#they get back to the penthouse and are just Arguing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sinner-as-saint · 7 months

Text

I'm insane, but I'm your baby

Dark!Bucky x Reader (age gap au)

Run-through: You broke things off with Bucky shortly after you realised that he was quickly becoming overly emotionally reliant on you. And you were not ready for that kind of commitment. Besides, when you and Bucky first got together, the rule was no emotional bond at all. It was all just transactional, exciting, and fun. But then he changed. And you didn’t realise just how much you meant to him… until he showed you.

Themes: ex-sugarbaby!bucky, dark!bucky, obsessive!bucky, sugarmommy!reader, mild MDLB (nicknames only), possessive!bucky, switch!bucky, smut, brief somno, bondage, praise kink, reader gets referred to as “mommy” a lot, dub con, manipulation, age gap (Bucky is in his twenties, Reader is in her late thirties), gun play, mentions of stalking and violence

a/n: warning – dark fic, pls read the themes carefully and do not consume media that makes you uncomfortable.

You knew he was already in your house the moment you walked in.

Firstly because that was his car outside, parked near the driveway fountain. Secondly, because he’d been doing this for a whole week now. Ever since the two of you broke up, he’d show up at your house whenever he wanted.

He still had copies of the keys you’d given him. And he acted like a brat each time you asked for the keys back. What if I left something and I desperately needed it? He’d argue. You were a busy woman, head of and handling family businesses and some of your new ones as well so you rarely had enough time to argue over keys with a young man who refused to act his age.

Part of his bratty behaviour was your fault, you knew that. He was already spoiled when you met him – typical rich boy who rebelled against his rich parents whenever he wanted. But then when he met you, he became a total brat. You spoiled him even more than his family did – cars, trips, jewellery, a penthouse in whatever city he wanted, everything he’d asked for, you gave it to him.

In return, he was at your beck and call. He often joked about how you trained him like a loyal puppy. You laughed, because it was true. Whenever you called, he came running to you.

Your ‘relationship’ was perfect in the beginning. It was fun, and an amazing way for you to unwind and get away from the hectic work life. But then, Bucky got clingy. Emotionally clingy. And you tried to talk to him about it, but he would just act up and refuse to listen. Or, most of the time he’d just distract you with his amazing body.

So you went with the flow for a couple of more months, before about a week ago you sat him down and broke things off. Of course it wasn’t easy. Bucky was especially bratty about it and was having none of it. But eventually stormed out of your house.

He was back the very next day, begging and pleading for you to take him back. You asked him to leave. Then he was back the following day, same old story. Then the day after that, he’d let himself into your house while you were still at home. You’d asked him to leave.

And he’d been repeating this bullshit for a whole week now. You were tired. Your days at work weren’t particularly easy. You had a huge staff to manage, meetings to attend, everything rested on your shoulders. All you wanted was some quiet time when you got home but no. A certain blue eyed young man, previously your sugarbaby, wouldn’t leave you alone.

You sighed as you walked further into your house. Dropping your keys and shoes in the foyer as you walked towards the kitchen. And there he was.

Wearing nothing but dark grey sweatpants. Smooth, tatted skin exposed. With his bare, muscular back to you, cooking something like he was completely at home in your space. Well, he did live here with you for the last few months.

You watched him for a moment as he moved with ease in your kitchen. Fuck, why did he have to be so irresistible? Especially in this kitchen, where you’d fucked countless of times…

“What are you doing?” You asked, once you were done eye-fucking him.

Bucky turned to look at you with a sly grin on his face. He lowered the flame, wiped his hands on a nearby tea towel and made his way over to you.

You couldn’t even push him away as he held you in his muscular arms. You could feel the dampness on his skin, like he’d just gotten out of the shower. Surely he even used your gym as well.

He nuzzled your cheek, “Hi mommy,” He whispered, “How was your day?” He kissed along your cheek, then down your neck. So slowly you felt yourself slipping under his spell again.

But then you recovered and carefully stepped out of his embrace. Ignoring the hurt on his pretty face at you pulling away, you asked again, “What are you doing, Bucky?”

“Making you dinner.” He answered, stepping closer and wrapping his arms around your waist again, “Your favourite pasta.” He smiled down at you, then leaned in to kiss your nose. “Want some wine while you wait for it to be done?”

You sighed, pulling away again. “Bucky, I don’t like having to kick you out all the time.” You stated, looking him right in those puppy dog, ocean blue eyes. “But enough is enough. Give me my keys and please,” You tried not to sound too harsh, “Please leave. You and I, we’re done. I can’t… I can’t give you what you want, and we agreed on that. So please, leave.”

He was quiet. So were you. It was tense, heavy, emotional silence. You were tired of always breaking his heart like this. Why couldn’t he just understand?

“But I thought…” He crossed his arms, his muscles looking even bigger this way. “Did you never love, or care about me?” His tone suddenly softened.

You sighed for probably the tenth time. “Bucky, this again?”

He gave you the innocent, puppy dog eyes again. “I just… I thought we had something, mommy.” He whispered, sounding like a lost puppy, “Didn’t we?” He inched closer, his body heat wrapping around you. “Didn’t we, mommy?” He whispered into your ear, making you shiver. “Don’t you remember how good we were together?”

You almost gave in again… almost. “Get out.” You said.

He pulled away, surprised and frowning at the coldness in your calm tone. “Wha… what?”

You almost felt bad. “You heard me. Get out.” You repeated. “Don’t make me call security.”

He reluctantly left.

You heard the purring of his car engine gradually fade, and the alarms signalled that the gates were shut again.

You went to the stove and turned it off, the food already ruined. You cursed under your breath because you knew this wasn’t the last time. Bucky could be adamant when he wanted something.

Or someone.

—

Much to your surprise, he didn’t show up the next day. Or the day after that. And just when you thought he was finally out of your life… you dreamt of him one day. Even in your dreams he was not ready to let you be.

You dreamt of him in your room, in your bed. His soft hair brushing against your face as he kissed all over your jaw and neck… nibbling on your skin.

He chuckled when you let out a sigh of pleasure. “I know, mommy.” He kissed along your exposed neck. “I know you didn’t mean it when you said we were done the other day,” He whispered, brushing his lips against yours, “See? Even in your sleep your body still wants me.” He sounded pleased. Mischievous.

“So beautiful… and all mine.” You felt his phantom hands brushing against your thighs… like he always did whenever he woke up in the same bed as you.

He always took full advantage of the fact that you slept in the nude. And you lived for those moments, those slow mornings filled with endless kisses and caresses and cuddles, and him being brat and not wanting you to leave the bed, or him. You dreamt of his lips kissing down your neck, down your chest, down your torso…

He chuckled again, his boyish laughter echoing in your head. “You’re all wet for me, mommy.” He noted. He was right. You could feel it. Dreams always heightened every sense so you were fully aware of the wetness in between your thighs.

He kissed your hips, whispering, “Your baby boy is hungry, mommy…” He kissed right above your clit, warm breath making your body come alive even in dreams. He always had a talent of making your body sing whenever he touched you.

Then his warm tongue licked along your slit, his hands spreading your things apart to give him better access. Your hand moved lazily, fingers ready to slide into his hair… even in your dreamy fantasies you assumed his hair would be silky soft… but you couldn’t quite move your arm.

That was the equivalent of warning bells ringing. You opened your eyes, no longer dreaming, and gasped in surprise as you not only found Bucky in between your legs but your hands were tied to the headboard. With one of his expensive ties.

“Bucky…” His name sounded more like a soft moan as he shamelessly tasted you, eating you out passionately, giving you his all.

At the sound of his name, he looked up. Held your stare as he lazily circled your clit with the tip of his tongue, then said, “Morning, mommy. How did you sleep?”

“What…” You sounded breathless as his finger slowly slid inside you, stroking that spot inside you that he knew all too well. Fuck, this was sweet torture… “What are you doing?”

He chuckled, finger-fucking you lazily. “Waking you up, of course.” He frowned playfully. “What does it look like I’m doing? Hmm?” He pressed another kiss to your throbbing clit before he nuzzled the space between your hips, “How dare you keep this away from me, huh? How dare you keep yourself away from me, mommy?”

You were too overwhelmed to speak. Hands tied above your head, his finger and tongue in between your legs… each time you opened your mouth to speak, only moans escaped. No coherent sentences.

“Bucky!” You cried out when he made you come the first time. He just chuckled and showed no sign of stopping. He added another finger and kept stroking that spot inside you, his tongue kept teasing your clit until you came a second time. “Bucky, please…” You begged.

He looked up this time, smiling like a devilish, blue-eyed, young god. “Yeah, mommy?”

“Please just… untie me.” You whispered, breathlessly.

He chuckled, in that boyish way of his. “No? Cause then you’ll just pull away from me.” He reasoned. “I like you like this, all nice and open for me.” He said, “I really missed this, I didn’t even touch myself because… because that’s your job, isn’t it?” He rambled, fingers still slow fucking you. “You can’t just kick me out and stop caring for me just cause you feel like it, mommy.” He frowned, in a way you’d always found both bratty and adorable. “Don’t you see? Don’t you see I need you?”

You sighed and whined as he made you come once more before removing his fingers from you.

“Did you hear me?” He asked, kissing his way up your body, “Your baby boy needs you, mommy.” He whispered as he nuzzled your neck.

You had no choice but to play along, ignoring the way your body, traitor that it was, craved him still. ��Baby,” You whispered, “I need you to untie me, okay?”

“No.” He said in that bratty voice of his.

You groaned internally. This is what you get for fucking around with clingy, younger men. “Baby, please.”

He pulled away to look down at you. His glorious body hovering above yours. Bare chest, only black sweatpants today. “You won’t pull away?”

“No.” You answered, truthfully.

“And you won’t ask me to leave?”

“No, baby.” You were beginning to hear that familiar bratty tone in his voice. He could get whatever he wanted when he got in moods like these.

He smirked, with nothing but a glazed, determined look in his pretty eyes. “Good,” He said, then reached behind him and pulled out his silver handgun. A very familiar handgun. Damn you, another silly purchase. This one even had his initials engraved on it. Bucky chuckled when he saw the look on your face, “Oh I would never hurt you, mommy. This is just… precaution.”

You nodded, holding his stare. You said nothing as he brought the gun closer to your chin. The cold barrel pressed against your skin as he dragged it downwards. Your heart raced faster than it ever had. Bucky’s eyes followed the trail of the gun as yours remained fixed on his face.

Then he said, “Do you remember when you gave this to me?” He stopped the barrel right in between your breasts. “Do you remember how much fun we had that night?” He smirked, dragging the barrel further down your body.

You hissed as the cold barrel pressed against your wet folds. Bucky had a heated look in his lust-drunk, now hooded eyes as he slid the tip of it up and down your folds, coating the barrel with your wetness.

You squirmed under him, instinctively grinding against it. It felt immoral, chasing that feeling. Fuck.

“Look at you, mommy.” He mumbled. “All of this for your baby boy, huh?” He brought the now wet barrel to his mouth, opening his mouth to let his pink tongue out. He held your stare as he licked it clean. That sinful tongue of his tasting you again. “You always taste so fucking good…” He tossed the gun aside once he was done proving his point.

Your mind was a mess. Torn between giving in to desire and lust, or side with rational thinking.

“Open your mouth, mommy.” He whispered, leaning in until his face was just inches above yours.

When you did open your mouth, he spat in it before leaning in to give you an orgasmic kiss. Messy, wet, warm… your body tingled under him. His warm skin pressing against yours. Bucky reached up and untied your wrists.

Instead of trying to put some distance between your bodies, you found your hands reaching for him. Your fingers sliding into his hair as he moaned into your mouth. “Fuck… mommy,” He whimpered, holding you closer and kissing you deeper. “More,” He groaned, “I want more.”

Your bodies moved into position instinctively. Your legs spread just enough for him to settle in between them.

You had forgotten just how sensitive you were from earlier, so you hissed in pleasure and pain as he slid all the way in.

You saw panic in his eyes for a moment as he calmed you down, cradling your head and kissing your face. “Shh, shh, hey,” He whispered softly, “It’s just me,” He said, kissing your lips, “It’s just your baby boy, mommy. Open up for me, that’s it, there you go…” He moaned as he pulled out and pushed back in again.

You swore as Bucky moved his hips expertly, slipping in and out of you with ease. Soon, he was slamming into you, his movement animalistic and unrestrained much like his feelings. He was relentless, taking what he wanted, how he wanted.

“Buck…” You whined, giving up and just letting him pleasure you.

Bucky slammed in and out of you continuously, moaning and grunting in the process. “You feel so good, mommy.” He murmured as he increased his pace, fucking into you mercilessly as your legs locked around him.

Your thoughts were a mess yet again as you felt your vision getting blurry with each passing second. You squirmed in pleasure as both his hands gripped your hips, pulling you into him, hard, each time he filled you up. “Baby…” You moaned.

“I know, I know,” He pressed his forehead against yours, breathing heavily. “Tell me I feel good inside you,” He whispered, “Tell me I fuck you good, mommy.” Damn him. He knew just what made you lose your mind and he used them all to his advantage, making you fall under his spell just like that.

He sped up, rocking his hips harder against yours when he noted that you weren’t doing as he asked. His hand reached around to grab your throat carefully. He squeezed gently, speeding up into you as he looked straight into your eyes, your soul. “Tell me I fuck you good.” He said, jaws clenching and a vulnerable look in his eyes.

You gripped the bed sheets as he pounded into you. “You… you feel so good, baby.” You mumbled, Bucky leaned down and pressed his soft lips against yours as you whispered, “You fuck me so good.”

He smirked. “I know.” He sounded cocky as he said, “I know only I can make you feel this good, mommy.”

Your walls constricted around him, hard enough to make him go faster. Bucky pounded into you harder than before, the sounds of your skin slapping one another resonated around the room. He took you higher, and higher, and higher until you felt tears escape your eyes.

“Baby…” you were breathless, unable to form coherent words as he fucked you silly.

“Come for me, mommy.” He groaned, giving you a messy kiss as he moaned some more against your mouth, “Come for me…”

You let the pressure build inside you, before letting go, unable to hold back. More hot tears streamed down your face as Bucky kept pounding into you, your eyes rolled back and you moaned out loud as you came. He didn’t slow down as you felt your orgasm wash over you, chasing his own.

“Fuck, mommy,” He came with a loud groan, filling you up with his cum yet again. You caught your breath as he leaned down to kiss you again. Kissing all over your face, down your neck and your shoulder. “That was so good,” he whispered, “See how good we are?” He caressed your face, “Why do you want to throw this away, huh?” He kissed your forehead.

Then he looked over at your bedside table and chuckled.

“Look at the time,” He sounded calm and normal again. “You’re gonna be late for work, mommy.” He giggled, kissing your cheek, “Want me to drive you? We could grab breakfast on our way.”

Your brain was too foggy for you to string together words or sentences so you just nodded and whispered, “Okay.”

—

After that morning, it was back to being as if you’d never broken up in the first place.

Each time you even try to say something regarding your relationship, Bucky would shut you up with a mind melting kiss. His skilled tongue and hands could make anyone forget anything.

You’d wake up each day to find flowers on your bedside. Breakfast was always already made. And Bucky was always ready to drive you to work.

You decided to bring this whole situation up one day while he was driving. “You know we can’t keep doing this, right Bucky? We can’t… you can’t keep acting like this.” You looked at him, sunglasses hiding his pretty eyes, jaws clenched, that tight black t-shirt hugging his muscular body…

Bucky sent a quick glance your way, smirked, placed his hand higher up your thigh and asked, “What are you talking about?” He was so fucking good at acting oblivious.

“This, Bucky!” You gestured to all of him. “All of this. You refusing to leave, you driving me to work.” You listed. “We ended whatever was between us,” You stated. “Why are you being like this?” You lowered your tone, realising that reasoning with him was futile.

He didn’t say a word. He kept driving, kept his warm hand on your thigh. His touch was as electric as always. His calm demeanour was nothing but a façade, and you knew. He was like a ticking time bomb just waiting to explode.

And he did.

When he pulled into the underground parking lot of your office building, he grabbed your wrist before you could get out of the car.

“Let go, Buck. I’m getting late for a meeting.” You told him.

He took his sunglasses off, tossed them aside and said, “You’re the boss. There’s no such thing as the boss being late.”

You sighed, rolling your eyes. “Fine, what do you want?”

“You.” He answered, leaning closer as he tugged on your arm to bring you closer to him. Fuck he smelt good. “You’re all I want, mommy. No expensive gifts, no trips, no cars, nothing.” He whispered, brushing his lips against your cheek. “Just you. All of you.”

You groaned, pulling away a little. “I can’t give you that.” You explained. “I have a busy life, I can’t commit, I cannot be in a normal relationship, I can–,”

He cut you off, tightening his grip in your wrist. “Is there someone else?” He questioned, again with that glazed look in his eyes. “Hmm? Is there some… Steve?”

You frowned, “How do you know Steve?”

Bucky smirked, “I went through your phone after you fell asleep last night.” He confessed with no shame. “He texts you quite a lot, doesn’t he? He’s a bit too flirty to be just an employee, mommy.” Bucky spoke, low and deep. “Who is he?”

“No one.” You answered truthfully. Sure, Steve could be a little flirty sometimes. But he was amazing at his job and you couldn’t lose him so you ignored his flirty comments and texts as one does. He was indeed no one though. “Just an employee, Buck.” You said, quite annoyed. “Don’t fucking touch my phone again.”

He subtly flinched at the coldness in your tone. “Sorry, mommy.” He murmured. He looked genuinely apologetic for a moment. “I… I saw someone kept texting you late at night and,” He let go of your wrist and slid his hand in between your thighs, “I had to see who it was.”

Yeah. Pencil skirts around him? Bad idea.

But his hand felt so good. His fingers sliding up and down the flimsy material of your thong. You gasped as he slid a finger into you easily. “Oh damn you, Bucky.”

He chuckled darkly into your ear. “Do you like him?” He asked, sliding another finger inside you, making you roll your hips, thrusting into his hand. “Do you let him touch you?”

“No,” You whined. Your hand wrapped around his wrist, keeping his hand in between your legs as you moaned. “He’s… no one.”

“He better be no one,” Bucky whispered, kissing down your neck as he finger-fucked you. “Otherwise…,” He gently nibbled on your skin, “You know I always keep my gun on me, mommy.”

You gasped in shock and pleasure. “Bucky, please.”

“I will never hurt you,” He whispered. Then chuckled almost maniacally. “You know I will never hurt you. But that doesn’t mean I won’t get rid of whoever tries to come between me and my mommy,” He said, thrusting his fingers rapidly in and out of you. “You’re mine.”

The interior of the car was heating up. The air was dense and hot, your heart was racing as he touched you, taking you higher and higher… until he stopped abruptly. Pulled his fingers out of you and popped them in his mouth, shamelessly moaning at your taste.

You almost came at the sight of it.

You didn’t realise your hand had subconsciously started making its way in between your legs, seeking to alleviate the sweet pain there, until Bucky slapped your hand playfully and said, “Stop that. That’s my job.”

That broke you out of whatever spell you were under. “Why’d you… why did you stop?” You questioned, breathing heavily.

Bucky smiled, kissed you on the forehead and said, “I have to keep you wanting more, mommy.” He kissed your mouth, gently. “I’ll pick you up later. Just give me a call, okay?”

And just like that, he avoided confronting the situation at hand. Again.

—

A few days later, by some miracle, you’d managed to talk Bucky out of dropping you and picking you up from work each day.

But of course, he didn’t agree to that out of reason. No, he needed to see something.

You were unaware of it but Bucky had gotten access to most of the security cameras placed in your office building. The underground garage, your personal office, your assistants’ offices, the lobby, everything.

He did it to keep an eye on you at all times. All because he wanted you safe all the time. And anytime you were out of his sight, his heart was restless. This was the only way he could be at peace.

But also, he needed to keep an eye on this Steve.

—

One evening you came home, and the house was eerily quiet.

No dinner cooking. No extravagant flower arrangement waiting for you in the foyer. No cheesy notes. Nothing.

The silence was the opposite of peaceful. You walked cautiously inside your own home, looking for the cause of this tension in the air. The kitchen was empty. So was the sunroom. And that left…

There he was. Sitting in your lavish living room. Manspreading on a sofa with a drink in his hand and… his gun in the other hand.

You stopped and froze immediately. “Bucky?” You called out, given he was staring at the ground rather than at you. He didn’t reply so you tried again, “Baby? What is it?”

He looked up this time. Whatever his moods were, he could never resist those nicknames coming from your mouth. He took one last sip of his drink, whiskey it seemed, placed the glass on the carpet and said, “I thought you said he was just an employee.”

Your heart sank. You knew who he was referring to. “He… he is.”

“Oh?” He tilted his head to the side as he pulled his phone out, tapped a few times before turning the screen towards you and there it played. Footage of you and Steve from earlier, saying goodbye to each other.

In the video, you could clearly see yourself smiling and laughing at whatever Steve was saying. Then out of nowhere, Steve leaned in and kissed your cheek before whispering a goodbye and wishing you a good weekend.

You looked back up into Bucky’s eyes. They were empty. Like there was no soul behind them, nothing just betrayal, anger, and hurt. “It’s not–,”

“You said he was just an employee.” Bucky repeated, leaning back against the sofa. “Then why the fuck was he touching you? Hmm? Kissing your cheek? Why did you let him touch you, mommy?” His calm voice made you shiver.

“How did you… have you been watching me?” You asked, taking a step closer to him, only the coffee table separated you.

He was quiet. Cocky pout on his pink lips. You noticed the slight stubble on his cheeks and how much older they made him seem. More broody even.

“You can’t do this.” You spoke softly, trying not to aggravate the situation. “You can’t invade my privacy like–”

He cut you off. “Oh please,” he pouted like the brat he was. “I’m your baby boy, aren’t I, mommy? Can’t I care about you? Can't I keep an eye on you when you’re away?”

“Bucky… this is too far–”

He cut you off again. “Too far?” He chuckled in that humourless way. “You think I’ve gone too far?” He stood up, he was in no way drunk.

His movements were calculated, steady, and commanding. He walked around the expensive coffee table and stopped just inches away from you.

“You’re lucky you couldn’t hear the thoughts that crossed my mind when I first saw him kissing you, mommy.” He leaned in and breathed in your scent. “He was this close to you, wasn’t he?”

“Bucky,” You tried not to let your voice sound shaky. “Please…

“Tell me why I shouldn't go back and…” He brought his gun up in front of your face, “mess with him a little.” He scoffed. “How dare he touch you? Hmm?” Bucky brought the barrel up to your face and trailed it down your cheek. “Doesn’t he know you’re mine?” He whispered. “Doesn’t he know only I get to touch you?” He scoffed. “Or am I your secret, mommy? Huh? Do you not tell people about me?”

You gasped as the cold barrel trailed down your neck, and disappeared into your shirt, lightly grazing the tops of your breasts. His lips brushed against your neck next, kissing his way leisurely up and down.

You were a mess. You were scared but you knew he would never hurt you. You thought, maybe if you hadn’t been so harsh when it came to breaking up with him out of nowhere, maybe he wouldn’t be like this right now… right?

His hands quickly undid your top buttons as he kissed his way down to your cleavage. He let out a soft, vulnerable moan as he tasted your skin. The sound of it almost made you slide your hands into his hair to tug on it. Almost.

“Bucky,” You whispered breathlessly, “You can’t do that. You can’t hurt him just because he kissed me goodbye.”

He scoffed, pulling away to look into your eyes. His pretty blue eyes were still vacant. “I can. I might.” He said, “You know I would do absolutely anything for you.” He brought the barrel of the gun and tapped it against your parted lips.

“No.” You insisted softly, “You can’t.”

“No?” He gave you his signature puppy dog eyes. “Tell me why I shouldn't? Give me one good little reason, mommy.” He leaned in, his free hand touching you down your side. He knew your body too well. He knew you would be dripping for him if he just checked.

He went to do it, but chose to tease you instead, dragging his fingers up and down your inner thighs through the fabric of your skirt.

Oh damn him. Him and his intoxicating touch.

“Because I love you.” You finally slid your fingers into his hair. He closed his eyes momentarily, as if relishing the feeling of your touch against his scalp. “Just you.” You said, “It’s just you for me. He’s no one.”

For once, his eyes lit up. “You promise, mommy?”

“I promise baby boy, I promise.” You repeated. “Put the gun down.” You instructed. And when he did as you asked, tossing the gun aside, you said, “Now how about we forget about all of this and have one of our lazy nights, hmm? Just dinner, a movie, me and you?”

Bucky smiled, leaning in to nuzzle your cheek. His arms wrapped around you tightly. You couldn’t help but hug him back. The familiarity of his body made you burn. The touch of his skin against yours like the electricity you craved.

He whined as he nuzzled your neck. “I’ve missed you…” He whispered, unbuttoning the rest of your shirt before taking it off slowly. “Can I please have you? I need to feel you, mommy. Need to taste you… need to make you feel good.” He breathed into your ear, making your body shiver. “Please?” He begged.

You nodded and let him guide you over to the sofa. He sat down and pulled you onto his lap. He chuckled once you straddled him, pulling your skirt up as you undid his pants.

“I won’t let anyone come between us, mommy. No one. Ever.” He whispered, sliding his fingers between your legs and rubbing you where you needed him the most. He watched in awe as you gasped and moaned. Was there a prettier sight? He wasn’t sure there was. “You won’t leave me, would you?”

“No…” You gasped as he slid two fingers into you, stroking you until he brought you right over to that edge, and kept you there.

“Good.” He said, “‘Cause I’m crazy about you.” He chuckled, “You can’t blame me, though. Love does that to people.” He leaned in to kiss your neck, biting down on your skin playfully. “You know there’s nothing I won’t do for you, right?” He sped up his fingers, fucking you a little faster until he began to hear you make those soft little sounds he loved so much. The ones where you tried your hardest not to moan. “I will beg, worship, and plead…” He trailed off, stopped finger-fucking you for a moment, just to get your attention before adding, “...and I won’t hesitate to even kill for you, mommy.”

You whimpered. Fear and pleasure. There was a warning in his eyes. His glassy blue eyes, there was truth in them. And manic love. Obsession.

There was no other way for you to go about this situation so you took on your role. You reached up and carefully wrapped your hand around his throat, pushing his head back just a little. You stared into his eyes as you lifted your hips and positioned your hole to the tip of his hard cock.

“No killing. None of that, you hear me?” You said as you slowly sank down his cock. His lips parted as he exhaled shakily, your walls clenching around him for emphasis. “Do you hear me, baby?”

He let out one of his pretty whimpers and mumbled, “Yes, mommy.” Then he whined and cursed, “Oh fuck you feel so good.”

“Good.” You whispered, lifting your hips up and sinking down on him again. Repeating the movement until the two of you were groaning and gasping for air.

Meanwhile, his thoughts raced as you took his cock so perfectly. His perfect mommy. The love of his life. The woman who controlled every move, every emotion, every thing of his.

He smirked as he looked up at you, how you were riding him. Nice and slow, and passionate.

Bucky had to suppress a scoff. You really thought he’d let Steve go just like that?

Silly mommy…

Bucky might be the rebel son of his family, but his last name and generational wealth still spoke volumes. He had a little army of his own that he could command into doing anything. And they were currently… taking care of Steve on his behalf.

Not that you would ever know.

All you would know would be that on his way to work on Monday, Steve would have an unfortunate, terrible accident.

“Just you and me, right mommy?” He whispered in his lust-drunk haze as he looked up at you. You looked like a goddess. One he wouldn’t mind worshipping for the rest of his days.

You agreed. Unknowingly fueling his obsession. “Just us, baby.”

---

Fin.

a/n: [dials number rapidly] Freud my good man, listen–

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes imagine

1K notes · View notes

phyrestartr · 26 days

Text

Icarus, I Am Devoted | Sukuna x M!Reader

Main Fic W/C: 5.9k Bonus Drabbles W/C: 1.6k

[#Modern AU, ABO dynamics, Mob Boss!Sukuna, Alpha!Sukuna, Street Doctor!Reader, Omega!Reader, toxic relationships, age gap, sukuna is mid 30s, yuuji gang and reader are mid 20s, sukuna and yuuji are brothers, sukuna has FEELINGS, but he is BAD AT FEELINGS, nsfw, fluff, hurt/comfort, I KINDA EDITED BUT I JUST WANT THIS TO BE YEETED INTO THE OPEN OK BYE SORRY IF PARTS ARE CLUNKY]

@better-imagination-9 I summon thee

Sukuna didn't like Yuuji getting caught up in his business.

He was too brash, thought himself too badass for the world to take down, thought gang life wasn't as bad as it was made out to be, just because his older brother was involved. Sukuna didn't know where the fuck he got that idea–the tattooed menace had killed people, stolen money, sold shit that ruined lives. It was fun for him, sure, but not so much for bystanders.

“You're an idiot,” Sukuna growled as he dragged his brother into his office and threw him at the chaise lounge while they waited for their doctor on demand.

“H-hey, come on, man! It's, uh, it's not even that bad–” Yuuji grimaced, though, holding at the wound gushing blood from his arm. “You've had worse!”

Sukuna laughed bitterly as his henchmen flooded the room and made necessary preparations for their aid's arrival. “You and I are fucking built different, Yuuji--you’re too damn soft for–”

“I'm not,” Yuuji snapped, honeyed eyes blazing. “I'm not.”

Sukuna laughed again, then ripped his plush, leather chair across the room, sending it hurtling into the expensive ebony walls he encased his place of business in. He roared in overwhelming fury as it clattered to the floor.

“How hard is it for you to listen? How come you can never just fucking–”

“Yelling won't solve things,” your cool voice interrupted as you hurried into the room, medical bag in hand. “I thought you learned that by now.”

Sukuna whirled on his heel. His hands were still fisted in his hair and his blood boiled, but now, there existed an explosive tension with you in the room.

You, his pretty little omega. The one he chased away. The one he still craved. The one that drove him insane.

“Uraume,” Sukuna growled, crimson eyes locking onto his most devoted.

“My apologies,” they said with a pensive look and deep bow, “he was the only one willing to come.”

“So mind your manners, or I'll let your brother bleed out,” you said airily, so haughty and bitchy and annoying. But Sukuna knew you wouldn't let Yuuji die. You wouldn't let him suffer with a wound like that–you were too fond of the little brat.

Sukuna snarled in frustration and fixed his jacket with sharp tugs. “Just fix him.”

He stalked away, ignoring the way Yuuji yelled at him before preening at you as you tended to him. Sukuna knew his brother had a bit of a thing for you, his bitch, which caused more than a handful of problems with the two arguing and fighting for your affections. Naturally, you chose Sukuna. Of course you would.

The alpha's frustrations boiled, reducing the rage in his gut into simmering desire. He leaned his head back against the elevator mirror with a sigh as it shot up toward the penthouse--the one you, too, used to occupy. The one where you'd spread your legs for him, drowning in expensive, black silk sheets while he bred you like the good little thing you were. The one where you'd cook for him if (when) you woke up before him the morning after. The one where you first whispered I love you against his skin when you thought he was asleep.

The elevator doors dinged open, and he stormed out, eager to rid himself of the tightness pulling at his slacks. A cigar and a drink sounded good, too.

–

Ding.

He knew it was you. It had to be you. You were a good person, willing to let Uraume rest while you gave your ex the update he needed about his brother. After all, you didn't fear him, nor did you yearn to please him. You were more than capable of delivering shit news and getting off scotch free.

“So?” Sukuna took a deep puff from his cigar and leaned further into the balcony railing as you approached.

You hummed as you sidled up next to him, tucking some of your hair behind your ear as the breeze tugged at it. “He'll be fine. Yuuji's tough. He's a bit shaken up now that the adrenaline’s worn off, though.”

“Maybe that'll teach that idiot not to get shot.”

“Probably not.”

“Probably not,” Sukuna sighed, tapping off a dash of ash from the butt of his cigar just before it was plucked from his hands. “Oi.”

“These things'll kill you,” you scolded airily. “So will that.” You tried reaching for the crystalline glass of amber, too, when Sukuna scoffed and took a sip to spite you.

“Don't,” he snarled. Any normal omega would have backed away. Any normal omega would have keened. Any normal omega would have tried to please him up with a sweet scent of submission. But you were a different breed entirely.

“Don't growl at me–” you gaped as Sukuna downed the expensive liquor before whipping the glass at the skyline. “Sukuna.”

He stalked back into his penthouse with heavy steps as he ran his hands through his hair. He had to busy his fingers, his palms, just so he wasn't tempted to touch you, to grab you like he was used to. It'd been years since you were properly together–properly engaged in fact–but he still couldn't shake those infuriating fucking habits. You were a cancer in his mind, plaguing his body and thoughts.

But he didn't want you to leave. Maybe he liked the chase. Maybe he just liked how his entire, explosive world narrowed down to just one infuriating thing that he wanted so badly. He didn't know. Maybe he didn't need to know.

Sukuna poured himself another drink and collapsed onto his soft leather couch with a deep sigh. His arms draped along the back, one hand still holding the glass by the rim. He let his head fall back, and stared at the ceiling.

Thankfully, you wandered in. And you wandered toward him, not to the door like you usually did when his temper flared and he acted out. Something small and pathetic in him uncoiled and settled down, purring in content when you took a seat beside him.

“What's going on?” you asked quietly. Your fingertips singed sparks of pleasure against his skin where you touched: his cheekbones, his hairline, his furrowed brow.

He lolled his head to the side to look at you, his stupid pretty boy. “Nothing.” Not even Sukuna believed that.

You brushed his hair back, and the stupid alpha in him rose to the surface and moaned. “Yuuji’s not behaving?” Your warm palm cupped his cheek, and he leaned into it.

“That little shit never behaves,” he mumbled through the vibrato of purrs rumbling from his chest. “Gonna make me die young.”

“Hm. Is that why you haven't slept?”

“I'm sleeping.”

“How much?”

“Enough.”

“Sukuna.”

“I said–”

“You and I have different definitions of ‘enough,’” you chided lightly, like you were scolding one of your cats. “You look tired.”

“Maybe it's because my mate scampered off in the middle of the night.”

“Don't blame this on me.”

“Why not?” Wine-red eyes glowered at you, deciding whether he should dominate or decimate you. “It's your fault.”

You recoiled the slightest bit, your top lip twitching in that oh-so familiar way it did whenever you were close to snarling and snapping at him. You had such a temper for such a calm thing. Sukuna would be lying if he said he didn't try to rile you up on purpose.

“Ho? What,” he started, grinning wickedly when you made a move to get up, but his arms snaked around you and held like wrought iron. “Feelin’ guilty?”

“No,” you hissed, half-pissed by his drink spilling on you, half-pissed by his accusation. “Let go. I'm leaving.”

“Leaving?” He crooned. “You always get so pissy when I don't wanna talk, ‘n now that I'm in the mood, you're tryna leave? Come on, sweetheart, that's not fair.”

“I don't feel like fucking fighting tonight,” you snapped, and Sukuna stayed quiet for a change. “Yuuji got shot. You look like shit. And we--I haven't–” you took a deep breath. “Can't we just be civil for a night? Can't we just talk about–”

“About what?”

“About whatever.”

“Fine.”

“Alright. Okay.”

Somewhere behind the haze of alcohol, Sukuna's consciousness celebrated–this could be his shot at starting to fix things. This was his moment to rebuild that lost relationship and maybe clean up a space in his life for you to sit safely in. Your expectant expression agreed with him. You looked quite cute, what with your big eyes and the way you leaned into him. But instead–

“Was it a boy or a girl?” Sukuna asked before taking a sip of whatever remained in his glass.

You blinked and shook your head, eyes narrowing the slightest as you looked over his face. “What?” You asked.

Sukuna snorted and turned to face you, one arm gesturing with his scotch glass while the other arm stayed slung across the back of the couch. “I said,” he started, gesturing to your stomach and chuckling through his low, bassy words, “boy or girl? If it was a girl, then maybe the world did you a favour. You know how it is for women in this day and age.”

You stared blankly like you were shellshocked, and Sukuna bubbled with near-manic, reedy laughter until you got up and walked to the door.

“Oi, where the hell are you going, huh?” He got up and followed you, hastening his steps when he saw you b-line for the door. “Omega.” He grabbed your wrist and pulled you back, purring into your ear as he pressed his chest to your back. “Come on, we can make another one. You'd like that, huh?”

“Get off,” you barked, ripping his arms away from you. But he grabbed you again and spun you back to face him. You shoved him back, your mind whirling in a chaotic waltz drenched with grey thoughts and crimson rain that almost drowned out the words he barked at you until–

Whack.

He hit you. Backhanded, fingers adorned with thick, bulky rings and knuckles that'd seen too many fights. A natural disaster contained in the vessel of a mortal man–sometimes, he didn't know his own capabilities.

“Shit,” Sukuna mumbled, scrambling to set down his glass to, what, tend to you? Rewind time? Sure. “Babe–”

But you, too, were a natural disaster. The tsunami that came after an earthquake, raising tides high and staring down at split earth with a taunt: you think you're bad? Watch this.

Thwack.

You snatched up that bottle of fancy scotch and hit a home run, watching Sukuna collapse to the floor.

–

Sukuna woke up with a concussion, his wallet missing, and one of his favourite cars torched.

It got him riled up. He was too ready to hunt you down and make you rectify your mistakes–that is, until he remembered why you did what you did.

Boy or girl?

Maybe the world did you a favour.

Fuck. He flew way too close to the sun this time.

He watched you stack up expenses on his card instead of hunting you. Your little rage-filled crime spree was kind of funny anyway, and he couldn’t help but hope it made you feel at least a little better.

Though he knew it could never. Nothing could make it better.

–

“You should quit messing around with him,” Ieiri said as she tended to the half-dead gangster laying on her operating table. “He's bad news. A kid like you shouldn’t be getting involved.”

The one little, wiggly lucid part of Sukuna wanted to strangle Ieiri; you were young, sure, but not stupid. Sukuna wouldn't go so far as to say you were mature for your age, no, but you'd been beaten down by life and forced into the role of an adult for long enough that it'd changed your way of thinking, of perceiving the world. You could make your own choices–just as long as it involved him.

“You're not the first person to tell me that,” you said softly, words rising with a small, warm chuckle. “Good guys try way too hard to put on a show, to hide how garbage they can be.” You squeezed Sukuna's hand and ran your thumb over his split knuckles. “Guys like him show you who they really are right away. Then, you get to figure out what his good side is like.”

–

You were there again. In the elevator, looking a little pensive beyond your cool exterior.

Sukuna took a drag from his cigarette as he stepped in beside you. The button for his penthouse leered at him and whispered, “you have time.��

All he had to do was think of what to say. The right course of action was obvious, but–well, was it really his fault? He couldn't accept that 100%. You clocked him upside the head with a fucking glass bottle and stole his–

“Those things'll kill you.” Your fingers snatched the smoke from his lips before he realized it. He caught you butting it out on the fancy gold railings.

“I like things that can kill me,” he hummed, lighting another cigarette and chuckling when you snatched that one too. “What, scared of a little competition?”

“Yes.”

Oh. Sukuna liked that.

“I, uh,” you started, fumbling with your pockets before handing something over. “Found this.”

Sukuna glanced your way finally. He couldn't help but laugh as he plucked the wallet from your hands.

“Found it, huh?”

“Mhm.”

“Such a benevolent, pious thing. I would've kept it.”

“Yeah, well. You're a dick. ‘Course you would.”

“Where'd you find it?”

“My pocket.”

“No shit.”

“Yeah. Weird.”

The elevator doors dinged open, revealing the empty hall leading to the penthouse. He glanced down at the door before looking back down at you.

“Have a drink with me.”

Your expression soured.

Sukuna threw his arm against the doors to keep them open. “Coffee?”

Your brows lifted, the creases smoothing from your face. “Coffee.”

Sukuna's alpha bloomed with pleased content. He sidled up next to you and rested his broad hand on the small of your back, leading you down the hall.

“With a bit of Baileys.”

“No Baileys.”

–

He let you try to sooth his stress while you waited for your favourite, poor-person coffee to brew.

You straddled his thick thighs as you kissed at his neck. Your hands roamed and threaded through his gelled hair, your blunt nails dragged along his scalp, coaxing rumbling purrs out of your alpha.

“Shit,” he moaned, leaning back into your hands, digging his head into your digits and grumbling like an old dog. You hummed in sympathy, and gave him harsher scritches, making his knee bounce in double time like a dog getting the spot scratched.

You weren’t done, though. You licked at his neck’s scent gland and coaxed more of his natural musk to the surface to mix with yours–a classic way to get one’s partner to calm down. You were methodical as fuck about it, too, knowing how Sukuna’s stress abruptly blocked any good scents in favour of excreting foul, angry odors into the air when he was pissed. Or, sometimes, he’d shut down completely, the only scent coming from what clung to his skin and clothes.

And so, he needed a little more TLC to get things flowing again, to make his body disarm and let the good vibes flow.

You nipped the swollen spot lightly, eliciting a strangled growl from the man. “Too rough?” Your tongue pressed at the spot again, and pulled more of that deep purring out of him. “Maybe not.”

“By all means, rough me up.” That was as close to a warning as you would get from a greedy bastard like Sukuna. He wanted you to bite harder, to break skin and set the wild tornado of a mating rut into motion. You were careful to avoid him when your unholy heats crashed down on you, but being in the presence of your estranged man when he was set off–well, it’d jumpstart your sex-crazed frenzy, too.

“Raincheck,” you murmured.

He huffed and rubbed circles in your hips before grabbing your ass and squeezing. “When's the last time–”

The coffee maker sang a tune and you got off, saved from your warm, fuzzy marking daze. “Does it matter?”

Sukuna got up and stalked after you, rubbing the ache out of his shoulder. “Like it or not, we're stuck with our binding vow.” His chest pressed to your back, his arms slipping around your waist as he leaned down to nuzzle into your skin. “Mated for life.” He couldn't help the smile that branded into your neck.

You cleared your throat and snatched up two mugs. “There're surgeries–”

“No.”

“How do you take your coffee again?” Hah. You didn't even try to argue it.

Sukuna's ego boomed. His scent grew more dominating and demanding in tow. “You know how I like it. You know the way I like everything.”

You scoffed and slapped his hand away, the sweet, teasing omega that happily marked him up and scented him to high heaven gone, now replaced with your annoying, bratty self. Ugh. He loved it as much as he hated it.

“You used to be cuter,” Sukuna commented, quiet and breathy, so out of character. His hands retreated back to hold your waist instead of keeping you trapped against him. “What happened to–”

“You know what happened.” You sounded tired, too. Angry. But not at the Sukuna standing with you right then and there.

Sukuna's old friend, unyielding frustration, bore down on him. He sucked his teeth and beat down the urge to snap, to yell and scream, claim it wasn't his fucking fault and that you never filled him in, so how could–

His forehead pressed against your shoulder. “I don't,” he sighed. “I don't fucking know, (Name). We lost our kid, I know that much, so what the fuck else is there?”

For a moment, he thought he'd lost you again. He expected you to whirl around, throw a cup at his head and curse him to hell to start off another fight; instead, you slipped out of his hands gently, and replaced your warmth with a cup of coffee.

“Come sit.”

Sukuna complied.

You tucked your legs up under you when you sat down. Your own mug was held snugly with both hands, yet your fingers fidgeted, twirling around whatever rings you had on while you thought of what to say.

“So,” you started. “How much do you know?”

Sukuna leaned back and thought. “Uraume called. Said something was wrong.” He could remember their voice ringing in his ear, that usual, frigid demeanor exploding into something panicked and tortured as they tried to comfort you, order idiots around, and explain the situation. “They didn’t know what, but said you were bein’ taken to Ieiri. I met ‘em there, Gojo wouldn’t let me come in.” He sighed, the memories pricking his nerves. “Told me you miscarried, and–well, that’s more or less it.”

You nodded a little, digesting the scraps of knowledge that’d been given to Sukuna. “I was alone,” you breathed. “I was–I’d been cramping. A lot. I thought–I didn't know–I just–I thought it was normal.” You cleared your throat, fidgeting more and only stilling when Sukuna's palm rested on your leg. You covered his hand with one of yours. “There was a lot of blood. I thought I was dying. Uraume and Yuuji took me to Ieiri.”

Sukuna remembered that, too. He remembered catching sight of you just before his brother carried you away from him. It was hard to forget the sound of your wailing amidst all that red–that damned noise came from hell itself, from the burning, fetid pits of agony and despair and up through your beautiful voice. For something so foul to touch you was nothing but blasphemous.

Sukuna tried to follow you in, but that moron Gojo wouldn’t let him in, spouting some bullshit about how he’d make things worse. Needless to say, Sukuna snapped, and Ieiri suddenly had more than a mourning omega to deal with.

“I pinned it on you to cope. I didn’t know what else to do.” You spared a shy glance at him before staring down again. “...Uraume filled me in, though. You were dealing with so much shit. All that crap with the Zenins. And you didn’t even–you didn’t even know I was knocked up until I wasn’t.” You sighed and sipped your drink before setting it aside. “Guess it was easier to blame you for everything than it was to just accept I got unlucky.”

“‘Unlucky’?” Sukuna repeated lowly, void of mirth for once.

You nodded. “Chromosome bullshit, garbage genetics, a shitty cervix. Coulda been anything.” Sukuna watched your expression shift from desolate to bitter. “And if you fuck up once and lose your pup, odds are it’ll happen again.”

“Says who?”

“Science. Doctors.”

“You really gonna take their word like that?” Your eyes met his, doey and expectant. “I'll gut ‘em myself if they say that shit next time you're knocked up.”

You looked a bit bashful then, looking away from him with pursed lips and glossy eyes. For a second, Sukuna thought you were about to snap and argue with him about how you vowed to never get pregnant again (which he'd indulge in), or maybe even bolt for the door (which he wouldn't allow), but instead, you grabbed the remote.

“Tch. Don't say such stupid shit. It's annoying.”

Sukuna could only grin to himself as you settled in beside him, tucking up against his side. Neither of you could swallow your pride enough to properly apologize for anything ever, but that wasn't necessarily needed–understanding was what was needed. Things had just become a little bit clearer.

–

For once, the alpha found himself at ease. Sure, you had your petty and some less-than-petty spats, but there was a coil of contentment that stayed at the forefront of Sukuna's mind through it all. Now, he no longer fumed nor bristled, no longer wondered if you really belonged to him, no longer thought about how to trap you if he wanted to keep you around.

Because you made more of an effort to see him, to call when you couldn't, to set his vicious wolf's heart at ease so he could rest soundly. He rested the most when you were so gracious as to curl up in those black, silken sheets with him, too.

Don't get too excited. It's just because we're mated; we'd go insane otherwise, Is how you rationalized it. And, honestly, it was cute to see you act so flippant and uncaring when Sukuna knew you were so the opposite.

Little liar. Loves playing pretend. He gently tucked stray hairs behind your ear as you snoozed soundly beside him. It was unlike you to sleep in so late (“late” meaning past 6am), and it was unlike Sukuna to wake up before you, so it must have been kismet.

Because this moment was the first in a long time where he got to touch you. Beyond the playful ass slaps and grabs at your hips, you never really let him feel you. Or did he just never try to touch you like this? Gently, just for the sake of feeling your skin and your warmth?

Sukuna was a brutal man. He didn't often have a chance to be careful. If he'd had that kid, then he might've learned how; he could've learned not to throw glasses at skylines, not to lash out at his omega, not to expect you to still love you when he broke you.

He brushed his thumb along your cheek and down to your jaw, admiring the soft skin and strong angle that led him to the curve of your chin, and your perfect lips. God, he wanted to kiss you. It'd been an eternity since he had a taste of you. Maybe if he was gentle–

I can do gentle. Sukuna shifted the slightest bit towards you until his nose lightly brushed against yours, until he felt your light breaths fan against his skin. Ah, why was his heart beating so fast now?

He did his best to ignore the way his pulse thundered in his ears when he brushed his lips against yours once more, before he kissed you softly. Gently. Perfectly. And he took his time parting. He had to savour the taste of your lips against his because who knew when he'd get to kiss you again?

I love you, he heard echo in his memories when your lips parted. But he never heard himself reply.

“Love you too, brat,” he murmured. “Don't you dare think otherwise.”

Your eyes opened a moment later. “You mean that?” came your reply, just as light and whispered. Sukuna felt waves of heat come off your skin–were you blushing?

Crimson eyes flickered from your bashful look to the slight parting of your lips and back again. “Always.” Even though he never said it. But he let you get away with everything to show that love–credit card theft, cracking him upside the head with a bottle, abandoning him for months on end.

A soft ‘hm’ hummed through you. Your sleepy gaze melted from Sukuna’s, and down to his lips, too, while your own pursed, pensive. Thoughtful. Christ, you were really something else–just a single look from you had his mind reeling, his chest easing into a warmth so reminiscent of a campfire, the sort you both used to sit around when you’d bullied Sukuna into buying one for his too-big balcony.

Back then, you were just “friends,” though the flirting and meaningful touches said otherwise. You were still a street doctor, introduced to him by Yuuji of all people, but you had more pep in your step, especially when you worked to try and swoon the hardened, deranged alpha you’d decided belonged to you. You’re mine, you said simply after shooting whatever whore the big, bad boss had hired for the night. The look in your eyes, cold and determined, got Sukuna achingly hard in an instant. He never wanted you to look at anyone else like that–your rage, your obsession, it could only ever be for him.

“‘M I still yours?” You still want me? You still love me? Am I still just for you?

You looked a little sentimental. A little sad, too, maybe. But maybe it was just the culmination of your fears and worries, your wants and desires finally breaking through your solemn being.

“I'm a minimalist at heart. I've only got room for so much.”

“Don't tell me you're back on that Kondo Marie kick–”

“But you're something I can't do without.” Yeah, I love you. I want you. I don't want much, but I want you. You're mine. “You bring me joy, or whatever the saying is. But I wanna beat the shit outta you sometimes for being a dumbass.”

Sukuna laughed and nudged your nose with his–a small, primal gesture of fondness. “Yeah, yeah, I'm aware. Tch. You're gonna have to be careful--you're gonna send my old ass to an early grave if you keep up with all this fiery youth shit.”

“Then I can inherit your fortune,” you offered airily before kissing him teasingly. Sukuna growled when your small fangs dug into his bottom lip playfully. “That'd be nice.”

“Hah. Everything's going to family–Yuuji, the old fart.” Sukuna pulled you in closer and purred as you complied. “You'd have to–”

“I'll marry you if that's what it takes,” you cooed, and Sukuna froze. You paused for a moment, too, before lifting yourself up to look down at his dumb face. “Oi.” You pat his cheek lightly but he scowled at you, half-cranky, half-defeated. “Eeeh? You mad?”

“Tch.”

“Awe, big alpha's mad.”

“Don't.” A command. A warning. One that had your subgender reeling and whimpering behind you, but your human side smiling, ready to mock.

You slid on top of him, straddling his waist and splaying your hands out on his broad, solid chest. Sukuna still kept his gaze elsewhere. Honestly, you couldn't blame him--you were in a mood.

“Oi,” you prodded, poking at his ridiculous pecs and tracing over the dark lines of his irezumi. “Hey. Don't pout.” But he grabbed your hands when your stupid fingers threatened to assault his nipples, and he continued to pout. “Come on, I said I'd marry you.”

“Tch.” You've said that before.

“I mean it.”

“Tch.” You’ve said that before, too.

You leaned down, and nuzzled the hollow of his cheek while he grumbled and grumped. “You don't like the idea of breeding me anymore? You don't want me to yourself, all caught up in your bedsheets with you between my legs? Hm? You don't wanna fuck me through my heat, knock me up a few more times, make me bare your children for the world to see how I belong to Ryoumen Sukuna? You don't want me to be drenched in your scent–”

You squeaked when your man flipped you around, pinning you before ripping off the sleep shorts keeping your skin from him. His rough fingers dove deep into your slicked up hole (apparently your long list of hypotheticals had worked you up into a soft, wet, pliant thing) and hurried to stretch you wide.

“Such an annoying little shit,” Sukuna grumbled. And you laughed, lightly and so achingly genuinely through your fluttery mewls and moans. “If you try ‘n back out this time, I'll break your fucking legs and tie you down to the bed, you got that? I'm not gonna be so fucking nice this time.”

“Eh? You were being nice last–” you whined when his wet fingers jammed into your mouth. But you obediently sucked and bit at them, holding onto his muscled arm for leverage while he kicked off his bottoms and pressed his sweltering tip to your soft entrance.

“You got no idea, princess.” Sukuna pushed in, groaning with ancient, cursed need as your insides welcomed him and obeyed, letting his uncomfortable size push you open. Seemed your body still remembered him. Wanted him as much as your stupid pretty mouth claimed.

You were gasping, your molars chewing into his fingers as your missing piece slid back into place, filling you up until it hurt to breathe. Strong thighs clamped down against Sukuna’s sides as he dragged you down, forcing the last bits of his cock into your very depths, squeezing a reedy whine out of you, before he pulled out and slammed right back in again and again and again.

Your cry nearly sent him over the edge. It was a loud, bassy thing, something like a cello toppling or having its string plucked too hard by a callous touch–a sound Sukuna reveled in. You were the only partner he'd had that was like this, so demanding and bitchy, absolutely horrible and as poisonous as alphas were, and he loved it. He lived and died by your gospel, by the very life that thrummed underneath his touch.

And you promised to be all his. Sukuna could have everything, anything and anyone, and that apparently included trapping and claiming a god. One that only he prayed to. One that'd only smile upon him. One that only delivered to him divine blessings.

What a divine gift.

He folded you in half with ease and blanketed your trembling body with his own. The fingers fucking into your mouth slipped out and down to your throat where they squeezed lightly; then, they traveled to the back of your neck, found your cute little nape, and squeezed.

Your eyes rolled back as your body arched up into him. Words left you in some ancient tongue neither you nor Sukuna could decipher. But it was a language of love and pleasure, the sort that brought delicious submission coiling through your blood in offering to the lowly creature devouring your holiness.

“Sukuna,” you choked out. Your fingers dug into his shoulder and fisted in his hair, pulling him closer to the old, scarred mark left there by him a decade ago. “‘Kuna, I need–”

The boss laughed low, but with fluttery, manic high tones warped throughout. “Need me to bite you? Mark you mine again?” He taunted. His nails dug into your soft side as he fucked into you harder, lifting your waist up to meet his brutal angle as his base started to swell. “I wanna hear you say it–say you need it, you want it. Say you need me to fill your guts every fucking night. Say I'm the only one who can get you there. I'm the only one–” his other hand grabbed your nape harder, forcing your submission further, forcing your neck to the side to present it to him.

Then, with a snarl, he added, “say ‘I do.’”

Your arms wrapped around his shoulders as you murmured those very words into his ear.

I do.

Sukuna's heart howled with the beast living inside him. Blood flooded his mouth when he tore into your shoulder, digging deeper than needed to brand you his again just before his pulsing knot squeezed into you and locked into place, stilling his wild rampage and holding you hostage beneath his hulking body.

You shifted and writhed against him, so obviously overwhelmed by such an archaic, crazed union–your omega must have been going wild, willing you to fight against the monster pouring his seed into you, locking you in place, taking away your autonomy. But a short, rough warning growl settled your inner self the slightest bit and straightened out your thoughts enough for your human pettiness to urge you, too, to sink teeth into flesh and mark up your alpha to complete the re-bonding.

Good boy. Sukuna's hips rutted against you in light pulses, attempting to jam his knot further into you to ensure you'd take everything he so graciously offered you. But every little move your bodies made together tore more hot strings of cum out of him and into your core. Apparently an eternity of not having you was culminating into this one moment.

You were the one to let go first. You collapsed onto your back with a loud sigh, and the crushing constriction of your thighs laxed just slightly.

“Fuck,” you gasped, wholly content and pleased. Your hand wiggled between your bodies and rested on the still-inflating curve that your partner had oh-so loving built out of cum and obsessive dedication. “That's gonna make a mess.”

Good. Sukuna's chainsaw purr reverberated against your bloodied skin. He chewed into you further and relished in the taste and smell of you, the way it mingled with his own scent of existence and made him feel so irrevocably whole.

Your fingers laced through his hair as you laughed. “Oi, let go already. Your knot's not gonna go down for like thirty minutes. I'm not going anywhere.”

Your mate obliged, dislodging his chunky fangs from you and lapping at the wound dutifully until the bleeding staunched. Next, he got to work leaving an array of dark hickies and light bites all over your neck and shoulder, just in case the gnarly bite mark wasn't enough to ward off idiots who thought they had a chance with you. He grumbled at the mere idea of it.

“So?” You cooed, running your hands up and down his muscled shoulders. “What do we do for half an hour?”

Sukuna scoffed. He tried to pull out just a bit, just to see if he was seriously locked in there, and you spat a vile hiss his way, your nails digging into him at the same time. And, fuck, you were tight–

“Fuck.” He didn't think this through.

-- DRABBLES --

“You're dumb as fuck, you know that?”

“Ah, such romantic words to hear from my wife.”

“Husband, jackass.”

Sukuna managed to open his eyes through the pounding of his head. God, he felt like shit. But that probably came with the territory of getting shot point-blank before bailing out of a moving car on the highway. Honestly, he was lucky only one car hit him when he hit the pavement.

Still, it was bad enough to warrant him a ticket to the hospital. Uraume worked behind the scenes, ensuring their boss got a private room and that the police would stay the fuck away if they knew what was good for them, and it all somehow worked out. Uraume was definitely a sorcerer of sorts.

“Can you save it for home? Fucking hell,” Sukuna groaned, letting his eyes fall shut again. “Too tired to argue.”

“That's a first,” You huffed, and marched up to his side, sitting down in the cozy seat waiting for you. Your careful touch prodded at his hand gently, as if assessing the damage, guestimating if you could hold his hand without hurting him, but he made the choice for you. He caught your hand weakly, and you held him safe with both of yours.

“Missed you,” he grumbled, squeezing back lamely. “Have fun on the trip at least?”

“Yeah, until I heard what happened.” You sighed, watery and warbled. “I shouldn't have left. You're too stupid to survive alone.”

Sukuna laughed, then coughed. He felt you tense. “F-Fuck you, little shit. I'm fine.”

“You got shot.”

“Been shot before.”

“Jumped out of a car.”

“I've jumped outta faster.”

“Then got hit by another car.”

“That was a first.”

You sighed to fight back either a sob or ill-placed laughter, or maybe both. “This is so fucking ridiculous. Never make me take a vacation again. I can't be off fucking around in Hawaii when my baby daddy's getting hit like it's GTA.”

“Christ, I already–” he paused, though, and cracked an eye open to look at you. “What did you…”

He lost his words when he saw you. Your skin glowed in a way he hadn't had the luxury to see before. Your face looked rounder, too, like you'd put on a little bit of weight since you'd been gone. But your scent–your usual sweet, full-bodied scent of flowery coffee was cranked up to a trillion. If Sukuna's nose wasn't busted, he would've noticed the way it filled up the room, and he might've noticed how his own scent rose to meet it in greeting. Something strange was happening.

“Oh. Right. Uh…” you cleared your throat and hastily tucked some hair behind your ear. You looked a little bit lost for words too, in all honesty. “I’m pregn–”

Sukuna sat up. You barked at him to lay down, your voice rising a few octaves when something that was probably important dislodged from his wrist as he reached forward when you stood. And you froze when his palm pressed against your stomach–a natural, maternal thing to do. Sukuna remembered when he caught your cat for you when she was trying to dart out the door whilst pregnant, and how she froze dead in her tracks when his hand caught her by her kitten-filled stomach, and let him carry her back inside.

But this was different. This wasn’t his partner’s cat’s kittens he was feeling, it was yours. His. A shared little nugget doing its best to grow big for its expectant mama–and now expectant papa.

“How long?” Sukuna rasped. When did his throat get so dry?

“Two months. Ish.” You rested your hands over his again despite the awkward angle he caught you at. “I didn’t know until last week. I tried to call, but–” You got obliterated and couldn’t answer your phone.

“I get it. Don’t gotta explain.” Sukuna gazed at your stomach a moment longer with droopy, half-lidded eyes before looking up at you as nurses burst into the room. “You’re moving in.”

And for once, you didn’t argue.

–

“Dude, you guys can't fuck when he's pregnant! You'll crush the baby like a tin can!”

You snorted and tried to cover your mouth as your tea shot out your nose. You coughed and wheezed, turning away and waving at the brothers in a desperate plea for them to not look and continue their petty argument.

Sukuna, caught between the urge to mock you and kick the shit out of his annoying little fucknut brother, sighed and rubbed his face before handing you his fancy handkerchief he kept tucked in the breast of his jacket for nothing but looks. These days, though, the damn thing had been paying its dues.

“You think I'm gonna listen to a fuckin’ virgin about this kinda shit?” Sukuna quipped back as he watched you clean up before trying to take a sip of your drink again.

“Hey, man, I'm just saying. Your dick is like a third leg.”

You slammed your hand down on the table after spitting a mouthful of tea back into your cup. “Yuuji. Please. Why do you even know that?”

Yuuji pouted and scooted closer to you under the kotatsu. “Wh--we're brothers! It's not even that weird!”

“It's weird as shit,” Sukuna offered as he reached out to rub your back.

“So not weird.” His honeyed eyes locked onto the small affection the older showed you. “Man, so not fair you guys are ganging up on me now that you're, like, a thing,” Yuuji whined and let his arms and chest flop across the table like a petulant child.

Sukuna smirked. “Jealous?”

You grumbled. “Sukuna. Don't start.”

Yuuji's ears turned bright red. “Jea–what?! No! I like girls like Jennifer Lawrence, not--I don't–”

“N'awe, little pup's tryna cope with losing.” Sukuna grinned wildly when Yuuji's head snapped up, pinning a deadly stare onto the older alpha. “Oh? Finally grow a pair?”

“Sukuna,” you warned again.

“You better shut it, dude,” Yuuji threatened next, and you knew it was a lost cause; two alpha brothers, both incredibly competitive, both pining for the same omega, spelled disaster.

Your partner laughed that familiar, ugly laugh–the sort that was too genuine and sounded borderline insane. “Or what? You gonna make me cry–”

Yuuji launched over the table in an instant, tackling his brother to the ground with a bratty snarl. You watched on, unimpressed, waiting for any signs of their wrestling turning into a serious fight, but it never came. So, you enjoyed it a bit. It wasn't everyday the two idiots played nice.

You rested your hands on your curved stomach while the two growled and snarled half-heartedly in their dumb attempt to subdue the other. Sukuna could've won in an instant, you both knew that, but he'd let Yuuji think he had a fighting chance for a little bit. It was part of the fun for him, letting his little brother gnaw on him like it'd do anything, letting him try to use his horrible jiu-jitsu skills on his older, bigger brother. It reminded you of–

“Oh,” you peeped when a rowdy kick jostled your hand. It didn't come from the boys, no, it came from the tiny tot inside you.

The boys froze and stared at you.

“Huh? What's ‘oh'?” Yuuji asked through his panting and straining. Sukuna had him in a headlock, one of his hands giving a brutal noogie to the younger's head.

“No, just–I think she kicked. Maybe not, I don't–” but your expression brightened with delight when another little throw hit your hand.

“No shit?” Sukuna grinned, waves of excited alpha scent rolling off of him. He face-shoved Yuuji away before sidling up next to you and pressing his palm against your stomach. You guided his touch to rest over the kicky hotspot, and sure enough–

Thump. Thump.

“Two kicks for your old man, hey?” Sukuna hummed, looking so damn triumphant.

“Hey, hey, I wanna feel!” Yuuji scrambled over like a nightmare and wiggled up on your other side, pointedly ignoring the snarl Sukuna sent his way. “Come on, it's my niece, chill out.”

Sukuna growled again, but you pulled his hand off to let Yuuji feel the little life making herself known. His eyes, too, lit up when those tiny thwacks battered his palm.

You looked up at Sukuna dreamily, making the other's ticked expression smooth down into just mildly-annoyed; if your omega wasn't threatened, then he wasn't going to threaten. Sukuna didn't think Yuuji would hurt you, absolutely not, but anyone who came near you, or so much as accidentally bumped into you, pissed Sukuna off, sending his over-protective instincts into overdrive. He always had to rely on you to know when not to react.

“That's so cool!” Yuuji squeaked. “She's seriously in there!”

“Where the fuck else would she be,” Sukuna grumped.

“Don't ruin his fun, Sukuna.”

“Yeah, don’t ruin my fun!”

“Yuuji’s banned from the house.”

“WH–HEY!!”

“Sukuna.”

“Heh.”

“What about gramps, then?”

Sukuna paused. His heart stopped for a long, long moment.

“What about him?” He answered, nonchalantly as possible. “Old fuck cut me off years ago.”

“He still cares,” Yuuji offered with a shrug. “And I told him about the pup ‘n everything.”

Sukuna frowned. “Yuuji–”

“You seriously think he doesn't give a shit? Dude, be real, the guy raised us.”

“That's generous.”

“Didn't you say you were leaving everything to Yuuji and ‘the old fart’ originally?” You cooed, unhelpful as ever.

Carmine eyes found yours. “...If he actually wants to meet her–”

“Awesome, I’ll let him know!”

“Oi, runt–”

But Yuuji jumped up and pulled his phone out, leaving Sukuna to wonder what he’d just gotten himself into while you laughed at his misery.

#sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna x male reader #sukuna x m!reader #sukuna x you #jjk x you #male reader insert #male reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen reader insert #jujutsu kaisen x male reader #jujutsu kaisen x you

641 notes · View notes

atlasnessie · 5 months

Text

YOU MAKE ME SICK IN EVERY WAY — yet i love you all the same

summary: you two hate arguments .. what are some ways they apologize to you when it’s their fault ..? — dazai, chuuya, atsushi

DAZAI is a mischievous individual. you can’t tell what’s going on inside his head most of the time. you don’t know what his next move could be or what words he could say next. a sly fox, he was.

“you never even bothered to tell me ?”

“it’s in the past, what of it ?”

“‘samu, you’re basically cheating on me ! do you hear yourself ..?!”

dazai groaned and rubbed his temples in annoyance. half drunk and in a haze, he couldn’t bring himself to bother at the moment. this wasn’t the first time dazai had hopped around with other women, and he can’t help but wonder who exposed him this time … perhaps that slug wanted to ruin the relationship he had with you. his thoughts wandered off and your words went over his head, in one ear and then out the other. his face was dusted pink from the alcohol, and that’s when you’ve had enough.

grabbing your coat, keys, and wallet, you walked out of the shared apartment without a word as dazai’s eyes widened at your movement, stumbling and trying to take a hold of your wrist.

“wait, you can’t go ..! listen, ‘m sorry ! bella !!” he watched the door slam shut and collapsed on his messy futon, grumbling.

he visited your workplace the next day, a singular flower in his hand. your favorite, he remembered. walking in, he greeted some staff he was familiar with and walked to where you were, wrapping his arms around your shoulder and twirling the flower by its stem in his fingers in front of your face, acting as if nothing had happened.

“jeez, osamu, a flower wont fix this ..” you spun your chair to face the taller male in front of you, your face unamused as dazai crouched down in front of you, now eye level. he grabbed for your hands, the flower now on your lap. he was cold, perhaps a little nervous.

“i know this doesn’t fix anything. but come home, wont you ‘donna ? i’ll explain everything then.”

temperamental and seemingly always pissed off, you had to play your cards right when arguing with CHUUYA, his pride is on the line. and yet, the arguments are always about something stupid … nothing much to be proud about.

chuuya had just come home, and left with a bang of the door and you groaned in frustration. was it really that hard for him to sit down and eat something after work ? you’ve told him it wasn’t good to skips meals, so why is it now that he’s getting all made about it ..?!

the rev of his motorcycle was heard from outside, the sound of it driving off making you walk towards the table where you had prepped the food on the table, hesitantly wrapping it in a plastic cover. perhaps your boyfriend will come home soon and eat it …

the doors of the penthouse quietly creaked. you didn’t bother to wait for him, instead, you went upstairs to your shared bedroom and was already in bed, though, had trouble falling alseep. the footsteps stopped for a few minutes, ten at least, before making its way to the bedroom door. the light of the hallway creeped into the dark, cold room, and you could hear a voice sigh.

“i know you’re awake.”

no response. chuuya was getting impatient.

“doll, can we talk ?”

“what’s there to talk about …”

chuuya crept near the bedside, facing your back and stretching his hand out to brush your hair, but took it back to his side.

“listen, ‘m sorry i got pissed … i- i should’ve eaten.” you stayed silent. the bed creaked as chuuya sat on the side, frowning. it was quiet for a moment longer before the ginger spoke again.

“i ate the food you made. was good. would’ve been better if i hadn’t been so stupid and left.”

“i wanted to eat with you, chuu …” your words were soft, barely even audible. your boyfriend sighed again and rested beside you, placing a kiss by your temple.

“i know, ‘m sorry, babe. i’ll make it up to you, yeah..?”

arguments with you is the last thing ATSUSHI would ever want to do. though, with overworking and being the target of a few organizations, he can’t help but snap just slightly. everyone has their off days …

“d- darling !! i’m sorry, i really didnt mean any of that ! i’m so sorry !! please forgive me ..!!” you didn’t even have the time to leave the small apartment building as atsushi knelt before you, head buried deep onto the ground and pleading for you not to leave, apologizing over and over as kyouka stood awkwardly in the kitchen, watching the scene as the weretiger withered into apologizes.

“atsushi ..”

“i’ll come home early next time ! we both will !” atsushis head turned to face kyouka, who just simply said: ‘wrap it up. foods gonna get cold’ before walking away.

“i’ll tell kunikida that im gonna be going home early from now on. then we can spend the whole day —“

you sighed, interrupting atsushis words and picking him back up.

“i wont go. i’ll never leave you, ‘sushi. and ‘m not mad about you working, i’m just worried youre overworking ..”

as the weretigers eyes grew glassy and watery, he apologized. again. over and over. again.

in all honesty, you almost har no choice but to stay and comfort your poor boyfriend …

#bungo stray dogs #bsd #bungo stray dogs x reader #bsd x reader #bsd chuuya #bsd dazai #bsd atsushi #dazai osamu #chuuya nakahara #atsushi nakajima #dazai x reader #dazai x you #chuuya x reader #chuuya x you #atsushi x reader #atsushi x you #atlas writes !

837 notes · View notes

jayflrt · 2 months

Text

𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝟕𝟖𝟔 04. the world of the elite

THERE WERE ABOUT THREE THINGS GOING ON IN JAY PARK'S HEAD WHEN KIM SUNOO CAME TO PICK HIM UP.

The first was the chilling realization that he was actually going to a Yale party. He hadn't been to a party in over a year (save for Jungwon's birthday party where they had to call the fire department when Jake almost burned the kitchen down), so Jay wasn't expecting to end up at this scene again in his new, fake school. (Could he even call this fake if he was actually earning a degree while his tuition was paid for? He could hardly tell what was real and what was fabricated anymore.)

Secondly, was it really wise for him to get close to his target like this? He hadn't dealt with assignments where he had to follow people around, so this was all rather new to him. He realized, however, that he managed to befriend you, his mission could get a lot more complicated.

Third—he had no idea how to talk to rich people.

There were times when Jay had to entertain particularly wealthy guests when his parents brought coworkers home. But it was so excruciating even then because wow, how shallow could someone get? The depths of his conversations with all the rich people he had met were not promising at all, so he didn't have much hope for his social battery tonight.

But Jay was probably on par with some of them now, so he had to adjust to this new lifestyle. There was no way he could lie about his upbringing, though, so he framed a story of him having a rich aunt that was over-the-moon when he got into Yale.

Moreover, he was so confused as to why Shin Yuna approached him. It wasn't like he looked well-off with his clothes that he thrifted years ago. Jay couldn't tell if Yuna was just being nice, or if she had other intentions that he was supposed to be concerned about.

"Whoa, nice jacket," Sunoo complimented once he let his eyes sweep Jay's outfit. "You'll be lucky if Yuna lets you out of her sight."

His eyes grew wide. "Is she expecting me to be by her side the whole time?"

"Probably. You still have time to back out, if you want."

He was conflicted. This was the perfect opportunity for him to get close to the people around you and get some information out of whoever was the most drunk there; at the same time, if Yuna was going to keep her perfectly-manicured claws on his shoulders the whole time, this whole night would be counterproductive.

In the end, Jay decided to go. He figured that if worst came to worst, he would just find the right time to ask Yuna some questions about you.

"Is Heeseung's place close?" Jay asked. The truth was that he already looked up all possible routes to the location when Sunoo sent him the address earlier; he just needed to ask as a formality.

"Down the block here," Sunoo replied. "His dad bought him an entire penthouse. Isn't that sick?"

He fought down a bitter remark and said, "Man, that must be nice. What do his parents do? You said Sunghoon's dad owns Park Pharmaceuticals, right?"

"Yeah, and his older brother, Sungjin, is taking over the company. And Heeseung's dad is a hedge fund owner," Sunoo answered. "They only made it big recently, like four or five years ago. I remember Heeseung used to be way different back in freshman year. Now he's more... subdued. I guess he didn't know how to handle being rich back then."

Jay could see the flashing of blue and purple lights from the windows of the penthouse down the street. He carefully watched the two figures on the terrace talking by the railing. At first, it seemed as if they were just talking normally. As he got closer, though, Jay realized from the faint sounds he picked up that they were, in fact, arguing.

It was you.

Jay had been looking at pictures of you all week, but seeing you up on the terrace was different. It seemed to just sink in that what he was doing was real, and seeing you in the flesh was all he needed for cold reality to seep into his veins like poison.

The man next to you must have been Park Sunghoon. Even from how high up the two were, Jay could tell that the man next to you exuded an overwhelming presence.

But he wondered what they were arguing over.

"C'mon," Sunoo said grimly, clearly having taken notice of the commotion above, "it's just up these stairs."

Jay felt his stomach sink deeper and deeper with each step he took. When they reached Heeseung's door, there was a bouncer guarding the entrance—probably some freshman Heeseung paid to keep watch. Jay stopped in his tracks, wondering if he was even allowed in since he had never met Heeseung, but his friend simply opened the door and walked right in, as if his arrival was expected, and the bouncer paid no mind. (Perhaps it was expected? Jay was starting to believe all these people had history that he didn't even understand the extent of.)

"Jay!" came a shrill cry from across the room. Jay turned to see Shin Yuna all but tackle him, draping her arms across his shoulders. He could smell the alcohol on her breath already. "I'm glad you made it."

"Thanks for the invite," Jay replied, gently prying Yuna's hands off of him, which she allowed him to do but grabbed his hand again right after.

Jay sent Sunoo a help me sort of look, but his friend seemed to greatly misunderstand the message he was sending across. Sunoo gave him a sideways grin and a thumbs-up before signaling that he was going to catch up with some friends in the kitchen.

Great.

"Come on," Yuna slurred, dragging Jay over to a sectional couch in the corner. "I'll introduce you to my friends."

He recognized some of the faces while he was looking into you—Karina Yoo, whose mother owned a private jet company; Choi Yeonjun, who landed a few minor movie roles with the help of his Golden Globe award-winning mother; Giselle Uchinaga, whose father was an investment banker and mother owned a nightclub; Kim Chaewon, whose mother revolutionized stem cell research; and then there was Lee Heeseung in the corner, who had his arms folded across his chest as he sized Jay up.

From what he gathered, this was most (or all) of the people in your inner circle. Heeseung and Sunghoon appeared to be more than that to you, though; childhood friends had a bond more special than the rest, he supposed.

Jay then wondered how Heeseung felt about his two childhood friends dating and now arguing on the balcony.

"Guys," Yuna started with a grin, motioning to Jay with a dramatic flair of her hands, "this is Jay, the new transfer student."

"Hey." Jay waved to the group, his mouth suddenly feeling extremely dry.

His greeting was returned by a few tight smiles from the rest and a chorus of unenthusiastic words of acknowledgment that he didn't feel too great about. Maybe he had to give up on his chance of entering your circle.

"Don't mind them," Yuna whispered to him as she pulled him over to sit on the couch with her. They were seated exactly across from Heeseung, whose stare made Jay feel even more uncomfortable. "They're all in a bad mood 'cause Y/N and Sunghoon got in a fight before you came. God, why do they always kill the vibe?" She was talking awfully loud, causing Karina and Giselle to shoot her warning glares. Jay had a sinking feeling that she was making the situation worse if she kept opening her mouth. "Seriously, I mean, we're here to party!"

Not that Jay was particularly avoidant with physical touch, but being touched and fawned about in front of everyone was slightly unnerving, especially when he didn't know Yuna all that well. Nearly half her body weight was on top of him, and Jay was pretty sure she would end up sitting fully on his lap if she took another shot.

"Are you... drunk?" he asked her warily.

She gave him a strange look before giggling. "Uh, yeah? Did you want a drink, too?"

"No, just—"

"Hey, so you've really never seen me online before?" she asked, tilting her head in a way that Jay had to admit would've been rather cute if he wasn't so overwhelmed and put-off by everything else. "I'm, like, TikTok famous."

"Oh, that's nice," he replied, sort of distracted as he tried to catch a glimpse of you out on the terrace. He saw a flash of your glittering silver romper, but then your boyfriend stepped in front of you again.

"Transfer student," Heeseung called out. He had his elbows on his knees, but once Jay looked at him, he started to stand up. "Let's get you a drink since the rest of them are being miserable."

Jay assumed it was a joke, but only he (and probably Heeseung) seemed to think so. Karina let out a sound that sounded partly like a laugh and partly like a scoff.

"Way to make it awkward, Heeseung," she sneered.

"He's the one who probably feels so awkward with you all being so quiet," Heeseung said, patting Jay firmly on the shoulder to get him to stand up. Jay had to gently peel Yuna off of him before he got up to follow Heeseung. "We'll be back."

While Heeseung and him were making their way past groups of students packed together, Jay couldn't figure out what the hell to say to him. When he first walked in, the look in Heeseung's eyes made him think he was a piece of trash stuck to the bottom of his shoe, but now he was just lost.

"I haven't heard of you before," Heeseung said once they reached a long table with bottles of alcohol strewn about.

"I didn't expect you to. Today's my first day, anyway."

There was a bartender on the other side of the room, but Jay figured that Heeseung brought him here for a private conversation. Without even asking Jay about his preference, he let his hand glide over the handles before he picked out a bottle of tequila. Jay wasn't much of a drinker but he let Heeseung pour him a shot.

"What do your parents do?"

Jay couldn't stop himself from barking out a laugh, shaking his head fervently. "Oh, no, they're"—he shook his head again—"they're no one."

"They can't be 'no one' if they managed to get their son into Yale."

"They didn't get me into Yale."

"They still raised you, didn't they?" Heeseung raised a brow. "My mom's a preschool teacher, and my dad was unemployed up until my sophomore year of high school. Not the professions you expected, huh?"

Jay's brows raised in pleasant surprise. Here he thought that Heeseung was judging him, but maybe it was the exact opposite. He really didn't expect a sincere response from someone like him, but perhaps he just misjudged the junior.

"My mom's an office worker, and my dad used to be a firefighter before he got into an accident," Jay answered. "Now he has a corporate job."

"And you're..."

"I'm what?"

"What're you trying to be in the world?"

Jay took the plastic shot glass that Heeseung handed out to him. Before downing it in one go, he answered, "Someone."

Heeseung laughed. "At least you have more of a story than most of the people in this room." He shot one of the cluster of students a sideways glance and said, "Let's just say I wouldn't be surprised if most of the people here bought their way into Yale."

Jay swallowed hard. He couldn't say anything when he was technically one of those people, too. All his life, he slogged harder than anyone else for a place in the world. He worked at restaurants illegally since he was thirteen, studied tirelessly to get free rides to universities, and gave up a social life just to balance multiple jobs to get bills paid. It felt strange to be one of the people who didn't have to lift a finger for extraordinary opportunities.

For a moment, he wondered if he would get in if he tried applying on his own. There was no use in pondering, though; this was all simply for the assignment—nothing more, nothing less.

"You made it here on your own, didn't you?" Jay asked with a flickering, newfound respect for Lee Heeseung.

"I didn't even think I'd be able to pay for college when I was in high school," he answered. "Of course I needed to work hard. Getting a full ride into an Ivy League isn't something you get by fucking around. Even though Hoon and Y/N were set their whole lives... I couldn't just be the only one who didn't make it in."

Jay wondered why Heeseung was telling him, a total stranger, all of this. He didn't bring it up, though, in case the question sobered him up to the point of not revealing any further information.

But he had to ask, "So why'd you drag me out here for a drink?"

It was a fair question. There were bottles of alcohol on the table next to the sectional couch. If Heeseung really wanted to just pour him a drink, he could've done so then and there.

"Thought I'd save you from Yuna," he said. "She gets a little messy when she's drunk."

"Oh." Jay almost shuddered at the thought of what could've happened if he was still sitting on the couch.

"Sorry. Are you interested in her?"

Jay's eyes grew as wide as saucers as he shook his head firmly. "N-not at all. I just met her today."

The alcohol started coursing through his blood, making his limbs feel less like muscle and more like jelly. Yet, he strangely felt more comfortable in his body.

"Good." Heeseung leaned against the table and crossed his arms again. "I would've felt bad for you if you were actually into her. She definitely thinks this'll make me jealous somehow." He suddenly stiffened up. "Don't mention this to the others, though. I don't think Y/N would be happy if she found out."

He arched a brow at Heeseung. So you didn't know about your own friend's feelings toward your childhood friend? Even though you were in a relationship yourself? Interesting.

But even more interesting because Jay swore he saw pictures of Heeseung and Chaewon together on his Instagram. Pictures that seemed to imply that they were a couple. Their little inner circle seemed to be more convoluted than Jay initially thought.

"Haven't even met her," he told Heeseung. "I'm not the kind of person to spread people's secrets like that."

Unless I'm paid to do so, he thought bitterly.

Heeseung smiled slyly, and Jay wasn't sure if it was one of friendship or as if he had just heard an enticing business proposal. "I hope my feeling about you is right." After grabbing the handle of Clase Azul on the table, he added, "Let's go back before they accuse me of scaring you off."

Jay followed after him, wondering if he had just accidentally gotten himself in Heeseung's good graces, or if he just made a grave mistake.

Jay decided to ask, "Hey, by the way, do you know about the Order of Kryptos?"

Heeseung stopped in his tracks immediately, spinning around so fast that Jay nearly stumbled over his feet.

"What about it?"

"Well, I just—I don't know—I was thinking of, uh, joining."

"You can't just join. You have to be invited." Despite the shame that burned under Jay's skin for sounding like an idiot in front of the junior, Heeseung's eyes twinkled. "But... I know someone you could talk to if you wanna get your foot in the door."

"You do?"

"This isn't like a frat where you have to rush. See, all these people here just target members of the current class and suck up to them until they get tapped. For example, Hoon's practically guaranteed a tap since his brother's in the Order right now."

"Then do you think I even have a chance?"

Heeseung shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. There's only fifteen seats, so it all depends on how much you impress them." He grabbed Jay by the shoulder and pointed out one of the seniors laughing with a couple other boys in the kitchen. "That's Jeong Jaehyun. He's probably the chillest in the Order—doesn't really give a fuck about prestige and background, or whatever. I'd talk to him when you get the chance."

Jay, wildly amazed with how big of a help Heeseung was being, returned the gesture by patting him on the back firmly. "Thanks, man."

"No worries. You should work fast, though. They start giving up their seats next semester."

Next semester. Jay was certain he could get on someone's good side by then.

This whole thing was rather frustrating for him, though. All Jay wanted to do was lay low and carry out his assignment properly, but to do so he needed to get close to you and your friends somehow. Impressing you meant impressing a senior to get into the Order. There seemed to be far too many hurdles he needed to cross just to uncover some dirt on you.

When he and Heeseung returned to the sectional couch, everyone seemed a smidge more lively. Yeonjun waved Jay over to introduce himself properly, claiming that he couldn't say anything earlier because Yuna was hogging all the attention. Yuna, on the other hand, seemed to have already blacked out on the couch, but none of her friends were exactly paying much attention to her. Jay wondered if this was a frequent occurence with her.

While Jay was in the middle of telling Yeonjun and Giselle about the school he transferred from, you came out from the terrace with Sunghoon, but there was an icy distance between you two.

Jay had spent the past week looking at pictures of you every single night. Almost every picture you had on your Instagram was burned into his brain.

But seeing you up close in the flesh was almost earth-shattering. All the details your camera couldn't capture were like the missing pieces that made you glow even brighter. Jay was almost amazed that Park Sunghoon could even fight with you when you looked like this.

"Y/N?" Karina called, but you were crossing the room in the direction of the bathroom. She threw a nasty glare at Sunghoon, who sat down on the couch with a heavy sigh.

Giselle raised a brow. "You're gonna let your girlfriend walk away?"

"She needs space," Sunghoon answered curtly.

"Oh, I bet she gets plenty of that from you."

"Watch your mouth, Giselle."

Jay wasn't sure if Heeseung was making the right decision when he stood up and offered, "Hoon, chill. I'll go check on her."

Chaewon was quick to grab her boyfriend's hand, frowning as she said, "I think one of the girls should."

Heeseung pulled his hand away, and Jay noticed the crumbling look in Chaewon's eyes before he pretended to be more interested in a loose thread in the couch. He felt bad for her; she was practically being humiliated in front of everyone else.

"I'm the host," Heeseung replied. "I should check on her."

Karina shot Yeonjun and Giselle a withering look. "Our Uber's almost here. I don't think she wants to go home with"—she motioned to Sunghoon with a jut of her chin—"you know."

"I'll ask Ryujin to take her home, but we should probably tell her before we leave," Yeonjun said. He lowered his voice to add, "Yuna's wasted. You know Heeseung's gonna get pissed if she crashes here."

Giselle snorted. "That's probably what she wants."

Jay looked down at his lap. So everyone was aware of Yuna's semi-hidden feelings toward Heeseung except you? Why was it a secret from you, anyway? This friend group—if Jay could even call them that—was messier than he had anticipated.

Jay, who was seated in the middle of the trio, started to feel rather awkward. Surely, they must have known he could hear everything they were saying.

"Uh," he started because he was starting to feel like he was obligated to chime in, "I can call an Uber for your friend, if she needs one."

"Aw, Jay, you're too sweet," Giselle cooed, but then her face of adoration turned completely serious. "But you're a man. We don't trust you."

"That... that's fair."

"Oh, but he's Sunoo's friend," Yeonjun added. "Sunoo would get her home safely."

"Just ask Sunoo or Ryujin—whoever's still here," Giselle said.

Karina, who was on her phone for a majority of the conversation, spoke up to confirm, "Yeah, their locations are still here. I'll text them to make sure Y/N's taken care of." She stood up. "Let's just get going and check up on her later in the group chat."

"God, how are we gonna drag Yuna out of here?" Giselle whined. She gently maneuvered the unconscious girl to make it easier for them to lift her up. "Yeonjun, you get her other arm."

After much effort, they were finally able to get Yuna barely stumbling forward as her arms were around their shoudlers. They said their goodbyes to Jay and Chaewon, but Sunghoon only got one from Yeonjun.

Sunghoon rolled his eyes and moved to sit next to Jay. Chaewon was completely sidelined at this point as she picked at her nails and waited for Heeseung to come back.

"Sorry for that mess," Sunghoon said. "I haven't introduced myself yet. I'm Park Sunghoon."

"Jay," he greeted. "Nice to meet you. Heeseung told me a bit about you."

"Oh, really?" He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "I hope it wasn't too awkward."

Jay grinned. "All good things. Don't worry."

"Great, uh..." He fumbled for a moment, reaching into his pockets and then handing Jay a pink iPhone. "Do you think you could hand this to my girlfriend? She should be somewhere in the house."

Although Jay took the phone from him, he grimaced. He didn't even know you, and he felt bad already. Your own boyfriend was sending a stranger to give you something when he could very well do it by himself?

And why did he have your phone in the first place? Jay wondered if Sunghoon had taken it from you during the argument, and the very idea made him feel cold.

"I really think you should give it to her."

His small smile stretched into an awkward grin. "I don't think she wants to see my face right now."

"Oh... sure—will do."

This time when Jay crossed the room and pushed through the packs of students, it felt slightly more intimidating. He felt like a lone fish amongst schools of them, and the few shots he took had definitely worn off by now. Not to mention the recent turn of events were incredibly sobering.

Heeseung's penthouse was nice. Nothing he could ever dream of affording before his anonymous client sent him more money than he would've ever made in his life.

When Jay stepped into the narrow hallway that led to the bathroom, he could hear Heeseung's gentle voice echoing.

"—talk to me, please," he pleaded. "I don't know what Sunghoon said to you, but—"

"Heeseung, just leave me alone." Your own faltering voice was treading on desperation. "You don't have to be here to comfort me. You're not my boyfriend."

And then it grew quiet. Jay was afraid that he was about to walk in on an uncomfortable situation.

Seconds later, the door opened and Heeseung was stony-faced, walking past Jay without even noticing he was there. You didn't even close the door after he left, so Jay inched closer to make sure nothing bad happened to you.

There you were, sitting on the edge of the bathtub and crying into your hands. There was an odd, disconnected feeling in Jay's chest. He had seen so many pictures and posts of you looking like you were having the time of your life, but the sight before him caused all of that to come crashing down, catching on fire.

Back outside, looking up at the terrace, you were so high above him, as if he would never reach you. Now, you were shattering to pieces before him, leaving broken shards scattered around you that Jay was hesitant to tread on.

Once you took notice of his presence, your head lifted up slowly, and Jay really felt bad for you now. Streaks of mascara were under your eyes and your red lipstick was smudged.

"Can I help you?" you asked flatly, sniffling every now and then even as you tried to act like you hadn't been caught crying.

Jay simply held your phone out, and you grabbed it from him once you recognized it was yours.

"How'd you—"

"Your boyfriend told me to bring it to you," he answered, and your eyes welled up with tears again. Jay sighed as you started breaking down in front of him, but he really wasn't all that annoyed as he sounded. He grabbed a tissue from the box on top of the toilet and ran it under water for a brief second. "Here."

Jay leaned down in front of you and blotted the tissue gently under your eyes, wiping off the residue of your mascara that stained your skin. You tried to resist his gesture at first, but when you realized what he was doing, you relaxed. If his eyes weren't tricking him, maybe you were even slightly embarrassed?

Then, he moved to your lips, using the other side of the tissue to carefully dab at where your lipstick was smudged. Jay tried especially hard not to stare at the curve of your lips, wondering what dark secret you could possibly be hiding behind the corners of your mouth. After he was done, he tossed the tissue aside and stood up.

"Thanks," you murmured.

"No problem," he said, backing up to the doorway. "You should probably keep the door closed if you need some alone time, by the way."

But one look at your expression, and he could tell that you were hoping that someone else would come looking for you.

"Y-yeah," you stammered out, standing up to close it yourself.

"Also," he continued, pressing his lips together in a thin line. Just walk away, Jay. This is none of your business. Just turn around and keep walking. "Your friends are worried about you, so..."

There's people out there who wouldn't make you cry like this.

He couldn't get the rest of the words out. Who was he to speak on a relationship he had only seen for a brief moment, anyway?

Before Jay could turn on his heel, you called out, "Wait! What was your name again?"

His eyebrows raised in surprise. "Jay Park. I just transferred here."

"Jay... oh, the transfer student." You said his name so gently that it was almost like you were handling glass. Then, he saw the first smile on your face tonight, and oh, he had never seen someone smile so bright. "I'm Y/N. See you around."

After you closed the door and Jay had headed back to where everyone else was, the loud, booming music grounding him back into reality, his heart sank with the realization that he had already been thrown into a world that he wasn't sure he liked very much.

prev | masterlist | next

SUMMARY ▸ private investigator jay park just wants to complete his mission quietly and move on with his life. you, his new assignment who keeps consuming his thoughts, don't make that very easy for him.

TAG LIST ▸ @zdgx1 @smouches @heesdazed @teawithbucky @leep0ems @peachpie4you @niniissus @kgneptun @jaeyunluvr @hooniesuniverse @zerasari @enhalov @sophiko22 @iselltulips @hoondiors @baekhyunstruly @jays-property @woninluv @heerinnie @fakeuwus @yizhoutv @en-happiness @theothernads @y4wnjunz @dammit-jjk @en-happiness @mari-oclock @enhypens-baby @soonyoungblr @jakeslvt @taetaenic @jebetwo @fairysungx @hsgwrld @shmooooo @ineedsomezzz @mrowwww @enha-stars @isawritesss @seongclb @lockburn-castle @alyssajavenss @enczen @calumsfringe @w3bqrl @luvyev @uhsakusa @luvnicho @wildflowermooon

#now the slowburn officially begins 🙏#enhypen #enhypen imagines #enhypen smut #enhypen smau #jay smut #jay smau #jay imagines #enhypen social media au #jay x reader #enhypen x reader #enhypen scenarios #jay scenarios #jongseong smut #park jongseong #jay park #jay hard hours #enhypen hard hours

371 notes · View notes

elix8r · 9 months

Text

it’s raining, it’s pouring

PAIRING: cheetah hybrid!mark x house cat hybrid!y/n

GENRES: hybrid!au, smut, angst, enemies to ?

SUMMARY: Hating Mark could almost be considered your part-time job ever since Taeyong adopted him. But on one fateful night, a raging storm strikes, and with Taeyong nowhere to be found, you find yourself seeking an unlikely source of comfort - your annoying cheetah roommate.

WORD COUNT: 5.1k

WARNING: meandom!mark, brattysub!y/n, profanity, y/n being really mean to mark, unprotected sex, manhandling, humiliation, degradation, anal, foot stuff, face-fucking, rough sex, overall filthy stuff

Up until three years ago, your life could be described as utter paradise. With Taeyong being the best owner you could ask for, and living in the coveted top-floor penthouse, you couldn't have any complaints. That was, of course, until your owner one day brought home another hybrid without previously warning you. Apparently, the previous owner of the cheetah hybrid was moving back to America, leaving him in need of a new home. Being the generous owner he was, Taeyong offered to take him in without hesitation (and without discussing it with you beforehand).

The moment Mark walked through the front door, your feelings towards the fellow feline were set, and they had yet to change. He was nothing but a nuisance to you, and despite being in the same cat family, he seemed to be nothing like you. You even attempted to paw at his ears many times before, trying to confirm if he really was a cheetah and not an overgrown puppy. However, each time, you would be met with cries and protests from him, while instinctively his claws extended, confirming that he was indeed a cat.

By now, Taeyong had accepted that you were never going to be best buds with Mark (though the latter still tried his best, despite knowing your response each time). In the beginning, he had hoped that you would get over your distaste for the boy and ultimately welcome him to the family, but as time went on and you showed no change of heart, your owner had to accept the reality.

Mark always took your food, bed, and even toys that were specifically given to you by Taeyong. He was an annoying presence in your life, who seemed to not get the hint that you wanted nothing to do with him. And as always, the exact thing was currently happening as you caught Mark rolling around and leaving his scent all over the new bedding that Taeyong had gotten for you.

"But yours is so much better! I just wanted to try it out, just a little, plus you smell good!" Mark's ears slightly folded down as he desperately tried to explain why you had found him sleeping in your bed.

"That's not my problem! Take it up with Taeyong if you have complaints and stop getting into my stuff. It's getting really fucking annoying and creepy you perv," you sent him a harsh glare, and your eyebrows furrowed in distaste as you could now smell him all over your sleeping area.

"Why can't you share? I mean, Taeyong always tells us to play nice and get along with each other, but no matter how hard I try, you never do! You're always so mean to me, and I don't even know what I've done!" Mark pouted, clearly upset with how you were reacting to him. From the beginning, all he wanted was to be friends with you, but you seemed to reject him at every turn.

"Why do I have to share if Taeyong bought it specifically for me? I mean, I was here first anyway. You should just be happy that Taeyong even took you in. Otherwise, you'd probably be one of those strays we always see outside. You should be thankful for what you got, so stop trying to take my stuff too. Anyways, get out of my room," you huffed towards your bed, barely giving him a second look. You knew that you were probably a bit too harsh with your words, but your annoyance took over, and you couldn't take back what was already said.

Mark was hurt and defeated. He knew there was no point in arguing with you so he nodded quietly and left your room and headed towards his, where he turned to his computer so that he would be able to take his mind off of you and focus on playing games with his friends.

"Bro, she's such a bitch. I mean, I don't know how you deal with her. I've only met her once, and during that time, she almost clawed my eyes out," his friend Jeno, responded sympathetically upon hearing about what had happened.

"Yeah, I feel bad for you, man. Me and Jaemin get along fine, so I can't even imagine what it's like living 24/7 with someone you don't get along with. Oof, it sounds like a nightmare," Haechan shuddered at the thought, and Jaemin nodded in agreement.

"Why don't you just fight back and assert your dominance over her? I mean, you are the stronger breed. She'll have to respect you once you scare her straight. Use your predator advantages, and maybe she'll realize that you're not one to be messed with," Jaemin suggested, trying to help Mark find a solution. His words did intrigue Mark, and he had to admit that he had thought about what Jaemin was suggesting. However, he had hoped he wouldn't have to resort to using his powers against you and that you would eventually warm up to him on your own.

Typing and clicking noises filled the conversation for a couple of seconds as they all played online together. "Yeah, I guess. I'll think about it," Mark finally replied.

And think about it he did for the next few hours as he continued to play games with his friends. The topic of you didn't come up again as they were all too engrossed in their gaming. Meanwhile, Mark remained preoccupied with thoughts of you. He was so engrossed in the games that he didn't realize the time or the weather outside, something you were keenly aware of.

Taeyong should have been home by now, yet not a single sign of him was to be seen. You had been waiting patiently for your owner while spending time scrapbooking. Every once in a while, you would peer out your window to see if he was here yet as you were always able to predict when he would be coming in. But today, he seemed to be taking longer. The sky had been turning darker and darker, which laid an uneasy feeling inside of you.

It was quite embarrassing to admit, but even at your grown age, you were still deadly afraid of storms. You were unable to withstand them without the comfort of Taeyong nearby, and with no sign of him, you were becoming antsy. Where was he? Was he okay? These were all thoughts that ran through your mind as you went through all the scenarios of where your owner could be, but every single one led to a bad ending that you didn’t want. So you tried your best to get back into crafting.

Of course, that didn't last long as out of nowhere, a flash of lightning could be seen, followed by a clap of thunder so loud that it shook the house. You yelped out loudly as you felt yourself tremble. The lights flickered for a couple of seconds as rain could be heard heavily pouring down, and now you genuinely felt fear. There was nothing you could do except tuck yourself deeply under your blanket while hoping for the rain to settle down, but your wishes were in vain as there was no indication of it stopping anytime soon, and Taeyong was still not home.

You had already tried texting him and dialing his number, but it went straight to voicemail, which further drove you to worry. What if he had decided he had enough of you and chose to leave you? This thought, above all, made your stomach drop, and tears pricked at your eyes. Despite it being totally irrational and unwarranted, it was still a possibility and it scared you. Suddenly, another thunder could be heard, which once again instigated a whimper out of you. Without fully realizing what you were doing, you found yourself walking towards Mark’s door.

You weren’t sure that you had ever knocked on his door purposely, but here you were knocking. Laughs and talking could be heard from inside the room and you wondered how he wasn’t bothered by everything going on. While you frowned while trying to pull your blanket around your shoulders tighter, the door finally opened and revealed a confused Mark.

You looked absolutely terrified, which was not a look he was familiar with despite living with you for about three years now. You were visibly shaken and your eyes were wide with fear. Instantly, Mark was concerned.

"Hey, what’s wrong?" His brows were furrowed as he noticed you on the verge of crying (though you weren't sure if it was because of the storm, the absence of Taeyong, or even the embarrassing fact that you came crawling to Mark's room).

"Have you heard from Taeyong?" Your usual catty tone was nowhere to be found as you asked with a soft voice.

Until now, Mark hadn’t realized that his owner had not come home when he was supposed to, but at the realization, he too became worried. "No, I don't. I guess I just realized that he hasn't come home yet."

His response made your eyes widen. It was hard to believe that while you were worrying in your room, the thought of Taeyong hadn't crossed Mark's mind even once. "What do you mean you didn't realize? I know he's been coming home later recently, but not this late! I mean, haven't you seen what it's like outside right now? Where is he?"

It was obvious that you were beyond stressed, and even without smelling you, Mark could feel anxiety radiating off of you. It was indeed storming terribly outside, and now Mark was becoming worried knowing that Taeyong was out there. But seeing your state, he came to the conclusion that it would do no one any good to have the both of you freaking out.

"Hey, I'm sure he's fine. I bet he's just waiting out the storm at his work. Why don't you come in here and wait together for him?" His words did not do much to ease your tension, but you did oblige (if it were other circumstances, you would never agree to enter his room, but desperate times called for desperate measures).

"But why isn't he answering my calls then? He knows that I hate storms, and I can't go through them without him! Mark, what if he's never coming back?" You had plopped yourself on top of his bed, eyes wide and lips quivering.

Mark sighed. "Y/N, now you're being ridiculous. Why would he just abandon us? He's probably not getting a signal or something more reasonable."

His dismissive response lacked empathy for your concerns, and you were now shedding tears. "What do you mean more reasonable? I think my concerns are valid! Maybe he's tired of us fighting all the time! I mean, we haven't been the best for him, and I know he's been having a hard time with us. It’s possible that he had it with us and just abandoned us to run away!"

The concern he previously felt was now gone as your dramatic rant slowly started to irk him more and more. Everyone knew that you were the main instigator of your fights, always being unfriendly towards Mark, so to have you group him with you had him scoffing. "You mean more like you were not being a good hybrid like you should have been. I mean, you're the one always instigating fights. I try my best to deal with you, but you're so bratty. Honestly, I'm surprised Taeyong's been able to deal with you this long."

Throughout the three years of living with Mark, you could only count a handful of times that he responded to you in such a manner. He was usually mild-mannered and overall just nice, so hearing this from him had you shocked. It was such a switch and instantly, you could feel his annoyance towards you in the air.

"Ma-Mark, what do you mean?" Your cries had yet to stop, and Mark rolled his eyes at you. Were you that dumb that you hadn't caught on to how frustrated Taeyong had recently been with your behavior? Taeyong was usually very tolerant, but even he was having a hard time with you.

"Jesus Y/N, are you seriously that stupid?" Even Mark was shocked at how he was talking to you, but this pent-up anger towards you had been a long time coming. He had been holding it all in, trying to be as good as he can to you despite your actions towards him, but now he was reaching a boiling point. He was beyond annoyed, and maybe this cold hard wake-up call was needed for you to start behaving better.

"I'm not stupid! Who do you think you are to talk to me like that, you fucking bastard?" You tried to sound strong while defending yourself against his harsh words, yet the tears seemed to not stop. Frustratingly, you got up to further confront him, but to your surprise, his hands came up around your neck and forced you back on the bed. Clearly, your words had further driven him to anger.

It was clear that Mark was angry. He had never put his hands on you this way, and in response, you were also fuming. How dare he put his hands on you? "Get your filthy ass hands off me!"

Mark didn't listen, though, as he pushed you further into the bed and hovered over you. His eyes held a fiery rage that you weren't sure you had ever encountered, certainly not from Mark. No trace of your bravado could be found, and for the first time, you cowered in his presence. Chills ran down your body as you felt his tail moving all over your bare legs. Amidst the fear you felt from the feline, another emotion bubbled beneath your lower belly.

Never in a million years would you have expected yourself to be turned on by Mark, but here you were, unconsciously purring in response to his actions. The once sweet and amiable Mark was gone, and this new version of him that showcased himself in front of you was one that you couldn't help but find yourself incredibly attracted to. Alas, you realized that you, just a common domesticated house kitty, were no match for the fast and strong beast that Mark presented himself to be.

"You know I've been quite understanding toward you. I put up with your attitude for three fucking years, yet here you are, still not realizing how much of a spoiled and ungrateful little kitty you've been. Despite taking all your shit, here you still are with the audacity to be in my room and still be a bitch when I nicely allowed you in to comfort you. It's obvious Taeyong hasn't been doing a good job taming you to be the nice house cat you're bred to be. But enough is enough, and clearly, the soft approach isn't working, so I guess I'll have to be the one to straighten you out."

And with that, he pressed his lips against yours roughly, making his intentions clear that he wouldn't go easy on you. Teeth clicked against each other and as the kiss deepened, you found yourself caught between conflicting emotions. Maybe, you did deserve this, but at the same time, you couldn't help but feel a part of you unwilling to surrender to Mark's dominance this easily.

His hands roughly dragged themselves all over your body as you panted heavily against his lips. In an attempt to take charge, you wrapped your legs around his waist, intending to twist him around and position yourself on top. However, his quick instincts kicked in, and he caught on before you could even execute your plans. He immediately pinned you under him again.

"Tsk tsk, I told you. I'm in charge today, and that little move you tried to pull on me is going to cost you now," Mark growled, and all you could manage in response was a small whimper. Your body struggled to adjust to not being the one in control.

His hands were burning hot as they hurriedly moved to strip you of the only article of clothing that you were wearing. It was a large shirt that engulfed you, and most days you had no issue with it being the only thing you wore around the house. You found it to be the most comfortable and unrestricting for your tail, allowing you to move freely without any discomfort. However, if you had been made aware beforehand of the situation you were currently in, you would have reconsidered.

Being fully bare in front of Mark while he was still fully clothed made you feel hot in humiliation, but you fought against your impulse to cover yourself. Instead, you held your head high and maintained unwavering eye contact with the male feline before you. A devilish smirk ghosted his pretty face as his eyes started to move down, unashamedly wandering all over your naked figure and taking in every curve, making sure to not miss a single spot.

“Get on your knees.” His voice was stern and Mark could feel his pants get tighter and tighter.

“What if I don’t want to?” You coyly eyed him, still stubborn and unwilling to give in as easily as you knew Mark hoped you would.

With a firm grip on your chin, he was clearly losing his patience with you. "Don't make me repeat myself again. Get on your knees," he demanded with less composure than before. Reluctantly, you complied, but your gaze held a sparkle of mischievousness, indicating your satisfaction at successfully getting under his skin.

Your hands moved at a tortuously slow speed as you undressed him, knowing that it would be more fuel to the fire already ignited within him. This cat-and-mouse game you seemed to be dragging Mark into was entertaining you like nothing else before. Any previous anxiety and worry you had regarding Taeyong were not even thoughts in your mind right now, as you were fully occupied with pushing Mark to the edge. Pissed-off Mark seemed to be your favorite version of him, and it was a shame that it took three years for you to be graced with its presence, but better late than never.

You must have underestimated Mark though as you suddenly felt pressure on your clit. His foot had flexed up roughly against your pussy reminding you of who was in charge. You were biting back your moans as he seemed to have no plans of moving his foot while you finally got his pants off. Yanking his underwear down with the pants, his dick instantly freed, almost smacking your face.

"Fuck, Mark," you marveled at the sight. Even from the day you met him, you couldn’t deny (no matter how much you wanted to) that Mark was beautiful, but now it was fully confirmed that he was indeed absolute perfection.

With his cock glistening and tip pulsing red, your ears twitched as you felt yourself getting even further dazed with arousal. Your hands hesitantly wrapped themselves around his length and you heard a small groan release from within him. Your hands were incredibly soft and nothing compared to anything Mark had previously experienced. The slow strokes became increasingly faster and with wide eyes, you inched your head towards his slit before tentatively dipping your tongue in his slit.

“Shit, keep going.” He instructed and you could hear his breaths get more erratic the more you started to use your tongue.

You ran your tongue over the underside of his shaft before returning to his head wrapping your mouth around it. Mark was insanely receptive as you could feel his tail once again swiftly moving around your body the further you sank down his length. Once you could feel him hitting the back of your throat, you started to guide yourself back and forth, adopting a steady pace. Your hands moved to work in tandem with your mouth around what your mouth couldn’t reach.

With hollowed cheeks and reddened eyes that stared straight into his, just the sight alone could have him cumming. His hand rested gently against the back of your head and as he felt more and more pleasure, his hips started to penetrate deeper into your mouth. Then all of a sudden, Mark felt your teeth gently scraping against his dick which instantly had him harshly grabbing a hold of your hair and ripping you off his length.

Your head was pulled all the way back, almost straining your neck, but the only thing you could do was giggle at his reaction once you saw his face. With a stern warning he gave you with his eyes, you were shoved back down his cock with even more force than before. He mercilessly fucked your mouth and your claws dug deep into his thighs, yet he couldn’t care less. Deep grunts and lewd noises of you gagging and choking around him filled the room as tears drenched your face. You were sopping wet by now and in attempts to find some relief, you grinded down against his foot.

“Fuck, almost there,” he moans, and with one last deep thrust, you feel spurts of his cum painting your throat.

You try your best to swallow his load, but it’s too much as some seep out from the corner of your mouth and after what seems like forever, Mark pulls you off of him. Deep gasps come from you as you try your best to catch your breath, but it seems like he has no intentions of stopping as you’re quickly yanked up from the floor and thrown on the bed.

“Look at this,” Mark held your legs open wide as he examined your drenched pussy. “I mean you were grinding against my feet so fucking hard. You liked getting off against my feet? Fucking nasty whore. I mean that’s fucking embarrassing how desperate you are”

“Fuck, off.” You angrily spat out while you attempted to close your legs. It was indeed humiliating that Mark was making you feel and act like this.

He smirked at your words, "Oh yeah? You really want me to fuck off? Cause I will, I mean I already got my fix, no need to continue on." Panic instantaneously coursed through you at his suggestion to leave you like this, and without hesitation, you desperately reached for his wrist, holding him from leaving you.

"Wait, no. Mark, please," you begged. You knew he was getting off on this control he had over you, but you couldn’t really care less. There was only one thing you wanted right now, and you would do just about anything to get it.

“Why? I don’t owe you anything. All you’ve ever done for me was treat me like shit. Maybe you should’ve been a better kitty then.” You were losing your mind the more seconds went by he wasn’t touching you.

“Please Mark, I’m sorry.” Your eyes welled up, frantically begging for him. “I’ll do anything, please. I promise.”

As sadistic as it was, Mark couldn’t help but absolutely love seeing you like this. You looked helpless and desperate. “Anything?”

You furiously nodded. “Yes! Anything, Mark. Please, touch me. Use me!”

“So you’d let me choke you or do this?” He pinched your nipples hard and despite the pain, you continued to nod. “What about this? You like this?” Mark’s hand traveled down to your tail and tugged on it. Tails on hybrids were known to be off-limits to others as it was one of the most sensitive parts of your body so to have Mark do this to you was not only demeaning but also overwhelming, but you still nodded.

“Hmm, maybe you really are willing to let me do anything. What about here? Will you let me use it?” His thumb rubbed against the rim of virgin hole. You’ve had sex plenty of times but never had you ventured to have your rear penetrated.

Your already widened eyes grew even bigger at what Mark was insinuating, clearly taken aback by the feeling of his thumb. It was an unfamiliar sensation, but this didn’t necessarily mean that you were against it. Slowly, you nodded, letting out a soft whine at the new sensation that you were growing to enjoy.

“Please Mark, give me anything.” Your answer clearly satisfied him as he moved to rest his cock, which had hardened again, on your heat.

Smacking the head of his dick against your clit had you loudly moaning and without warning, he fully plunged into you, giving you no respite to adjust to his hard length before pounding himself into you. Squelching noises filled the room and while you would have most definitely been embarrassed if this was any other scenario, you were a little too preoccupied with screaming Mark’s name loudly as you felt indescribable pleasure.

Mark seemed to be sharing a similar sentiment to yours as he also let out loud moans and grunts as he continued to snap into you. You felt heavenly, so warm and tight, almost as if you were made specially for him and if he could, Mark would want to stay buried inside of you for the rest of his life.

“Ngh, so good! Please don’t stop!” You were practically screaming as your claws sunk themselves into Mark’s back in an attempt to hold onto something. You were incoherent and babbling all sorts of things.

Suddenly, when you thought you couldn’t feel any better, you felt the rough pads of Mark’s fingers roughly rubbing themselves against your engorged clit. Instantly, your eyes rolled to the back of your head and it didn’t take long before you felt as if the Earth was stuttering on its axis as you came.

Tears poured down your pretty face as you sobbed, but it seemed as though Mark was not through with you. Swiftly, he flipped you around, yanking your tail up, which had you shrieking in sensitivity. Your ass immediately perked up while your body slumped forward, completely at his mercy.

“Look at you, so pretty in submission.” You could hear him smiling as he teased you. He admired your pussy, so puffy and glistening from your orgasm before gathering your release onto his fingers and spreading them on your unbreached hole.

All you could do was gasp against your mattress at the sensation, clearly aware of what he was trying to do. Slowly, he prodded his finger into the hole, testing the waters on how you would react before going further. You were trembling against his finger, mewling out as your hands tightly gripped the sheets on his bed. The mix of vulnerability and excitement overwhelmed you, and you couldn't deny the pleasure that was slowly building within you.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, I’m barely able to get this finger in. How’re you going to be able to take my cock princess?” Quickly you whined back at his words.

“Mhm, I can ugh, I can take it. I promise.” You’re barely able to breathe out before you went back to being a moaning mess as Mark started to move his finger around.

Mark loved how receptive you were to everything he was doing to you. Deciding to try another one, he slowly slid another finger into your incredibly taut hole. You were clenching hard around him, but the second his hands wrapped around your tail again, you seemed to loosen up, which gave him room to scissor his fingers around.

“Please, just put it in. I need you, Mark please!” Your patience was waning and while you appreciated his attempts to loosen you up, knowing that it was not only your first time but also due to his substantial size, you were tired of waiting and now just wanted him in you.

Mark didn’t need to be told twice and he quickly yanked his fingers out before positioning himself on your pulsating hole. He gradually pushed into you and instantly, the tightness around his head had him rolling his head back. As he pushed himself further into you, your whimpers got louder as your back arched further to get closer to him. It was painful and an unfamiliar sensation, but the pleasure outweighed any other feeling and you were determined to take him all.

“Shit, you’re so fucking tight around me babe.” Mark mused as he finally sunk all of himself into you before pausing for a second to take everything in. Then, he started to rock himself at a slow pace before adopting a steady pace that was comfortable for both of you.

Once again, lewd sounds of moans and pants filled the room that was potently covered in the scent of sex. Your body quivered against his with his tight grip was the only thing keeping your body from fully slumping over. As you felt yourself loosening up, you felt Mark quickening his pace as he was now pounding relentlessly into you. His balls were harshly slapping themselves against your sensitive clit and you already felt yourself coming close to releasing for a second time tonight.

“Keep going, I’m close! Don’t stop!” You pleaded and it seemed that Mark was also coming close to combusting as you felt him tightly gripping your shoulders to give himself more momentum to thrust into you.

Ringing in your ears came first before everything seemed to cut to white noise as you felt yourself convulsing. You weren’t even sure if you were even awake, let alone alive as the sensation continued. As Mark continued to slam into you, chasing his release, he felt spurts of wetness coming from you. You were squirting and at the realization, Mark instantly came. Ropes of his cum painted your inside and when he finally pulled out, the sight alone was filthy and absolutely porn-worthy. Your hole continued to clench over nothing and his cum slowly seeped out creating an image that Mark knew he would have forever ingrained in his mind.

You had gone fully limp on the bed, with only small twitches giving an indication that you were, in fact, still alive. Mark had completely fucked you into oblivion, and not a single ounce of your previous bratty attitude seemed to have withstood as you didn't even bat an eye when Mark wrapped his arms around you both, trying to recover and catch your breath.

“Guys, I’m here! I’m so sorry, the rain had everyone—what the fuck!” Out of nowhere, the door to the room slammed open, showcasing your owner standing drenched from the rain and sporting a wide smile that quickly disappeared at the sight his two hybrids were found in. Shit, both of you had totally forgotten about Taeyong.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: happy birthday mark lee love you sm and stay rawr xd <3

#nct scenarios #nct dream imagines #nct dream smut #nct smut #nct imagines #nctdream #nct #mark lee #mark lee smut #mark lee au #mark lee x reader #mark lee scenarios #mark lee angst #nct 127 #nct au #nct dream au #nct 127 imagines #nct 127 smut #nct 127 scenarios

852 notes · View notes

bungalowbear · 6 months

Text

Wolves of Tokyo: Savage Good Boy

Pairing: alpha!Fushiguro Toji x omega!f!reader

Summary: Pressured to choose a husband, you make a rebellious choice after a stranger comes to your rescue.

Warnings: abo dynamics, misogynistic themes, some violence, creepy alphas, love hotel, smut (fingering, p in v, knotting), biting, mutual bonding, mdni

Word Count: 8.5k

A/N: Here goes my first nosedive into abo. This is going to be a whole series with different jjk men and their readers. First up is Hana! But even though I’ve given her a name it’s more to make writing/reading easier the further along we get. I try to be as inclusive as I can therefore there are no physical descriptions, so anyone can read and hopefully picture themselves. Enjoy!

Series Masterlist / Playlist

There are many wolf clans in the city of Tokyo. But the Gojo, Kamo, and Zen’in families stand above all others. Power, wealth, and status are the pillars that have supported them for generations.

Your family is less prominent, just one rung below, though sought after for its long history of birthing powerful and gifted offspring. A blessing, your father says, the heavens bestowed upon your clan. But you’ve only ever regarded it as a curse.

Not only do you have the unfortunate luck of being born a woman, but also an omega. You’re even more unfortunate to have been born to your father, the head of your clan and the one forcing you into an arranged marriage.

“Do you know how many omegas would kill to be in your position?” he asks, voice tinged with frustration.

“Probably, like, a ton.”

You’re upside down on the sofa, legs hanging over the back and face looking out through the floor to ceiling windows of the living room. Your father’s penthouse offers an enviable view of the city. Among the patchwork constellations of lit windows of office buildings, you marvel at Tokyo Tower, turned upside down from your position, shining in all her glory.

“And yet you treat this with such contempt?”

Your father’s voice interrupts your city gazing. You hear his heavy footsteps echo against the hardwood floors as he comes to block your view. You refuse to raise your eyes to him, already familiar with the image of his crossed arms and rigid posture when he scolds you.

“Forgive me, father,” the words roll off your tongue dry and indifferent, “for not being so eager to sell myself off like some prized cattle.”

“You can’t keep pushing this meeting off,” he argues. “The other clans are getting restless. Soon they won’t be asking, but demanding.”

You roll your eyes and sit up so your feet are planted on the floor and your head is upright again. This time you turn your gaze up at your father, not cowering under his stern expression.

“You realize we don’t care about any of this, right? Satoru and I have been friends since we were children, and we both agree this is so archaic. Choso spends more time at that animal shelter than at home.” Your hands clutch the edges of the seat. A sour taste settles on your tongue. “And I’d claw my own eyes out before marrying Naoya. He’s the only one you’ve all successfully indoctrinated into this misogynistic bullshit.”

Pushing off the couch, you stride past your father and plant yourself beside the window. You pull your legs against your chest and rest your head on your knees. Your father’s footsteps come closer. His hand reaches toward your head and gives you a gentle pet, but you shake him off and scoot further away.

“What am I going to do with you?”

You can hear fondness creeping in his voice, but you won’t allow it to sway you.

“How about not forcing me to marry someone I don’t want to,” you quip.

Your father sighs.

“Our clan has kept itself alive and thriving for generations through marriage pacts. If we—”

“Maybe we don’t have to anymore,” you interrupt, looking at him with imploring eyes. “It’s a new time, father. Things are different now.”

“Not for us.”

He looks at you like you’re a child again. A sad smile that suggests you don’t understand anything about the way the world works. But you do know, and it’s not a world you want to live in anymore.

You and Satoru talk about the changes you want to make within the top clans. And you’re committed, you want to see it happen, but sometimes it seems impossible. At times you feel so small and so lonely. As a male alpha, Satoru doesn’t fully understand your fears, just like you don’t his. And you know he gets insecure like you do. The only difference is that he has someone to confide in, to support him unconditionally. You don’t. Which is why it’s so important for your husband to be someone of the same mind as you. Not someone who will keep you trapped underneath his thumb.

“If mother was here she’d be on my side.”

You huff, burying your head in your arms. You feel the warmth of your father next to you as he comes closer again. This time when he puts his arm around you, you don’t move away.

“If your mother was here she’d want you to make a smart decision.” He speaks with a sorrow you can’t fully comprehend. You lost a mother, but he lost a wife. A mate. “She’d want you to be protected and provided for. Each of the clans is offering that.”

“Wouldn’t she also want me to be happy?”

He chuckles. “You’re just like her.”

You lift your head. He stares at you with glassy eyes.

“Beautiful and wise,” he says. A loving smile curves his lips. “And stubborn.”

Your father’s expression turns somber. You already know what he sees in your face, in every feature that composes your physical identity. You see it every time you step in front of a mirror. A near identical copy of your mother. A living, breathing reminder that she once walked the earth, long enough to give you her likeness.

“I miss her,” you say, dropping your head onto his shoulder.

“So do I.”

You make sure your father is asleep before leaving the apartment. You close the door carefully behind you and take the elevator to the lobby. It’s nearly midnight, the usual time you step out, and your neighborhood is as you anticipate, quiet.

The walk to the train station is quick. You tap your fare card on the reader and head underground to catch the last local train to Shinjuku. You’ll most likely have to take a cab home, but you’ll figure that out later. Conversations with your father always leave you mentally drained and the only thing you can focus on right now is getting your hands on some yaki udon.

Once you arrive at your station, you exit up the stairs and onto the street. The diner isn’t far so you keep your head down and let your feet lead you along the familiar route.

It’s a bit crowded for a Thursday but you don’t mind. You can blend in better. Disappear among the mixed scents of the other designations that crowd the sidewalk. You mostly catch the sweetness of omegas in the air. They travel in groups and you assume they don’t have mates of their own. It’s rare for an alpha to allow their mate to be out this late. Thankfully, you don’t have that problem. Not yet, at least.

You’re not sure how long you can keep stalling your father. You understand he pressures you only because he’s pressured by the other clans, but you don’t understand why he doesn’t just stand up to them and refuse. You don’t know what he’s so afraid of. He’s already been through the worst time of his life.

The death of your mother was the lowest point not only for you and your father, but also the entire clan. Only with her absence were you able to realize the influential woman she was and what she meant to the other branches of the family. Their support through your grief and your father’s brief depression, their unwavering loyalty and devotion, their presence the purest form of unconditional love, was the foundation your mother built that gave the clan a foot to keep standing on.

You and your father had endured your mother’s death with the clan by your side. When the mourning period ended you promised yourself you would be a leader worthy of your family name in return for their support. You’d be as resilient as your father, and as influential as your mother.

But the only way you can achieve that is through the right opportunity. Clearly your father won’t be the one to make one happen for you, so you have to find it yourself.

A voice calling out stops you in your tracks. As your mind clears itself of your previous thoughts your ears listen for the voice again. You look over your shoulder at the opening of a dark alley and wait. After a few seconds you hear the same cry for help.

You backtrack a few steps and peer into the alley. Cautiously, you enter and follow the whimpering sounds and scared scent of an omega. There are several overhead light posts lining the walls, and it’s beneath one of those lights you see a woman cowering beneath two burly men with her hand pressed against her red cheek. She peers between the two with tears in her eyes and finds your gaze, relief pouring out of her as if you’re an angel come to her rescue.

“Hey!”

You shout, too fast for you to think about the consequences. But it gets their attention and gives the omega the opening needed to get away. One of the men tries to grab her but she quickly evades him and sprints away toward the other end of the alley.

“Big mistake, girl.”

They turn to you and you realize too late that they’re both alphas. Angry and irritated alphas. And you’re alone with them.

You try to make your own escape, but a harsh grip on your arm pulls you back. You’re shoved against the wall and the space is too narrow to put any distance between you and the increasingly overwhelming spicy tang of their combined scents that fill your nostrils.

“What do we have here?” The one that holds you in place has shaggy brown hair. He inhales deeply, closing his eyes with a salacious grin. “Another little omega to play with?”

In the brief moment his eyes are shut, you shift your feet so that your right foot is slightly behind your left. Using all the force you can muster, you thrust the palm of your right hand up and into his nose. He steps back with a shout, hands flying to his face as blood trickles out between his fingers. The other man steps around his friend and roughly pins your shoulders to the wall.

“A feisty one, eh?” His bald head shines beneath the light post as he leans in close. He takes a good whiff of you. “Doesn’t matter. I can smell how scared you really are. A little sour mixed in with all that sweetness. Just how I like it.”

His nose inches toward the sensitive gland on your neck and your body revolts. You’ve acted mostly on instinct so far, but you’re intentionally defiant as you gather a pool of saliva in your mouth and spit it all out onto his face.

“What the—” He jerks back, wiping away your attack with the back of his hand. An angry growl crawls out of his throat as he raises a hand to strike you. “You little bitch.”

You shut your eyes, waiting for the sting of his palm to sharply make contact with your cheek.

But it never comes.

Your eyes open and your brow furrows at the hand hovering in mid air above your face. When your gaze lowers you realize it’s because another hand has it locked in place.

You didn’t hear him, couldn’t even sense him approach, but this new person is no doubt another alpha. Your lips part in awe at the size of him. He’s massive, towering over you and the others. His broad frame is intimidating and his arms and chest are barely contained beneath the fibers of his plain black t-shirt.

The bald alpha tries to pull away but the grip he’s in is too strong. In a flash, your savior turns him around with a yank of his arm and sends a powerful kick to his backside. The smaller man goes flying forward onto his hands and knees. His friend with the still bleeding nose helps him up from the ground, and they both turn back to the giant of a man now standing between you and them.

“What the hell, man?” the bald one complains. “This has nothing to do with you.”

“Now it does.”

The deep timbre of your savior’s voice makes your knees shake. It suits his powerful presence and makes you thankful he’s on your side.

All three alphas seem to be locked in a staring contest. But while the two become visibly nervous the longer it goes on, their opponent’s cool expression doesn’t waver. He folds his arms and his muscles strain against the short sleeves of his shirt. The two others seem to come to a decision and start backing away. They spare you a quick glance, and your savior a scowl, before they turn and escape down the alley.

You watch from behind the alpha’s frame until the two round the corner and are finally out of sight. Letting out a sigh of relief, you step away from the wall. But it’s short lived when the remaining alpha turns his sharp gaze on you.

“Be more careful next time you decide to play hero, yeah?”

His shirt looks too small for him, and you wonder if it’s on purpose to show off his insanely fit body. You notice a hole in the left knee of his sweatpants that sit low on his hips and the white socks dusted brown with dirt slid into a pair of black slides. Your gaze snaps up to his face and zeroes in on the scar at the corner of his lip, then to the black strands of hair that fall in his face, shading a pair of emerald green eyes. You decide that despite his semi-homeless presentation he’s actually very attractive.

“Thanks,” you say. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

He looks down his nose at you, appraising you like you just did him. You wonder what he sees. You wonder if the smirk that pulls at the corner of his mouth is meant to unnerve you, entice you, or maybe both. And you wonder why, since you run on instinct so much, do you go against your designation’s expectations and make so much trouble for your father.

“You hungry?”

He tilts his head. “What?”

“I was heading to a diner,” you say. “Let me buy you something. It’s the least I can do.”

His eyes narrow for a second as he contemplates your offer. Though you already know what his answer will be.

“Sure.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Whatever.”

You smirk and motion for him to follow you. The noise from the street is a welcome reprieve from the dark and quiet alley, but being back on the sidewalk means navigating through the crowds again. You’re so used to walking alone, swiftly weaving through bodies, that you almost forget your new companion. You look over your shoulder to make sure you haven’t left him behind and your brows rise at the empty space behind you.

He is only about five or six steps behind, but his broad build and being several heads taller than nearly everyone on the street makes them steer clear and create a path for him to walk unimpeded. Your eyes meet and he grins. The way his scar stretches and his eyes narrow make him look dangerous, and like he’s certainly aware of his presence.

You hum, curious about who this man is, and turn your head forward to continue walking. Several blocks later and a right turn onto a narrow street, the diner finally comes into view. Kanji characters glow in red neon above the entrance.

“It doesn’t look like much,” you say when you’re standing in front of the dark wood sliding door. “But they’ve got the best curry you’ll ever eat.”

He doesn’t say anything as you slide the door open and wave him in first. You weren’t close enough before to notice, but when he ducks his head and passes in front of you into the diner you catch his scent. Cypress with an underlying hint of spicy cinnamon fills your senses and you have to shake your head to keep from focusing on it too long.

You enter after him and slide the door closed. He looks over the menu options on the ticket machine to the left of the door while you peer past him to the long counter. The sound of running water in the kitchen stops and a familiar face appears from behind the corner. When Momo’s brother sees you he says your name.

“Welcome.” He smiles at you warmly. Then his eyes cut to the large man beside you, who doesn’t take his focus off the food options, and tilts his head in silent inquiry. But you shake your head and he understands that now isn’t the time for questions. “Sit anywhere you’d like. Momo will—”

He pauses, looking around the diner with a frown for his sister. It’s a narrow room with a counter that spans almost the entire length of the space with room on each end to exit through the doors. The right wall is lined with tables that seat two and leaves a small aisle in between for passage along the length of the diner. The back door leads to the restroom, which is a separate room in the alley with easy street access, and where you’re certain his sister is.

You chuckle, knowing when Momo reappears she’ll be in for a scolding. Turning your attention to the machine, you feed it several notes and select your udon and toppings.

“Get as much as you want,” you say.

Your companion doesn’t hesitate to start pressing buttons, choosing a bowl of ramen and the large portion of curry. After he selects an order of gyoza and tempura the money slot blinks green and you slide in more notes. He looks at you with raised brows, probably not believing your initial offer, before he makes his final selections of yakitori and two beers. You add another yakitori and a beer for yourself before accepting your change and fishing out the tickets from the dispenser.

“Let’s take a seat.” You turn to the alpha beside you. “I’m sure—”

Suddenly the back door slides open and all eyes are on the flustered omega as she enters the diner. She straightens the apron around her waist before swiftly closing the door, but not fast enough that you don’t catch the blur of white hair dash behind her. When she looks up you can see the smudge of gloss around the corners of her mouth and you have to hold back your giggles.

Her mouth splits into a wide grin when she spots you and hurries around the counter toward you. With a tilt of your head in his direction, the alpha follows your lead down the aisle and toward a table along the wall.

“Hey, Momo,” you greet your friend. You lift your hand and use your knuckle to clear away the stray gloss on her skin. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” she answers, shyly averting her eyes. Her hands smooth down the front of her apron. “Really good.”

You raise your brows in amusement, lips parting to tease her, but Momo takes the tickets from you and tears them in half before scurrying off to the kitchen. You watch her go with a fond shake of your head.

“She’s cute.”

Your attention shifts to the alpha now seated at the table. He grins while making the observation. His gaze lingers on the entrance of the kitchen, where the low murmurs of Momo’s scolding reach your ears.

You take the seat across from him.

“Thank you,” you say, “for, uh, helping me back there.”

“You always pick fights with alphas?”

You think about your father and the clan heads, always aware of the power they hold. You’d learned about it all from Satoru growing up, your only confidant in this repeating generational cycle, and yet you refuse to give in. All your life you knew what awaited you and you took every chance to delay it. Ever since your mother’s death you wanted something more for yourself. You wanted a different future.

“Yeah.” You smile to yourself. “I guess I do.”

“Pretty stupid for an unmated omega.”

He scoffs. You roll your eyes.

“We’re not helpless, you know.”

“You got in a good hit, so maybe not helpless.” He chuckles, tilting his head down to narrow his eyes playfully. “Still a weak little thing though.”

“I literally made him bleed.”

The smirk he gives you makes him look less intimidating.

“You’re not like other omegas,” he says.

It’s not a question. Ever since you met him you’ve felt his calculating gaze on you. Not heavy or intense, but just there. A silent presence that maintains its patience, watching and studying and waiting for the right time to take action.

“Here you are.” Momo appears with your beers, placing them on the table with a steady hand. She looks from you to your companion. “Who’s your new friend?”

“I ran into some trouble,” you vaguely explain. “He was kind enough to get me out of it.”

She frowns. “Trouble?”

You wave off her concern. “It was barely anything.”

Momo turns to him, bowing her head in gratitude.

“Thank you for taking care of my friend. I’ll bring some dessert, on the house.”

“Momo, I can—”

You start to decline her offer, but the deep, rich voice of the man across from you cuts you off.

“I appreciate that, sweetheart.”

Momo perks up before flitting away with a promise of ice cream. You watch the alpha as he eyes Momo’s backside. You clear your throat.

“She’s spoken for. And your competition won’t fold as easily as those creeps in the alley.”

“Just lookin’,” he says, reaching for his first beer.

You take your own beer in your hands, bringing it up to your lips for a sip. You eye him over the rim, take in everything about him. His hair, his face, the bored expression he near constantly wears. The more you see, the more familiar he looks.

“So…what’s your name?” you ask.

“Why do you wanna know?” he counters.

“Isn’t it normal for me to want to know the name of my knight in shining armor?”

He laughs before taking a large gulp of his beer, slamming it down onto the table and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He tilts his head to look at you through half lidded eyes. You’re sure he’s trying to be seductive, and you have no doubt he can be, but after countless alphas from various clans trying to attract your attention you’ve built up a sort of immunity to pretty words and manipulative men.

He pouts when you show no sign of wavering.

“Doesn’t matter,” he huffs.

“I think it does,” you insist.

Like with the alphas in the alley, you’re caught in a staring contest with the man before you. But after a minute of you matching his impassive expression he smacks his teeth. He leans back and crosses his arms over his chest.

“What’s it to you anyway?”

You shrug. “You look like someone I know.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say. “You’ve got the same eyes.”

He hums.

“And the same hair,” you add.

He raises his brows. His green eyes light up in mock interest.

“Even got the same frown.”

“Wow,” he leans forward, propping an elbow on the table and resting his chin in his large palm, “the same frown.”

“He’s like a carbon copy of you. Almost like you could be father and son.”

At this, he straightens up. His expression hardens and he eyes the diner warily, as if he’s been unknowingly lured into some nefarious den.

“Who are you?” he asks.

“I asked you first.”

You wait for his answer, patient as you take another sip of beer. He clenches his jaw.

“Toji,” he finally answers.

“Family name?”

He hesitates. It seems any answer he has prepared for you won’t allow him to remain anonymous. But he could also give you a fake name, though something tells you he won’t.

“Fushiguro.”

He whispers the name, one you’re familiar with. You nod your head.

Before Fushiguro, he was Zen’in. Everyone knows the story of the alpha who deserted his clan after years of being ignored and put down by his family. An alpha who couldn’t shift into his wolf form was considered a blemish on the Zen’in name. But what Toji lacked as a shapeshifter he made up for in his human form. Physically stronger, faster, sharper than nearly any man or wolf, he made a name for himself as a hunter. You don’t know how you feel about him hunting other wolves, but from the stories you heard he was quite impressive.

“Okay,” Toji says, “so what’s your name?”

You tell him your full name, then add, “But my friends call me Hana.”

He scoffs. “So we’re friends?”

“We can be.”

“Why do your friends call you Hana?” he asks instead.

“Because they think they’re funny, dubbing me the blooming flower of my family.”

He chuckles, scratching at his chin. “So what’s the daughter of a clan leader doing sneaking around at night?”

“Needed to clear my head.” You trace a line down the side of your glass, breaking through the condensation. “I’m expected to choose a husband soon.”

“Right.” Toji nods. “Your family has the golden womb.”

You scrunch your nose at his wording. That’s all you are to any of them. A pawn. An object. You could just run away, you think. You’d ask Satoru to lend you some money until you get settled somewhere far away, then you’d live your life free of clan traditions. On your own terms.

But you know it’s nothing but a fantasy. Even if you ran they’d send someone to track you down and bring you back. Someone like Toji…

You lift your gaze to the alpha, and slowly an idea begins to form in your mind. You recall a thought you had: find your own opportunity.

“What do you think about marriage?”

“The first time wasn’t so bad.” Toji shrugs. “Second time was more for convenience.”

“You know,” you pause, gauging his expression, “they say third time’s the charm.”

His brows pinch together. He’s obviously puzzled.

You smile. “What do you say?”

“Marriage? To you?” He points a thumb over his shoulder. “Are you sure you didn’t hit your head back there?”

“Think about it. If we get married your family will have to bring you back into the fold. You’ll be bankrolled by them again and I’ll get to rub it in all the clan leaders’ faces that I found away around their ancient tradition.”

“What makes you think I want their money?” Toji frowns. “Or would even go back if they asked?”

“Well, word around the packs is that you’re a bit of a gambler, so whatever money you acquire on your own is yours to do with as you please,” you say, waving your hand dismissively. “And if you don’t want to go back to your family then you can live with me. I’ll take care of your food, housing, and other essentials.”

“And be, what? Your sugar baby?”

“Essentially.” You chuckle to yourself. “Also, I’m sure they’ll want a stake in decisions about our children. That’s going to be so much fun.”

“Eh?” Toji scowls. “Now we’re talking about children?”

“Obviously we’ll have to have at least one,” you say. Avoiding children is hard in your position, but becoming a mother is not entirely out of the question. Having a mother like yours, a part of you had always been eager for your turn. “And I’m curious to see how they’ll turn out. I’ve heard stories about you. With your strengths and my “golden womb” perhaps our child will turn out to be very powerful. God, I can just picture the looks on the faces of those old men.”

Toji smirks. “You’re a spiteful one aren’t you?”

“Since I’m an only child, my father will pass on his business to whoever I marry.” You’re talking to yourself now, your future laying itself out before your eyes. “And after he does you’ll tell him you aren’t interested in running the company, then you’ll announce that you’re turning it over to me. I know everything about that place. I’ll keep growing the company, make sure the clan continues to prosper, and start making changes from the inside. Of course you’ll be free to do your own thing.”

You pause, really looking at Toji now and see a glint in his eyes as he stares back at you. You can tell he’s considering your offer.

“What about divorce?” he asks.

“You’ll have to sign a prenup, so there’s really no benefit for you if we get divorced. My father will also make sure that I have full custody of any children we have. You’ll essentially be right back where you are now. Just older.”

He’s silent as he rests his cheek in his palm.

“I’ll make sure you won’t want for anything.” You express the same sentiment your father did to you. How strange, you think, an omega offering protection and security to an alpha. “And if you want to see Megumi, I can ask—”

“No.”

“No?”

“I’ll do it. I’ll marry you.” Toji pointedly avoids your gaze. “But we don’t have to involve the kid.”

Your heart clenches. You wonder if he’ll be this indifferent to your own children.

“Okay.” You extend your hand across the table. “It’s a deal.”

Toji’s hand is warm around yours as he takes it and gives it a firm shake. Momo comes back to your table with your small feast. You thank her and she’s off again. Toji already has chopsticks in hand, but before he can take the first bite you speak up.

“For my father to accept this betrothal we’ll have to show him we’re serious. That there’s no going back.”

Toji looks at you with ramen hanging in front of his open mouth. “How do we do that?”

You smirk.

“With a little bonding time.”

After your meal, you pay for a cab to take you and Toji to Love Hotel Hill in Shibuya. You’re dropped of at the entrance of the hotel, but before going inside you take hold of Toji’s elbow and turn him to face you.

“This is your last chance to back out,” you tell him. “If you walk through those doors with me there’s no going back.”

Toji’s head pushes back slightly. His brow furrows and he looks almost…offended. His lips part and he looks like he’s about to speak, but then his brows rise. His eyes scan your face and you wonder what he sees.

Does he see how hopeful you are? Does he realize that you’re both desperate for the same chance to change your lives?

“Don’t worry, omega.” He smirks, taking your hand that’s still touching his elbow. His thumb brushes over the inside of your wrist. A tingle zips through your arm. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Relief washes through you and you smile. You don’t think much of it as you wrap your arm through his, pulling you close to him as you walk through the automatic glass doors of the hotel.

The lobby is empty except for the reception desk where you know an attendant sits behind the opaque window. The rest of the space is finely decorated with warm overhead lighting, lush green plants, and a long leather couch placed against the far wall.

Your shoes tap softly against the tile as you and Toji step up to the board on the right wall lit up with pictures of available rooms to choose from. There are a few themed options, but you and Toji decide on a standard room for the night. So you choose a room on the top floor along with the “stay” option then go to the reception desk to pay. After you exchange notes for the key card a soft feminine voice bids you a pleasant stay.

After thanking the attendant you and Toji move to the elevator. He pushes the call button and you stand, your arm still around his, and wait. When the bell dings to signal the elevator’s arrival you prepare to step forward, but when the doors open a couple is already inside. The man removes his hands from the woman’s hips. He clears his throat and she giggles. You avert your eyes as you and Toji step aside for them to exit. When you’re inside and the elevator doors are closing you can hear the sounds of their infatuated exchange as they walk through the lobby and back out into the world.

You and Toji ride to the top floor in silence. The key card weighs heavy in your hand and you can’t help the racing of your heart as the numbers above the doors keep climbing. When the doors open you and Toji move at the same time to step into the hallway and toward your room.

Not only are you on the top floor but also in the north east corner. Although the walk to your room seems a mile long, it gives you the sense of greater privacy feeling so far away. There are no sounds from the other doors you pass that you can detect. Knowing Toji’s heightened senses, you wonder if he hears anything. You peek over at him but his face sits in the same flat expression.

When you arrive, you swipe the key card above the handle and enter the room. There’s a small area at the entrance where you both take off your socks and shoes. Toji is barefoot in less than a minute while you’re still bent at the waist working your shoes off.

Once you’re done and are upright again you stride further into the room. It’s not unlike any other pricey hotel you’ve stayed at with its marble counters and hardwood floors. The only difference would be that there’s only one window with the curtains pulled shut for privacy. You do, however, like the large circular bed in the middle of the room.

It’s on a raised section of the floor, and instead of hardwood the bed is surrounded by soft carpet. It’s sunken into the platform and dressed in white bedding. A round light fixture hovers directly above, like a spotlight on the main event.

It excites you. So you follow the feeling and waste no time getting everything prepared just the way you like it.

“Feel free to grab anything from the bar,” you say over your shoulder.

You hear the mini fridge open and close then the hiss of a bottle opening. You feel Toji’s eyes on you, watching as you flit around the room and grab towels from the bathroom along with extra blankets from the closet by the door. You toss them onto the bed and arrange them to your liking before jumping on top and rolling around your makeshift nest.

“What are you doing?” he asks, coming to stand at the edge of the bed. He takes a sip of his bottled beer.

“I want to make sure it smells like us before we get started.” You roll around a bit more. Spread your arms and legs out like you’re making a snow angel. “Come here.”

When he doesn’t move you crawl on your hands and knees and take hold of his arm. You try pulling him down to you but he doesn’t budge. Not a single inch. You try again, but are only met with Toji’s laughter.

“Told you already,” the smile he gives you is nothing short of mocking, “you’re a weak little thing.”

Your lips press together tightly, not appreciating the way he taunts you. So when your hand lets go of his arm and your fingers glide over to tease at the hem of his sweatpants you grin triumphantly when he jerks away.

“Oi!”

You giggle at the scowl Toji throws your way. He downs the rest of his beer and tosses the bottle onto the floor carelessly and it rolls away onto the hardwood. Your eyes follow him as he purposefully walks in an arc to get to the other side of the bed before plopping down onto it, landing on his back with a huff.

“You have to roll around so your scent gets everywhere,” you say.

“M’not a child.” He crosses his arms under his head, shutting his eyes. “Not gonna roll.”

“Fine.”

You surprise him for a second time by swiftly darting across the mattress and straddling his hips. His green eyes fly open and he looks at you like you’re absolutely insane. But you pay him no mind as you grab the edges of the blanket beneath him and fold each end over his front. You hold them closed tightly and sway him a little back and forth. You’re impressed with yourself that you can even manage that with how huge he is.

“Having fun?” Toji deadpans.

“A little,” you admit.

Next, you grab a towel from behind you and place it over his head, rubbing hair with it like you would if you were drying it after a shower. Toji says something but it’s unintelligible beneath the towel.

You pull it away from his face. “What was that?”

“Said it smells nice.”

“Really?” You give it a whiff. “What’s it smell like?”

“Like a plum. Tart with just the right amount of sweetness,” he says. His tongue swipes over his bottom lip. “Smells like you.”

“You’re not going soft on me now are—”

You gasp when Toji’s hand shoots out to take hold of your arm. He presses his nose to your wrist, inhaling deeply. The intimate action makes your lower belly erupt with butterflies.

As if sensing your reaction, Toji sits up. His face hovers just an inch away from you and he holds onto your hips to keep you from scooting backward. Your noses touch, lips just barely brushing. Lust swims in the pools of his green irises and you see your own eagerness reflected in them. You spend several long heated seconds exchanging warm breaths before you lean in, closing the gap and pressing your lips to his.

It starts out slowly, both of you acquainting yourselves with the taste and feel of each other, before it picks up. You’re not sure which one of you initiated it, but when the kiss turns needier and hungrier neither of you protest. You moan when his tongue passes through your lips, the wet muscle hunting for more of your taste.

The heat between you starts to rise and your mind tells you that you’re both wearing too many clothes. Your hands scramble to the hem of Toji’s shirt and start tugging until he raises his arms and you pull it over his head. Your lips are disconnected for a moment, but find each other again when his torso is bare.

Your hands wander the expanse of his sculpted chest, fingers pressing into firm muscle hidden beneath hot smooth flesh. Your touch ventures further down to his stomach where you explore every dip and crevice of abdominal muscle etched to perfection. You pull a gasp from the alpha beneath you when your fingers ghost over where the thin trail of hair on his lower stomach disappears into the waistband of his sweatpants.

Toji growls into your mouth before taking the bottom of your shirt and jerking it upward, impatient in his movements. You lift your arms and he rips it the rest of the way off you, leaving only your bra to cover your chest. The shirt is discarded before Toji attaches his mouth to yours again, but he doesn’t stay there. Hot lips start making their way lower, leaving a wet trail down your throat until his teeth are nipping and teasing at the gland on your neck. You gasp at the sensation and feel the vibrations of Toji’s laughter against your collarbone.

“Asshole,” you say, breathlessly.

He smiles against your skin, not bothering to argue, as his hands settle on your waist and give a firm squeeze. “Stand up.”

It’s not an alpha command, but you move as if it is. Your feet sink into the mattress and you hold onto Toji’s shoulders for balance. He undoes the button and pulls down your zipper, and in one motion he has your bottom half completely bare in front of him. His face presses into your hip as he helps you get each foot free.

Now you stand only in your bra, watching as he tugs down his sweatpants to reveal himself to you. He’s half hard but you can already tell he’s definitely the largest you’ve ever had. While he works his pants off you reach behind and undo your bra, letting it fall off your arms before you toss it onto the floor to land with the rest of your clothes.

Toji’s touch is on you again. Warm, calloused hands brush up and down your thighs before hooking at the back of your knees. He pulls you down so you’re once again straddling him. He kisses you, briefly but with more fervor, before he leans his head down and takes one of your nipples in his mouth.

You bring a hand to the back of his head, fingers threading through the strands as you keep him close. A whimper escapes you as the tip of his tongue expertly traces circles around your sensitive nub. Your lower body clenches when he moves to your other breast, lips firmly attaching themselves and giving a light tug.

Your free hand reaches down between your bodies to take hold of Toji’s cock. His base is nestled among a patch of dark curls, and the more your hand works up and down his length the more of him you feel. Mentally, and maybe physically, you’re drooling at his girth. And the thick vein running on the underside of his shaft makes you eager to have him inside you already, so you pump him earnestly until he’s fully erect. You keep at it until suddenly he swats your hand away.

“Toji? What—”

Your words catch in your throat when his hand suddenly dives in between your legs. Toji’s fingers run through your folds, humming in satisfaction with how soaking wet you already are. He only gives a single teasing prod at your entrance before he plunges two thick fingers inside you.

Gasping, your hands clutch onto his biceps. You pant as his long fingers reach deeper than you ever could on your own. He sets a fast pace from the start, making you choke on your own moans as he finger fucks you without mercy. His fingers curl to find that special spot inside you that has you sinking your nails into his skin. And when his palm presses down on your clit your heart literally skips a beat. Every precise movement of his fingers has the coil tightening in your belly, has you teetering on the edge.

“I’m almost—” You let out a whimper. “I’m close.”

“Yeah, you are.” Toji pushes his nose against your cheek, tongue licking at the curve of your jaw. “Can feel how tight you’re squeezing my fingers.”

You’re almost there. Just a little bit more and then you’ll—

The tension, the heat. It’s gone. The end you were so close to capturing is suddenly ripped away. You stare at the pair of fingers that should be inside you, but instead are shiny and glistening before your eyes.

“Toji.” You whine as your bottom lip juts out into a pout. “Why’d you do that? I was—”

But your protests are silenced when Toji shushes you. He lowers his slick covered hand and you watch as he strokes himself. You swallow as he delves back through your folds for more lubricant. Your hips twitch at the contact and your pussy clenches hungrily around nothing as it waits for Toji to finish preparing himself.

“Don’t worry, omega.” Toji’s voice is barely above a whisper. A soft promise just for you. “I’ll give you what you want.”

You raise your hips as Toji lines himself up with your entrance, pressing his tip against you before slowly entering. Your breathing comes in short spurts as you try to adjust to his size. Each inch burns but it soon gives way to pleasure when he bottoms out.

You’re both panting when you’re fully seated on top of him. Toji leans back on his hands, green eyes staring up at you.

“Take it,” he says. “Take what you need.”

You lean forward, holding his face in your palms, and kiss him. When you lift your hips, you whine into his mouth and bring yourself back down. You plant your hands on his shoulders and set your pace. You pull back as you bounce on his cock, feeling the familiar tightness once again.

“That’s it. Keep going.” One of Toji’s hands comes to rest at the base of your neck, a subtle guide to your actions that barely registers in the back of your currently one track driven mind. “Doing so good, omega.”

He’s called you that several times tonight, but you can’t help clench around him when he says it now. Full of pride and encouragement. A primal instinct in you is reacting to this man, this alpha, and you like it.

Suddenly, Toji pushes forward and pulls you to his chest, one arm around your waist while his other hand takes hold of your chin and points it upward. His mouth hovers over your exposed flesh, over the sensitive gland on the side of your neck. He doesn’t need you to tell him when, you can feel the way you’re coming together.

You slam down onto him once, twice, and then you cry out as the tight coil within finally snaps at the same time Toji sinks his teeth into you. Sharp canines pierce your mating gland, sending a shiver down your spine.

Blood trickles out of the wound and Toji laps away at the trail of crimson, leaving none behind. You wrap your arms around him. You want him closer, as close as you can be.

You feel dazed, like the world has shifted on its axis. Your head drops as a fog clouds your mind, struggling to conjure up any other thought besides Toji. But all you feel is the hot aftershocks of pleasure coursing through you as the familiar scent of cypress and cinnamon surrounds you.

The world shifts again and this time you land on something soft. You blink your eyes open, realizing you’re on your back now. Toji hovers above you. His broad shoulders take over your field of vision so all you see is him. His black hair hangs in sweaty strands down the sides of his face. Those emerald green of his eyes are locked onto you. It makes your heart flutter.

“Alpha.”

Toji’s expression softens when you call to him. Plead for him. He lowers his head to nose at the mark he’s just made. You flinch, still sensitive.

“Did so good for me, omega.” His praise makes you keen. You arch your back to touch your chest to his. “Now it’s my turn.”

He’s still hard inside you, not having found his release yet. He wraps your legs around his waist and starts moving. Like earlier, he doesn’t wait to set a quick pace. His hips pound into you as he chases his own pleasure.

Whimpers escape you as he bullies your sensitive pussy. He braces his forearms on either side of your head, caging you in. Instinctively, your arms wrap around his back, keeping him trapped inside your locked limbs.

“I’m gonna…fuck,” Toji hisses in your ear. “Wanna cum inside you.”

“It’s okay.” You hold onto him tighter. “M’on birth control.”

After your admission his thrusts turn erratic. You feel the swelling at the base of his cock grow larger and larger. He’s hot and heavy inside you. All around you. He’s overwhelming but you don’t want him to stop.

“Almost there,” Toji grunts.

“Please, Alpha.”

Toji moans, both from your plea and the way you tighten yourself around his cock. Your body wants him. Can’t get enough. You’re his and now it’s time to make him yours.

One last powerful thrust sends Toji over the edge. His knot swells inside of you, sealing you both together, as his hot seed paints your walls. He sighs, heavy and satisfied as he continues to gently rock into you.

The haze of your mind is beginning to clear. Your body slowly becomes heavier even as small shocks of pleasure continue to jolt through your system. You raise a trembling hand to the back of Toji’s head. Taking a fistful of his hair, you sharply yank his head to the side and bite down hard enough to pierce the gland on his neck.

Toji grunts. His body stiffens as he hides his face in the crook of your neck. You smooth a hand down his back as you lick away any remaining blood, and his body gradually relaxes until he’s pressing his full weight on top of you.

You huff, trying to shift to get a better chance at not suffocating. But when you pull away a little too quickly, you both hiss when there’s a harsh tug at where your connected.

“Sorry,” you apologize. Your hands are quick to soothe, helping Toji adjust his body so you’re both comfortable. “How do you feel?”

Toji still has his face hidden in your neck. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to.

Although the bonding isn’t as potent as it would be during your heat it doesn’t lessen the connection you’ve created with this man. You both cling to each other as you struggle to take it all in, anxious about how this decision is already changing you.

Instincts you’ve ignored until now are already clawing their way out of the deep pits of your subconscious. The urge to soothe, to nurture, to submit is nearly overpowering. It will completely consume you if you let it.

Toji’s large hand is splayed out across your rib cage, thumb caressing the curve of your breast. His mind races while his heart beats wildly as he clings to you. His actions aren’t lining up with who he’s been up to this point. He’s never been the type to attach himself to anyone or anything. Thankfully, you feel his building resolve to chip away at the unwanted bits of his new appetite as a bonded alpha.

You sigh, relieved you made the right choice, as you card your fingers through Toji’s hair until his breathing evens out and he’s fast asleep.

But you stay wide awake well into the early morning. How could you surrender to sleep with all your life’s new possibilities waiting for you to conceive of them?

I do not have a taglist. Please follow @bungalowbear-archive and turn on notifications.

Dividers by @rookthornesartistry.

#catalog #wolves of tokyo #fushiguro toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji smut #toji x reader #toji fushiguro smut #abo #alpha!toji

532 notes · View notes

call-me-strega · 7 months

Text

How to Become a Step-Dad in 5 Easy Steps: part 1

Jason meets Single Dad Danny who is taking care of a de-aged Dani while trying to get his degree at Gotham U. Both of them fall hard, hijinks and shenanigans ensue, simping on both sides.

Edit: background info/lore found here

Edit: part 2 now found here

~~~~

Step 1: Meet an attractive single parent

As a Crime Lord/vigilante Red Hood had multiple safe houses that he used in and out of the mask. Some were for each exclusive identity to prevent anyone from linking them together and others used for both. Currently, Jason was walking out of his 2nd favorite safe house and the mostly permanent residence of “civilian and non-profit worker: Jason Todd” with a plate of cookies and a pan full of lasagna for his new neighbors that moved in two doors down. He may have been a street rat but he’d be damned if Alfred and Talia hadn’t taught him hospitality (it was a fact of life that grandparents and Asian people would try to feed their guests like their honor depended on it). Plus it was a great way to do some reconnaissance on whether or not these new neighbors could potentially pose an issue. The apartment complex was on the border of Crime Alley and Burnley meaning the people who lived there weren’t doing too hot money-wise but were at least able to avoid the worst of Crime Alley. Jason was just planning to go over introduce himself, hand over the homemade food, and head off to a different safe house to get his gear and patrol. However, he was not expecting to see his new neighbor standing outside struggling to open his own door, a six-year-old on his hip, arguing with someone over the phone. The young man had a lean build and appeared to be no older than 20, give or take a year or two. He had black bangs that cast a shadow on his face making his eye-bags appear even darker and startling blue eyes clouded with anger and resentment, likely towards whoever was on the phone. He was so occupied with his conversation he didn’t seem to notice that someone else had stepped into the hallway. He was wearing dark blue jeans and a loose white shirt with a NASA logo on it that slightly hung off his shoulder. He also wore a black hoodie with a white hood and neon green accents that seemed to be subject to his sister(?)’s death grip. Despite his disheveled state, there was something about his new neighbor that drew him in. His aura washed over Jason like a cool breeze on a hot day making it hard for Jason to look away. He would have continued assessing the man if he hadn’t made eye contact with the identical blue eyes of the young girl perched on his hip, who looked at him with a curious sparkle in her eyes. He discreetly turned back around to lock his own door, trying to eavesdrop on the conversation the elder (brother?) seemed to be having. It could provide some info on these new neighbors.

“-shut up Vlad! I’m not moving into your rich guy penthouse! I wouldn’t be taking any of your shady money if I didn’t need child support for Ellie!”

Huh. So her dad/guardian then?

“ Of course I have to do this Vald! What’s the other option, sending her back to a Frootloop like you?! … I’m not going to abandon Ellie for something that wasn’t her choice. She didn’t ask to be created Vlad that’s why she gets a chance.”

Okay so setting aside the rather concerning parts New Neighbor Guy™️ was definitely that child’s parent. Seems fairly rational as well.

“How do I know you’d be a terrible guardian? Plenty of reasons, do you want the list chronologically or alphabetized! You violated me, who you said you wanted to adopt despite me having two living parents, you created Ellie and several other failed attempts without my knowledge, you hid her from me, you tried to teach her to hate me before we even met, you named her Danielle after me instead of giving her her own identity, the list goes on and on Vlad! Do you want me to continue because that’s just the stuff that involves Ellie— I was 14, you middle-aged vampire look-alike! Of course I wasn’t jumping at the chance to become a teen dad! I was a freshman in high school! Besides you know what my parents are like, lab safety regulations were more like a healthy suggestion to them. I was in no position to be taking care of a child!”

Rage flashed in Jason’s eyes as he tightened his grip on his glass Tupperware pan full of lasagna. This conversation was not painting a pretty picture about his neighbor’s situation. He took a deep breath trying to calm himself before belatedly realizing his neighbor had gotten real quiet. He turned around, catching the tail end of his neighbor’s conversation as he finally succeeded in opening the door.

“Whatever Vlad, just keep paying your child support and for Ancients’ sake please stop trying to date my mom. …. Yeah, yeah screw you too Count Chocula.”

The neighbor set his daughter down, likely so she could enter the apartment, and slipped his phone from between his head and shoulder into his hand to hang up on that Vlad guy. Now seemed like as good a time as any to approach. Jason walked up the the young man and coughed trying to get his attention. The young man met Jason’s eyes with a somewhat surprised look. As if he wasn’t unaware of Jason’s presence but hadn’t expected him to talk to him. Jason decided he should start speaking now before things got too awkward.

“Uh- Hi, I’m Jason. I live a few doors down in 357,” he said glancing at the 353 on his neighbors’ door before he continued. “I heard you moving in a few days ago and thought I’d swing by with some food to welcome you to the building.” He stuck out his hand for the other to shake.

“Hi I’m Danny, Danny Nightingale,” he said taking Jason’s hand and ‘Wow his hands are cold’, “ and this little munchkin here is Ellie!” Danny and Ellie flashed him matching smiles like twin suns making Jason's heart melt. He returned their smiles before extending the food to Danny.

“ I don’t know if you’ve had time to get groceries yet but here’s some homemade lasagna if you need a quick meal while you’re getting settled,” he then crouched down to Ellie’s level and stage-whispered in her ear conspiratorially “ and there are some chocolate chip cookies on that plate too.”

Ellie giggled out a thank and threw her arms around Jason’s neck, giving him a quick hug before letting go and dashing into the apartment. Jason watched her go, stunned but feeling warm and fuzzy inside. He turned his attention back to Danny, who shook his head and huffed amusedly. They made eye contact as Jason rose and realized he was a head taller than the guy. He felt the heat expanding in his chest and crawling up his neck, curling behind his ears. He decided now that Ellie had gone in it would be a good time to talk to Danny about what he overheard.

“ So it really wasn’t my intention to do so but I overheard some of that conversation you were having over the phone earlier,” he watched Danny’s smile drop a bit as he winced. Jason awkwardly brought up his hand to scratch the back of his neck and continued.

“ Look I don’t wanna insert myself into your situation but if you ever need help I’m just a few doors down. And if that guy gets pushy or stops sending his child support I can help you find a couple of avenues you can take. Plus, although we’re technically outside Red Hood’s territory I’m sure he wouldn’t mind extending protection over you like he does for the other Crime Alley folk if ya really need it.”

Danny’s face smoothed out looking a bit flushed and appreciative as he went on. He gave Jason a small smile and replied, “ Thank you for the offer. I really do appreciate it. Might just take ya up on it at some point. As for Red Hood? I think I’ll avoid needing the protection of a crime boss vigilante if I can help it. Don’t worry too much about Vlad though. I’ve got him handled currently and he’ll behave if he knows what’s good for him!” Danny smiled threateningly towards the end of his reassurance. (‘His canines are peaking out that’s so cute’)

Jason chuckled with Danny as their eyes locked once more. They stayed lost in each others’ eyes for what seemed like hours before they heard a thump followed by a small “oof” coming from inside the apartment. Danny turned to the door and called out to Ellie,

“Ellie, what was that? Are you okay”

“I’m fine! My shirt just fell!”

“That sounded heavier than a shirt?”

“I was in it!”

Danny sighed, shaking his head before turning to Jason once more.

“Thank you again for the food, any chance you’d like to come in and have something to drink?”

“Thanks for the offer but I’ll have to decline. I need to start heading out for work.”

“Well then, I shouldn’t keep you. I’d hate to make you late for work.” He waved goodbye as Jason nodded his head and started walking down the hall.

His neighbors seemed entirely harmless he decided as he walked away. ‘The kid was cute’ he thought to himself. A smaller voice from the back of his head that sounded vaguely like the Pits chimed in ‘Her dad was even cuter.’

~~~~~ Please let me know what you guys think and if you want to see more of this. I thrive on feedback so feel free to leave any notes or comments!

#dc x dp #danny phantom #jason todd #danny fenton #danielle fenton #jason todd x danny fenton #dead on main #single parent au #SingleDad!DannyFenton #de-aged Ellie #long post #fluff #comedy #misunderstandings #How to Become a Step-Dad in 5 Easy Steps #HBSD sounds like a good acronym #Better than HBSD5ES

597 notes · View notes

moonchildstyles · 7 months

Text

s'entendre

élan part five: y/n's first night out since the gala couldn't be that bad. right?

wordcount: 14.4k+

—————

(Y/N) couldn't help the frown that landed on her face as she looked in the mirror.

While her time in Paris had been the best she'd had in a really long while, it wasn't necessarily showing. At this point, she'd missed three of her facial appointments, her skin beginning to cry out from the lack of treatment. Her nails were barely hanging on, her acrylics grown out past the point of comfort. While her mental state was beginning to grow to a wholly positive place, the rest of her wasn't really catching up.

To top it off, her makeup wasn't cooperating either. Maybe she should really get a glam squad like Harry thought—at least then she would have a chance at being on time for events with a fully formed face.

With Emma joining them in Paris for the weekend, Francesca had insisted they go out and visit the nightlife. Of course, the one night she knew there would no doubt be photos caught of her just from the way her friends were still very active on their social medias, would be when her makeup cooperates the least.

Letting out a rumbling groan, (Y/N) was that close to calling off the night as another smudge of mascara blobbed on the crease of her eye.

Like always, Harry popped his head inside her bedroom, a pinch in his brows appearing as he took in the otherwise safe room.

"What's the matter, hm?" he asked, stepping inside her room. His reflection was made in the mirror, a clear view of his eyes stitched on her as she gazed at him through the glass.

It was a bit petulant, her reaction, with the way she puffed out her bottom lip with a pout. "My skin doesn't look good, and my makeup is only making it worse." Before she could even finish her statement, Harry was shaking his head, lips thinning as if he was bored with the fact she couldn't see facts right in front of her. "Harry, really," she argued against his silent protest, "My makeup looks so weird, right now."

(Y/N) watched as he settled in behind her, his arms crossing over his chest. His eyes flittered over the mirror, ever-observant.

"You're very funny sometimes, you know that?"

That only strengthened the frown on her lips and pinch in her brow. "I'm not being funny right now."

Dropping his gaze, his features facing the floor, Harry shook his head again. Down the slope of his nose, she swore she saw the edges of an easy smile. Looking up, only traces of amusement lingered on his lips.

"That's what you think," he countered cryptically, "Let me know when you're ready."

With that, Harry popped out of her room as quickly as he joined her. Sweeping her eyes away from the doors he exited through, returning to the mirror set in her vanity, she took in the planes of her face.

Though she could still see texture and bumps, pores and blemishes, it didn't bother her so terribly for a moment. Even the sight of her outgrown nails with dull edges didn't pick at her nerves.

If Harry didn't think she looked silly, even after he witnessed the glamour she preferred in New York, then maybe it wasn't so bad.

Even if he didn't say he thought she looked pretty, he thought her complaints against her features were outlandish enough to laugh at.

Suddenly, she didn't feel like agonizing over her skin anymore. She looked just fine, she decided.

—————

"Tell me again how you're going to tell me if you're uncomfortable or want to leave."

Outside the windows at her back, the underground of Paris whirled past, the train moving quickly under the treasures on the surface. The car was on the quiet side for the night, the hour still early before others drunk on champagne would be stumbling through.

Looking up at Harry through the fan of her false lashes, she repeated the same thing he told her at least five times before leaving the penthouse: "If I can, I need to come and tell you right away. But, if I'm in a situation where I can't reach you, I'm going to look at you and nod three times."

That slow blooming smile touched the corner of his mouth, sot lips curling as he gazed down at her. "Perfect," he praised her, adjusting his hands from where they were curled around the rail on either side of her, "Jus' remember that for me, please. You're going to have a really fun night, I jus' want you to be safe."

"Okay," (Y/N) nodded pliantly, gaze dropping down to the slope of his neck, "I—um—I also don't want to drink a lot tonight."

"Okay," Harry answered cautiously, voice trailing off.

"I know that's not a rule or anything, but I just... I don't want to get too deep tonight or anything," she explained in a small voice. While she wanted to unwind and play with her friends, she wasn't interested in stumbling around or blabbing things to anyone willing to sit and listen. She hoped she wouldn't have to worry about any photographers, but that didn't mean some couldn't pop up and take pictures of her with glazed eyes to feed into the narrative being spun back in New York.

Understanding, Harry nodded his head, the green of his eyes softening as he allowed his gaze to slide across her features. "Okay," he said, "We can do that. I'll keep an eye on you, but if y'change your mind, that's okay, too. Whatever is going to make you happy tonight."

Overhead the feminine French voice blinked over the intercom, arrival times appearing on the small screen at the head of the car. Harry looked over his shoulder taking in the printed times. As much as she teased him, he really was making progress in understanding the language, enough so that he was readily taking on the details of the night and keeping track of her.

Allowing her eyes to skip over the line of his profile. Dressed low-key as usual, dark colors to help him sink into the background, the softer tones of his skin were left to jump out. The brown shades of his hair made way for sun-dappled blonde strands to make their way through, highlighting the swirling curls. His eyes were bright and clear, framed by dark curling lashes. His skin was creamy and warm, a gentle tan from the summer sun being highlighted from the dotted freckles on his nose and the rosy flush on his cheeks.

"Thank you," she blurted.

"Hm?" Harry hummed, turning to face her once more, brows raised.

(Y/N) felt her skin heat as she processed her action. She hadn't meant to say anything.

"Thank you," she repeated, "For doing all of this. Helping."

"It's m'job," he answered simply.

That was a fact (Y/N) couldn't forget, that thin veil between being a constant barrier. "I know, but," she swallowed, feeling a bit silly now knowing that he noticed that line just as much as she did, "It's just a nice feeling—like you care, and all."

The contact he made with her gaze was easy and open, unwavering. "It's because I do care."

Just then, as convenient as ever, their arrival was announced. The train slowed to a stop, passengers readying to exit the car.

Letting go of the rail, Harry wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "C'mon," he murmured, keeping her close as he guided them into the fray of the moving passengers.

(Y/N) followed absently wherever he needed, her heels hitting the ground in quiet clicks. She wasn't sure what the squeeze in her lungs and stuttering in her chest meant, but feeling Harry at her side made it that much more prevalent.

—————

Looking ahead, (Y/N) spotted the line leading up to Francesca's club of choice for the night. Waiting patrons were roping around the sidewalk, chattering with cigarettes in hand, impatient at the wait time. Even from where they were, out on the sidewalk leading up to the bouncing building, pumping music could be heard. (She's ninety-eight percent sure it was a Dua Lipa song, but she couldn't hear it exactly).

Harnessed in neon pink tubes was the name of the club: Rêve.

At her side, Harry ignored the end of the line, taking her to the front just as Fran had instructed.

A burly bouncer sized them up, already doubting them after they cut the wait. (Y/N) offered her tabloid bunny smile, Harry the structured pillar at her side.

"Salut! Nous sommes ici pour rencontrer des amis sur un stand VIP, l'un d'entre eux ayant réservé pour la nuit," she chattered, keeping her eye contact with the bouncer.

The bouncer didn't look entirely impressed as he listened. His gaze inched from hers to land on Harry. "Nom?"

"Francesca Polair—nous sommes deux de ses invités."

The bouncer's eyes tripped down her form, taking in her shimmery dress and lengths of skin on display. "Pièce d'identité?"

While she reached for her small bag with her ID inside, the bouncer unclipped a small tablet that was hung from his belt. Handing over her passport, she watched as he squinted at the American identification. Nonetheless, her name inevitably matched that of what was on Fran's guest list.

"Vous êtes prêt à entrer. Est-il avec toi?" He asked, eyeing up Harry at her side.

"Oui, cela devrait également figurer sur la liste. Harry Styles."

This time the bouncer didn't properly look at the tablet, instead, taking her word for it though he still shot Harry a suspicious look with the way he lingered at her side.

Holding open the door, he nodding at (Y/N) to push past. "Les tribunes sont au fond, derrière la piste de danse."

"Merci," she murmured, stepping past him with Harry just a step behind.

Inside, the bass of the music that could be heard outside was that much louder, lyrics in French that were too loud for her to focus on enough to translate in her head. The space was dark, leaving only strobing beams of multicolored lights to throb through the club, the only stable beacons being that of the bars lining some of the walls.

Concentrations of people were found on the dance floor and the bars, leaving walkways in between to travel through. Staff and bottleservice workers traipsed through, fluorescent drinks with herbs perched on the rims were stationed on trays next to full bottles of sparkling liquor and beers that probably had no business being as expensive as they were.

The VIP section was a straight shot down to the back, easy to spot given the second bouncer manning the entrance and the stream of bottle service staff making their way there. Harry reminded her of his presence with a hand hovering on the small of her back, over the glittering fabric of her dress.

"Alright?" he asked, dipping down close to her ear in order for her to hear.

"Mhm," she hummed, nodding her head with stray baby hairs tickling the borders of her face, "We just need to get back there to Fran and Emma."

Harry followed her line of sight towards the booths lining the back. In that way he always did, a reflex that had to have come from years in his line of work, he took inventory of the path to the back, noting the bodies in the way and the easiest route back.

"Okay," he murmured, looking determined when he positioned himself in front of her with his fingers looping around her wrist.

He took the lead then, ensuring her path was clear as she stepped behind him. She couldn't hear if he was speaking over the sound of the music, but she wondered if he was muttering something to those around them that had them parting, no one able to even brush against her as she slipped through the crowd. She could feel eyes landing on her back as she stepped through, but no one stopped her, no one raised a camera at the spectacle.

Before they could even reach the bouncer, a pitched scream that careened over the pumping music had (Y/N)'s eyes snapping up the raised level that the booths were situated on. Glowing like a mermaid with big waves in her hair and slinky blue dress adorning her body was Francesca, bright smile that much whiter under the lights as she spotted her best friend. The almost empty drink in her hand was perfect evidence of just how she was able to pitch her voice so high.

"(Y/N)!" she bubbled, racing out of her chosen booth on Bambi legs, "You're here! I missed you so much—come here, come here!"

She all but pushed the bouncer aside as she met them at the entrance to the section, the top of the small trio of stairs being where she stopped. The bouncer didn't stop them as Harry pulled her into the safety of the VIP area. Francesca barely glanced at her bodyguard before she had (Y/N) wrapped up in a hug, her glass precariously teetering on her shoulder.

"Emma brought Stavros so she's been all over him," Francesca whined, "I was scared you were going to leave me with her."

"I told you I was on my way," (Y/N) giggled, peeking through the fluff that was Fran's hair to spy Harry standing off to the side in wait of her. She shot him a look, widened eyes with a quiet smile as if to let him in on the inside joke that was her friend's drunken blubbers.

"I know, but I forgot. It doesn't matter, though, everything's okay now," Francesca rushed out, pulling away from the hug to pull (Y/N) towards the chosen booth for the night. Suddenly, she seemed to finally notice Harry was there as well, despite the fact that he had been the one leading her into the section in the first place. "Harry! Hi," she bubbled, waving at him with her drink in hand.

"Hi, Francesca," he said, giving her a nod in greeting before his eyes met (Y/N)'s. It was his turn to give her a small look, their own moment of amusement over her.

"Are you partying with us tonight?" she asked, eyes bright at the idea of Harry joining in on the fun.

Harry shook his head, features schooled away from that quiet look he shared with (Y/N). "Not tonight—'m on duty."

"That's a bummer," Fran pouted. Turning towards (Y/N), she seemingly forgot what had her bummed in the first place, instead replacing her sullen pout with a mischievous smile. "But, are you ready for a drink? We have a couple bottles at the table if you want to do shots!"

Before (Y/N) had a chance to properly answer, Fran led them to the secluded booth off to the corner of the roped off section. There, Emma and Stavros were canoodling away in the padded corner just as Francesca had complained, Emma with her hand sitting on the bare section of chest her boyfriend had on display with his barely buttoned shirt. He looked a little too satisfied with her attention, the way he was sinking into the leather booth and spreading his legs as if inviting Emma further. (Y/N) couldn't blame Fran for panicking at the idea of being left alone with the lovebirds for the night. As happy as they were for lovestruck Emma, the public intimacy was a bit much.

True to her word, on the round table in the middle of the half-moon booth were two bottles of expensive liquor. Tiny shot glasses were standing in a stack by the bottles, a pair already having been used.

Just as Francesca moved to pour (Y/N) one of her own small glasses, she was stopped with a hand on her arm. "I don't want to do too much tonight, Fran," she told her in her ear, hoping she could hear her over the music, "I have pilates in the morning, then I was going to hunt for a new nail studio."

"Oh!" Fran chirped, the remains of her drink sloshing in her glass, "Why didn't you say so? We'll just get you a vodka soda then, so you stay hydrated."

Before (Y/N) could even laugh at her friend's well-intentioned solution, Francesca was already flagging down one of the bottle service workers to place another order. (Y/N) didn't try to stop her, more than willing of this to be her drink of choice for the night instead of a round of shots.

Emma, suddenly breaking out of her love bubble, noticed (Y/N) for the first time despite having been standing by their table for a handful of minutes now. "(Y/N)!" she cheered, eyes glazed and lips puffy, "Look, Stavros, (Y/N)'s here!"

"Hi Emma," (Y/N) greeted, reaching across the table to give her a short hug, "Hi Stavros."

"(Y/N)?" Stavros repeated back to Emma, a confused pinch between his brows.

"You met her at the Gala, remember?" she answered, attempting to jog his memory, "She was in the pink dress with the little bag."

"Oh, yes!" Stavros perked up, looking to (Y/N) with recognition in his eyes, "The crying girl, yes?"

Underneath her skin, (Y/N)'s blood simmered with embarrassment. With Harry being the only person she'd been around since leaving New York, and Francesca being well aware of how unnecessary that night was to bring up, no one had brought up the Gala and the contents of the night to her face. She knew that was what many people in attendance were going to remember her for, but she didn't think it would be so blatantly broadcasted to her face.

Emma shifted her gaze to (Y/N), most likely knowing through Francesca that the Gala was a topic that was off limits for the time being. The silence between the trio lasted a beat too long for (Y/N)'s comfort. She swallowed down that prickling embarrassment, instead giving a smile.

"That was me," she laughed it off, "Hopefully I'll stay out of trouble tonight."

That seemed to be enough to quell the lovebirds' nerves, allowing Emma to smile and laugh along while Stavros gave a peal of laughter that was too enthused for (Y/N) to believe he actually understood what she said. Nonetheless, the awkward beat had been extinguished and now only lived in (Y/N)'s head for the time being. At least no one else was listening, Francesca too busy with her ordering and Harry just a few too many feet away to catch specific conversations.

"How have you been, (Y/N)? I've barely been able to talk to you since you left," Emma started up, leaning forward to give (Y/N) all of her attention.

Though she was sure it was a way to fill in the gaps of the conversation and pave over the bump Stavros left in the night, (Y/N) was grateful for the change in subject, recounting her time in the city. Francesca eventually settled in beside her in the booth, giving her own commentary on the things (Y/N) had already shared with her over dinner. Harry was stationed a few feet away, allowing her some space and privacy for the night though she could still feel his eyes landing on her every now and then as she gesticulated through the story of their day of sightseeing.

Soon enough, drinks arrived at the table along with a wish for their group to have a fun night. Her vodka soda bubbled in hand, the first sips holding the aroma of the rosemary sprig that was lanced through the cubes of ice. Francesca and Emma on the other hand downed a pair of shots while Stavros cheered on his girlfriend.

By the time the burn had left Francesca's throat and she unclenched her eyes, (Y/N) had only made it through a couple of short pulls of her light drink. Francesca looked at her with bright eyes, the strobes from the dance floor tinting them a vibrant blue.

"Let's go dance, c'mon!" she bubbled, already standing on her wobbling legs before she finished speaking.

Peeking around her, she found the dance floor crowded but nowhere near packed in the way some of the spots in New York could get at this hour. The music was good enough, and she didn't plan on wasting her first night out with friends over a throw away comment from Emma's boyfriend and the fear that she might embarrass herself again.

Allowing Francesca to sweep her away, Emma and Stavros unsurprisingly staying back for a moment, (Y/N) found Harry's eyes for a moment. He looked at her with that solid eye contact he never wavered on when it came to her. A slight pinch lingered between his brows.

She shot him a small smile and a single nod.

She was going to have a good night. Harry didn't need to worry.

—————

"I love this song!"

(Y/N) let out an easy, boisterous laugh at Francesca's bubbling comment, throwing her head back with her eyes closed. Did she even know this song? Given the fact Fran's French was nowhere near as refined as (Y/N)'s, there was a high chance she didn't understand a single syllable pumping through the speakers. Nonetheless, (Y/N) kept dancing along with her friend, hands twisting high above her head with her hips swaying.

More than one drink had passed through her hands, a couple passed the limit she set for herself at the start of the night. She would be fine, though, she was sure. She was barely even tipsy, she thought. The Cosmo in her hand was slick against her palm, having replaced the vodka soda she started with.

Across from her Francesca was having the time of her life with Emma and Stavros rounding out their group. Harry was somewhere in the distance, keeping an eye on her. More than once, he checked in from across the room, even sending for another drink for her when he heard her complaining of needing another. He treaded around her carefully, ensuring he didn't infringe on her night while doing his job to the best of his ability.

At the top of the night, she noticed a few eyes on her, some whispering with those wandering eyes landing on her a few too many times. Though she would love to assume they were only speaking of her dress or sharing comments about the state of her dancing, her years in the light pushed her to speculate these were people who recognized her. As more drinks started flowing, her inhibition for the night waning, she let it go when she caught glimpses of phone cameras trained in her direction, a few people even daring to make their way closer to her on the dance floor.

Harry kept a careful eye on the situation, watching her movements and keeping track of those around her. (Y/N) was sure a few of the times he stepped in to grab her another drink or check in on her, it was nothing short of a tactic to separate her from the others on the floor, reminding them that she wasn't a gazelle to be preyed on.

Suddenly, a pair of hands slid around her waist. She jumped in her skin for a moment, her heated skin erupting in goosebumps. Though her dancing lagged for just a moment, she honestly didn't really care about the touch. With her eyes closed, and head trained towards the sky, she halfway figured it was Emma who was dancing with her, having abandoned her boyfriend to cuddle up for a moment.

Until she heard Emma's tittering laugh from a space away. In front of her.

Blinking her eyes open, (Y/N) took stock of those around her. Emma was stretching up to her tiptoes as she sealed her lips to Stavros', her hands locked in his hair, only pulling away when he whispered something to her that made her laugh. Francesca was off to the side of her, making moony eyes at an unfamiliar man in front of her, there chattering silent under the thrumming music. On her waist was the hand of someone she didn't know.

Stumbling in her spot, she tried to whirl around in an attempt to see who exactly it was that was behind her. The hand on her waist tightened, steadying her as he leaned down with his mouth by her ear.

"Sorry, chérie," an accented voice said over her shoulder, "I didn't mean to scare you."

Unable to help the peal of laughter that fell from her lips, (Y/N) realized something just then.

She was drunk.

In a different moment, with a different drink in her hand (probably water), she wouldn't have been quite so welcoming to having someone touch her and use a pet name so casually.

Instead, she didn't really mind. She could only laugh and hang onto his hand, keeping herself steady as she tipped her head backwards to see him.

"It's okay," she slurred, "I just wasn't expecting that." Blue eyes stared back at her, topped by black brows. He smelled like smoke and vodka Red Bulls. "Who are you?"

The man laughed at her blunt question, the sound mixing with the music. "I am Marc," he told her, eyes shifting over her head to where Francesca was standing, "And that's my friend, Alain. We thought you and your friend were beautiful, so we wanted to introduce ourselves."

"Oh, okay," she sounded, matching his line of sight a little too quickly with her hair fluttered around her face. Much more stable on her feet again, she spun on her heels, facing her mystery man—Marc—properly. "Nice to meet you," she bubbled, taking an absent sip from her drink, "I'm (Y/N)."

Dipping down, Marc pressed a swift kiss to the soft of her cheek. "Nice to meet you, (Y/N). I've been having to work up the courage to come talk to you since I first came in here."

While in the back of her muddled mind, (Y/N) knew well that he was feeding her nothing but lines, she wasn't sure if she cared. There had been enough times she had been seduced by a French accent and enough wine to know that this was just one of those things. French men were much more romantic in her experiences, their lines matching the intimacy they were seeking from her.

Was it such a bad thing to revel in the niceties, though? The last time someone had openly flirted with her now ranked in the top five worst nights of her life, so it felt a little more than nice to have someone piling compliments and cushioned flirting. Was it such a bad thing to indulge herself? To soak in a second of outside validation?

Though the standard wasn't that high, at least he wasn't grabbing her face and demeaning her.

Letting her hesitations go, drifting to the back of her mind with the help of the alcohol train running off the tracks, she leaned towards him with a giggling smile. "Well, I'm happy you did," she beamed, her eyes hooded.

Taking another pull of her drink, her straw hit the bottom with only ice clinking against the glass. She almost wanted to whine at the sight. She had been hoping for more.

"Do you want me to get you another?" Marc asked, nodding towards her drink when she looked up at him.

"Um, hold on," she told him, already craning her neck to look around him in hopes of spotting someone else.

(Y/N) scanned the blur of bodies for Harry. It didn't take long to see the only sober person in the crowd, his gaze sharp and commanding through the strobing lights. He stood off the dance floor with his arms across his chest. Raising his brows, he matched her gaze. Canting her head, she raised her glass over her head as if that was enough of an explanation.

Harry gave her a small nod before she was looking back at her new friend.

"One of my friends has been getting me drinks tonight, actually. So, thanks, but I've got it." A hiccup punctuated her words.

Marc looked over his shoulder, surely spotting Harry who was making his way through the crowd to her. "You said he's your friend?"

"Uh-huh," (Y/N) sounded, wanting to see Harry herself but instead opting to sway to the sound of the music. He'd be here soon enough. "He's technically my bodyguard, but he's my friend.

"Bodyguard?" Marc repeated, looking back towards (Y/N).

Even though her vodka-soaked thought process, she noted the way he didn't seem too put off by the fact she had any kind of security detail. Maybe, that was that French disposition—the inability to care that much—but that wasn't something she was able to think about for very long.

"Uh-huh," she answered nonetheless, a hiccup making her pause, "It's a long story. I'm from New York, and there's been a lot of stuff going on, so, yeah, he's my bodyguard."

Speak of the devil, Harry popped in then, having elbowed his way through to stand at (Y/N)'s side. He didn't pay Marc a single moment of attention, looking only to her with his secure gaze.

"Y'want another, or water?"

While she couldn't deny she was reveling under Marc's attention, it was also very clear to herself how much she preferred Harry's eyes on her opposed to her new companion. There were sparks of relief upon seeing him within touching distance again, knowing that he was right there. If there was anything she needed, he was there now to remedy her situation. She knew he was taking note of everything, uncaring of whether or not her makeup was intact, assuring that she was safe and taken care of.

But, Marc actually called her pretty. He won for the night, (Y/N) decided.

"I think I want another, but then I want water," she shouted over the music, giving Harry her glass for him to discard at the bar.

Raising a dark brow, Harry gave her that amused look. "That's what y'said last time."

She laughed easily at his prodding, her grin stretching wide over her lips and head dropping backwards. "I know," she sang, "But I mean it this time."

"Whatever you say," he teased, "But I'll get you another. Jus' stay right here and wait for me."

"Merci," she crooned to him, suddenly remembering Marc's presence when he squeezed at her waist.

Before (Y/N) could offer for Harry to grab Marc a drink while he was at the bar as well, Harry was already off. He made a quick detour, checking on her friends then sinking into the thick of the crowd once more.

She hadn't even known she was watching the space he disappeared into until Marc snaked his hand up the line of her spine, palm flat against her back as he pushed her into him. (Y/N) turned her attention to him, mouth in a small gape as he matched her gaze head-on. His eyes were a lot icier than she remembered.

"Do you maybe want to go sit down for a second somewhere?" he asked, dipping down to press his cheek against hers with his lips by her ear, "It's hard to hear you out here."

"In a second," she answered, hiccuping against his chest, "I need to wait for him."

"You have a booth for the night, though, right? Up in the VIP section?" he pressed, seemingly not catching her caveat in sneaking away.

"I-I do, but Harry—my drink."

"I'm sure he'll be able to find you up there, don't worry," Marc insisted, herding (Y/N) off the dance floor and towards the sectioned off dais.

Though her footing wasn't the most stable at the moment, (Y/N) still attempted to dig her heels in and stay put. Harry told her to stay here. She had promised him she would keep his job easy while in Paris, and she knew that sneaking off wasn't something that would abide by that promise.

Out of nowhere, Francesca's hand clasped around her shoulder. In her other hand was Marc's friend's arm, her eyes hooded and glazed.

"Let's go up to the booth," she drawled, words a little slurred.

"Are you sure?" (Y/N) asked, the slightly more sober of the duo, "Harry is supposed to come back over here; he told me to wait."

Francesca shook her head with her fluff of styled hair. "He'll"—hic—"He'll be able to find you. It's okay."

It wouldn't be so bad if Francesca and Emma were up there with her. Harry wasn't stupid either, the next place he would look after the dance floor would have to be the booth, right? it would be okay.

Giving a nod to Fran, (Y/N) allowed her to lead their small group towards the VIP area, Marc and his friend happily intermingling with the group and Emma and Stavros bringing up the rear.

Despite her hesitancy, she did feel a bit better by the time she scaled the small set of stairs. She was nowhere near sober and the music wasn't much quieter than down on the floor, but at least here she wasn't stuffed between bodies. She could open her eyes and see stretches of the floor, her body touching non-humid air again.

She was happy to see the booth once more, grateful to take a seat and get the pressure off her feet and the heels she had strapped around her ankles. Though Marc didn't slide in beside her like she expected. Instead, stood at the head of the table and lent down to speak to her.

"I have a couple of other friends I brought tonight. Do you mind if I go get them? I'm their ride so I don't want them to worry," he told her, looking innocently with icy blue eyes.

"Friends?" (Y/N) asked, unsure if it was the alcohol or the outlandish request that wasn't computing.

"Yeah, just a few. They're down there," Marc recited, casting a thumb over his shoulder. "I'll be right back, okay?"

With that, he was heading back down the entrance of the VIP area, leaving (Y/N) and the girls behind.

Fran, little black straw in her mouth with water finally having been poured in her glass, lent across the booth, gently touching (Y/N)'s shoulder. When she turned, she caught the woozy smile on Francesca's face.

"Your guy is really cute," she said, her words dissolving into laughter.

"Yeah," (Y/N) answered absently, "But, did yours tell you that they're bringing friends over here?"

"Yeah," Fran simply repeated, taking another long sip of her water.

While it didn't particularly soothe her that Francesca didn't seem to care about the new uninvited guests, she figured there wasn't much else she could glean about her thoughts while in her drunken state. Instead, she let Francesca insert herself into Emma and Stavros' conversation, while (Y/N) searched for Harry. Soon enough, she spotted him approaching the dais, pink drink in hand and water in the other. There was a particularly stern set in his jaw, clearly disappointed.

Coming to the booth, he ducked down to place the duo of drinks in front of her, the water closer to the foreground. He looked at her through the fan of his lashes, lips a stern line as he lent across to talk to her.

"I thought y'were going to wait for me down there," he told her, lips by her ear.

"Um, yeah," she responded, dropping her gaze to the cranberry juice heavy Cosmopolitan she ordered, "That guy—my friend—, he said he wanted to talk to me here so it was a little bit quieter. But, now he's getting some friends he said he didn't want to leave behind."

(Y/N) didn't have to see Harry to know he was particularly unimpressed with this new information. "He said he's bringing friends? To come and sit up here with you?"

"Yeah," she told him, voice small with a nod of her head.

The more she said it out loud, the less and less of a good idea it sounded to her ears.

"Okay," he sighed, pulling away to match her eye contact head-on, "'M going to be right there, then." Behind him, he pointed at the glass railing that reinforced the boundaries of the VIP section, a good place for him to take up post and keep an eye on her. "Make sure y'stay with Emma and Francesca, okay? Don't let them get separated from you. Remember what we talked about that I need you to do if you're uncomfortable."

Swallowing, (Y/N) nodded her head, looking at him with wide eyes. Though the scene around him blurred a little too much, vodka-tinted vision, she made sure she locked eyes with him. "Okay. I remember."

That seemed to quell him enough, though that set in his jaw never loosened. "Good. I'll be right there, just grab me if y'need me."

With Harry blending into his post, his eyes unwavering on her form, (Y/N) attempted to settle herself with sips of her water. Soon enough, a larger group of people infiltrated the VIP section, their access to get through having been the fact two of the members had been previously seen with (Y/N) and Francesca.

The group of friends looked a lot different than what (Y/N) had expected. Two more men had joined the fray, along with three women. The entire friend group being that of seven people, adding into the group of four that were (Y/N) and her friends.

"Thanks for letting me bring them up here," Marc said, sly smile on his lips when he slipped into the booth beside (Y/N), "They really wanted to meet you guys."

"Y-Yeah, of course," she stuttered out, though Marc clearly stopped listening before she even started.

His eyes wandered to one of the women he brought up, watching as she flagged down a bottle service worker. (Y/N) could hear her rattling off orders in French, pointing back at Francesca and (Y/N) settled into the booth. While she was busy, the others had descended upon the liquor already on the table, draining the bottles.

"What's wrong?" Marc asked, voice a tad too sweet. As if he didn't have a single idea of what she could be bothered by.

"There's just a lot of people," (Y/N) answered, clutching her glass of water tight. If she had the attention to spare, she would have looked towards Francesca for assistance, to see if she was the only one thrown off. But there was too much happening, and she couldn't even see Harry through the new mass forming in their booth.

Marc waved her off carelessly, "Don't worry about them. Just have fun, chérie. The night is still young."

Around her, she saw the maelstrom that had begun. Drinks were flowing, Francesca happily distracted with Alain, Emma and Stavros in their bubble, and a few of the new additions to the table pairing off with affectionate hands. There was only one woman left—the one that had initially flagged down the bottle service worker—who was carefully watching Marc at (Y/N)'s side.

Everyone was having fun, she figured. The two bottles they had on their table had been drained with Francesca a moment away from catching her man for the night in a kiss. Even the woman with eyes on Marc was swaying to the music, empty shot glasses in front of her.

(Y/N) did want to have fun.

"C'mon, dance with me," Marc persuaded, standing up with his hand held out for her to take.

After a beat of hesitation, (Y/N) took his offered hand and joined him, paying enough attention to the music above to let everything go just a hair. With Marc egging her on, a hand landing on her waist, she swayed along to the beat, hanging more fun the less she thought.

It wasn't until she took a sip of her water that Marc interrupted her.

"No, have fun, chérie," he pressed, taking the water out of her hand and reaching for the abandoned Cosmopolitan.

"I don't know," (Y/N) started, intending to reject the drink until it was shoved into her hand.

"Don't be boring, chérie," Marc chided, as if he were close enough to her to tease, "Don't let it go to waste, at least."

While it wasn't solid logic considering (Y/N) was the one paying for her drink, it was enough of a persuasion to work on her muddled brain. She pliantly fit the thin black straw between her lips, allowing herself to drift into the moment. It wasn't so bad, she decided. The extra people weren't so bad in their sanctioned area. It didn't even bother her that much when three more bottles were delivered to the table, sparklers and all with a procession of excited staff fueling the fire.

"I told them it was alright to order some bottles for the table," Marc sounded over the music, looping an arm around her shoulders to press her to his chest, "I can pay you back though if you want, I just kind of figured it would be okay since you're from New York and all."

Looking to the table, she saw as the rest of his friends swarmed the table, Alain even abandoning Francesca to join in the rounds of shots. (Y/N)'s name wasn't even officially on the table, but they'd still managed to put things on her tab.

Floundering over her response, (Y/N) could feel her mouth gape before closing once more. In this moment, more than anything she wished she hadn't drank so much. This wouldn't be much of a struggle if she could manage to focus or not dredge through miles of muddy tracks in her head. It was easier to let things go at the moment instead of allowing the bubbling blow up that would have transpired earlier in the night.

"Um—Just, don't order too much," (Y/N) conditioned, her brows coming together in a loose pinch.

"It'll be alright," he assured her, that arm around her shoulders tightening to get her eyes back on him, "C'mon let's finish our drinks."

Marc's free hand came up to urge her drink up to her mouth. (Y/N) hesitated for a moment, contemplating for a split second. While it was annoying, the extra bottles ordered in her name at the table, but it wasn't so bad. The night was going fine enough, and Marc was nice. She didn't want to ruin anything or make any kind of scene in the middle of the club. Harry's eyes were no doubt trained on her.

Even with her father countries away at the moment, she was sure he'd find a way to punish her accordingly if Harry had to report anything unpleasant back.

Pliantly, (Y/N) pulled the thin black straw between her lips, taking down her Cosmopolitan.

—————

Unsure of how she got here, (Y/N) couldn't help but to stare wide eyed at Marc and his—surprisingly enough—girlfriend dancing on the table.

At least she assumed that was his girlfriend, with the way his tongue was down her throat and hand was on her ass.

Honestly, she couldn't be that surprised, considering this woman was the same one that had been staring possessively the whole time Marc was interacting with her. But, how they ended up on the table, dancing to some French song she was not sober enough to understand, (Y/N) did not know.

Around the table, the rest of that friend group had grown just as rowdy. The floor was sticky with spilled drinks, the waitstaff offering dirty looks from the amount of times one of the couples had attempted to smoke, and the neighboring tables were beginning to lose patience with their chaos.

Francesca was definitely out of her head for the night, every sip of alcohol definitely hitting her system heavily. While she may have had qualms with the etiquette of their unwanted guests if she were sober, she definitely didn't with the way she was willing to ignore as much in favor of dancing and playing with Emma when she wasn't busy with Stavros. Emma's boyfriend, being the most sober of the group, was less than impressed, whispering something into Emma's ear that (Y/N) hoped was a game plan to get out of here.

Searching through the mass that had been created around the table, (Y/N) tried to spot Harry. She wanted to get out of here. There was no reasoning with the way these people were behaving, and she wanted to get out of here before she was pushed too far.

Suddenly, a strong hand landed on her shoulder. Turning on her heel, she startled at the touch.

Harry stood behind her, his jaw set and brows in a furrow. Dipping his head down, he told her, "We need to leave."

Even with her head swimming, (Y/N) jerkily nodded her head. "I don't want to be here anymore," she answered, "Th-They're being crazy."

"Yeah." His answer was simple and stern, flicking his gaze up to the couple dancing on the table. His eyes blazed at the sight of Marc, definitely having played with (Y/N) through the night to get up to this section. "C'mon," he prompted, using his hand on her shoulder to help guide her through the booth before meeting him on the other side.

Despite her drunken legs, she dug her heels in. "But, Fran and Emma."

"I'll call them a car, we jus' need to leave before this gets any more out of hand. Tell them we're leaving."

Nodding, Harry let go of her before she tried to swim across to catch Francesca. Even when she grabbed her hand, Fran kept dancing, on a different planet that kept her eyes plugged and head drowning.

"Francesca!" (Y/N) shouted, trying to be heard over the music.

"(Y/N)!" she answered, barely glancing at her with a flip of her hair before she was dancing on an odd rhythm.

Attempting to catch her attention once more, (Y/N) was stopped as Marc leaned down, his lips swollen and eyes glazed.

"You're not leaving, right?" he yelled over the music, his words watery and slurred, "You're supposed to stay and party with us, New York!"

(Y/N) stammered over an answer. "I—um—"

"We've seen those pictures of you, we know you like to have a good time! You can't leave yet!"

Worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, part of her chest felt a little too tight. Of course, they knew who she was. Of course, they'd seen photos of her.

"I'm sorry, I don't feel good," she responded, uncaring if he could hear her over the music anymore.

Something shifted in Marc, then. His features morphed almost before her eyes, his eyes darkening and brows tightening. "How are we supposed to pay for all of this, if you aren't here?!"

"I'm sorry, but I'm not staying here," she affirmed, shaking her head, "I'm grabbing my friends and—"

"Wow," he spat, cutting her off, "You really are a bitch—just like everyone says,"

Stepping up behind her, Harry placed a stern hand on Marc's chest, pushing him out of (Y/N)'s space.

"Back off, unless y'would prefer to have a problem," he started, his rough voice heavy over the music. Marc teetered off balance, the woman at his side having to steady him as he looked at Harry with offended eyes.

"Who a—"

"We're leaving," Harry cemented, ignoring whatever Marc was going to try to say, "You are going to find a way to pay for all of this, or you'll be hearing from me again. You're not going to be taking advantage of her."

There was no room left for Marc to argue before Harry wrangled up the girls, Stavros helping to guide both Fran and Emma out of the booth.

"C'mere," Harry said, offering (Y/N) his hand to help her climb over the back of the booth.

She happily took his hand, carefully stepping over the faux-leather with Harry grabbing her waist to help her over the structure. Tottering on her heels for just a moment, Harry didn't linger for very long before he was rushing her out of the VIP section. She could feel dirty looks on her back from the staff, but she didn't care at the moment.

Instead, she clung to Harry as they caught up to Francesca and Emma, Stavros heading their line on his much steadier feet. The closer they ventured to the exit, the more and more drunk she felt. The more removed she became from the pumping music and the other alcohol-soaked bodies, the more the real world was not suited to her current state.

"Careful," Harry murmured in her ear, righting her from a stumble she hadn't realized she made. Slipping an arm around her waist, he curled his hand around her hip.

"Sorry, sorry," she answered, fixing her gaze on her feet in hopes of staying cautious like he asked. Absently, she grabbed his hand on her hip, laying her palm against the top of hand with her fingers curling in-between the gaps of his.

Harry pulsed his hand, both her hip and fingers cradled in his hold.

Stavros pushed the exit door open for everyone to follow, the first light of the outside world glimmering into the otherwise dark club. Even with the alcohol muddling her thoughts, (Y/N) still caught the way Francesca stumbled back when she stepped out, her hands blindly reaching up to cover her eyes.

(Y/N)'s steps slowed, bright flashes pinging out on the sidewalk. Those people—the ones who stole their table and tacked (Y/N)'s name on the end of their bill—they wouldn't have posted about her, would they? While she might not be as hugely followed out here compared to New York, there were definitely international publications that enjoyed snapping her photo and selling it off.

Heading up the rear, Harry continued to pull her towards the exit, even when (Y/N) saw another round of flashbulbs go off when Emma made her appearance out on the concrete. Shouted questions in French could be heard, bubbling just over the sound of the music.

"Stay with me," Harry murmured to her, "There should be some cars waiting, jus' stay steady, (Y/N)."

She wanted to listen, she really did. But, the shuttering cameras and bright blinking bulbs was enough to get her hesitating just enough that she couldn't keep up. She didn't want to be seen like this, not after the way this night had turned out.

As attentive as Harry was, always observant, he was on a mission and that didn't include (Y/N) dragging while he tried to get her to a safe place.

As he tugged her over the threshold of the door, Stavros still holding it open, she stumbled against Harry's pulling, her heel catching just right. Flashes twinkled in her face, cameras blinking as photographs were taken of her stumbling outside, clinging to Harry with her breath caught in her throat. The toe of her pump dragged over the concrete, her lost balance weighing her down until Harry righted her, steadying his grip around her waist with his free hand reaching for her hip.

"Y'alright?" he murmured to her, suddenly breathless as he helped her back onto her feet.

"I'm okay," she told her, voice a peep under the bright attention.

Pressing questions were spewed in her direction, many asking who Harry was, why she was in Paris, and how drunk she was. (Y/N) ignored them all, focusing on following Harry who now led the group towards the waiting cars.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, voice low for her ears only, "I didn't mean to trip you."

(Y/N) shook her head. "It's okay," she assured him, eyes on her feet to calculate her steps, "I just want to go home."

"We will." Harry's simple answer was just that before he quickened his pace, allowing (Y/N) to keep up as they pushed through the throng of photographers waiting outside the club.

With Stavros heading up the back of their procession, many of the paparazzi were unable to follow any of the girls without getting through him first. As kind as he was, she could tell he used that Greek glare to his advantage, acting as if he couldn't believe they were following him while being an oblivious block in the road.

That extra distraction allowed Harry to lead the group somewhere safe, around the side of a building a little too narrow for anyone else to follow. Two black sedans were parked against the curb.

Without hesitation, Harry adjusted his grip on (Y/N), practically hugging her to his chest. She curled into him, fitting her forehead against the column of his throat with her arms a bundle between them. Harry cradled her with his arms around her waist, keeping her safe with him after the chaos that erupted.

She could hear him speaking over her head to Emma and Stavros, ensuring they were going to take care of Francesca and that he had taken care of the fees of their reserved vehicle. She wanted to participate, tell Emma she was sorry for the night's turn and assure Stavros that every night (Y/N) was involved in didn't dissolve into a scrambled mess, but instead she kept herself warm against Harry's chest and let him do the talking for them. She would call Emma later she decided—maybe text her if her hangover didn't allow phone calls in the morning.

"That one's yours," Harry directed, (Y/N) noticing his words only when he unlinked an arm around her to point, "It was nice to meet you. Get home safe."

Stavros answered back in broken English while Emma was busy herding Francesca along with them. Muttered discussion could be heard with the driver of their vehicle before car doors were opens and slammed shut. The sound reverberated for a moment, before silence settled.

"Our turn?" (Y/N) asked, pulling away to look up at Harry holding her.

His lips were thin, eyes downturned as he gazed at her. "C'mon," he responded, loosening his hold in exchange for leading her towards the single waiting sedan

He took charge, speaking to the driver through the rolled down window, even if his French was less than stellar. Once all the details and verifications are figured out, Harry helped her in the backseat, pushing her in first before leaning in and helping her buckle up. While (Y/N) had anticipated that cushion of space to be between them as usual, he surprised her by sliding in right at her side, a long arm laying across the top of the seat behind her head.

Peeking through the rearview mirror, (Y/N) caught the driver eyeing she and Harry, her brown eyes fluttering with recognition. (Y/N) curled into herself then, dropping her gaze to her hands in her lap while Harry's dropped to the cuff of her shoulder. In French, he reiterated the address of the penthouse when their driver didn't immediately pull away from the curb.

Once the road was under their tires, the sound of the gear shifting and setting them off away from the club, (Y/N) felt herself begin to relax. Even if their driver knew who she was, it was a less daunting experience than waiting outside of a paparazzi litter club while waitstaff inside were no doubt spinning rumors about her low class and patrons were spitting over the fact they had to foot the bill they ran up.

Casting her memory back to the front of the night was enough to exhaust her into slumping against Harry's shoulder.

"I want water," she blurted out, nestling into the divot between his shoulder and chest.

Harry pulsed his arm around her frame, keeping her warm against his chest. "I'll get y'some water as soon as we're back, yeah?"

"I want to take my makeup off, though," she mused, a pinch appearing between her brows though her eyes fluttered closed.

"We'll take your makeup off when we get back, yeah? First thing."

"I want food, too."

A breathy laugh disturbed where she was cuddled into him. "I'll get y'something to eat when we get back, yeah?"

Mulling it over for a lingering second, (Y/N) agreed with a nod of her head. "Yeah," she parroted, pleased enough with his operation.

The gentle motion of the turns and slow stops the car made was enough to settle (Y/N) into a light trance, her head filling with sleep-puffed clouds. She forced herself to stay awake, hoping the elapsed time was as long as it felt.

"I didn't get to say bye to the girls," (Y/N) said, hoping to keep herself awake enough for Harry to get her water, food, and her makeup off like he promised.

"I told them you'd call, or you can text them later," he explained, shifting over the leather of the seat.

"You don't think they're mad, right?" she pressed, voice quieter, "That I ruined everything with those guys?"

A pause of silence sat as the third passenger for a moment, heavy before Harry spoke. "Of course, they're not. 'S not your fault any of that happened—you're jus' too nice sometimes, that's all."

"No one's ever said that about me before." (Y/N) couldn't help the short smile that tickled the corners of her mouth.

"What do you mean?"

"That I'm too nice," she beamed, snuggling closer to Harry, "Usually it's the opposite."

Perfect timing came in the form of their cab stopping outside of the building, easy French words coming from the driver as she turned to talk to Harry. (Y/N) could vaguely hear him thanking her and sending payment off through his phone, before he was sliding across the leather with her in tow.

"Careful," he crooned, offering a hand as she followed in teetering steps.

(Y/N) laced their fingers together without a second thought. Harry solidified the hold in a pulse of his fingers around hers.

She was a step behind him with a blinking flutter of her lashes, forcing her eyes to adjust to the world once more after being shuttered for the duration of the drive. The warm lighting of the building helped her find her footing in the real world, no longer neon like the club or fluorescent like the flashbulbs of cameras. Harry kept a steady grip on her hand, taking her to the leisurely paced elevator.

Staying stuck to his side, huddled into a single corner of the whole cubicle, soft music filled the space between them while (Y/N) recounted the night. While she definitely was not sober, stepping away from the high paced environments allowed her mind to iron out some of the details she didn't think twice about earlier.

"I don't like when people talk to me like that," she murmured, the number on the carousel just blinking past two.

"What do you mean?" The warmth of his gaze landed on the side of her face, his hand heavy in hers.

"That guy," she started, her breathing stuttering through the beginning of a hiccup she swallowed down, "The one at the club. He was mad that I wasn't going to be there to pay for what he and his friends ordered. I think he knew who I was even though he pretended he didn't. He called me a bitch." A beat passed. "I think that girl was his girlfriend, too—the one on the table with him."

Harry stood quietly at her side, the ever-sturdy pillar. He listened, observed. Took everything in, as he always did.

That silence stuck with them as the elevator chimed as they reached their floor. The doors parted for Harry to usher her through, taking her to the door before unlocking the knob and helping her forward. It wasn't until they were alone, in their private space, that he spoke again.

"I did hear him say those things," he murmured, his voice tight.

"It was mean, wasn't it?" she asked, kicking her shoes off by the front door, her toes aching after holding her weight for the night.

"It is," he affirmed, waiting for her to grow steady on her feet before he started towards the kitchen. True to his promise, he started with a glass of water for her, setting it on the counter before he was raiding the cabinets for a snack. He didn't look at her when he spoke again, keeping his attention forward. "You know none of that is true, though, right?"

"Hm?" (Y/N) hummed, sipping her water with her eyes trained on his back.

Returning with leftover gougères from the day before (Harry had become really fond of bisqué now that she showed him it didn't matter the season, soup was always a good choice), he set the cheese-baked pastries as her side before he leveled her gaze.

"No matter what he said,'' Harry started, his words slow and deliberate, "You're not a bitch,"—he all but choked around the word—"It's not up to you to pay for him and his idiot friends. He was trying to take advantage of you."

"I know," she swallowed, the words hitting a soft part of her muddled brain, "B-But now there's another person that thinks I'm bad."

"I don't think that, though," he said after a beat, his voice considerably softer, matching the moss of his eyes, "Fran and Emma don't think so—neither does Sully. We all know who y'actually are, and I think that counts for something."

Standing quietly, bare feet against the tile of the kitchen, (Y/N) allowed his words to swim in her brain. She soaked them in as much as she could, the weight of them heavy.

"You really don't think so?" she pressed, dropping her gaze to the collar of his fitted shirt, "Even after... everything, and all the stuff my father told you?"

Harry shook his head, a loose curl splaying across his forehead. "What your father says, means nothing to me. Everything I've seen, is y'trying your best. You're put in hard situations, and then expected to know how to handle them on your first try, all while everyone watches. It's not fair."

Overloaded, (Y/N) tried to cling to every word he was saying. She dearly hoped she would remember this in the morning, or at least the feeling of it all. The feeling of that light hope in her chest, brighter than that of whatever French bisqué she made or fanciful purchase could inspire.

Harry understood her.

"That's exactly how it feels sometimes," she confided in him, blindly reaching out in hopes of catching the hem of his shirt before he did her one better and bundled both of her hands in his own. "I love Fran, I do," she told him, letting his gaze with her own soft eyes, "But, she doesn't understand me like that—like you do."

"I wish more people understood you," Harry murmured, his words quiet enough (Y/N) wasn't sure if she heard him right.

"You're like my best friend, now," (Y/N) responded, hoping he could catch her sincerity even if she was a little plastered.

Those searching eyes traipsed around the planes of her face, skipping along every contour and highlight. She wished she knew what was going on in his head, what thought he had when he catalogued her like a fine gown.

"C'mon," he beckoned her, unlacing one hand from hers only to grab the plate of gougères, "Let's eat, then we'll get ready for bed."

(Y/N) pliantly followed, the Eiffel Tower glimmering through the windows of her balcony.

—————

Slipping out of her bedroom, (Y/N) cast her eyes around in hopes of finding Harry lounging about.

Last night was a whirlwind that ended with her snuggled in her bed, makeup off and hair braided back but still in her dress. She woke with a half eaten gougère on her bedside table, alongside a glass of water and a small bottle of aspirin. While parts of the night were muddied, many things were still clear—including the way Harry handled her and helped take care of her friends.

That also meant she remembered the small string of photographers that had waited outside the club, cameras flashing as she stumbled over her own feet.

Against her better judgement, she couldn't help but to check her phone after blinking the sleep out of her eyes, wanting to see what exactly—if anything—was being written by her.

The photos were the first things she saw, many of them favoring headlines featuring a specific shot of her clinging to Harry as she almost fell, the hem of her dress riding up and Harry's grip strong around her waist. The nature of their relationship was once again called into question, as if his hold was anything but protective. Some even captioned the photos of him whispering to her, apologizing for tripping her, as him whispering sweet nothings into her hair.

Honestly, many of the articles were on the tame side, the headlines being nothing more than clickbait. The worst they spoke on was her "leg-baring dress", while much more of the pieces were spent speculating about Harry once more and recounting the 132 Gala news.

She'd definitely seen worse about herself. While none of this was the preferred outcome, it was one she could get through. Hopefully, with the time zones, her father wouldn't see the news just yet.

After washing her face and brushing her teeth, she left her phone on her bed while venturing outside the suite. Instead of finding Harry like she hoped, she was instead left with a view of an empty apartment, a single glass of her purple smoothie left on the counter.

A smile bloomed on her fatigued cheeks when she noticed the dirtied blender in the sink, scraps of fruit having been tossed in the trash with a freshly wiped down countertop. Harry had to have made this one.

Maybe that was why it tasted that much sweeter when she took the first sip. Even without the matcha and collagen she usually requested, she felt much more awake.

Straw tucked between her lips as she sipped her smoothie, (Y/N) debated tracking down Harry to his bedroom, wishing so badly she could see him again in the right-frame of mind.

Those reassurances he uttered to her the night before were sitting in her head, perfect like a present waiting for her to wake up to. Perhaps that's what had made the sensationalized stories about her much more palatable. What did it matter what they and anonymous blogs said when Harry reiterated how many people in her life knew her and cared for her.

Turning back towards the living room, she spotted him through the crystal windows on the balcony doors, coffee in hand as he made a home in the lounger. She tried not to overthink it all as she crossed the room, gently knocking on the door before pushing it open.

"Morning," she murmured, stepping out onto the balcony with him.

Harry's posture straightened, his sleepy eyes gazing up at her through the shadow of his lashes. "Morning. How are you feeling?"

Taking a long sip of the smoothie, she hoped he caught the way almost a third of it was gone already. "Definitely been better. So much for not drinking, right?" she joked, taking a seat beside him in her own lounger.

"Y'weren't too bad," he answered, his own amusement leaking through his words. "Y'don't feel sick or anything?"

Turning her gaze towards the city, she watched the sun rise over the Eiffel Tower, remembering what it looked like with all the twinkle light just hours before.

"No, I'm alright. Thank you for getting me food and medicine and everything."

"Of course," he answered simply, taking a sip of his own coffee.

From the corner of his eye, his gaze lingered on the smoothie in her hand. The ghost of a dimple touched his cheek.

For the first time in a while, especially after everything she had read being posted about them—about him—, she didn't feel the need to explain or apologize.

Harry knew her. He knew her enough to know the difference between tabloid features and facts. Even knowing what would undoubtedly be said about him if he were pictured so closely with her—whether it be because of his job or the fact she felt she could call him a friend—he didn't shy away from holding her tight and making her feel safe in the midst of everything.

Instead of offering any kind words, (Y/N) scooted her chair that much closer to his, eyes on the Tower.

—————

"(Y/N), how many times do we have to talk about this?"

Without missing a beat, (Y/N) kept cleaning up the kitchen after having made lunch for she and Harry, her father's voice nothing more than dull background noise as she left the call on speaker. The mute feature was being utilized as he raged at her, not a second thought in her head being spared over his grilling.

It was a waste of time, she decided. That was the kind of mood she was in today, and that was the kind of daughter he would be getting. Though, to notice at all, would mean that he would have to actually pay attention and let her speak instead of spilling off rhetorical questions before hitting her with insults once.

It'd been a full day since the articles had been posted about her, more and more photos resurfacing of her stumbling outside and being led away with Harry, while blogs were posting grainy photos from the inside of the club before things went downhill. She knew a phone call like this was coming.

The only new addition to this particular berating, was the silent audience that was sitting on the couch.

Harry, leaning against the arm of the couch, had his arms crossed, one hand at his side in a heavy fist with the other cupping his chin, elbow bent to rest on his other wrist. His gaze was unfocused, a piece of flooring holding his attention while he listened to whatever it was that her father was serving up for the day.

From the way his features pinched and this fist as his side progressively tightened into a white-knuckled grip, she could only imagine the kind of things her father was sharing. He didn't even know there was an audience there to listen in, let alone that it was Harry. No filter was being applied as he spoke.

Wringing out her washcloth in the sink, (Y/N) tuned in just enough to hear a question that had her hands stuttering.

"Is Harry not enough for you?" her father asked, disappointment dripping from his tone, "Do I need to find someone else to look after you? Do you need a whole team to keep you in line?"

She rushed to pick up her phone, taking the call off speaker and mute as she pressed it to her ear.

"No, no," she interrupted him, uncaring of the snap that would be given back for cutting him off, "Harry's doing a good job, just... You know how I am."

Turning her back to Harry as she spoke, she attempted to find some kind of privacy as if she weren't the only one speaking in the room. He could hear every word—every plea she was about to make to ensure he kept his job with her.

While she took it as a positive that her father wasn't suggesting to replace Harry, she definitely didn't want anyone else added to the mix. Harry is more than enough for her.

On the other end, her father scoffed. "Don't I," he mused, (Y/N) able to imagine the rolling of his eyes through the phone. "I don't know what to do, (Y/N)," he started, heaving a sigh, "I've reached out to publicists and handlers, and anyone in the industry to help. No one wants to touch your reputation. It's preceded you at this point, no one wants to work with a brat. I don't have many options left."

Grateful for the fact her back was facing Harry, she felt a warmth hit under her skin. It was a humiliating thought—knowing that others all around her had spoken so lowly that even publicists that deemed any publicity as good publicity wouldn't touch her.

"I know," she conceded, swallowing around her dry throat, "But, I don't think any more security is a good idea. It would look bad, don't you think?"

She was grasping at straws a bit, hoping to dig into the image he held so dear. The one thing he cared about when it came to her.

A beat passed before he spoke once more, his voice distant and musing. "Now, you're thinking. I think I might have another idea, then."

"Oh?"

"Yes, I think I have an idea," her father perked on the other side, "Let me make a few calls and then I'll get back in touch."

"Okay, u—"

"In the meantime, (Y/N)," he cut her off, "I'm going to make it especially clear—again—that you need to have your head on straight. You're not making anything easy on anyone when you act like this—myself and Harry included. Stop being selfish and think before you act."

His tone was definite. Everything he said was nothing more than a slightly different variation of everything he'd already told her. She needed to try harder not to make everything her fault.

"I know," she answered, a detached response that had been drilled into her, "I'm working on it."

"Good. Talk to you later."

With that, before she had a chance to utter her own goodbye, her father hung up. Dead air filled the kitchen as she pulled her phone from her ear, slipping the device into her back pocket.

"What was that?" Harry asked, not waiting for her to face him before firing off.

Taking in a deep breath, (Y/N) turned to look at him, fiddling awkwardly in the middle of the small kitchen. "He said he wanted to get you more help—like, more security—, but I was able to get him off that idea. Now, he says he has another idea, but he won't tell me about it until he calls later. He said he had to talk to a few people first."

Unimpressed, Harry hummed in response. His gaze finally focused when it landed on her face, his pupils exacting and calculating. "Does he always talk to you like that?"

That wasn't what she expected of this inquisition. She suddenly felt uncomfortable under his eyes.

"Sometimes," she answered, trying to keep her features a blank slate, "Only when I mess up, though. It's not a big deal, I never listen anyway."

His gaze was unflinching, unwavering. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," she said automatically, no longer wanting to speak of her father or his words. "Anyway, I feel like he's just going to open a foundation in my name or something—that's his big idea. He does it every once in a while, just to make us all look charitable."

Harry traipsed his eyes over her form, taking in every detail of her body language and every minute frame of an expression. She felt exposed the longer he watched her.

Eventually—finally, finally—he released her, standing from his station on the arm of the couch with a sigh. "Whatever he comes up with, I'll be there, yeah? We'll work it out together."

Even Francesca, her best friend and closest person, hadn't been able to promise what Harry was giving her. She knew he really would be there with her, every step she took now coming with a pair.

(Y/N) allowed a gentle smile to bloom on her features, watching as he softened some.

"Yeah."

—————

Unable to help herself, still curious to the fact this person had found her Paris address, (Y/N) opened the flap to the newest letter that had been dropped in her mailbox.

The admirer's newest perspective came in high quality photos from the club. There were photos of her dancing with Marc—though his face was marred with markings she was too scared to investigate further. There were photos of her sipping drinks with Francesca and Emma before the night devolved, Harry noticeably cropped from the shots though (Y/N) knew he wouldn't have been that far away. Similar markings to what had marred Marc's face reappeared, this time sketching around her face in rudimentary hearts and shapes. Those made her feel the most queasy.

On the backside of some of the photos, it seemed this person felt they had inside information, claiming to know she hadn't wanted to dance with Marc. They apparently knew she hadn't wanted to go out at all, that she was much too private for this kind of scene and someone had to be forcing her to do this for some reason. It hadn't been her fault that she had stiffed the table (a fact that was far from the truth, seeing as how no one from the club had contacted her or Francesca. Something had to have been worked out). It hadn't been her fault that she left with Harry the way she did, curled into his arms and clinging to him like a vine. She would have never touched him if it was up to her own accord—at least that's what the admirer claimed.

Everything was written in short, messy sentences, barely legible as if written with the author's non-dominant hand. The rest of the story lay in the typed letter she knew was tucked inside the envelope, the musings of someone determined to fit her into the box of their liking.

Her palms felt sweaty as she looked at a photo of her face, the lens having zoomed in to catch the pucker of her lips around the cocktail straw, eyes glazed in alcohol.

How someone had snuck a camera in and Harry hadn't noticed—or at least mentioned it to her—she didn't know. And a part of her didn't want to.

It was easier to ignore this whole thing, she decided. Bundling the pictures back into the envelope, (Y/N) rushed to place it in her room, the bottom drawer of her vanity gaining a new addition.

—————

Staring at her phone, (Y/N) couldn't feel anything but dumbfounded as she reread her father's messages.

Dad

I have a friend from the country club that is interested in taking you out on a date. He's planning on flying out to Paris by the end of the week, and I expect you to go out to dinner with him, to show him and the world why a man like him would be willing to go out with you.

He's a successful philanthropist with a good reputation. I think he's the perfect person for you to get to know, and learn how to behave with. It will be good for you to be seen with him.

Be on your best behavior.

This was not at all what she could have ever imagined his big plan would be. More than a little far off from the suspected charity Gala that would be thrown in her name.

She'd been set up before with the sons of investors and introduced to men he thought would help further him in his dealings. All of those instances had been made in the name of his business—made for his best interests. Never had he set her up with the intention of strengthening her reputation or showcasing her for nothing other than publicity.

Though, from the way her father spoke, she doubted the other man knew it had anything to do with her reputation. As far as he knew, he was being set up with a friend's darling daughter for a romantic evening in Paris.

The thought had (Y/N) cringing.

She was supposed to go on a date? To convince people she wasn't a bitch?

(Y/N) was angry. Uncomfortable. Upset. Anything that was the opposite of happy was pulsing through her veins. What was her father thinking?

Did Harry know anything about this?

Heavy in her middle, (Y/N) wanted to rush to Harry's side, ask him if he knew anything about these plans. If he did, she wanted to assure him that she had no feelings tied to this man or this date—that he was nothing to her mind. She wanted to tell him she didn't want to go on this date, that she was being forced to see another person despite having purely opposite feelings.

She wasn't sure why exactly she felt it was so important to make that much clear, but it was enough to get her off of her bed and out to the living room.

Sitting on the couch, was Harry with a book in his hand, the cover showcasing the name of a famous French designer. He bookmarked his place with a finger as he looked up at her, taking in her shower-softened form and silky pajamas on her form.

"Going to bed?" he asked, the gauzy curtains having been dropped around the windows to the balconies.

Suddenly, she felt a bit silly having bustled out of her room the way she did. What did it matter if Harry thought she wanted to go on a date with this man? Why would he care about who she dated? All he needed to know was where she was going and if he would be needed for security.

"In a minute, but—um—" she started, fiddling with her phone in her hands.

Shifting on the cushion he'd taken up, he narrowed his gaze with a pinch to his brows. Properly marking his spot, he left his novel to be placed at his side, the full of his attention placed on his client.

"Is everything alright? Did something happen?" His gaze skipped over her form, examining for any bit of her that needed his help.

"I'm okay," she assured, shifting on her feet, "It's just..." Harry waited patiently-impatient, unwavering eye contact. "My dad texted me," she blurted.

"Yeah?" he pressed, his elbows setting on his knees as he leant towards her, "What did he say?"

Swallowing, she tried to shrug in nonchalance. "You know how he said he had an idea after those pictures of us at the club?" she questioned, listening for Harry's hum of acknowledgment before continuing, "I guess his side was to set me up with someone he knows from the country club. For a date. This weekend."

Forcing the words through her throat, she watched and waited for Harry's reaction. Though he was much better than she ever would be as keeping a poker face, everything internalized.

"Yeah?" was his only response.

"He said this guy has a really good reputation, with charities and all. He's hoping that being seen with him will help make me look better—PR and all." She struggled around the next bit of information, unwilling to say it out loud as if it would make it real. "I think he really wants me to date him, though—this friend. I don't think he knows my father's setting it up the way he is.

Contemplative and deliberate like always, Harry waited before pressing, "Do you know this man? Or would this be the first time you meet him—for this date?"

"I-I'm not sure who it is, but if I knew him already I think my father would have said so. I think this weekend would be the first time." She was more than embarrassed the more he asked. What kind of child had to be set up on playdates so they learned how to behave?

"This isn't the same man that made you uncomfortable before, then?" Harry's voice suddenly held an edge, recalling Barron at the 132 Gala.

"No, not him."

"Okay," he mused, the gears in his brain almost visibly grinding away as he thought through every and any scenario. "Do y'want me to be there with you?"

The edge of her phone case became the most interesting thing in the room then, her fingers picking at the molding. She swallowed, remembering that trapped, angry feeling she had when she read his messages the first time.

"I don't want to go at all," she started, fitting her bottom lip between her teeth. "I don't know, maybe we could go out this week, and I'll make a scene or something? It could make him mad enough that he calls the whole thing off, and we won't have to deal with it at all."

"No, we're not doing that," Harry immediately intervened, frustration lacing through his tone, "'S not worth him getting upset with you over."

"I know," she told him, a defeated slope to her shoulders, "But, I don't want to go. Especially not with him—whoever he is. I-I'd rather stay with you."

The air softened around them as the words hung between them. Peeking through the fan of her lashes, she caught the easy stare he gave her.

"It's going to be alright, (Y/N)," he assured her, his frustration having melted into something soft and pliable, "I'm going to be there with you."

"I'm sorry," she reflexively shared, her tongue working before her brain.

"What for?"

For going on a date with someone that isn't you.

"I don't know," she answered, "For taking up your weekend with something stupid, I guess."

"And what else would I have done instead?" Harry countered, his tone anything but biting, "Y'act like I'm not here jus' for you."

While she knew he didn't mean it the way it sounded, there was a small hand in her heart that clutched at the idea.

"Don't worry about it for now, yeah? Jus' sleep on it, and we'll take again in the morning. If there's anything else we can do, we'll figure it out then. Okay?"

He was always so in control, the voice of reason she lacked in these moments.

"Okay. Thank you."

"I've got you," Harry answered simply, reaching for his book once more. "Goodnight, (Y/N)."

Sparing one last glance at her bodyguard huddled on the sofa of her Parisian apartment, fashion book in hand, (Y/N) inched towards her bedroom feeling a touch lighter.

"Goodnight, Harry."

—————

s'entendre is a French word for the feeling of understanding someone; to get someone

only a few more parts! thank you sm for reading, sorry for any mistakes, and if you have any ideas or whatever please send them in!

649 notes · View notes

andysorbit · 10 months

Text

Home (M)

non idol!Jaehyun x fem!reader

Warnings: angst, smut, oral sex (male receiving), semi public, dirty talk, cum swallowing, lowkey breeding kink, light snowballing

genre: smut, romance, slice of life

word count: >1K

note: I had me a lil Jaehyun brain rot at like an hour ago and I had to get this off my chest. do I love it? no but the thought wouldn't let me sleep.

part 2 can be found here

Jaehyun fumbles with a loose thread on his t-shirt. You stare on in silence, waiting for him to say something.

"I uh... you wanna go to the store with me?" he asks awkwardly.

You two were arguing again. This time, over finding a new apartment to move into. You liked the new building that was almost complete a few blocks away but Jaehyun was more than happy to move up to the top floor of the building you already live in.

You both had wanted it when you moved in and the plan was to take it once it became vacant but that new building sure is a lot prettier.

"No, I don't wanna go anywhere with you," You reply as you cross your arms.

He shrugs, "Well then don't ask for shit because I'm not bringin' you shit. You want it, come get it."

"Fine. I'll come but you better not say shit to me," You sigh as you turn to get your wallet off of the dresser.

"The fuck are you bringing your wallet for? Leave it. I'll pay," he says peevishly.

"Fuck you and your money. I'll pay for my own shit," You snap as you shove your wallet into your back pocket.

Jaehyun scoffs, "Fuck you too. I'll be in the car. Hurry up or I'm leaving and you can walk," he says as he heads out.

"Leave if you want to- watch me change those locks before your flat ass gets back!" You call out.

A "fuck you, my ass is fine!" booms through the apartment and then you hear the front door slam.

You roll your eyes and decide to take your time getting to the car.

Once inside the car, you sit in silence as Jaehyun drives. The silence is thick and you keep your eyes out the window. The night air is cool and you roll your window up a bit.

Jaehyun does the same, "There's an ice cream sale at the grocery store across town so that's where we're going... in case you were wondering."

"But did I ask?" You mumble.

Jaehyun sighs, "Well, I figured you would eventually since you question everything I do anyway."

"When have I ever questioned you?" You scoff as you turn to glare at Jaehyun.

"This whole shit with the goddamn apartment! That was the plan since we moved in- take the smaller one and wait it out and if it wasn't available by the time we hit thirty, then we'd look elsewhere- so now- literally not even a whole fucking year later, you wanna deviate from the plan and keep asking me if I'm sure I don't wanna leave altogether! Like I'm too stupid to know what I want!" he yells.

"I never said you were!" You yell back.

"Really? 'Oh, c'mon, Jae... are you sure? Really just think about it. I think if you really think about it, you'd like it.' I did think about it and I still don't like it! The top floor gives you the view of the water just like you wanted, we're good with all of our neighbors, most of what we need is within walking distance- this is a fucking penthouse that's in our budget- why are you not happy about this?"

"Well I guess now is as good a time as any to tell you that I talked with the owner of the building."

"You're gonna fucking leave me? Over a goddamn apartment? Really Y/n?"

You groan, "No, Jaehyun! The owner was telling me about the floorplans and there's no space for expanding the family if we move in. That's what I was gonna tell you before you got your lil attitude. Fuck!"

"Oh shit, really?" he asks incredulously. The crease he's had in his brow all day finally softens and he purses his lips.

"Yeah... The closets are too small, he canceled the balcony plans, the kitchen is more like a kitchenette, and there's no room for a washing machine or a dryer so we'll lose more than we gain... You thought I was gonna dump you for an apartment?"

"I dunno. Maybe? I'm sorry but like... we've been fighting a lot and I didn't know what to think," he replies sheepishly.

"The day our arguments become sexless, prepare for the worst because that's when you should be worried about me leaving. You're my home, okay? Whether we stay where we are, or move upstairs, or move into a boat- I just wanna be with you."

Jaehyun laughs softly, "Well since that's resolved... You said my ass is flat. Apologize."

You smile and lean over to kiss him softly, "Push your seat all the way back, daddy... I'll apologize."

Jaehyun presses the button on the side of his seat and slowly he moves backwards. It brings a funny lightness to this moment.

When he's as far back as he can go, he leans the seat back then his hand comes up to grab you by the back of your head and he brings you in for a searing kiss.

His tongue licks against yours as his free hand gets his pants open, "D'you know how fucking hot you are when you're angry?" he purrs.

You reach down to palm him through his jeans, "Is that why you're so hard?" You sigh as you shift enough to lean over.

"I love it because I get to put you back in your place after... now get to it," he says and pushes your head down.

He hits the back of your throat and you moan as you suck him hungrily.

"Such a good girl... just like that... yeah, baby," he sighs as his hand gently strokes your head.

You hum as you take him in as far as you can and Jaehyun holds you there for a moment before pulling you up to kiss him, "Not so quick to talk shit now, huh?" he says and pushes you back down.

He holds your head steady as he fucks into your mouth. You moan and gag around him, "Take it, slut," he moans.

And you do take it; each slow thrust. Every time the head of his cock hits your throat, you moan. You can feel your panties getting soaked and you squeeze your thighs together.

Jaehyun's thrusts get sloppy, "Gonna swallow daddy's cum like a good girl, right?" he sighs.

You hum eagerly. Hot cum shoots into your mouth and you greedily milk his cock for every drop you can get. You slowly ease him out of your mouth before giving the head of his cock a soft suck; hoping for more.

"God... every time you do something like this... all I can think about is how much of my cum we're wasting because... fuck..." He trails off as you continue to suck on the head of his cock.

"As much as I love seeing you swallow, I'd much rather pump that little pussy with my cum til it's leaking out... maybe get you pregnant... You wanna be full of my cum, right?"

You nod.

"Fuck... tell me you're mine... say it," he sighs as he pulls you back up to kiss him. He licks into you mouth and you share the traces of his cum that's left.

"I'm yours, daddy," You mumble against his lips.

He presses his forehead to yours, "Yeah fuckin' right you are," he chuckles.

#neoculturecollectives #nct #nct smut #kpop smut #nct 127 #nct 127 smut #nct hard hours #nct hard thoughts #ambw smut #ambw fic #ambw kpop #ambw nct #kpop ambw #nct x black!reader #nct x plus sized reader #Jaehyun #jaehyun smut #kvanity #kpop smut for black girls

858 notes · View notes

amywritesthings · 4 months

Text

new year, new choso. / choso nye fic

pairing: choso kamo x f!reader ( jujutsu kaisen ) word count: 1.9k summary: Choso Kamo has never been to a New Year's Eve party. Who knew chaperoning his kid brother to Gojo's Jujutsu High party would end up like this? tags: new year's eve kiss, nye party fluff, choso is a sweet baby angel goth, and he's wearing a suit, alcohol, mentions of cards against humanity credit: dividers by @saradika dedicated to @nube55 , @sixpennydame , and @chishiyasan xo

welcome to the final day of the twelve days of amymas !!

New Year’s Eve parties are typically not your thing.

Loud music, bustling crowds, crowded rooms with crowded strangers — the whole debacle always sounded like a recipe for disaster.

Ieiri claimed that this gathering would be different. Small.

Albeit still a party by Gojo Satoru’s standards as his entire penthouse is littered with tacky balloons, confetti, and endless amounts of blinking year-end sunglasses, but tamer than anticipated.

It’s probably something to do with the fact that said gathering included his students from Jujutsu High.

The teenagers all crowd in the dead center of the living room excitedly playing Cards Against Humanity while Gojo's colleagues and friends mingle about the main floor.

(There’s just something about watching a cursed panda argue that his cards are accurate to the prompt as opposed to the obscene and filthy winners — ironically, a silent kid with cursed speech tattoos holds the jackpot of black cards.)

You were once destined to become a sorcerer yourself, but you’d hung it up for a simpler life. Not unlike your best friend, Shoko, but not as close to the Jujutsu world.

Then again, you never really get away from this life. Not really.

(Only thirty minutes left until the new year.)

“Did you need a refill?”

The gentle question comes out of nowhere to your side, breaking your concentration of the rowdy game.

When you turn your head, you’re immediately taken by a dark-haired man with a thin, black strip covering the bridge of his nose like a blush. He wears a maroon button-up, satin to the eye, and a dark suit jacket to compliment his pale complexion. His shoulder-length dark hair is in a half up-do, fixed hastily in a tiny bun at the crown of his head.

Your first thought? He’s beautiful.

Your second thought? You find yourself staring for too long, lips parted with an answer you’ve all but forgotten.

The man blinks back at you, shuffling in the uncertain silence.

“I, uh — sorry, I probably should have said ‘hello’ like a normal person and —”

“Uh, sure, I could walk with you?” you blurt, hating yourself for the way his eyes round with his own bout of confusion. “For a refill. I’m getting kind of stiff sitting against this wall.”

He’s a stranger, even if it’s technically a friend’s party.

You’ve been taught from birth that you should take care of your own drinks — but that doesn’t mean you can’t accompany someone as alluring as him to go grab a new mixed drink.

God knows Gojo bought out the entire liquor store despite how seventy-five percent of the party can’t drink and, the irony, Gojo doesn’t drink.

(An overachiever even in the art of hosting, Shoko joked before she dipped for a smoke break.)

Right.

You're dissociating.

Back to the guy in front of you.

“And hi,” you add lamely after a beat.

The stranger fights a smile, choosing to rush a small huff of air.

“Hi. Name's Choso Kamo,” he awkwardly introduces. “And yeah, I wouldn’t mind the company.”

He fidgets with a button of his dress shirt, popping it absently.

“Feels a little crowded here.”

"A little," you agree, gesturing for him to show the way.

Shoulder to shoulder you both walk to the drink table, not saying a word.

You note how the stranger — this Choso — keeps his eyes on the table of kids as they heavily debate which answer should win: the cold, dead fingers card dropped by a triumphant Kugisaki, versus the Daniel Radcliff’s delicious asshole card slipped in by a stone-faced Megumi.

“Dying to join in on the game?” you joke, trying to break the slow-building tension.

“Hmm? Oh. God, no. I’m not getting involved in that war.” The man blinks to you, his expression softening for a moment. “My kid brother’s over there.”

“Which one is he?”

Choso smiles small, clearly proud to point him out.

He fills his cup with a moderate amount of rum and soda, mixing it with a wooden stirrer.

“The pink-haired one. Yuji.”

Yuji isn’t hard to spot, not by a long shot.

He’s giggling between Megumi and Kugisaki, joyously playing moderator to the budding fight for who has the best card this round.

When you turn back to Choso, you see his smile has widened.

“He’s got his work cut out for him if he’s the Card Szarr this round," you say.

Choso laughs breathily and takes a sip. “Yeah, his friends are a little brutal. Good kids, but… opinionated.”

(As proudly displayed by the way the finalists shout at one another. Yuji laughs hard, shaking his head — only to pull a major upset by choosing the panda’s card instead.)

“He’s the only reason I’m here,” Choso adds belatedly, seemingly wishing to keep the conversation going. “I’m not exactly friends with the guy who threw this thing.”

“Who, Gojo?” you ask. He nods. “Me neither. My best friend managed to drag me out of my cave. Not sure if you know her — Shoko Iieri?”

Choso shakes his head.

“Can’t say I do. Then again, I could say that about everyone. I only really came so my brother and his friends had a chaperone home." He straightens once he's done filling his drink. "I take it you don’t normally do these things, either?”

“That’s nice of you,” you comment, filling the rest of your drink before clinking the glass to his. “And no, I kind of hate parties. Way more of a quiet environment sort of person.”

“You and me both,” he commiserates. “Believe it or not, this is my first New Year’s Eve out.”

“Really? Your first, ever?”

He nods. “It’s a little complicated. Jujutsu shit.”

The words make you accidentally bark out a laugh, startling Choso.

He warms to it, however, and laughs with you.

“Jujutsu shit is very much something I can’t seem to get away from,” you explain.

“Guess I found the one person at this party that gets me,” Choso admits with a dissolving chuckle, the black strip on his nose sprinkled with a gentle pink blush at his confession. “Yuji was pretty insistent on making it a big deal, given it’s my first real holiday outing. We spent Christmas just with the two of us this year — sorry, am I talking too much?”

You sip your drink and shake your head. “I like listening.”

It’s the truth: this man is interesting.

Clearly he’s not completely of this realm, that much you’re quite certain of, but he’s truly trying to be human.

Choso fumbles, but he’s honest about his experience.

It’s a refreshing taking on a world you’ve become so cynical about.

“I usually don’t talk this much,” he admits; his second confession of the night. He sighs and shakes his head. “Anyway, yeah. Christmas was solo, but he wanted to do this big party with his friends. Begged me to come along. New Year’s is an interesting idea, but the traditions… I don’t know.”

He squints at nothing in particular as he thinks.

“There’s so much I want to try now that I’ve got this life.”

“Like what?”

“Well, I have the drinking part down,” he tells you, glancing down at his glass and outfit. “I dressed up, though given what everyone else wore—”

Sweaters. Jeans. Nothing fancy — not like him.

“—I think I screwed that part up.”

“I think you look amazing, for what it’s worth,” you blurt, and he catches your eye with an appreciative glow.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, suits always look good.”

Choso grins, albeit briefly, yet the growing confidence lingers.

“Party games, though I’m happier to watch than play right now. Then there’s that New Year’s kiss thing?”

Oh.

He turns to you for confirmation, but you damn well know your face is on fire from the implication.

“When the clock strikes midnight, you’re supposed to kiss someone," he explains like you're new to this, too. "Make a wish or promise or whatever so that the next year is going to be better.”

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He leans in a fraction further, dropping his voice to a murmur. “That's what I heard, anyway.”

You’re expecting him to have a but scoot into that sentence, but he pauses to search your face for the right or wrong answer.

“I’ve never had a New Year’s kiss,” you admit — it's now your turn to confess.

His brows furrow. “Really? Never?”

You shake your head. “Maybe that’s why my years have been so shitty lately.”

Choso nods with a grave understanding. “Could be.”

A few of the teenagers cheer, abandoning the game to turn on the main television.

The clock is only a few minutes until midnight.

Three, to be exact.

Suddenly the drink in your hand becomes your life line.

“I admit that I didn’t know if you needed a refill on your drink,” Choso pipes up, slow and careful. You turn your attention from the television broadcast to look at him. “I only came here to make sure Yuji had a good time with his friends, but then I saw you come in with that woman.”

Wait, he saw you come in?

When you say nothing, he sucks in a sharp inhale to explain himself.

“I spent an hour working up the courage to come talk to you. I couldn’t think of anything to say. You’re so damn pretty, and you seemed fine hanging out by yourself or with her, and so I thought — I mean, I needed a refill and some liquid courage — so it — do you get what I’m saying?”

No, no you don’t and yes, yes you do.

“You’re very pretty yourself,” you tell him without thinking, causing his eyes to widen. Yours follow suit, rounding like saucers. “I mean — yeah, as soon as I noticed you, I thought you were attractive—”

“People go out for coffee, right?” he interrupts as if he’s been waiting all night to ask. “When they think someone is pretty, they… go out for coffee or dinner or walks.”

One minute remaining.

Choso pauses to stare into your eyes, earnest and true.

“I’d love to go out for some coffee, or whatever dinner you want, or even just a walk. Maybe. Some time. If you’re… free.”

A date.

Forty seconds until the new year, and you’ve already scored yourself a date.

“We could do one of those things,” you murmur. Choso’s face brightens. “Maybe all of them. And we could start it off with…”

Twenty seconds.

“Making a wish?” the dark-haired man suggests when you trail off, rounding towards you so he’s closer.

For someone who says he has a lot to experience, you’re surprised that he seems to cage you in with experience.

If it wasn’t for his eyes begging you to confirm that this is what you want, then you’d think maybe he was a liar.

“Yeah. For a great new year,” you explain, lifting your chin.

Ten seconds.

“For a great new year,” he exhales with a promise, leaning in.

His hand reaches to gently cup your face as though mesmerized by how soft your skin feels beneath his palm.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

The clock strikes midnight, and a pair of plush, timid lips gingerly press to yours.

You meet with an eager kiss, and you swear you feel Choso’s mouth curve into a satisfied smile against yours.

(Maybe next year really will be better.)

#choso x reader #choso kamo x reader #choso kamo x you #choso kamo fluff #choso x you #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk x you #jjk fanfiction #jjk fanfic #jjk fic #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #choso fanfic #choso fic #choso kamo fanfiction #choso kamo fanfic #nye fic #twelve days of amymas

251 notes · View notes

stories-and-chaos · 2 months

Text

Shrike: New Neighbor

[Hazbin Hotel reader insert as Alastor’s “darling life and death partner” Ace x ace relationship, both parties are moderately sex favorable.]

[Word count 1210 Cw: blood, foul language]

————————

Even while recovering, Alastor had to be dramatic. So when he dropped you both into the group in front of the rebuilt hotel, his joining the song and grand gestures did not surprise you. What did was Charlie suddenly hugging him and Alastor allowing her.

The princess was stronger than she knew. Alastor was more stubborn than anyone but you realized. So even though his theatrics and her squeeze tore some stitches, he refused to show it. The benefit of entirely red clothing was that a bit of blood wasn’t noticeable.

As soon as you could manage, you insisted the pair of you look over your new suite. Walking to the top floor would have been a struggle and you weren’t up to flying again yet. Fortunately the new building had elevators installed.

Alastor had recreated his broadcast studio on a corner penthouse level and naturally had claimed the closest rooms for you both. He hadn’t recreated the bayou yet, but there were more pressing concerns. Namely redoing his stitches.

Once in the room you ordered, “Sit down Alastor.” You didn’t let him argue as you removed his jacket and shirt. The bandages wrapped around his torso had absorbed most of the blood but now they definitely needed replacing. “Zut alors, you just had to overdo it out there.”

You brought out both a last aid kit and your sewing kit. As you gathered up towels, warm water and disinfectant, you continued to vent. “I know you like to cultivate an air of invulnerability, cher, but that was too much.” Returning to his side you started unwinding the bandages. “Granted you didn’t expect Charlie to hug you like that, but all that flailing about did not help.”

His hand shot out and grabbed your wrist. “That’s enough,” he growled hoarsely. His antlers were starting to grow in anger but he didn’t put any pressure on your wrist.

“No Alastor, it’s not,” you replied firmly. You didn’t pull your hand away but you did turn his head to face you. You locked eyes with your husband, staring straight into the radio dials. “If you get hurt, I’m the one that patches you up. If you get hurt doing something stupid, I’m still the one patching you up, but I’m allowed to be angry about it.”

He huffed and released your wrist. You continued unwrapping and cleaning that gash across his chest. “I don’t want to be stitching you back up constantly because you’re pretending to be invincible.” You might have said more but a voice at the door interrupted.

“Lover’s quarrel? You really should close the door if you’re going to do that.”

“Fuck!” you screeched, reflexively launching a stiletto at the voice.

“Whoa!” The figure blinked away in a burst of sparks, popping back into existence next to you. The blade thudded into the hallway.

“Careful there!” Lucifer admonished. “We just built these floors.”

You hissed at the fallen angel. “I wouldn’t have to be careful if someone wasn’t eavesdropping.”

He just smiled as you returned to focusing on Alastor. “Someone wouldn’t be eavesdropping if someone else had closed their door properly.” He leaned down to look at the wound you were starting to stitch together again. “Oof, that from when Adam swung at you? You took quite a hit there buddy.”

Alastor glared at him furiously. “GET. OUT,” he snarled, his ever present smile straining in his anger.

As much as you agreed with him, what Lucifer said made you start. “How did you know Adam hit him? The only ones that saw the fight were the exorcists and me.” Some of your flock might have seen it, but they were rather occupied.

“I was watching the whole time,” he replied blithely. With a snap, he produced an ornate set of opera glasses on an elegant handle. “Had to keep an eye on my little girl in case she needed help.”

“You were just watching?!” You and Alastor yelled together. If he had shown up before the angels arrived, he could have handled everything.

“Yup! Charlie didn’t ask me to join the fight, so I wanted to give her the chance to take care of it.” He paused. “I do feel bad about the snake guy, though. Oh, and that you two got banged up by that douchebag.”

You hissed again, feeling your feathers turn metallic. Still, you turned back to the curved needle in your hand. Alastor’s claws dug into the chair; you couldn’t be sure of it was from anger or the feeling of needle and thread sliding through his skin. Probably both.

“GET OUT,” he repeated, now looking like he’d enjoy tearing Lucifer’s throat out if he wasn’t stuck in place.

“And leave my new neighbors in their time of need?” He shook his head mockingly. “Charlie would never let me hear the end of it.”

You did your best to focus and finish quickly. “Got it back together, cher.” His grip on the chair didn’t ease up. He really is a terrible patient, you thought as you placed a gauze pad on the gash. You reached for a roll of bandages, only to find Lucifer holding it out to you.

Annoyed, you grabbed it with a quiet “merci.” Winding the bandage around Alastor to keep the pad in place, you could feel Lucifer’s gaze on your back. Your husband was getting more and more irritated as the king of Hell kept watching you.

Then, as you finished securing the bandage: “You’re gonna need a splint on that wing.” You blinked in confusion. Alastor was similarly surprised at Lucifer’s statement.

“Never had a wing injury before?” he prodded. You shook your head. “You’re one lucky gal.” He clapped his hands and a small pile of supplies appeared. “It’s got to be stabilized. And no attempts to fly until it’s fully healed if you want it back to normal.” He gestured for Alastor to get up, not caring at all that he was ordering the Radio Demon around. Of course he didn’t, he ruled over all of Hell. He outranked every Sinner, Overlord or not.

With permission, he examined your wing. “Alright deerboy, I’ll show you what to do so you can take care of your missus.” That did seem to calm Alastor down a bit and he begrudgingly let Lucifer demonstrate. Shortly, your wing was braced by thin rods and bandages. “Remember, no flying at all.”

You grumbled, only for Alastor to lean down (slowly, taking his wound into account) and say with exaggerated sweetness, “I’ll be patching you up, cher. And if I have to resplint your wing because you did something stupid, then I’m allowed to be angry, yes?”

Dammit, you thought to yourself. Aloud you said, “Fair enough,” with equal sarcastic sweetness.

Satisfied, Lucifer grabbed his apple topped cane with a twirl. “I’m making pancakes if you two want any.” He sauntered out, humming contentedly.

You sighed gustily. “Let’s get you a new shirt, darling.” As you helped Alastor button up the bright red shirt, he realized something.

“He said ‘new neighbors,’” he stated, the static disappearing from his voice. You both stopped dead, processing what that meant. Meeting each other’s eyes, there was only one thing to say, in unison again.

“Ffffuck!”

———————

Taglist: @whitewolfsoldat @edgyboi10000 @ch3sire-blu3 @clearly-awkward @badatpunz @bengewatch @chewbrry

#hazbin hotel #hazbin fanfic #hazbin alastor #hazbin lucifer #asexual alastor #alastor #alastor x reader #asexual reader #asexual #cw blood #cw injury #cw stitches #acespec #ace representation

243 notes · View notes

phyrestartr · 1 month

Text

Icarus, I Am Devoted | Sukuna x M!Reader (Teaser!!)

A/N: LET'S GOOOOOOO I love this shit and wanted to share a piece for vibes as I continue to write it lol lmk what you think!!

☆☆☆

Sukuna didn't like Yuuji getting caught up in his business.

He was too brash, thought himself too badass for the world to take down, thought gang life wasn't as bad as the world made it out to be, just because his older brother was involved. Sukuna didn't know where the fuck he got that idea–the tattooed menace had killed people, stolen money, sold shit that ruined lives. It was fun for him, sure, but not so much for bystanders.

“You're an idiot,” Sukuna growled as he dragged his brother into his office and threw him at the chaise lounge while they waited for their doctor on demand.

“H-hey, come on, man! It's, uh, it's not even that bad–” Yuuji grimaced, though, holding at the wound gushing blood from his arm. “You've had worse!”

Sukuna laughed bitterly as his henchmen flooded the room and made necessary preparations for their aid's arrival. “You and I are fucking built different, Yuuji--you’re too damn soft for–”

“I'm not,” Yuuji snapped, honeyed eyes blazing. “I can help you.”