinks she is their property and they went through so much trouble to let her know.

He returns in a Western Carolina University t-shirt and gray sweatpants. The sweatpants may be a little baggy on him, yet it doesn’t leave anything to her imagination and she feels her thighs clench together. She shouldn’t be imagining how good it would feel to be stretched out by him. He’s her bodyguard. He must have a partner of some kind. A girlfriend. A boyfriend. A spouse. He’s too good-looking and sweet not to. She may have been living with him for a year now, but she knows nothing about him. He doesn’t really talk about his personal life. She’s only been able to pick up a few things about him over the year. His favourite book is East of Eden; she’s seen him read it about three times since he moved in. When he misses home, he goes to the grocery store to buy the ingredients for his mom’s chicken casserole. And now, she knows him or someone he knows went to Western Carolina University.

He sees her on the bed and his footsteps bring him near her. She swears it’s like there are rocks in his feet because his steps are heavy and slow. He hesitates as he pulls the sheets back and causes the bed to dip as he lies down. The covers are pulled against his chest when Y/N turns to him to place her head on his chest. He doesn’t say anything. They can both feel they need this physical contact to be soothed. He doesn’t want to admit it, but he is a little shaken up by the whole ordeal like Y/N. What would have happened if they had been home? What would have happened if they got home earlier and had run into the intruder? It doesn’t sit right in him as he listens to her breaths fall shallow and sleep comes over her. Drew is not lucky enough to fall into the same state as her. His insomnia and need to protect her will keep him up for most of the night.

———

Drew is surprised when he wakes up from a five-hour sleep. Normally, he sleeps no more than two hours a night and that is if he is lucky to get any sleep at all. Something about having her in his arms while he lies in bed must bring peace to his insomnia. He looks at her with a sleepy smile. His eyes fall on the clock and he should probably get up to make breakfast so they can get their day started. He needs to come up with a new protection plan and assess if she is still safe in her apartment. His limbs untangle from hers; he does his best to not wake her up as he gets out of bed. He’ll get hot while cooking, so he slips off his shirt and leaves it on his bed before going to the kitchen. He pulls the door closed but not completely, leaving a little sliver open for him to be able to come to check in on her.

She wakes to an empty bed and she wishes it isn’t. Panic fills her, thinking something has happened to Drew. The sounds of pans hitting each other fill her in on where he is. Her heart swells at the thought that he is still making her breakfast after last night’s scare. She is about to leave the warmth of her bed when her eyes fall on something on her bed. The gray shirt once on Drew’s chest now rests on her blankets. He was so gracious to her last night and took care of her. He didn’t have to stay with her the whole night; he could’ve sneaked out of her room as soon as she fell asleep, but he didn’t. Solely the thought of him brews something between her legs that needs to be fixed before she goes down to eat. She should have enough time while he is cooking.

Her hand reaches out for the shirt to bring it to her nose. The smell of his Versace cologne and the smoke from the cigarettes he sneaks fill her senses. He has been hiding that he smokes ever since he found out she isn’t a fan of the tobacco-filled sticks. She shouldn’t like the smell of the cigarettes, but she can’t help that it reminds her of him. The shirt falls to the side of her head; she uses her hands to pull down her pants and underwear, leaving her shirt on for some warmth. One hand goes up underneath her shirt and the other goes up to her mouth. She puts her fingers in her mouth before bringing it down to her weeping pussy. A wet finger plunges into her hole, causing her to cry out in pleasure. She had failed to see her bedroom door was not completely closed.

Drew stops his movement as soon as he hears her scream. He shuts the stove off, moving the pan off of the hot burner. He runs upstairs to her room. He stops just short of the doorframe when he hears her pants. It is obvious what she is doing by how breathy they are. It’s wrong to keep listening, but he hopes he can get a hint as to who she fantasizes about while she satisfies herself. It takes every bit of self-restraint he has not to pull his penis out of his pants and jerk himself off to the sweet sounds coming out of her mouth. “Drew.” His name falls off of her lips; this has to be a dream. There is no way the woman he loves, his client, is masturbating to the thought of him. He peeks his head through the door and suddenly his dick starts pressing against the fabric of his pants. While her hands are placed on her vagina and breast, her face is to the side, burying itself into a gray piece of fabric. He recognizes it as the shirt he left here before he went downstairs to make their breakfast. What he is about to do is inappropriate; nevertheless, he needs to be the one drawing those sounds from her.

“You made me think you were in danger, Precious. Instead, I find you touching what should be mine,” he snarls, taking a step into the room. The use of the word mine should cause turmoil in her stomach; however, she knows he isn’t using it in the same sense as the note. Drew uses mine to mean an exchange. Whereas, the note made her a possession of her writer and that doesn’t sit well with her. If Y/N gives Drew a piece of herself, then he will give her one right back. She would be an object to whoever wrote the note. He stalks closer to the bed, getting a better look at her soaked pussy. She feels the bed drop under the weight of his upper body; he stays kneeling at the foot of the bed. His hand wraps around her ankle and she yips as he pulls her closer to him.

He takes a chance to glimpse up at her face, which is staring down at him with want. She gives him a minuscule nod and tries pushing his head toward her aching heat. His neck resists her force, chuckling at her actions. “Aren’t you eager, Precious?” he teases, smothering his head between her legs. He laps at her folds like a man who hasn’t drank water in years. Her hands grip the sheets beneath her, creating waves in them. Drew’s eyes narrow at her hands and he brings them to his hair. Her nails graze his scalp as she throws her head back with a moan. He pauses for a second, wanting to appreciate the look of bliss on her face and the symphony coming out of her mouth. His mouth continues to work against her, making her feel incredible in ways no man has before. “Drew, please. Keep going,” she begs. Her fingers bring his head closer to her, clenching around his tongue. He pulls back with a smirk, “You like this, huh? Do you like being eaten out by your bodyguard?” Her head bobs, wrapping her legs around his head. She grinds her hip into his face.

His tongue darts into her vagina bringing her to her climax. “Hmmm. I love the sounds you are making for me, Precious. It’s my favourite sound in the world,” he mumbles, cleaning her up. He stands up and admires her body twisting to the side in contentment. She sits up, eyeing the way his pants aren’t hiding anything at all. She scoots to the edge of her bed and brings him in between her spread-opened legs. Her hands meet the skin of his bare chest. She points a finger against him, tracing down the middle line of his abs. She reaches his lower abdomen and slips her hand inside of his pants. “Now, it’s my turn to hear the pretty noises you can make,” she instructs in a sultry voice.

Her hands shove him back a little, so she has enough space to sink to her knees. She grips his dick with her hand, rubbing up and down. It drags out the most amazing groan out of him. She can the wetness pool in between her thighs again. He spots the way her legs come together and it makes him even harder. “Precious, this feels so good,” he pants out. She needs something to loosen the friction, which means she opens her mouth and brings his length into it. She sucks at the tip. Her tongue swirls around the head of his dick, tasting his precum. “You taste amazing,” she praises before shoving herself further down his cock. He hits the back of her throat and she stays there for a second until she needs to pull back for air. She lets the air into her lungs before taking him into her mouth. Her head moves on his shaft and she continues to repeat the routine for a few minutes. He starts to feel a tug at the pit of his stomach, causing him to twitch in her mouth. His hips start to move back to meet her in the middle and unleash the tightening in his belly. She eagerly swallows everything he gives her.

He pries her head off of him, gazing at the way a string of his cum connects his tip to her lips. “Get on the bed,” he orders. She climbs onto the bed and looks at him through her eyelashes. Her lustful stare hardens him again. She removes her shirt while he takes care of his pants. He dives into bed beside her and twists them both to their sides so her back is pressed against his chest. Mimicking the positions of her hands when he caught her, his fingers play with two of her buds. She can feel his hot breath on the back of her neck as he twirls her nipples to arouse her. He is satisfied by the dampness between her legs and grabs his dick instead to guide it into her pussy.

His thrust brings her hand to his bicep over her shoulder and she digs her nails into the skin. The slight pain it brings is worth it if it tells him how well he is doing to make her feel good. “You are clinging to my cock so beautifully. I think I might cum right now, but lucky for you, I have better stamina than that,” he groans, continuing the bring his hips against her ass. His hand on her breast goes to her hip to help keep her in place. He finds her G-spot, making her curl in on herself a little. His back follows her shift forward and his lips find her neck. She feels his teeth squeeze her skin between them, throwing her head back to give him more access. The grip on her hip is so strong that she is sure there will be a bruise later on. Eventually, she starts needing more out of his pace, so she propels backward to meet him. With both of them now working together, a knot starts to build in her lower abdomen. “Drew, I’m about to come,” she cries out, tensing her hand around his bicep. As her walls start to clutch around him, her face falls forward and he can no longer see her face. He focuses on aiding her in her climax.

The hold she has on his penis hinders his ability to drive forward, yet it doesn’t stop him from hitting the spot inside of her that helps uncoil the formed tangle. He works her through her high, yanking himself out once she is loose enough. She rotates onto her back and smiles at the sight of him. He shifts to be hovering over her on his elbows. His lips connect to hers, separating so they are barely touching, “That orgasm was for you, but do you think you can have another one? This one is for me. I want to see your face while I unravel you.” He places his stiff dick between her legs and looks at her for permission to continue. She feels a little sensitive, except she wants to give him another release like he just gave her. Her skull jerks up and down.

He grins down at her, kissing her as he enters her again. Her slick from her recent orgasm helps him do it with ease. She lets out a whimper because of her delicate state; head dropping to the pillow. In this second round, he is much slower, wanting to take his time with her. There is no guarantee he will ever get to be in this position again, no matter how much he prays to be. He brings her into her arms and buries his head into her neck, leaving prints along it with his mouth. The feeling of her wrapped around him tugs a moan out of him. It encourages him to persist, wanting to be in her vice once more. Another petit mort constructs within him. He desires to hold off a little longer; this must last longer. He can think of one way to be in this intimate moment forever. “I love you,” he rushes out. She looks away with disbelief in her eyes, “You don’t have to say that just because we are having sex.” He freezes, pulling back to see her eyes. His hand cups her cheek; his thumb ghosts her lips. “I’m not saying it because we are having sex. I’m saying it during sex,” he clarifies, searching to see if she understands. Her shoulder shrugs, “What’s the difference?”

“The difference is it means I truly mean the words. I’ve felt it for a long time. There was never a right time to say it,” he spells out. “I love how you ask the cook to buy me uncrustables and leave them in the freezer. I love how you always bring water to your drunk friends on a night out. I love how the universe gave you everything and you still give everyone all you have.” Her heart must’ve beaten out of her chest and jumped into his mouth to his chest because he had her heart entirely. “I love you too,” she confesses, the truth in her eyes. The joy he feels at her words combined with the gripping of her vagina brings him to an early climax. Thick ropes of semen come out of him as he presses forward with his hips again to ride it out.

She follows soon after, pressing his body against hers by wrapping a leg around his hip. Their heaves overcome the room, a reminder of the line they crossed and never want to reverse. He slips out of her, now soft after the exercise they just went through. His body collapses to her side, exhaustion taking over him. She nudges her skull upon his arm, letting him sling it around her shoulder. “Can you carry me to the bathroom, Drew? Please,” she inquiries. He looks down at her with a grin, “Of course, Precious.” His feet plant on the floor, rising to the side of the bed. She gazes at his naked glory ahead of her. He kisses her forehead and assists her in sitting up. Her arms and legs enclose around him, bringing them chest to chest. His hands support the bottom of her thighs as he walks to her adjoining bathroom. He flips the light on and opens the toilet lid to allow her to sit on it. Before removing her from the toilet, she hears water dripping from the shower head. Steam fills the room and he transports her to the shower. Since she doesn’t like baths, she went all with the design of her shower. A room-size stall. Waterfall showerhead. Side jets. A little alcove to sit on. The whole nine yards.

He sets her down on the seat, going to get the shampoo. He returns and starts working the soap into her hair. “Did you really mean it?” she mutters, barely louder than the water. His arms wrap around her shoulders, “Every single word.”

———

They didn’t have a label for what their relationship had blossomed into and they didn’t feel they needed one. She is his and he is hers; that’s what matters. It’s been a month since the stalker incident and there hasn’t been another. Y/N thought she would need a break every so often from seeing the man she loves every single second of the day, except it isn’t the case. It’s Drew’s monthly day off and she craves his company more than anything. He didn’t want to leave her side either, especially with the stalker at large, but it would’ve been suspicious if he had stayed. What they have between them is meant only for their knowledge. Throughout the day, they both found themselves peeking at the clock for a sense of how long until they could be together again. Y/N’s knees would bounce at her desk at work and Drew would wander the streets of New York City, buying anything that made him think of her. As he walks through the front door of her apartment, it’s a real struggle for him to hide his grin from James. James Notting works for the same security agency as Drew and replaces Drew on his days off. James spots his counterpart and his eyebrows connect. Drew is back earlier than normal.

“You can go now. I’m back on duty,” Drew informs, placing the shopping bags on the table. James shakes his head, “Are you sure? You still have two hours left.” “Yeah, I ran out of things to do,” he states.

“Cool. Thanks.”

“Where is she?”

“The kitchen.”

As if on queue, the sound of a pan dropping on the floor reverberates around the apartment. “I’m okay.” They hear her yell from the other room. Drew looks at James in confusion. They both know she can’t cook. “Don’t ask me. She’s been in the kitchen for about an hour and ordered me not to enter,” James explains, grabbing his stuff to leave. Drew locks the door after James exists and enters the kitchen to figure out what his precious is doing. “Precious, what are you up to?” he interrogates. Y/N jumps at the sound of his voice, hiding something behind her back. “What are you doing back home so early?” He chuckles and steps toward her, caging her against the counter and between his arms. Neither of them answers the other’s question. She grins up at him and kisses him quickly as a distraction. His tall stature makes her attempts futile. He glances over her shoulder to see slightly burnt roasted potatoes on a pan. The scent of herbed chicken hits his nose and he scans for the source, finding it on the counter beside them. “Are you trying to make dinner?” Her attention shies away from him, which he returns with a finger under her chin. He can feel the warmth growing on her cheeks.

“Yes, but it didn’t go as well as I thought it would. I thought it would be easier. You don’t have to eat it.”

“Non-sense. It looks delicious.”

Excitement blooms in her and she gets serving dishes out of the pantry. He helps her set the table in warm silence. Everything is in place and they seat themselves at the table. She happily serves him food, waiting for him to take a bite. The first thing he tastes as the potatoes make contact with his tongue is a bitter undertone that overpowers everything. He resists the urge to crumple his face like paper. Her eyes are trained on him, anticipating the review of her cooking. He can’t dim the hope in her eyes, so he has no choice but to lie. She put so much effort into this dinner for them. “This tastes wonderful, Precious. I didn’t know I was protecting such a good cook this whole time. You should help me make breakfast,” he applauds. “Here, let me serve you some so you can try.” He selects the unburnt potatoes and cuts her the chicken thigh before handing her back the plate. It’s not like the meal is horrible, the potatoes are just a little burnt and Drew wants to keep the secret to himself.

She thanks him in a whisper. She digs into her meal and he can see she is enjoying it. He lets out a small satisfied sigh and gets back to eating. Y/N is a slow eater, so it’s not a surprise Drew finishes eating first. His head rests on his chin and he resorts to gawking at her. She can feel his stare on her.

“Why are you staring at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like I’m the most beautiful girl in the world.”

“Because you are. And I would kill anyone who would dare to hurt you. Your heart belongs to me.”

“And yours belongs to me,” she repeats, leaning over to give him a kiss. She doesn’t have to worry about being safe. As long as Drew is around, she has nothing to worry about.

———

The weekend means they can spend all day in her apartment. Her work week was left behind for forty-eight heavenly hours of the two of them together. While cuddling on her couch with the TV on, he realized they hadn’t checked the mail since Friday, so he went down to get it. He listens to the whine of the metal door opening as he reaches in to take the mail out. He looks through the different envelopes and finds one with his name written across the front. The writing is vaguely familiar. His hand tears open the paper and pulls out the letter. You don’t deserve her. She is mine. Under the writing is a picture of his longing glances at her. It is clear to anyone the feelings held within him. He folds the paper and puts it into his pocket. He should probably send it to the lab for analysis, but it would bring suspicion to his relationship with Y/N. He doesn’t need anyone’s help. He could keep her safe by himself; nothing would happen to her with him by her side. Plus, this is more of a threat to him and he isn’t scared by some loser's threats.

He enters the apartment to find the couch now empty. He can hear the shower running and his mouth turns into a curve. She has been putting off showering while he is around because it always ends up with them having sex. He decides to give her a break and rests on the couch. Something on the coffee table piques his interest.

It’s a thick rectangle wrapped in purple paper and pulled together by a red ribbon. There is no note that he can see. He rips open the gift and finds a special edition of East of Eden. It’s a stunning hardcover copy with golden sprayed edges. He thumbs through the pages and lands on the title page. She had written on it. I hope you like this special edition of the book. It’s just a little gift to show my appreciation for everything you do for me. I love you so much. -Y/N <3. His heart is touched by her actions and tears form in his eyes. The distant sound of water hitting the shower tiles is replaced by her footsteps approaching her living room. Her hair is being held up by a green towel and a white one is wrapped around her breasts to cover her. “You’re back! And you found my gift. Do you like it?” she inquires, joining him on the couch again. He brings her onto his lap; his hand resting on her bare thigh. “I did find it and I love it. Thank you, Precious.” His lips kiss her neck and his hand makes his way to the front of her body. “After I’m done thanking you for the gift, I’m also going to have to punish you for taking a shower without me,” he growls against her skin, plunging into her now-drenched hole.

———

Drew sits across from her at the cocktail bar, enjoying the way she laughs at the stupid joke he made. It is inappropriate for him to be sitting with her in public. No one is around to object to it though. The patrons of the dive bar could care less about who the couple are to each other. This isn’t the type of establishment Y/N could often be found at, except she has a point to prove.

They had been trying to figure out what to eat for dinner when Drew made a teasing remark. “What should we get for dinner? We can order Fortunas, Petite Coquette, or… Why are you looking at me like that?” she grumbled. He shrugged, “Everything you eat is so fancy. Have you ever eaten food that you don’t eat with a fork and knife?” She gently slaps his biceps. “I eat sushi,” she argued. His brows raised, “You use chopsticks for those. Let me reword my questions. Do you ever use your hands to eat something?” “Yes! I use my hands to eat oysters,” she pointed out, continuing to scroll through their food options. “You are still proving my point, Precious,” he teased. Y/N got up from the dining room table and headed to her room. “Where are you going?” “I’m going to get ready. You should too. I’m going to prove you wrong,” she told him.

This is how they find themselves in a dive bar in Brooklyn. The waitress arrives with their food and places it in between them. They both thank her as she walks off. Drew studies the wings on the plate and his eyes fall on her again. “Are you really going to eat those with your hands?” She flicks her head up and down, reaching over to grab a wing. He delights in the way the sauce smears across her fingers. She bites into the meat, humming at the taste. “See, I’m using my fingers,” she demonstrates. Her stained hands are held up to his face. He takes it into his hold and licks a little bit of sauce off of it, “Hmm, you did. You picked a good sauce. I like it.” He picks up his own wing to devour. “How are your siblings?” she asks. He gives her a surprised look, “You remember I have siblings?” “Of course, it’s one of the only things I know about you. I just realized we know so little about each other,” she notes, wiping her hands with a napkin.

“My siblings are good. One of my sisters just had a baby girl. What else do you want to know?”

“Aww, I love babies. You’ll have to tell me more about the baby later. As for what else I want to know… hmmm… When we first had sex, you were wearing a Western North Carolina t-shirt. Did you go to school there?”

“I did. I double majored in English, and Screen and Television.”

“Really? I can see why you did English because you are always reading when we are home, but Screen and Television? If you majored in those, then why become a bodyguard?”

His shoulders shrug and his vision drops to the food. “Yes, screen and television. I’ve always wanted to be an actor, but once I graduated, I realized it wasn’t practical. So I enlisted right after I graduated and after six years in the service, I decided not to renew my contract. It got too much for me,” he recounts. She can see how his tone has mellowed out and she reaches across the table to hold his hand. “It must have been a hard few years. Thank you for protecting our country. In a way, we can technically say you were protecting me that whole time too. How did you get into the security business?” His thumb circles the skin on the back of her hand, “You’re welcome. And I guess you could say I was made to protect you. After I left the army, it just made sense to become a bodyguard. The skills I learnt in the army transferred over quite nicely.” “Makes sense. You are very good at your job. I always feel very secure when you are around. How long have you been a bodyguard?” she continues the conversation. “I’m coming up on two years on Sunday, actually. I did one year as protection detail for a bunch of different clients and the almost one year I have with you.” She takes this information in and files it away for when they get home.

The waitress returns with another plate of wings and this time, there are carrots and celery on the side. Y/N’s face scrunches at the sight of the celery. “Yuck, you can eat all of the celery. I don’t like it,” she imitates like a child. She picks up a green stick and waves it at his mouth. He tilts his head to the side, “How can you not like celery? Have you tried it?” Her head shifts from side to side, “No, but my mom didn’t like it.” The conversation pauses at the mention of Katrina Y/L/N. Drew knows the story of Y/N’s mother.

Katrina Y/L/N was a guidance counsellor for a public high school in an underdeveloped part of New York. She didn’t work for the money. She worked to truly make a difference in the lives of children who needed her. Unfortunately, it was what brought her life to an end. One of her students had been expelled and he had returned to the school for his revenge on everyone, who he blamed for his expulsion. Katrina had been able to stop him before anyone could get hurt, except when the police arrived, they didn’t know. One wrong misinterpretation resulted in Katrina falling to the floor and she was bleeding to death. Y/N’s father wanted to sue the police department for all it was worth and obliterate the officer, who had accidentally shot his wife. Y/N talked Magnus down from his vengeance. They had all the money they needed and nothing could bring Katrina back. Katrina had chosen to save the young boy from the bullet and twelve-year-old Y/N had a much better idea of how she could honour her mother. With her father’s help, she designed outfits for a fashion show. Tickets were charged to some of the biggest names in the business and all proceeds went to an organization that helped renovate public schools.

Drew had learnt all of this when he was doing research on Y/N after getting his job. He remembers going through the pictures of Y/N waiting outside of the school for her mom to come back. He remembers the pain on her face when the coroner wheeled her mother out on a gurney. He wished he could’ve been there to keep Katrina safe for Y/N, but nineteen-year-old him wouldn’t have had any idea what to do.

“Well, you aren’t your mother. So you should try it,” he suggests, wanting to ease her discomfort from the thought of her mom. She considers his order and takes a bite out of the stringy vegetable. Her face shows her discomfort at the taste in her mouth. Drew chortles at her expression, taking the stalk out of her hand. “Okay, so maybe celery isn’t your thing. At least, you have me to eat all the mean celery,” he jokes and finishes the rest of the disliked marshland plant. Y/N’s lips don’t rise at his joke, “My mom always used to say I would make an amazing fashion designer one day. She would let me style her outfits for different events with my dad. Could you imagine? Eight-year-old me going through my mom’s closet and picking out whatever I wanted her to wear. I look back at some of her old event pictures and think she really must have loved me to have worn some of the things I chose.” He smiles at the imagery of the girl he loves playing dress up with her mom. “She did love you. You know that right?” he confirms. The corner of her mouth softly raises, “I know. She told me it every second she could. I just wish I could know if she is proud of me. She may have said I would be a good fashion designer, but I want to know if she is proud of my choice to actually pursue it. I’m not doing anything noble like her.”

He can sense the comfort she needs from him and he gets up to head behind her chair. His arms wrap around her shoulder, pulling her into an embrace. His lips meet the skin of her cheek and then the shell of her ear. “She would be so proud of you. Precious, what you are doing is noble. You took what you love and you used it to give back to the community. That is noble,” he reassures. He can feel her breath hitch at such physical touch from him in public. They’ve never been this close to each other in proximity to other people and she is thanking the fact no one in this bar would care about the daughter of a big CEO. Her arms reach out behind her to bring him in closer, “Thank you. You made me feel better. Do you think I can talk to you more about my mom? My dad rarely likes to talk about her.”

“I will always be here to talk about your mom if you want, Precious.”

———

All week Y/N would return home from work and immediately shut herself in her home office, ordering Drew to stay out of the room. He doesn’t know what she is up to. Maybe she just needs some space from him. He starts suspecting that isn’t the logic behind her motives once she demands Drew stay in his bedroom until she comes to get him. He hasn’t stayed more than ten minutes in what used to be his old room following them getting together. Her room has practically become his. He could cheat and look at the security cameras in her living room, but he doesn’t want to spoil whatever surprise she has for him. The sound of the front door opening causes nerves to grow in him, except he trusts she wouldn’t do anything to put herself in danger. He busies himself with reading the copy of The Son by Philipp Meyer Y/N bought him.

About an hour later, a quiet knock on the door captures his attention. “You can come out now,” she announces and opens the door for him. The open door reveals her wearing the pink sundress he loves so much on her. She beckons him to follow with a massive grin. Their feet slap against the hardwood floor and as they round into the living room, he finds a space full of people. He examines the faces of everyone. He recognizes every single one. Her father. James and their co-workers. His friends. Some of his army buddies. And lastly, his family. Hung across the fireplace is a banner that says Happy Two Years As A Bodyguard, Drew! Everyone cheers at his arrival and he searches for Y/N for answers. She sees his face, “It’s a party to celebrate two years of being a bodyguard.” He wants to hug her, except it would be inappropriate in the opinion of the party guests. To them, Drew and Y/N are just a bodyguard and his clients. The only argument as to why Y/N throws a party for him is her personality. She loves commemorating other people’s accomplishments.

“This is fantastic, Y/N. Thank you,” he acknowledges, wishing he could give her a kiss. She casts her sights downward and swings her arms behind her back, “It was nothing. I had fun planning it and making the decorations. It kept me busy.” Drew starts to examine the decorations with a newfound appreciation upon learning she crafted them by hand. “You did all of these. Y/N, these are incredible,” he acclaims. He is impressed by her craftiness.

He recognizes the smell of his mom’s chicken casserole and his stomach grumbles for a taste. The swarming of his loved ones to congratulate him stops him from being able to do it. Drew is catching up with an old army friend when Y/N presents him with a plate of his favourite foods. “Sorry to interrupt. Drew hasn’t eaten all day. I want to make sure he does at some point today,” she explicates in advance of her walking away to chat with Magnus. His world starts to spin on its own axis. One where she is the axis at the center of his earth. Her effort to concern herself with his well-being and to plan a party for him shows her adoration for him. He couldn’t ask for a better girlfriend and he thinks it is time to officially label who they are to each other. Not to the world. Merely for them to know what they mean to each other.

———

The guests left a few hours ago after helping with the clean-up, leaving Y/N and Drew to relax on her couch. The words on the page aren’t being processed with Y/N’s head on his lap. She flips through the pages of her magazine. He perceives the way she halts between articles to write down some notes. His digits drag through her hair in admiration. This moment is perfect to legitimize their relationship. “So,” he begins to fixate her view of him. She drops the magazine to her chest. “I was thinking that maybe I could start calling you my girlfriend. Obviously, I won’t be telling other people, but I just think it could be something for us. To prove our devotion to each other.” She beams at him and sits up. Her lips smack on his. “I would be happy to be your girlfriend,” she confides to him. The pressure in his heart diminishes and beats at a steady pace. He feels like the world is in his hands because she quite literally is.

———

Drew acknowledges it isn’t logical to keep Y/N from the outside world. She can’t stay in the comfort of their home forever. Besides, he treasures the way her hair is a wave in the wind and her eyes are stars in the sunlight. Freshly cut grass nauseates him and he fights through the feeling to keep doing his job. She wishes he could sit with her during her picnic, yet she comprehends his need to stay vigilant. The wine glass in her hand meets her lips and she gulps down the aromatic alcohol. She takes a bite of the brie from the charcuterie board. The breeze from the wind almost carries her magazine into the air. He has to hold in his enjoyment of her chasing after the booklet. She approaches him, finally catching it in front of him. She straightens up with a sense of accomplishment; however, her expression plunges alongside her widening eyes.

He can’t ask her what is wrong. Her body shoots around him so their backs are facing each other and then he hears it. The one piercing crack that is so familiar to him. His certainty of what the sound was is confirmed when more booms don’t follow. It’s not fireworks. Her body stumbles into his as he wrenches in her direction. She collapses in his arms.

It shocks her that she couldn’t really feel anything at first. The pressure on her shoulder reminds her of when she got her ears pierced. The bullet breaks through her skin like the puncture of a needle. The next thing she feels is nothing, probably because of the adrenaline going through her body. A crimson stain flowers on her shirt, resembling a rose. As it spreads, the numbness switches to a burn. She starts to think she is being felted into a small wool animal. The whip of another gunshot causes panic to grow in her. What if Drew was hurt? The voices around her start to blur together, becoming one big mush of noise to her. Her eyelids droop like an unsupported bridge, slinging between open and closed until she is kept in a state of unconsciousness. Is this how her mom felt that day, eleven years ago? Is this the day she gets to be reunited with her mother again?

———

Their environment should’ve been under constant scrutiny from him. He shouldn’t have let himself be distracted by her. If he hadn’t, she wouldn’t be in surgery right now. She wouldn’t have had to save him from that bullet. His hands and shirt are covered with her blood thanks to the disconnect of her right axillary artery. He doesn’t want to chance missing an update from the doctor if he gets cleaned up. The doctors are uncertain about her fate, but they are doing everything they can to help her. He wishes he could say the same about himself.

Drew is aware of his appearance because of the hush that comes over the room. Hospitals are already quiet, but this is different. The silence has a hollowness to it. “Where is my daughter?” Magnus roars as he storms toward Drew. Drew's hunched posture adjusts at the entrance of his boss. He rises to his feet, trying to hide his tears. “She’s in surgery,” he manages to croak out. Magnus’ heart tumbles into his belly, “What do you mean she is in surgery? What happened?” “W- She was having a picnic, sir,” he stutters out. “She was standing in front of me and then all of a sudden she saw something that caused her to put herself behind me. She took the bullet for me.” Magnus’ eyes narrow and his eyebrows form a v, “You were supposed to be her protector. That’s what I hired you for. So how come I’m finding out that my daughter is in a life-or-death situation because of you?”

“It’s my fault, sir. I was distracted and my guard was down. This is all my fault.”

“Of course, it is! I hope you know that you are fired immediately. You failed to keep my daughter safe. Now, tell me you at least caught the asshole, who hurt her.”

“I understand your decision, sir. And I managed to fire a shot to incapacity the assailant. He is in police custody.”

Magnus nods in satisfaction, “At least, you can do that right. Do you know who he is? Do you think he was hired by Demitri to hurt her?” “I do know, who he is. No, I don’t think Demitri hired him. I think he is connected to the note Y/N received a few months ago. I’ve identified him as Sean Cox. Y/N and he went on a few dates. She ended it after the third date and he said crass things to her,” Drew relays to Magnus. Magnus snaps his fingers and his own bodyguard rushes to his side. “I want you to find out everything you can about this Sean Cox guy. Now!” he orders, returning his anger back to Drew. “I want you out of her apartment by the end of the week. You are dismissed.”

———

The doctors were able to stabilize her in surgery and she’s been in a coma for a week. James has been updating Drew on her condition now that his co-worker is her full-time bodyguard. Per his contract with the company, he gets to take a full month off in between contracts that require him to live with the client and if the month is going to be anything like this week, Drew is going to fall apart. His insomnia keeps him awake to ruminate on the possible ways he could’ve saved her. And he keeps coming back to one conclusion. If he wasn’t smitten with her, then she would’ve been unharmed. Not only because he wouldn’t have been preoccupied by her vision, but because Sean wouldn’t have grown jealous enough to want to hurt Drew. His thoughts are interrupted by the ringing of his phone.

James’ name flashes across the screen and Drew scrabbles to pick it up. “Is she okay?” he worries through the phone. James stops him before he can rant, “She’s fine. She is awake. She actually woke up from the coma two hours ago. I haven’t called yet because I figured you didn’t want to come while Magnus was here. She’s been asking for you.” “She’s awake? I’ll be there soon,” he states, hanging up his phone and getting out of bed.

———

Drew greets James with his head as he walks through the doors of Y/N’s hospital room. He finds an exhausted-looking Y/N, lying in the bed. A smile paints across her face as soon as he sees her and he is pained by the notion as to why she is here. “Hi,” she rasps out. He joins her at her side, “Hey, how are you feeling?” “As good as you’d expect after being shot. The doctors say I should make a full recovery,” she retells. “I was thinking since my dad knows about us now, that once I’m discharged, we can go on a trip somewhere. Maybe Bali or Italy.” He wants nothing more than to agree. To tell her that he’ll go anywhere with her. Apart from the fact that he came here for another purpose. He doesn’t return her grin and she hunts for it. She yarns for him to return the excitement. “Drew, what’s wrong?” she interrogates, reaching out for a hand he can’t bring himself to give. He knows it will be too hard to let go of.

“Your dad fired me.”

“I know. I’m not dating you because you work for my dad. I’m dating you because I love you.”

“I was fired because I couldn’t protect you.”

“Drew, it wasn’t your fault. Sean was the one with the gun. He was the one who fired it.”

The chair scrapes against the floor and Drew rushes to the window. His hands slamming against the sill startles her. “You don’t get it,” he yells. “I can’t be with you. You almost died because of me!” Y/N wants to rush to his side, except the stabbing pain in her shoulder stops her. Drew hears her wince and hurries to her side. “What are you saying, Drew? Are you breaking up with me?” she cries, tears pooling in her eyes. He steps away from her, back facing her. He can’t do what he needs to do if she is looking at him. “Yes.” No more words can escape his mouth; he needs to keep his composure.

“But my heart is yours,” she sobs, trying to hold his hand. Drew needs to get away from her, “Well, you can have it back. I don’t want it anymore.” He hates being cruel, yet it’s the only way this will go faster. “Drew, please. It’s not your fault. Please,” she argues.

Drew doesn’t have anything left to say and he doesn’t want to force her to be in his presence anymore, so he leaves her behind even though it kills him. It kills him to listen to her weep and not do anything about it. He craves to bring her into his hold and kiss her tears away. She may not believe this is all his fault but it is. It was his flaw that sent her to the hospital. His fatal flaw was thinking he was the only protector she needed. It was his hubris.

Taglist: @loves0phelia, @f4ll-for-you, @mellillasstuff, @jjsmarijuana

#drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey smut #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey fanfiction #drew starkey one shot #drew starkey fic #bodyguard!drew #bodyguard!drew starkey #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #outer banks #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x y/n

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ghostlychief · 1 year

Note

So I read your simon riley “ghost” scary dog privileges, but may I present to you……the idea of simon being the most terrifying in combat but when he goes home it’s his wife you should fear more. Looking all sweet and innocent like she could never hurt a fly because she’s so tiny, and then they see the rbf and someone flips the bitch switch. Can be whatever scenario 👀 I just thought it would be funny because that’s exactly how it is with a friend of mine and his girlfriend 😂

HELLO! This is such a funny concept to me, so it was very fun to write! I hope you enjoy what i threw together, and thank you for your request!! <3

-Lee

masterlist

Counterpart

Oneshot; Simon "Ghost" Riley x Fem!reader

wc: 932

warnings: none

The irony’s in life are assuming.

Because whatever force, god, or being, thought it would be funny for Simon Riley, aka “ghost,” aka one of the “scariest members of task force 141”, to finally meet his match, and fall in love with said match, were having too much fun with the precarities of his life.

Ghost certainly has a reputation at the base, and in his world. His peers respect him, his enemies fear him (let’s be honest, his peers also fear him). He was an accomplished lieutenant, with many awards for all the brave, but terrifying work he accomplishes frequently. He earned his reputation. For the longest time, task force 141 was the most afraid of Ghost, that was, until they met you.

Everyone knows the saying that you never really find love, it finds you. For Ghost, love didn’t really find him, it more so smacked him upside the head.

You were completely removed from his world, something he was grateful for. You had a simple 9-5 job, with regular amounts of stress, but you were never in danger or putting your life on the line, something that eased Ghost’s mind when you guys first started dating. The contrast in your realities is what actually brought you closer together, finding solace within each other’s worlds that the other could not ever think to visit.

You offered him normalcy and calmness, something he only ever dreamed of obtaining. He offered you excitement and a sense of security. You always picked his brain about the technicalities of his job, always fascinated by the missions he goes on, and impressed with his combat abilities.

Besides your jobs being contrasts from one another, your personalities were also different. He was quiet, sure, and patient. You were more strong headed, impulsive, bursting with energy and assertiveness that left people intimidated of you. You guess that’s one thing you and Ghost had in common: intimidation.

You didn’t let anything slide, nor take shit from anyone, something that helped gain success throughout your academic years and the early days of your professional career.

You and Ghost made quite the pair.

When task force 141 found out Ghost had a girlfriend, they didn’t really know what to expect of you. They figured you must have had some thick skin to be able to date Ghost. However, they would never know, nor see the gentle side that Ghost practiced towards you. He was a giving, and gentle lover. Something you know is solely because of the devastating world he is subject to through his job. He wanted peace outside of work, and he provided you with a sense of that, and you did too.

The first time you met task force 141, they were shocked to find out that you were completely opposite of Ghost, both in personality and in physical features. He towered over you at his whomping height of 6’4, you barley reached his shoulders. While he held a gaze of indifference, yours was stern, eyebrows naturally furrowed, and a permanent scowl was left on your lips, until you smiled or started talking.

To put it simply, they felt a little uneasy at first, and it solidified when you opened your mouth.

“What? Are you all just going to stand there and gawk at me, or introduce yourselves?” With your hands on your hips, and a slight tilt to your head you managed to intimidate the squad 141, even though you were the least threatening person in the room, physically. Ghost snickered next to you as he watched his teammates take the blow of your statement, your presence filled up the room. Their wide-open mouths shut instantly, and they all lined up to introduce themselves. You found it hard to hide your smirk.

After your first meet and greet with the team, you found yourself spending more time with them, with Ghost of course. You would occasionally meet them at a bar for a round of drinks, or go out to dinner. Though they got more comfortable around you, you never failed to surprise them with your demeanor. Always demanding, that people respect you, specifically men.

One night you all were at the bar, celebrating the end of the week. You got a phone call from a colleague, something you didn’t appreciate on a Friday night. However, you knew it had something to do with your client, and it wasn’t your teammates fault for having to call you this late.

You took the call regardless, and the team hushed when they heard your conversation. “I don’t care what the client said. They gave us a deadline for next week, and the fact that they’re requesting the report today, a Friday night, is laughable. Tell them either accept the fact that the report will be delivered to them next week, or tell them to find someone else to do all their work for them.”

You abruptly ended the call with a sigh, and you noticed the silence around the table. The men tried to act like they were just all sipping their drinks with no thought, but you knew they were listening to your call.

“This client always tries to push up deadlines, even though in our contracts, we state the official deadline. Official, as in, cannot be changed. They’re just a bunch of idiots who think they can push me and my team around because I’m a woman leading this project.”

With a shrug, you say, “I have to stand up for myself and my team.”

Task force 141 wasn’t going to argue with that one.

hope you enjoyed! <3

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hotmentransformed · 2 months

Text

Hollywood Magic

In the bustling backstage of the prestigious Oscars ceremony, nerves were running high. Among the frenzy of stagehands, makeup artists, and celebrities, stood Alex, a wide-eyed production assistant fresh out of film school. It was his first gig at such a grand event, and he couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and apprehension. He had bought a fresh tuxedo for the event and felt professional and ready to start his new career.

Throughout the evening, Alex darted from one task to another, ensuring everything ran like clockwork. He meticulously checked seating arrangements, coordinated with the stage crew, and even fetched coffee for the stars. Despite the chaos around him, Alex felt a surge of exhilaration with each passing moment, relishing the special opportunity to be a part of Hollywood's biggest night.

But as the ceremony progressed smoothly, tension began to mount backstage when one of the scheduled presenters failed to show up for their award presentation. Panic swept through the crowded corridors as frantic whispers filled the air. Producers frantically made calls to find a replacement, but everyone was either unavailable or unwilling to present. With no one else available at such short notice, all eyes turned to Alex.

Without warning, an envelope was thrust into his hands, and he was ushered onto the stage. His heart raced as he realized the gravity of the situation. This was his moment—a chance to step onto the grand stage of the Oscars and make his mark in the entertainment industry. Usually, the honor was only reserved for the most iconic of stars: how lucky he was to be just an average Joe, given an opportunity rarely afforded to even some of the most famous celebrities. As Alex approached the microphone, the weight of the moment bore down on him like a heavy cloak. The sea of faces in the audience blurred as his nerves threatened to overwhelm him.

Alex's heart pounded in his chest as he felt an inexplicable surge of warmth coursing through his body. At first, he thought it must be from the stage lights, but it grew stronger and more electrifying. It started as a subtle tingling but soon evolved into an intense sensation, like a thousand needles pricking his skin.

His muscles tensed and bulged beneath his clothes, a strange pressure building within him. Alex's eyes widened in shock as he felt the fabric of his brand-new suit strain against his expanding frame. The audience's murmurs of anticipation turned into gasps of surprise as they witnessed the spectacle unfolding before them. First, it was his arms, as if sculpted from marble, that began to swell with newfound strength. His biceps and triceps rippled beneath the fabric of his shirt, stretching it to its limits, and eventually ripping his sleeves. Then, his chest expanded, pushing against the material as if eager to break free. Each breath seemed to inflate his torso further, commanding the attention of everyone in the room.

As Alex's transformation continued, his shoulders broadened, each muscle defined with chiseled precision. His back rippled with power, the fabric of his shirt straining against the force of his expanding physique. Even his legs, once hidden beneath his trousers, began to bulge with raw strength, threatening to burst through the fabric at any moment.

Despite his best efforts to resist, Alex couldn't help but flex his muscles, which expanded and tore free from the confines of his shirt and jacket, a mixture of embarrassment and pride washing over him as he unwittingly showed off his newfound form to the world. The audience's laughter only fueled his humiliation, but still, he couldn't stop himself.

With each involuntary flex, Alex's body seemed to take on a life of its own, moving with a grace and power that he had never known. His embarrassment gave way to a sense of awe as he marveled at the sheer magnitude of his transformation. But just as he began to revel in his newfound strength, disaster struck. With a sudden rip, the fabric of his pants gave way, leaving him standing on stage in the nude. His cheeks flushed crimson with embarrassment as he hastily covered himself with the envelope he had been given to present the award.

Standing there dumbfounded and twice his previous size, he heard an announcer on the speakers: “And now, presenting the Academy Award for Best Costume Design, the one, the only: John Cena!”

#male tf #transformation #tf #transform #male transformation #muscle transformation #muscle tf #celebrity #celebrity tf #celeb tf

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astroa3h · 3 months

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venus through the houses (positive traits) 🦢

Let's talk the positive side of Venus through the houses. Venus is your cosmic bestie dictating your love life, cash flow, and what makes you tick aesthetically. She's all about the allure, the glam, and the heart-flutters in relationships. Where Venus lands in your chart is like your personal love and beauty filter, shaping how you flirt, treat yo' self, and chase what you value. She's the vibe for your romantic escapades and your secret weapon for charm and attraction.

✨Venus in Your 1st House✨

When Venus graces your 1st house, you radiate charm and attractiveness. You're the person who catches eyes the moment you walk into a room. Even if you don't notice. Your vibe? Irresistibly magnetic. You care deeply about your appearance, not for vanity, but as a form of self-expression, making you a walking piece of art.

✨Venus in Your 2nd House✨

With Venus in your 2nd house, you find joy in the material world. Luxury to you isn't just about splurging—it's about surrounding yourself with things that have real beauty and value. You have this knack for making everything around you lovely and comfortable, creating a personal oasis that reflects what you value most.

✨Venus in Your 3rd House✨

Venus in your 3rd house makes you a master of words. Whether it's a heartfelt note or a witty text, you have a way of connecting that's utterly enchanting. Ideas and conversations aren't just exchanges of thoughts for you; they're opportunities to bond and share the beauty you find in the world.

✨Venus in Your 4th House✨

In your 4th house, Venus creates a sanctuary of love. Your home? The warmest, most inviting place on earth. You have this incredible ability to make everyone who enters feel cherished. Harmony in your personal space is not just a wish; it's a must, and you pour your heart into making it a reality.

✨Venus in Your 5th House✨

With Venus playing in your 5th house, life is your canvas. Romance, creativity, fun—you approach all of it with a heart full of joy. Your love stories are the ones people dream about, filled with grand gestures and heartfelt creations that showcase your unique way of expressing affection. Not to mention, you're a huge flirt, in the best way.

✨Venus in Your 6th House✨

In your 6th house, Venus finds beauty in the routine. A perfectly brewed morning coffee, a workspace that’s both functional and beautiful, the satisfaction of a well-done task—these are your love languages. Acts of service are your go-to, showing love through the meticulous care you put into the everyday.

✨Venus in Your 7th House✨

Venus in your 7th house is all about partnership. You shine brightest in a duo, thriving in relationships that are built on harmony, fairness, and mutual respect. For you, love is about creating balance and understanding, making every partnership an opportunity to grow closer and stronger. You may have been a twin in a past life.

✨Venus in Your 8th House✨

When Venus delves into your 8th house, love goes deep. You're drawn to relationships that transform you, craving emotional intimacy that breaks barriers. Your approach to shared resources and values is equally profound, finding beauty in the trust and closeness that comes from true partnership.

✨Venus in Your 9th House✨

With Venus in your 9th house, love is an adventure. You're drawn to different cultures and philosophies, finding beauty in diversity. Your open-hearted curiosity leads you to form connections that broaden your horizons, teaching you that love, in its many forms, is a journey of continuous learning.

✨Venus in Your 10th House✨

In your 10th house, Venus elevates your public image. Your career or social standing benefits from your innate charm and aesthetic sense. You understand the power of appearance and relationships in achieving success, using your grace and diplomacy to navigate the professional world.

✨Venus in Your 11th House✨

Venus in your 11th house dreams of a better world. Your friendships and community involvement are guided by shared ideals and hopes. You believe in the beauty of collective dreams and the power of working together to create a more beautiful, harmonious world.

✨Venus in Your 12th House✨

In your 12th house, Venus speaks softly of hidden love. You find beauty in solitude, in the acts of kindness that go unnoticed, and in a compassion that knows no bounds. Your understanding of love is deep and spiritual, connecting you to the universal in profound, often private ways.

xox astro ash 💖

Get your own astrology reading @ astroash.net

TikTok - astroa3h

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becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys · 11 months

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Caught my first student using ChatGPT to write their report yesterday! FUN TIMES

#it's going to be very interesting to see what the uni chooses to do from here #the professional world of careers and tasks #chatgpt

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brasskingfisher · 1 year

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Tedious personal details

Heard today that I've been offered for two different job interviews (same job and company just different locations and contract length) and a 6 month extension on my current contract. So excuse me whilst I go down 'spoons and celebrate

#tedious personal details #the professional world of careers and tasks #jobs #personal #the uniquely British experience of a spoons

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lunardragon00 · 12 days

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Eternal Sunshine (Jongho x Reader)

Eternal Sunshine Masterlist

Idol!Jongho x Idol!reader

I'll be the first to say, "I'm sorry", Now you got me feelin' sorry I showed you all my demons, all my lies Yet you played me like Atari

The hum of chatter filled the air as stylists buzzed around the makeup room, prepping idols for their next appearance. Y/N sat before the mirror, her reflection illuminated by the soft glow of vanity lights. She wore a serene expression, masking the whirlwind of emotions swirling beneath the surface.

Her makeup artist flitted around her, expertly applying foundation and blending eyeshadow with practiced precision. Y/N's mind, however, wandered to a different place altogether. Memories of Jongho, her former flame, danced at the edges of her consciousness, threatening to consume her thoughts.

She closed her eyes briefly, taking a deep breath to steady herself. Today was supposed to be about her new album, her latest achievement in a career that demanded everything she had to give. But even amidst the excitement and anticipation, he lingered like an unwelcome guest.

"You doing okay, Y/N?" the makeup artist asked, breaking through her reverie.

Y/N forced a smile, nodding. "Yeah, just... lost in thought, I guess."

The makeup artist gave her a sympathetic look before returning to her work. But Y/N couldn't shake the memories that clung to her like cobwebs in the corners of her mind. His absence, his constant excuses, the weight of his silence – they all hung heavy on her heart.

As she sat in the makeup chair, preparing to face the world once again, Y/N couldn't help but wonder if she'd ever truly be able to move on from him. But for now, she pushed the thoughts aside, focusing instead on the task at hand. Today was about her music, her passion, and nothing – not even he – could take that away from her.

A staff member poked their head into the bustling makeup room, scanning the busy scene before their eyes landed on Y/N. "Y/N, they're ready for you on set," they announced, their voice cutting through the ambient noise.

Y/N nodded, offering a grateful smile as she stood up from the makeup chair. She smoothed down the fabric of her outfit, adjusting the mic pack clipped to her waist. With each step towards the door, her heart pounded a little harder, anticipation mingling with apprehension.

As she made her way to the set, Y/N mentally rehearsed her responses, trying to anticipate the questions that would inevitably come her way. She focused on the positive aspects of her album, the hours of hard work poured into each track, the emotions woven into every lyric.

But amidst the professional facade she wore like armor, the memories of him lingered like ghosts in the corners of her mind. She pushed them aside, burying them beneath layers of determination and resolve. Today was about her music, her artistry, and she refused to let anything – or anyone – detract from that.

With a deep breath, Y/N stepped onto the set, plastering a bright smile on her face as the cameras began to roll. It was showtime, and she was ready to shine.

The set was a flurry of activity, with cameras rolling and lights shining bright. Y/N took her place in the center of it all, the spotlight now firmly on her as she prepared to face the barrage of questions that awaited.

The interviewer, a seasoned professional with a warm smile, greeted her with a handshake before taking their seat opposite her. "Y/N, it's great to have you here today. Your new album has been generating a lot of buzz – can you tell us about the message behind it?"

Y/N's smile widened as she launched into her prepared response, her words flowing effortlessly as she spoke of passion, creativity, and the journey that had led her to this moment.

"Well, here’s the easiest way I can explain it. The album starts off as a question, it’s asking how do you know if this person I’m with is the one? How do I know if this person is going to be IT for me when I’ve been in relationships in the past that have given me that hope? "As Y/N spoke, her voice resonated with sincerity, her words painting a vivid picture of the emotional landscape that had inspired her music.

The interviewer nodded, captivated by her explanation. "That's incredibly relatable," they remarked, leaning forward slightly. "It sounds like you're exploring some deeply personal themes in this album. Can you tell us about your creative process and how you approached writing these songs?"

Y/N's smile softened, a flicker of vulnerability crossing her features. "Sure," she began, her voice taking on a more introspective tone. "For me, writing music is a form of catharsis. It's a way for me to process my emotions and make sense of the world around me. With this album, I wanted to delve into the complexities of love and relationships – the highs, the lows, and everything in between."

She paused, gathering her thoughts before continuing. "Each song is like a piece of my heart, laid bare for the world to see. And while it's scary to be so vulnerable, it's also incredibly liberating. I hope that listeners can find solace in these songs, knowing that they're not alone in their own struggles and triumphs."

The interviewer nodded again, impressed by Y/N's insight and authenticity. "It sounds like this album is a deeply personal journey for you," they remarked. "Is there a particular song that holds special significance for you? And if so, can you tell us why?"

Y/N's gaze softened as she thought back to the writing process, the late nights spent pouring her heart out into lyrics, the moments of clarity amidst the chaos. "There's a song called 'Echoes' that holds a special place in my heart," she revealed. "It's about the lingering echoes of a past love, the memories that haunt you long after they're gone. For me, it's a reminder that even in the darkest moments, there's still beauty to be found."

Y/N sat hunched over her notebook, pen in hand, the blank page staring back at her mockingly. She sighed, frustration bubbling up inside her as she struggled to find the right words. Writing had always been her refuge, her safe haven in a world filled with chaos and uncertainty. But today, the words eluded her, slipping through her fingers like grains of sand.

She glanced up at the clock on the wall, the hands ticking away the seconds with merciless precision. Jongho was due to arrive any minute now, and she still hadn't finished the song they were supposed to record together. The pressure weighed heavy on her shoulders, a constant reminder of the expectations placed upon her as an idol and a songwriter.

Just then, the door swung open, and Jongho stepped into the studio, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Hey, Y/N," he greeted, his voice warm and familiar.

Y/N forced a smile, pushing aside her doubts and insecurities as she greeted him in return. "Hey, sorry, I'm still working on the lyrics. I just can't seem to get them right."

Jongho's smile widened, and he crossed the room to stand beside her, his presence a comforting anchor in the storm. "Don't worry about it," he reassured her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "We'll figure it out together, like we always do."

Y/N's heart swelled with gratitude as she looked up at him, her doubts melting away in the warmth of his gaze. Jongho had always been her rock, her constant source of support and inspiration. And in that moment, she knew that together, they could conquer anything.

With renewed determination, Y/N returned to her notebook, the words flowing from her pen with newfound ease. And as she and Jongho poured their hearts and souls into the music, the echoes of their love reverberated through the studio, filling the air with hope and promise.

Y/N couldn't help but smile as she and Jongho exchanged playful banter, their easy rapport a testament to the years they'd spent together as friends and lovers. Despite the pressure of the recording session, there was an undeniable sense of joy in the air, a shared excitement that buoyed their spirits and fueled their creativity.

As they worked through the song, Jongho's voice soared, filling the studio with its raw power and emotion. Y/N couldn't help but be in awe of him, his talent shining bright like a beacon in the darkness. And as the final notes faded away, leaving nothing but silence in their wake, Y/N felt a sense of euphoria wash over her. They had done it – they had created something beautiful together, something that would stand the test of time.

Jongho grinned at her, his eyes sparkling with pride. "That was amazing," he exclaimed, pulling her into a tight hug. "I couldn't have done it without you." Y/N hugged him back, feeling a surge of gratitude and affection well up inside her.

As Y/N basked in the warmth of Jongho's embrace, she couldn't help but feel a rush of affection swell within her. In that moment, surrounded by the glow of their shared success, she felt more alive than ever before. She pulled back slightly, gazing into Jongho's eyes with a soft smile playing on her lips. "We make a pretty good team, don't we?" she remarked, her voice filled with admiration.

Jongho nodded, his grin widening as he tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "The best," he replied, his tone laced with sincerity. "I'm so lucky to have you by my side, Y/N."

Y/N's heart skipped a beat at his words, a warmth spreading through her chest at the depth of his affection. She reached up to cup his cheek, her thumb brushing lightly against his skin as she leaned in to press a gentle kiss to his lips.

Their kiss was sweet and tender, a silent promise of love and devotion that transcended words. In that moment, surrounded by the music and the laughter and the undeniable chemistry that crackled between them, Y/N knew with absolute certainty that she was exactly where she was meant to be.

As they pulled away, their foreheads resting against each other, Y/N couldn't help but feel a sense of peace settle over her. "Okay, let's go before you get glued to studio board. I'm starving and you need a break." Y/N laughed as Jongho pulled her out of the studio, his infectious energy lifting her spirits even higher. She let herself be swept along by his enthusiasm, her heart light with joy as they made their way down the hallway.

As they emerged into the bright lights of the corridor, Y/N couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude wash over her. Despite the pressures of their busy schedules and the demands of the industry, moments like these – simple, spontaneous, and filled with laughter – were what made it all worthwhile.

She squeezed Jongho's hand tightly, her fingers intertwining with his as they walked side by side. "You're right," she agreed, her voice tinged with amusement. "I could use a break, and food sounds amazing right about now."

Jongho grinned at her, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he led her towards the nearest exit. "I know just the place," he declared, his excitement palpable. "There's this little café down the street that serves the best kimchi stew. Trust me, you're gonna love it."

Y/N laughed, her heart swelling with affection for the man beside her. Despite the chaos of their lives and the challenges they faced, moments like these – stolen away from the spotlight, just the two of them – were what mattered most.

As they stepped out into the bustling streets of Seoul, hand in hand and hearts full of happiness, Y/N couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment settle over her. In that moment, surrounded by the sights and sounds of the city she loved and the man she adored, she knew that she was exactly where she was meant to be.

"Sounds like a wonderful message. Now, what exactly inspired you to let this message out? It seems like this is quite a personal story you're sharing with fans." Y/N took a moment to collect her thoughts, the memories of her time with Jongho still lingering in the back of her mind. She knew that she had to tread carefully, choosing her words with precision as she navigated the delicate balance between truth and discretion.

"I went through something within the past year where I got to live through those things," she began, her words measured and deliberate. "I put so much into the relationship, poured my heart and soul into it, but towards the end, I just kind of realized that it wasn't equal."

The soft glow of her laptop illuminated the dimly lit room as Y/N sat hunched over the keyboard, her fingers flying across the keys in a flurry of words and emotions. It was late, far later than she should have been awake, but she couldn't sleep, not with the weight of her thoughts pressing down on her like a leaden blanket.

She typed furiously, pouring her heart out into the digital void, her words a desperate plea for connection in a world that seemed determined to keep her at arm's length. Jongho had been distant lately, his messages growing fewer and farther between, leaving Y/N feeling adrift and alone in a sea of silence.

But still, she persisted, clinging to the hope that maybe, just maybe, he would respond, that he would reach out and pull her back from the edge of despair. She waited with bated breath, her heart pounding in her chest as she hit send, the message disappearing into the ether with a finality that sent a shiver down her spine.

Minutes turned into hours, but still, there was no response, no reassurance that she wasn't alone in this vast and lonely world. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as she stared at the empty screen, the silence echoing louder than any words could ever convey. She couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, that their relationship was slipping through her fingers like grains of sand.

Her fingers trembled as she typed out another message, her words a desperate plea for understanding in a sea of uncertainty. "Are you okay?" she wrote, the letters appearing on the screen like a lifeline thrown into the abyss.

But as the minutes ticked by and still, there was no response, Y/N's anxiety only grew, gnawing at her insides like a ravenous beast. She knew she shouldn't be so dependent on Jongho's validation, that her worth didn't depend on his attention, but try as she might, she couldn't shake the feeling of emptiness that threatened to consume her whole.

She scrolled through their previous conversations, searching for clues, for any sign that she hadn't imagined the connection they once shared. But all she found were fragments of a love that seemed to be slipping away, lost amidst the silence and the shadows.

And then, just when she had all but given up hope, a notification flashed across the screen, a single word illuminated in the darkness: "Sorry."

Y/N's heart sank as she read the message, the weight of its meaning crashing down on her like a ton of bricks. "Sorry for what?" she wanted to scream, her frustration boiling over into a torrent of tears and anger. But instead, she swallowed her pride, bottling up her emotions as she pushed aside her hurt and disappointment.

She knew that confronting Jongho wouldn't change anything, that their relationship was already hanging by a thread, but still, she couldn't help but feel a sense of betrayal at his half-hearted apology. It wasn't enough, not by a long shot, and as she stared at the empty screen, the tears streaming down her cheeks, Y/N couldn't help but wonder if their love was worth fighting for.

There was a pause as Y/N gathered her thoughts, the emotions swirling within her threatening to spill over. But she held herself together, drawing strength from the knowledge that she was not alone in her struggles.

"It's never easy to admit when things aren't working out," she continued, her voice steady despite the turmoil raging inside her. "But I think it's important to be honest with ourselves and with others, even if it's painful. And for me, that's what this album is all about – finding the courage to speak our truth, no matter the cost."

The interviewer nodded sympathetically, their expression filled with understanding. "It takes a lot of courage to be so open and vulnerable," they remarked, their tone gentle. "But I have no doubt that your fans will appreciate your honesty and authenticity."

Y/N smiled gratefully, a sense of relief washing over her as she shared her story with the world. Despite the pain of her past, she knew that by speaking her truth, she was taking the first step towards healing – not just for herself, but for others who may be going through similar struggles.

"Tell me a little bit more. In this relationship, where do you think things went wrong? Because at first, you said that you felt like this person could be the one. What changed?" Y/N took a moment to collect her thoughts, her mind drifting back to the moments she had shared with Jongho, both the highs and the lows. It was a painful journey to revisit, but she knew that in order to truly heal, she had to confront the truth head-on.

"I think...," she began slowly, her voice tinged with sadness, "I think things started to unravel when we lost sight of each other. We were both so caught up in our own worlds, our own careers, that we forgot to make time for each other. And as the distance between us grew, so too did the cracks in our relationship."

She paused, the weight of her words settling heavily upon her shoulders. "At first, I thought he could be the one," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "We had this undeniable connection, this spark that I thought would last forever. But as time went on, I realized that love alone isn't enough to sustain a relationship. It takes effort, communication, and a willingness to put each other first."

Tension hung heavy in the air as Y/N and Jongho stood facing each other, their voices raised in a heated argument that seemed to have no end in sight. It had started off as a simple disagreement, a difference of opinion about whether or not to go public with their relationship, but it had quickly escalated into something much more volatile.

"I just don't understand why you're so opposed to going public," Y/N exclaimed, frustration evident in every word. "We've been together for 2 years now, Jongho. It's not like it's some big secret."

Jongho's jaw clenched as he met her gaze, his own frustration boiling over into anger. "It's not that simple, Y/N," he shot back, his tone sharp with irritation. "You know how the industry works. We have to maintain a certain image, and going public with our relationship could jeopardize that."

Y/N's temper flared at his words, a surge of indignation coursing through her veins. "So what? We're just supposed to hide our relationship forever? Pretend like we're not together just to appease some corporate executives?" she retorted, her voice rising with each word.

Jongho's expression hardened, his eyes flashing with resentment. "I'm just trying to protect us, Y/N," he insisted, his voice tinged with bitterness. "I can't afford to risk my career for some fleeting romance."

The words struck Y/N like a slap in the face, the sting of his betrayal cutting deep into her heart. "Fleeting romance?" she repeated, her voice trembling with hurt and anger. "Is that what you think this is, Jongho? Some meaningless fling?" Jongho's gaze wavered, guilt flickering behind his eyes as he realized the depth of Y/N's pain. But instead of backing down, he dug in his heels, his pride and fear driving him to lash out in defense.

"I didn't mean it like that," he insisted, his voice softer now, but no less defensive. "But you have to understand, Y/N, this industry is cutthroat. We're under constant scrutiny, and one wrong move could ruin everything we've worked for."

Y/N shook her head, her fists clenched at her sides as she struggled to contain the storm raging within her. "I understand that, Jongho," she said, her voice strained with emotion. "But I refuse to sacrifice our happiness for the sake of some image. We deserve better than that."

As Y/N's words hung heavy in the air, Jongho's expression darkened, his frustration reaching a boiling point. "I'm tired of this, Y/N," he snapped, his voice sharp with anger. "Why do you keep bringing this up? Can't you see that it's pointless?"

Y/N recoiled at his words, the sting of his dismissiveness cutting deep into her heart. "Pointless?" she repeated, her voice trembling with hurt and disbelief. "Our relationship is not pointless, Jongho. It's real, it's meaningful, and it deserves to be acknowledged."

But Jongho's resolve remained unyielding, his pride and fear driving him to push her away. "I can't do this right now," he declared, his tone final. "I won't let you jeopardize everything I've worked for just because you can't accept reality."

And with that, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the apartment, leaving Y/N alone in the suffocating silence of their shattered dreams.

A pang of regret washed over her as she spoke, a sense of longing for what could have been if only they had fought harder for their love. But she knew that dwelling on the past would only hold her back from embracing the future, from finding the happiness and fulfillment she deserved.

"In the end," she concluded, her voice steady despite the ache in her heart, "I think we just... lost ourselves along the way. And as much as it hurts to admit it, sometimes love isn't enough to save a relationship that's already crumbling beneath the weight of its own flaws."

The interviewer nodded sympathetically, their expression filled with empathy for Y/N's pain. "It sounds like you've gained a lot of insight from this experience," they remarked, their tone gentle. "And I have no doubt that your honesty and vulnerability will resonate deeply with your fans, helping them navigate their own struggles with love and relationships."

Y/N smiled gratefully, a sense of peace settling over her as she shared her truth with the world. Despite the pain of her past, she knew that by speaking her truth, she was not only healing herself but also shining a light for others who may be walking a similar path.

"So, we start off the album with the question if the person you’re with is the right one, did you end up finding the answer?" Y/N's smile softened, a sense of introspection coloring her features as she considered the interviewer's question. It was a question she had asked herself many times over the course of her journey, a question that had lingered in the depths of her heart long after the echoes of her past had faded away.

"I think...," she began slowly, her voice tinged with contemplation, "I think the answer isn't always as clear-cut as we'd like it to be. Love is messy, complicated, and sometimes, it's hard to know if you're making the right choice."

She paused, gathering her thoughts before continuing. "But I do believe that everything happens for a reason, that every heartache, every disappointment, every moment of doubt is leading us towards where we're meant to be. And while I may not have all the answers, I do know that I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be right now."

The soft glow of her phone screen illuminated the dimly lit room as Y/N scrolled through the latest headlines, her heart sinking with each passing moment. And then, she saw it – a headline that sent a jolt of pain coursing through her veins, a headline that confirmed her worst fears.

"Jongho Goes Public with New Girlfriend," the headline blared, accompanied by a photo of Jongho smiling brightly as he held hands with a beautiful, unfamiliar face. It was like a punch to the gut, a cruel reminder of everything she had lost, everything she had once held dear.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she stared at the screen, the weight of betrayal settling heavy upon her shoulders. How could he do this? How could he move on so quickly, so easily, as if their relationship had never meant anything to him?

A sense of anger surged within her, hot and fierce against her skin as she struggled to make sense of the whirlwind of emotions raging within her. She had given him everything – her heart, her soul, her unwavering support – and yet, he had cast her aside without a second thought, replacing her with someone new as if she were nothing more than a passing fancy.

But beneath the anger, beneath the hurt and the betrayal, there was something else – something softer, something sadder. It was the realization that she had never truly known Jongho at all, that the man she had loved and trusted had been nothing more than a figment of her imagination, a mirage in the desert of her dreams.

And as she wiped away the tears that stained her cheeks, Y/N knew that she had to let go – let go of the anger, let go of the hurt, let go of the love that had once bound them together. For in the end, she realized, it was not her loss but his – his loss of the love and the light that she had once brought into his life.

With a heavy heart, she turned off her phone and curled up on the couch, enveloped in the suffocating silence of her shattered dreams. The memories of their time together flooded Y/N's mind, each moment etched into her heart like a bittersweet melody. But amidst the laughter and the love, there were also moments of doubt, moments of pain, moments when she had felt like she was fighting an uphill battle all on her own.

She remembered the countless times she had reached out to Jongho, pouring her heart out in messages that went unanswered, her pleas for reassurance met with silence or half-hearted apologies that offered little comfort.

She remembered the late nights spent waiting by the phone, her heart pounding in her chest as she hoped and prayed for a sign that Jongho still cared, still wanted her in his life. But more often than not, all she got was disappointment, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that refused to go away.

And then there were the times when they were together, when Jongho's attention was divided between her and his ever-growing list of responsibilities. She had always understood the demands of his career, had always been willing to support him in any way she could, but there were moments when she had felt like she was nothing more than an afterthought, a distraction from the chaos of his life.

She remembered the arguments they had, the harsh words exchanged in moments of frustration and anger, the wounds they had inflicted upon each other that refused to heal. And through it all, she had held on, believing that their love was strong enough to withstand any storm, that their bond was unbreakable.

But now, as she looked back on their relationship with a clarity born of hindsight, she couldn't help but wonder if she had been fooling herself all along. Had Jongho ever truly cared for her, truly valued her presence in his life? Or had she been nothing more than a temporary distraction, a fleeting moment of happiness in an otherwise chaotic existence?

The questions swirled within her, each one a dagger to her already wounded heart. But amidst the pain and the uncertainty, there was also a glimmer of hope – hope that she would someday find the answers she sought, hope that she would someday find the love and the happiness she deserved.

And as she closed her eyes and let the memories wash over her, Y/N knew that no matter what the future held, she would always carry a piece of Jongho with her – a piece of him that had shaped her, changed her, and ultimately, helped her become the person she was meant to be.

A sense of serenity settled over her as she spoke, a quiet confidence born of self-discovery and personal growth. "So, to answer your question," she concluded, her voice steady and sure, "No, I haven’t found the answer yet, but I’m still searching. I’ve gotten to the point of realizing what I need in a relationship and just what doesn’t work for me. The album is more about here’s what happened in mine, and if that’s happening to you, just run."

The interviewer chuckled softly, the tension in the room easing as Y/N's laughter filled the air. "Well, it sounds like you've gained a lot of insight from your experiences," they remarked, their tone warm with admiration. "And I'm sure your fans will appreciate the honesty and authenticity of the message."

Y/N smiled gratefully, a sense of pride swelling within her at the thought of connecting with her audience in such a profound way. "Thank you," she said sincerely, her voice filled with gratitude. "It's been a journey, that's for sure. But I wouldn't change a thing. Every heartache, every disappointment, every moment of doubt has led me to where I am today – and for that, I am truly grateful."

The interviewer nodded, their expression thoughtful as they considered Y/N's words. "It's clear that you've grown a lot from your experiences," they remarked, their tone filled with respect. "And I have no doubt that your journey will continue to inspire others to embrace their own truths and pursue their own paths to happiness."

Y/N smiled, a sense of peace settling over her as she reflected on the road she had traveled and the lessons she had learned along the way. Despite the twists and turns, the ups and downs, she knew that she was exactly where she was meant to be – guided by the power of her own truth and the unwavering support of those who believed in her.

And as she looked towards the future, filled with endless possibilities and infinite potential, Y/N knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, she was ready to face them head-on, armed with nothing but her truth and the unwavering support of her fans.

The interviewer smiled warmly, a sense of satisfaction filling the room as they concluded the interview. "Thank you so much for sharing your story with us, Y/N," they said, their tone genuine. "It's been a pleasure getting to know you and hearing about your journey."

Y/N returned the smile, a sense of gratitude swelling within her at the opportunity to share her truth with the world. "Thank you for having me," she replied, her voice filled with sincerity. "It's been a privilege to be able to open up and connect with my fans in this way."

As they rose from their seats and exchanged final pleasantries, Y/N felt a sense of fulfillment wash over her, a quiet confidence born of self-discovery and personal growth. She knew that no matter what the future held, she was ready to face it head-on, armed with nothing but her truth and the unwavering support of those who believed in her.

Y/N made her way down the corridor, her mind still buzzing with the energy of the interview, she rounded a corner and nearly collided with someone coming from the opposite direction. Instinctively, she stepped back, her heart skipping a beat as she found herself face to face with Jongho.

For a moment, they stood there, locked in each other's gaze, the weight of their shared history hanging heavy in the air between them. And then, slowly, tentatively, Jongho offered her a small smile, a flicker of warmth in his eyes.

"Hey," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N's heart hardened at the sound of his voice, a surge of anger and resentment coursing through her veins. Without a word, she turned on her heel and continued down the hallway, refusing to waste another moment of her time on him.

Jongho's smile faltered as he watched her go, a pang of regret gnawing at his chest. He had hoped for a chance to make things right, to apologize for the pain he had caused her, but now, it seemed that door had closed for good.

As Y/N disappeared around the corner, Jongho was left standing alone in the hallway, his heart heavy with the weight of his mistakes. And as he watched her go, he knew that he had lost her – not just as a lover, but as a friend, a confidante, a part of his life he would never get back.

And as he turned and walked away, the echoes of their past lingering in the air, Jongho knew that he would carry the regret of losing her with him for the rest of his days – a reminder of the love he had let slip through his fingers, and the price he had paid for his pride.

Won't break, can't shake this fate, rewrite Deep breaths, tight chest, Life, death, rewind

next story coming soon......

Thank you guys for enjoying the series, it means a lot to see so many people like the posts. If you want to join the taglist, please let me know.

Taglist: @scarfac3 @bts-army380 @ssrnghwa @philijack @laurenwidjaja

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queenshelby · 1 month

Text

The Director (Part Eight)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Infidelity, Domestic Abuse, Violence

The following morning, you successfully sneaked from Cillian's room back to yours to have a shower and get ready for work, making sure that no one caught you.

You were stunned at what you had done, your actions unfathomable even for yourself.

But as you looked at your reflection in the mirror, you couldn't ignore the satisfaction and excitement that shone in your eyes. You couldn't deny it, not after last night. You felt alive again, like a woman who had rediscovered her own power and femininity.

You didn't want to admit it to yourself but, in the back of your mind, you couldn't help but compare the two men in your life now. Your husband, James, was an actor too with a privileged background. He was an arrogant, entitled, and abusive man who often used his connections to get what he wanted. On the rare occasion he made you sleep with him, he only ever cared about his needs and rarely bothered to listen to yours. You would lie there, feeling degraded, questioning if this was truly the life you wanted for yourself.

Cillian, on the other hand, was an entirely different experience. He was empathetic and kind. He treated you as an equal, cared about your desires and needs, and valued your thoughts- something that was foreign and refreshing in this world. But, at the end of the day, Cillian was also a taken man, and you had to remind yourself that what you had between the two of you wasn't necessarily love, but a fleeting passion that would eventually fade.

You splashed cold water on your face, feeling the sting of reality setting in. You could not let yourself get carried away, you had responsibilities to attend to, namely your children and your career.

As you walked towards set however, the sounds of the set buzzing with activity, you couldn't help but think back to last night. The way Cillian's eyes had burned with lust, the way he had touched you, kissed you; it had felt like fireworks going off inside you.

Your stomach clenched just thinking about it, your body reacting to the memories. It wasn't just the sex either, although God, that had been amazing. It was the way he had looked at you, the way he had talked to you, like you were the only person in the world that mattered in that very moment.

But of course, you knew that what you were doing with Cillian, was dangerous. You were married, after all, to a man who had the power and influence to ruin you both with one phone call to his father, the headcof Universal Studios. James had a reputation for getting what he wanted, and he would stop at nothing to keep you in line if he was to find out.

"Y/N? Hello? Are you listening?" one of the set runners asked, interrupting your thoughts. You blinked, snapping back to reality, and turned to face the young man with a smile.

"Yes, sorry. What did you say?" You asked, feeling a twinge of guilt for letting your mind wander during work hours.

The runner looked at you curiously for a moment before repeating his question,

"Scene 78 requires an extra, are we using the same one from yesterday?" he asked and you quickly nodded, mentally shaking off the lingering desire from the previous night.

"Yes, that's correct. Thank you for double-checking," you confirmed just before the runner nodded and hurried off to attend to his duties, leaving you to continue yours.

As you walk through the set, you couldn't help but steal glances at Cillian across the room.

He was fully engrossed in his script but occasionally looked up, meeting your gaze with a coy smile.

Eventually, when he was finished rehearsing internally, he stood up and approached you to talk.

It was small talk or work-related talk mostly throughout the day and, even in spite of his professionalism, the chemistry between you two was palpable, and neither of you could ignore it.

While the rest of the set focused on their various tasks, the two of you were in a bubble whenever you had a chat. You found yourself eagerly anticipating the opportunities when you might exchange a glance, a smile, or a brief conversation throughout the day.

You were both fully aware of the illicit nature of the feelings that blossomed between you and, yet, you were each bound to other people, locked into toxic relationships that stifled your true selves.

But in those stolen moments with one another, even if brief, you could be free. You could be honest, and genuine, and vulnerable. You could feel the depth of your emotions, and it was terrifying, but exhilarating all the same.

"What time do you finish off?" Cillian asked quietly after he had just wrapped up his final scene for the day. His gaze fervently searched for yours, his eyes communicating something unspoken, a raw longing that caused your heart to skip a beat.

"In about an hour or so," you replied, your voice hushed.

"Do you, uhm..." Cillian began to say and, before he even had a chance to finish his sentence, you nodded shyly.

"Yes," you whispered, looking around furtively to ensure nobody saw your exchange.

Cillian mirrored your movements, a small smile forming on his lips.

"I see you soon," he said, dropping his voice even further.

"Yes," you whispered again, smiling and blushing slightly.

Cillian returned the smile, nodding, before turning to leave. As he walked away, you couldn't help but admire the view. His lean figure was accentuated by his fitted jeans and a black t-shirt, and the sight made your heart race. You shook yourself slightly, trying to refocus on your job just as Emily came swinging by.

"Checking out Cillian's rear end?" she said while giving you a sly smile and, immediately, you blushed, realizing that you had been caught.

"Me?" you asked, feigning innocence. "No, of course not."

Emily chuckled and raised an eyebrow at you. "Oh, come on, don't play coy with me," she said. "I've seen the way you look at him and it's perfectly fine," she laughed, giving me a knowing wink.

"I don't know what you're talking about," you said, feeling my cheeks grow hot.

"Uh-huh," Emily responded, grinning from ear to ear. "Well, I'll leave you to it then. Don't do anything I wouldn't do," she added with a wink before sashaying away.

Was it this obvious, you wondered, your heart racing in your chest. But then again, you concluded, why would it matter? You were allowed to 'window shop around' as Emily so politely put it. No one knew that you were actually trying on the goods without committing to purchase.

Later that evening, after you finished up for the day, you went to your room to freshen up before, once again tippy-toeing your way to Cillian's suite.

This time, he greeted you with a soft, inviting kiss while, at the same time, pulling you inside and you were quick to shut the door behind you.

"So this," you whispered against his lips as his arms wrapped around your waist, holding you close, "is going to be a regular thing then?"

Cillian nipped lightly at your bottom lip, eliciting a soft gasp from you as he replied, "If that's what you want, then yes."

"Yes," you murmured back before you leaned into him, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. Your hands found their way up his chest, feeling his heartbeat through the fabric of his shirt. Cillian's hands roamed down to your hips, his grip firm and confident.

"Good," he added, pulling back to look into your eyes. "But we need to be careful. We can't let this become a scandal," he told you and you nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation.

"I know," you whispered. "There is too much to lose," you acknowledged the unspoken fears between you both.

Cillian leaned in and kissed you softly. "There is," he murmured against your lips, "too much to lose," he confirmed, but even as he said it, he couldn't resist the pull you had on him. He wrapped his arms around you, deepening the kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth.

You responded eagerly, your arms snaking around his neck as you stood on tiptoe to get closer. You were lost in the moment, your body buzzing with desire, and the rest of the world faded away.

"You are so good at this," you murmured against his lips, pulling back just enough to speak.

Cillian smiled against your mouth, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke. "Well, you do bring out the best in me," he chuckled, although you could hear the sincerity in his voice and feel it too, in his touch.

As you stood there, wrapped up in each other, you couldn't help but think about how difficult it would be to tear yourself away from him. But you knew that you would have to, sooner or later.

For now, though, you just wanted to revel in the moment and indulge in the pleasure that Cillian offered so willingly. You traced your fingers over the ridges of his abdomen, feeling the muscles tighten under your touch. Cillian groaned softly, his grip on you tightening as he pulled you closer.

You could already feel his erection press against your stomach through the denim of his jeans.

You wanted to tear his clothes off and devour him then and there, but something told you to slow down and enjoy every moment of this forbidden weakness.

You pulled away gently, taking a step back to look at him. He looked so handsome, standing there with a slightly flushed face and half-lidded eyes. His hair was disheveled from your hands running through it, and his lips looked swollen from your kisses.

"What?" he

asked, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes searched yours, looking for any indication as to why you had pulled away.

"I just - god you are so handsome," you said, biting your lower lip as your gaze lingered on his defined jawline.

Cillian took a step forward, closing the gap between the two of you.

"Fuck, I don't do well with compliments, but I am glad you think so," he murmured, reaching out to gently brush a strand of hair away from your face.

His touch sent a shiver down your spine, and you found yourself inching closer to him, your body craving his touch.

"Well, you better get used to it," you murmured, your voice low and sultry. "Because I plan on giving you plenty more compliments."

Cillian's eyes darkened with desire, and he stepped closer to you, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke.

"I'll hold you to that," he whispered, his breath hot against your skin.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you could feel yourself growing wetter by the second.

Cillian's grip on your hip tightened, as if he was trying to steady himself on the rocking ship that your senses had become. The tension between you two was palpable, and the anticipation of what was sure to be an unforgettable night was almost unbearable.

You pulled yourself away from Cillian's grasp, taking a deep breath before walking to the bed. Slowly, seductively, you removed your clothing, watching as Cillian's gaze followed your every movement.

"What are you waiting for?" you asked, your voice a husky whisper that made Cillian's heart race. He didn't need any further encouragement.

He crossed the room, closing the distance between you in two strides. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close and claiming your lips with a fierce, passionate kiss. You sank into him, your body trembling with anticipation as you quickly pulled on the hem of his t-shirt, tugging it over his head.

Cillian broke the kiss long enough to pull his t-shirt over his head before sweeping you off your feet and pushing you onto the bed. You giggled, the sound light and airy as he trailed kisses down your neck.

You could feel the tension building between you, your breath hitching as he slowly kissed a path down your chest, pausing to lavish attention on your breasts before continuing his journey downwards.

You arched into his touch, your hands weaving through his hair as you held him close, relishing the feel of his lips on your skin. Every touch, every kiss, sent jolts of pleasure coursing through your body, and you knew that this was going to be a long night.

Cillian's fingers danced over your skin as he explored your body, his touch igniting flames of desire that threatened to consume you both.

"Spread your legs for me," he growled, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine.

You eagerly obeyed, parting your thighs as he settled himself between them. His gaze was conflicting, yearning to savor every moment of what he was about to do, but also greedy for more.

He teased you with gentle strokes, lingering at your entrance before pulling back. You couldn't wait any longer, your body craved his touch, so you lifted your hips, urging him to give you what you needed.

Cillian didn't disappoint. He slid a finger inside you, then two, his pace increasing as he felt you grow wetter and wetter. Your moans filled the room, the sound of your pleasure spurring him on. He watched your face as you writhed on the bed, your back arching beautifully as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

"Please, Cillian," you begged, unable to form a coherent sentence as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through your body.

His mouth soon joined his fingers, and you felt your legs tremble as he expertly brought you to the brink of release. You called out his name, your fingers gripping the sheets beneath you, desperately trying to hold on to some semblance of control.

But it was too late. The tension inside you snapped, and you cried out loudly as your orgasm washed over you, leaving you a quivering, boneless mess.

Cillian crawled up to you, kissing you softly as you came back down to earth.

The taste of your release on his lips only heightened your desire for him, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss.

Cillian pulled away, his gaze intense as he whispered, "I want to be inside you."

You nodded, unable to form actual words as you eagerly spread your legs wider, inviting him in. Cillian finally removed his jeans, followed by his briefs, both in haste, before

settling himself between your thighs. He was heavily aroused, and you couldn't help but admire his body.

"Cillian," you whispered, reaching up towards him. He lowered himself onto you, his weight a comforting presence as he claimed your lips in a passionate kiss. You could feel his arousal nudge at your entrance, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer.

Cillian entered you gently, his movements slow and deliberate as he took in the sighs and whimpers of your pleasure.

Your bodies fit together perfectly, completely synchronized as he moved inside you. Your hips rose to meet his every thrust, your breath hitching as he drove deeper, harder, faster.

Your fingers traced patterns on his back, pulling him closer with each thrust as your legs tightened around him. His movements were fluid, deliberate, as he pistoned in and out of you. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, accompanied by the guttural moans and pants that escaped both of you.

Eventually, you pushed him off and then underneath you, seeking to take charge. Cillian seemed surprised for a moment but then gave in to your enthusiasm.

You rode him, your hips grinding and swaying in powerful, erotic motions. The sight of you taking him like that had Cillian begging for mercy, but you merely smirked and quickened the pace.

As you approached climax, your body buckled, and you uttered a garbled cry, your head thrown back with pleasure. Cillian was not far behind, his own internal battle lost as he beneath released a guttural yell.

"Fuck, Y/N," he groaned, his eyes screwed shut and body stiffening as he came. You slammed yourself down on him one final time, depositing the last fraction of pleasure in a shockwave through your still-tingling body.

Your bodies, both slick with sweat and panting heavily, refused to separate, maintaining that intimate bond still long after the two of you had reached your climax. You sat there, motionless, floating in an abyss of euphoric bliss until, suddenly, you gasped and rolled off him.

"Oh my god I just had an idea," you excitedly declared, while he looked at you dumbfoundedly, his body still spent from the substantial ninety-minute lovemaking session.

You jumped off the bed completely and started pacing, muttering and mumbling your thoughts aloud. he asked with a puzzled look on his face.

"It's for the movie!" you shrieked, a triumphant smile spreading across your features. "For the scene between you and Flo tomorrow," you elaborated, and Cillian looked at you quizzically for a moment, still basking in the post-coital fog.

"You just had an idea for a sex-scene that I am in with another woman," he chuckled while, slowly, sitting up in bed. "Right after we had sex," he then pointed out , shaking his head in slight disbelief as if weighing up whether or not to be entertained by this sudden turn of events.

You stopped your pacing and looked at him, that unwavering determination in your eyes. "Yes," you confirmed, nodding, and then letting out a slightly embarrassed laugh. "Just hear me out, okay?" you told him before outlining the particular changes to him, hoping that Christopher Nolan would agree with your ideas.

Cillian listened attentively, nodding along as you spoke before throwing out his own thoughts on the scene. His voice was calm and gentle, his tone easy as he expressed his frustration over how the scene felt forced and artificial the first time it was filmed, which is why Chris himself was unhappy with it as well, requesting a re-shoot.

"Exactly!" you exclaimed, causing his eyes to light up in surprise before a knowing smile spread across his face. "But, let's just see what Chris thinks of this new approach first before I get too carried away with all this" you told him, although the excited gleam in your eyes betrayed your true thoughts.

Cillian just smiled at you, amused by your enthusiasm and completely taken by your passion and creativity. It was just another endearing facet to the complex character that was you. Always caring, always determined, and hardly ever backing away from a challenge.

You spent the night with Cillian again that night, enjoying his closeness even while you were asleep, wrapped in his arms until your alarm went off at 4 o'clock.

You got up, feeling content and full of energy. Today was going to be an exciting day but, just as you tried to silently sneak out of Cillian's room, you ran into Emily in the hallway.

You froze, a wave of guilt washing over you as you tried to think up an excuse for retreating from Cillian's room at around 4.15am for which, of course, there was none.

Your hair was messy, as if you had just woken up which, of course, you did. You even smelled of him, his aftershave and natural scent from the night you shared.

Emily opened her mouth, arguably about to interrogate you on why you were sneaking out of your colleague's room, but you cut her off with an innocent smile.

"Hi, Em. I was, uhm... I couldn't sleep so...," you began to say, causing her to giggle.

"My lips are sealed," she chuckled, quite literally making a zipper motion over her lips. "I didn't see anything," she added sheepishly, retracting the zipper and smile mischievously at you.

Your cheeks flushed and, once again, you were struck with that overwhelming feeling of guilt.

"Thank you, Em," you replied, low and barely above a whisper before you hurried away from her, feeling both embarrassed and anxious about having been caught.

You knew that Emily would keep this to herself, but you couldn't quite shake off the guilt that gnawed at you.

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emjayewrites · 10 months

Text

Pastry Passions (Luca x blackfem!oc)

PAIRING: Luca x Symone (black!original character)

SUMMARY: When Symone secures a coveted position as the social media manager at Noma, the renowned Michelin-starred restaurant, she is thrilled to be part of a team that pushes boundaries and captures gastronomic excellence. As Symone immerses herself in the vibrant atmosphere of Noma, she catches the eye of Luca, a talented and career-focused pastry chef within the same establishment. Luca is captivated by her presence, however, with his desire to maintain a clear boundary between work and personal life, he resists the growing attraction he feels towards her. Despite their shared passion for the culinary world, Symone and Luca find themselves entangled in a delicate dance between friendship, ambition, and unspoken desires. As the duo collaborates on various projects, from showcasing exquisite pastries to capturing behind-the-scenes glimpses of the culinary artistry, they face numerous challenges that test their resolve. Amidst the intense pressures of Noma's demanding environment and the weight of their individual aspirations, Symone and Luca must navigate their relationship in a career-driven world, where the line between personal and professional blurs, and decisions made can shape not only one's heart but also their future in the industry.

WARNINGS: slow burn romance, drama, angst, grueling work conditions/not-so-glamorous life of the culinary world, cursing, slight age gap, sexual content. RATED M (18+)

TAGLIST: @cinewhore @stargirlfics @mauvecherie-writes @kdoxkeic @wakandamama @afro-hispwriter @nolita-fairytale @lovebittenbyevans @blowmymbackout @superhoeva @barefoothighlander @ihyperfixateoncharacters

AUTHOR’S NOTE: So this is my first fic for FX’s The Bear. This contains spoilers from Season 2, so please don’t read if you haven’t watched. In “Honeydew”, Luca mentions that he’s been working as a pastry chef/chef for 14 years, so he has to be in his early/mid-30s (32-34-ish?) and there will be a small age gap between him and Symone. Also, Chapters 1-3 is set a month or two before Marcus’ stage trip in January. Please send me a DM if you want to be added to the taglist. Enjoy reading! ;)

PREFACE: Bloom/Blooming

BLOOM/BLOOMING: A process where gelatin powder or sheets are soaked in cold water for a few minutes before using. This makes the gelatin easier to dissolve and disperse more effectively in the liquid that is to be gelled.

Luca stood in the bustling kitchen at Noma, surrounded by the aromas of freshly baked bread, simmering caramel, and delicate spices. He meticulously prepared a tray of miniature pastries, carefully arranging them with artistic precision. As he focused on his task, his keen eyes scanned the kitchen, taking in the flurry of activity around him.

Suddenly, his attention was captured by the distinct click-clack of high heels echoing against the polished floor. Luca's gaze shifted toward the entrance, and there she was — Symone, Noma’s social media manager who had recently returned from her stint in Brooklyn, where she spent a week creating social media for Noma's new test kitchen, Noma Projects, and the pop-up restaurant, Noma BKLYN.

Luca's gaze locked onto Symone, his eyes tracing the contours of her silhouette.

Symone glided through the kitchen, her cascading waist-length braids swaying with every step she took. Her curvaceous figure was accentuated by the form-fitting jumpsuit she wore and her heels clicked against the tiled floor as she walked along the pass, drawing attention from both the kitchen staff and the din of sizzling pans and chopping knives. Luca's eyes followed her graceful figure, his work momentarily forgotten.

“Bought you something,” her hypnotic voice drawled, placing a paper bag in front of him.

Eyebrows furrowing, Luca leaned toward to peek inside. “Is it poisonous?”

Symone rolled her brown eyes in mock annoyance, crossing her arms over her chest, causing her already low-cut blouse to sink even lower. His gaze briefly shifted from the bag onto the swells of her breasts and the golden pendant that dangled temptingly between them. “Don’t be rash, Luca.”

A flush of heat rushed to his cheeks as he realized his mind had wandered into territory he wasn't proud of. Straightening to his full height, Luca’s eyes connected with hers and he let out a chuckle. “Can you just tell me what’s inside please?”

Giving him a look, Symone slowly reached inside the bag to reveal a coffee mug with one of the most ridiculous phrases he’d ever seen: Being a Pastry Chef is as easy as riding a bike, except the bike is on fire, you’re on fire, everything is on fire, and you’re in Hell.

“For your coffee. I’m tired of seeing you with that broken ass cup.”

He scoffed at her and picked up the gag gift to examine it. “Wow...thanks Symone.”

His obvious sarcasm went ignored as a smirk tugged the corners of Symone’s mouth. “Your welcome, Luca. Now, if you excuse me, I’m late for a meeting.”

She pivoted on her heel, and with his curiosity piqued, Luca watched as Symone made her way toward the head chef's office, a space usually reserved for discussions with the culinary team and restaurant management. A mixture of intrigue and a touch of longing stirred within him, as he wondered what important matters had brought Symone into the midst of the chefs' domain.

What the hell is happening?

Knowing that he shouldn't allow his distraction to compromise his work, Luca refocused his attention on the task at hand. He continued meticulously measuring ingredients, skillfully mixing them together with precision and care. But his mind kept drifting back to Symone, her annoying yet attractive presence, and the secrets that lingered behind the closed doors of the head chef's office.

As he crafted delicate pastry shells, his mind conjured up images of the discussions taking place behind those doors. The clinking and clattering in the kitchen continued as Luca stole glances toward the office, eagerly awaiting Symone's return. He couldn't deny this magnetic pull he felt towards her, ever since her first day at Noma four months ago, yet he consistently reminded himself of his commitment to not fucking his colleagues; a promise he made to himself after a lapse of judgment almost screwed up his livelihood four years ago.

A tap on the shoulder caused Luca to snap out of his thoughts. Turning, he became face-to-face with his sous chef, Maria. The petite woman was holding a tray in her hands with an evenly lined row of shiso gelee. “Theo’s first try.”

Behind her stood Theo, a timid stagiaire who had been learning under his older brother Tom, Luca's chef de partie, and Maria for the past two weeks. Despite being a bit taller and lankier than his brother, Theo's body language shows an undeniable lack of confidence. His eyes darted nervously, almost as if he was unsure of his place.

Noticing Theo's unease, Luca paused for a moment to glance at Theo. He understood all too well the feeling of being the new kid in the culinary world, and he empathized with Theo's hesitance.

"Hey, Theo," Luca called out gently, his voice firm yet reassuring. "Come over here, mate."

Theo hesitated for a moment, uncertain of what was to come. Slowly, he shuffled towards Luca, his gaze fixed on the floor.

“You can do better. Try again,” Luca stated before gesturing over to Maria. “I want you to watch Maria once more, focus on what she is doing and I’ll be back to check in, okay?”

“Yes, Chef,” affirmed Theo with a nod.

Maria bestowed a kind smile upon Theo as she gently guided him back to their shared station, ensuring he felt supported and included. Maria's mouth and hands moved with remarkable fluidity, showcasing the expertise she had acquired over the years. Luca couldn't help but be amused, a chuckle escaping his lips, as he realized Maria was using examples from her own tutelage to guide and inspire Theo.

Reflecting on Maria's journey, Luca felt a profound sense of admiration for her determination and growth. He remembered when Maria was once a stagiaire herself, receiving his mentorship with open-mindedness and a hunger for knowledge. In just five short years, she had risen through the ranks and blossomed into a skilled pastry chef.

Amidst the whirlwind of activity at Noma, Luca took immense pride in his role as a mentor to the stagiaires. Guiding and nurturing aspiring chefs had always held a special place in his heart. However, as the demands of crafting a new dessert menu and engaging in intensive research mounted, Luca found himself stretched thin. Working at Noma had been a dream come true, a blessing that brought him both fulfillment and a sense of purpose, yet the environment was a double-edged sword. The constant flow of tasks and the pressure to deliver excellence at every turn created an atmosphere filled with stress and high expectations.

The sheer magnitude of Luca's responsibilities as the new head pastry chef left little time for personal mentoring. The hours ticked away, swallowed by recipe experimentation, flavor combinations, and the pursuit of perfection. Fortunately for him, he’ll be able to gain some respite once he hires additional staff.

With a swift motion, Luca pushed back his tousled dirty blond hair, freeing his face from its gentle veil. The kitchen hummed around him as he approached a nearby sink, its stainless steel surface gleaming under the bright lights. He turned on the faucet, allowing the cool water to cascade over his hands and tattooed forearms, washing away remnants of his pastry endeavors. Once satisfied, Luca reached for a kitchen towel, which conveniently hung from his apron, and gently patted his hands dry, savoring the brief moment of calm amidst the chaos.

The distinct sound of Symone’s heels followed by the rarely heard laughter of the executive chef and restaurant manager caused Luca’s eyebrow to raise in interest.

"Luca," the manager's voice carried a note of enthusiasm and he made his way over to him with Kenneth and Symone in tow. "I have an exciting update for you. Symone will be spearheading a new campaign for Noma's upcoming dessert menu. She'll be working closely with you and the pastry team, collaborating to capture the essence of your creations to bring them to life in the digital realm."

Luca's heart jolted, caught off guard by the manager's unexpected revelation. A whirlwind of conflicting emotions stirred within him, threatening to disrupt the delicate balance he had meticulously maintained.

"Me?" Luca's voice trembled with astonishment as he pointed to himself, seeking confirmation of the news he had just heard.

As much as he found Symone alluring, Luca was acutely aware of the boundaries they had consciously set. Their interactions had been kept professional, with fleeting moments of connection. He respected the divide, understanding the perils of allowing their paths to intertwine too closely. The mere thought of being in such close proximity to her for an extended period might cause him to do something reckless like bend her over the kitchen pass and fuck her senseless, especially while she’s in those sky-high stilettos.

Fuck me.

"Can this get any worse?" Luca muttered under his breath, frustration mixed with a tinge of self-deprecation.

“What was that?” the manager queried.

“I can’t wait,” said Luca, giving him an assuring grin.

But the manager's announcement didn't end there. James continued, his voice filled with vigor, "And that's not all. In February, as part of our commitment to continuous learning and growth, you will be embarking on a trip to Japan with Symone and you will have the incredible opportunity to learn from the renowned pastry Chef Natsuko Shoji."

With his mind still reeling from the implications of working closely with Symone, Luca tried to steady himself as the manager's words echoed in his thoughts. A trip to Japan, and an opportunity to learn from the esteemed Chef Natsuko Shoji — both prospects were simultaneously thrilling and daunting.

As Luca fought to maintain his composure, his thoughts swirled like a tempest in his mind. The chance to expand his knowledge and refine his craft under the guidance of a culinary master was a dream come true. But the prospect of being in such close proximity to Symone, a woman whose presence stirred a fire within him, added an entirely different layer of complexity to the equation.

He took a deep breath, attempting to quell the rising tide of desire that threatened to consume him. Luca knew he couldn't allow his emotions to overshadow his commitment to professionalism, but the allure of what could be lingered in the air like a tantalizing fragrance.

As the manager and executive chef left the kitchen, their voices fading into the distance, Luca's eyes connected with Symone's once again. In that fleeting moment, the unspoken tension between them pulsed in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the desire that simmered beneath the surface.

Quickly, Luca averted his gaze; he couldn't afford to unravel the delicate threads that held their professional world together. He would focus on the trip to Japan, the opportunity to learn from Chef Natsuko Shoji, and he would keep his desires at bay.

Symone's eyes sparkled with excitement, her enthusiasm undeterred by his noticeable aloofness and the distance he seemed to be keeping. It was a familiar pattern, one she had grown accustomed to over time. Luca's guarded nature and reluctance had become a constant presence, an invisible barrier between them.

Symone leaned against the nearby countertop, a glimmer of anticipation in her eyes. "I've been thinking about the campaign, and I have an idea. What if we create a series of behind-the-scenes videos, showcasing 'A Day in the Life of a Pastry Chef'? We can capture the intense preparations, the creativity that goes into each dessert, and the passion that drives the team. It will give our audience a glimpse into the magic that happens in Noma’s kitchen."

Luca's mood softened slightly as he listened to Symone's proposal. He couldn't help but appreciate her creativity and dedication to showcasing their craft. Despite his reservations, her enthusiasm was infectious, and he found himself intrigued by her vision. Taking a deep breath, he decided to engage in the conversation, albeit with a touch of caution.

“Sounds good, Symone,” he tells her, his blue eyes gazing into her intently as he mirrored her stance and leaned on the counter behind him. “Let’s discuss this later. I have to get back with prep and research.”

"Okay,” smiled Symone as she pushed herself off the counter. “When will you be free to discuss the specifics?"

Luca, his demeanor still gruff and distant, replied curtly, "I'll let you know."

Symone couldn't help but sigh inwardly at his response, a mix of frustration and understanding, but she refused to let it dampen her spirits. With a playful smile, she retorted, "Come on, Luca, don't be a sour puss. We're going to have fun!"

Her words hung in the air, a gentle reminder of the connection they shared, a hint that there had to be more to their partnership than just work. With a wink, Symone sashayed out of the kitchen, her graceful movements leaving a trail of confidence in her wake.

Luca's eyes followed her, unable to resist the pull of her departing lush ass, his mind filling with conflicting thoughts and desires.

She definitely knows what she’s doing to me.

Part of him longed to let go of his reservations, to embrace the possibilities that lay before them. But another part, the part rooted in caution and self-preservation, reminded him of the risks that lay in intertwining their personal and professional lives.

TO BE CONTINUED....

#emjayewrites #luca x black!oc #Hulu’s The Bear #the bear fx #the bear season 2 #luca the bear #marcus the bear #carmy berzatto #luca x reader #the bear fanfiction #The Bear fanfic #The Bear #spoilers #season 2 of The Bear

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ctrlsatoru · 6 months

Text

DIABLO - TOJI FUSHIGURO

content: techbro billionare!toji, reader is gojo's little sister, age gap (toji's in his mid 30s, reader in mid 20s) kind of ooc toji, suggestive themes, no smut yet. warnings: 18+ only. suggestive themes. explicit language, references to sexual assault. toji having no sense of decorum. reader is engaged so, cheating? but not really and not yet. minors do not interact. pairing: toji fushiguro x afab gojo!reader word count: 8k a/n: i was listening to diablo by lexie liu and the rest was herstory. started as porn without plot but things escalated. will proofread this later. summary: Toji Fushiguro looks like a problem, and you know better than to let curiosity get the best of you, until boredom strikes.

There was a time when you speed-walked through this very same building with the drive that only a determined intern could contain. Six days a week, from busy mornings to late nights, you embraced every task they tossed your way, seamlessly transitioning between the demands of different editors.

In the midst of it, one newly appointed creative director saw your efforts and took you under her wing. What began as a professional mentorship soon evolved into an enduring friendship that extended well beyond your time at the magazine.

Utahime Iori, a guiding presence in your life, became one of your favorite people in the world—a friend with whom you shared an unspoken understanding, effortlessly reading each other's thoughts with a single exchange of glances across the room.

Fast-forward five years, and the abrupt, intrusive ring of your phone tucked under the pillow shook you awake. It was Iori on the line, her voice laden with urgency and distress. She was stuck in Kyoto, needing you to do her a solid one. Her father’s condition had worsened overnight, and she wouldn’t be able to make it back to Tokyo for a critical photoshoot.

And so, here you stand, back at the bustling headquarters of the technology and culture magazine where you started your career. Despite your throbbing headache and the relentless fatigue that clings to your tired eyelids, you refuse to let your friend down.

Today's mission: capturing profile photos for an enigmatic tech mogul, a figure so elusive that no magazine has ever managed to secure an interview or collaboration. Probably some Zuckerberg from shein with an amped-up eccentric, incel overlord edge.

Iori had shared the name and a brief overview of the assignment during her desperate call, but the details had slipped through your grasp in the haze of your concern for her.

If you remember correctly, the concept is something corny along the lines of Diablo.

“Ok,” you breathe after the third scalding gulp of coffee that someone thrust in your hand the second you arrived.

Utahime's assistant, a young girl with striking blue hair and asymmetrical bangs named Miwa, looks up from her phone at you with bright eyes, relieved that you’re finally showing signs of life.

“Uh, who the fuck is this guy again?”

You’re momentarily distracted by how cold this place is. A shiver cuts a straight line up your spine. July in Tokyo is no justification for keeping the set at industrial fridge temperature, you think. For some reason, Miwa’s opening and closing her mouth like a fish out of the water. You know Utahime can make any seasoned truck driver sound graceful when she’s under enough pressure, so it can’t be your choice of words.

You fail to notice your surroundings coming to a stop, or the shadow towering over you.

“Toji. Toji Fushiguro.”

Oh.

That's one way to sober you up.

You’re definitely awake after hearing the deep yet smooth rumble behind you. Everyone within earshot gets ready for what’ll happen next as that oh shit realization settles on your shoulders.

But you’re no longer the eager intern who hid in the bathroom to cry after a rookie mistake. Nothing in your face gives away your heart threatening to crawl out of your ribcage. You turn around bravely and face a soft, dark blue surface.

No choice left but to look up… and up again, until he’s framed inside the thin silver structure of your glasses.

Your first impression of him is simple: no one this tall should stand at this close of a distance. There should be two, or three meters between you to make up for the lack of an acceptable height.

Toji Fushiguro -the name does stick this time- tilts his head to the side and gives you what might be the most shameless once-over. His eyes feel like a dark green horizontal light scanning you from head to toe. It ends with a quizzical expression on his face. The irk is triggered within the second.

“Who are you?”

That same question pops into your mind.

The hair team probably spent twice the time it took you to get here on LA traffic to arrange his inky black hair in the perfect unbothered way. There’s a healthy glow on the sharp edges of his face that can only be the result of seamless natural makeup, enhancing his ruggedly handsome looks.

You’re thinking that by too big, Iori meant that he’s massive. Literally. Wide shoulders block the tungsten spotlight behind him, casting a shadow on you and drawing a luminous halo around his silhouette.

Nothing’s angelic about him. You can tell just by looking. It’s a family gift. You may not have your brother’s electric baby blues, but you have the sight, as he calls it, and the alarms in your head are off.

Miwa shifts her gaze between you like she’s about to shit herself when Choso, the head photographer and a good friend of yours, cuts through the tense atmosphere with admirable ease. He rests a warning hand on your shoulder and takes it upon himself to introduce you.

"She'll be our director today, stepping in for Utahime."

Toji Fushiguro turns to Choso, his eyes never leaving you, observing.

“Why? What happened to Utahime?”

"She had an unexpected family emergency and asked her to fill in. She's worked with us before, and she's excellent at what she does. You're in capable hands today."

What a star, Choso. A beacon of diplomacy. The world would be a much more peaceful place and the arms industry would collapse if he got into politics, you’re sure.

Still under his scrutiny, your expression remained composed. You knew his steely smile would fade soon, and—

“Well, that’s all that matters, isn’t it?” Toji concludes breezily, extending his hand toward you.

You reciprocate. Unlike him, you don’t even look down to see how his palm engulfs yours. You just know it will. He on the other hand lifts both eyebrows at your firm handshake.

“I look forward to working with you, Gojo.”

Two hours in, it occurs to you that it might be the case that everyone on set is under some kind of horny spell.

Him nearly walking through the backdrop five minutes in and laughing it off with a cocky comment and a devilish grin sets the entire set on edge from the get-go.

Apparently there’s something about an overwhelmingly tall, ripped, attractive grown man pouting like an iPad kid when his tiny but scary female assistant comes in between breaks to confiscate his phone. There’s a brutish charm about him that makes people act like Victorian gentlemen glimpsing an ankle for the first time in their lives.

The wardrobe assistants are in a heated discussion about how many hands it would take to wholly grasp his bulging biceps.

You, however, remain the skeptic, observing from the fringes. Though if you took any part in the conversation, you’d point out how fucking thick his neck is. Does he lift weights with that thing? What does he need all that for?

When the makeup artist approaches him for touch-ups, he widens the distance between his feet until his face reaches a comfortable height for her to work away. The behind-the-scenes team gobbles it up like ravenous piranhas, and you expect to see this doing numbers on the magazine’s YouTube channel.

Done with feeling out of the loop and not satisfied with what you catch from the set gossip, you take a bathroom break and allow curiosity to get the best of you. You lock the stall door, sit on the lid, and google him.

His name auto-completes after just three letters. You stare at the Toj on the search bar before digging in.

Techbro, self-made, controversial, messy family background. He was the mastermind behind the acclaimed video game, Diablo, which exploded in popularity during the early 2000s. For years, he's faced criticism in several countries for glorifying violence, gang activity and accusations of satanism. You have to chuckle at that. Nonetheless, Diablo hit it off big and he went on to found a videogame and software company under the same name. He's been steadily encroaching on giants like Tencent after repeatedly refusing buyout offers.

Buzzfeed has a trove of ridiculous articles filled with GIFs of him looking scary and hot at the same time, of him looking like the bodyguard of everyone’s dreams, of him taking no shit from the press. Of him looking like a character out of his videogame. You get the idea.

But something else in the personal life section draws your attention.

He’s a Zenin. And not a distant one. He’s Naobito Zenin’s very own nephew.

According to a twitter thread, he severed ties with his fucked up dynasty of a family when he was younger and paved his own way under his late wife’s last name. The reasons for the fallout are unknown to the public, but theories are abundant in the replies. You bookmark that for later.

You can't help but wonder if your brother knows him.

With all this newfound context, you’re almost disappointed that he showed no offense to your frankly rude introduction. After all, you’re a Gojo, the impulse to antagonize a Zenin runs through your veins. And if it’s not an inherited impulse, Satoru personally taught you how to handle them. One of your favorite early teen memories of your brother is watching him reduce Naoya Zenin to tears.

The handshake felt layered, like a declaration of war tucked behind a steely smile. There’s a glint in his eyes when he catches you looking that contradicts the unbothered, enigmatic persona people are simping for religiously online. It’s there and it’s gone, but you’re fast enough. It tells you that he’s playing nice as a temporary measure. If you have to guess, he’s planning to make his team bring up your misstep up to the magazine higher-ups.

You're torn between concern for Utahime and a deep-seated desire to see him try.

The day unfolds smoothly with minimal intervention on your part. You stay behind the monitor and let the crew do their job. Your role mainly involves offering insights when requested by the wardrobe team and flagging promising shots with Choso.

Seeing him go through different stages of boredom and despite his not-so-wide variety of facial expressions, you note the camera doesn’t hate him. It's a unanimous consensus that, in another life, he could have pursued a career in modeling, or perhaps even acting. When someone inquires about your opinion on the matter, you become the focal point of a few discreet side-eyed glances. Your response is a non-committal hum.

Your attention is currently fixated on the last sequence of preview shots displayed on the screen, there’s a very specific detail that you just can’t let pass.

“Can we take a quick break? I wanna try something.”

Choso, taken aback by your sudden initiative, responds, “Yeah, of course, take your time.”

Toji’s face drops from the draw of his eyebrows as you approach him.

“Hi,” he says with that off-putting lift of the corners of his mouth that is supposed to be a smile. He’s probably thinking that your stalling is only prolonging what he wants to be over with.

“Hi,” you catch his inquisitive glance at the objects in your hand. “Is it okay with you if I wipe off your scar?”

His eyes snap down at yours as he thinks it over, squinting for a bit. You’re certain he’s about to tell you to fuck off when he nods briskly, opening his palms as if beckoning you closer.

“Go ahead.”

It's a polite, seemingly harmless green light, yet it feels like you're a bird about to peck at grains of rice beneath a box suspended by a stick.

“Can you—”

He reads your hesitation and does the same thing you’ve seen several times today. He opens the distance between his feet, clasping his hands behind his back. You, for some reason, wait until he looks up at the ceiling like people on the makeup chair usually do out of instict, but he stares at you instead.

Taking a Q-tip soaked in micellar water, you start working away the thin but high coverage layer of foundation, careful not to overdo the edges. A few swipes in and the natural rosy hue of scarred tissue appears, a few shades darker than the color of his lips. It’s a slender, vertical ridge that cuts across his lips, about an inch long. A feature too distinct to waste.

You pull back and he takes the brief chance to run his tongue across the scar, pulling a face at the taste he finds.

Unfazed, you wipe away any excess micellar water and—well, his saliva, you assume—with the dry side of the cotton swab. Once you’re done with that you pat away with a disposable puff dipped in translucent power, just to get rid of any unnecessary shine.

“All good? You satisfied?”

“Yes.”

“Cause you don’t look satisfied.”

You’re happy with the outcome of your tweaking, yes. The overall shooting? Well, you’re not in love with it, but you don’t have to be. This whole thing has Utahime’s and the magazine’s aesthetic written all over it, harsh contrasts, blunt shadow.

“This is Utahime’s concept, I’m going with the brief,” You answer, taking a step back to get an overall look and consider any further touch-ups, stopping him when he starts to go up again. “No. Stay right there.”

“What concept would you go for?” he asks, complying pointedly.

“Like I said, I’m going with the brief I was given.”

“But if you were the original director?”

You wouldn't even be assigned to the task. You left the magazine shortly after you finished your internship and never looked back, even though you liked it here and were being given a much nicer offer than you were expecting. The reason for it being that you found out that your brother had been wining and dining members of the home editorial, showing interest in negotiating for the magazine.

It was a no-brainer for you to part ways and find another way. These days, you work with brands and entertainment agencies that allow for more creative freedom, usually sought out for your particular aesthetic.

“I wouldn’t be so heavy on making the tech oligarch look human.”

You reply more out of impulse than calculation, the same way you touch a cat’s tail knowing there will be consequences.

“You suggesting I don’t look human?” He flashes a cold grin at you, kind of like a warning. it’s gone as soon as you blink at him.

The novelty has worn off. Most of the crew are busy doing their own thing, discussing lunch and stretching to alleviate the fatigue of a long day. A few lingering glances remain trained on you— Miwa, Choso, his soldier of an assistant. Toji doesn’t wait for your answer.

“So, what do I look like, then?”

Like a shark, you think. Don’t ever grin at me again, creep.

“You’re a curious one, aren’t you?”You tug lightly at the neckline of his shirt, just a pinch of the fabric, barely touching him at all. "Maybe that should be included in the profile."

He hums. “I do get bored easily.”

You conclude the brief interaction and walk away, acknowledging Choso with a nod, all the while ignoring the way Toji’s amused eyes linger on you.

Like you’re just postponing the inevitable. Whatever that might be.

He finds you later that day, after you’ve wrapped up.

He enters the room with the unspoken confidence of someone who believes he owns not just the studio, but the entire building. Like he's just acquired the magazine and now feels entitled to disrupt your peace with a shitty opening sentence.

“Your work.”

You look up from your phone and find him in the mirror in front of you. The hair and makeup team packed their stuff a while ago, all the stations are clean and deserted, and only the lights remain on.

“It’s… interesting. The butterflies, are they alive?”

You look up from your phone and find him in the mirror in front of you. The hair and makeup team packed their stuff a while ago, all the stations are clean and empty, and only the lights remain on.

“Sorry?” You’re unable to hide your annoyance at the unexpected interruption.

“I googled you. Your work. It’s eye-catching, quite… I guess eccentric’s a good way to describe it. Very edgy.”

You’ve heard your fair share of similar comments in the past, but he pouts and frowns with the last two words and irritation pulls at you. You let your hands drop to your lap.

He leans nonchalantly against the door frame, arms crossed, undeterred by your silence and your less-than-friendly attitude.

“I was wondering, are the butterflies real or is it CGI?”

You can’t for the life of you decide if he’s being serious, or decipher his intentions. “Neither. They’re props.”

“They look very realistic.”

“They do,” you agree. “That’s the intention.”

“And the flowers?”

“Those are real. For the most part.”

“I see. So how would you have me?”

“Excuse me?”

He visibly fights back a smile, and you wonder if this one would’ve reached his eyes, but seeing how you’re going back and forth like you can’t let the other get the last word, you doubt it. You doubt that he’s capable of such a human thing. Smiling warmly. Honestly.

“You said not so heavy on the looking human earlier, so what concept would you go for if we worked together?”

Because he won't leave you alone to discuss dinner plans with Satoru and Suguru, you stand up from your seat and turn around to rest against the floating station. Facing him like this feels a lot safer than speaking to him through the mirror while giving him your back.

He’s dressed in his own clothes, a basic light gray t-shirt several tighter than the soft material the stylist put on him and a pair of dark jeans. His phone is, as usual, attached to his hand, constantly lighting up with notifications.

“I don’t know. It usually takes me a week to get a feel of the concept.”

“I saw the tank pictures,” he replies a bit too quickly as if he didn't care for your answer. You’re certain that you don’t like this man. You don’t like how bluntly he describes your work, or that you immediately know what he’s talking about.

Knowing how things went on that particular set and from the way he looked absolutely done in the most basic environment without having to do much work, that would be a disaster.

“I wouldn’t put you in a tank,” You snort dismissively, and he tilts his head curiously.

“So?”

A string of visual prompts runs through your mind. You’d submerge half of his face in black tinted water, or have his head resting on a white surface, make blood spill from his eyes. Perhaps you'd drown him in smoke or apply early 2000s mechanical prosthetics to his face and neck. You’d make his skin flush like rubies as if it were burning to the touch. In every single one of them, his scar is left untouched.

“Nothing you’d be comfortable with.”

“You see, I think we could meet in the middle.” he reasons, very eloquently, like he knows just what to say to negotiate with you. You imagine that this is the same voice he uses with his board members to bend them his way. “Can’t say I’d be down for the body-pilling thing or the full-body suits, but I’m sure we could come up with something that leaves us both satisfied.”

“Are you trying to hire me right now?” You’re genuinely confused. And hungry, and tired, and nursing a lingering hungover.

“No,” he chuckles, like the notion is absurd “but you looked bored on set today, and I think I could live up to your vision, is that the word?”

“Right, uh huh.” you nod, very condescendingly, remembering that you’re no longer filling up for anyone or hold any professional responsibility. This is just some man wasting your time. “So what is this? You got a praising kink or something?”

He’s unbothered by your dig. “Not that I know of. Can I be honest?”

You lift your shoulder in a half-hearted gesture. It's not as though he cares about seeking permission anyway.

He lets his eyes drop to the floor and looks back up at you with a bashful little grin.

“I’ve just always wanted to fuck a married woman.”

You’re not as surprised as you are relieved that he’s cut to the chase. He’s not the first man to detest you and want you at the same time. Men often blur the lines between disdain and sex. It’s only fun when they don’t get too comfortable or want to only deliver and fold when it’s their turn to take.

The situation settles on you. The room seems smaller now, and the distant sounds of people outside have all but faded away. He's blocking your only exit, put you in this tight spot intentionally.

There’s a possibility that he’s some exception to the norm, that he can take as much as you suspect he can give, but you’re not going to find out.

“Too honest?” He's devoid of any shame or attempts to sound apologetic. Instead, he's assessing you closely, monitoring you for any reaction.

You know men like him. He has to be used to people eagerly dropping to their knees with just a tilt of his chin. Most of the people you worked with today would do so without hesitation. But Toji Fushiguro, with his insincere smile and unflinching demeanor, harbors far more selfish and hostile motives than bending you over the same chair you were sitting in and making you watch in the spotless mirrors.

“Should’ve kept my intentions to myself?”

A corner of your lips lifts, and he zeroes in on it.

“Didn’t scare ya, did I? You’re a big girl, you're not gonna run.”

He’s daring you now. Fully predatory, like he’ll do something at the slightest indication. Shark. You picture him stalking his way into this secluded space that only the crew knows about after finishing recording videos for the magazine’s social media accounts, his shadow looming across the narrow corridor.

Fear and power. That’s his deal. He either wants to witness a furious flush down your neck, your throat bob in trepidation and your hand look for your phone–

“And do what?” You cross your arms, refusing to cower. “MeToo you? Expose Japan’s mysterious self-made billionaire hellboy? Reddit would riot.”

–Or he wants you to bite back.

“I mean, considering the way you were eyefucking me I think I could probably pull the reverse MeToo card on you.”

Your chin drops, your eyebrows go up, and your head leans back at the accusation. Were you? Eyefucking him? Maybe.

But so was the whole room.

And nothing’s stopping you from bullshitting. “Someone’s optimistic.”

“Is that it?” he smiles, tantalizing. “Do you always just take on the job of the make-up kids out of the goodness of your heart?”

You're not going to indulge him with an answer to that. It's not uncommon for you to take on various roles and responsibilities during your projects. There was a time at the beginning of your career when you engaged in every aspect of your work, from styling and set design to prop work, editing, and even makeup.

“Right. You go ahead. Tell Instagram that I sexually assaulted you with a cotton swab.”

“It’d be just another Monday for Gojo’s PR mercenaries, right?” he pushes you further, casually dropping the G-word as a last resort.

“Everyone likes to look at pretty things, don’t be cocky, old man.” He starts blinking real fast like he’s never been called old to his own face. “Earlier, you asked me what you look like.”

The scrunch of his nose indicates that he wants to say something before the subject changes, but ends up only squinting at you.

“I did ask you that.”

“You look like a problem,” you let your words hang in the air for a moment. “And not the kind I have fun dealing with, no offense.”

Finally, he grins again, tongue coming out to just graze the edge of his canines. Something inside your belly moves as you follow the movement.

“And I’m not married yet, so– you might want to take your intentions somewhere else.”

He nods thoughtfully, then he buries his hands in the pockets of his jeans and lifts his shoulders, taking in a deep breath. The motion reveals a thin line of hard skin under his shirt and just the edge of his underwear.

Water under the bridge.

“Well, no harm in putting it on the table, right?”

Your phone buzzes. Your car is waiting for you outside. You move like he’s not standing by the doorway and blocking your only way out.

“Have a pleasant day, Fushiguro. It was nice to meet you.”

It’s Friday when you see him again at your friend’s birthday party.

He’s lurking his way through the party, nursing a drink with his eyes attached to the screen on his hand until the birthday boy himself hunts him down. Haibara, producer and pitchfork sweetheart whose debut album cover art you worked on earlier in the year.

It’s a funny sight, it would be almost endearing if it weren't for the fact that it's him. The sunshine main character dragging the hunched, brooding giant along with him. Toji looks like he’s trying his best to keep up, half-amused, half-annoyed, nodding as Haibara rambles away. You wonder how the two even fit inside the same room, Haibara being so charming and Toji, a walking threat.

Then you remember Haibara mentioning that he's been working on the soundtrack for a video game.

Your friends’ conversation mingles with the music and flows around you. Someone’s getting married to his ex-husband’s father. Yuki’s about to open her third concept store somewhere in Europe. You can’t be bothered to focus too much on catching up, but you do meet Shoko’s eyes across the room when Mei Mei says something particularly questionable.

You see a hint of longing in her eyes, a shared sense of missing Iori, just as you do. On a brighter note, her father's health is finally starting to improve.

A hand wraps around yours, and another settles on your shoulder. The cold press of a ring on your skin brings you back to the present. You look at your fiancé and get the dreaded feeling that you’re an impostor pretending to know what to do with a man so devastatingly beautiful.

Hiroki leans over your shoulder. “Car’s here.”

His hand feels hot and clammy on yours as he leads you out of your friend's sight, turning back occasionally to make sure he hasn't lost you in the crowd. He won't stop until you're both outside, standing by the side of the street.

“Call me when you land?”

Of course, he will. Nothing has changed. He’s starting a new project in some small town in the middle of nowhere in Europe in 24 hours. You won’t ask him to stay. Six months will pass, and nothing will change, you’ve both done this before.

But you stall. He always calls a car with this in mind. You kiss by the sidewalk, he squeezes you in his arms until your bones fight back. You’ve done this before. It’ll happen again, considering how his acting career is taking off overseas. You’ll do it time and time again until–

“You taste like pennies,” he tells you, and you can't help but laugh softly into his mouth. Your finger traces the barely there curve of his thick, straight eyebrows.

“Make sure to take an aspirin.”

He nods, always sweet and obedient when you’re nagging. You tuck a strand of hair away from his eyes so that people don't fall too hard for him on his flight. His hair has grown longer in recent months, part of his preparation for a role.

Back inside, Yuki makes room for you by moving her legs off the couch. She asks if everything is okay, and you pull her legs onto your lap, rolling your eyes. She knows you too well.

“Don’t gaslight me. Something was off.”

“Do I look like something’s off?”

“No, but you’re a fucking oyster. Hiroki’s not that good with his face for an actor. He kept looking at you like he was afraid you’d disappear.”

Choso chimes in, draping his arm around her shoulders. "They're getting married. I don't want to jump to conclusions, but I think he might like her, and he might enjoy looking at her."

Looking out of the window, your gaze naturally drifts toward a figure seated by Haibara’s covered dock. Earlier, it was adorned with twinkling lights, but now, even in the dark, you can discern a solitary silhouette in the middle of the glittery ocean.

Mei Mei taps her cigarette, fixing her eyes on you from the other side of the couch.

“Does it have something to do with Toji Fushiguro asking about you, by any chance?”

Your stomach drops. Your group of friends reacts quickly.

“Huh?”

“What does Toji want with you?” Yuki asks, face snapping at you. “Is he trying to get to Gojo through you?”

“We worked on a shooting with him a few days ago.” Choso calmly explains before she can come up with any conspiracy. “She was covering for Iori. Made quite the impression on him, I think.”

“Oh, Satoru’s gonna fucking hate that.” Shoko laughs, unexpectedly loud in her inebriated state. “Please, please fuck him. He’ll be so pissed if you fuck him. It’ll be hilarious.”

“No respect or regard for Hiroki.” Choso shakes his head, and it looks like he’s laughing from the way his shoulders move up and down. “Poor bastard.”

“Yeah, well.” Shoko shrugs, not bothering to hide her dislike for your fiancé.

You shake your head and roll your eyes. “He’s just pissy because I was not— exactly professional. I think the asshole might try to get me blacklisted.”

Choso makes a noise of disagreement. Yuki frowns in concern. “Shit. What did you do?”

“She showed up hungover, asked who the fuck he was when he was standing behind her, and traumatized Miwa.”

“Not Miwa. She's an angel.”

“Whatever you did, he’s asking around…” Mei Mei adds with a sick barely there smile, finger on her chin. You don’t like how well she knows you. She makes you feel like she knows exactly what went down that day.

You wonder how well she knows Toji, and how much he told her.

What exactly he asked.

“...and let’s just say that he’s not the curious type, so make your assumptions, everyone.”

You tap Yuki’s thigh without thinking twice and push yourself off the couch. A string of accusations about scaring you off follow, and Mei Mei teases you about not meaning to do that.

“Fuck off, I just need some fresh air.”

“But you’re gonna consider it, right? For me? Come on, it’ll cheer Iori up.”

“I’m not gonna fuck some random man just because you think it’d be funny, Shoko.”

And you’re pretty sure Iori would be the first to tell you to stay away from him. Shoko sags against the back of the couch like a puppy you stepped on.

You step out of the house, past the pool, the limestone steps, and stop only to take off your sandals. The sand is cold and yielding, no traces of the warmth of the slow Atami day left, soft grains clinging to the soles of your bare feet.

Haibara’s dock stretches out into the ocean, endless until you reach the far end and leave behind the sound of laughter and music. It’s him, like you suspected, sitting on the edge, his legs hanging over the sea.

With one elbow resting on his thigh and a phone in hand, his other palm supports his face. You sweep a strand of hair over your shoulder and inhale the salty breeze, opting to linger a while before revealing your presence.

“I think I got it.”

He looks up at you, momentarily caught off guard, allowing you to take a triumphant sip from your glass, the alcohol causing a painful sting inside your cheek. He's still engrossed in the medieval game he was playing from days prior, his commitment minimal, his thumb hovering over the screen.

You leave some distance between you as you take a seat, your glass resting between you. It’s a high drop from here, the water looks as if it could freeze you instantly.

“Hand-held CCTV cameras aimed at your face. Like guns. Point blank.” you finally elaborate, once you’ve found a comfortable position, demonstrating with your hand.

“Sounds fuckin’ uncomfortable.” he remarks, eyeing your demonstrative fingers. You wonder if he’s drunk and how much alcohol it would take to get him there.

You drop your hand, and he follows the movement. “I warned you.”

“So I don’t get flowers? No butterflies?”

“Nah.”

He lifts his gaze from where it had settled on your thighs, and you absentmindedly tap your ring finger against the bare skin out of habit.

“Thought I was pretty.”

You snort in response. Tonight, the moon shines particularly bright, illuminating the dock lounge. It's a serene spot to catch a break from the lively party.

“I changed my mind.”

He sucks on his teeth. “You can’t take a man’s virginity for being called pretty and then take it back.”

“If it helps, you’re still objectively nice to look at.” You say behind your glass. No point in lying, he’s hot. And self-aware. And you’re not blind or ashamed to admit it.

“Objectively nice to look at.” he repeats, like he’s getting a feel of it, or memorizing it for future use. “What about the fiance, then? ‘s he pretty? Enough for flowers and butterflies and shit?”

“I met him working for an editorial. He did get flowers.”

“Ah, I see. So, does he do that often?”

You let another sip wash down your throat, this time tilting your head to the side to avoid the sting.

He returns to his game, and you trace the profile of his nose while the screen highlights the hollows beneath his eyes and the fine lines around his mouth. If you were a bit more intoxicated, you might be tempted to snatch his phone and toss it into the water, anything to halt the conversation about Hiroki. It would force him to look at you instead.

“Leave you alone at parties.” he adds.

You've momentarily forgotten the initial question. “He’s my fiance, not my babysitter. I can take care of myself.”

“Never suggested otherwise, did I?” he sniffs, and a part of you, the sensible one, contemplates returning to your friends and disregarding whatever pulled you out here. Leave him be to enjoy his game and stay away from the one brewing between the two of you.

“What about your entourage? Are they comfortable leaving you out of their sight?”

“I can fend for myself too,” he says, eyes set on his phone. He seems to like to add your name at the end of his sentences.

“Can I play for a bit?” you ask, extending your hand. He hesitates, briefly glancing at you as if to confirm you're not taking the piss, down at his phone, and back at you.

His phone is big enough to feel like a console, and there's a very on-brand crack on the left corner that he warns can cut you. It gets him a side eye that he reacts to with a careless shrug.

You haven’t played any games in years or downloaded any since the younger members of your family grew out of the age where they came as useful, but you recognize this one from ads you’ve seen on Instagram.

It doesn’t take any experience to figure out that you’re supposed to manage some kind of orthogonal kingdom. There’s a castle and a medieval-style village surrounded by a tall wall, with full crops around. You tap around, collect coins here and there, zoom in and zoom out under his close watch. Every time you tap a building without a full green bar, a few options show up, you bite your lip to hold back a smile and hit the red X on the right corner of what looks like a church.

“Hey–”

He’s snatching his phone out of your hands before you can pretend to be sorry.

“Fuck you’d do that for?”

You don’t know why, but his annoyance hits you as the most entertaining thing you’ve seen or heard tonight. A grown-ass man next to you sulking because you deleted his little 2D church on his phone. Shoko might think you fucking him would be hilarious, but this, to you, is real comedy.

“What? You religious or something?” You doubt he is, given his controversies and taunting the satanic-panic crowd. He also happens to look like god left the room the moment he was born.

Toji shakes his head, not as an answer but to reiterate that you’ve pissed him off. A laugh full of mirth bubbles out of you. He’s tapping aggressively, filling up the blank spot with a smaller version of the building, and sucks on his teeth again, disappointed at how pathetic it looks around all his leveled-up properties.

“Did something happen to you as a child, maybe?” You inquire.

“What?” he gruffly responds, offering you an irritated glance. He’s kind of cute like this, frustration looks like a foreign emotion for a man like him.

“Are you diagnosed?”

He does a double-take again.

“Is that offensive to you?” you tease, struggling to contain your amusement at the situation. "Sorry, I know your generation isn't that comfortable discussing mental health."

“See, I might be socially stunted, yeah–” he gruffs after staying quiet for a bit, finally putting his phone inside his back pocket. You lift your eyebrows, eager to see where he’s going with this. “I can agree with that. But you rich kids–”

“Oh, us rich kids?” you gasp softly, not expecting that turn, you bite your lower lip to stop yourself from laughing out loud as he’s not done with his sudden rant. You’re fucking tickled.

He shakes a thick finger in your direction. “–You’re fucking uncomfortable to be around, you know? It makes you think that maybe bullying exists for a reason. They don’t rough the bunch of you nearly enough at those expensive private schools, do they?”

“Dude, I hate to break it to you, but you are a rich kid inside a grown man’s body.” He rolls his green eyes at you until all you see is white, thick eyelashes fluttering.

“Oh, I see. No, I get it. You’re self-made and I’m nepo trash. A spoiled little bitch with a bad attitude who’s never been taught a lesson, is that it?”

Animosity radiates out of him. He flattens his palms on the wood surface behind him and clenches his jaw, shaking his head like he’s not even going to try to reason with you.

“You wanted to hatefuck her but then she ruined your game and made you feel uncomfortable, and now the chase isn’t fun anymore.”

“Nah, you’ve got it wrong there, sweetheart. I don’t put people in such one-dimensional boxes.”

“No?”

He scratches the side of his nose before elaborating.

“Spoiled little bitch, yeah. But you’re a hard worker. And stubborn, too. You’ve been paving your own way, working real hard to traumatize daddy back, haven’t you? You run on pure spite, eh?”

“Fuck off.” you scoff, throwing back what’s left of your drink.

“And– get this,” eyes now glazed with a cruel glint, he leans in closer like he's about to share a secret, and peers down at your chest when you do the same “He’s the crowned king of our country’s conservative media, he’s also old as fuck, so that can only mean that he’s a raging homophobe on top of, you know? Violently misogynistic. You and your brother got your therapist's pockets nice and full, paid off a few nice vacations to hawaii, probably bought a big beach house for her.”

He stops and cocks his head, like realization just landed on him.

“But you, you’re weaponizing the fuck out of him. Christmas at the Gojos's a fucking nightmare for your poor little fiance, but you have your fun, don’t you?”

Just a few minutes ago, you’d been savoring the signs of irritation in his body language, mind running wild with all the ways you could make him tick, but now you want to punch him in the throat. Just bury your fist right there in that v-shaped Adam's apple of his.

“You’re cold-hearted for that, sweets. You know you are.” he accuses half-heartedly, the wicked glint in his eyes hinting that he's trying to strike a chord. “Tell me, does he prepare his social justice speeches beforehand or does he just sit there next to you, quiet and pretty and eats his dessert?”

“Don’t talk about my family, asshole.” You lick the inside of your cheek, but you know the strung tone of your voice will only egg him on.

“Why not? You’re on the news every day. Everyone talks about you.”

Usually, when it comes to your family, you’ve got thick fucking skin. You’re aware of the stain and privilege of your last name. The advantages you’ve had and people claim you don’t deserve. The fact that you’re the living consequence of your father cheating on Satoru’s mother.

Most of the things they say about your father and his monster of a corporation you can agree with, but you keep your head high and your thoughts to yourself and stick to sharing looks with Suguru when it gets particularly nasty between your brother and your father in family gatherings.

“He’s been causing quite the stir, hasn’t he? Your brother. If Alzheimer’s doesn’t do it, he might be the one to finally send your old man to the grave.”

But you don’t fuck around when it comes to Satoru.

You’re propping yourself up on your wrist and lifting your leg when his hand comes to your bare knee, stopping you from attempting to stand up and walk away. His grip is surprisingly gentle, though the tips of his fingers touching the back of your knees do send the message. It’s like he can’t let you forget how much smaller you are in comparison to him.

“Whoa, easy. I’m just playing with you.”

You blink down at him, face set, hoping to deliver the message that you might push him into the water if he fucks around any further.

“I have plenty of family baggage for you to hit me back with, have at it.” he adds, almost kindly.

You remember Naoya Zenin with tears running down his face. If you had to bet on it, you’d say that making Toji Fushiguro cry would single-handedly give you bragging rights over Satoru for the rest of your lives.

He hums when you sit again. “Go on, get as creative as you want.”

“I doubt you even have a family.” you bite “God knows what Zenin lab near Fukushima you escaped from."

“Weak but creative, I’ll give a tick for that. So, what I’m getting here is that you get along with him, then.”

You frown, confused.

“You couldn’t pretend to give a shit when I mentioned the fiancé, but you looked like you would’ve blown my brains if you had a gun on you the second I brought your brother up.”

He sounds suspiciously genuine. You don’t feel like elaborating.

“I know him,” he mentions offhandedly, leaning back. “Flashy cottonhead prick, doesn’t like me very much.”

“Can’t imagine why, enchanting as you are.”

“Probably gonna like me a lot less after this.” he reasons, more to himself.

He turns to you before you can dwell on what he means by that. “So, you’re two peas in a pod then? You and him?”

“I don’t see him that often.” you think out loud, your dinner plans fell through after a sudden change in his schedule. “He’s on some getaway in Osaka, performing some corporate sacrificial ritual.”

“And you’re too cool to involve yourself in such bland, boring affairs.”

You’ve had a bad feeling since your father announced he’ll be stepping down from his position. With the board and investors spiraling and Satoru suspiciously playing your father’s game, you see havoc brewing in the future; your father closing his fist around his leashes, children crying, kittens separated from their mothers and blood spilled on the floor.

And you want none of it.

“I’m an outsider. You don’t need me to explain how it goes, do you?”

He nods at you like he’d tip his drink at you if he had one, deep in thought.

You prop yourself up on your wrist and bring a leg up to rest your feet on the rough wood, inadvertently knocking over your empty glass. You both watch as it tumbles, rolling in a circular path until it meets the edge and drops out of sight, vanishing beneath in the inky water, as if it never existed.

“Water looks nice.” he says.

You hum uncommittedly.

“Wanna take a dip?”

His eyes are already on you when you look up at him. There’s not nearly enough alcohol in you to ignore the distance between you, or the lecherous dip under the friendly, harmless veneer. You wonder what triggered this change so abruptly.

You gaze down at your attire, a deconstructed, stretchy fabric ensemble unsuitable for water activities.

"No, but you can go ahead. I'll watch from here and look the other way if you start to drown."

He dips his head slightly, his frown implying you're a buzzkill. "Come on. You've never gone skinny-dipping?"

“That’s a very lame attempt to get me naked.”

He points at the party with a tilt of his head

“No one’s gonna see you. I will, but I’ll behave, 'cause you’ve had a rough night” The vague fucker carries on again before you can ask what he means by that. “I didn’t think you’d be this shy.”

“And I don’t think Haibara knows he’s friends with an old man that likes to creep on girls a decade younger.” you retort.

He's momentarily silent, and you believe he's finally relented.

Yet, he hooks a finger beneath a thin strap of your top that slipped down your shoulder at some point, deftly guiding it back into place. His nail barely grazes your skin, causing a shiver to course through you. He grins wolfishly, his eyes locked onto yours, darkness flickering from beneath his lowered lashes, tantalizing.

“Like you’re some innocent little lamb who doesn’t know better? I don’t buy it.” he mocks you, voice dangerously dropping. “Your cover’s blown, sweets. I see you. You’re a lot darker than you look.”

“You think so?”

“Mhm. You’re a little fucked up, ain’t ya? Got some real violent impulses tucked in there.”

That’s rich, coming from him.

"So perhaps you should tread lightly around me."

“I don’t mind.” he says succinctly like you didn’t just witness the black completely eclipsing the green of his eyes. “Tell you what, you’re more than welcome not to hold back around me. Consider me your safe space. Let it all out, you sure look like you need it.”

“How kind of you.” you croon, he blinks, slow and warm for you, lashes coming to rest on the sinking blue-tinted skin of his under eyes.

“You wanna go back and do drugs, Toji?”

The sea roars, a particularly violent wave crashing under you. He looks over his shoulder like he’s thinking of it.

“With your friends?” His tone is derogatory at the last word, unaffected, but you have a theory that if you were to put your hand on his chest, the rhythm of his heart would tell a different tale.

Cute. He’s cute. You want to chew him up.

He hit the spot about you not being the lamb, but another thing entirely. The thought makes you want to laugh in his face, but instead, you smile and pop a dimple, swinging your feet and imagining yourself dropping a handful of rice in front of him.

“No. Just you and me.”

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