#what the fuck is going awn here

[underdrk]

‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤㅤㅤ@celestieu said : i do not want to interrupt them.

ㅤㅤthen that made two of them. ❛ no? ❜ however not wanting to interrupt and completely ignoring her innate curiosity were two very different things. ❛ do you think he needs it to sleep, or something? like a babe with a small toy? ❜ not that she ever had anything of the like as a babe, herself. humans were odd. wizards perhaps even more so. when odessa was small and tried to picture a life above the ground, it never involved.... well... anything they were currently going through. a glance was spared to madeline's direction, the drow propping herself up on an elbow supported hand. ❛ should we toss a stone or something to at least alert him we are awake? ❜

#celestieu #odessa : in character. #//i don't know how or what or why but i know gale is making astral projections of his ex for the second night in a row #//dess like it's not my business but what the fuck is going awn in this here campsite #//just two pretty girls around a campfire

[glitterhoof]

william afton is just scarecrow with a worse rebrand

#awn the intercom #I fucking hate modern FNAF lore I do everytime I look at it I’m just. What the fuck is going on here #Who decided that gas chambers HAS to be the next direction FNAF weny #That the whole time William has just been this over the top goofy evil scientist #Like he’s goofy and over the top don’t get me wrong . But hallucinogenic gas chambers ???????!!!!!?????? #I am a firm ‘FNAF ended at 6 AT BEST.’ believer IF sister location has to happen ( which bleghhh) #fnaf modern lore enjoyers when someone chooses to pawsonally ignore the horrible lore : #I like my franchise where it is understandable and inconsistent AT BEST. personally I would only keep 1-4 if I could #4 only because it was iconic and shook up the FNAF scene. And didn’t affect the story much

[katsumiiii]

hobie brown x gn! reader

omg was at work and had a hugeeee hobie moment!!

hobie being a nuisance and popping up at your job. let’s say you work at a local pub right around the corner from his apartment complex, be sure to be on the look out for rabid hobies because he will come and beg for your attention.

he always thinks you look so cute in your uniform, a simple black tee and some tight jeans, you never really see the appeal but his gaze lingers appreciatively at the curve of your ass and the plush of your hips.

your coworkers think it’s so cute whenever he pops in, doing everything in his power to gain your attention for more than 30 seconds at a time, whether that be sending you a coy smirk, or looping his fingers between your belt buckles and pulling you in. his goal is always the same, wanting desperately to see that flustered look on your face, and he will get it, no matter the cost.

today the bar had been particularly empty. only a few customers toggled in and out, and they all had simple requests, a glass of beer and the check. the day went on without a hitch, night soon seeped in and you were starting to close down, checking out the last six individuals which sat at the bar.

“surprised hobie didn’t pop in today.” your coworker teased, brushing the side of your shoulder as you wiped off the countertop below you.

“shhh, don’t say his name, you’ll summon him.” you shuttered playfully, grinning at your quip.

“funny funny, so is he sick or wh—”

“wha’s going awn? who you havin’ a chat about?” speak of the fucking devil. you slowly tilted your head towards the seat in front of you and watch as hobie leans his upper body towards your own, sniffing as he licks his bottom lip, tongue clashing with metal.

“what the fuck?” your coworker cackled, shaking their head in disbelief.

“hobie, what a surprise.” you sighed, rolling your eyes.

“well you don’t sound too chuffed to see me, love.” hobie tapped his fingernails against the freshly wiped counter, his black polish (which you painted) shinning dimly from the lights above.

“well usually you’re here earlier so I didn’t know if you were coming to bother me or not.” you set an arm beneath you and placed your head against your palm.

“bother? didn’t know that’s what it was.” he shrugged his shoulders, inching his head closer to your slouched figure.

“really? then what would you call yourself?”

“your only source of entertainment. ‘m livenin’ up the place, a bit drab in here ain’t it?” hobie turned to observe the area around him, chuckling at the lack of customers.

“well we are supposed to be closed, bee.” you muttered, turning to place your cleaning supplies into an opened cabinet on your left.

“really? wouldn’t ‘ave guessed that.” he sucked his teeth at the sight of you bent over, nodding his head in appreciation. “why don’t you put that down and come gimme a kiss, hm? been waiting on one all night.”

“yeah, you say that every time you come see me.”

“don’t make it less true.”

#a little smt short #this was inspired by my bkg drabble #found this so cute #I’m getting the hang of writing hobie I feel like ! #hobie brown x reader #hobie x reader #atsv x reader #spider punk x reader #hobie brainrot !

[3minsover]

back on my steddie bullshit fr

Thinking about hope(ful)less romantic Steve driving to Eddie's trailer in the pouring rain to finally confess his love after months of dancing around each other and almost-confessions that crumble on the tips of their tongues before they can become anything real.

Steve finds himself pacing around the ground floor of a house that's too big and too quiet, thinking about a guy who should never, ever have taken up as much of his brain as he currently does. It's a Friday night, and Eddie's most likely out at a gig, or at a bar, or doing nerd shit. He's most likely doing anything but thinking about Steve. And yet here Steve is, entirely preoccupied with the reckless marvel that is Eddie Munson.

Fuck it.

It's been four months since Vecna, and everyone seems to be okay again. It's been long enough that it wouldn't be weird for Steve to make a move, right?

Before Steve can really consider what it is he's about to do, he has his keys in hand and he's heading out towards his car. He doesn't even realize it was raining until he steps out onto the porch, tugging the door shut behind him. And there's not much thought that goes into any of it, really. It's instinctive, the way Steve knows the route to Eddie's place by now. Regardless of the thrashing of his heart, there's an easy kind of familiarity in the sodden streets and jutting roads. Steve's windshield wipers are working double time, fending off the sheets of rain that pile down amidst the humidity of late July; it'd been a cloudless day until the sun set. But like the heaviness of Steve's heart, the clouds had begun to weigh themselves down with water, waiting for the moment where the heft of it all became too much.

Steve hadn't quite beaten those clouds to the punch.

He arrives at Eddie's with really no recollection of how he'd gotten there, only that he needed to see him and nothing was going to get in his way. Eddie's already sitting out on the porch when he pulls up. The dusty ground is darker, saturated with fat, relentless raindrops. Eddie sits on the steps of his trailer, only just covered by the awning. The toes of his sneakers shine with wetness.

"Why are you out here?" Steve asks, clambering out of his car. It's all he can think to say. It's not the words he wants to purge, not the things that have been itching in his throat every time they've been alone together for the last however-many weeks. But it's what comes out.

"Wanted to hear the rain," Eddie responds, a cigarette pinched between his thumb and pointer finger. It's a simple enough response. Shouldn't warrant a reaction. Only, Steve's standing a few yards away, dampening by the moment, and he needs to just get it out.

"I need to- I gotta talk to you," Steve stutters, drifting closer. Eddie's eyes narrow.

"About what?" he asks, clearly skeptical.

"About you. Or, me. Us. I- shit, I used to be good at this." Steve raises a hand to swipe over his mouth: it comes away wet. He's fucking soaked, standing defenceless against the onslaught from above. Eddie flicks the cigarette and the butt lands at the base of the steps. He hinges upright, dropping down a step until the raindrops begin to splatter onto his curls, landing like spits of silver against the glow of the street lamps overhead.

"Good at what?" Eddie calls through the low rumble of the rain.

"Good at- I dunno, confessions? I told Nancy how I felt about her no problem. Robin was a little tougher, but I still got through that, but with you," Steve gushes, entirely unsure as to where he's going with this, "I just can't seem to find the words."

For an impossible amount of time, Eddie stares. His pretty features seem to go through about a half dozen emotions before he settles on something that Steve's soul recognizes as pity. He prepares himself for inevitable rejection.

"You're telling me you can't find the words?" Eddie asks, incredulous, "Dude, i'm a songwriter, a fucking wordsmith, and I've been drawing a blank on you for months!"

Steve squints, a little at a loss.

"What?" he asks, feels stupid for not getting it straight away.

"Steve, I should be able to write songs about the guy I love, right?"

"Well- Yeah- I- Wait, what?" Steve starts before Eddie's words catch up. The rain's growing heavier, beginning to sting his cheeks a little, but he's fixed to the spot, not daring to move any closer. It's Eddie that draws nearer, dropping down the final steps until they're on even footing.

"If you hadn't- If you didn't come over here tonight, I was gonna- I was gonna come to you. I had this whole fuckin' speech planned out - I'm pretty sure it was stupid, honestly, but I wrote it anyway, because I have all these goddamn feelings about you, Steve. And I couldn't find a way to make them sound like anything other than what they are." Eddie's waves are flattening by the second, darkening under the weight of the water falling from above. Steve's heart pounds against his ribs, threatens to break free altogether.

"But I- I came here to- You're- Eddie?"

"Fuck sake, Steve. I'm-"

"Wait." Steve interrupts him, his brain catching up all at once, overfilling and spilling over. "Wait, just let me- Can I say what I was gonna say?"

Eddie folds his arms around himself, chilled by the rain despite the thick warmth of summer around them.

"Sure. Shoot."

Steve heaves in a breath.

"Okay. Eddie. I've been thinking, and you and me, we're good, right? Like, for each other." A droplet of rain catches between Steve's lashes, forcing him to blink it away. Eddie's slim figure remains in front of him, proving that this is real, this isn't some hallucination, some daydream borne of an idle brain. "I think you and me could be something good. Great, even. And I- I- I think I- I know you maybe said it already, and I shouldn't even be-" Eddie strides forward, closing the space between them in a breathless moment. Steve's breath catches in his throat. Eddie's dark eyes dart frantically between Steve's own, so round and wide and beautiful. Steve's so in love with him. "Eddie, I'm- I think I've... fallen in love with you." Steve skates his palms over Eddie's biceps, up and over his shoulders, until he's cradling the sides of Eddie's neck. "Yeah, I'm sorry. I'm in love with you."

Where they're so closely matched in height, Steve's eyes are crossing just to keep his gaze focused on Eddie, who's looking more like the proverbial deer in headlights right now.

"Shit, Harrington," Eddie breathes, and Steve feels it warm against his rain-chilled lips, "took you long enough."

It's a kiss that follows, soft and hesitant, like Steve would do anything but lean into it, like he's anything but head over heels, absolutely and embarrassingly in love. it's a kiss, and it's wet and a little too cold, a little too out in the open, but Steve wouldn't change it for anything.

#steddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #fanfic #drabble #3minsover #twitter crosspost

[moondirti]

8. VICES

CHAPTER EIGHT OF ANIMALIC | MIGUEL O'HARA X F!READER

↼ chapter seven / chapter nine ⇀

summary: a shower, a training session, and a blowjob

explicit (18+) | 5.8k words warnings: enemies to lovers, training arcs, unhinged smut, dubious consent, it's rough guys, blowjobs, handjobs, miguel o'hara is a strict (asshole) mentor, throat-fucking, choking, mentions of infidelity, mentions of starvation, homelessness notes: well. hope y'all still respect me after reading this

The cell doesn’t last long. 

You don’t know what you expected; the terms of your deal weren’t exactly negotiated in full. As a matter of fact, they hadn’t been discussed at all. You’d assumed Miguel agreed based on his reticence – as you’ve come to anticipate from him, a non-answer always means you have a point he’d rather not appreciate. But he’d added little else after the figurative pouring of your soul, his back turning towards you instead, fixing his hands on his waist. And it had stayed that way, up until you were escorted back to the laser enclosure, still as much a prisoner as anybody else.

So, perhaps you were wrong. You convinced yourself that it was okay, that you didn’t have any hope for your own redemption. You weren’t his problem to deal with anymore, not since you agreed to go home. He probably couldn’t see the potential in you, anyway. A string of excuses drawn upon one common line – self-degradation. Tamping yet another pipe dream destined to leave you evermore downtrodden. And that was okay. 

That is, until you were roused from sleep by the scarlet spider much later. It’d been light, a rest on the verge of consciousness, contorted into the most compressed position possible to make use of limited space. In truth, you’d been thankful for it – to be granted a break from the fruitless struggle and, finally, some cue towards your fate. But he led you away from the anomaly imprisonment sector – opposite from the go-home machine you thought would be your adjudicator.

Now, you’re here.

“Was ordered to pull something together from a spare recovery room,” Reilly crosses his arms, giving an approving nod to nothing at all. “‘Course s’not the biggest – not meant to be used for extended periods of time, but I could manage if I were you.” 

You don’t let yourself harbour a reaction, not before he leaves you to your own devices.  

Because, well – it’s perfect.

There’s not much to compare it to, naturally. You’d grown accustomed to sharing a dormitory back at college, cramped in shoebox square footage with your roommate. Then, when your earth had gone to shit, there were no houses left to revel in. The past year since your miraculous escape have found you homeless, huddled under awnings or atop park benches, and by that point, discomfort had found a permanent friend in you. 

Yet–

White asymmetric panelling hems the studio, broken up only by a triangular window that peeks out onto Nueva York’s cityscape. On your right, the wall recesses in to form a bed nook, where fitted sheets hug a thick mattress, two feather pillows stacked at one end. Opposite it hovers a multi-purpose desk, niche’s carrying reusable utensils, bowls, a lamp and a small first-aid kit. 

And it’s all you could want. Gorgeous. Not conventionally so, no; it’s plain and lacklustre with an air of futuristic frigidness. But it’s clean, and comes equipped with an air conditioning system that puts you in control of the temperature you sleep in. It’s a stationary point for you to return to,  no matter the day’s drag – a place to call yours if not home. 

Not to mention, there’s a flat door towards the back, too plain to have caught your attention until you actively look for it. It has no handle, opened with a slight push that releases a latch, and swings outwards. Given the size of the corner, you’re forced to take a step back – which, a more ungrateful version of yourself would’ve marked as a con, but you’re too caught up in the novelty of what you’re led into.

A bathroom. A private, unrestricted bathroom – with a toilet and a sink and a fucking shower. You’re unable to repress the grin that stretches your cheeks, absolutely ecstatic with the – however temporary – development. No more sneaking into gyms to use their bath facilities, fortunes splurged on soap over dinner. You can wash yourself whenever you see fit, not have to feel guilty about deluding expensive memberships or your own hunger. 

(Small blessings; that still-pious part of you succumbs to the sign. You’re being rewarded. You’re on the right track.) 

Immediately, you schedule your night. A shower, first – partly for your excitement, majorly for the necessity. You doubt there are laundry machines nearby, if there’s any at all, so soaking your clothes in the sink should have to do the trick. You have no others, and to ask for more would be testing the grace you’ve been granted so far. Besides, the sheets look sterile – to lay in them bare can’t be the worst option.

Wiggling your fingers, you plug the drain to fill the basin. The garments you shuck off quickly settle there too, crumpled in a way that only exposes all their worn-down qualities. Jagged rips in your jeans, caked gore on your shirt. It’s instinct to turn away once the grime bleeds into the water, dying the once-clear pool with the unsavoury colour of your recent exploits. Harder, however, is trying to ignore the dried slick on your panties, bashfully tucking them underneath everything else. 

Engrossed by the chore, you’re almost taken by surprise by the flash of your reflection in the half-body mirror. It comes suddenly, a shape in your peripheral that looks like it’s in the wrong place. An apparition in a horror flick – darkened, wrapped in bandages and dirt and set with heavy eyes from days of unrest. Your heart rate spikes, stuttering rapidly even as you realise that it is, indeed, you. 

Or – you and Wraith. Both, existing simultaneously. 

Because it is the image you’ve become familiar with. The slope of your cheeks, the curve at your waist. It’s off putting seeing her again after some time; you don’t think you’ve spared a glance for more than half a second since the day of the gala, when you’d sat crouched in front of yourself, swiping gloss on puckered lips. But it’s those same lips that purse back at you now, unchanged. You recognise it all so quickly.

None of it resonates. 

An ugly bruise mars your temple, a yellowing one at your ribs. Your skin is littered with silver scars, or purple, depending on recency, like the two points at your neck where fangs have made their mark. Stark, white gauze circles each arm, one below your shoulder, the other above your wrist. And you’re… less, than you had been – evidence found around your cheekbones, or across your collar. Your flesh sinks into the hollow planes behind bone. When was the last time you’d eaten? 

Wraith. This haunted, cursed figure. 

You breathe through the discouragement. You tell yourself that it’s okay, the words quickly becoming a new mantra. You won’t go as far as to say it’s ambition – but the new sense of purpose that courses through you works to drown it out. You have something to work towards, no longer an aimless soul wandering uncharted realms. Whatever happened, whatever happens – all of it doesn’t matter now that you’re finally setting things straight. 

Your enthusiasm is enough to tide you over, at least, and when you step in the shower, the final dregs of hatred drip away.

White noise accompanies the cleanse. You’re suspended, surrounded by the pitter patter of water splattering down on the tiled floor. It’s overwhelming – the system has been pre-programmed to a common preference, but you find that it’s too cold for you, turning it up to one that singes your exposed form instead. Your lungs tighten, unaccustomed to the steam that quickly replaces oxygen. Hair plasters to your ears. It’s good, though, an appreciated racket. You look for soap and can  focus only on that, the buzz of guilt that constantly occupies you drowned out in favour for more menial tasks.

Of course, that really only leaves room for one train of thought.

You wonder what he’s doing right now. Has he retired for the night, back to a warm home with a partner already drowsy, cushioned in their shared bed? He seems like a family man, the type to have a galley kitchen that breaks open to a dining room, four chairs tucked beneath glossy oak. One supplanted by a high chair, maybe, meant for a squealing babe; because he’s a dad, for sure. You’ve never known Miguel to be tender, but that’s towards you and your criminal disposition. There’s a sort of careful consideration he harbours – like stopping mid sentence, that moniker, Wraith, on his tongue, and opting for something less loathsome when you grimace. You imagine it honed in a gentler setting, fostered by children he adores. 

And his spouse– 

You squeeze a generous dollop of shampoo on your palm, working it into your scalp. 

What is his type, anyway? Dedicated individuals who prioritise discipline over all else? Certainly, he wouldn’t be married to another spider-person, not when their relationship jeopardises his mission’s motto. Someone homegrown, then, a childhood sweetheart who knew him before he became all that. Who continued to love every inch of him as sinew stretched to brawn, the civilian he once was falling out like a baby tooth, fangs spouting in its stead. Unconditionally, or something along the lines. 

You recognise the notion, how important it is for a hero like him. To be tasked with responsibilities beyond human ability, one has to become more. A martyr, a villain when need be. You don’t exactly blame his vendetta against you, but you’ve come to resent the man regardless. Doubtlessly, the sentiment is felt by others he’s put in their place.

So, someone who sees past all that. Miguel O’Hara, as he is behind the mask.

The provided bar of soap is small enough to wrap your hand around. You flip it a few times, lathering it until suds form. It’s unscented, so you imagine what it could be. Patchouli springs up, the most immediate smell in your memory. You have to squash it down, alongside the ache that gnaws your core.

Sulphur, pungent and sickening as it permeates your earth’s atmosphere. 

Ichor and its metallic aftermath, clinging to your tongue. 

The catalogue presented in the last year isn’t exactly pleasant. You push beyond it, settling on a vague cloud that accompanied your college roommate. Her lavender lotion, of which she bought in bulk. You’d smear it over your knuckles and knees prior to class, comforted by the balsamic undernotes. Light, fresh. Your peers would gravitate towards you, divinely feminine, resting their heads on your shoulder when lectures droned on for too long. 

(And you’re aware of how dead they all are, blown to ash because of you. 

You’ll ask for lavender products, perhaps, when you’re sent back.) 

Is it a prerequisite to being a hero – to be loved by someone from before, who sees you for who you are? You have no one, and you’re afraid of what it means for your salvation. The right thing, in your case, is eternal solitude. When it comes down to it, would you be able to accept that? 

Your gut sinks; the answer you come up with is selfish still. No. 

There’s a long way to go until that changes.

(Your skin prickles. The water sprays right through you.

You wait until you phase back in.)

With nothing left to do, you rinse off. You can feel the rot begin to grow on the sanctuary you’ve built, and with hope to return, you can’t have it destroyed just yet. 

Your room is cold when you exit, recycled air nipping your balmy skin. The towel – found folded under the sink for resident convenience – is shorter than you would like, barely enough to wrap around your bust. That is to say, it’s utterly useless at preserving heat. It occurs to you to stand in place and drip-dry, but going to bed damp is asking for a sickness that’ll knock you off course. 

You’re about to check the heater when you notice something strange, lumped by the entrance. 

For all intents and purposes, it looks like a trash bag. Slouched in a teardrop shape, tied off with an expert knot. The colouring is off though – not the plain charcoal you’d expect, but grungier, stroked with a varicoloured grain. It seems to shift, too, flicking between textures; red, yellow, grey with little inked words, as if cut straight from a newspaper. 

It’s so distinctive that you can discern who it’s from; a spider-person expressed in much the same manner. Hobie. 

It’d do well to approach it with hesitation. After all, you have no business with him. The most you’ve exchanged was a thanks, after he’d defended your plea the first time you’d been captured by the spider society. It seems so long ago now, but you recall the comfort his stance had provided, already scared out of your wits by the hoard of stylised people who claimed they were like you. He’d been the only one to see that. 

Sighing, you tear through the side, nails too soft to undo the top. The contents are remarkably plain. Leggings. T-shirts. Packs of underwear and a hairbrush. Long socks, meant for the boots he’d also thrown in. The only article that reflects his personal way of dress is a cardigan, patches haphazardly attached with yarn. In one slouchy pocket, a piece of parchment sticks out. 

(A housewarming gift. Figured you’d need it. 

– HB.)

And it doesn’t feel like charity, as opposed to Ben’s escorting you here. Rather, his genuinity registers through the scrawled handwriting; prompting a tired, thankful smile. 

You do need it. Not just the clothes, but the reminder that you’re not as alone as you might feel.

“You’re late.” 

His voice cracks the silence you’d been walking in up to this point, pitched with an irritation seemingly etched into his being. It takes you off guard – not for its husky quality, that which you’ve grown relatively accustomed to, nor his sudden appearance. No. It’s how he stands when he says it; brashly centre-stage, taking up half of the gym with presence alone. His eyebrow is quirked, lips pursed in an inquisitive line, and you have to cycle over the day’s happenings to land on the invariable conclusion that he, in fact, did not set a schedule for you to follow in the first place. 

“Wasn’t aware there was anything to be early to,” You hesitate, lingering at a bench near the doorway, keeping an eye on him as you lay your things down. The water bottle you’d pilfered from the cafeteria crinkles under your tense grip, condensation licking a frosty trail down your fingers. 

“Would I let you prance around HQ on your own?” 

“That’s being hopeful, but no.” Miguel makes no indication of where to stand, so you continue to amble awkwardly in his perimeter. “Just– A heads up would’ve been nice.”

“And were we given a heads up when The Spider showed up on Earth-15?” He pushes, maintaining the line of questioning that starts to itch at you. You shake your head, doing your best not to tip your chin downwards – with your hands wringing the fabric of your sweats, you already feel like a child, caught elbows deep in a figurative cookie jar. 

Tension plucks at the strings tethered to the both of you. He waits for you to come up with a retort, then sighs when you fail to.

“Part of being a hero is adjusting. Security isn’t in the books for them.” From the lesson, you hang on to his choice of language. Them. Not us. Again, you’re excluded, but it occurs to you that he seems to exclude himself too. “You didn’t expect me today. What were you going to do had that been the case?” 

To exercise sounds beyond stupid, even though your attire and location announce it as the truth. It felt the most logical place to start when you’d woken up this morning, but Miguel is verging on philosophical now, and that’s something you hadn’t planned on at all. You don’t tell him that, though, because it would be asking to be sent home.

“To strengthen my stamina.” 

“What for, exactly?” 

“If I’m going to go back to that wasteland of a world, then I need the power to tough it out.” You’re getting real sick of how incompetent he’s making you sound. “Transportation is entirely contingent on how far I can walk.” 

“Huh. That’s… dumb.” He says, arms crossing over his chest. They’re thick, built like tree trunks, with muscles bulging along their lengths instead of bark. How hypocritical, you think, repressing the shiver that crawls up your spine – it’s clear he works out himself. You’re only as dumb at the way he looks today; clad in those same grey sweats, a compression top sculpting every bit of him. Out of uniform –  like he’d been using the equipment before you got here. 

(Or, he’s dedicated the entire day to training you.) 

“If you have a better idea–”

“Think a few jumping jacks will make you a hero?” A smirk edges his lips.

Your stomach lurches – whether in anger or a more mortifying emotion, you don’t know. “Can you stop with the questions, big guy?” 

He cocks his head, countenance straightening to one more serious. It terrifies you a little, the carmine in his eye, how fast it glints, sharpened with a daring edge. “Okay, then.” Miguel’s stature slacks, an open invitation. “Show me what you’re made of.” 

You regret speaking up at all. 

“Like, on the treadmill, or…?” 

“Pin me down.” He adds, as if it’s the most normal command in the world. Granted, his mind is probably not as far gone as yours. “Three seconds, and you’ll have proved your point.” 

“That’s not–” Fair skids on your tongue. His potential reaction is simple to imagine (‘nothing is fair’), and it’s obnoxious at best. You’ve had your fill of the condescending jabs, wedged to a corner where you don’t belong, ineptitude assumed of you. If his intentions are to keep you there until you give up, then you won’t let them come to fruition.

He starts to shrug, but the dismissal is interrupted by your clumsy resolve. You collide into his abdomen, channelling all your energy into the impact, arms in an arch. It’s made to grapple him by the waist, leverage in overpowering him to the floor. The odds are stacked against you, though. Miguel – twice your size – anchors himself in half the time, hard as stone against the onslaught. And your stance isn’t wide enough, feet positioned in a way that robs you of the necessary stability.

Perhaps carelessly, you press on, pouring everything into your attempt. The sheer force behind your manoeuvre is palpable; you are a spider-person, after all, and your enhanced strength would be enough to put the average human to their grave. But your opponent is far from that – he’s the pinnacle of what you preach, the resistance he musters now an attestation to the fact. 

“Torpe.” 

Your ribs burn with exertion, body still recovering from the injuries you’ve accumulated as of late. In a fluid motion that belies his size, Miguel retaliates, seeing the futility in your struggle. His hands clamp down on your shoulders, warm and vaguely comforting for the second before he flips you off of him. You’re propelled backwards, his shove sending shockwaves through your frame. Your bones rattle when you smack against the wall. 

“That hurt,” You hiss, scrambling to a stand. 

“In case you didn’t know, grace is a prerequisite for this little spider-club.” He ribs, calling to your quip at the quarry. It would be enough to set you off on anyone else, but the humour isn’t lost on you. Not with him. 

“Did you just make a joke?” You start to pace circles around him, assessing the best angle of attack. His head turns to track you, forehead marked with lines from his lifted expression. “As I live and breathe. Miguel O’Hara made a fucking joke.”

“Symptom of imminent victory.” 

“Cocky bastard,” 

“You gonna keep talking?” 

“I recall asking you to stop the questions.” You run up behind him, hoping your footsteps are light enough to not call any attention to your advancement. It isn’t very successful – he catches on quick, pivoting to confront you head on. You’re ready for it though, ducking under his reach to slip to the other side. His back is open, the opportunity presenting itself, and you spring onto his broad back with little contemplation. 

Your arms instinctively wind around his neck, securing your hold, legs thrashing to follow suit. Transformed into a glorified backpack, you stubbornly cling onto him as he attempts to shake you off. 

“¡Qué mierda haces?”

With half your face buried in his hair, you don’t respond, focusing instead on using your weight to throw him off kilter. Or, you want to focus on it. 

But he smells like patchouli, the robust aroma laced in every lock. It’s potent, much more than usual; without the sweat that usually dilutes it, you’re hit full force with every idiosyncrasy. Damp soil, freshly turned earth – rich, like the verdant undergrowth of a forest. You’ve never noticed the touch of leather underlying his cologne, nor its nuanced spice. Now, they worm their way through your rationale, parasitic, eating away at tissue until they find a blooming incurve to settle in. 

Your gut; broiling in that specific way it does when he’s around. It sinks to your core, right where you’re pressed against him, stimulated by the frantic motions of his body. Miguel hooks onto your calves, prying them off, and it’s innocent enough to only make your sudden desire worse. 

“Get. Off." He emphasises, authority compounded into every syllable. His jerks steer you in various directions, spurring nausea that blends in with your desperation. The mix courses through your bloodstream, sickening and, along with your headlessness, allows the slightest weakness to seep into your stance – a crucial opening that he seizes without hesitation.

Your vision swims as you’re capsized, thrown off course and onto the unyielding embrace of the ground. Pain shoots down your spine, the oxygen knocked out of your lungs dissipating into air. It takes you longer than necessary to realise what had happened, gasping for breath until you land on the reality that he had just used your lust against you. But of course, he doesn’t know that. To him, you’d just faltered – a rookie mistake for the rookie you are. 

It’s harmless, then, when he straddles your chest upon impact, knees touching the ground on either side of your head. Pinned in place – a mounted butterfly, captured in the perennial moment of your shameful sin – you’re convinced you’ll die like this. Miguel’s crotch under your nose, rubbing your thighs together to rid yourself of the nagging pressure between them. Wanton for nothing, wanton for him.

And it’s not the first time, a bank of memories coming available at the familiar arrangement. When he’d finally detained you on 15, groyne cleaving your ass while he undid your restraints. That damned kiss, exploring the plush lips that currently curl with a complacent sneer. They’d been so soft, the impression of his fangs just barely grazing past. And how good those had felt, too; your arteries swollen, bloated with venom injected into your neck. Lethargic for hours afterward, unable to do anything to sate the response he’d triggered.

Now, you’re not as powerless. He’s on top of you, doused in some fragrance from heaven, blessed with a robustness you’re sure extends to every appendage. If he is married, how high would fucking him be on your list of transgressions? Surely, it can’t be your worst, though you hope you’re above it at this point. 

(But, if he wants this too–)

You look up at him, mouth parted. It isn’t a request so much as it is an assessment, tallying every suggestive hint he gives. There is none. Instead, he does much the same, catching your scrutiny before promptly looking away to calculate his options on an adjacent wall. 

(The logical part of you can already sense how dreadful this’ll turn out. You’re not thinking straight. 

You hope he succumbs to your debasement.) 

Your hips buck involuntarily, a rip release effect to your rising need. He takes it as a plea to get off; that which he defers to, dismounting your chest. 

No.

You stop him, left hand clamping down on his thigh. Slowly, he sits back, tipping his weight forward, onto the curve where your clavicle plunges to your throat. You can hardly move, diaphragm pinching in a bid for breath, and it’s okay for as long as he stays where he is. 

(Apollo, meet Dionysus.)

It’s gradual – deliberate – when your fingers meander on their trek to his waistband. You skim over his hips, pelvis protruding to border his V-line – which holds prominence, even under the layers of his sweats and boxers. Miguel does nothing; gives no shiver in encouragement, nor an order to stop. He just looks down on you, dissecting the fervour with which you touch him; a woman crazed. 

His shirt is stubborn in rolling up, elastic and tight against his form. You want to feel the way his flesh heats, defined abdomen rolling in eventual pleasure, but it’s a privilege you don’t have in this setting. You’re only able to pull it out from underneath his pants, allowing a sliver of skin to be exposed to your gluttonous gaze. Bronzed, gorgeously brown in contrast to the desaturated colours he’s chosen to don. Drool pools behind your tonsils.

The cords of his waistband unlace when you tug it with your pointer, hinged at the middle. Miguel makes a sound, the beginnings of a growl rolling up his throat. It’s to tease yourself, you want to say – because the fuzz of his happy trail leads down to a darkened bush, and the brief flash will forever be seared into your mind’s eye. Goodness fuck, if your yearning were any worse, that would have been enough to tip you over the edge. It’s been so long since you’ve wanted anything this bad. 

Pining wreaks a foreign mess on your systems. Toes curl within your boots. Lashes quiver with every ruminative blink. Your new panties are doubtlessly ruined, generic cotton soaked through with slick; you’d been so ashamed of it just last night, washing your previous pair in the sink. Now, all you can consider is how expertly he’d test you, calloused thumb running over your clit until he witnesses just how wet you can get. 

(Is it the length for which you’ve gone without this, deprived of your favourite vice? Before you’d discovered the stars, you’d pursued your most carnal desires, jumping from one hookup to the next. 

You didn’t suppose you'd missed it this much.) 

Maybe that’s why you go for him, out of anyone else. Because he’s immediate, the most prominent presence in your life. A convenient outlet, for all your bad blood. He doesn’t stop you, either, his pinky instead grazing your wrist, almost pushing for you to reach in.

If you do, things’ll change. When they had just settled. 

Your dynamic seemed okay to morph into what you needed it to be: mentor, and mentee. But this– 

This is so fucked. You would rather be anywhere else if not seated on his lap, and that’s a level of dysfunction you should be unsure about. Would he even let this progress? Beyond a one time thing, so that it doesn’t become a fixture you’ll always regret? 

(Does it matter?)

You dip into his boxers. 

(So, it is your lechery that negates your need for consideration. Call it thirst, or self-sabotage.)

Shit.

He’s thick, fucking pulsing on your palm, dry and heavy enough to cause considerable trouble when fishing him out. You’re at an adverse angle, twisting your arm to grip the base. Miguel’s hiss thins to a whispered curse, a muddle of Spanish and English that loses legibility as he shifts to help you. Hand swooping next to yours, he cups his balls, hoisting them out of the suffocating fabric. His cock follows suit, slapping his tummy upon release. 

It’s–

Angry. A blossoming shade of purple that grows more vibrant the lower you go, guided by two fat veins that branch along his frenulum. Huge, too – not the longest you’ve had in your mouth, but stocky enough for you to worry about it regardless. You run your nail up its length, doing the maths in your head. 

“Intimidated?” He says. It doesn’t register as proud as he probably intends for it to be, voice too  hoarse, broken by some unspoken lust. 

“Cocky bastard,” You murmur, holding your arm above you in the meantime. He takes a second to understand what your extended hand is for, bowed in a reverent-like appeal. And, even when he does, he pauses, gathering the saliva around his teeth. “Take that as a double entendre.”

He doesn’t laugh, spitting onto your palm, watching as you smear the natural lube around his mushroomed head. It melds with his pre-spend – that which pearls at the tip – forming a pearlescent marker for where your caress travels. Above the glans, rounding to coat down the body, and running out before you reach the root. 

It’s enough, though. Enough to provide momentum to your motions, jacking him off above your face. Up to this point, Miguel has eased his mass off of you, balanced on his haunches – but your ministrations have him losing that awareness, leaning further and further until he all but sits on your neck. His fingers latch onto your head, cradling your jaw in a similar fashion to how he treated your whiplash, each thumb at a cheekbone – waiting for the opportune moment to plunge into your mouth. 

It comes with the hypoxia, his choking straddle clotting the oxygen meant for your brain. What you can see – him mostly, meaty thighs and a lean torso, with a face that screws up with controlled precision – spots as secondary to black vision, your eyes bulging at the edges, struck with stationary blood. It’s opposite to smoke inhalation, that scratchy condition that only grew more uncomfortable the more you coughed. This is debilitating, the last dreg of stimulants you need to embrace your drunk efforts. You’re drowned in a pool where nothing matters except what’ll pull you out – life vest, a buoy, the hefty cock tapping your bottom lip. 

You unhinge your jaw the widest it can go, accounting for teeth and all. Hollow cheeks accommodate his size when he drives in, but your lips still stretch, aching at the corners where thin skin threatens to rip. Immediately, your tongue laps over the dense intrusion, mapping out the patches where he seems most sensitive. Below the head, along the ridge. Right between his veins, if you press down hard enough. Your usher more of it in, stuffing your gullet full of him. 

How does he manage to smell good here, too? Muskier, still, a heady ambrosia of masculinity.

His balls slap your chin, stopping you from swallowing any more. Miguel doesn’t take too favourably to that, however, bending your head to parallel his pelvis and pushing. Your neck aches, spinal plates prodding at where it inclines – the combination of that, the choking, and the swollen head that spears your tonsils makes for a deadly combination. You’ve been doing your damnedest not to gag, clenching your thumb in a fist, but the sound erupts from you regardless. A lewd, wet gluck – tears pool upon your lashes, caught by the thumbs still guiding your face. 

And Miguel groans.

“Mmmf–,”  His hips withdraw, giving you an instant’s respite, before snapping back forward. “Se siente tan bien.” 

“Hnmghh,” You attempt to reply. 

“Filthy fucking girl. So– mierda, always so goddamn stubborn,” He continues, accent curling with a raspy quality, smouldering at its core. “Never listens, never rests.”

You’re unsurprised to hear that what he really feels for you, exposed in this crude confessional, is just more indignation. 

(Does it matter? Does it really? 

He’s fucking your throat like cumming down it will reaffix the spiderverse.)

The gags drop rhythm, snowballing to become a chorus of the most salacious whines you can make, punched in tandem to his thrusts. Saliva coats your lips, bubbling when he withdraws, welcoming him back with the sight of you wrecked, glazed in salty liquids from multitudinous sources. 

You lose yourself to it, squeezing your eyes shut until he urges you to open them back up again, brushing the corner where your skin burns from crying. His brows are pinched, canyons of deliberation formed between them, regarding your debauched expression with something more than the base measures exchanged in the past half hour. 

He pulls out with a pop. You clasp around his dick’s circumference – rubbing over the tip, where his hole leaks a steady flow of prespend – and question him with a keen. You can’t exactly manage anything else.

“Where do you want it?” 

You frown, leading him back into your mouth. Where else?

It isn’t much longer until he carries out the promise. 

The sequence of events is more organised than anything else that’s happened today. You’ve come to recognise it, an expert in unravelling. He jostles your head back onto the floor, stabilising you for when his rear lifts, slanting his cock ninety degrees downward to ram straight into your mouth. You wince, incisors accidentally skimming the surface, which only prompts him deeper in. Your nose squishes onto the coarse hairs of his groyne, soaked with drool, and his balls tighten under your mandible, leaden in an indication of what’s to come. 

You want it, so bad you can hardly gulp in precious breath. Your pupils roll behind your lids. You want, you want.

And finally – for the first time, over the entirety of your relationship – Miguel O’Hara gives that to you. Readily.

He cums. Hard. In throbbing spurts that coat your oesophagus, your molars, the back of your tongue. It’s sweltering, viscous and thick enough to choke you again – you cough up the excess that doesn’t quite fit, sinuses screeching with the overexertion. You can’t gulp, not when he’s still buried in you, so you do your best not to suffocate as he rides through his orgasm. Rope after rope, until he releases you, excess drops splattering onto your nose.

Then, he tucks his softening dick back into his pants and moves off of you.

You swallow, left with a weeping cunt and a swift sobering up.

Miguel proffers a helping hand, meant to lift you off the floor. Swatting it away, you clamber onto your own, unsteady feet, collecting your abandoned things from the bench, and bolt out the door.

What the fuck did you just do?

chapter nine

find a position visual here

follow @moondirti-archive and turn on post notifs to be alerted of future updates!

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara fanfic #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel ohara #miguel x reader #miguel ohara x reader #spiderman across the spiderverse #spider man: across the spider verse #spiderman: across the spiderverse #atsv #spider man across the spider verse #spiderman: atsv #spiderverse #x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #x you #x y/n #x f!reader #spiderman 2099 x you #miguel ohara x you #marvel #animalic #miguel x you

[macabr3-barbi3]

pretty wings- Vox/fallen angel!Reader

https://archiveofourown.org/works/55237840

A Good Samaritan- a rare commodity in Hell- helps Vox to his car in the rain. How can he ever repay her?

Tags: wing kink; angel wings; fallen angels; vaginal sex; couch sex; fantasizing; begging; switching? maybe idk; Vox has a lil crush <3

💙❤️💙❤️💙

How it still manages to rain in Hell when there is no real atmosphere, he would never understand. Vox had never really liked the rain, even when he was alive- all it ever meant was canceled plans, systems going down, deep shitty puddles that got his shoes and pants wet and dirty. Like now, standing off the back porch of the restaurant he had just finished a meeting in, waiting for his fucking assistant to answer his goddamn phone and call a driver for him so he could go the fuck home since he couldn’t walk to his car. 

He had been standing under the awning of the restaurant for twenty minutes now. The rain showed no sign of letting up, his meeting partners had all left, and Vox was fucked. He couldn’t go back inside- what kind of fucking loser goes back into an establishment after paying their tab, and for what? To ask for an umbrella? He’d rather die again. And if his assistant didn’t pick up his phone real fucking soon, someone would absolutely be dying today. 

“Excuse me, sir?”

He sighs internally, sets his charm to its max setting and the brightness of his screen up before he turns towards your voice. “So sorry, doll, I’m afraid I’m all out of time for photo ops today!” 

You raise an eyebrow, and he lets his gaze travel over your form. You looked relatively normal for a demon, your face still pretty human besides the two horns that came off your skull. Your eyes were wide and yellow, a heavy coat draped over your shoulders as you looked at him- not that much shorter, he noted, which was a nice change of pace from talking to Velvette all the time and having to crane basically in half to meet her eyes.

“That’s… not what I was going to ask.” 

He resists the urge to roll his eyes, and can feel his screen glitch on his smile as he watches you. “An interview then? Look, you can contact my people but I am really not in the-”

“What I was going to ask,” you interrupt him, and Vox fights down the wave of annoyance at having been cut off, “was if you needed help.”

His face screws up and he means to immediately deny. “Absolutely not. I’m perfectly fine-”

“Are you?”

And that was going to get annoying fast if you kept doing that, he thought to himself.

“You’ve been standing out here for close to half an hour and glaring at your phone. I don’t think its crazy to assume that you need some assistance with something having to do with the rain.” You look him over, much the same way that he had done to you. “I would imagine that the whole ‘TV head’ thing you have going on doesn’t mix well with precipitation.”

Well, you had him there. “You’re not wrong,” he admits testily. “But my assistant will be sending someone to drive me soon. I’ll be fine.” He flashes you a winning smile.

“I mean, I guess you could wait for your assistant to answer your calls- doesn’t seem like you’re having much luck with reaching them.” You cross your arms over your chest, and- nope, Vox was not going to stand out here in the rain and ogle some random sinner’s tits. He redirects his gaze. “Or you could let me either walk you to your car or walk with you to wherever you’re going.”

He throws you a side eye and sighs heavily, letting his head drop back before rolling an eye down to look at you. “You don’t look like you have an umbrella,” he says, crossing his arms now as well. “How exactly are we getting to my car?”

You give him a smile that shorts a fuse in his head for a moment, wide and earnest and pretty. “Who needs an umbrella?” You shrug one of your shoulders and the coat you’re wearing starts to slide off your shoulders. Vox makes a move to stop the slide like a gentleman, keep the coat covering your body and stop it from slipping into a puddle, when it rises up off your back and comes to cover the both of you. He sees black feathers interspersed with white spots as the bottom comes into view, and he realizes it wasn’t a coat at all.

You had wings. Big, powerful wings by the look of it- the part connected to your back didn’t shake under the weight of the limb being extended over your heads. He stared at them; he knew he was staring, that you might think it was strange, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. It was mesmerizing. Thrilling.

He feels a spark of arousal shoot through him at the sight of them, and his plans change for the night. You’re pretty, and the curves of your body are appealing, but the wings. He wants to explore them. Wants to tease you with your own feathers. To run his fingers over them and watch you struggle to maintain this composure you have. He’s confident in his ability to get you home with him- maybe offer a drink as thanks for your help or something. 

“Sure, I guess you can walk me to my car,” he says, feigning an air of disinterest despite the twitch in his cock. “It’s not every day one meets a sinner so giving- I might as well take advantage!” He sees the flinch that shoots across your face, making your wing tremble, but you straighten up and stiffen your shoulders, gesturing out to the street being beaten by the rain.

“Lead the way.”

He steps out from under the awning and is delighted when your wing does, in fact, shelter the both of you from the weather. You bring the second wing out to block any rain from blowing under the first with the wind, and Vox is fucking obsessed with the subtle muscle of them, the careful strength in the way that you adjust the angle of them to keep him dry. It seems subconscious, the movement of them, as Vox gave you directions to where he had parked earlier when the sky was dry and he had thought he could enjoy a nice walk after his meeting. 

A piece of paper, litter off the ground, comes flying under the shelter you were providing him aiming right for his screen. He brings up a hand to block it- wet paper wouldn’t do any real damage but it was still annoying- when the tip of the wing over your head dips down slightly, catches it with a corner, and flings it off to the side. A drop of water manages to fly off the thing and splatter on his screen. You give him a smile, apology on your lips at being unable to prevent the attack. You turn back to the cars in front of you, looking for the electric blue of his vehicle that he had described to you.

Vox wants you spread out in his bed, he decides. Your wings splayed out behind you in whatever position he decided to take you- he would work with anything. He could trace his fingers over the delicate bones with you on your back as he drilled into you; grab a fistful of feathers while he fucks you from behind, use that leverage to sink his cock into you as far as he could manage; let you unfurl them from your back while you ride him so they cover you both like a blanket, seal yourselves off from the rest of the world and let the only light you see be his screen in the darkness of it.

“Sir?” 

He blinks hard a couple times and realizes that you’ve reached his car, and you’re standing there in the rain illuminated by the few streetlights that reach this back corner. Your eyebrow is cocked at him in amusement, wings still suspended over him. “I think walking you over here defeats the purpose if you don’t actually get in the car.”

“Right, right!” He touches a claw to the vehicle and it roars to life as he grabs the handle and maneuvers himself inside of it. He looks up at you now, the positions reversed, and his breath catches in his throat, cock throbbing. You’re magnificent like this, wings still hanging above you and slightly over the car to make sure no moisture can reach him. The rest of your body is relaxed but he can see it in his head, the way that you would look tense with pleasure, eyes clenched shut and mouth hanging open. 

You give him a smile. “You’re welcome, by the way.” 

The vague chagrin that shoots through him does nothing to quell the erection rapidly growing in his pants. “I was going to say thank you,” he insists, and the way you laugh has him wanting to inject the sound into his fucking veins. “Can I- can I give you a ride home? You know, as thanks for walking me over here, making sure I don’t get waterlogged.”

You look like you’re going to refuse at first but then you shrug. “Sure. It’s not too far, if you really don’t mind.”

Fuck yes! The processors in his head are whirring, wondering how best to convince you to come back to his place on the way to yours. Or fuck, maybe he could just join you at your place. He wasn’t picky about where the fucking happened, as long as it did. He was desperate for it, to have you gasping for him while he plucked at your pretty wings with his cock nestled deep inside your pussy.

The passenger door opens and you enter the car with your knees on the leather seat. He questions it for only a moment before you lean back and shake your wings viciously outside the vehicle, dispersing as much of the water as you can before you sit normally in the seat. You buckle up and give him a sweet smile, pointing a slender finger to the other side of the parking lot where the exit is.

He can’t remember being so fucking turned on before as he puts some music on and starts driving. Sure, he had his fun with Val and sometimes some of his actors between scenes and shit, the occasional fangirl or one of Velvette’s models but just being aroused by the presence of someone? Who wasn’t actively trying to seduce him? Was just sitting in the passenger seat of his car while he drove her home?

It was new, and it was exciting, and God, those fucking wings…

They’re tucked delicately behind you, the black of your feathers contrasting nicely with the deep red leather of his seats. He’d never seen a demon with wings like these before- they were usually attached to the arms of them or draped off the back. More for decoration than anything else; even Val’s wings weren’t so prehensile and flexible, he thought, thinking about the way the tip had dipped down to sling that piece of paper away from him.

“So, your wings-”

“We’re here,” you say with a grin, the car not even having left the parking lot.

“What? I- here? ” He does stop the vehicle before looking over at you, craning his neck forward to look at a building that sat kitty corner to the restaurant he had his meeting in.

“I told you it wasn’t far.” He can hear the giggle in your voice. “How else do you think I saw you standing out here the whole time? I could see the glow of your screen from my window. Figured I would offer a hand since you didn’t look like you were making much progress.”

He stares at you. He hadn’t had time to try to convince you to spend more time with him- to convince you to let him get his hands on those feathers.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

You’re reaching for the door handle when he blurts out, “wait!”

And thank fuck, you do. You look back at him with an eyebrow raised but your hand stops reaching. He clears his throat, fixes you with what he hopes is a suave look. “Let me thank you,” he says. “We can go grab a drink at my place- or I can buy you dinner, if you’d rather do that. Order some takeout if you want to stay home.” Smile wide, he waits for you to respond.

Bells and whistles ring in his head as you buckle back up. “I’m down on one condition.”

“Name it, doll,” is his immediate response, and he’s only a little embarrassed at the speed with which he spoke. “Really, I want to give you a proper show of gratitude- there’s no way this counts. Whatever you want.”

A crooked little smile graces your face. “Can I get your name?”

He can almost feel the error message crawl across the bottom of his screen; he doesn’t know what it says but he watches your eyes follow the scrawl of words, the real reason he knew it was there. “Vox,” he says, holding a hand out for you to shake. “Pleasure to meet you.” He leaves off what is obvious to anyone else- Overlord of Hell, Media Mastermind, TV demon on the fast track to ruling Pentagram city. If you didn’t already know these things then you had to be new- that explained the blatant disrespect earlier, interrupting him, dismissing his words. If you didn’t know he wouldn’t tell you yet. He would win you over and get you onto a horizontal surface without his reputation; preferably with his sharp tongue, strong fingers and thick cock if he had a choice in the matter.

“Vox.” You repeat his name, and it sounds so sweet and innocent that he can’t wait for you to scream it out in ecstasy. You give him your name in return as he pulls out of the parking lot and heads towards Vee Tower.

The silence is comfortable on the relatively short drive, Vox pulling the car into the basement garage of Vee Tower and quietly relishing in the fascinated expression on your face when someone comes to grab the keys to park his car as he leads you to the elevator. “You’re some kind of hotshot, huh?” You ask, lashes fluttering at him in a way that makes his knees weak.

“Something like that, doll,” he says, smile wide while you take it all in. Even just the garage is sophisticated and impressive, and he wishes he could see it through your eyes. He notices your raised eyebrows at the push of the button for the penthouse, but you don’t say anything. “So, your wings- are you some kind of bird?”

A tight smile. “Something like that, doll,” you parrot back to him. “That’s more of a second date question, I think.”

Second date. Was this your first date? Fuck, he should have called his assistant ahead of time and made him get something prepared fresh- gotten some fucking good champagne in- swapped out his comfortable sheets for the silk ones that his bed partners were nuts for even if he didn’t really care for them. But his assistant was fucking useless tonight, evidenced by the fact of your being here in the first place since he couldn’t get a car to fetch him.

Vox might not have met you if he had answered the phone though- so maybe he would let it slide.

He leads you out of the elevator into his home, the lights of Pentagram City casting a lovely red glow over your body. “Nice view.” You stand by it, the white tips of your wings illuminated where the light shone through. He comes to stand beside you in front of the couch, and you give him a pretty smile. “I do have a question though.”

“What’s that?” He has his phone out, firing off one last text to his assistant - "If I don’t hear back from you in the next ten minutes I’m swapping your contract for one of Val’s. FUCKING ANSWER ME” should get his message across- and missing the narrowing of your eyes when you turn back to face him.

“Do you know that you aren’t subtle?” You hook an ankle around the back of his leg and yank, sending him toppling backwards into the couch, his phone hitting the cushion next to you. He has only a brief moment to flounder, wonder what the fuck was happening, before you were straddling his lap, knees on either sides of his thighs and your skirt pulled taut between your legs. “See, I really couldn’t tell if you thought you were. I figured I would ask.”

“What?” He can’t find the power to do anything but watch with his eyes wide while you slide your hands down his chest and settle into his space, the warmth of your cunt palpable through his trousers where you rest against his rapidly hardening prick. “What do you-”

“Ah, you don’t know. Cute.” The word makes him twitch, and when he opens his mouth to protest what comes out instead is a choked off whine as you roll your hips into him. “I like my men a little cute- when they think they’re being so suave and sexy but all they can think about is getting their hands on my body. Or my wings, in this case.” As you mention them you let them puff up a little behind you, spread out ever so slightly so Vox could get a better look. His breath catches- silhouetted by the glow of the city behind you, you were breathtaking. 

“What gave me away, doll?” He could deny, but what was the point in that? The night was already progressing the way that he wanted. You were perhaps a little more forward than he was expecting, but he could work with that. As long as it ended with your pussy swallowing up his cock he would be a happy demon.

You laughed, the sound like a bell in the silence of his place as he settles his hands on your hips. “Besides the blatant ogling of them when I first brought them out and the whole way across the parking lot, you mean? You had an error message in the car running across your screen just here-” You lean down and lick across the lower right corner of his face. “You wanna know what it said?”

“Enlighten me.” He’s amazed he can still get a word out with the blood rushing to his cock, hard length pressed against you where you’re seated on his lap.

“‘Pretty wings,’ it said.” Your fingers come down to undo his belt, whipping it from the loops of his pants. Vox nearly chokes on his tongue when you pull his cock out, already hard and leaking in your hand as you tighten your grip. “Suuuper cute. Over and over.” You lift your hips a bit, shoving your skirt up near your hips and hovering over his length. “I wanna hear it instead of reading it though- can you say it for me, pretty boy?”

You skim his tip through the slickness between your legs, and his brain short circuits when he realizes that you haven’t been wearing panties. “Fuck me,” he manages to laugh out. “Was this your plan the whole time? Play the good Samaritan to get me home so you could ride my cock?”

You shake your head and let yourself sink down the slightest bit, a breathy moan leaving your throat as his head is swallowed by your tight, wet heat. “Not initially. I really was just trying to be a nice person.” You throw him a wink, pulling away when he tries to thrust up and not allowing him to get any deeper inside of you. “Come on now- give me what I want and I’ll give you what you want.”

Fuck, if that doesn’t shoot straight to his prick. “Pretty wings,” he murmurs, letting one of his hands leave your hip to brush against the soft feathers. “They’re beautiful. Strong. Fuckin’ perfect.” With each word you slide down further until you’re fully seated on his cock. “I’ve never seen anything like them.”

“That’s it, baby,” you say, and shift your hips forward to get him where you want him. “You were thinking about this, yeah?” With a downward grind you let your wings unfurl completely, filling his vision with a flash of feathers that blocks the light of the city from reaching him. A ripple runs through them, the tremor rolling all the way from top to tip and the feeling is imitated around his cock, your tight walls rippling.

He doesn’t whine, thank you very much. But a broken drawn out sound does escape his mouth, screen thrown back over the back of the couch. He can’t bare to fucking look at you with how perfect the moment is, the sight and sound and sensation of you stuffed with his cock better than he could have imagined. “I wanna touch them,” he says, but when he reaches his fingers out you wrap your hands around his wrists, surprising strength in your redirection of his palms to your chest.

“Can we say ‘please’, pretty boy?” You let your wings flutter, a gust of wind blowing across his face from the movement, moaning when his prick hits a soft spot inside you that makes you gush around his length. “I’ll let you touch them if you ask nicely.”

His pride fights him for a moment- this wasn’t exactly how it was supposed to go, with him at your mercy instead of the other way around. He had wanted you under him, wings spread across his mattress and feathers fisted in his hands while he fucked you.

“I’ll give you a demonstration of what I’m looking for,” you offer, and then your lashes are fluttering, eyes rolling back into your head and a whine falling forth from your mouth. “Oh fuck, Vox , baby, please.”

Pride flies out the window in favor of the feeling of your cunt clenching around his cock. “Please, sweetheart,” he says, and he lets his clawed thumbs roll over the pebbles of your nipples where you hold him against your chest. “Let me touch them? I’ll be real gentle with you, baby.”

You pick up the pace, releasing his hands and bringing your wings forward, bordering him on either side so all he can see is you. “That’s what I like to hear,” you whisper with a grin, bracing your hands on his shoulders and properly riding him now, the slick sound of your body taking him in echoing in the emptiness of his living room.

He lifts his trembling palms from your chest and brushes the tips of his claws along the bottoms of your wings, feathers gliding softly over his digits- the sensation makes you moan, another gentle ripple running through them. He fists his hands in them, pulling lightly like he might at someone’s hair, and your wet heat pulses around him, pussy tight like you mean to keep him inside of you forever. He wants that- wants to stay buried where he currently is until Hell falls to pieces around you.

His phone rings on the couch beside him, the call taking over his screen moments later. Vox doesn’t want to let go of your wings, having just gotten his hands on them- with a shake of his head the call is dismissed, only to immediately come back and take over his face again. “God fucking-”

You lift a hand from his shoulder and answer the call, a right swipe and a wicked smile leading to Vox’s assistant’s voice filling the space between you and him. “-and I am SO. SORRY. Sir I swear, I have never had my phone on silent like this before-” He continues his rant, and Vox struggles to remember why he was even calling right now- he was fucking busy, damn it, what the fuck.

“-understand that you’re upset, but please, sir, I’ll do better, just don’t send me to Valentino-”

“Better answer him,” you whisper to Vox, dragging your tongue up the side of his screen, hips grinding down. “If I cum before the call ends I’ll leave.”

Graceful fingers slide down your body to rub at your own clit, moaning prettily into the side of his face while his assistant rambled in his ear. Vox was going to fucking combust.

“Just- fuck, man, shut up. It’s fine.” You chuckle into his shirt, deft fingers unbuttoning it and raking your claws down his chest. “ Jesus fuck, I- no, not you. It’s fine. We’ll talk in the morning-”

“But sir if you still need a ride-”

“I fucking found a ride, alright,” he mutters darkly, tightening his grip on your wings in one hand and letting the other trail firmly along the top of it, all the way down to the tip. The feathers seem to shiver in his grasp and your cunt clenches around him, threatens to pull him over the edge with how close you are. “Call me in the morning. Now f̰̰̯͕͊̃̊͞͞͞ụ̴̴̾̀͟͡c̨̨̣̮̝̈́̔ͯ̀͂k̼̼̞̦̞̼̔ o͙͙̙̘̙ͤͫ͞f̰̰̯͕͊̃̊͞͞͞f̰̰̯͕͊̃̊͞͞͞. ”

Voice files corrupted, he disconnects the call, reaches his hands around your back to finger at the base of your wings, the skin there taut and sensitive if the keening groan you let off into his shirt is anything to go by. “Fuck me, you feel divine,” he mutters, and you choke off a chuckle at the word. “Let me feel you, angel, cum on my cock.”

“N- naughty men that don’t say please don’t get to make demands,” you say, and he could tease you, could pull your hand away from your clit and make you hover right on the edge of release. But he was a selfish man, and could admit that he wanted the feeling of you coming undone around him more than he wanted to be right.

“Please, baby, please,” he begs, and you hiss through your teeth at the sound of his pleading, sweet and low, the slightest hint of static to his voice. “God, fucking d̶̵̯̯̼̘ͨ̓o͙͙̙̘̙ͤͫ͞ i̧̻̻͉̜͑ͪ̾͟t͖͖̠̬͛, please, l- let me w̡̻̻̣͚̒̀ͅo͙͙̙̘̙ͤͫ͞ṛ̣̬̫̍͌ͩ͟s̨̞̞̰͎͎̪̩͕̈́̀ͯ̍ͧͅh̨͚͚͖ͯ̒̄͗͞i̧̻̻͉̜͑ͪ̾͟p͔͔͚͉̬̋ͩ̾͗ y͙͙̪̰ͫ͌́o͙͙̙̘̙ͤͫ͞ụ̴̴̾̀͟͡-”

““Oh fuck, Vox, baby, please-” Less sarcastic this time despite the half formed smile on your face, and the teasing lilt to it is ruined by the clenching of your eyes as you clamp down on his prick and cum, fingers of the hand not frantically rubbing at your clit digging into his skin while you shudder and shake in the embrace of his arms. 

He follows you moments later, the tension he had felt since meeting you outside the restaurant finally cresting and crashing, and he spends himself inside of the slick grip of your cunt, still riding him with the effort you can spare after the force of your orgasm before eventually slowing. You take your fingers from your clit, circle them around the base of his cock and collect some of your combined releases before bringing them up to his mouth, pushing inside and letting Vox’s tongue wrap around the length of them.

Fuck. You would be the death of him, he was sure.

“Not bad,” you mutter once you’ve collapsed bonelessly against him. “Might need a couple more rounds to really show you the ropes though- really get it through your screen here who is in charge.”

“That’s not you, doll.” Vox laughs, and you bring your wings up to surround the two of you like a fort, the glow of his screen illuminating your face and the teasing smile you wear.

“I guess I could be willing to share,” you agree, leaning forward far enough to press a teasing kiss to the plastic of his face. “We can talk about it tomorrow after you reassure your little assistant that you’re not going to murder him.”

“Still thinking about it,” he muses, “but we’ll see.” He runs his fingers again along the bottom of your wings, delights in your shiver, and wishes the rain would never stop.

#hazbin hotel #ao3 writer #ao3 fanfic #hazbin vox #x reader #vox x reader #hazbin hotel vox #vox the tv demon #my stuff <3

[the-californicationist]

Sending hugs as always!!!! Soooo, another request with no rush intended. Not sure if you are familiar with “Cool.” Gwen Stefani song and video. Love lost but no love lost. Rainy days and nights. He sees you with your “new” love. All the memories come rushing back, and he has to have you!!!! Dripping wet in his fit!! Maybe he tries to sneak away with you?! You’re the genius!! Still loving your Fluff and Stories on AO3. Thanks always!! ❤️💜

hey babe!! love this ask. sorry for the wait! <3 <3 trying to get out chapter 2 of bear price before the weekend, but this one just wouldn't leave my WIP station, so i had to get it done. very cool premise. hope this comes close to what you wanted!!

Cloudy, with a Chance

John Price was not having a good day. He’d had worse days, to be sure, but as he trudged through yet another puddle, soaked through with this torrential rain, freezing to his bones, he thought it had turned out pretty bloody bad. 

For one, he couldn’t get you out of his mind. Your laugh and the stuttering hello of your voicemail greeting were taunting him like a vicious demon, and every time he brought himself to pleasure, it was your sweet moans that flooded through his mind. He’d also come back from the field to find his truck broken into and his storage unit payment almost three months overdue. Getting all of his belongings back in order had been a real fucking drag. None of this would’ve happened if you were still there.

But, you weren’t. 

You’d left him before his last tour, and that was almost six months ago. He could still hear your complaints in his mind, clear and orderly, like a list of commandments:

I’m tired of being left alone, John!

I can’t keep wondering if every phone call is about to tell me you’ve died.

You promised you’d be here for me, and you’re not. 

I’m not stitching up another bullet hole. I can’t.

How much more of yourself are you going to give them? They don’t deserve you.

What if I need you? 

It had been a rough tour. He’d called you a few times, and when you’d answered, the guilt rent through his heart like a stake. 

“John? What’s happened? Are you alright?”

“Aye, I’m fine. Lads are fine. Just… I needed to hear your voice.”

“It’s alright, John. I’m here.”

And you had been. You were still there for him. Sometimes, when he got your voicemail, he thought he’d reached the end of your generosity, but that wasn’t the hardest part. No, the worst thing was coming home to empty drawers and his toothbrush, lonely in its glass, all by itself. 

As he sheltered under the awning of a Nero’s coffee shop, he tried to get his bearings, deciding whether or not to wait out the storm. It was only by chance that he glanced into the window at Capello’s, and it was only by chance that the waiter had sat you and your date in the window seat. 

His breath caught in his chest when he realized it was you, and his shock turned from yearning to sadness to rage in the blink of an eye. Who was that muppet with his bloody fuckin’ hands all over you? You were his. 

Except you weren’t his. Not anymore. 

No, fuck that. 

He marched across the street, paying no mind to the honking traffic. A brief argument with the maître d' and he was through to the dining room. 

“John?” Your voice had an edge of panic, and your eyes were focused on him as he dripped his way across the carpet.

In fact, all eyes were on him, but he didn’t care. 

Your date looked more than a little put out, but when he started to stand up, Price grabbed his shoulder with no small amount of cruelty and shoved him back into his seat. 

“What’re you doin’ here, love? You fuckin’ hate Capello’s.”

“I don’t…” You looked around, lowering your voice, trying to get him to match your volume, “I’m on a date, Jonathan.”

“Don’t be stupid. You need to come home. I can’t do this without you. I can’t do anything without you, and I don’t care who bloody knows it. I need you, love. Please.”

“You can’t keep doing this! I deserve to have someone who is there for me when I need them to be,” you raised your voice again, frustrated by his words. 

Good. He liked it when you got all worked up.

“And you think this muppet can do more than me? Please.”

John rolled his eyes. The muppet tried to protest, moving to stand up again, only to be shoved back into position. 

You took a deep breath, and you tried not to notice just how small your date was compared to your ex-boyfriend. John towered over him, and his thigh was more than twice the size of this guy’s bicep. Seeing John’s huge hand covering this man’s frail-looking shoulder kind of gave you the ick for your date. 

You also tried to ignore your captain’s field-hardened body. He always came home so much more muscular, and so much larger, than he looked when he left. He was still soaking wet from the rain, drenched in his hoodie and tac-jacket. His canvas pants clung to his skin, leaving almost nothing to the imagination. But, that didn’t matter. You were imagining it anyway. 

What you couldn’t ignore was that cold, blue hunger in his eyes. His beard had grown out, and the scruff combined with his long hair, all raked back under that disgusting boonie hat, were doing things to you that made you clench your legs together, becoming acutely aware of how every piece of fabric felt as it touched your body, and you knew exactly how it would feel when he ripped it off of you. 

“Uh, hey. Listen, mate —” The date tried to protest weakly. 

“Shut up,” you and John spat at your date at the same time. 

John smiled at that, warming himself in your fire,

“C’mon, love. We’re leaving.”

He tossed a few wet hundred pound notes down on the table, not giving a shit if it was enough or not, and lifted the open bottle of wine from the ice bucket. His gaze fell to your date for a fleeting second, and he said, 

“Cheers, mate.”

His hand grabbed yours and helped you from your seat, leading you outside. Once he had you back in your coat, he took you out into the rain, keeping his warm palm planted on the small of your back, and he didn’t say one single word to you until you were back in the foyer of his flat, dripping onto the marble tiles, panting and breathless in the quiet entrance, listening to his keys jingle in the lock. 

“Let’s get you dry, love. Then,” he was breathless from the rain and from something else, “We’ll get your things. Put them back where they go, yeah?”

You nodded dumbly, shivering from the cold,

“Yeah. Okay, John.”

“Get inside, love. That a new dress?”

“Mmhm,” you let him towel you dry in the entrance, feeling how strong he was even though you knew he was trying to be gentle with you. 

“Take it off.”

His voice had a tone that made the hair on the back of your neck stand on its end. You followed his command almost immediately, feeling your body rush with shock and excitement. 

John caught you by your arms and shoved you against the wall in the foyer, his eyes bearing down into you with a fiery intensity you’d never seen. He spoke through his teeth, gravelly and dark, full of warning,

“You belong here with me. I don’t want any more dates. I want you to be mine, and I bloody well want to be yours. Let me.”

“Alright, John,” you whispered, holding your breath, nervous and waiting.

“Don’t,” he pressed his forehead against yours like he had a fever, “Don’t say yes unless you mean it, love.”

You pushed his head back with yours just enough to reach his cheek. You kissed it as softly as you could, moving down his jaw and onto his neck, feeling his blood rush through his veins warming his skin beneath your lips. 

His hands fell away from your arms and you grabbed his hands, holding them in yours, still speaking to him in a low whisper, not wanting to break his spell,

“I’m yours, John. You’re all I have thought about for six months, and I don’t want to be without you. I don’t know what I was saying…”

He grabbed you on either side of your face and kissed you deeply, pushing his body into yours, grinding his wet clothes into you, and not caring a bit about the puddle on the floor,

“Shh. You’re mine. That’s all I need to hear.”

You looked into each others’ eyes and got lost for a moment. The blues of his irises were icy and sharp, tracking your every movement, your every breath. His sudden command pulled you out of your trance, 

“Take off your dress.”

John watched you as you slipped the straps off your shoulders, revealing your bare breasts to him, your nipples pebbled from the cold, damp cloth. It fell, cascading down your body, showing off the black lace panties you wore underneath. Your strappy heels kicked the gown away from you, and you squirmed under his scrutiny,

“Were you gonna show him these?” John’s fingertips grazed the panties right above your clit, making little petting strokes with the back of his hand. 

“Yeah,” you lifted your chin, challenging him, willing to face his jealous wrath. 

“Yeah?” John growled, taking your bait, fisting your dripping hair in his hand and forcing your head back, baring your smooth neck to him, “On a first date? You must have been hungry for it, love.” He taunted you, touching your lips through the lace. 

“Second date…” You flashed your eyes up at him, knowing he would snarl, and he did. 

“Second… Mm,” John grabbed the panties by the front fabric and ripped them from your hips with one cruel tug. You gasped, and he caught your mouth with his, kissing you as his fingers found a different kind of wetness pooling between your legs, “My poor darling. You know he wouldn’t be enough for you. You’d have been so… fucking… disappointed...”

With every word of his last phrase, he thrust his fingers inside of you to their knuckle, lifting your body as he did so, his strength fully apparent. 

“Did you miss me?” He asked you quietly. All the anger was gone from his tone, and a somber desperation was back. 

“Yes, my love. I did,” you kissed him as sweetly as you could, telling him the truth. 

“Fuck,” he grimaced, “I missed you.”

Suddenly, you were airborne, lifted into his arms and being carried into the adjacent kitchen. He sat you on the counter, shoving stacks of unread mail and keys onto the floor. You helped him strip off his wet clothes, pulling his hoodie and his jacket from his back, watching with admiration as he tugged off his undershirt, revealing his damp, furry chest, all of his dark hair laying matted against his skin. He was tanned and burned from the desert sun in odd tan lines, proof of his work, and your hands felt his sculpted form with joy, exploring all of him with abandon. 

You knocked off his boonie hat and watched him rake his hair back again, trying to keep it out of his face. It was straight in the front, but it began to curl when it reached his ears, wild and unkempt. 

Then, you heard the buckle jingle, and that familiar tool of his fell from the open folds of his pants. It was just as you had dreamt it, heavy and large, throbbing and flushed, excited to see you. He dipped the head of it into your lips, rubbing himself back and forth through your wetness, making you moan. 

“Oh, fuck… There you are. My girl. Needed you. Fuck, I needed you.” He wasn’t talking to you. Not really. He was sort of lamenting aloud, lost in his selfish thrusting, slicking himself in the softness of your body, bumping your clit on the way up and teasing your hole on the way down. 

Finally, he positioned himself at your center, carefully aligned with your tight opening, and he commanded you once more, 

“Spread your legs for me. Show me. I wanna see you… that’s it. So damn pretty.”

“John, please…” You begged, touching yourself, trying to show him how ready you were. 

He chuckled, pressing just the tip of his head into you, making you writhe,

“Whose pussy is this?”

“Yours…” You whispered, feeling particularly naughty about this call and response. 

“Whose!” He got in your face, close enough to kiss you but holding himself back, his voice louder and more forceful. 

“Yours! It’s yours. Please, fuck me, John,” you pleaded, gasping from being so near to your release and not being able to reach it. 

“Mine,” he thrust himself into you and watched you fall apart, feeling you pulse around him uncontrollably, “My fuckin’ pussy. All mine.”

He found a rhythm, but it was punishing. You had orgasm after orgasm pulled from you cruelly. There was no lovemaking. He was claiming you. You were familiar with his need after his tour, especially if it had been particularly difficult, but six months of not knowing if he’d ever see you again had made him rabid. Each thrust was like the touch of a glowing brand, marking you as his, reminding you of where you found your pleasure. 

You were not in control, not anymore. Any of your goading or teasing was immediately quashed by his dominance. You were just  a mixture of screaming bliss and sopping, milking noises, made by his effort between your legs. 

Frustrated that he couldn’t fuck you deeper, he pulled you from the countertop and down onto the cold tile floor. You were crawling onto the soft kitchen mat on your hands and knees, trying to catch your bearings when you felt him position himself behind you.

He grabbed your hair and pulled you into a high arch, shoving his fat cock back into you, sighing with relief as he did so, praising you in muttered, grunting words. 

He began to slam himself back into you, somehow feeling harder and thicker than before, filling you up to your limit. 

“Fuck!” You moaned, “Fuck…”

“Is that what you needed, love? Hm?” He leaned his body over yours like a hound, whispering into your neck.

“Yes, yes, yes yes…” You could barely breathe. 

“Needed your man, didn’t ya?”

“Yes, please…” Whatever words came to mind, you said them. You didn’t care. You could barely put a coherent thought together much less a full sentence. 

“I’m gonna fuck you like this until you can’t even remember his goddamn name.”

You smiled, cock-drunk and high from your repeated pleasure, peeking at him over your shoulder,

“Whose name?”

He laughed like a demon, fucking you faster, chasing his end,

“That’s my girl.”

When he lost his steady, pumping rhythm, he began to let out a barking shout, and you felt his come begin to drip from his body and into yours, heating you up in your core. He pushed his cock through it, frothing it inside of you, letting it drip down his shaft and coat his hair. 

He fell out of you, sitting back on his knees, pulling you into his lap with his last ounce of strength, and leaned against the kitchen cabinets, legs spread, holding you to his chest. John was breathing hard, his eyes shut. You reached up and touched his bottom lip, earning your fingertips a soft kiss. 

John opened his eyes and looked down at you, holding you close, begging you,

“Don’t leave me, baby. Please. Don’t leave me alone.”

“I’m not going anywhere, John. I’m right here,” you told him, petting his chest in comforting strokes, breathing hard with him.

“Stay,” he whispered, so low you almost couldn’t hear him, “Please, stay.”

You kissed his neck and whispered back, 

“I’ll stay. Forever. I promise.”

Your tired captain pulled you tighter into him, leaning a sweaty cheek against your forehead, smiling slightly, finally at some kind of peace.

AO3 Link

#call of duty fanfic #cod mw2 #cod mwii #captain john price #cod #john price #captain price #captain price x reader #captain price x you #call of duty #x female reader #john price x female reader #captain john price x female reader

[pascalsbby]

Little Bunny

Javier Peña x you

Summary: 2.1K Javier mistakes you for someone looking to make money. He doesn’t know that your dad is his boss - Or - Extremely frisky Javier gets bratty reader on her knees and takes what he wants <3

Warnings: 18+ mdni, SMUT, age gap, flirty and sweaty Javier, face fucking, he takes what he wants, dominate & aggressive, darkish!javier, pet names, praise kink, dirty talk <3

Based on this ask from @justlulu : Hey, I LOVE your dark content 🩷 I was wondering if you write for Javi Pena too, and also if you take requests?

I do take requests!! Thank you for your kind words. This is my first Javier post. Please comment and let me know what ya’ll think! 🤍

You wanted his huge hands to pull you up to his mouth, light you on fire and suck whatever he needed from you. You’d burn for him, one look in your direction and you were sure.

°:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *₊.• ♡ °:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *

The store’s bell rings as the door opens, letting in more of the unforgiving summer air. Along with it comes a broad figure, cast in the shadow from the awning. A quaint “buenas,” was directed towards the register as the fluorescent lights flickered, taking him in too. The artificial glow on his sweat-covered skin dropped down the collar of his shirt. It was a darker pink, unbuttoned and covered in his swelter. Leather jacket atop.

You knew what he was right away. In the way he walked, scanned the room before even stepping two feet inside of it. This town was full of them. You knew who he was a few moments after. He turns towards you, eyes hidden behind yellow aviators. They were one of three prominent features gracing his face, the others being his nose and neatly trimmed mustache. Each guided his presence with a dignified assurance, leaving an indelible mark on anyone fortunate enough to gaze upon his countenance.

In other words, he was fucking beautiful. And he was fucking delusional if he thought the Ray Bans weren’t going to set him apart from the general public. They were his staple and they screamed, “I’m probably a fucking DEA agent.”

You’d heard of him too, Javier. Or Peña, in the stories your dad told you. “You could never tell anyone these things mi vida, I tell them to you because I want you to be safe while we’re here.” You’d spent too many times looking at the pictures on his desk, the ones he had put in front of you stating, “puedes confiar en estos hombres si lo necesitas.”

“You can trust these men if you need to.” Is that so? Since when have you been able to trust any man? Especially ones who look like that in a pair of fitted blue jeans. Especially ones who take you from everything you know and move you to a different country in order to ‘make sure you’re protected’.

The store was mostly empty besides you- and now him. His presence was heavy, not easy to ignore. He looked too pretty- and he looked like your next game piece.

His cologne immediately filled the air and was followed by what an entire pack of cigarettes must smell like. You wanted his huge hands to pull you up to his mouth, light you on fire and suck whatever he needed from you. You’d burn for him, one look in your direction and you were sure.

Javier must have felt you eating him up and you blush, feigning casual interest in the snacks in front of you. But he smirks as his lips part, catching you starring. “No he visto a nadie tan hermosa como tú en mucho tiempo.” Fuck.

He was in front of you, having already looked you up and down as he walked towards you. What a dog.

“I’m sorry?”

“Ah,” he chuckled, looking around. “You speak English.”

“I do.” At least you used to, before he spoke to you and you had to crane your neck upwards to meet his eyes. He had taken his sunglasses off at some point, you were too enamored by his waist to see much else.

“I said, ‘I haven’t seen anyone so beautiful in so long.’”

He swiped his thick thumb across his pouting lips while he waited for your response. That usually works, huh?

It did.

He was flirting with his bosses daughter. He had absolutely no idea who you were, where you were going after this. The power that you yielded, simply from the last name you held. You quietly laughed. He must think you’re full of information, by how hard he’s trying. Why wouldn’t you want to be full of him? He was trying to get something from you.

His demeanor shifted as he waited for a response. Not towards embarrassment, he doesn’t seem the type. More so towards, ‘Fuck. Maybe I came on a little too strong.”

You open your mouth, contemplating what to say next as your eyes return to his. A spark of something…lust? Recognition? No.

His gaze flickers before he turns his attention back to the snacks. He knows that this is the most important part of the conversation.

“I was thinking the same when I saw you walk through that door.” You surprised him. He sat down the crumpled bag and looked back at you.

“Is that so?” He started, but you interrupted, not wanting him to keep the conversation going and figure who you were, how young you were, that you weren’t worth a shit when it came to flirting. That you weren’t someone who couldn’t be an informant.

“Can I have one of those?” You pointed towards his crotch, meaning his back pocket where his tattered box of cigarettes sat against his ass. You watched as his smile spread, laughing beneath the deep breath he takes as he pulls them out and smacks them flat against his wide palm. He picks one and hands it to you.

He lowers his voice as he steps even closer. “You can have whatever you want, conejita. Let’s take this outside.”

You looked down at his fingers and imagined what they were capable of, how long they were. All of the spots inside of you that they could caress. You took the cigarette and looked into him.

“Let’s.”

You imagined Javier liked to keep his outside of work activities on the low. His dirty little secrets were easier to keep when he hid them behind the facade of work. Of doing good for the world. They also happened to do well with his cock. You wondered if he paid them, too.

Of course he does. He’s a gentleman. ‘Someone to rely on’.

You put it between your lips as he dug in his other pocket for his lighter. “How can you fit anything in those? Let alone find anything.”

“Hey, these jeans don’t look good on just anybody, baby.”

Baby.

You huff and he falls back, scrunching his eyebrows towards the setting sun as he lights his own cigarette, first. What a gentleman. The fine lines of his face soften after he takes a long hit.

His hands ghost your face as the click of the lighter ignites and the fire burns closely to your face.

“What’s your name, anyways?” You ask, pulling in the burn.

“Peña.”

“Do you have a first name? Or is the last one just cooler?” He smirks.

Both of you sat in silence for a moment, looking around the street at the children playing.

“S’not too safe for you out here right now.”

“Why’s that?”

“Mierda, eres difícil, ¿no? Just trust me.” He huffed out a laugh.

So you did. There were eyes everywhere, if need be. You said what he had been pining for the entire time.

“So take me home then, Peña.”

He wasted no time walking you to where he was staying, the warmth of his palm not leaving your lower back until you made it to his front door. He had been trying to get small things out of you during the stroll. Where were you from? Why were you visiting? You didn’t give him much and you could tell it was bothering him. Every once in a while he would look down at you, his breath falling right into the ticklish spot on your ear. You wanted him.

It didn’t come as a surprise to either of you when he guided you in the door, shut it quickly and then grabbed the back of your head, moving his lips against yours.

He was soft and gentle, but his grip in your hair was stern- he’d seen the world, felt it. Watched it bleed, be unmerciful. He kissed you on your lips, then once on your cheek as an apology for not being able to contain himself. He kissed between your collar bones, lovingly, moving down to your breasts.

“How old are you again?”

“20’s. Old enough.” You were breathless. His lips were kissing at your sweat.

“Mhmm,” he moans against your skin.

“Gonna have to fuck it out of you, aren’t I?”

“I don’t give away information for free, Peña.”

“Get on the bed mi conejita.” He growled. For his line of work, he wasn’t very patient.

It was dark in his room, and the entirety of it smelled of him. You wanted to sink into his sheets and cover yourself in him. You made your way to the bed in the right corner of the room, the only light from the orange streetlights, barely on from the newly descending darkness.

He had been a flirt since the moment he opened his mouth, but he saved himself for the darkness. You prop yourself up, sitting at the middle edge of his bed with your feet on the ground, waiting for instruction. He seems like he’s the type who wants to be in charge.

His shirt is off quickly, and the amber light hugs the curves of his chest, his hips. His lips touch exactly what he wants them to, nothing more. You wanted them to wrap around you like they had his cigarette, before.

His nose kisses you, too. He kisses like he never will again. And he doesn’t, not really. Not many people have touched his lips, as compared to the rest of him.

He’s an angry man, it runs through his veins, and you can feel it in his force. But he wants so badly to be calm, still, soft, in the way he caresses you. How can you not be angry at the world when you’ve seen what he has?

The thing is, you have. Not to his extent, surely. But you’d seen a lot pass your dads desk.

“Now tell me, cariño, what do you need to give me what I want?” You scoffed as he pulled away, removing his arms from either side of you on his bed.

“Tell me your first name and then let me suck your cock.”

Who was winning at this game?

You pushed him forwards and made enough space in front of him for your body, as you slid down to your knees, hitting the hollow wood harder than anticipating as you unbuckle his belt. You go ahead and take it all the way off, kissing his stomach as you fidget with his zipper. His hair peaks out over the top of the layers as you impatiently pull his jeans lower.

He’s so hard that it’s making it difficult to take them off, cock pressing against the tight denim. He gasps softly as your hand reaches him. You pull his already showing head out of his boxers, licking your lips before wetting his tip and licking up anything he was already willing to give you.

“Javier,” He gasps his own name.

“Mmm,” you moan as you hold it in your hands. It’s heavy, long. His balls are heavier as you grasp them, only imagining the sound they’ll make slapping against your cunt.

You’d teased him enough.

“Javier,” you were whining now. He groaned at his name on your tongue, mixing with his precum.

“Hush and open your throat.”

You pushed your wet tongue into the bottom of your mouth, opening your lips wider in attempt to take him easily. But this wasn’t going to be easy, considering the size of him.

You let the saliva pool in your mouth and he lifts an eyebrow, asking for permission. You look up at him and nod.

Immediately his hand are in your hair, moving them around as he finds the right grip to fuck himself into your mouth.

“Too big baby? I thought you were a big girl? Old enough? That’s so cute, it’s not even all the way in. Let’s see if you can do it, hmm?” He lifts his head and it falls backwards as he takes your throat completely, your neck and body jumping at the intrusion. You find yourself lifting your hands to his hips, trying to find anything to hold onto as he fucks himself down your tongue and into the back of your mouth.

“So pretty, little bunny.” Finally revealing the nickname he gave you. “But I’m not finished yet.” You sputter around him, opening your throat even wider.

Your knees are carrying a dull ache, and you almost wish you hadn’t asked to suck him off. You remove yourself from him and attempt to catch your breath.

He continues carving out the shape of his cock in your throat and you relax, letting his angry head hit the back of your neck.

His voice is so deep, vibrating even, but his whimpers aren’t as they slip past his lips. He’s ruthless in his attempt.

“All done, sweet thing?” He pulls himself from your throat and looks at the connecting spit.

“I’m not. If this mouth isn’t gonna tell me what I want to hear than I might as well fill it as I see fit, yes?”

°:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *₊.• ♡ °:. *₊ ° . ° .• ♡ °:. *₊ ° *

Masterlist

Ya’ll, I saw this ask, thought about Javier smoking, and then this happened within 45 minutes…

#javier peña #pedro pascal #javier pena x you #narcos #dark!javier #smut #javier pena smut #javier pena x y/n #javier pena #javier pena fic #joel miller #tlou #joel miller x you #the last of us #joel miller fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x y/n #agent whiskey #female reader #pascalsbby

[ghoularaki]

sought heaven in you (but i found hell)

↠  summary: Losing your older sister, Emma, took a toll on both you and your half-brother, Mikey. As children your relationship was estranged, but after running away and years passed, Mikey wasn't going to let you out of his grasp again. Even if it meant lending you out to other men for the sake of "protection."

↠  word count: 20,750

↠ pairing: sano manjiro x reader, slight kakucho x reader + bonten trio x reader

↠ genre/warnings: smut, angst, bonten au, DARK CONTENT, yandere, incest, sibling abuse, abuse of power, drugs, alcohol, emotional and sexual abuse/assault, sex work, blood, guns, slight suicidal thoughts, reader is described with having visual bruises. NSFW (NONCON, fingering, pussy slapping, mentioned fisting, spanking, belt used as leash, choking, bondage, riding, exhibitiobism/voyeurism, possessiveness, unprotected sex, little aftercare)

↠ a/n: this is for @killsaki's collab. also take this as an apology for disappearing for a month, i offer you nii-chan porn in exchange for forgiveness

Rattling breaths polluted the winter air. The oxygen shuttered in your chest as you quickened your footsteps. The awning of the train stop was right in view.

Flurries of snowflakes clouded your vision, highlighted by the street lamps that guided your path. Night blanketed you. Gripping the backpack in your stiff hands, you try as you may not to look over your shoulder. 

You never knew fear like this before and you clung onto it to remind you of why you were here, in the dead of the night. As if Fate was watching over you as you groaned in relief at the awning a step away, the click of a gun being cocked was right behind you.

“Don’t make this difficult, Y/n.”

CONCEPTION 

"Again?" A voice called.

Deep in the room where ruffled bed sheets are were a reminder as to why you were shaking. Your throat was tight and achy. This wasn't the first time a client got violent, but it was the first time they were able to get a hit in.

You clenched your eyes as their blood was still warm on your hands. The memory was hazy as one moment you were flirting with them and the next they had slammed you against the desk with taut hands. Eyes almost bulged out of your head as you scratched and spit to get him off you. With a free hand, you scrambled against the desk for anything to get them off. A book or even a paper weight would suffice, but your desperate fingers gripped onto a letter opener. 

The same primal, vicious instinct pulsed through you as the man killing you as you jammed the letter opener so far into his neck you heard the squelch of metal hitting tendons. He stumbled back in shock as he tried to cradle the wound as he rapidly bled out. His mouth was left agape just as yours. You cradled your throat as you coughed and greedily breathed in air. 

As he collapsed, you screamed so loud the sound still haunted the room. At that, Kakucho burst in. 

"What the fuck is going on?" He barked.

The scene in front of him answered his own question. He spied how you were still clutching your weapon, blood running down your hand from your forearm and the same red liquid splattered on your face. Your eyes were wide and terrified.

"He- I'm- He tried-" You stuttered out.

Kakucho went to the dying man and pulled him up. "You aren't getting out of this so easily."

You had no idea if those words were targeted towards you or the man. Whatever it was, Kakucho helped the man get medical attention. The blood leaving a stain on the expensive carpet was neglected.

More men filed into the room to clean up the mess with Kakucho instructing them to make sure the man was tended to. You stayed at the desk, not moving, not blinking and barely breathing. Time whizzed past you as Kakucho finally came to check on you. 

He took the letter opener from your hand. You let him pry open your twitching fingers, fluttering like a dead butterfly's wings. Gripping the side of your head, he directs your attention to him and not the tainted floor. Your pupils sluggishly met him, keeping your focus on his non-blind eye. By now, only you and Kakucho were in the room. Taking the opportunity to be alone with you, Kakucho held you to ground you back to Earth.

“You know this has to be reported to Mikey, right?”

Tears bubbled into your waterline, chest hiccupping. As the adrenaline crash was setting in so did the realization that you just fucked up an arms deal that was in the works for weeks now. You were doomed.

“Don’t tell Mikey,” you begged in spite of how raw your throat was.

Kakucho was about to open his mouth when a voice cut him off. 

“Don't tell me what?” 

Speak of the devil and he will arrive. Mikey came from behind Kakucho standing in the doorway. Sometimes you think he does this on purpose as punishment, punishment that it was Emma and not you. You peer over to him from where he stands in the doorway. Despite his small frame, his presence polluted and took up the area.

No matter what you did, you could never rid yourself of him. 

Kakucho drew himself away from you and let Mikey take the reins. The smaller man crossed the room to stand just where Kakucho was. Taking the hint, he left you and your older brother alone. Your eyes bounced to him, suffocating the pleading expression. 

Leering back at Mikey, you slouch more against the desk so he had more of a height advantage. He liked you small. The dark circles were a harsh purple against his dulling skin. You remembered the days when his complexion was a healthy tan with a pinky flush. Mikey was a mere shell of the man he used to be. 

His slender but encompassing hand, held your chin smearing the blood deeper into your pores. Tilting your head to the left and then the right, he was silent while he observed your darkening bruise. You were sure it was an ugly red. Assessing the damage, his fingers glided against the flesh and you whimpered in pain. The wound was still very much raw and your larynx was aching. 

Sighing, he stopped poking at it since you proceeded to flinch. “Someone bring ice!” He hollered into the hallway.

Turning back to you, his hand went down to stroke up and down your shoulders. The motion brought no comfort. 

“What happened?”

“I don’t know,” you rasped.

Mikey didn’t seem to believe you, but decided to drop it since you were so dazed. He couldn’t get any information out of you when you were like this. 

“He won’t be allowed back here again, so don’t worry about that.” 

The words were meant to bring you solace, but like his touch, it only set you more on edge. You weren’t worried about that. You were terrified you would have to go back. You were sick of this job. You never wanted to in the first place.

What Mikey harbored for you wasn't love and you were sure of it. He never cared for you as an older brother should. For the promise of a done deal, he would sell you to the highest bidder. After the death of your sister, Emma, his leash was incredibly tight.

You were only about five years old when you met Mikey. Taken to the Sano household after you had met Emma first, you had hid behind her leg in fear. You were a secret as you were proof of your father's infidelity. One time was a mistake, but twice was a pattern. Though the cat was out of the bag when your mother stopped being able to afford your care and had to beg the Sano household for help. 

For a year, you would have supervised visits with her, usually at parks, so you had a stable pillar to lean on when you were uprooted from your old home. You were always a shy child. Understanding how scary it was to be told you had a whole other family, six year old Emma took you under her wing. You two were thick as thieves, though when she hung out with Mikey you always hung back.

Even as a young child you could tell that the older boy never did like you. Or at least you thought. Once out of ear shot Mikey would ask Emma why you always avoided him. She would merely shrug, just as confused as him. Both of them were a lot more outgoing than you. When Mikey would bring around his friends even as you grew older, you would offer a small wave before barricading yourself in your room. 

They tried their damnedest to befriend you though it felt like trying to trick a feral kitten out of hiding with treats. Eventually you would join them in the living room when you could sit next to Emma. Mitsuya and Draken were usually the ones to get you out of your shell the most. Offering no words but they did extend your favorite snack they got at a convenience store, Mikey would watch in envy. 

You had been there that night, following Emma. After her death whatever petals that blossomed had shriveled and curled in on themselves. You barely talked and barely ate. Nothing could fill your stomach so you starved, cold from the lack of her warmth. Though she did not leave. She was everywhere, deep in the wallpaper and woven into the fibers of the couch. Her ghost refused to leave the house.

Both you and Mikey were cracking. In the hospital was the first time you two had touched each other. You sobbed into his arms all night long as he shoved his head into your hair. He gripped you so hard you swore he was trying to crawl his way into your ribcage. And at the time, you would have let him. Anything to fill the ache. Draken could only watch sorrowfully. After that night, nothing was the same nor would it ever be. 

The whisperings at school and how Toman tried their best to talk to you, grated your ears. For the first time in your life, you were angry. Not a childish anger or simple annoyance. You were enraged and everything was too loud. The sad looks filled to the brim with pity poured into your mouth until you were forced to swallow the false pleasantries. There are so many ‘my condolences’ a person can take.

What broke the most was how Mikey stared at you with such contempt and longing. You knew that he only saw Emma. Your silhouette haunted the home and you both knew you would never be her. He began bringing you to gang meetings. Where Mikey was, you were sure to be tethered to him. 

Your hands were sticky with the glue you tried to hold yourself together with for your family. Mikey had known her longer and had been so protective of her, the love he had for her was something you couldn’t fulfill. As the weeks passed, he must have come to the realization as well. He grew meaner and colder. Your brother abandoned clinging to you and pushed you so far you meshed into the walls with her. 

The house was tense and it was like walking on eggshells. Any word you spoke was met with a glare and scoff. There was no escape from him as you both attended the same middle school. His icy demeanor stuck to your skin, pulling would only rip away a layer of flesh. 

You could tell the words clenched behind his teeth; it should have been you and not her. For the first time in years, you agreed with him. So a few months later, you packed your bags, leaving a letter on your bed and hopped out your bedroom window. Thank God you were on the first floor. With the little money you had from doing odd jobs, you bought a train ticket as far from Tokyo as possible. With a stroke of luck you were able to find your estranged grandmother who took you in, residing deep in the countryside.

You couldn’t stand watching Mikey destroy everything with his stupid middle school gang. You lost what mattered most because of him, the angrier part of you raged. Though as you got older you stopped blaming him. Maybe if you were more vengeful you would have sought out Hanma or Kisaki for murdering your sister when you fled into the night, but you were too exhausted for such emotion.

When Mikey saw you again he swore he was dreaming or he didn’t get enough rest. He doesn’t sleep much nowadays. Years had passed since he found your letter. He had read and reread it over and over until the words finally sunk in. The immature part of him wanted to scream and cry. In hysterics, he ran to Draken’s home with the letter and wailed to him that they had to find you. What if Kisaki or Hanma found you? How dare you leave him, you were his like everyone else in his life. He already lost Emma and now you? Something finally snapped inside him that day.

Though he honored your wishes and left you alone. Mikey was out with his men when you passed by him like a wayward butterfly, he knew that this was a sign that you were meant to be in his grasp again. You had grown so much since the last time he saw you. Unsurprisingly since you were thirteen when you ran away. Your hair was longer and dyed a different color, you were so beautiful and it stung that he never got to watch you grow up with him. He had no clue you were back in Tokyo or if you left at all. He immediately asked Kakucho to track where you are and your routine. 

Sickness festered inside him when he found out you worked a humble desk job, frequenting a bar with your male coworkers, laughing boisterously with them. None of those men could care for you like your big brother could. 

As giddiness built in Mikey, an uneasiness settled into you.

When you arrived at your apartment late in the evening, something was amiss. The door was unlocked when you spun the knob. A shiver ran up your spine, you always locked it along with the two extra locks you put just in case. 

Exhaling a shaky breath you reach for the small handgun you had in your handbag. The possession was highly illegal, but you abused the ties you had to Mikey to obtain it. You weren’t ignorant to what your half-brother got himself into. Steeling yourself, you pushed open the door and walked inside. There was no use to run since if they found out where you live, they would only follow. 

Holding your gun out, you side stepped into the pitch black to the light switch. Before you got there the living room light flicked on by itself. You whipped around to see your older brother stand in the space. 

You sagged your shoulders and dropped the gun to your side, still clutched onto it. 

“You don’t seem surprised to see me,” Mikey’s tone was bored. 

He looked a lot skinnier than the last time you saw him and his hair was completely different.

“More like relieved it's just you.”

He pointed his head towards your gun, “Why do you have that?”

“Protection,” Was your reply, still on edge. Yes you were glad it was him and not a stranger, but you weren’t stupid or blind to what he has become. 

Mikey embarked towards you and you backed away, scared of what he was capable of and why he broke into your home. You can’t imagine it's for a long awaited family reunion. 

“What do you want, Manjiro?”

“Can’t a brother visit his dear, baby sister?” 

With each word he stepped closer to you until you were backed into a corner. Stumbling over your still heel clad feet, you two fell into a twisted rhythm. The door was still in sight and your focus ricocheted to the escape route. Keeping him at arm's length, you raised your gun at the unwavering man.

“Get away from me.”

His eyes were dead and showed no emotion as he twisted the gun out of your grasp. You yelped at the pain shooting up your wrist as he locked your arm. If he applied a little more pressure the bone would surely break. 

He tugged you close to him until you were almost nose to nose, “Do you think a gun would protect you against any of the men who want your head on a platter? I never remembered you being this naive.”

“Because you didn’t know me,” You spat out. 

“Bullshit, I know everything about you and I know that if I let you stay in this apartment for one more night then it won’t be only me that will pay you a visit. Kisaki is still out there, you know?”

You glanced back down at the gun but he kicked it even farther away, “You are not going to uproot my life because you deem it fit. I don’t need you.” 

He brought a hand to your face and gently cradled it as you glared at him, “I don’t think I asked.”

Mikey released you from his hold to shove you onto the couch. Hugging the offending wrist to your chest, you rubbed out the pain the best you could. A new man comes into your agape door with a certain swagger to him. His hair was a deep black and a middle part that reached about his ears. One of his eyes was a foggy hue with a scar framing it. It only served to make him more handsome. 

He made himself at home within your apartment, immediately helping Mikey to pack all your belongings. 

“I’m Kakucho,” He introduced himself as he put the bag down near you. Mikey could be heard ruffling through your shit in the background.

“Fuck you,” You replied, pissed that Mikey dragged you back into this life. He laughed at your response and the corner of your lip quirked up, but you stifled it. He was attractive, you will give him that, but you refused to fall for his demeanor and sharp grin. 

Before you could dwell on the man in front of you, Mikey ushered you out of the apartment and into the car waiting for you three at the back of the building. The model was obviously something expensive, but it did nothing to impress you. Your bags were put in the trunk while you were shoved in between the two men. There were two other men in the front, the one driving seemed familiar. 

How Bonten had not been caught was beyond you with the mansion they all lived in. They obviously were flexing their wealth, but you assumed the police were being bought out so they didn’t care. The halls billowed as you were toiled to where Mikey wanted you. 

He burst open a door to what you presumed is his office. He sat behind the desk in a fancy office chair while you were forced onto the lavish, leather seat. You stared at each other before your brother finally spoke. 

“I want you to be a hostess at the Haitani Brothers’ clubs,” he raised a hand to stop your protests, “All I need is for you to butter up clients. Nothing more than a little touching and drinking with them. You will be guarded the whole time.”

“Are you serious, you want to whore me out to gangsters? You’re out of your mind!”

“Watch your tone,” His timbre was plain, but his irises flashed with something violent.

“You don’t get to try to act like a respectable older sibling now.”

“This isn’t up for discussion, this is to ensure your safety.”

You laughed out a scoff, “Yeah, safety. If you wanted me to be safe, you would have stayed the fuck out of my life.”

You shot out of your seat and flipped him the bird when he yelled at you to come back like a father herding an insolent toddler. You exited out of his office and passed by Kakucho who hooks a hand around your arm. “Hey, hey, hey, where are you going?”

“Let me go before I scream.” A glare was stamped deep on your forehead.

“That will only bring men who aren’t as nice as me.”

You raised a brow at that. 

“Look, I know Mikey doesn’t seem like he has the best intentions, but for the past few years, you don’t know how much he talked about you. He missed you.”

You rolled your bottom lip between your teeth, confused and uncomfortable. What choice did you have?

EGG

The ability to speak again came back a couple days later. A bruise stayed heavy on your throat, wrapped in semi-permanent handprints, you tried your hardest not to stray on your reflection. Purple and red bloomed from the wound and were quite tender. Despite this, you were offered little sympathy. 

Within a dark corner of the back of one of the Haitani brothers’ clubs, Kakucho tried to offer some pity. Your face was twisted into an ugly expression from the anxiety. Clutching your arms so tight that your nails left indents in the fragile flesh, you lifted your head to him. 

“I don’t think I can do this.”

He only sighed with sadly pinched eyebrows.

At the sound, your voice hitched, “Don’t make me do this, Kakucho.”

“You know that I can’t do anything about it.”

You gripped at his shirt and you tried not to break apart as you wheezed out, “Have you ever even tried.”

He clutched your cheeks between his fingers, “Me even thinking about it will have both our heads. I may be number three but I am not as powerful as you think I am.”

You rested your head on his chest, “I know.”

And you do, you were not ignorant to the fact that you and Kakucho being as close as you are is a risk in of itself. Though, you took the leap, hugged the one bit of kindness of this world close to your aching chest. 

He lifted your head and extracted you from him, “We both have a job to do. Let's just get through tonight.”

Agreeing, you towed yourself from him and steeled yourself. With a bleeding heart, you departed from him and rounded the corner to the door into the back of the club. Even in the back hallways of the club, the smell of smoke crowded your lungs. The bass of the music was a soft thumping, comforting you. The walls were illuminated with an orange watercolor like finish. A haze clouded your vision. 

Free of any human interaction, you make it into your private room. Here was where you got ready and welcomed clients to your misfortune. The room was on the bigger side, complete with a velvet couch, an ottoman and a classic style vanity. It all screamed old Hollywood. 

Amongst the furniture was the very last person you wanted to see. Leaning against your vanity table was Sanzu. He was clad in his usual purple pinstripe suit without the blazer. His arms were crossed, posture that of a disapproving parent. You instantly tensed.

“Where’s Ran?” You asked as he was the one that told you your clients.

He didn’t respond to you. Further on edge, you spied how he beckoned you over with a curl of his finger. Tethered to the palm of his hand, you walked over. Crossing the room in about ten steps, you stand before the lanky man. In front of him, you shivered at how in spite of his slouched stance, he towered over you.

This close, you could see how his dilated pupils ate up the beautiful blue. The man stayed silent and so did you. You watched each other as he parts an arm from the tangle and dragged a hand up your arm. Swallowing the shutter, your arm broke out in goosebumps as his fingers glided up to your shoulder and to your neck. You winced when he pressed a thumb into the healing skin. 

Gently, he traveled to your nape and stroked the baby hairs. Not before twisting the long fingers deep in your tendrils and wrenched your head so far back you screamed and scrambled to grab the offending wrist. 

His visage was thunderous as he pulled your face close to his, “You are not going to fuck this up, you are already on thin fucking ice, you hear me?”

Eyes clenched, you could barely respond from the agony. He jostled you and tears strung your eyes, but he didn’t care. 

“Look at me.”

Terrified of what he would do, you opened your eyes. Sanzu’s features were blurry from the water, but the pleasure he got from this was prevalent. Wrapping his arm around your waist, he shoved you as close to him as possible. The man rubbed his bulge against your crotch. Of course he was getting off to this. Trying to ignore the motion, you stared up at him with pinched eyebrows. Something crossed between a glower and a dejected expression. 

“I love how pathetic you look like this.”

The freak proceeded to lick up the tears that cascaded down your cheeks. You squirmed and whined in his suffocating embrace, hating the slimy tongue against your skin. 

Already bored of you rejecting his little game, he pushed you away from him. With the pressure, you stumbled into the ottoman in the middle of the room. You peered up at him with unbridled hatred, but there was nothing you could do and he was well aware of the fact.

“Behave or else that bruise around your throat will be the least of your problems.”

With that he walks out and slams the door closed. You glimpsed up at the vanity to see the mascara streaks on your cheeks and your ruffled hair. A screech pierced through the air as you pounded a fist against the seat before composing yourself and stared at yourself in the mirror, getting lost in the reflection.

Like Kakucho said, you have a job to do.

A voice towed you from your thoughts. Oh yeah, a few hours had passed. Your reflection met you once again except you were far away from the private room. Here, you were in Mikey's bedroom. He rarely used the room unless he wanted something from you. In the full length mirror, you stared at the woman clad in a pretty dress. Tonight was a blur and you welcomed the cloudy feeling, the less you remember the better.

From behind, Mikey approached your form. Brief eye contact was exchanged as he put his hands on your bare upper arms. The warmth had you shutter, but you almost drifted into him. 

“Arms up,” He spoke into the tense air.

Like a dog, you obeyed. His fingers brushed against the hem as he pulled the dress over your head. Deliberately, he leaned the garment against the chair near the open, walk-in closet. Your arms were heavy lead as they dropped back down to your sides. 

Mikey crossed back to your stagnant form. His eyes drank up your almost naked silhouette, unable to keep his touch to himself. Kissing your bare shoulder, he whispered in the flesh, “My pretty girl.”

You shuddered.

Still watching each other through the glass, Mikey turned his focus to the man-made collar decorating your throat. His hand traveled to the bruise and brushed against it. The pain was dull. As your brother bore into you, you had half the mind to cover yourself, but it would only offend him. 

“Let’s go to bed.”

Every time he uttered those words, a part of you withered. Mikey was a possessive man by nature. Despite him being the one to force you into this profession, he would always satisfy the need to conquer. 

You merely nodded as you laid in the soft bed sheets curated just for you. He was quick to cover his body with yours. The stark difference of you only in panties compared to him still fully dressed was humbling. You were vulnerable. 

Your hair pooled around your head like a halo. His own strands curtained around you, framing his face so it was all you saw. If Mikey had it his way, that is exactly what would be your own world. Him. 

In a sense, he already was. 

One arm bracketed your head while the other reached to cup your bare breast. His thumb circled the nipple. Your breath hitched as he toyed with the sensitive flesh until it pebbled. A yelp left you when he pinched your nipple. You squirmed, hating how he did it only to elicit a reaction. The corner of your brother’s lip quirked up. 

“I won’t torture you too much tonight,” He spoke against your lips.

“Please.”

You didn’t want this to last longer than needed. He loved to take his time with you. To pull every reaction and sound from you until you were sapped dried. 

He kept circling your nipple as he slotted his crotch more firmly against yours. Impatient, Mikey rubbed himself into your warming pussy. Bending down, he kissed your temple. Moving in tandem with him, you bucked into the growing bulge. He was so much different from Sanzu in this regard where he still hasn’t fucked you. The taller man couldn’t say the same. 

Becoming bored of toying with your breast, his hand trailed down the length of your rib cage down to your hip bone. Mikey fully pulled away so he sat on his heels. Wanting better access, both hands went to the lacy hem of your pale pink panties. His thumbs hooked around the fabric and lugged down. The fabric was easily torn away. Like unwrapping a present, he ripped the undergarment completely off you. Gentle when it caught on your ankles, pulling your legs up to gain access. Your brother kissed the bone. 

Sliding his palms down, he cupped them underneath the juncture and pushed your knees to your chest. Those inky irises bored into your bare cunt. A mix between the brief pleasure and the humiliation, your pussy glistened. 

“Fuck, you look so tight. I have no clue how with how slutty your pussy is,” His tone stayed bored but with a breathy edge to it. 

When you didn’t acknowledge his words, he released one of your legs to slap your clit. Crying out, you attempted to close your legs but his mass made it impossible. You whined at the pain and he did it again. Your clit tingled and was swollen. 

“I’m talking to you, pretty girl.”

“S-sorry,” You whined out, not knowing what to respond to.

He only hummed and became transfixed on your clenching cunny. “Let’s see how tight you are.”

Mikey twirled your bundle of nerves a few times before guiding two fingers into your hole. Already wet, he was able to slip in with ease. You moaned, welcoming something filling you. Even if it was him. You gave up a long time ago fighting him and trying to get him to see reason, to see how wrong this all was. 

“You’re sucking me in, pretty girl.”

Whining in response, you wiggled your hips for him to move. He huffed a laugh at your impatience. Ignoring you, Mikey went at his own pace. His fingers curled upwards to rub the spongy spot inside you. He was meticulous with how he brought you pleasure. Every nerve was on fire and played with. 

Smothering you again, he leaned down so he was nose to nose. You were completely surrounded and displayed for him. Breath mixing, you moaned for him. If it was anyone else the gesture would be loving—romantic, sweet. All it did was leave a bitter taste stuck to the back of your teeth like plaque.

Picking up the pace, he thrusted his fingers with more fervor. 

“Can you handle more?”

“Yes,” You broke out.

Glaring down at you, he slowed down, “Yes, what?”

Embarrassed, you looked away for a moment before whispering, “Yes, Manjiro-nii.”

“Good girl.” He smiled—such a rarity these days—ramming his fingers faster once again.

You gripped the bed sheets as he added another finger to the mix. He scissored the appendages, splitting you further. You had no clue how much more you could take. Bucking to his rhythm, you whined wanting him to touch your neglected clit. It twitched and was still puffy from the slaps. 

“Please!”

You both knew what you wanted but he steamrolled past your want. He needed to ruin you especially for your clients. You were his. His to break and tear apart until your sloppy cunt was perfect for just him. 

Mikey added his pinky to the rest of his fingers and you almost screamed at how you were pried gaping. His fingers were slender but still bigger than yours. Long enough to easily reach your g-spot while you scrambled to brush and pound into it like he does. 

“Doing so well, maybe one day I can shove my whole hand inside. Completely ruin you for anyone else,” His words meshed into your lips.

Gazing into him, you tilted your head so your lips brushed together more. Taking the hint, he crashed into you. Whimpering, he slotted his rosy flesh into yours, kissing you feverishly. Your arms came up to grab the sides of his shirt. Mikey finally touched your clit again. You almost screamed when he rubbed circles into the bundle of nerves, tittering you close to the edge. 

He abandoned your leg to grip your cheeks, parting from your lips. His eyes went to between your legs to watch how you were taking four of his fingers. A dark patch imprinted on the bed from your slick. Prodding at your spongy spot again along with pressing harder into your clit was too much, you came with a high pitched moan. You were sure everyone in the manor heard it and no one cared. Everyone knew what your brother did to you in the dark. 

Mikey guided you through your orgasm, slowing his thrusts until they came to a complete stop. After a moment, he pulled his fingers from your cunt. Your pussy clenched and you whined at becoming empty again.

Your chest stuttered as you tried to gain your breath. Mikey got up to grab a towel nearby and wiped his hand and then between your legs. You flinched from the rough material against the sensitive flesh. He said nothing.

Throwing the rag somewhere in the room, your brother came to lie next to you. He hauled you into his chest and you didn’t refuse. There was no point in fighting. You felt like an egg hatched too early, premature to find your footing. Otherwise, why do you follow a man that wants nothing but the worst for you?

LARVA

You were so sick of the sight of green. Never privy to Spring or Summer, you welcomed Winter’s bitter air with open arms. Though, the bruise was fading into a greenish hue with splotches of purple mixed in. Such a green so unnatural, you couldn’t even compare it to a full apple tree. Subconsciously, you rubbed the skin.

Humming, you idly get ready for bed, already dressed in silk sleepwear. The past week Mikey had neglected you and you savored it. He went through bursts where you weren’t even a thought in his head. A darker part of your mind hoped he would completely forget you. Maybe in a freak accident (you possibly took part in) or he simply got too busy and stayed in his damn office. 

As Mikey was preoccupied with whatever gang business, you were back in the full swing of hostess work. There were a few regulars ornery you weren’t available for sleeping with but anytime they got too rowdy, Rindou was sure to give them a firm ‘talking to.’ Rindou was an enigma to you. He was your least favorite of the two brothers, but he never complained when beating up piggish men. 

You weren’t stupid enough to think it was any sentiment towards you, but more bloodlust being fulfilled. Rindou was a lot meaner than his older counterpart. While Ran was not a stranger to being touchy and a tease, Rindou was rough with handling you. You often dreaded when Rindou was in charge at the club instead of Ran. At least he pretended to care. 

Sometimes, you would imagine Draken instead of Ran as in some twisted way he reminded you of the old friend. Those moments were when you had too much to drink. It still brought you solace, to pretend. You did that a lot. 

A knock interrupted you. Your heart skipped a happy beat at the noise. There was only one person in the whole manor who offered you the courtesy. Sitting in front of your personal vanity, you fluffed your hair.

“Come in,” You tried your best to stifle the giddiness. 

In came Kakucho not out of his day clothes yet. He wore a dark, silk dress shirt, unbuttoned so his chest was on full display. Your eyes drank up the rippling muscle. The clearing of his throat removed you from the sight. Knowing you were caught, you met his eyes and he gave you a sly grin.

“Subtle.”

“What do I owe the pleasure?” You asked, ignoring his taunt.

“Can I not check on my boss’ most prized possession?”

He walked closer to you as you angled your focus back to yourself in the mirror. Taking a cotton pad from the pack, you finish wiping off the rest of your makeup. It had been a long day. Kakucho came to stand right behind you. Your head was just under his chest while sitting. You felt so small as he crowded you. 

Usually you would shake him off, but Kakucho wasn’t stupid. He would visit you in your room where no one would go down the wing you resided in, on the complete opposite of Mikey’s office and bedroom. Sticking closely to the night’s shroud so no one saw him enter.

You scoffed at his words, “Don’t call me that.”

“Hmm,” He hummed, not really listening as he brought a hand down to your neck.

You shivered as his gentle fingers brushed against the tarnished skin. Softer than the rest of the men who touch you—for once, the wound wasn’t agitated. His hand was warm. Kakucho swallowed up your neck, guarding it from any further attack. The weight was safe. 

“It’s quite unfortunate that Mikey wouldn’t let me kill him.”

He moved his palm to idly stroke the bruise, transfixed. You gawked at him in the mirror, but he stayed focused on the blemish. 

“Please don’t kill for me.”

“So I can kill in general?”

You murmured, “You know that I can’t tell you what to do.”

“Good girl.”

You shivered at the words, “Kakucho…”

He tilted your head back by your chin and rested the rest of his hand on your throat so it was against his stomach and he looked down at you, “Yes?”

“Don’t say things like that.”

His eyebrow quirked up, “Didn’t you just say that you can’t tell me what to do?”

You shook your head to free his hold on you. His taunts were becoming too much. You might be in your bedroom, but who knows who could walk in even when he’s being careful. Reluctantly, you departed from him and attempted to step away from the cushioned stool. You didn’t make it too far when he grabbed the crook of your elbow and spun you around to confront him. Shocked and dizzy, your hands went to his chest to gain some balance. 

The skincare and makeup bottles cluttered when he lifted you up on the vanity table. Giving you no time to protest, he crashed into you. Parting your legs, he sank himself into you and pulled you as close as possible. Your lips moved in a familiar rhythm. You whined into the force of the kiss, but you weren’t complaining.

He clutched onto your waist, his hands swallowing you. As if life was mocking you, the sound of your door being kicked in rattled your eardrums. Stood in the doorway was Sanzu, the very last person you wanted to see besides Mikey. 

Fear crawled up your spine at the glimmer in his eyes. There was no way for you to explain your way out of this one. Kakucho rapidly stepped away from you. You slipped off the vanity and wiped your mouth as tears bubbled up. In every sense, you were fucked.

Sanzu bounced from Kakucho to you. His features screamed the cat that got the cream. He was elated and he was making it known with the smile of mischief and hatred stretched on his lips.

“Mikey wants everyone to meet up, now.”

With that he walked away, not even closing the door behind him. You ignored Kakucho as he attempted to console you. There was one thing on your mind. Chasing Sanzu who was already halfway down the hall, your feet were quickened patters. 

“Sanzu, Sanzu!” You whispered-yelled until you caught up and stood in front of him. Arms spread wide, you tried to stop his path. To humor you, he ceased his movement. “Don’t tell Mikey.”

A grin broke out on his face as he leered down upon you, “Oh yeah and why not? Boss sure is not gonna be happy with you or Kakucho, he might even be mad enough to kill him.”

At that you clutched onto his shirt, knees buckling, “Sanzu, please, I am begging.”

His hand pets the top of your head before wrenching your head back by the hair on the nape of your neck. You gripped harder on his shirt.

“What’s in it for me?” His voice was dripping with temptation. “I will do anything! Please, I promise, anything you want I will do it.” Tears were streaming down your face.

He stroked a thumb under your eye as the tears flowed, “Anything?”

You nodded despite the hand holding you down. He stared at you for a bit before shoving you away from him.

“Fine, I will hold you to that.”

“Thank you! Thank you,” You sobbed.

He clutched onto your shoulder while steering you to the meeting room, “Don’t thank me just yet.”

The hand and the promise was your leash. Being near Sanzu always had set you on edge as this isn’t the first time he took advantage of you. Gulping down the anxiety, you let him guide you. Further down the hall, Kakucho’s footsteps followed you both. In no time, he was barely a foot behind you, but you didn’t move your head. 

The room greeted you. Sanzu held his grip as you both walked in. An oval shaped table filled the room and Mikey sat at the head like a king, chin resting on intertwined fingers. If Sanzu’s clutch bothered him, he displayed no indication of it. 

You were beckoned to his side, Sanzu in toe. He rolled out the chair for you and shoved you into the seat. Pushing the chair so far in, you stifled the grunt as the edge crushed your rib cage. Sanzu ignored you as he took the spot to your right. 

Kakucho walked in and placed himself in front of you at the table. Even with the distance, you shrank at his presence. He tried his best not to stare too hard. 

The other men filed in with Ran sitting next to Sanzu and Rindou next to his brother. Kokonoi sits next to Kakucho with Mochizuku sitting next to him and Takeomi sits next to him, being as far from his younger brother as possible. They were all dressed in fancy suits, compared to you in silk pajamas. If you weren’t out of place enough already. You were rarely let in on meetings, so you were confused. 

All heads pivoted to Mikey from the sound of his lips parting like on a timed rig. It was quite creepy how synced they all were. 

“As you all know that the current governor is retiring,” He paused as the men nodded, “And he has two candidates of whom he will be offering his position to. Either his son or Tadashi Yuma, a man well known to oppose Bonten. At the current moment, the governor is favoring Mr. Tadashi so as to not be accused of nepotism.”

As he continued to speak, you were only more perplexed. How does elected officials have to do with Bonten and more specially you?

“And what does this have to do with us?” Sanzu asked flippantly, taking the words right from your brain. The man next to you rested his hand on his chin, staring at Mikey with boredom. His other hand crossed the boundary of the chair into yours. Your leg wobbled when his cold palm cupped your knee. You dared not turn your head towards him, instead keeping it down. 

“Everything. Tadashi is too far gone to persuade, but the son is both buddy-buddy with the police and known for doing back alley dealing.” “Everyone has their vices,” Takeomi piped while he plucked a cigarette, earning a giggle from Ran. 

Mikey sent a glare to the men before continuing, “If we get the son on our side, we would both have a governor as our puppet ruler and complete control of the police force in Kyoto. This would secure our position further.”

“And where does she fit into all of this?” Rindou questioned, pointing at you with a limp hand. 

“If you let me speak, I could fucking tell you.” 

As Mikey droned on, Sanzu got more bold and slithered his hand further up your thigh. Your hands were balled into fists at your side. You knew better than to make a scene. 

At the aggressive tone, Rindou raised his hands in a surrender, not too bothered. Mikey glimpsed at you and you hoped your expression didn’t betray your discomfort. His gaze conveyed nothing besides you being his focal point for his next sentence. 

“This is where she comes in. A couple days from now there will be a gala with politicians and gangsters alike. The rest of us will keep on the downlow while she will do what she does best with the governor’s son.”

You tried your best to listen and nod along as this was not a mission you could mess up on. Sanzu’s wandering hand made it difficult. He moved up your thigh until his pinky was brushing the band of your panties through your thin pants. As his smallest digit went to stroke your slit, he voiced, “She already messed up once, how do you know she won’t do it again?” 

Mikey wasn’t ignorant to how your jaw clicked at his mockery. Your nose twitched in irritation and how his finger rubbed up and down your pussy. 

“She won’t,” He glowered at Sanzu and then at you, “isn’t that right?”

“Y-yes, Mikey,” You stuttered out. 

To anyone else, they would have thought it was because of fear, but you and Sanzu knew better. He did nothing to hide his shit-eating grin. As the focus was no longer on you, he took the incentive to bring a hand down the stretchy band of your pajamas and shove his hand down to cup your bare pussy. Scared, you gripped his wrist to pull it from you. In retaliation, he pinched your clit. Your back slightly hunched, stifling the whimper.

You peeped at him with watery eyes, but his face showed only boredom and focused on Mikey. When you loosened your grip on arm, he eased up. His fingers twirled your clit, a lot rougher than Mikey was. Sanzu poured his hate into you whenever he toyed with you. You have no clue what you did to piss him off, but God were you paying for it. 

Dipping into your syrupy cunt, Sanzu shoved two fingers in and curled upwards. Your legs quivered at the stimulation and you sucked your lips in. If you released even a peep, everyone would hear, especially Mikey. And more importantly, Kakucho. At the thought of the man, you peered up to see him but luckily, he was too engrossed in whatever Mikey was explaining. 

Sanzu brutally thrust his fingers in and out of you. The squelching was faint and you prayed no one heard over the sound of their boss’ voice. His palm was firm against your clit, but offered little pleasure. A part of you wanted to whine, but you reeled the needy sound in. You'd rather die than let Sanzu know how much he was affecting you. 

Your legs squeezed together when he found the spongy spot inside you. He drove his fingers further to abuse the spot. Digging your nails into his wrist, you bucked your hips slightly. Jaw clenched so tight it hurt, you looked up to make eye contact with Mikey. Icy fear washed over you. Luckily the other men were too deep in conversation to notice how Mikey was fixated on your form. You turned away, face warm as he probably knew what Sanzu was doing under the table. Said man only grinned wider. 

You dared to observe Kakucho whose nostrils flared. He was trying hard not to appear affected and you prayed he could school his expression as you were both in deep shit with Sanzu knowing. Embarrassed and wanting this to be done, you wiggled your hips to catch your clit against his palm. Sanzu was not having it as he pulled his palm away from your reach. You were tempted to stomp your feet in frustration. 

“Dismissed,” Mikey’s demand had your back bolt straight up.

Everyone in the room aside you, Mikey and Sanzu moved to get up. Once the men were at the doorway did Sanzu dislocate his fingers from your soaking cunt. He wiped his fingers against your pants and whispered in your ear, “Remember your promise, Whore.”

At that, he departed with the rest of the men. Only you and Mikey remained, and you refused to peer up. Humiliation rocked you to the core and tears built up behind your eyes. 

“Y/n,” he called. 

You look up to him. Mikey slid his chair from under the table and tapped his thigh. Completely and utterly violated and shaking in fear, you launch yourself in his lap. You straddled his hips as he pulled you tight to him. Your brother gripped the back of your head to cradle your face into the juncture of his neck. His free hand rested on your lower back, stroking the exposed skin where your shirt rode up. 

Hugging his shoulders, you collapsed into him. You let yourself melt into him, molding together until where he started and you stopped was blurred.

“Nervous?”

Your breath tickled his neck, “Yes.”

He hummed at the answer as he gently swayed the chair side to side, rocking you like a baby. He seemed lost in his thoughts. As he swung you both back and forth idly, his grip on your head grew increasingly tighter. When his nails dug into your scalp did you whimper. If he squeezed any tighter, your head would surely pop like a balloon. His strength terrified you. 

“Does Sanzu visit you frequently?” He asked, already knowing the answer.

“Manjiro-nii, I-I’m sorry,” You tacked on the honorific to appease him, but he only shushed you.

“You’re both mine, as long as you know your places, I wouldn’t punish you,” you clutch onto him tighter, “you know I do this all to protect you, right?”

His words hinted to the threat of Kisaki coming for you, too. A threat he planted in your head for years now. And of course, he wouldn’t do anything about Sanzu touching you, it was a pipe dream. 

“Yes, Manjiro-nii.”

“Good girl, my good little doll.” 

CHRYSALIA

You swallowed your nausea, sitting next to Mikey in the car. The model was one of those fancy ones with a divider between the front of the car and the backseat to offer more privacy. Driving the car was Kakucho while Sanzu was in the passenger seat. When the cars were distributed, Sanzu raced to be in the car with you present in it. You knew damn well he was doing it to torment you, and Kakucho being the driver was the frosting on top of the cake. 

Sat behind Kakucho, you stared out the tinted window, wringing your hands in your lap. A hand placed on top of yours halted you picking at your cuticles. Mikey ogled at you, a question on his visage. Your eyes lept to the rearview mirror where Kakucho glanced at you and then back to the road. 

Sighing, Mikey slammed the divider closed. In the back of the car, you two were the only ones in the world. The thought was isolating. A part of you wanted to embrace the expensive, Italian leather of the car and luxury this life offered. But the larger, more logical part screamed to be anywhere but here. 

“Why are you so nervous?” He dared to ask.

Your nostrils flared, “Why the fuck do you think?”

Anger getting the best of you was a rare feat, but not one Mikey tolerated. His grip went from reassuring to punishing. You whined at your bones grinding together. You attempted to extract yourself, but he tugged you closer to him, your hand landing on the middle seat to catch yourself. 

“Watch your tone.”

Rolling your bottom lip between your teeth, you grimace away from him, glaring at the damn leather. He was quick to grab your face to enforce eye contact. His eyes were blank as usual. Dark circles lined his lower lashline. Mikey appeared older than his age. In a fleeting rebellion, you scowled at him with your cheeks clenched in his strong hands. It offered nothing to the older man. 

“What you’re asking of me is grandeur, way too much,” You spoke your grievance to a deity who didn’t care to listen. 

“I am asking you exactly what I think you can do.”

“Then you think too highly of me,” Your tone was meek. 

His thumb went down to rub against your irritated bottom lip, “Maybe.” Mikey’s focus went from your lips to your neck. The bruise was clearing up to an ugly yellowish-green. The pain was also subsiding, only truly hurting if you pressed down hard enough. “Is it healed enough to cover it with makeup?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” 

You take note of the silent command. For your job this weekend, you are to be an untarnished doll, perfect and pristine. No one wants tarnished goods. At that, Mikey jerked himself from you and opened the divider back open. From your angle, Sanzu pivoted his head to catch your attention.

His visage smug, like he anticipated you to be beaten down. Your ire was now directed towards him. If your fear wasn’t so egregious, maybe you would have spat right into his face. You reeled in the thought, such dangerous thinking would get you killed. 

“How much longer?” Mikey asked.

Kakucho answered, “We are actually here.”

The car rolled to a stop. Sanzu was the first to get out and opened Mikey’s door for him. He skid against the seat to step out, and you soon followed. Sanzu rested an arm on top of the door, towering over you as you climbed out. 

From the front, Kakucho said, “I will park the car and then head up.”

Mikey nodded his head and somehow Kakucho saw it. The scarred man glanced at you, the connection was broken by Sanzu slamming the door. Jumping, you glared at him. He merely shrugged, loving he got a reaction out of you. 

“Come,” Mikey beckoned and you obeyed.

Coming to his heel like a dog, he gently clutched your upper arm. The threat was bellowing. Try and run, and you were done for. Sanzu followed close behind, you walked through the front of the hotel. The building was extravagant and lined with glass. The foyer was even more gorgeous. It was rare for you to leave the clubs or the mansion, so when you were blessed with sights like this, you drank it all in. 

The hotel was a palette of golds, whites, and reds. Marbled floors clicked under your heeled feet. Smooth and milky, you stepped with more weight to hear the sound more prominently. You knew the motion was childish, but it was your favorite part of fancy places. 

Mikey let you have your fun as you approached the front desk. Rocking on your heels, your head pivoted around to take in the high ceilings lined with crystal chandeliers. Sanzu walked in front of Mikey to discuss with the receptionist your business. 

She was kind and you wondered if she knew what kind of men were before her. Does she know the hotel was soon to be riddled with gangsters and greedy politicians? Or is she used to this considering how luxurious the hotel was. She must have seen it all. While she talked to Sanzu, her gaze bounced to your neck. Your hand subconsciously covered it like an animal protecting its jugular. 

Mikey’s hand slithered from your arm to the small of your back to direct to where the elevator was. The contraption was one made completely of glass. Approaching the elevator, your heart hopped into your throat, you always hated heights. You three filed in and you observed how the other men were soon to follow. Crammed into the corner, Mikey’s hand slipped away. So tiny compared to the men in tailored suits, you swallowed your rapid breathing. 

You stared into Rindou’s back to ground yourself. Recoiling at the pinky that brushed your hands, you side-eyed who touched you. Kakucho offered nothing and neither did you. You silently relaxed into the appendage. The motion was a risky one, but all the men were watching the numbers tick up. The red numerals dinged with every floor hit until you were at the penthouse, the tippy top of the already tall building. 

When the doors opened up the billowing hallway greeted you all. Parading out, the air got less suffocating as you followed them. Soft carpet was now under your feet and you were saddened by the fact. An intricate pattern was woven into the burgundy thread, lined with gold. 

The men all went into their respective rooms to prepare for tonight. There was an hour until the show began. Mikey guided you to the room at the furthest part of the hall. At the end was a table with swirling designs, just as gold and red as the carpet. He took the key card from his pocket and tapped it to the pin pad. 

Of course, you would share a room with your brother. The room was as splendid as the rest of the hotel. A canopy bed framed with wine hued, velvet curtains with just as dark bed sheets. Two cushioned, gold trimmed chairs face a small, mahogany round table. To the right was a bathroom along with a dresser the same wood as the table. Curious, you went to the bathroom that was huge. A bathtub that could be mistaken as a hot tub was deep into the floor that was black and light grey marble. To the left of the tub was a sink and a giant, oval mirror lined with a whirling almost cloud-like pattern surrounding it. 

From your backside, Mikey’s shoes tapped against the marble, pleasant to your ears. His arms wrapped around you and you offered no resistance. 

“Is it to your liking?” His breath tickled your neck, your hair stood up. 

“Yes.”

Humming, he rocked you two side to side, “I’m glad. I would give you anything you asked for.”

A sad simper graced your appearance. He would, as long as it was materialistic. Your brother couldn’t give you what you desired most as it meant you would be far, far away from him. 

He extracted himself from you and offered a hand. You took it as he led you back to the main part of the suite. All of your belongings were already placed in the room. On the door was your dress for tonight. The gown was a midnight color and floor length with a satin finish. A sweetheart neckline paired with off the shoulder sleeves and slit that came up to your hip, with the amount of skin to be exposed, you were glad the gala was inside the same hotel. 

Mikey had a suit that matched your dress, everything down to the tie was all black. Directing to where the gown hung, he began to undress you. Unlike him, in his usually baggy shirt and joggers, you kept up appearances. He shrugged off your coat and threw it on the bed. Bending down, he tapped his knee. Listening, you placed your boot on his leg and your hands on his shoulders to balance. At this point, it’s second nature. Nimble fingers untied the laces and hauled the shoe from your foot. He repeated the action on the other side. 

Standing back up, you kept your hands on him. Neither of you said anything. Mikey continued undressing you, unbuttoning your pants until they pooled at your feet. Next was your dress shirt that was a blushing pink. He popped every button with ease and tugged the garment down like he did your coat. From your front, he reached around to unhook your bra with zero struggle. Soon you were left in just your panties, but there was nothing sexual about it.

He went to the door to grab the gown and weeded it from the protective plastic. Back down on his knees, he tapped your bare calf. Taking the hint you stepped in the dress and he jerked it up your body. In tandem, you put your arms into the sleeves when he reached your chest. His hand lingered to drag a finger up the length of your spine. Your back twitched upright. Mikey didn’t tease you anymore and zipped the dress up. 

The air was stifling, but you pushed it to the side. He went about his own business to get ready as well. Going into your luggage, you gathered your jewelry and makeup bag. Your feet glided to the bathroom and welcomed the cold of the marble tiles. Walking up to the mirror, you take your color corrector and foundation to hide the bruise. The color reminded you of when you were a kid and you would put a dandelion under your chin to see if you liked butter if the skin bloomed yellow. 

The makeup did its job well enough, but you added a lace collar to hide the blemish further. Your hands shook as you clasped it in place. A lot of weight was placed on you tonight and the rest of the gala. You couldn’t mess this up. 

A rapping on the hotel door spiked your heart rate up. There was no more pushing it off. Walking out from the bathroom, Mikey and Kakucho were talking. They cease their conversation to see you in your glory. While Mikey’s expression softened, Kakucho was stone cold. He knew what tonight meant and he despised when you worked. 

“You ready?” Kakucho asked. 

“One moment,” You went back to your luggage to pull a pair of designer heels from a box and slipped them on. They barely added any height, maybe about an inch. 

Both men were dressed to the nines. Kakucho forgone a tie and vest to leave his chest on display as usual. You forced your focus to Mikey’s face. He looked good in a suit. Perfectly tailored to his form, you couldn’t even tell how skinny the man had become. 

Ready, you followed the men out of the room and back to the hellish elevator. The rest of Bonten was already at the gala hosted in the ballroom and bar of the hotel. Everyone was in their positions, it was time for you to slide against the board to your place. Mikey was playing a game of chess and you were mere pawns to his goal. 

Balling and releasing your hand, you stepped into the elevator. 

“Y/n,” Mikey called and you turned to him. “What is expected of you?”

Clearing your throat, your relayed the mission, “I am to scope out the governor’s son and entertain him by any means necessary.”

The words hurt to say. This would be the first job since the incident where you were expected to sleep with a client. Mikey picked apart at how you clenched up. 

“Don’t let last time become a pattern.”

Jutting out your jaw, you bit out, “Yes, Mikey.”

At your words, the elevator doors parted and you were hit with the buzz of people mingling. You three went your own ways to fulfill the mission. With fervor, you crossed the foyer into the ballroom. There was no bodyguard to check if you were meant to be there. Being in the hotel was more than enough of an indicator of your importance. Needing a drink before you advanced your hunt, you clomped to the bar. 

Already in full swing, it was near impossible to flag down a bartender. You huffed in irritation, a pout on your lips.

“No luck?” A voice asked to your right. 

You jolted and spun around to see a handsome, older man inclining against the bar, his focus completely on you. He was far older than the other men in Bonten, maybe close to Takeomi’s age, but definitely in his forties. His hair was parted to the side with it pleasantly slicked back and an inky hue. A pair of glasses framed his kind face though something darker lurked in how he smiled. 

Slapping your work persona on, you pouted further, “Not at all.”

He laughed at your tone. “Didn’t expect it to be so busy so soon?”

“Can you read my mind?” You playfully teased.

He leaned in closer, already enjoying the game you started. “Don’t need to with how obvious your pout is.”

Rolling your eyes, you scoffed. 

He took the sound in stride, “What drink does the princess want?”

You stuffed down how you wanted to retch at the nickname. Men are so easy. Tapping your lip, you pretend to think, “How about a whiskey sour?”

“Consider it done.” 

You were prepared to swallow the second-hand embarrassment when he was going to act more important than he was, but the second he raised his hand a bartender was flocking towards him. Your eyebrows raised at the display. 

“What can I get you, Sir?” 

“A whiskey sour for the lady and scotch for me, please.”

“Right away.”

He turned back to you, a smug glimmer in his eyes, “Impressive, right?”

“Can’t say it isn't,” You propped your hip against the barstool and pivoted all your attention to him. He was obviously a man of importance, but you wanted him to admit it to you.

“Just the perks of being the guest of honor,” he bragged, but it wasn’t bloated, moreso whimsy. 

“Guest of honor?” You teased, suspicious.

“Not too fond of politics I presume.”

“Never really cared for it, no,” You rebounded back at him.

His eyebrow raised, he knew more than he let on and so did you. “You really don’t know who I am?”

You stifled the smirk.

Leaning into your ear, he whispered, “Fukuda Daiki. Ring a bell?” 

Bingo.

“Ahh!” You proclaimed, “You’re the governor’s son, no?”

The bartender came back with both your drinks. He grabbed his and slightly raised it in the air to point at himself, “In all my glory.”

“Alright then, Mr. Fukuda, why are you amongst the common folk?”

His free hand waved flippantly, “Please, call me Daiki, Mr. Fukuda is too stuffy.”

“You didn’t answer my question, Daiki,” You called out.

Shining in interest, he seemed oddly pleased, “Well, if you want to know so bad, why don’t we go somewhere more private.” 

Taking his lead, you knocked back the rest of your drink and placed your hand in his outstretched one. The crowd parted for him and you caught the eye of Mikey. He clutched his glass, watching as Daiki took you to the more secluded areas of the bar. Further down was a darkened area with velvet booths. Many officials and gangsters conversed about who knows what. 

You slid into the seat and he mirrored you on the other side. Surprisingly, he kept a respectable distance. The older man gestured towards the wine in a bucket of ice. You nodded your head. He grabbed the two glasses and began pouring the blood-like liquid into the cups for each of you. 

Taking your own, you took a sip and savored the deep flavor. He did the same. 

“So what is so secretive that you had to pull me into the shadows?” You questioned over the rim.

He smacked his lips together, before answering, “When your father is as important as mine is, you have to be careful. Let’s just say, I like to dabble in unsavory hobbies. To watch my back, I have to watch other’s.”

The governor’s son’s words were cryptic, but you understood what he was putting down. You knew full well the type of ‘hobbies’ he engaged in, that’s why you were here, in this fancy hotel filled with fancy people. 

You crossed your legs and purposely had the tip of your heel glide against his shin. Bending over with your cleavage on display, you quipped, “What kind of unsavory hobbies.”

His eyes bounced to your exposed chest and back to you, “I think you know already.”

A smirk played on your lips as you took another sip of your drink. The warmth was starting to hit you. More hazy than before, you continued your game, “And would you want me to contribute to this hobby?”

His throat bobbed, his head probably already filled with images of you in precarious positions. “Who wouldn’t.”

The sentiment caught you slightly off guard and you instinctively smiled at the compliment.  Not many men were so upfront with how much they found you attractive. The words were often crude and straight to the point. 

Thinking of an answer, your eyes strayed to the rest of the party. Back to where most of the gaggle was, Takeomi was conversing with Daiki’s father. The old man let out a full belly laugh and clapped a hand onto Takeomi’s shoulder. You could assume his part of the mission was falling into place. Persuade him to elect his son while you entrance the son to favor Bonten, a neat domino effect. 

Angling your focus back to the man in front of you, you told him your thoughts. “Not many men are so sweet with their words.”

Daiki laughed, content that he appeased you. He opened his mouth, but was interrupted by his phone ringing. “Hold that thought.”

When he answered the phone, his expression fell and sighed. After telling whoever was on the other line he would be right there and hung up, he placed his phone on the table. 

"I must go."

"Oh," You answered sadly, but your heart skipped a beat in fear.

"Will I see you again this weekend?" 

"If you are willing."

He got up from his seat and knocked his knuckle against the table, contemplating. "Meet me here again, tomorrow night."

"I look forward to it." 

And with that he was gone, fading into the crowd of people. Finally alone with yourself, you slouched into the seat and heavily exhaled. You dropped your face into your hands, careful not to ruin your makeup. Groaning, you goggled your wine glass, contemplating if you should finish it off or not. 

Before you could settle on a decision a familiar, obnoxious voice came barrelling towards you. Sanzu with a girl tucked under his arm and Mikey in toe came to disturb your moment of peace. The pink haired man slid in, the girl following him. Mikey went to your other side, trapping you to the booth. 

Sanzu slung his arm over your shoulder and wrenched you to him. He was obviously cross faded, his pupils blown out and alcohol tainted his breath. 

“So our little star of the show, how did it go?” The implication of did you fuck up again hung in the air.

“Good. He had to leave, but he asked to meet again tomorrow night.”

He bobbed his head enthusiastically, a hum as his answer. You turned to Mikey to see if you gained his approval. He conveyed nothing, staring at Sanzu’s arm around your neck. Prickling, you tried to rip it off you, but Sanzu only culled you closer.

“I think that calls to celebrate.” 

He reached over to grab the wine in the middle of the table and offered it to you. You shook your head, trying to pull away. His forearm dug into your larynx, choking you. Putting the cork between his teeth, he ripped it off and spat it out somewhere into the room. 

“Come on, Whore, drink.”

Sanzu shoved the bottle into your mouth and tipped it so the wine spilled into your mouth faster than you could swallow. You clawed at his arm and kicked your feet while your eyes clenched closed. The girl, too high to think, started to chant for you to chug. 

The liquid spilled from the corners of your mouth and down your neck, staining your dress. You whimpered and squirmed, but you were helpless. Like an animal on its back, you lashed out and rammed your elbow so hard into Sanzu’s stomach, he coughed. Naturally, he removed himself from you and cradled his stomach, keeled over. 

“You fucking bitch!” 

The sound of you dry heaving drowned out his indignant cries. Mikey did nothing as you pushed past the need to vomit. Bored of you already, Sanzu went back to entertaining the girl. You were a mess. 

Tears flowed over and you glared into your lap, sticky and wet. Your brother blew out a puff of air and moved to get out of the booth. 

“Let's get you cleaned up.” 

Following his lead, you both left Sanzu to his own devices. He was no help now, anyway. Wiping your cheeks in an attempt to save some piece of dignity, you followed him back into the foyer and into the elevator. 

The dinging of each floor was monotonous. When you reached your floor, you basically ran back in the room. Mikey opened the door with ease. While you took off your collar, he peeled the blazer off. He must have felt as stuffy as you did with all the layers constricting him. 

“Go run a bath, I will join you in a second.”

Never one to disobey his orders, you were happy to take a soak in the affluence tub. Skinning the soaked dress from you, you mourn the garment. You only hoped, you could get the stains out somehow. 

Walking over to the knobs, you rotate them both, favoring the hot valve. While the water ran, you took the fancy bottles and poured soap in the mix. As the bath frothed, you stripped your panties off. 

The water was at sufficient height so you twisted the knobs to their former state. Your foot reeled back at the heat, but you urged your way in. The bubbly, hot water hugged you and you moaned in relief. You sunk into the deep tub until only your head popped out. 

Mikey appeared once again, this time adorned in his undone shirt and pants. Swimming to the edge of the bath, you watched as he shrugged off his shirt. Along with the Bonten tattoo at the nape of his neck, a tiger in a classic yakuza style art spanned the whole length and width of his back. The tattoo was paired with swirling lilies. Even though Mikey had lost weight, his back rippled with muscle. 

He shredded his pants and boxers as well. You averted your gaze when his cock came into view. Despite being flaccid, you could tell he was on the bigger side. Swimming to the other side, you gave him enough room to step in. He, too, welcomed the warmth of the bath and sunk down beside you.

Mikey tugged and manhandled you until your back rested against his chest. You slipped down a little and he comfortably rested his chin on top of your head. Chin in the water, you blew at the bubbles that floated near you. Arms wrapped tight around your chest and stomach, you melted further into him. There was nowhere else to go. 

“How did the mission really go?”

Whatever serenity you had was zapped from you. You bristled, “I wasn’t lying.”

He hummed in response. 

You pulled away from him and endured him head on, a grimace on your visage and pressed, “I’m not lying.”

“I never said you were.”

Kneeling between his legs, he caged you in. 

“You’re implying it.”

He turned you back around and went back to hugging you. Mikey exhaled and sagged into your hair. 

“Does Sanzu do that often?” He changed the subject.

“Torment me?” You scoffed.

“I suppose.”

Another mass of bubbles drifted by you and you cupped it. Spinning in Mikey’s hold, you placed the bubbles onto his head. He offered a nostalgic smile. 

Morphing the tiny air pockets into a cone shape, you answered, “Sanzu hates me and has no qualms making it known.”

“I will speak to him about it.”

Your hands stopped. “Don’t.”

“And why not?”

“Because then he’s just going to do it more, but in secret. You know very well, better than most, how hard it is to reel Sanzu in.”

He gripped your wrists and kissed your knuckles. The same feeling from earlier today drifted back in. It was in rare moments did you find comfort with him. But you weren’t fooled, not by his caring and attentive words. You were no better than a butterfly pinned to a bulletin board.

IMAGO

Tonight was the last night of the gala. A lot of weight was on your shoulders to seal the deal with the governor’s son. The ballroom was bustling and in full swing. All the booths were filled to the brim, the gaggle of designer clothes and pearl necklaces suffocated. This life wasn’t meant to be yours, but here you were, meeting a politician for the third night in a row. 

In spite of the circumstances, you liked his company. You knew full well he indulged in flesh and drugs, but he was kind. A kindness rarely offered to you. He knew what you were and you knew what he craved, there was no lingering, unspoken tension.

He enjoyed the game you played, the back and forth. Will he seal the deal or won’t he? A small part of you wondered if Daiki did this to keep your attention. Well, he had it. 

Resting your hand on your chin, you smiled at him.

“What?” 

You tilted your head, “You know if you closed the deal with Bonten, you could have me whenever you wanted.” 

Usually you would beat around the bush more, but you were on a tight schedule and Mikey’s glare burned into your temple. From across the room, up on the balcony, he wasn't subtle with how he stared. 

Daiki’s face rose in surprise, “Oh?” 

“Mhmm,” you crooned, “not just me, but any girls in the clubs, you could have without having to be sneaky. Bonten is all about secrecy. Nothing you want to be exposed, won’t. You rub our backs, we rub yours.”

He adjusted his glasses, “And where does this all lead to? I could have the same offer from any other gang.”

“But will any other gang secure your place as governor of Kyoto?” You were making a huge gamble giving away Bonten’s hand, but there was nothing else you could say. Your hand was a dud. 

“You’re promising a very dangerous thing, Love,” His voice had an edge, both a threat and anticipation. He wanted what you dangled in front of his face, but, he too, didn’t know it was worth the risk. 

“I am not promising, I am telling you. You will win this election with Bonten’s help and in return you will solidify Bonten’s safety. We know you run the police force.”

He dropped his head and took his glasses off. Running a hand down his face, he seemed tired. As you went to survey Mikey, your eye caught something else. 

A jolt sent your body into overdrive. Though his hair was longer, you couldn’t miss the black and yellow strands. The colors swirled and plagued your dreams for years. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t get him out of your mind. The smile, the tattoos, and the audible clunk of metal against bone.

Quite frankly, you had been in a haze for years but seeing Hanma’s visage woke you up. It all came crashing into you: why you were here, who was the source of this. And why your darling older sister was dead and you paid the price for it.

To the others far up in the balcony, they wouldn’t recognize him. His hair was no longer short and covered most of his visage. Hanma’s hands were tucked into his pockets as he glided through the crowd. You did a double take. It couldn’t be him, you refused to believe it.

Dread filled your stomach and the wine wasn’t helping. Glancing back up at the balcony, Mikey was gone. You were on your own. 

“You alright?” Daiki’s voice reeled you from your stupor. 

Regarding him, you were angry. Angry that you had to sell yourself to secure safety for a gang who offered you nothing. You looked back to see Hanma’s figure round the corner, away from the bustle. Sure, you were terrified, but you needed to know.

“I’m sorry,” Was all you said as you whisked yourself away from the booth.

He called for you, but you breezed past him. With Mikey no longer watching, the leash was slacked. You shoved past the people, not caring about their spitting complaints. For once in your life, you clawed and tore towards what you wanted. Your vision tunneled onto his form. Everything was tight and the air thinned, either from the bodies pressed into you or the anxiety. 

Like a caterpillar popping out of a cocoon, you were spat out from the horde. The hallway was barely away from the party with the sounds of laughing present in your ears. You walked further down until you were a different part of the hotel. It was hardly secluded, anyone could walk in, but it was far enough no one would notice you were gone. 

There, reclined against the wall was the very man responsible for your torment. Sure, Kisaki was the one who commanded the hit, but Hanma was the executioner. Nothing really changed about him besides he visibly looked drained. He said nothing while he leered at you. 

“Why?” Your voice tumbled out weaker than you intended.

“Why what?” He dared to say.

You stomped right up to him and screeched, “Why! Why, why, why, why?” Each word was emphasized with a hit to his torso. 

Hanma did nothing to stop you and peered down from over his nose with zero empathy. You were breaking, both you and him knew it. 

“After all these years, you dared to show your face after what you and Kisaki did. Do you understand what I had to go through because Mikey was terrified of you and Kisaki would come for me, too? Where is he anyway, hiding under your skirts like the coward he is?”

Hanma tilted his head in confusion, “Kisaki’s dead. Had been for almost a decade. Mikey was there when he died.”

You stumbled back. You shook your head, “No, no, no. You’re lying.”

“Why would I lie about my own best friend being dead? That’s too cruel, even for me.”

A laugh pierced your chest. You doubled over and clutched your stomach as more giggles poured out. All this time, he was lying to you. There was never a boogey man in the shadows waiting to gobble you up. 

Catching your breath, you asked between cackles, “And why are you here, just to torment me? Haven’t you done enough?”

Hanma’s face twitched, “No, I’m here for another reason. Us meeting is purely a coincidence.”

A part of you didn’t want to believe him. Everything you had been told for years had been a lie. Rapid footsteps came from the other hall, sending Hanma into motion. You didn’t even watch as he disappeared, not even caring when rough hands spun you around. 

“What the fuck did you do?” Kakucho seethed. 

You could only laugh as tears painted your appearance, your perfect makeup ruined. “How long?”

“What?”

“How long did you know that Kisaki was dead,” You spat out the last word.

Kakucho’s nose scrunched, “How-?”

“How do I know? Because Hanma fucking Shuji just told me. He was just here!”

You started to spiral again and Kakucho shook you, trying to get you to snap out of it. “That doesn’t matter. Do you understand how much you fucked up? Mikey is pissed!”

At the sound of your brother’s name, you hiccupped. It was all happening too fast, it was too much. “I’m s-sorry.”

Kakucho beckoned you into his embrace. His thick arms squeezed you tight to his chest as if he could protect you in his rib cage. Heaven knew how much he wanted to save you from Mikey. He was just as terrified for you since Mikey was on a warpath. Half of him wanted to advocate for you, but if he did, then he would expose you both. 

But, the click of a gun being cocked back went straight through his body. He sagged against you, knowing the jig was up and so did you. From over Kakucho’s shoulder was your brother, a pistol greeted you. 

Separating from Kakucho, you both confronted him dead on. Nothing in him wavered as he kept the gun pointed at you. Your knees buckled and you almost pissed yourself with his clenched jaw and narrowed eyes. 

“Not even going to try and explain yourself?”

Like a kicked dog, you only whimpered out a pathetic, “No.”

“You know Sanzu told me to watch out for Kakucho,” your head sprung up at that, betrayed that he tattled anyway. You should have known better, “But I really wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt. Now look at what you made me do.”

He flicked his wrist over to Kakucho instead of you. “Wait!” You screeched as you put yourself in front of Kakucho. “Don’t do this.”

“And why shouldn’t I? Why shouldn’t I teach a cheating, lying whore like you a lesson?”

You bit your tongue not to froth that he had been the one lying to you the whole time.

“You need Kakucho! Don’t let this cloud the fact you need him to keep Bonten at the top.” He kept the gun raised and you started to get frantic. “Manjiro-nii, please!”

Silver metal stared you down. Mikey growled before uncocking the gun and shoving it into the back of his pants. Stomping towards you, he snagged your arm and ripped you from Kakucho. You dared not glance back at him. Mikey was volatile as is. 

“We will just discipline you in a different way then.”

Your hand was going numb, losing circulation with how tight he cuffed you. As you both turned the corner, he whipped his head back to Kakucho and barked, “We aren’t done here.”

Kakucho nodded his head solemnly, accepting his fate. Departing away from him, you stared straight ahead. You refused to let your possible last moment with Kakucho with him so defeated. 

Mikey walked you both into the throes of the gala. You squirmed, embarrassed you were being tugged along like a misbehaving child. Some people watched in curiosity of the woman with streaky makeup passing by, others were too indulged in their drinks.

“Let me go,” You begged.

“Quiet.”

You clamped your mouth shut. As you crossed the room, you passed by Sanzu. His snickers rang in your ear. Seething, you attempted to turn and bark at him, but Mikey snuffed your chance. He moved his hand to clamp on your nape, forcing your head down.

“Manjiro,” You said, your neck creaked from the motion. 

His fingernails bit into the flesh, “Didn’t I tell you to keep your mouth shut.”

Cutting across through the foyer, you nodded your head as you went to the elevator. The elevators yawned to let you in and luckily you two were alone. It's not like anyone would come to help you. 

Mikey’s palm was a hot iron. The numbers ticked up and you were restricted to stare at the floor. You couldn’t even see the expression he was making, for better or for worse. When the elevator stretched to accommodate you two, Mikey shoved you out. His heels clicked against the marble, but this time it brought no satisfaction. 

Ripping the hotel door open, he threw you so hard you stumbled over your heels and fell. Your hip and elbow took the brunt of the fall. Like a worshiper at the feet of their god, you gazed up at Mikey. If only you knew how pretty the lighting made you. 

“Stay here and don’t fucking move. I have to now clean up the mess you created. I have been too lenient with you and I guess Kakucho, too.”

“Don’t hurt him!” You cried as you crawled to hug his leg, “Please.”

His eyes were an inky apathy. He kicked you off him, “You aren’t in the place to make such demands.”

Coughing, you curled into a ball at the hit to your vulnerable stomach. Leaving you to rot, he slammed the door closed. There was a strange beep and a rock slipped into your stomach. Scrambling to stretch yourself up, you raced to the hotel door. You rattled the knob and were met with resistance. Why you were surprised he found a way to child-lock the door is beyond you.

“Manjiro! Manjiro, open the door!” You screamed and pounded on the door. Even going to the extent to slam your shoulder against it, but by now he was long gone. You were trapped. 

You marched away from the slab of wood and began to pace. Pulling at your strands, you heaved a primal screech. The world was falling out from under you. Collapsing on the bed and hanging your head in your hands, nothing made sense. Well, it made perfect sense. Mikey had been lying to you for years and same with Kakucho. The latter broke more than the former. 

And now, because of you, Kakucho was going to be slaughtered. You flew too close to the sun and he was the one being burned. 

Kisaki hadn’t been a threat for a decade, Hanma said. So when Mikey swiped you from your life, it was all fallacies to entrap you in his ever growing web. Walking to the window, you tried to wipe away his sticky residue. 

You knew it was pointless to try and escape. Peering out the glass, it was a long way down with no way of surviving the jump. For a brief moment you contemplated doing it anyway. A darker, more vengeful part of you wanted to do it out of pure spite for Mikey pushing you over the edge. Though, no matter what, you couldn’t do that to him. The aftermath would be atomic.  

With nothing else to do, you went back to the bed and sank into the sheets. Your leg shook the frame from your anxiety. You felt like you were being sent to the gallows and you might as well be. 

Hours later a familiar beeping bellowed in the vacant cage. Springing up, Mikey walked through the door, more haggard than before. Your eyes flew all over his frame to sniff out a spot of blood. You sagged your shoulders when you found nothing. 

Besides that, you didn’t move an inch. You kept your eyes on him like a nervous dog. No words were exchanged as he strolled over to the bed. At the elevated height difference, you craned your neck to hold his gaze. His eyes were the same empty void. He gripped your chin to demand contact. 

Mikey’s thumb trailed down the basically healed bruise, a soft yellow visible. He dug the appendage into your jugular until you instinctively flinched back. Your hands shot up to grab his wrist. This only angered him further and he shook your face. 

Whimpering, you scrunched your nose from the pain. 

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” He fumed, bending down at the waist to bump his nose to yours.

“You’re hurting me!”

He only tightened his grip, “Good. I had to clean up your mess, again.” “You wouldn’t have to if you didn’t force me into this life.”

“Oh boo hoo, how awful of me to protect you.”

You slapped his wrist and kicked into his thigh, “You weren’t protecting me at all! You’re sick and only want me for yourself.”

Mikey twisted your arm and shoved you into the bed with your face smushed into the sheets. “Maybe so.” 

He pulled you up until your back was against his chest. Clamping his hand against your nape once more, he directed you to the door. 

“W-where are we going?” 

“I said I was going to punish you, didn’t I?”

You did not like the implications of his words, at all. In no time you were back at the gala. The crowd hadn’t thinned out, laughter polluted the air. Mikey took you to a different direction than the booths, and up the stairs to the balcony. Watching over the masses, the twisting, golden railing was more a cage than anything. 

He guided you further down the hall until you hit an archway with an unassuming door. At the frame was Sanzu waiting for you both. Your heart dropped into your stomach, to be eaten by the acid. His smile was wolfish and hungry. Today was the day Sanzu had been anticipating for God knows how long. 

More lamb than human, you shrunk back, terrified of what laid await in the den. Sanzu twisted the door open with apparent giddiness. The room was similar to the hotel rooms, but obviously for private lounging rather than a sleeping area. Velvet sofas similar to the booths crowded around a coffee table. 

On one sofa were the Haitani Brothers with Kakucho between. The couch was wide enough for all of them to manspread. Rindou had a bored expression, resting his chin against his fist with his elbow on the arm of the couch. Ran was the more giddy of the two, like a kid on Christmas. And Kakucho, your sweet Kakucho, was so crushed. A black eye swelled his scarred eye shut. At least it wasn’t his seeing one. 

Sanzu basically skipped to the chair by the couch. Cozying up into the velvet, he placed his hands on his lap, shoulders shuddering in delight. “Let’s get this started.”

“Shut the fuck up, Sanzu,” Mikey ordered. 

Said man, brought you to the couch across from where the other man sat. Sanzu closed his mouth, but wasn’t offended in the slightest. Of course, he wouldn’t, he was too far up Mikey’s ass. 

Mikey sat down while he brought you between his thighs, facing him. He ran his hand up and down your waist. Whatever was going on, you weren’t liking it. 

“Undress.”

Silence filled the room. Your jaw dropped, agape and in awe. 

“What?”

His hand dug into the meat of your hips, “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Mikey’s word was law. Already shaking in fear, you brought your hand to the zipper in the back and slid it down while staring him down. He matched your glower. The dress fell limp and flowed until it pooled at your feet.

Knowing that you facing him gave you the confidence to strip, your brother spun you around. This was supposed to be a punishment and he wanted you to bathe in every bit of humiliation. 

Arrayed in just your bra and panties, you were tempted to cover yourself up. The other men tore into you with their famished eyes. Sanzu was especially elated. He never relished in anything more than your ignominy. Behind you, Mikey unhooked your bra. He tugged it off roughly and you almost stumbled at the jab. 

You would think after years of undressing for countless people, embarrassment would have left your system, but your cheeks steamed. Ran adjusted himself in his seat. Out of the men in the room, only the Haitani Brothers haven’t seen you naked. Not wanting to dip in their own supply or whatever other degrading language they used. At the end of the day, you were merely trade to them. 

Rindou indicated the most disinterested out of them all. His eyes drooped down in boredom. Despite that, those purple irises trailed up and down your form. Kakucho was downright miserable. His face was twisted in a mix of anger and shame. 

Mikey then shedded your last bit of armor. He was just as rough with ripping off your panties. You wanted to curl in on yourself. The sound of Mikey wrenching off his tie had you perk up. What is he doing?

Your arms were strained behind you, forced to sit parallel to each other. He wrapped the black tie around your forearms multiple times until they were almost fully covered and finished it off with a tight tie. You wiggled your wrists, scared. “What are you doing?” You tried to spin around but Mikey didn’t allow it. 

He manhandled you into his lap. “Quiet.”

You squirmed more, “No! Stop it.”

He swung one leg over your thighs to keep you still. None of the men moved to help either you or Mikey. They were there to enjoy the show. Mikey unbuckled his belt and ripped it from the belt loops. He growled when it got caught at the last hoop. Tears built up at the thought of him using it on you, so you struggled more.

“Relax.”

His words were no help. He raised the belt and you just about screamed, but he looped the belt around your throat. Mikey was surprisingly gentle when he thread the leather through the metal and tugged until it was firm against your neck. He spun his hand around the belt, like a leash. 

“Good dog,” He praised with no emotion. 

Mikey fixed you properly on his lap so your ass perked up. With his free hand, he rubbed up and down your bottom. You rested your forehead on the couch. A scream ripped through you followed by a sob when his palm slapped into the fat of your ass. The sound was muffled by the furniture and Mikey wasn’t having it. 

Yanking the belt, he pressed your head to face the men.

"Now you want to act all shy? Not too long ago you were whoring yourself out to my men," His tone conveyed the anger he kept at bay.

Your eyes met Kakucho before you looked down in shame. He slapped you again and a sob broke out. 

“He barely started and you already look this pathetic?” Sanzu teased vindictively. 

You gritted your teeth when Mikey hit harder and to keep from falling for Sanzu’s bait. He was right, your brother barely commenced and you were in agony. 

“How long?” Mikey asked.

Dropping your head, you were perplexed, “What?”

“How long,” He heeded Kakucho, “were you two going behind my back.”

“Ten months,” Kakucho answered for you and you collapsed further. 

Mikey dug his nails into the meat of your thigh. It stung and you tried to have him release you. Anger bubbled over and he smacked your thigh so hard the air left your lungs. 

“Ten months, you were fucking my Number Three without my knowledge. I ought to fucking murder you both, but I decided to be merciful,” He looked directly at you, “say thank you.”

“Thank you,” He dug his nails further, “T-thank you, Manjiro-nii.”

Ran laughed at that, “Wow, you are sick.” 

Mikey ignored Ran, too focused on you. “I think ten strikes would make it sink in. Count or else I will start from the beginning.”

You trembled, not once has Mikey ever gotten violent with you. He wasn’t kind by any means, but he wasn’t one for physical punishments. 

His hand striked where his nails culled blood from your skin and you screamed, he wasn’t holding back. “Count, I won’t remind you again.”

“O-one! I’m sorry.”

He cooed, “I liked the apology, add that onto it.”

Clenching your restrained hands into balls, you prepared for the next hit. Muscles strung too tight like a bow. Drawing it out, Mikey waited until your tendons grew tired of being strained did he slap you. His palm hit your ass this time. 

“Two, I’m sorry!” 

He rubbed out the heat radiating from your bottom, but it only irritated it more. Against your stomach, his bulge poked you. Your squirming was giving him some sort of relief. Your sobs sparked his chest to heave, short of breath. 

Pushing the thought away, he went back to your punishment. He striked your right cheek in the same place twice and you kicked your feet. 

“Three, Four, I’m sorry.”

Snot poured from your nose and into the couch. The world started to blur from the pain. You weren’t even half way through it and you don’t know if you can handle anymore. Mikey hit your left cheek this time, more towards your back than your thighs. 

“Five, I’m sorry,” You whimpered. 

Your brother dragged the makeshift leash so you faced him. His gaze inhaled your broken expression. Makeup, tears and snot was smeared all over your visage. To him, you never looked so beautiful. 

“Such a good dog for me.”

Those words only made it worse. Out of your peripheral, Mikey’s hand raised and hit the middle of your ass, irritating both already smarting cheeks. 

“S-six, I’m sorry!”

He tugged the belt again and you scanned at the other men. Sanzu was cupping his hardened cock and Ran was no better. He rubbed the heel of his palm into his crotch through his dress pants. Rindou was now leaned over, elbows on his knees. Kakucho has his fists in his lap. He looked about ready to spring up and pull you from Mikey’s lap. But the matching bulge in his pants gave away, in a sick way, he was enjoying the display. 

You screeched when Mikey spanked you with no warning. Your head fell back down and you groaned, feet curled in. 

“Numb—” Mikey started, but you cut him off.

“Seven, seven! I’m sorry, please don’t start over, I can’t,” You groveled. 

“Don’t let it happen again,” Instilling the lesson, he spanked you with fervor.

Crying, a headache forming, you sobbed, “Eight, I’m sorry.”

You were so close to being done, but the knowledge only made it worse. Mikey was in a cruel mood and he was going to drag this out until he was satisfied. He pinched the fat of your ass, humming when you yelped. He trailed his focus down to between your legs. Deft fingers dipped into where your cunt was. To your misfortune, wetness built up from his actions. 

“Are you seriously wet from this?” He mocked.

“S-stop it.”

Mikey shoved two fingers into your hole, your butt raised up in shock. “Don’t act like you aren’t enjoying this.”

Your syrupy cunt sucked him in as he scissored his fingers. He watched in fascination as your hole gaped slightly for him. Twisting the appendages, he was sure to brush against your g-spot, but offered no real stimulation. You canted your hips up more, begging for something, anything.

He ripped his fingers from you and slapped his hand down so hard, it licked your tailbone. Screaming, you kicked your feet at the ache shooting up your spine. 

“Nine, I’m sorry!”

Mikey wasn’t going to be merciful. The same fingers coated in your slick brushed over your tailbone and slotted between the cleft of your ass. Your thighs clenched in fear. He momentarily dropped the leash to pry your leg open. Nails digging into the meat, you shuttered when his fingers stroked your untouched back hole. He did nothing more than press into the puffy ring.

“Fuck,” A voice grunted at the other side of the room. It sounded like Ran, but you weren’t positive. 

Mikey didn’t dip in and moved his attention back to your cunt. “For another day,” He promised.

Scooping more of your slick from you, he drifted to your clit and swirled. He plucked moans from you and had your body melt into putty. His hands played with you to his own contentment. Pleasure shot up into your stomach, warming it. Mikey knew exactly how to have you fall into his hands. As you thawed into his thighs, stomach heavy on his hardened cock, he striked for the last time. 

His palm hit hard against your already smarting flesh and your ears rang for a brief moment. 

“Ten, I’m sorry,” The words were pathetic.

Finally done with your punishment, you sobbed more freely. Being taken over his knee like a child was too much for your brain to process. He worked you through it, stroking your upper back to soothe you. 

Mikey adjusted you so you sat sideways on his lap. The rough texture of his pants dug into your burning bottom. His hand cradled the back of your head while you curled into his neck. Your brother shushed you and rocked you back and forth. 

When you were more calm, he sighed into your ear, “We aren’t done yet.”

You shot straight up and gawked at him, eyes wide in fear. He grabbed the back of the collar and gripped to keep you in place. Your panicked eyes bounced to the other men in the room. They were all at the edge of their seats, like a movie finally hit its climax. As Mikey unzipped his pants, Kakucho exhibited he was about ready to leap, but Rindou placed an arm against the back of the sofa, tethering him. 

“W-what’s going on?” 

Mikey lifted his hips up a little, you still on his thigh and yanked down his pants and boxers. His cock sprang from its confines. Mikey wasn’t the biggest, but his length wasn’t anything to scoff at. A little longer than five inches and girthy. You were petrified, not once have you seen his dick fully. He was always the one giving you pleasure, with an unspoken promise never to touch you like that.

You didn’t like the implications of him exposing himself. Slouching further down the couch, Mikey grabbed your waist and sat you back on his thighs, facing the other men. They all knew something you didn’t. Grabbing the belt, he brought you down to rest all your weight on him. He didn’t so much grunt. 

He splayed a hand on your back and pushed you down a little, giving him a full view of your pussy. Taking his cock in his hand, he guided it to your hole. You tried to scramble away, but he tugged the leash so hard, you collapsed completely on him. 

“Manjiro-nii, please! Don’t do this, you-you promised,” You begged to deafened ears. 

Sanzu moaned lightly at your distress. Back firmly to his chest, Mikey pushed further into you, cockhead catching the ring of muscles. Your walls spasmed as he forced you further down to take all of him. You cried as your pussy stretched to accommodate his size. 

“How the fuck are you so tight,” Mikey grunted. 

He had one hand on your hip using it as leverage to push you down. Moaning, you twitched when he bottomed out inside you. Your hips flushed to his. Mikey basked in finally being inside you. He dreamed of this day.

“God, what a whore,” Rindou said. His voice was breathy with a laugh at the end. 

“Yeah,” His brother replied, “look at how wet she is from her brother fucking her. We should record it and sell it. I bet we would make a lot of money.”

You felt like an object more than usual. Mikey did nothing to stop their taunts, if anything, he welcomed it. Hand wrapped around the leather, he kept you tied to him. Your walls spasmed around him and Mikey couldn’t take it any longer. The hand on your hip moved to coil around your waist, hugging you. 

Secured, he thrusted his hips up, bullying his cock further up. You screeched when he banged against your cervix. The pain had you clenching tighter around him. Taking that as motivation, he pistoned his hips into you over and over. 

Your head lolled back to rest against his shoulder. Eyes slipping closed, Mikey tugged the belt, digging into your larynx. Your bound hands spasmed as he choked you. 

“Look at them.”

Lips tingling from the lack of oxygen, you followed his orders. The men were in varying states. Sanzu gathered his cock from his trousers and was stroking himself to the rhythm of Mikey’s thrusts. Both the brothers were still clothed, but were rubbing themselves through their pants. Kakucho was seething in his seat. His cock was hard. How could you blame him, when your pretty moans blessed his ears. But he knew you didn’t want this. 

“They are like slobbering puppies,” He spoke into your ear, his breath tickling your sensitive neck, “Whimpering and howling for what’s mine.”

At the last word, he bit the shell of your ear. 

“Manjiro-nii…”

His thrusts were becoming too much. He tilted his hips again to repeatedly bump into the spongy spot deep inside you. A loud moan ruptured from your chest and he groaned at the sound. Basking in the unwanted pleasure, your eyes hazed over and began to slip closed.

The bit of leather into your almost healed throat had your lid shoot up. 

“Eyes. Open,” Mikey ordered, puncturing your cunt with each word. 

You wiggled, and gripped the front of his shirt, your bound hands unable to do anything else. Black creeped in your vision as he didn’t let up. 

“You’re killing her!” Kakucho cried.

It was hard to process his words as Mikey only pulled harder.

Sanzu laughed, “Stop being dramatic.”

If Mikey didn’t stop, you were going to pass out. A strangled noise broiled up as your toes curled. Just as the room faded did Mikey let up on his grip. A cough escaped you as you tried to hunch forward to catch your breath. Your brother rooted you back to his chest. Instinctively, your body constricted, ready for more pain.

Your cunt tightened up in response. Mikey almost whimpered at how much you were squeezing him. He wasn’t going to last. Reaching down, the hand around your waist brushed against your puffy, neglected clit.

Yelping, you shied away from his touch. Mikey chased you to rub circles into the bundle of nerves. Wanting, no—he needed you to reach your end with him. The other men quickened their pace as well. 

Mikey wrenched the belt back again to cut off your air supply. His thrusts were sloppy and uncoordinated, but didn’t have any less power to them. Pinching your clit until you sobbed out, he rammed himself as far as he could go. Your cunt spasmed around his cock as you came.

The world faded into black and white, mouth agape to moan and to beg for air. Mikey bit down on your shoulder as he came right behind you. His cum was hot and claimed your walls. He gave some weak thrusts, gently guiding you both through the rest of your orgasm. 

Slumping against him did he finally release his hold on the belt. You doubled over as you coughed and sputtered to gain your breath. Drool dripped down from your bottom lip. 

Mikey tugged you into his embrace this time by your shoulders but you screamed in fear, terrified of being strangled again. Your eyes searched frantically all over the room, trying to process what happened. 

“Get out,” Mikey snapped at the other men. 

Knowing their play time was done, they leisurely walked out of the room. Kakucho tried to linger, but Ran pushed him along. For you or for Kakucho, no one knows.

When the door was firmly closed, Mikey lifted you up from his cock. You cringed as his cooling cum drooled out from your winking cunt. He softly placed you to the side of him. Swiftly he untied his tie from your forearms and set you free. You brought your arms back to your front and rolled your wrists in hopes to ease the tingling. Next was the belt. You cowered away when his fingers brushed against you. 

Mikey exhaled as he unlooped the belt and freed you from your physical leash. He steered you until your head rested on his lap. When you weren’t paying attention, he shoved his cock back into his pants. 

“I will never forgive you for this,” You muttered.

“I should be the one saying that.”

Your fist balled up once more, “I hate you. I hate you so fucking much.”

Mikey simply petted your hair as you cried. You were always fragile like butterfly wings. One brush of his finger and you would never fly again. Despite this, he clutched onto you like a careless child. If it meant breaking your very being in the process, then he would do what he must. Though as he watched you twitch and wither, a part of him regretted ripping off your pretty wings.

MORTEM

Days had passed since the gala and you hadn’t left your room. When he brought you back to the hotel room, you were silent. And you stayed silent through the whole trip home. You felt violated and dirty. Now matter how much you scrubbed in the shower, Mikey’s touch wouldn’t leave you. 

In a twisted sense, this was your wakeup call. You couldn’t handle much more or else you would shatter. Your brother left you alone for the most part. While you inverted in on yourself, he watched sadly but did nothing. 

Routinely, Mikey would come to your room and knock knowing you would not answer. Even with the key he had, he dared not unlock your door. He has pushed his boundaries as is. If anything, he was more distraught out of the both of you.

Laying in your giant bed, you didn’t let your depressed state rot you away. No, you were done being under Mikey’s thumb. Knowing that Kisaki was long since dead and Hanma had little interest in you, the danger was in your home all along. Nothing held you back anymore from starting anew. 

You had been back in the manor for about four days now and every night, you snuck out of your room to steal money. You kept it small, but enough to buy you a train and airplane ticket, far away from Japan. As a child, you always loved the countryside and you longed to go somewhere similar to the roaring mountains. Combined with the tips you had stowed away from the club, for a moment just like this, you would be fine until you found a job.

Stealing the money was easy, it was breaking into Mikey’s office to obtain all your documents and passport that had you on edge the most. Last night, you stole the last bit of what you needed, knowing it would be easier to notice missing than a couple hundred dollars. Luckily, Mikey had slipped off to bed and wasn’t slumped over in his chair. Thank whatever deity was listening that all your papers were in his office and not somewhere else. If you had to forge them, you had no idea what you would do with all the men breathing down your neck. 

Over the course of you being home, you hadn’t seen or heard of Kakucho once. Your heart broke. But what broke your heart more was that Mikey never really cared for you. You were a possession, an almost perfect sized puzzle piece to fill the gap Emma had left.

Night had fallen, moonlight poured from the window. You waited for Mikey’s knock. Right on time there was a rapping on your door. Tears broke out as you bit into your hand as he shouted your name. His voice was so sad. In another lifetime, maybe you could have been normal siblings and maybe you two could have been close and maybe Emma could still be alive and none of this would have happened. 

He sighed and his shadow moved away from the door under the crack at the bottom. You counted and counted until you were in the thousands. Silence and the bellowing winds greeted you. You hopped up from your bed, tearing the sheets from your form. 

Crawling under your bed, you grabbed the backpack and toiled it with you. Placing it on your bed, you zipped it open to make sure all you needed was still there. You had your money, documents, and a few spare clothes shoved in there. A water bottle and a few protein bars were in the front pocket, in case. 

Softly, you opened your closet and uprooted a thick winter jacket and snow boots. A flurry of snowflakes raged outside. You shoved a hat on top of your head and wrapped a scarf around your neck. Your hand lingered on your throat, the bruise finally gone despite the irritation added from Mikey’s belt. Suddenly short of breath, you shook the thoughts away. 

Pulling your hood up, you swung the backpack high on your shoulders. Your feet carried you to the window and you pushed it up. The panes got caught a couple times from the chill. You stared down at the ground below you. Your bedroom was only on the second floor, but if you weren’t careful, you could break your foot. It was also not under anyone else’s bedroom, thankfully. 

Vertigo hit you from staring at the snowy ground. 

“Fuck it.”

Steeling your resolve, you swung your legs outside the window and ducked your head. Your bottom and hands were the only thing tethering you to the ledge. Sucking an inhale, you jumped.

Swallowing a scream as air whipped in your ears. In seconds, you land on the ground with an *oof*, the snow breaking your fall. Not wasting time, you scurried away from the floor and raced away from the compound. The snow slowed you down and gave away the direction you went. Once you hit the road it was easier to run. 

You dared not loop back to the manor and picked up the pace. The subway station was only a half hour walk but you weren’t taking any chances. Booted feet slapped against concrete. Snow crunched under your weight and the cold stung your cheeks. There were a few cars that drove past you, but paid you no mind. They also had places to be. 

You couldn’t tell if it was the cold or the fear of being caught, yet a chill went down your spine. Cutting the estimated time in half, the train station was in view. Out of breath, you slowed your pace to a brisk walk. No one was waiting for the train. It made sense since it was the last train of the night. 

Gripping the backpack, you reached the empty, open train stop. As you shuffled towards the awning, you heard the clicking of the safety being switched off. 

You freezed at the familiar sound.

“Don’t make this difficult, Y/n,” Mikey said from behind you

Scared to confront  him, you stay silent and scout when the train will arrive, five minutes. You can buy time. You can be smart about this.

“I’m leaving.”

He cocked the gun, “No you’re not. You’re going to come back with me.”

Still refusing to turn around, you muttered,  “Let me go, Mikey.”

He walked closer, snow crackling beneath him. He brought the barrel to the back of your head. 

“We both know I can’t do that.”

“Why?” Three more minutes.

“You know why,” he said it like it's so simple. That it's so simple why he entangled you with him when he clearly hated you so deeply. 

“No I don’t!” You whipped around, the barrel now to your forehead. It was no longer you talking, but a seven year old you crying why her older brother doesn’t love her. 

She speaks through you, “You hated me since we were little. You always favored Emma over me and acted like my presence was a nuisance. I know it should have been me and not her, but it's not fair! It’s not fair that I have to be punished for simply being your sister!”

He gripped you and tugged you to him with the gun now at your temple. “I never hated you, not once! You aren’t a replacement for Emma, I never saw you like that. I loved you since the day I met you but it was so much different than what I have for our other siblings. It was wrong, but I had to have you.”

“You’re sick,” You seethed. This whole time he tormented you for his own twisted desires. He tarnished you with his own sullied hands. He ripped you apart, your fragile butterfly wings crumbling at his fumbling actions. 

“I don’t care what you think I am as long as you stay with me,” He clutched your face with an open palm and the heel of his hand that still held the loaded gun.

You tried to pry his hands away as the honking of the train alerts you both of its soon arrival.

“Get off me! Let me go, I hate you.”

Desperate, he kissed you, pouring into you all the love he begged to give but you didn’t want it. Not after what he did. 

You pushed against his chest, “You lied to me about Kisaki, yet you punished me for lying. You’re the real liar.”

“I had to! If I didn’t, you would never come back to me.”

“I was never yours to keep.”

“You went to fuck Kakucho in the middle of an important deal!” He was grasping at straws.

“No I didn’t! If you listened instead of going off the handle, you would know I saw Hanma. How do you think I found out Kisaki was dead?”

Mikey’s brows pinched, knowing he was in the wrong, but refused to admit it.  The train came barrelling in, tousling both of your hair. It came to a slow crawl, Mikey was out of time. 

“You’re mine.”

He bent down as if to kiss you again and you punched him so hard his head whipped to the side. Pushing him off you, you hightailed to the opened doors. 

“Don't make me shoot you!” He cried. 

Ignore his words, you raced to the gaping door.  A scream erupted when a bullet hit your shoulder. The sound was muffled by the blood pumping in your ears.  You stumbled on your feet but you clutched the bleeding arm. Going sideways, you barreled into the closing train doors. As they closed, you rested your forehead against the glass.

You jumped when Mikey slammed onto the glass, his face thunderous and filled with ill intent. He was already on the phone with someone. You could only guess who.

Smirking at him, relishing in your small victory, you raised a bloody hand and flipped him off. 

He hit the door with the butt of the gun, barely making a dent.  The train kicked into motion and you waved goodbye at him as he merely glared, watching you fly away from him.

You take a seat still clutching your bleeding arm. At this point you were surely going to pass out from either the shock or blood loss, but a smile stayed on your face. Mikey was going to have all of Japan locked down by the time you reach the end of the line, but you savored your small moment of peace.

Come morning, you were going to be slung back at the beginning. But you have done this cycle before and you were going to do it again and again until either you or Mikey break. 

#yandere mikey #yandere mikey x reader #yandere manjiro sano #yandere tokyo revengers #yandere tokyorev #yandere manjiro x reader #yandere x reader #yandere

[queenimmadolla]

could we have something with wayne? i love wayne 🥺 was he upset when reader first got pregnant? worried about how eddie would cope and the consequences of having a baby so young? or was he buying onesies and telling everyone in the trailer park he was gunna be a grandpa?

this was an absolute delight to write. the penny verse is an extension of another series I have (Call You Mine) and Wayne is heavily involved in later chapters. this contains a ton of spoilers for it but i don’t care all that much because I love Wayne too and I really like his relationship with reader and what I have going for his backstory with Eddie. hope you enjoy it!

𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐬

(Father-in-law!Wayne Munson and Daughter-in-law!Reader bonding)

warnings: mentions of pregnancy and drugs (reader does not use)

a/n: reader is 19, eddie is 20 and both are married to each other. daisy edgar jones is NOT reader, she is how i imagine Eddie’s mom to look so she’s used for the aesthetic. happy reading and let me know how you like it! as always, reblogs and comments (not jerk ones) are appreciated and mistakes will be fixed later!

more of the pennyverse here

It’s late, the sun is dipping below the earth visible to your eye, the trailer park lit only by the porch lights attached to a few of the mobile homes and light slipping through window blinds, drapes and curtains.

You’re standing in front of the window next to the front door, fingers separating the blinds and fingertips pressed against the cold glass. It’s warm in the trailer, compared to outside and courtesy of the space heater that goes above and beyond in heating your humble home.

The musical sound of Eddie, singing something of Whitesnake’s in the shower can be faintly heard but you aren’t paying him any attention. Your only focus is on the tan trailer four down from Maxine’s; spread out and relaxed in one of the lawn chairs under its awning is the Munson you’re most concerned about, at the moment.

It had been almost an entire month since you’d last spoken to him, something you hadn’t been aware of until you had purposely started to avoid him. 

Your relationship with Wayne Munson was anything but complicated. Well, until recently. When you’d first met him, not only did you discover he was about as wise as he looked and not nearly as scary as you imagined him to be (reminded you a lot of Eddie, actually), but you also realized he cared for Eddie, deeply. Enough to sit you down and tell you all about how he knew of Eddie’s deep affections for you before telling you all about his relationship with Penny—Eddie’s mother—and how he hoped you two would have a much happier ending. He’d asked you to take care of Eddie then, too. If you wanted to be with him, that was. And you did, so you agreed. 

Then you’d broken up with Eddie. You’d been heartbroken the entire time and positive you’d disappointed Wayne. Only, when you made your way to the trailer to fix what you’d destroyed, you had encountered Wayne again and expected to be turned away. Instead, he told you he knew you wouldn’t break your promise to him and welcomed you back.

The thing is, while you were sure he really believed you wouldn’t break your promise to take care of Eddie, you were also sure there had to have been a moment during your break up in which Wayne Munson regretted ever trusting you with his nephew’s heart, especially since that nephew was more his son than anything. 

Now, you were disappointing him again. It didn’t have anything to do with leaving Eddie, far from. If anything, you were now permanently bound to Eddie, in some way. You’re pregnant, as in you have his baby growing inside of you. 

It had come as a shock to you because you had no inkling that you were pregnant up until a couple of weeks ago (like two) and just as you were beginning to actually enjoy and soak in the fact that you and Eddie were going to be parents (you were gonna be someone’s mom! How fucking weird!), Eddie burst your bubble, informing you he’d seen Wayne recently and mentioned it to him. 

You love Eddie. Want to spend the rest of your life with him doing stupid shit like marrying him right after your graduation ceremony and having a baby at the apparently irresponsible ages of 19 and 20, but you wanted to strangle him right then. Not just because he’d told Wayne, but also because he’d done so like he was some random person from his past who asked him how he was doing and he’d casually mentioned that he and his young wife were expecting. Wayne deserved better than that.

Which is why, after days of cowering and avoiding him (it wasn’t all that difficult, Wayne spent about 98% of his time at his girlfriend’s home—the trailer you were staring at—so you hadn’t seen him often to begin with since that romance had developed) you’re determined to talk to him. Just need a couple more minutes to work up the courage.

You aren’t stupid. Well, you are, but not that stupid. You know what most “adults” (you’re an adult, too, but you’re talking about the old ass folks) thought about you. How dumb they assume you are for marrying young and Eddie, no less (they could suck your dick, he’s a fantastic husband), and now that you’re pregnant—and not even showing all that much—you know they’d think they were right. Like having a baby with the man you loved was some giant fucking punishment. Clearly, they need to rethink who they are married to if it was such a concern for them or mind their own business.

But Wayne…god, you had no idea what to expect from him. He was one of the few people in this town whose opinion you actually respected and valued. He’d wanted you and Eddie to wait a little but still gave him his blessing to marry you because he knew nothing would stop you. Your parents had been about the same, but that’s a different, messy story. Marriage was one thing, having a baby is much larger than that.

You’d been avoiding Wayne out of fear of hearing him voice what you knew was slowly making its way around Hawkins: you’re making a mistake. 

You’d be disappointing Wayne. Again.

Still, you can’t avoid him forever.

You see the man in question rattle the beer can in his hand, something you’d seen him do plenty of times on the couch outside of this trailer before he’d take the lack of liquid in it as a sign to get up, joints creaking, and make his way inside for the night.

You hurriedly slip on your coat and crash through the front door. It’s much colder than you anticipated but you ignore it and soldier on, making your way down the road.

You stare at your shoes as you sit in the empty lawn chair next to his, the cold of it numbing your butt on contact.

You know he’s not looking at you, probably still admiring the colors of the sky and taking everything in like he always is.

He breaks the silence first.

“Bit cold out for you, ain’t it?”

You wet your lips, hands curled in the warm pockets of your coat. 

“It’s not so bad. I prefer cold weather over the heat.”

He hums, low and always all-knowing. You know that he knows why you’re here. Just like Eddie, he’s patient with you; letting you come to him, letting you tell him when you’re ready. You think maybe Eddie picked up that particular character trait from how Wayne interacted with him. 

“I wanted─” You start and don’t finish. Another moment passes before you try again.

“I didn’t─”

Fuck! Why was this so hard? You hadn’t realized how badly you wanted to make him proud of you, after everything you’d put Eddie through (who probably put Wayne through a lot, as a result), you wanted to make up for it by being good to his boy and what was supposed to be a happy thing was beginning to feel like you trapping him. You knew that wasn’t the case, Eddie wanted the little being growing inside of you just as much as you did. 

Trying to explain that to someone so much older was challenging. Trying to explain it to someone older and someone you didn’t want to ever look down on you, was practically impossible. You probably appear young and dumb. 

You figure, maybe it’s time to succumb to defeat, shoulders sagging.

“You can say it.”

It’s a whisper but Wayne hears it, finally turning his head to take you in. You still can’t meet his eyes, don’t want him to see how sad yours are.

“Say what?”

“That I’m stupid. I’m ruining my life, settling. Trapping him. Screwing him over,” you don’t even notice you’re doing it, your hand moves to rest on your stomach, as if to protect your baby from the accusation you’re about to throw out. “I’m making a mistake.”

Wayne doesn’t say anything at first, just hums again. It’s not one of agreement. His thumb runs over the aluminum of the beer can in his grasp.

“You think that?”

You brave a glance at him, willing yourself to not cower under his gaze. Wayne Munson’s stare can have any sinner confessing, just from the sheer intimidation in it. 

You can’t find your tongue all of a sudden, feeling like a child. You just shake your head, timid.

“Then why would I think that?”

“Uhm, because. Uh, because it’s what everyone thinks. It’s what they thought when we got married in June, too.”

Wayne chuckles, shaking his head fondly.

“Didn’t seem to stop you from going through with it.”

It hadn’t. Before you even got to the courthouse, word had spread and one of the cheer moms who worked there had tried to offer you some unsolicited advice: don’t do it.

You did it.

“There ain’t nothing ‘bout you two that’s been conventional. Always got me rubbing my scalp.”

You giggle, biting your lip to try to stop yourself but you know Wayne meant to make you laugh, tried to ease you with humor he rarely expressed. For some reason, the jokes about him balding greatly amused you.

“Are you mad? That I’m pregnant?”

“No,” he shakes his head, gruffly clearing his throat. Doesn’t do much, his voice is always raspy. “Takes two to get in a spot like that. I didn’t see it coming, that’s for sure. But like I said, you two ain’t ever been conventional. Glad to see you’re following the order of things, ‘least. I’ll be honest with you, it’s always been a little hard to picture where Eddie would end up, what he’d be doing in life. Other than playing that loud music and going to those damn noisy shows. Made me a little nervous with those girls I knew he brought around, didn’t ever meet none of them but I knew. If it had been then, I’d probably have been more scared. ‘Specially if he felt like he had to hide ‘em. Or if they had to hide him.”

Wayne leans further back into the chair, making the stiff thing look as comfortable as a recliner. 

“It’s different with you. We had this conversation before. You remember?” You think you know what he’s about to bring up, so you nod.

“Mhm. You’re about how old Penny was when she had Eddie. Maybe a little younger. You ain’t married to an asshole, either. For the most part.” 

You laugh again and point out, “I thought Penny never married Otis.”

Otis is Eddie’s dad. The older brother (by 10 years) of Wayne’s who swooped in and stole his best friend from him, introducing the much younger girl to a life of a hardcore drug you’d never touch and one Eddie would make sure he never had any part of: meth. 

Wayne had told you she’d gotten clean when she found out she was pregnant with Eddie and stayed that way, for him. You know that’s when he fell in love with her. Sadly, their story would never involve romance. They were kept apart by Otis, distance and themselves, neither one of them speaking up when she’d returned to Hawkins with Eddie, unwilling to have him live in a meth lab. In a cruel ironic twist, she’d ended up dying of an overdose not much longer after her return; she’d been struggling to sleep with everything going on and unknowingly mixed two over the counter sleeping pills that shut her system down. She’d stayed clean only to die because she wanted a good night's sleep so she could take care of her son. Eddie had been forced by the system to live with his father, only being allowed to return to Wayne—with a shaved head when traces of the drug were found in his hair—after his father’s lab was busted.

“She didn’t,” Wayne agrees, that far off look in his eye when he recounts his younger days to you. “But he wasn’t exactly the type of man any woman would want to marry. You got lucky with Eddie, he ain’t nothing like Otis.”

You hum in agreement, mind flooding with thoughts of soft curls and even softer brown eyes. You know Wayne loves Eddie on his own and wouldn’t ever treat him differently, but you can’t help but be thankful—for Wayne—that Eddie is an almost exact replica of his mom, appearance wise. For both of them, actually. Eddie hates his father and you know he’d hate himself if he looked in the mirror and saw any resemblance. 

“You got your head on right.” You snap out of your thoughts at the comment, surprised. 

“Huh?”

“You might be young, but you sure ain’t stupid. I may not know everything that went on with you, but I know you saved yourself from it. You and Eddie been doing an awful lot of that your whole lives, ‘least you get to do it together now. I know you love Eddie, and I know you love that baby. So don’t you dare say you made a mistake. Would I have liked for you to wait? Sure. Hell, I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t have minded waiting either. Unless—was this…?”

“No! No! It wasn’t planned at all!” You don’t mention that you and Eddie hadn’t been using protection, just blindly trusting your birth control. He doesn’t need to know that. 

Wayne sighs in relief. “See? You ain’t stupid.” Debatable. “And even if it was, I trust that you know what you’re doing. ‘S the reason I let you two live in that trailer alone.”

You smirk, happy to have the opportunity to chime in. 

“Are you sure it’s not because of Ms. Maple?” You wiggle your eyebrows, not so discreetly nodding your head to the trailer behind you and the occupant you’re sure is inside.

You laugh as Wayne raises his eyes at the awning.

“Lord,” he mutters, with fake annoyance. He’ll tell you all about Penny but he won’t say a thing about Maude Maple. You suspect it’s because he feels like he’s betraying Penny in some way, even though they were never involved. Munson men are loyal. 

“Is that what you came over here to pester me about? Or are we gonna keep this talk serious?”

“No,” You pout, curling your legs up to your chest. “I just—I didn’t know how to tell you. Kind of forgot we have to tell people actually, and when Eddie mentioned that he’d brought it up in a chat─”

You’re cut off when Wayne booms out a laugh, surprising you considering you’d rarely heard him laugh hard.

He’s almost snickering when he calms down, “Is that what he told you? That boy called me up and asked if we could talk. Figured it could only mean he’d gotten you pregnant, considering he already eloped with you. He was shaking in his shoes the entire time he was over, he didn’t just bring it up in a run-in.”

Your mouth drops open, eyes squinting as you think about how you’re gonna chastise Eddie as soon as you get back to the trailer. That jerk! He made it seem like it was just something that came up in conversation, not something that he’d set aside time to talk to Wayne about! 

Another half of you wanted to kiss him silly for taking it seriously and having a meaningful conversation with his father figure about becoming a father.

“No wonder you were so well prepared.”

“That didn’t have nothing to do with it. Like I said, I figured you were. Not just ‘cause he wanted to have a talk, it may not be obvious to the two of you since you see each other every day, but you’re filling out a little more.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, though there’s no animosity to it. You know he’s not implying you’re gaining weight, he’s saying you’re showing. 

“Winter layers can’t hide it.”

Your mouth drops open and closed, gaze darting from what you thought was your normal looking stomach to Wayne and back again.

“You’re good!” You marvel, baffled at how observant and damn near omnipresent Wayne Munson is.

Wayne looks pleased with your statement, a small smile on his face. “I know. Eddie says it’s a girl. What color clothes should I be buying my grandbaby? You got any names picked out?”

You pull your hand out of your pocket to nervously bite at your thumb. Ever since you’d accepted the fact that you were gonna be a mom (still so fucking weird), to a girl, there was only one name bouncing around in your head. You hadn’t even shared the idea with Eddie yet. 

“I really like ‘Penny’.”

#eddie munson x reader #dilf!eddie munson x reader #dilf!eddie munson #mom!reader #girl dad!eddie munson #dad!eddie munson x mom!reader #eddie munson x pregnant!reader #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson #wayne munson #uncle wayne #pennyverse #pennyverse headcanons #pennyverse asks #stranger things #stranger things fics #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson x black!reader

[hey-august]

August I will not make you persue ideas you don’t want to pursue further but I gotta admit Tattoo!artist Buggy is just. NNF. Personal basic bitch au right here. Guy who needles you (…. HAH!) about your shitty stick and poke you got from your even shittier ex boyfriend, but then makes you laugh when he asks you what he did and then openly mocks him in a nasally voice. The hot guy with long hair, a full- ,nautical themed, sleeve and a bunch of piercings. The flashy artist who will always try to put his own spin on his tattoos, lest someone walk out of his place with something unoriginal. The hardass, Mr. “Chop Chop” alluding to the many scars he’s acquired in his (even more) criminal youth, who makes a big deal of being able to take it all. “Fuck yeah it hurts” and “No crying in the chair.”, signs on the wall. Probably named his studio something like “Circus of pain” or equally edgy…

And then he has to stop his knees from trembling when your sessions are done and you shyly ask him if you can give him his number. He hates that! He was supposed to be all suave and badass and ask for YOUR number!!

Oh anon, you have got ALL THE IDEAS. 🩷🩷🩷

Not actually a story, but your wonderful ideas got the thoughts running... WC: ~700 Warnings: SFW, a little bit suggestive here and there

A shop like “Circus of Pain” has quite the reputation. The awning is a nostalgic red and white with string lights underneath.

Flash sheets everywhere - crocodiles and hawks, ships and compasses, fruits and botanicals, lions, knives, anchors… There’s just so much. Every place you look, something new catches your eye. Until the tattoo artist comes in. The whole reason you chose this place.

He’s talented. That’s why. That’s definitely the reason why. He’s also funny. Someone who embraces the nickname Mr. Chop Chop has to be funny. He says you can call him Buggy, though. That wink. Wow. And his smile. But you came for the talent.

Buggy loves to show off. When you ask for a tattoo tour, he was more than thrilled to oblige. You don’t miss the subtle flexes as he shows his full sleeves. Or how he hikes his shorts up extra high to show you his legs. You were not prepared for all the sweet extras when he pulled up his shirt, though. Pierced nipples and a happy trail that was covered all too quickly when he dropped his shirt.

You recover when you see the dusting of blush cross his face when you shower him with compliments. You throw in a few roasts and watch his cheeks get even redder. It’s cute how he can't control the volume of his voice when he gets flustered. Especially when he remembers that you’re getting a piece on your thigh.

Buggy is a professional. He has a reputation to uphold. As much as he wants to run his hand on your leg a little longer, to feel your skin against his, to dig his fingers in your thigh…. Phew, it’s time for a break. Just a few minutes. He needs to go clear his head. Get some cold water. Spend some time alone.

You ask if it’s alright to order food now, which is more than fine. And even better when you order extra for him. The break is extended so you two can chow down and chat.

Buggy is so funny. And talented. He keeps you laughing and talking, anything to keep you distracted from the pain. He keeps an eye on how your body moves, when you seem too tense, when you hold your breath, when your hands clench. 

That means he catches all the moments that you glance at him. When you stare a little longer than normal, admiring his long lashes and beautiful eyes. The focused faces he makes. Buggy’s emotive - frowning and smiling every other second. Your eyes hang on his hands as they work. His arms as they move. And those shorts that creep a little high when he sits down.

These thoughts give Buggy plenty to think about in between your sessions. Maybe you’re looking at him because he’s a weirdo. Because he’s not good looking. Maybe you laugh at him because he is the one tattooing you. Maybe you’re afraid of him messing with the tattoo, so you try to bribe his kindness with food and laughter. Maybe he should pick different outfits. Maybe…

Maybe you do like him. Maybe that’s why you keep coming back. Why you arrive early. Why you pick the food places he recommends. Maybe you don’t stop breathing from pain, but because he’s so close. And you like him.

Buggy hopes that’s the case.

He swallows that hope at the end of your last session. That tattoo is finished and absolutely fantastic - flashy, even! You like it, he likes it, and…

Before he could offer you his number, you are already offering yours. 

Buggy had a whole plan! He was going to be so smooth, offering to give you his number in case you had any questions while you're healing, if you wanted to book another appointment with him directly, if you ordered too much food and needed his help finishing, if you wanted to grab a drink some time and talk.

All those thoughts fly out of his head as you sit there nervously, waiting for his answer.

Maybe he didn’t like you. Maybe you were just a client and this was incredibly rude and inappropriate.

But maybe he did like you. And maybe he did want to see you again.

Buggy nearly fell apart. He was head over heels trading numbers. Struck with one last bolt of suave inspiration, he suggested taking a selfie together so you could both use it as a contact pic.

The first picture was fine. A little stiff, if anything. The second one was silly, you each made goofy faces. And the third one…that's your favorite. At the last moment, you turned and kissed him on the cheek. Now you have a rare and treasured picture of Mr. Chop Chop looking surprised and blushing like an absolute fool.

#buggy x reader #buggy the clown x reader #buggy x you #x reader #buggy op #opla buggy #one piece buggy #buggy the clown

[theharrowing]

Devil with the Mint Hair 🍃 3: Pretty good

His pull out game is strong but your hatred for him is stronger.

PREVIOUS | INDEX | NEXT

🍃 Yoongi x Female Reader

🍃 word count: 7.7k

🍃 enemies to fuck buddies, brother’s best friend, explicit smut, nsfw, 18+

🍃 warnings: alcohol consumption (mc is tipsy); talk of hiring sex workers; mention of masturbation with sex toys; mention of Yoongi fucking Jimin; use of "baby girl" & "submissive little fuck doll"; mc is a brat; dirty talk and filthy smut (safe word establishment; mc does not get undressed; hair gripping - no description of hair style or length; being handled roughly - pushed around, gripped by head and throat; face slapping; rough, messy blow job & face fucking; a lot of drool; spitting; rough sex; pussy slapping; cunnilingus, fingering, & ass eating; multiple orgasms; overstimulation); they do not kiss once; post-nut regret; possibly catching a feeling??? (lol, as if.)

🍃 note: this scene takes place in America and there is a brief interaction with a bartender but i didn't specify what language anyone is speaking or where these characters live because it seems very unimportant for a fic like this lol. i know nobody is here for the scraps of plot.

🍃 beta read by @neoneunnajimin​

🍃 posted oct. 2023 | read on ao3

The summer sun is hot and oppressive, and you sit under the awning of a poolside bar, hair dripping from taking a swim, with a towel around your hips, waiting impatiently for the bartender to return with a blended margarita – desperate for the inevitable brain freeze, if it means you get to cool down. 

Why your brother chose to celebrate his September birthday in Las Vegas, of all places, is beyond you, and you try your hardest not to melt against the high bar chair and its tiny little wooden seat back. You only agreed to come because he is your brother, and you would never miss his birthday for the world. 

And you assumed that he and the guys would be so busy gambling and going to strip clubs – and whatever else men in their twenties do – that you would not get stuck running into a certain someone too much, despite foolishly agreeing to meet up, should the possibility arise. And you were right, for the most part. 

Night one consisted of dinner and drinks, and then the guys went off to various casinos on the strip to test their luck. You meandered through your hotel's casino, cradling a drink while taking in all the sights and sounds, ultimately becoming both underwhelmed and overwhelmed, and retiring to your room to sink into the jacuzzi tub. 

The following day, the guys slept in late while you went to breakfast, and then you joined them for some day drinking and a walk along the strip. And although your sworn enemy did make an appearance each time, with your brother around, he barely acknowledged your presence – something that you have found to be both a relief and somewhat infuriating. 

He has also been preoccupied with a pretty boy with bright orange hair named Jimin, and you find yourself wondering, whenever you see him, whether he is the hookup your enemy mentioned to you over text. 

Not that you want that devil to acknowledge you, nor do you want to care about who he fucks – after the stunt he pulled the last time you saw him, you find it impossible to look him in the eyes for more than a few seconds. But it still feels strange to be ignored by someone who made you cum so hard – a thought that makes you cringe.

You surmise that the guys had a long night at the strip club because it is almost noon, and you have not heard from your brother. Today has been set aside as a sleep-in-and-recharge day, anyway, so you have no plans until dinner, which is how you came to be at the large outdoor pool, perched at the bar without the expectation of running into anyone. Perhaps you should have rethought your plan and gone to someone else's expansive outdoor pool, but now is not the time for weighing the could-have-beens.

Once the bright blue drink in a tall, curvy glass is set before you, you sit high in your seat, smiling as you take hold of the chilled glass and wrap your lips around the neon pink straw, sucking in the ice-cold concoction that sends a shiver down your spine with a flavor that you can only describe as boozy blue.

"God, that's good," you mutter to yourself, rolling your eyes back with joy and lolling your head as a frigid rush works its way through your body, aided by your damp bathing suit. 

"Damn," a familiar voice rasps from behind, making you jump, "what do they put in those things?"

You don't need to turn to see that Yoongi has sat to your right, but you do, quickly taking in his naked torso and black swim shorts before turning your attention back to your drink, putting the straw between your lips and noting that he is dressed to swim but still dry. 

As much as you try to ignore his presence, you can feel Yoongi's eyes on you, and you do your best to ignore the way your skin has broken into goosebumps and your face warms. You do not like him, and you hate how your body responds to his presence.

Yoongi drawls a petulant, "Wow, not even gonna say hi to me, huh?" 

You roll your eyes, take a deep, chilling sip of blue, and turn your attention toward him, doing your best to appear wholly inconvenienced. Then, with wide, incredulous eyes and a fake smile, you say, "Hi, Yoongi," as sarcastically as possible. 

Yoongi snickers, then opens his mouth to retaliate, but the bartender returns and asks if he would like something, forcing his attention away as he points to your drink and says, "I'll have whatever that is."

The bartender cheerily says, "Blue raspberry margarita, coming right up!" and walks off. 

Yoongi turns his attention back to you to mutter, "Sounds mildly horrifying; I can't wait," with a grin.

Feeling annoyed and disinterested in whatever this man is playing at, you blurt, "Why are you here, Yoongi?"

"My best friend's birthday," Yoongi responds, running a hand through his short, mint-green hair, and sounding bored. "Why else?"

You sigh and roll your eyes, then focus on stabbing the pink straw into your blue drink. "I mean here, sitting next to me. There are other bars out here, and hundreds more along the strip. Shouldn’t you be preoccupied by that orange-haired guy who clings to you, instead?”

When Yoongi asks, "Why wouldn't I want to be here, sitting next to you?” his voice is much lower and much closer than you expect, and you flinch, turning your sights back to him. 

Yoongi leans on the bar top, elbow only inches away, and his gaze is piercing. Only a small floral bikini top covers your upper half, and your leg sticks out from the slit in your towel enough that when Yoongi's gaze roves slowly and hungrily over your body, you feel exposed. Anxiety crashes through you, but so does arousal, and you clear your throat and take another frozen sip. 

“And anyway,” Yoongi continues the moment you turn away, “Jimin is still asleep, and likely will be for several more hours.”

The bartender returns and sets Yoongi's drink before him, and you watch from the corner of your eye as his nimble, long fingers delicately cradle the glass and slide it toward himself. He sits forward, takes a sip, and then grumbles out something unintelligible under the sound of your pounding heart. 

"Hmm?" you ask, turning your attention to him. 

"Not as orgasmic as you made it seem, but not too bad."

With another roll of your eyes, you mutter, "You are so annoying."

Truth be told, sitting out here with Yoongi is not as bad as you would have thought. Perhaps it is because he is holding back from leaning too far into your personal space and wearing you down – likely because the two of you are surrounded by others, and there is a slight chance that your brother or one of the other guys could come find the two of you. Or, perhaps the dry Vegas heat is making you too worn out both physically and emotionally to care. 

Yoongi hums, and you turn your attention toward him without fully looking at him, continuing to suck at your melting drink. One thing you will give Vegas credit for is even these shitty slushies are potent enough that you are already feeling a little tipsy. 

"You seem calm today," Yoongi muses. "Did you also bring back an escort last night? Get the stress fucked out of you?"

Everything Yoongi says hits you like several small trucks, and you open and close your mouth, attempting to begin several sentences but feeling at a loss for which detail to hone in on. Finally, you settle on the most obvious bit and ask, "Escort? What?"

Yoongi laughs, and it sounds almost mocking and sardonic, so you look at him, finding him chewing on his bright yellow straw with a lopsided smile. "Why do you think the guys are so worn out? I've been keeping them busy."

"You've…what?" 

Another laugh, but this one comes from the guts, deep and amused. "What? We're in Vegas, baby girl! Gotta make sure to give the guys the full experience."

"You're lying," you mutter, straw wedged between your teeth, doing your best not to respond to the sound of him calling you baby girl out loud. 

Has Yoongi really been hiring sex workers to stay with the guys? All the while you've been using a vibrator and feeling too small in your gigantic suite. You have nothing against the notion of sex work, but knowing that your brother…a violent shudder runs through you as you attempt to shut out the thought.

"Ha, come on, do you really think I would lie about something like this? We found a fun little club not too far from here, and the guys took a liking to some of the dancers. Once we found out the girls can be rented for the night, that was that."

"Wow," is all you can mutter, because what else do you add? Must be nice? Thanks for the invite? Nothing feels appropriate. And anyway, what if Yoongi is lying?

"And what's the name of your favorite girl?" you ask, attempting to play it cool, taking another deep sip of blue before turning your eyes to Yoongi, whose gaze is firm.

The way he regards you is unyielding, and you squirm in your seat, finding it hard to hold eye contact. Somehow this is the most civil conversation you have ever had with Yoongi in person, and you find yourself nearly charmed by his presence. That is, until you recall how he showed up at your door knowing full well that your brother was not home so he could smoke you out and pressure you into rough sex on your bedroom floor, of all fucking places. 

And you almost break the spell and let your anger rise, feeling the sudden urge to chug back your drink and get the fuck away from this demon. But you cannot deny the way he made you feel, and you would be lying if you said you would not want to feel it again, especially after agreeing to hook up if the opportunity presented itself. It seems as if it has, in fact, done just that.

Although you are at war with your thoughts and not fully set on running off, you do slurp more than half of the remnants of your drink, which goes down easy now that it has more or less melted into a boozy syrup. 

"Well?" you challenge, curious what kinds of escorts Yoongi has been bringing back to his room. You wonder if they like it just as rough as you do. 

Yoongi tongues the inside of his mouth, then chuckles. "Nah, I haven't been partaking. Only supplying."

At this, you roll your eyes, once more. Why is Yoongi suddenly acting like a prude? "Sure, okay," you say incredulously. 

"I'm serious!" Yoongi insists, making you laugh more. 

"There's nothing wrong with hiring sex workers, Yoongi," you say with raised eyebrows, almost defensively.

"I fucking know that," he bites back, "I'm the one hiring them!"

"Okay, then—"

"Why would I need to hire someone? You're right down the hall."

Now you know he is fucking with you, and you hate to admit it, but it makes you annoyed – a little upset, even. If Yoongi has been preoccupying the guys, why hasn’t he shown up at your door? He must be messing with you. 

"Shut the fuck up," you grit with your straw between your teeth before sucking the rest of your drink back. The straw gurgles loudly against the bottom of the glass as you angrily seek every last drop of tequila and blue. 

"I'm serious," Yoongi responds, close. 

When you regard him, he looks serious, but you are certain that he must be toying with you, and you begin to slide from the tall chair to the ground, stretching your toes to meet the rough gunite while your shifting weight makes the chair scrape loudly backward. 

There is laughter in Yoongi's voice when he asks, "Wait, where are you going?"

You sigh and stare at Yoongi's half-empty drink rather than at himself, contemplating how much you even want to reveal. You do not have feelings for him, for one thing, but you are also not sure whether he has just been messing with you and lying about wanting to hook up again. It almost feels like you are the butt of some joke.

"I'm not going to sit here and be made fun of," you say, pointedly not meeting his gaze before you turn to walk back into the hotel. 

"Wait," Yoongi says, and before you have a chance to register the word, his hand is on your arm, tugging you back. "There has definitely been a misunderstanding."

You are surprised to find that Yoongi is standing, and now that you are on your feet, the alcohol hits you at once, spinning you somewhat off your axis as you twist out of Yoongi's hold and frown at his eager expression. You stumble slightly back on flip-flopped feet and straighten out, giving him your best glare.

"Look, I'm not interested in your games, okay? I know you enjoy being an asshole for fun, so cut the shit, Yoongi."

Yoongi actually looks a bit upset before he schools his features and scoffs, taking a step back and reaching for his drink. He shrugs, then mutters, "Fine, be a fucking brat."

The whiplash is astounding, and you stand your ground while trying to figure out just what the fuck is going on. Yoongi sucks his cheeks in to finish the last of his tequila syrup, then he walks past you with an air of nonchalance that makes you turn on your toes and follow him in a huff. You were going to have the last word; who does he think he is?

As the two of you approach the open door of the hotel, Yoongi turns to glance over his shoulder and scoffs. "What? Tagging along so you can bitch at me in the elevator?"

"Oh, fuck off," you respond louder than necessary now that the two of you are in the crowded carpeted hallway and the raucous sounds of the pool are quieted behind concrete and glass. "I'm going back to my room."

"Sure you don't want to come back to mine?" Yoongi asks over his shoulder as you round a corner into a nearly empty hallway, walking deeper into the hotel. 

"What?" you all but shout.

"Oh, come on," he laughs, turning to walk backward just long enough to say, "I saw how jealous you got over the prospect of me fucking someone else, despite knowing full well that I do fuck someone else, regularly. Regardless, the guys are all asleep, which means an opportunity has presented itself."

"I was not—" you begin as his gaze rakes down your body, and he turns back around.

"Admit it," Yoongi drawls, taking a corner to the left into a small elevator lobby with eight gold doors. He presses a call button, then turns to fully face you. "You can't get me out of your head, can you? I've been watching you sneak glances all weekend, baby girl; you're a terrible actor."

How can one man be so exasperating? As you wait for one of the elevators to get close, you stare up at the lights above the nearest one, hoping that by some chance two of them open so that you are not stuck in a compact square carriage with him. 

But as one of the elevators behind you dings, and not a single person joins you inside, you realize all too soon that you are trapped with him, and only him. Yoongi steps in first and holds his hand in front of the door to keep it from closing, and you slide into the small space and step into the furthest corner from him, staring at the gold doors as they close, then watching in the peripheral as Yoongi hits the number 32 – the floor you both stay on. 

"So?" Yoongi drawls, causing your entire body to break out in goosebumps – though you reason it is likely from your bathing suit still being damp and has nothing to do with that demon's deep, inviting voice. 

"So, what?" you bite back, staring up at the little screen above the button panel that flashes with which floor it passes. 

"You gonna come to my room and let us both have what we want, or what? Nice and rough, just like you asked for.”

With a scoff, you cross your arms over your chest, attempting to find warmth and to cover how hard your nipples are under your bathing suit top. Yoongi steps closer, and in this enclosed space, you can smell hints of musk and cologne, and maybe something sweet, like a lingering trace of shampoo or a body wash. 

"Or maybe we should go to yours," he suggests, deep and quiet. "Your room is further from the others…don't need any of them hearing you screaming my name while I tame the brat out of you."

"You are insufferable," you grit under your breath, though your words do not sound as firm as you would like. 

Yoongi hums and steps impossibly closer, then says, "I know you can't stop thinking about me, baby girl. Just give in."

As soon as the elevator dings and the gold doors slide open, he side steps far away from you, giving you space to exit and begin the hurried trek toward your room. From the elevator lobby, yours is to the left and down a little, whereas the group of rooms the guys are staying in are just off to the right. If you did let Yoongi fuck you – which you are not – doing so in your room would be the wiser of the two choices.

You round the corner to the left and walk quickly down to your door. To your chagrin, Yoongi's flip flops smack behind you, and you sigh and let your head droop back, feeling too tipsy and maybe a little too horny to be allowing him to come to your room. You reach your door and fish your key from where it's wedged between your towel and hip, then turn and scowl, looking over Yoongi's shoulder to make sure nobody else is in the hallway to see the two of you together. 

"Go back to your room, Yoongi," you say. Your heart pounds the closer he gets, and you do your best to keep your eyes on his face, but he is shirtless, and he looks really good with his lean but defined muscles on display. 

"Is that really what you want?" he asks, stopping a foot away and leaning into the wall. 

"Yes!" you whisper-yell, insistent. You glance over his shoulder once more, then say, "The last thing I want is to get caught with you."

Yoongi's face brightens, and you know in an instant that you have fucked up. "Oh, so you do want me to fuck your brains out, but you're worried about getting caught?"

"That's not—"

Yoongi raises an eyebrow and does not wait for you to finish your sentence, drawling, "I think it is. You already said as much over text."

Although your hand is lifted halfway to the key scanner, it is too far for it to detect the key and allow you entrance. You raise your eyebrows and use the hand holding the key to wave him off, muttering, "Shoo! Get the fuck out of here. I don't want to be seen with you."

Yoongi tongues the inside of his cheek, grabs your hand, and forces you to hold the key against the scanner, then reaches with his other hand to open the door and shove the two of you inside. Everything happens in a flash, and you barely have a chance to get your bearings, muttering, "Yoongi, what the f—" as you are ushered into the entrance of your hotel room, and Yoongi is closing the door behind the two of you. 

"Nobody can see us in here," Yoongi says as he steps out of his sandals and walks into your room, adding, "problem solved," over his shoulder. 

Your hotel room is fairly tidy, with only a few small sprawling piles of clothing and beauty products here and there. But you definitely left a dildo and vibrator lying tangled in the sheets of the bed from toying yourself last night, and you kick out of your sandals and scurry over to the bed, hoping to get to them before Yoongi sees them, finding him holding the small purple bullet vibrator between his fingers. 

"Naughty girl," Yoongi teases when you come into view, and you can hear him clicking on the power button multiple times to make the buzzing louder and stronger. 

"Put that down," you insist, closing the space between the two of you and reaching for it. 

"Let me use this on you," Yoongi mutters, dropping his arm down and brushing the vibrating toy over your thigh, right in between the slit of the towel. 

"Yoongi!" you yelp, hopping backward and reaching for his arm, but Yoongi just grins and holds the toy behind his back, flexing his arm as you attempt to yank on it. 

"Please," Yoongi asks softly, flashing a lopsided smile, and you shove at his chest and walk away, determined to put space between the two of you. 

Given how fast Yoongi can make you cum, the prospect of him fucking you while using your toy does excite you, but it also worries you. This man would turn you into a pile of mush in no time. Luckily, he turns the toy off and tosses it back onto your bed, toward the pillows. 

“We need to establish boundaries,” you say, walking over to a long mirror near the front entrance of the room to check your reflection. Although you appear tired from a combination of tipsiness, heat, and genuine exhaustion, you look good enough to let this demon perceive you. 

When you turn back to Yoongi, he is sitting on the corner of your bed, arms relaxed at his sides, waiting for you to continue. 

“Things like hitting, spitting, and hair-pulling are fine, but I get to tell you to stop if it becomes too much.”

“We’ll establish a safe word,” Yoongi says. 

A thrill rushes over you as you consider what your safe word could be, and you formulate an idea, unable to hold back from grinning. Yoongi must take notice, because he sits higher, raising his eyebrows curiously. 

“The guy with the orange hair,” you say, approaching Yoongi, whose eyes widen as you speak, “is he your regular hookup?”

Yoongi smiles sharply, then nods his head slightly as he says, “He is.”

“And he knows you plan to fuck me? Or are you doing it behind his back?”

Yoongi’s smile turns wide and playful. “He knows.”

“Hmm,” you respond, stepping close enough that he could reach out and touch you. “My safe word is Jimin.”

Yoongi tongues the inside of his cheek, then sits back, placing his palms against the white comforter on the bed. “Really?” 

You chuckle as you nod and say, “Yup.”

“You’re going to scream Jimin’s name if you want me to slow down or stop?”

“Correct.”

Yoongi laughs, clearly amused, then he nods and says, “Alright. Works for me. Any other boundaries? Things you’re not into?”

Truthfully, at this moment, there is nothing you can think of. So you shrug and say, “Nothing as of now…but I’ll tell you if that changes.”

“You’ll moan my hookup’s name if you change your mind,” Yoongi mutters with a smirk. 

“Yup.”

Yoongi rolls his shoulders and then sits up straight before slowly beginning to stand. You take a step back, feeling nervousness sink in over the fact that this is really happening, especially with the way Yoongi stands tall with his shoulders square and his expression flat. 

“Repeat your safe word for me,” Yoongi commands. 

“Jimin,” you respond, much softer than intended. 

The corner of Yoongi’s mouth rises for a split second, then he squints as if he is disgusted by what he sees. Instinctively, you take another step back. 

Yoongi is quick as a serpent, hand snapping up to grip onto your jaw and make you gasp – startling you. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks in a sharp snarl. 

Although you move your lips, all you are able to mutter is vowels, unsure what to say. 

“You’re mine, baby girl. You don’t so much as move unless I command it.”

Although you are aware that your safe word negates his statement, your heart thrums heavily behind your ribs at the idea of being at Yoongi’s mercy. You told him you wanted it rough – wanted it to hurt – and now that you stand before him, trepidation sinks deep. 

Yoongi continues to grip firmly to your chin while his free hand rips the towel from around your hips and chucks it to the side, making you gasp and flinch. The bikini you wear is small and still a bit damp, and you shiver as the air hits your bare thighs and tummy. Your breaths are heavy, causing a quick rise and fall of your chest, and you already feel a bit dazed from being handled his way. 

“Look at you,” Yoongi growls with a sharp, hungry gaze, lips upturned. “You can talk all the shit you want about how much you hate me, but I can see the way you want me, baby girl."

His grasp on your jaw is firm, and when he begins to pull his arm back, toward the bed, you step with him, moving slowly as his body rotates. Yoongi smirks razor-sharp, eyes burning with excitement, and you hate how absolutely right he is. You want him real bad. 

"Wanna choke on my cock while sitting on the bed, or down on your knees?" Yoongi asks, leaning nice and close, wafting warm, sugar-sweet breath into your face. 

"On the bed," you mutter, voice hoarse and weak. 

Yoongi grips your jaw ever so slightly, then pushes you down into the bed, causing you to gasp and scramble as you keep from sliding off the edge, hands gripping onto the white comforter. 

"Not eager to get back onto the floor with me?" he chides, but all you can do is stare upward as he looms over you, fingers working the velcro fly of his black swim shorts. 

Yoongi wastes no time pushing his shorts to the floor, revealing a half-hard and inviting cock. Last time, you hardly got a good look at him, but this time, it is all you see as Yoongi grips onto the back of your hair and yanks you forward, practically shoving himself against your lips. 

"Don't be shy, baby girl," Yoongi groans, using his other hand to gently squeeze your throat. You look up at Yoongi without tilting your head, greeted by a dark stare that gives you chills as he adds, "Let's see what that pretty, bratty fucking mouth of yours can do."

With a deep, fortifying breath, you sit high on the bed, hands still gripping the comforter, and you run your tongue over the shaft, just below his cockhead. His skin is smooth with a faint soapy smell, and you let your eyes flutter as your lips close over the head, wetting the skin. 

"We don't have all fucking day," Yoongi practically growls as he presses your head close to his pelvis. 

With a snarl, you glance up through your lashes, saying, "We quite literally do have all day," lips still pressed against him. In a show of brattiness, you add, "So do you want it, or are you going to keep being an asshole?"

Yoongi releases the hand on your hair and slaps you against the cheek. It is not hard enough to sting, but it is enough to make you gasp, eyes wide as you let the slight tingle settle over your skin. Although you would ordinarily be ready to fight a man for slapping you, in this setting, it excites you – makes you want to act like even more of a pain in his ass. 

"Too far?" Yoongi asks, expression still hard but with a hint of softness hiding around the edges.

If this were anyone else, you would bat your lashes and tell him you liked it – that it felt exciting enough to set a spark in you that is threatening to light a proper fire. But this is Yoongi, so you scoff and say, "I didn't call my safe word, did I?"

Yoongi chuckles in response with the edge of his mouth tugging into a sharp sneer. Then he slaps you again, this time hard enough to sting, and he grips your throat and tugs you against him, forcing your forehead to crash against his tummy while the head of his cock presses into your lips and teeth. 

"Suck my fucking dick or I'm leaving," he commands. 

With a roll of your eyes, you grumble, "So moody."

You can hear the beginning of a response, but you open wide and swallow Yoongi as far as you can take him, letting the tip lightly touch your throat. Yoongi groans, tightening his grip on your neck before relaxing it while the other firmly grabs the back of your head.  

Without warning, Yoongi bucks his hips, thrusting deep. You gag, but not badly enough to have to pull off, swallowing the feeling while he pulls back and thrusts forward again. And again, pulling out, slamming deep, and pulling out, clearly not setting a rhythm so much as testing your limits. 

You lift your hands and settle them on his hips, surprised by how soft his skin feels beneath your fingertips, and when he pulls back again, you take in a deep enough breath through your nose. Although Yoongi is forceful, his grip on you is loose – a small mercy considering you are already drooling and beginning to cry.

"Damn, baby girl, your throat feels amazing," Yoongi rasps, voice coming out surprisingly desperate. 

As he sets a pace, you settle into the pattern of breathing in time with his thrusts, and Yoongi continues to hold onto your head and neck while he fucks your face. Although you have given a sloppy blow job or two in the past, this is the first time you have allowed someone to be in control. 

Tears catch in your eyelashes and fall, and you glance up, watching as Yoongi grits his teeth and knits his brow, clearly holding himself back from losing some semblance of control – whether it is the urge to fuck harder or to cum already, you can only presume. 

When his eyes meet yours, he moans, allowing his eyelids to flutter, causing your strong foundation of hating his fucking guts to crumble just a little. Yoongi looks sexy while falling apart, sweat glistening on his shoulders and chest, which rise and fall with each breath he takes. 

"You have no idea how fucking good this feels," Yoongi mutters, hissing as his cock presses in nice and deep, causing thick drool to build. 

The sounds that come from you are wet and pornographic, forced from your throat. You attempt to hum in response to his praise, but the sound is garbled and lost. Not that he needs to hear your sweet utterances, anyway; what would that do for his ego?

When Yoongi pulls all the way out, it surprises you. You lurch slightly, your mouth following the movement while your lungs attempt to adjust to a full intake of air. Yoongi moves his hand from the back of your head and slaps you across the cheek, making you whimper. 

Drool coats your lips and chin, tears streak down your cheeks, and the way Yoongi looks down at you is practically reverent. You wonder what he could possibly be thinking – Min Yoongi does not look at you like that. 

Thankfully, in a blink, the expression is gone, replaced by something much sharper. Yoongi reaches down and yanks at your swim top, forcing your breasts to spill in a jerking motion. Too stunned to respond, you sit while Yoongi roughly palms at your chest, calloused hands against soft, sensitive skin. 

Yoongi squeezes and slaps your breasts, giving your nipples a pinch with one alternating hand while he continues holding you firmly by the throat. You do your best not to react too loudly, huffing and sighing without moaning; you want Yoongi to really work to get a reaction out of you. With how cocky he is, you expect he will have no trouble doing so.

Without warning, Yoongi shoves you onto your back, fully releasing you, and sending you crashing against the comforter. You scramble, legs spreading as you lift one in an attempt to get into any position that might be useful, but Yoongi bends and grabs your ass, yanking it off the edge of the bed and pressing in a way that lifts your hips slightly, causing your legs to flail and spread. He yanks your swimsuit bottom to the side, bends just enough to spit on you, and then he rubs the tip of his dick against the spit, over your clit and labia before he spears you nice and deep. 

The stretch makes you cry out and squeeze your eyes tight, gripping the comforter and attempting to find a position to hold your legs. Yoongi presses and slightly twists you so that one leg is bent and somewhat hanging downward and the other is lifted high in the air, and he sets a brutal pace, fucking you hard and deep before you can wrap your head around anything.

"Holy fuck!" you scream, pleasure-pain so intense, you struggle to breathe. 

"So tight," Yoongi moans, pressing his weight into you even more, making your leg muscles burn and ache. 

All you can do is lay and take what Yoongi gives you, doing your best to relax your muscles while he fucks you harder and better than anyone has before. You said you wanted it rough, and you are not disappointed. With each deep thrust, you chase your high quickly. 

Yoongi reaches with one hand and roughly rubs over your clit, giving your pussy gentle slaps that send you hurtling over the edge. Your moans turn into sobs, back bowing from the bed as you build and build and then crash. 

"That's it, baby girl," Yoongi grits, fingers working your clit in more practiced movements. "Show me how fast I can make you cum."

"Sh-sh-shut up," you grumble, head digging back into the comforter. Orgasm washes over you, threatening to drown you in its undertow, and you sob and moan, hands tensing and releasing as your legs tremble at their awkward angles. 

Yoongi pulls all the way out before you finish, shoving your legs down and forcing you to roll over. You move in a haphazard tangle of limbs, your body both shimmering from its high and feeling unfulfilled.

As you get onto your stomach, you drag-crawl up the bed just enough to prevent your knees from hanging uncomfortably, glad when the bed dips and Yoongi follows you. Both hands grip your ass cheeks, pulling the material of your bathing suit and causing the fabric to dig into your skin. 

Yoongi slides back in and presses his hands firmly on your ass and lower back, pinning you down while his thrusts make the mattress bounce. You feel dizzy as Yoongi fucks you deep, and when he moves his hands to anchor beside your hips, you bounce even harder. 

One hand presses down on the side of your head and pushes your face into the mattress, and although it does not hurt, the pressure is enough to make you feel almost floaty and perfectly used. You are so close to cuming again, and when Yoongi leans low, warm breath ghosting over your face, you close your eyes. 

"This rough enough for you?" he asks, voice raspy and enticing. 

You practically scream yes and divulge just how good he makes you feel – how you will likely never be fucked this good by anyone else. But you choose to hold onto the praise for another day. 

"It's pretty good," you manage to mutter between unrelenting slaps of skin against skin. 

Yoongi scoffs. "Pretty good," he grits, mostly to himself. 

Then he spits on the side of your mouth, causing you to scowl. Yoongi removes the hand from your head and rubs his fingers over the saliva, smearing it over your lips and cheek while his hips continue their attack. 

"You look so good, all messy," he says with a playful tone. "Nothing but a submissive little fuck doll for me to use as I please."

Yoongi sits up, grips you by the hips, and speeds his pace, causing every muscle in your body to fight between wanting to tense and relax. You chase your next high and breakneck speeds, babbling nonsense as Yoongi uses you just as promised. 

You nearly cum just as Yoongi pulls out and releases his hold. With an impatient, frustrated groan, you bury your face into the blanket while Yoongi's weight shifts and reaches under you to grab your hips. Hot breath follows a warm wet tongue against your pussy, and you moan loud and eager, doing your best to pop your ass out and give him as much access to you as possible as a new rush of pleasure takes hold. 

Yoongi buries his face into you and puts his whole jaw into devouring your cunt, lips and tongue working you over in broad, sloppy movements. Remnants of the high you were chasing before build quickly. And when his tongue moves to your asshole and he plunges two fingers into your pussy, thumb rubbing over your clit, the dam breaks. 

Gripping the comforter, you squeal and moan, feeling wave after intense wave flow through you. Yoongi hums and groans as he tongue fucks your ass, fingers and thumb rubbing over your sweet spots. As soon as your high dissipates, you feel another racing to take its place. 

This time, when he pulls away before you can cum, you feel relief. You do your best to relax and catch your breath, feeling your entire body tremble and sink into the mattress. 

"Already going limp on me," Yoongi teases, pressing into your hips to make you roll around to your back again. 

“Making me dizzy,” you complain as you flop over, legs spreading uselessly, plopping down to the mattress. 

Your bathing suit top is even more askew, breasts hanging past the thin cups that have shifted, but you do not care. This is exactly how you wanted to be fucked – rushed, rough, and without any preamble or romance. 

“You like it when I play with your ass,” Yoongi teases, lips pulled into an obnoxious smirk. 

“Shut up,” you complain, rolling your heavy, tired eyes. 

Yoongi spreads your thighs with both palms and spits with enough force onto your clit that it makes you flinch. One hand stays pressed into your thigh while the other pumps and lines up his cock. 

How it still feels so incredible when he spears you open is a mystery; your body should be used to it by now, but instead, the stretch feels overwhelming, making you moan and arc off the comforter. 

“Should let Jimin and I double penetrate you,” Yoongi grits between his teeth as he pulls back and slams forward. 

“Oh my god!” you scream as Yoongi grips your hips and drives his cock into you so hard, your body trembles and jiggles with each perfect punch of his hips. 

Although the prospect of actually meeting Jimin does interest you, and it does feel good when Yoongi plays with your ass, double penetration – specifically anal sex –  is not something you are ready for. But you are unable to voice your trepidation at the moment, mouth only capable of sputtering nonsense between sobs and moans, which you are no longer capable of holding back. 

Yoongi leans, deepening his thrusts, and he slots two fingers into your mouth, pressing on your tongue and forcing you to drool. His fingers taste like you, heady and ever so slightly tangy, and he grips onto your jaw nice and tight while each drag of his cock threatens to send you into a new dimension of existence. 

Your eyes flutter, and you wonder if it is possible for your soul to slip from your body. You feel tingly and elevated into clouds – like nothing in the world exists but the two of you tangled in this sardonic dance. 

"Fuck, I won't last much longer," Yoongi groans, and you practically thank the heavens. 

At this rate, if Yoongi does not cum soon, you might risk actually wanting to see him more often. You might find yourself thinking about him while he is away, and, god forbid, wanting to invite him over to do this again. 

"Can I cum inside you?" Yoongi asks, voice breaking around the edges. 

You attempt to mutter, "Absolutely not," around his fingers, but the sounds come out jumbled and drool runs down your cheek. 

Luckily, Yoongi seems to understand, and he slides his fingers from your mouth, then pulls all the way out and begins to stroke himself off with his drool-covered hand. Although you find it hard to keep your eyes open, you cannot help but stare. 

Yoongi kneels over you, head tipped back with his throat bobbing as he chases the last of his high. He moans loud and unabashed, sounding and looking far better than you care to admit, with his mint-colored hair hanging over his forehead in sweaty little stalactites. He trembles as his cum sprays from his glistening cock, covering your thigh and hip, and as he squeezes his tip to get the last remaining drops out, he falls slightly forward, bracing himself with his free hand. 

"God damn," Yoongi groans, head drooping low. "I knew you would feel good but that was insane."

The urge to tell Yoongi to shut up is strong, but you find you cannot get the words out. All you can do is stare as he catches his breath. You wonder how you have never noticed how broad his shoulders are before, eyes tracing the lines of muscle and bone. Briefly, you even wonder if you could have a crush on someone like him, before you heavy-blink and shake your head, forcing the thought away.

You hum in response to Yoongi's words, delayed because you are stuck in your head. Of course, you would be thinking thoughts about a man who makes you feel this good – but that is all they are, thoughts. Yoongi is an idiot, at the end of the day, who is best friends with your brother, and something like this cannot become a regular occurrence. Surely, once you have come down from your various highs, you will be right back to hating him. 

"Alright," Yoongi groans, finally meeting your eye while he slides off the edge of the bed, into a standing position. "This was fun. Thanks for the pussy."

"Whatever," you grumble, finally attempting to move your bathing suit back into place before realizing you still have Yoongi's cum drying on your fucking hip. 

"Next time, I want to bring Jimin. You'll love him, trust me."

With a sigh, you glance around the room, then remember there is a box of tissues sitting on the bathroom counter. "There is definitely not going to be a next time," you respond as you begin to attempt to roll into a position that does not make the cum trickle onto the bed. 

"You always say that," Yoongi teases, pulling his shorts up, "but I know you'll be thinking about me after this. I saw the way you drifted, baby girl. You were having an out of body experience while I fucked you nice and hard."

"Alright, fuck off," you complain, sitting up and untying the still-damp bathing suit from your chest. Post-nut regret settles deep the more he eggs you on, and it is beginning to annoy the shit out of you. Why must he speak? All of this would be much more pleasant if he would just fuck you and go.

Yoongi turns and walks away without another word. You close your eyes and take a deep breath in, making an attempt at centering yourself. This was just another slip-up, and hardly a big deal; it is not as if you will be asking for a round three. He is simply too annoying and low-key inconsiderate. 

You sit and wait for the door to open and close, planning a nice warm shower. The only plan the group has is to meet for dinner, and that isn't for another few hours. You are shocked when you feel something hit you on the arm, and your eyes fly open to find the cardboard cube of tissues resting by your hand, and Yoongi standing nearby with a smile. 

"See ya later," he calls, waving his fingertips playfully while a sweet, almost pretty smile graces his lips. 

"Yup," you respond, tearing your gaze away and looking down at the tissues. Only when you finally do hear Yoongi leave, do you begin to wipe yourself clean.

"Get your shit together," you mumble under your breath, disgusted by how much you actually did enjoy Yoongi's company, bothered by how your giant suite feels lonely the moment he is gone. 

You need to get a grip before dinnertime. And you need to resist the urge to get to know Jimin. This can not and will not become a regular thing. There is absolutely no way it can. Nothing good can come from catching feelings for the devil with the mint hair.

ahhh, here we are again with a written part after almost a full year! let me know what you think! i only have 1 other part planned, but that doesn't mean it will end there. (no promises, tho!)

comments and reblogs make the world go 'round! and likes are appreciated, too!!!

tag list: @btsiguess-kpop @codeinebelle @dasexydevitt13 @fluffybuns69 @giriiboyy @glosstwn @idkjustlovingbts @melancholy-of-nadia @mgthecat @monvante @moonleeai @m1sss1mp @nansasa @spookyminyunki @tarahardcore @teddytaee @violetsiren90 🍃 comment or dm to be added to the tag list! by requesting, you are agreeing to being 18 or older. minors will be blocked.

PREVIOUS | INDEX | NEXT

Devil with the Mint Hair is copyright 2022 - 2023 theharrowing, all rights reserved. 

#yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #yoongi smut #bts smut #btswritersclub #suga x reader #yoongi brother's best friend #yoongi scenarios #fic: devil with the mint hair

[yourlocalmerchgirl]

Is it ok if I call you mine? Part One

Part 2 Part 3

Soft!Joel Miller x Neurodivergent/ anxious F!reader

Summary: When Joel sees you having a hard time outside of a concert he tries to make sure your alright when he scares you on accident he can’t stop thinking about if your actually ok or not until a couple weeks later he runs into you. Both of you let down your guard and form a unlikely bond

Soft! Joel miller x neurodivergent reader AU (outbreak never happens)

Warnings: soft Joel, concerned Joel, protective Joel, neurodivergent, audio overstimulation, anxiety, self inflicted angst. Best friend Tommy, falling in love. Acceptance, low self esteem.

A/N: I’m so nervous to start posting this story. This story is very near and dear to me and I’ve been pouring my heart into this story, I hope you all like going on this journey with me. This will be a multi part story.

There’s not a lot of descriptors about reader other than eye color but they can easily be changed.

You didn’t want to be this way- in fact you hated it at times if you’re honest with yourself. Sometimes you could see it coming. Other times, one minute you were fine the next your brain felt like it was drowning out at sea while your body looked for it in a flimsy life raft.

You just wanted to enjoy your night out with your best friend seeing your favorite band, you had felt really good today.

As you sat there waiting for the show to start the chatter of the group sitting behind you became more intense and you started zoning out, trying to focus on anything but as their chatter turned into them shouting back and forth over each other, it became to much. Everything sounding jumbled, you felt lightheaded as if your head was swimming, the overwhelming anxious feeling taking over your body.

“I-I ne-need get out of here and get some air” you shouted abruptly standing, grabbing your seat to steady yourself as the dizzys worsened.

“Do you need me to go with you?” Stacey asked concerned, she knew all to well how awful things could get for you sometimes.

“No…no I’ll be ok, I just need to breathe, need some air. I’ll text you if I need you”

Once outside you slid down, sitting on the sidewalk under the awning of the venue, the small round lights that lined the bottom of the awning offering just enough light in the night sky. You sat with your back against the building, your knees pulled up to your chest as you felt the cold fall air fill you lungs, easing the weight on your chest slightly. God the air felt good on your over heated face.

“Y’alright miss?” You hear an unfamiliar muffled voice. There’s other people around surly he’s talking to someone else.

“Miss y’alright?” You hear the soft husky drawl. You try to ignore it. Please be talking to someone else.

“Darlin’ y’alright” you hear with a light hand on your shoulder. Fuck. Your head snaps up, eyes wide as your gaze locks with a pair of big brown eyes. Flinching away from him you snarl “dude I’m fine”

“Sorry didn’t mean to startle ya, was just concerned.”

You don’t say anything back, you barely even acknowledge him.

“I-I’m Joel” He offers with a kind smile

“Look Joel I’m sure you’re nice and all but I clearly am having a rough go and don’t want to be bothered” you snapped back standing quickly and hurrying back inside the venue.

“Sorry Darlin” he softly called after you.

“What was that about?” Tommy asks Joel, only witnessing the tail end of what was happening.

Joel lets out a defeated sigh “There was this girl curled up sitting on the ground, clearly going through something, I asked her if she was a’lright. I think I scared her when I touched her shoulder, she got up angry and ran inside.”

Once inside you run into the bathroom rubbing cold water on your face, you feel a rush of instant guilt. You hated the way you came off to people sometimes, your tone coming off harsh and aggressive, often not matching how you were feeling. People would often tell you you needed to control your emotions or regulate your tone but you truly couldn’t control it, it’s just how you were. You weren’t good with people, you didn’t like small talk never really knowing how to engage in it, you often either shared to much to fast or you’d say nothing at all, mostly just observing people, just being in the background of most situations and that was when you were invited to gatherings which wasn’t very often.

“There was this guy outside tonight”

“Ok…”

“He was trying to check on me, to make sure I was alright and I snapped at him, I was actually pretty rude to him”

“I feel so bad” you said with a deep sigh.

“Don’t let it bother you, I’m sure he didn’t think much of it” Stacey said trying to ease your mind.

“Joel…he said his name was Joel.”

————————————————————

“Shit…I-I think that’s the guy from the other night” you say looking up from your sandwich.

Stacey whips around “Who Joel? The guy from outside the show? Which one is he?”

“The one with the scruffy beard, and messy hair standing with the guy with the dark curly hair at the counter, I think he was there too.”

“He’s handsome, you didn’t tell me he was so handsome”

“Well I didn’t realize it either, I was to busy being a bitch to notice” you say nervous laughing.

“I’m sure he won’t remember me, but I still feel so guilty”

You have no idea yet how wrong you are.

Joel notices you instantly as him and Tommy are looking for a table.

The feeling of relief washing over him seeing that your ok. He hadn’t stopped wondering, no he hadn’t stopped worrying if you were ok.

Tommy noticed Joel acting nervously, continuously looking over Tommy’s shoulder at something or someone.

“Y’alright man? Y’acting weird, w’do you keep looking at?”

“It’s the girl, the one from the other night at the show”

Tommy turns to see you and Stacey recognizing you from the other night.

“I’ve seen her friend here before, think she’s seeing the guy that runs the place”

“But the girl, she looks like she’s alright” Tommy says softly, turning to see Joel’s smile at his comment.

“And I know you been worryin’”

“Huh? It that obvious?”

“I’m your brother I know things, also ya keep mentioning it, why don’t ya go talk to her?”

“M’pretty sure I scared the shit outta her, she ain’t want me talkin’ to her.”

“I-I should apologize to him”

“So let’s go talk to them”

“Ugh your not supposed to agree” you laugh.

“You keep talking about feeling bad, and I know you, you’ll just keep thinking about it, if it would make you feel better let’s go talk to him”

Stacey’s surprised when you get up from the table slowly and nervously start walking over and she follows behind.

“Ah shit, there…she’s coming over here I think” Joel says nervously

“I-I’m sorry this is kind of random but are…are you Joel?” You ask as you nervously fiddle with the hem of your shirt, unable to maintain eye contact.

“Yes ma’am”

Tommy watch’s your body language intently, understanding more about you than you even realize or notice.

“I ah, you probably don’t remember me”

“Course I do”

“You do?” You ask completely shocked

“Why wouldn’t I? You were outside of the State theater, was worried about you”

“A-bout that, I’m so sorry for snapping and being so rude to you. I know you were just trying to make sure I was alright. I was just having a rough go and I’m just um not very good with people sometimes an-d my tone doesn’t um ugh it doesn’t matter….I just wanted to apologize.” You said, getting more nervous and flustered the more you talked. Damnit why am I like this? Why the hell is he gonna care about my problems just stop talking.

But it did matter, it mattered to him. He wanted you to go on, to hear about what was bothering you. He wanted to be able to ease your mind, to make you feel better.

Tommy noticed your body language, how anxious you were, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt while looking at the ground. He knew this feeling all to well, anxiety hadn’t been his friend since he’d came back from the army and seeing Joel go through it when he lost Sarah he just wanted to make you feel comfortable.

“Well since my brothers not going to introduce us, I’m Tommy. What’s your name darlin’?” Tommy says holding out his hand to shake.

“ shit..sorry I’m (y/n) and this is Stacey.”

You turn to Joel, your hand out stretched.

“It’s nice to meet you properly Joel” you say offering him the warmest smile. You just had this feeling about them, about him in particular that you couldn’t describe.

Joel is surprised but moved by your action, taking your hand offering you the kindest smile back. He takes this opportunity to study every part of your face, as if he was committing it to memory.

“Y’all have fun at the show?” Joel asks

“Oh were you guys there for the show too?” You ask, your face turning the lightest shade of red.

“ well, I dragged him there” Tommy says gesturing to Joel chuckling

“But yea we were there”

“Yeah… umm other than my episode we had a blast…they’re my favorite band”

“Hey! No way they’re mine too” Tommy exclaims “my first time seeing them”

“I’ve seen them 3 times, they’ve been great every time” you exclaim.

Joel watches as your body language relaxes a little bit. He takes pride in him and Tommy being able to ease you even if just for a moment.

“Y’guys want join us?”

You’re immediately flustered by the question, feeling like you’ve lingered too long making them feel like they had to ask.

“Oh no that’s ok, I don’t want to bother you guys, you’re clearly on your lunch break.” Your eyes trained on your shoes, pulling at your shirt. Fuck you hated being like this- an awkward overthinking mess as people would tell you.

Pulling your gaze back up to Joel with a nervous smile on your face.

“I just wanted to apologize, sorry to bother you guys”

Before either of them could say anything you turn on you heels and hurried out the door.

“Wait (y/n)” Joel calls after you calmly, not waiting to scare you.

As you and Stacey turn around you see Joel smiling at you as Tommy comes out of the cafe behind him.

“Here I ah wanted to give your our numbers” Joel says rubbing the back of his neck.

You reach out taking the piece of paper.

“No pressure just if you ever wanted t’talk”

“I’m not a fan of talking on the phone, makes me anxious but I-I’ll text you sometime if that’d be ok?”

“Yea, that’d be more than ok darlin’”

Joel wasn’t much of a texter but he’d do anything you’d be comfortable with if it meant he’d get to talk to you again.

Y/n: Hey! It’s y/n I saw our favorite band is coming back in a couple months and playing in Dallas!

As soon as you sent the text to Tommy you regret it. What if it came on to strong? what if he thinks I’m asking him to go? Who am I even to think he wants to talk to me?

Your thoughts only spiraled like water going down the drain the more that time passed with out hearing from him.

Tommy: Hey sweetheart! Sorry for the late response, we had a crazy day at work today.

Tommy: shit no way, we should all go, I’ll talk to Joel about it and snag tickets for everyone.

“ oh shit y/n texted me saying the bands coming back in a couple months, playin’ Dallas. We should all go, have a road trip down there.”

“Oh…s’he texted you?”

“Oh shit sorry have ya not heard from her?”

“No, no it’s ok. I’ll go though if she wants to go”

“I’m sure you’ll hear from her Joel, she only texted me about the show”

Joel’s just relaxing or trying to relax, because let’s face it he’s never been very good at just taking a breath and resting without trying to do a 100 other things at once.

He hears his phone vibrate on the night stand, caught off guard by the butterflies he feels before reaching for his phone. He thinks it must be you, Tommy’s downstairs the only other person that would text him.

His smile reaches his eyes before he can even think about stoping it when he sees it is infect you.

Y/A: Hey! It’s y/n. I’m sure Tommy told you I messaged him. Hopefully you don’t think I didn’t want to talk to you, was honestly working up the courage to message you.

Fuck…what the hell am I doing?! Did I just say that.

Y/N: Jesus…I’m so sorry that was awkward haha

God. You were so cute. Joel just found you so endearing as he finds himself completely taken by you.

Joel: Hey darlin. No worries at all. Im happy to hear from ya.

Joel: how’s your night goin? Hopefully it’s treating you well.

Y/N: it’s going good, I’m just curled up in bed watching one of my comfort shows.

You and Joel went back and forth for a couple hours, chatting and unknowingly making each other light up and feel comfortable with each other.

Joel: I don’t want to put any pressure on you so don’t feel like ya have too…but would you want to grab a coffee together tomorrow? That is if ya don’t already have plans.

You’re torn, on one hand you’re overjoyed that he asked you out to coffee and on the other hand you can’t help but feel like he feels like he has too, that you might of come on too strong. But here goes nothing…

Y/N: Sure, that would be really nice. I’d like that.

You hit send before you can think about it too much.

Y/N: if it’s ok could we go later in the day after lunch? It’s less hectic and pretty quiet around then.

Joel doesn’t give why you asked to meet then much thought, because the reason didn’t matter. He wanted to do what ever you were comfortable with and if that’s when you were comfortable going then that’s what he’d do.

Joel: Sure that sounds good to me darlin. I’ll meet you there.

—————————————————————

As you make your walk over to the cafe you can’t help but wonder if this is a joke, if Joel actually wants to hang out? If he asked because he felt like he had too.

You wish you didn’t have to say you used to it but you are. You’re used to people just putting up with you, inviting you some where because they feel obligated too, only hearing from them when they want something from you. The amount of times you misjudged a friendship or relationship was staggering. You had no idea how wrong you were.

The longer Joel sits at the cafe, the more nervous he becomes. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this early or nervous for anything in his life, not even the day Sarah was born. Part of him is worried you won’t come, that he made you feel like you had to say yes. The other part of him is over joyed at the idea that you wanted to come, that you might actually want to spend time with him.

Joel hears the baristas greet someone excitedly. When he hears the voice that greets them back he knows it’s you, your voice already burned into him memory. Your tone is bubbly and happy today, he can hear the smile in you’re voice before he even sees you. When you finally come into view, his heart melts when he sees your smile, your big beautiful smile.

You glance over meeting his gaze, giving him a little wavy and smile as you make you way over to him.

I can’t believe he’s here already and here I was worried about being to early.

Joel hopes you don’t notice the way he wipes his sweaty palms on his pants as he stands to greet you.

“Hey sweetheart good t’see ya”

“You..you actually came. It’s so good to see you too” you say offering him the same smile you walked in with.

“Is it alright t’give ya a hug?”

“Yes of course” you said after hesitating briefly.

Joel wraps you into the most comforting hug you’ve ever had. Coming from someone who doesn’t like to be touched or have people in their personal space abruptly. But there was something different about Joel, something comforting and natural that you couldn’t quiet out your finger on.

Joel pulls away when it sinks in what you said.

“Wait…why wouldn’t I show up?”

You feel embarrassed that you said it out loud, but you also wanted to be honest with him.

“It just wouldn’t be the first time I misjudged someone inviting me somewhere or the first time someone forgot that we had plans.”

“I’m just a lot for most people and it’s ok, I’m used to it”

“You shouldn’t h’ave to be used to that sweetheart but quiet frankly I think your awesome, to awesome to be wantin’ to hang out with me so I thought you might not come.”

You and Joel sit and talk for a couple of hours at the cafe. You talk to him about some of your disorders related to being neurodivergent and about your life before coming to Texas. Joel listens intently, letting you talk freely without interruptions or judgements and doesn’t press for more info than you’re comfortable telling him. The only questions he ask are about things he can do to you help when things get bad or how he could offer support if you needed it. Almost as if he’s saying he wants to spend more time with you with saying it.

Joel tells you more about himself, the contractor business that him and Tommy run and about Sarah, his daughter who he lost a few years ago. Joel is surprised how intently you listen to him, how he has your undivided attention. He’s never had anyone other than Tommy listen to him in that way, free of judgement and full of compassion. Never pressing him to share more than he was comfortable with.

“Hey I-I I don’t if you and Stacey have plans tonight but Tommy and I are gonna have a movie night and get some pizza if you guys would like to come.”

“Oh I think Stacey and Jared are having a date night tonight”

“Well you’re still welcome, we’d love to have you”

“Don’t feel like you have to invite me, I wouldn’t want to impose on your night.”

“Not at all, you could never impose. I’m having a nice time with you and honestly would love to spend more time with you. I know Tommy would love to have you too.”

Joel senses your hesitation, but not because you don’t feel comfortable it’s because your worried you will be in the way, like you’d be intruding where you weren’t wanted.

“As long as it’s ok I would love too, honestly I’d like to spend more time with you too” you say offering a warm smile.

Joel’s hand ghosts over your lower back as you guys leave the cafe. Normally you’d be put off by this or flinch away but something about Joel was immediately comforting.

“Oh I walked here so I just need to go grab my car, we live around the corner”

“If you’re comfortable with it I could drive us and bring you home later.”

“Ok” you say smiling warmly, letting him know your comfortable with that.

“Let me just text Stacey so she’s not freaked out when my cars there but I’m not.” You say as you guys walk to his truck, his hand still lightly on your lower back as you walk.

“ here let me see your phone” he says leaning against his truck.

“I typed my address into your message for her to have, that way you can feel safe knowing she’s knows exactly where you are.” He says handing you back your phone.

His gesture speaks volumes to you, it’s almost as if he can read your mind.

“Thank you….I’ve honestly never had anyone do something like that for me before.”

“Here let me see your phone, I’ll give you her number incase you ever need to get ahold of her.”

“Was gonna ask but I didn’t want you to think I was being weird”

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence as you make your away across town to Joel’s house, truly just enjoying each others company.

When you guys arrive at Joel’s he gets out and runs over to the passenger door opening it for you.

“Tommy! We have company for movie night tonight” Joel calls out as you enter the house.

Joel barely gets the words out before you hear Tommy’s foots steps padding down the hall.

“Hey there sweetheart! Happy to have ya here” Tommy exclaims as he pulls you into a hug, huge smile across is face.

“Now my brothers not given you any trouble is he?” Tommy asks jokingly making the cutest laugh bubble out of you. The sound of it warms Joel’s soul, he’d do anything in his power to hear it again.

Joel sighs “Really Tommy?”

“What? I’m just joking around” he smirks

“No, he’s not, not yet anyways” you chuckle smiling at Joel.

“Here darlin’ come look at the menu, gotta know what you like before we order”

“Oh I’m easy to get a long with. I like cheese, but honestly I’ll be happy with what you guys get, you don’t have to order special stuff for me”

“Nonsense gotta make sure you’re happy too” Joel smiles

Tommy comes back from the other room “alright I placed the order but I ordered a shit ton of food, like probably too much” he says chuckling.

“But I w’anted t’make sure everyone had somethin’ they liked.”

“I can go with you to pick it up, to help you grab it all if you’d like” you offer with a nervous smile. Trying your hardest to be helpful and figure out your place in this dynamic.

You don’t see it but Joel smiles at your gesture, loving your caring nature.

“Sure I’d love that sweetheart, plus I can give you pointers on how to annoy the shit outta my brother”

You catch a glimpse of Joel rolling his eyes.

“O-only if that’s ok with you?” You say nervously.

“Oh darlin’ of course, I wasn’t rolling’ my eyes at you” he says lightly resting his hand on your lower back.

Joel’s eyes are comically large when you and Tommy get back to the house, both with arm fulls of food.

“Jesus you guys leave any food for the rest of the city?”

That laugh Joel loves so much bubbles up out of you again, his heart beating faster the minute he hears it.

“Uh don’t look at me he’s the one that ordered the food” you say pointing at Tommy.

“Don’t look at me, the sweets we’re all her idea” Tommy says as Joel takes the bakery stuff out of the bag.

“I mean the least I could do was buy us desert” you shrug

Joel glanced up at you as he pulls out a second box from the bakery”

“But I-ah might of gotten a little carried away” you laugh at the sheer amount of stuff spread out over the counter.

The three of you all fill up plates with various items and sit down to bond over dinner.

You learn that Tommy is staying with Joel while he works on remolding the house he bought on that weekends.

You all grab your drinks and head to the living room.

“Make your self at home and sit where ever you’d like darlin’” Joel says as he plops down on the couch.

“Do you guys normally have particular places you sit. I-I don’t want to take anyone’s spot”

To Joel you’re so cute and considerate in this moment.

“Nah not really, sit where ever you’re comfortable”

You think for a moment about what do to before you sit next to Joel on the couch.

“I-I it ok to sit here? If you want more space I can sit on the other end.”

“Absolutely it’s ok sweetheart” Joel says with the kindest smile as his big brown eyes meet yours.

“Was hoping you’d feel comfortable sittin’ next to me”

Tommy follows a few beats behind the two of you juggling the bakery treats and his beer before snagging what he wanted and plopped down in the recliner next to the couch.

You and Joel bump hands reaching for the same treat, an over sized chocolate chip cookie loaded with big chocolate chunks.

A nervous giggle escapes you. “ where you going for the giant cookie too?”

“I’ts ok go ahead”

“Oh no it’s ok”

“Really darlin’ I insist”

You grab the cookie breaking it in half.

“Here I’ll split it with you” you say holding out half of it to him.

“Sweetheart you don’t have to do that”

“Really it’s ok, if I didn’t like you I wouldn’t share” you say nervous chuckling.

Fuck. I can’t believe I just told him I liked him. Way to be weird.

Taking the half and laughing Joel retorts “ It’s ok, if I didn’t like you I wouldn’t have taken it” as he nudges you with his shoulder.

Joel glances over at you part way through the third movie to see you curled up and passed out on the couch next to him. You look so peaceful and comfortable in this moment that he can’t help but smile fondly at you as he pulls a blanket from the back of the couch over you.

Tommy catches a glimpse of Joel tending to you and he can’t help but smile. It’s been a long time since he’s seen his brother like this, seen this happiness in his eyes and a genuine laugh come out of him. Joel’s been a different person since Sarah passed away, more guarded and closed off. But he sees a small change in him since he met you. He can see Joel starting to peek his head out of the gate to the fortress he’s built around himself with you around.

Joel: Hey. It’s Joel y/n gave me your number incase I ever needed to get ahold of you. Just wanted to let you know she fell asleep during movie night on the couch. I covered up and left a water on the coffee table for her. Just didn’t want you to worry if she didn’t turn up tonight. I’m gonna leave her a note next to her phone on the coffee table so she’s not scared when she wakes up.

Stacey: Thank you for texting me Joel. Because I would have been worried if she just didn’t show up. Thank you for taking care of her. Please never hesitate to reach out if you need me.

Joel: Have a good night sweetheart

Stacey: oh Joel one more thing

Stacey: she doesn’t trust people easily. She also doesn’t just fall asleep just anywhere like this….actually she has a hard time sleeping in general. This means she’s comfortable with/ trusts you. Please don’t take this for granted.

——————————————————————

You wake up to the smell of coffee and the sound of hushed chatter.

“ Jesus Tommy, be quiet your gonna wake her up”

As your sitting up slowly from the unfamiliar couch it hits you. Fuck, you fell asleep at Joel’s.

You notice a note next to your phone

“Don’t be scared, nothing happened. You just fell asleep during the movie so I covered you up and left you be. I’ll make you breakfast in the morning

-Joel

You only have a few moments to enjoy the thought of Joel caring for you before the embarrassment comes crashing down.

You fell asleep on a date, who does that!

And further more there’s actually no way this is a date. Why would this man want to date you?

You get up shoving the note in your pocket, gather your things and slowly and quietly make your way to the kitchen.

Tommy notices you standing awkwardly in the door way when he looks up for pouring his coffee.

“Oh would ya look at who woke up, mornin sweetheart” he says offering you a sweet smile.

Joel turns around from his place at the stove, eyes lighting up when he sees you.

“Morning darlin’ would you like some breakfast or coffee? I just s’tarted cookin’”

“N-no…I should go, it’s ok. Um Tommy c-could you give me a ride home?” You manage to squeak out, your voice sounding almost strained as you fight to hold back the tears trying to breach the dam.

You look away, unable to take the disappointment in Joel’s big brown eyes.

It was only a matter of time before he figured out you were a disappointment anyways.

“Oh um ‘course I can sweetheart no problem. Go ahead, I’ll be right out”

Joel just looks at home, eyes filled with defeat.

“It’s ok brother, I’ll talk to her. I can tell she’s feelin a bit anxious”

“I-I feel so bad, I hope she’s not embarrassed. I was happy to have her here, but I know it’s jarring waking up in someone else’s house”

Tommy finds you sitting in his truck, hunched over with your head on your hands and a small piece of paper in your lap.

“What’s that in your lap?” Tommy asked

You don’t even look up as you had him the small note. Tommy noticed the small wet stains in the note as he takes it from you.

A few beats of silence pass. “ oh sweetheart you y’dont have t’cry, this note is truthful”

“It’s not even that”

“I just want to go home”

“No problem sweetheart…just know you can talk to me bout anything anytime. Joel too.”

The ride across town back to your place is silent, your head rested on the window, blankly staring out. You’re mind feels like a hurricane swirling around, thinking of every situation that could happen from you falling a sleeping, thinking of everything you could of said, should of said. You’re zoned out so much you don’t notice that Tommy has pulled into your drive way. When you stay still and don’t get out Tommy breaks the silence.

“Y’alright sweetheart? Y’want to talk about anything? I’ll sit here all day if I need too.” He says, placing a hand on your shoulder.

You’re silent for a few more beats.

“I really fucked things up. Who falls asleep on a date? And before you say anything, no I don’t really think we were on a date because someone like your brother doesn’t want to date me. I’m just so fucking embarrassed. I might as well just prepare myself now for the fact that I likely won’t see either one of you much after this, before I get attached and think you guys want me around because I have a habit of misreading situations and peoples intentions.” You manage to choke out before the tears start flowing.

You go to open the door but Tommy stops you.

“Aww sweetheart hold on a minute. Breaks my heart seeing you like this and I know it would break Joel’s too.”

“It’s ok, Tommy… I know I’m not for everyone. My disorders drive most people away, I’m pretty used to it at this point in my life.”

“ I understand more than you might think… when I came back from the military, I was much different than when I went in. I have PTSD, my anxiety and depression were at an all time high, I can’t do most loud booming noises and the weirdest things trigger me and I spiral into a flash back. The one person who’s been there for me through it all and never once left my side or complained is Joel. Even when he was going through the most horrific moment of his life when he lost Sarah, he never once wavered in his support when I needed it. Long story short, he’s not put off by you or by you falling asleep or by any of your issues. He thinks your awesome, and so do I. Neither of us are messing with you. And I don’t want to speak for him but I’m pretty sure he was hoping last night was a date” Tommy says nudging you playfully at the last part.

“But seriously sweetheart if you ever need to talk. I’m here for you.”

“Thank you Tommy, truly. That means the world to me. I know I really should be kinder to myself but I’m just used to people being around when they want something or it’s convenient for them.”

“Do you wanna come back to the house with me?”

“I do but will it be weird? Will Joel want me to come back?”

“Sweetheart I’m pretty sure he’d let you stay as long as you were comfortable, but I can text him”

“Ok… I’d like to run inside and get changed if that’s ok?”

“I’ll wait as long as you need”

——————————————————-

Tommy: y/n and I talked for a while, she’s alright. She’s just embarrassed and having some trouble but she’s not freaked out by you at all.

Joel: I feel so bad she feels that way. But I’m glad I didn’t freak her out. She’s such a sweetheart.

Tommy: I offered to bring her back to the house to see you and she seems to want to, she’s just concerned you wouldn’t want her to. She’s just inside changing her clothes, I said I’d text you and give you a heads up.

Joel: if she wants to come back with you please bring her back. I want to see her.

Tommy: don’t tell her I told you but she called last night a date than took it back because she got scared calling it that but I told her you were hoping it was a date so do with that what you’d like.

————————————————————-

Stacey is standing right inside the door peeking out the window, which jumps you as you swing the door open.

“Why’d he bring you home? I though you were going to be hanging out with the other one?”

“Oh…Tommy lives with Joel”

“Wait…are you ok? Have you been crying?” Stacey says concerned as she reaches out grabbing your arm.

“Yea ugh I’m alright, I fell asleep last night during movie night and woke up and was really embarrassed and asked Tommy if he could give me a ride home because I just couldn’t face Joel.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t text you, sorry if I worried you”

“Well I would of been really worried but Joel actually texted me, to let me know you were alright and that you had fallen asleep”

“Wait… he did?”

“He was worried that I’d be worried if you didn’t come home. The dude seems like a stand up guy”

“Wait so why is Tommy still here?”

“Well I had a break down on the way here and him and I had a good talk, he asked if I wanted yo go back to the house with him so I’m going up go back over there and talk to Joel. I just wanted to change.”

—————————————————————-

“Y’know it’s been along time since I’ve seen Joel light up t’way he does when he sees you. Losing Sarah really took a lot outta him, but I see his old self startin’ to come out when he’s around you.”

Tommy says turning to you at the red light.

Tommy sees you smile from the corner of his eye as the light turns green again.

“I-I honestly don’t know what to say to that.. and not in a bad way. I guess I’m just surprised. But honestly there’s just something about your brother, something that I can’t really explain. Sigh. Like I just knew right away that I could trust him, I mean I knew right away I could trust you too. But there’s just something about him that’s calming like I’m relaxed and at ease when I’m around him almost as if he sees me, like really sees me for who I am.”

When you and Tommy pull into the drive way Joel comes right out on to the porch, you can’t help the huge smile that tugs at your lips when you see him. You light up when your close enough for him to see you smiling and offered you a cute wave as Tommy puts the truck in park. Joel comes right down the steps and opens the truck door for you.

“H-hey sweetheart…m’happy you came back”

“Well I’m happy you wanted me to come back”

You barely get the words out of your mouth before Joel’s wrapping you in a tight embrace, you don’t hold back hugging him back just as tightly. It’s hard to tell who needed the hug more, you or him.

“Y’know y’can talk to me bout anything, whatever’s going on at any moment. I’ll never judge you. I want to be there for you.” Joel says just loud enough for you to hear, even though Tommy had already gone inside.

“I know, and I want you to know I do trust you. I just get really in my head sometimes because I’ve thought of every way a situation could go wrong instead of seeing the good, sometimes all I can focus on are the what ifs.”

“I’ll be as patient as you need sweetheart, never feel pressured and if there’s something your more comfortable talking to Tommy about in the moment I know he’d be there for you too.”

All you can do is tilt your head up, your glossy hazel eyes meeting his big brown one. It’s almost as if time stops in this moment. Joel wants to kiss you, my god does he want to kiss you and never let you go. He wants to wash away all your fear and anxiety. To hold you and give you the world.

Tag list:

@kalllistos @justasadbean @bcon24 @its-dee-lovely @fishingforpike @macaroni-artist @gengar-neutral @xybil @morgaussy @sailorsophiee @samarav @dionysusinparis @arlovesper @fandomsohmyohmy @lovelyladiess @lovelyladiess @lovebandrry @joelmillersblog l @pinkbowsandcoffeestains @pascal-is-punk @thatgirlpeaches @alyhull

@fandomwhored @hiddenbabynyc l

@goldenhxurs

#tommy miller #fanfic #the last of us #tommy miller x reader #joel miller #joel tlou #joel miller x reader #soft!joel miller #neurodivergent #joel miller x f!reader

[lostfirefly]

Secrets I have held in my heart are harder to hide than I thought, maybe I just wanna be yours

One of my favorite moments of the 3d episode in OPLA, the moment with the knives. And I thought. Why not? English is not my native language, errors may occur. As always, feel free to share your thoughts :)

Buggy and F/GN Reader - Masterlist is here.

Description: You throw knives together with Cabaji. Buggy joins you.

Words: 1665

Taglist: @gingernut1314, @operationroots

The title is taken from “I Wanna Be Yours” by Arctic Monkeys.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

“Oh, come on, Y/N! Admit it!”

“You're talking nonsense, Cabaji!” You were sitting in an awning on a keg sipping beer. “I don't care about him!”

“Really? I thought you like him.” Cabaji shrugged. “There was some harbor girl coming out of his quarters this morning, barely able to walk. I think you should stop this outrage already, Y/N. You must leave his cabin without being able to walk!” 

You choked. "Are you out of your mind? He's my captain, I'm not going to sleep with him!" You started to blush. 

“But why? You're an acrobat. I think he'll like it!” Cabaji laughed loudly.

You lost in your thoughts. You joined the Buggy Pirates a few months ago, and became an acrobat on his circus team. To be honest, running off with Captain Clown seemed like a good idea. Your family didn't understand your fascination with the circus and tried to force you to learn a boring profession. You were drawn to the magic of the circus all your life. You liked the smell of candy popcorn. You loved hearing the laughter and applause of the audience. What you didn't like was that after a few months you realized you had feelings for the captain. No, no! A grown man who paints himself as a clown. But the more often you saw him, the more you realized that the sight of him gave you a light electric shock. You tried to avoid making eye contact with him or standing next to him. Every time your captain passed by, touched you, you blushed, and it seemed to you that the whole team already knew about your feelings.

“Okay. Let's take another round!” You sipped your beer, spun off the keg, and picked up your knives. “I'll beat you this time.” 

“You haven't been able to beat me since day one on the ship, Y/N!” Cabaji laughed.

“Go to hell! I can do it!” You took the knife firmly in your hand and hurled it at the board.

“Ha! You missed! Loser!” Cabaji sipped his beer, walked over to you, patted you on the shoulder, and threw the knife. “See! Right on target! Who is the winner? Cabaji is the winner!” He pointed at himself with his index fingers.

“You must have thrown a knife at someone the first thing you did as soon as you were born, otherwise I don't understand where such marksmanship comes from!” You waved your hands and shrieked loudly. “Oh, I know! I need a target! We had cabbage for Richie here. Go get it!”

Cabaji shrugged his shoulders and quickly ran off to get the cabbage and went back inside. “Now what am I supposed to do with these sprouts!” He asked in surprise.

“Fix it on a board. I'll imagine it's our Captain Buggy's head, and I'll throw knives at him!” You twirled the knife in your hands with a proud look. 

“I told you like him!” Cabaji succeeded and nailed a cabbage sprout to the board.

“He's my…I don’t li..” You swung the knife. “....ke him! Yes! I hit it!”

“The sprouts take up half the board, of course you hit it!” He gave you another knife.

“Oh, Y/N, you like him!” You started imitating Cabaji's voice. “I don't love him! Captain pisses me off! He an...” You took aim and threw another knife. “...noys me!” Another knife. “Walks around his ship like he's king of the world. The fucking king who is always whining!” 

“Uh... Y/N!” Cabaji cleared his throat. 

“Oh, my beer's too cold. Y/N, get me a new bottle from the fridge!” You threw another knife with anger. “Get it yourself! You can detach your fucking arm and send it to the fridge!” 

“Y/N!” Cabaji tried to get your attention.

“Ooh, my omelet is too cold. Y/N, heat it up!” You picked up another knife from the ground and threw it at the cabbage. “I wasn't hired to be your fucking cook, asshole!”

“Y/N!!!!” Cabaji shouted. “Hush!”

“What?” You snapped back. “What's he going to do to me? He's just a fucking cabbage on the board. What do you think? I bet if he was standing behind me right now, he'd start whining about something.” You noticed Cabaji's gaze looking somewhere behind your shoulder. “He's standing behind me now, isn't he?” 

He slowly nodded.

You blushed and turned around. “Good evening, Captain!” You slowly looked up. Seeing first his boots, then his clothes, then his red lips, red nose, green eyes, and blue hair. “And we are... We…”

Buggy crossed his arms and stared at you intently. “Having fun, huh?” He shifted his gaze to Cabaji. 

“Yeah, relaxing after the show. Throwing knives and talking.” You said quietly. 

"I noticed." He said rather dryly and took off his coat.

The first thing you saw were pumped up arms, and you got a little out of breath.

“May I join you?” Buggy walked over to Cabaji who was pulling knives out of a cabbage and took one. 

“Sure!” You started to blush and looked away from him.

“Do we have any bets?” Buggy asked, rubbing the hilt with his hand. 

“No. Just for fun. Not playing for anything.” You tried to sound calm.

“No interest in playing for anything. I suggest a case of beer.” Buggy threw the knife, and it hit right in the middle of the sprout. “Looks like one point behind me, huh? Cheesecake, your turn!” He smiled slightly and held the knife out to you. 

You gently took the edge of the handle, trying not to touch Buggy's hand, and stood in front of the target. You began to swing.

“No, no. My cheesecake, you're holding the knife wrong.” Buggy came up behind you, putting one hand on your wrist. “Take it a little to the right.” He gently moved your hand in the right direction. Your heart began to pound faster. 

Buggy brought his face close to your ear and said quietly, “Now throw it!”

You gulped and threw the knife at the cabbage.

“See! Almost hit it!” Buggy adjusted his white glove, sipped from your bottle, and turned back to you. “Let's do it again!” He handed you the knife and stood behind you again. “Take your hand back.” Buggy put his hand on your wrist and lightly touched your waist with the fingers of the other. “And throw!”

You froze for a second, feeling the warmth of his hand on your waist.

“Cheesecake? Throw it!” He ran his hand lightly over your side.

“Oh yeah, I'm throwing it!” You threw the knife at the target but missed s little. 

“That's better already! Cabaji, your turn!” Buggy sat down on the keg and sipped your beer again. 

Cabaji shrugged, picked up a knife from the ground, threw it and hit the target. 

“Good for you! Now it's my turn! Watch how the real masters throw knives!” Buggy mewled, picked up a knife from the cabbage, stood close to you, and threw it towards the board. 

You tried your best to hide your admiration and refused to admit that this whole situation was turning you on a bit.

“Cheesecake! Your turn!” Buggy nodded his head at you. Cabaji wanted to walk over to you to help steady your hand, but the captain tsked at him. Buggy walked over to you and took your hand again, with his other hand he had already hugged you tighter and pulled you closer to his chest. Goosebumps ran through your body. You felt like you could feel every beat of his heart through your vertebrae.

“Aim more precisely.” Buggy looked at you over your shoulder. You cast a glance with the edge of your eye and immediately averted your eyes. He literally drilled you with his gaze, and began stroking his hand down your back. 

“Jesus!” It went through your head.

You took a deep breath, covered your eyes and threw the knife.

“Ha! You got it!” Buggy clapped his hands together happily.  "Hey, is someone keeping score?" He asked, looking back at Cabaji.

“No, captain.” Cabaji shrugged.

“Okay, we’re gentlemen! Let's let the cheesecake win, right?” Buggy picked up the knife from the ground, stood behind you, and pressed closer. “Go ahead yourself, Y/N.” He placed both hands on your waist and pulled you closer.

You didn’t quite understand how to throw a knife in such a position when all you could think about was how close he was standing.

Buggy started stroking your waist, and you didn’t notice how you twitched slightly.

“What's happened?” Buggy asked as he looked at you, placing one hand on your hip.

“Nothing. I'm afraid I'll lose your beer. Captain!” You giggled idiotically, trying to hide your increasing breathing in every possible way. You exhaled, tried to straighten your shoulders and snuggled closer. You pulled your hand back and glanced at Buggy, who didn’t seem to notice that he had already lowered his second hand to your thigh.

You narrowed your eyes and dropped the knife.

"You won, little cheesecake!" Buggy smiled widely and moved his hands to your waist.

“But we didn’t even keep score!” You carefully placed your palms on his.

"I'm the captain here. I said you won, that means you won!" Buggy rested his chin on the top of your head. "Okay. Time to go back to the ship. Let's go, cheesecake, I'll treat you to beer!" He abruptly removed his hands, grabbed his coat, winked at you and walked out.

“I’m telling you for sure, soon you will have difficulty leaving his cabin!” Cabaji collected the knives from the ground and from the cabbage, and grinned.

“I wish...” You whispered.

“What?” He asked again.

“Nothing. Let's go. He's probably waiting for us near the tent.”

In the morning, you really left Buggy's cabin. And judging by the faces of the crew, everyone heard you shout the captain's name loudly several times during the night.

#one piece #buggy the clown #buggy live action #one piece live action #buggy one piece #opla buggy the clown #buggy fanfiction #buggy fic #opla buggy the clown x reader #buggy the clown x reader #opla buggy the clown x you #buggy x female reader #buggy the clown x you #opla buggy x reader #buggy x you #buggy x reader

[beskarandblasters]

New York or Nowhere

Part one: Cool Ranch Doritos and Arizona Green Tea

Bodega Owner!Joel Miller x F!Reader

New York or Nowhere Masterlist

Main Masterlist | Joel Miller Masterlist

Series summary: After a night out with your friends in Brooklyn you stop at a bodega (Beldro’s Deli) for some drunk snacks where you meet Joel, a Texan to New York transplant. You’re immediately enamored by him but your friends think he’s a creep. One night you go to Beldro’s without your friends and get exactly what you’re looking for.

Chapter summary: You meet Joel, owner of Beldro’s Deli, after a night out with your friends

Word count: 900 (this is just when they first meet, v smol chapter 😇)

Warnings: reader is able-bodied, no outbreak, canon divergent, drinking, Joel being kind of a creep, eventual smut, no use of y/n

You stumble out onto the street with your friends after a night out with your friends at the Brooklyn Mirage. You’re with your best friends; Jessica, Nathaniel and Charlotte— all four of you New York natives. It’s been a successful evening, each of you getting completely trashed and now ready for the next stage of a night out; the drunk snacks.

The nighttime air is humid and heavy, a stark contrast from the blasting AC in the club. Your friend orders an Uber back to Green Point on her phone, each of you preferring the quick twelve minute car ride over a forty five minute drunken stupor back to your neighborhood.

You’re relatively new to this area anyway, living only in Manhattan since you moved to the city. The Uber back to your neighborhood was lively, each of you talking about what snacks you were going to get. The driver drops you off at a street corner you’re unfamiliar with and before you can panic Jessica points across the street and shouts, “Boom, a bodega. There we go. If I don’t get takis inside me in the next ten minutes I’ll scream.”

“Girl, if you scream I’m walking away and pretending I don’t know you,” Nathaniel laughs.

“I’m pretending I don’t know all of you. You’re all so fucking loud,” you laugh, powerwalking across the crosswalk ahead of them.

You look up at the sign above the green awning; Beldro’s Deli. You’ve never been to this one before. Gotta get familiarized with the neighborhood somehow right?

You walk inside and the cool air smacks you in the face. Your friends pile in behind you, already acting like fools. You look over at the man at the counter; furrowed eyebrows, dark brown hair that’s going gray, white t-shirt that’s so tight his biceps are straining the fabric of the sleeves. And your attention is fixated on him for approximately five seconds until you notice the cat sitting on the ATM machine next to the counter.

“Look at this precious little baby!” you drunkenly shout, walking over to the cat and scratching its chin. So much for you not acting like a fool.

“What’s its name?” you ask, glancing over at the strange man at the counter.

“Her name is Cat,” he says gruffly.

“Cat?! That’s a terrible name,” you say, running your hand along her back.

“What about Muffin? Frito? Little Debbie??” Charlotte says coming up behind you.

“Okay now you’re just listing off stuff that’s in here,” you laugh, “How about… Ellie?”

“Ooh yeah she looks like an Ellie,” Charlotte says.

“You’re welcome. We just named your cat for you,” you say, looking back at the man.

“She’s not my cat,” he responds. This time you detect a southern drawl in his voice. He’s not from here.

“She lives in your store,” you shrug, “She’s your cat.”

“Whatever you say,” he says, shaking his head.

Charlotte turns to scan the aisles and Jessica and Nathaniel start to check out with their snacks in hand. As for you, you stay by the ATM machine petting Ellie and watching the man scan your friends’ items; watching the way his hands grip things and his biceps stretching the already tight fabric and the veins on his forearms bulging and- Shit, you got it bad.

“Aren’t you gonna get something?” Charlotte asks, finished making her selections.

“Y-yeah hang on,” you say, removing your hand from Ellie as hard as it is.

You scan the aisles and pick a bag of cool ranch Doritos and a can of Arizona green tea from the cooler. You walk back to the counter and see your friends are waiting outside for you. You put your stuff on the counter to check out. Now that you’re face to face with the man you can read his name tag; Joel.

He puts your items in a bag and hands it over to you.

“Don’t worry about it, sugar.”

“Wh-what? No way,” you say, reaching for your purse to pull out cash.

He puts a hand up and says, “Just take it.”

“If you’re sure… Thanks,” you say, grabbing the bag and going to leave.

“Have a good night, sugar,” he says, the southern twang just dripping from his voice that time.

“Thanks, you too,” you say, before heading out the door and meeting your friends on the street.

“Okay, is it just me or… Was he kinda hot?” you ask, wincing in anticipation of their responses.

“Girl, no,” Jessica says, shaking her head.

“I think you’re just lonely,” Nathaniel laughs.

“Shut up! I am not,” you say, getting a little defensive, “He had that older, mysterious man vibe.”

“Nah, he was just a creep,” Charlotte says, shaking her head.

You roll your eyes and Jessica teases, “Sorry, you’re never living this down.

They tease you all the way back to your building where they bid you a good night. And with that, you all go your separate ways. As you lay in bed with your Doritos and Arizona tea you think of Joel and ask yourself— is he really a creep?

He charged your friends for their stuff but not yours. That’s all he really did that could be considered creepy but your friends weren’t even there to witness that.

Is it just because he’s southern? It could be that. Your friends are sometimes New York elitists to put it nicely…

You go to bed that night thinking of Ellie and decide that if anything… you should get a cat.

Banners + dividers by cafekitsune

End note: I just had to get their little introduction out there!! I hope you all follow along for the reader and bodega owner!Joel’s adventures 🖤

Follow @beskarandblastersfics and turn on post notifications to be notified when I post a new fic!

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller au #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal joel miller #pedrostories #pedro pascal fanfiction

[brrrkdslek]

ＱＵＡＤＲＩＬＡＴＥＲＡＬ ＬＯＶＥ !

❒ csn, smg, jwy x idol! fem! reader

❒ smau, written(partly), romcom, SLOWBURN

❒ being a newly debuted group from the small company, KQ, you're already getting yourself into scandals and many allegations have been made about you. how will you battle through the public and feelings you surprisingly catch in between everything?

❒ wonyoung of ive, bahiyyih of kep1er, chaewon of le sserafim, hanni of newjeans and more as you read on!

❒ milky way by @ad0rechuu (amazing!!!)

❒ 1st august, 2023—

❒ @asherthehimbo (dm to be on taglist!!)

₊ ⊹ ＡＣＴ １ ⎯ ＢＥ ＴＨＥ ＤＲＡＭＡ !

✦ 000 ⎯ ASSTROIDS☄️💫

✦ 001 ⎯ BUTTEASE👴🏻🤏🏻

✦ 002 ⎯ OTHERS

✦ 003 ⎯ ZAZA ALLEGATIONS⁉️

✦ 004 ⎯ LET'S GO LESBIANS‼️😍

✦ 005 ⎯ GOSSIP GIRLS🫢💅🏻

✦ 006 ⎯ Y/N'S GIRL DINNER⁉️🤭

✦ 007 ⎯ POOKIE BEAR😍🫶🏻🫧

✦ 008 ⎯ INKIGAYO MCS⁉️🫨

✦ 009 ⎯ STINKY BUTT FUCK😡👎🏻

✦ 010 ⎯ THE LESBIANISM IS FADING...😰

✦ 011 ⎯ MOTHER IS MOTHERING😢🫶🏻

✦ 012 ⎯ DHMU CUZ😭😭😭😭😭

✦ 013 ⎯ ITS FINE NOW HMU🤭🫶🏻✨💫💞💗

✦ 014 ⎯ WONYOUNG STRIPPER ERA⁉️💸🤑

✦ 015 ⎯ THE BOYS R FIGHTING👴🏻🤏🏻

✦ 016 ⎯ WE CHILLIN🍃🍃🍃

✦ 017 ⎯ YUH PRODUCER LINE GET IT‼️‼️

₊ ⊹ ＡＣＴ ２ ⎯ ＣＡＮＯＮ ＥＶＥＮＴＳ ! ?

✦ 018 ⎯ WHUT R U DOING AWN THE NEWS⁉️😱

✦ 019 ⎯ MAKING MY MOVE😈

✦ 020 ⎯ WHO'S PUSSY DO I NEED TO POP❓🤨

✦ 021 ⎯ BATTLE FOR THE FANCALL🤺🥷

✦ 022 ⎯ WAR BEHIND CLOSED DOORS🤫

✦ 023 ⎯ 6TH MEMBER OF STARLETZ🤭💝

✦ 024 ⎯ JEALOUSY JEALOUSY BY OLIVIA RODRIGO😢

✦ 025 ⎯ THE GAYS R AT IT AGAIN🤺🤫

✦ 026 ⎯ INKIGAYO INCIDENT☠️☠️☠️

✦ 027 ⎯ SORRY GAYS😔💔

✦ 028 ⎯ MUTHER DID WHUT⁉️🫠

✦ 029 ⎯ NEVER BEATING THE ZAZA ALLEGATIONS😫

✦ 030 ⎯ IT'S TUFF BEING STR8🥱🤒

✦ 031 ⎯ PROS OF BEING A STALKER😍👂🏻☕️

✦ 032 ⎯ CONS OF BEING A STALKER😨🫢❓

₊ ⊹ ＡＣＴ ３ ⎯ Ｗ ＷＩＩＩ ! ? ! ?

✦ 033 ⎯ BREAKING APART☹️

✦ 034 ⎯ POOKIE IS FREE⁉️

✦ 035 ⎯ POOKIE ENVY😒😒

✦ 036 ⎯ POOKIE VS KEEHO😫

✦ 037 ⎯ WHY IT SMELL LIKE CACAS IN HERE🤢🤮

✦ 038 ⎯ KIDNAPPING POOKIE XOXO👹

✦ 039 ⎯ POOKIE IS THE 6TH MEMBER OF STARLETZ⁉️😨

✦ 040 ⎯ WHAT HAPPENED TO MUTHUR❓🫣😰

✦ 041 ⎯ HJ SLANDER😢💔

✦ 042 ⎯ OH...😨🪦

✦ 043 ⎯ DON'T PUT ME ON THE NEWS😡😡😡😡

✦ 044 ⎯ NAWT GOING BACK‼️🥱😤

✦ 045 ⎯ MOTHUR HWA😭😭😭😭

✦ 046 ⎯ DON'T START SMTH POOKIE😐🙄

✦ 047 ⎯ HE STARTED SMTH WAAA😵

✦ 048 ⎯ COMFORT BY THE LOML🫶🏻

✦ 049 ⎯ WHY R U GUYS ACTING SO GROSS N WEIRD❓🤮

✦ 050 ⎯ WHUT IS GOING AWN TODAY⁉️😍🤑

✦ 051 ⎯ RAPPER LINE GET IT YUH‼️🗣️🗣️🗣️

✦ 052 ⎯ WHICH WAY DO I GO❓🤔😶‍🌫️

₊ ⊹ ＡＣＴ ４ ⎯ ＥＭＢＲＡＣＩＮＧ ＴＨＥ ＳＴＲ８ＮＥＳＳ . . .

✦ 053 ⎯ BEING A LESBIAN WAS EASIER THAN THIS😔

✦ 054 ⎯ ZAZA RIZZ Y/N⁉️⁉️

✦ 055 ⎯ GIGGLING HIGH SCHOOL GIRLS😰🦶🏻

✦ 056 ⎯ WHO'S UR DEALER❓🤑🥵

✦ 057 ⎯ CARRYING THE 5TH GEN‼️💯🗣️

✦ 058 ⎯ CARRYING MY POOKIE BEAR😔🥺🤱🏻

✦ 059 ⎯ THE GIRLS R FIGHTING⁉️😭😰

✦ 060 ⎯ WHST DID YIU DP⁉️🧚🏻‍♀️🤔

✦ 061 ⎯ TENSION EVERYWHERE😭😵😫💆🏻‍♀️

✦ 062 ⎯ I'M SAWRY LUVER😢💔🫂

✦ 063 ⎯ MCS COMEBACK⁉️😫😍🏃🏻‍♀️

✦ 064 ⎯ U TWO R WHUT😵😵😵😵😵😵😵😵

✦ 065 ⎯ DON'T PUNCH MY BRO⁉️😡

✦ 066 ⎯ BROS MAD, HOES SAD😔

✦ 067 ⎯ POOKIE THERAPY‼️🫶🏻🥰

✦ 068 ⎯ SUCCESS🤓🧎🏻‍♀️🏌🏻‍♀️

₊ ⊹ ＥＮＤＩＮＧ １ ⎯ ＳＩＲ ＭＩＮＧＬＥＳ ＰＲＩＮＧＬＥＳ !

✦ 069 ⎯ FORGIVE ME MY LUV😢

✦ 070 ⎯ I'LL BUY U PRINGLES🕳️🤸🏻‍♀️

✦ 071 ⎯ EXPENSIVE SEXY DATE⁉️🤠

✦ 072 ⎯ GOING SUMWHERE FINALLY👽🫶🏻

✦ 073 ⎯ EVERY FANBOY'S DREAM😫😩‼️

₊ ⊹ ＥＮＤＩＮＧ ２ ⎯ ＷＯＯＦ ＢＡＲＫＢＡＲＫＡＲＦ ＹＯＵＮＧ !

✦ 074 ⎯ BARK AT THE ENEMIES😡🗣️🗣️🗣️

✦ 075 ⎯ ADOPTED⁉️🤱🏻😍

✦ 076 ⎯ POOKIE APPROVED😫🧚🏻‍♀️🫶🏻

✦ 077 ⎯ MCDONALDS DATE❓😟🤨

✦ 078 ⎯ I'LL BE ANY BREED YOU LIKE😍🦮

₊ ⊹ ＥＮＤＩＮＧ ３ ⎯ ＣＨＯＩ ＳＡＭ ＢＡＫ ＣＨＯＩ(菜 心 白 菜) !

✦ 079 ⎯ DATING SCANDAL⁉️😰

✦ 080 ⎯ U WANNA HIT😳🤭😶‍🌫️

✦ 081 ⎯ WHEN U DON'T SERVE CUNT🫠

✦ 082 ⎯ THE BOY BECAME A MAN😧👀

✦ 083 ⎯ HE BUILT LIKE MY BOYFRIEND🤭

₊ ⊹ ＥＮＤＩＮＧ ４ ⎯ ＴＨＲＥＥ ＩＮ ＯＮＥ ! ?

✦ 084 ⎯ FOURTH WALL😬🫢

✦ 085 ⎯ WHAT IF I WANT ALL OF THEM❓🤔

✦ 086 ⎯ CUTELY PLANS CHAOS🧎🏻‍♂️🧎🏻‍♂️🧎🏻‍♂️🏌🏻‍♀️

✦ 087 ⎯ CAMERAMAN POOKIE⁉️🫣

✦ 088 ⎯ 3 KENS & 1 BARBIE🤞🏻💗🤭

©BRRRKDSLEK 2023

#brrrkdslek 💬: quadrilateral love #ateez smau #seonghwa x reader #hongjoong x reader #yunho x reader #yeosang x reader #san x reader #mingi x reader #wooyoung x reader #jongho x reader #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez