rottenstrawberrymilk

[rottenstrawberrymilk]

handsome jack x reader

nsfw

6.4k words

        When the invitation to Hyperion's latest gathering was sent to you, you'd thought it'd been a simple error. I mean...seriously? It's some cocktail party for some of the most elite corporations in the universe. There was no way your business was big enough or influential enough to run alongside the big guys, much less Hyperion. They'd grown particularly fast in the recent years after having a (if you've heard correctly, rather violent) change in leadership. Under Handsome Jack, business was booming and their corporation was expanding fast, enough to demand respect and fear from anyone with functioning braincells. You'd checked the address once, twice, three times even, but it was correct. You'd even reached out to contact the very outer levels of Hyperion administration and, yep, you were supposed to have it and you should highly consider showing up. Special request of Handsome Jack himself, who'd hand picked the guest list. Skipping out on something like this clearly won't be taken lightly. 

        So if you don't show up, you figure he'll kill you for being rude or send someone to kill you for insulting him and his generosity so gravely. It's not often a guy like him with that much power reaches out a friendly hand. Maybe lately he's been scoping out smaller businesses before his competition can.

        So, you clear your schedule, put on your best cocktail dress, a bold, fake face, and go. Because if your nerves don't kill you, Handsome Jack certainly will. 

        You'd weighed the positives long before deciding to show up. On the bright side, partnering with Hyperion could mean very good things for your company. Most places that merged with them or collaborated saw great success or the owners giving up their shares saw fat paychecks that had them set for life. Hyperion throws money around like that no problem lately, due to them striking it rich in Eridium on that trash planet Pandora. If you were okay with setting aside nearly all your morals and ethics, that wealth and success could be yours. And...maybe some of your inventions and ideas could be part of something bigger.

        Handsome Jack's crazy, but from what you've heard about his initiative...he's not completely off his rocker. From what you know, he just intends on chasing out bandit populations on Pandora and civilizing the place. More places to live, more businesses, more establishments, more jobs for good, well meaning people...how bad could that be? But, like with every CEO of the bigger corporations, there's something horribly off about him. Likely the penchant for senseless murder. The bribery, the blackmail, the threats, the crushing anyone or anything mercilessly under his heel, probably also had something to do with it.

        All of this you keep in mind as you wander the venue, drink in hand. You only have a few sips. You're hoping to stay at the top of your game here, and you're not exactly the cleanest drunk. Plus, having a glass in your hand makes you feel like you fit in more with the very pompous crowd surrounding you. Maliwan, Jakobs, Tediore, Pangolin...So many big names...were you the only small time business here? How embarrassing. 

        On the edge of one of the outer office doors, Handsome Jack leans against the wall. One of the assistants, what's-his-face, is droning on and on about something. How many of the guests had showed up, who hadn't (send a pipe bomb or a loader bot or maybe both their way as a warning...), other garbage he doesn't care about. His mind's only one thing tonight. He tangles with the big guys plenty, this one he needs to get to before they do. Before they realize what's been under their noses this entire time, and he had been the only one keen enough to notice.

        "Yeah, yeah, spare me. Is what's-his-face from you-know-what here tonight?" Jack suddenly asks, standing up straighter.

        "Uhm..." the assistant seems caught off guard, being cut off. "Yes, sir. Checked in and everything. Oh, by the way, sir, the representative is a-" 

        "Mhm, whatever. I can handle whatever's thrown my way. I've dealt with these uptight assholes longer than you've been alive, buddy. Great chat." 

        His hand comes to firmly smack over the other man's stiff shoulder. Jack's off to mingle before the assistant can finish, leaving him standing there awkwardly through half the sentence. 

        From your end of the venue, it's easy to spot Handsome Jack finally coming out of where ever he'd been pent up. You'd thought he'd be making a much grander entrance with everything you've heard about him. He has a knack for being...a little dramatic. But apparently, he's focused on other things tonight. Seeing the seriousness on his face, you know better than to boldly approach him and introduce yourself. Definitely not with the mass of other representative beelining for him. Most of which, he waves off. You force yourself to stay still, in the corner, steadying your breath. He'll get to you when he gets to you. 

        You try to find conversation, or more realistically, a distraction, elsewhere. The Jakobs guy doesn't seem like he's gonna rip your head off. Suddenly, it's much easier to talk to a stranger as long as it isn't Jack. Throughout the conversation with Jakobs rep, you're careful to keep an eye on where Jack is in the room. As he filtered through the crowd, he seemed to be getting more and more...frustrated? It's too loud in here to properly hear what he's saying, but the displeasure is obvious on his face. Or...maybe that's just what he looks like? Either way, you hope you don't receive the brunt of that mood if he ever actually makes it over to you. 

        You do your best to continue lingering near the far end of the venue. Almost unconsciously, wherever Jack is in the room, you are almost opposite. Seems like compared to the Jakobs guy, the rest of the guests are strangely much more hostile. The conversation...it's uh...it's tense. You wonder if any of these guys actually like each other. Their plus ones, usually wives or girlfriends or girlfriends their wives don't know about seem to hold little interest in you. Maybe they can tell you're just not cut from the same cloth they are. 

        You feel like you stick out even worse now. Great. Your anxiety starts to become too much to bear. Something about that and the combination of the noise and glass clinking makes you wanna retract into your skin and disappear with a little 'pop'. Definitely time for a little break. Social events like these are never really your strong suit, even if they were smaller. At least it's easy to slip away when no one here was that interested in speaking with you. Well, other than the Jakobs guy, of course. He was kinda nice, but difficult to navigate a legitimate conversation with. Not too shabby with the small talk and formalities. You wonder if you should just act like him to survive the rest of this night. Trying to leave early would just draw more attention to yourself.

        You end up wandering near the back of the venue. Observation from the side lines helps you figure out that this area just seemed to be a workspace with the tables, chairs, and computers moved elsewhere. A giant, metal hatch door looms some ways back, in a more secluded corner. No one's near them. Usually, you'd take that as a sign to back off and follow the crowd. There must be a good reason for nobody to be over there right now. You think Handsome Jack might have come from that way, but really, what's the harm in taking a breather for a few moments. 

        The room's starting to feel a little stuffy and there's no cracking windows in space. You really need a break from this crowd. 

        Subtly as you can, you break away from the chatting masses, figuring you could hang out near the wall and catch your breath out of view for a few moments. Your heart pounds as you walk, hoping no one will notice you sneaking off. If anyone had, they hadn't stared or said anything. When you reach the desired area, you can only press your back to the wall, head fallen back as you shut your eyes. 

        Just a few more hours. Do a little small talk with Mr. Scary Hyperion CEO, just like the Jakobs guy. Then I can leave. I got this. 

        After a few long moments, you open them again. You find yourself face to face with Mr. Scary Hyperion CEO-- Handsome Jack.

        Startled, and with an awkwardly late reaction time, you jump, barely stifling a high pitched yelp. Your head bangs back up, harder, against the wall and you hiss in pain, ducking your head briefly. You think momentarily about how incredibly lucky he was that your hand hadn't gone flying towards his face in reaction to the scare. Jack watches, amused, as you turn the most intense shade of red. Pretty funny. One of your hands goes to hold at the back of your head, as you wince, and straighten yourself back out. 

        "And you are?" Jack asks, knowing full well there's no need to introduce himself first. 

        You note that he's shorter in person. Huh. Not like...ridiculously so. Just enough to throw you off a little, though. He seems a little more...human. Which is ironic, because his face is downright unnatural and setting off every flight instinct in your body. Uncanny valley, you think, might be the best term to describe the feeling. Impossibly handsome, like every curve on his face had been calculated, mulled over, before being made permanent. 

        You realize you're staring. Fuck.

        "Sorry, it's, uhm (Y/N)." God, ow, that was a hard wall. Had you reacted any more violently, knocking yourself unconscious totally would have been a possibility. So at least you're not in the much more embarrassing timeline where that happened. Life could always be worse. 

        "Well, uhm (Y/N)," Jack says in a matter of fact tone, leaning forwards. "Can you tell me who you're representing? Or didja sneak in here? You're kinda sexy, so I'll let it slide, just this once. But, between me and you..." He takes your bare shoulder in his large hand. "You stick out like a sore thumb next to all the other suits."

        His voice drops to an exaggerated whisper, and he puts up a hand to exaggeratedly hide his mouth from a crowd that isn't even looking his way. "It's almost a little sad." 

        Well that's a lot to process. He thinks you stand out amongst all the other guests? Him? In his jeans and his sneakers? And the douchey wrist tattoo? The unnatural face? Focus, focus. It doesn't matter how tacky he looks. It's Handsome Jack. He could walk around naked if he wanted to and no one could question it.

        Before you give yourself enough time to mull over why your first example of him doing whatever he wanted was walking around naked, you decide to answer at least one of his questions--the important one. You know he's the type of man to get impatient fast. Quickly, you mutter your company's name, the red flush not quite faded from your face. It's really hard to maintain eye contact with this guy. Which sucks, because it was one of the things you'd wanted to be good at tonight. There's a sort of intensity in his eyes that just makes you uncomfortable. 

        Should you look like that too to be taken seriously in this world? 

        "A-And if it's any testament to me not sneaking into this place-- I was actually invited. I run the business-" 

        You find your sentence dying off early when you see the very obvious surprise on his face. You're not sure if you should be offended by how genuine his shock is. 

        Jack points at you, the ring on his index glinting. "You?" He asks, still sounding skeptical. Then, he nods, which is unexpected but makes you feel extremely relieved. The accusing finger drops away, in favor of him placing his hands on his hips, looking you up and down. "Well that explains why I couldn't find the rep for your company. I thought I was supposed to be looking for a dude." 

        "You thought- I- Wait, what?" The look of confusion on your face was intense. 

        You suppose the invitation was just addressed to the building the business was being run out of, not a person or a specific name. God, this is embarrassing. More so for you. Should you just excuse yourself politely now and call it a night? 

        "Fuck, I wasted a lot of my time." Jack breathes out exasperatedly, pinching at the bridge of his nose with a thumb and a bent index finger. Awkwardly, you shift before him. At least the ache in the back of your head is gradually fading. Then, he looks back up at you, straightens up a little. "Well, my deepest apologies, honey. And if it's any consolation, you don't look like a dude at all. Cross my heart." 

        A weirdly charming smile sneaks across his face. 

        A short laugh, like the tensions leaving your body, escapes you. "Oh it's no problem, please don't worry about it," you insist. Why's he being nice to you now? You remember his prior comment on your looks. Right...that would make sense. And his apparent interest in your small company, specifically, out of all the others. You wonder, for a moment, if he possibly has you mixed up with someone else he's expecting. 

        For crying out loud, even Vladof sent a representative to this thing. You already know they never show up for shit like this. 

        For a moment, there's an awkward silence. You clear your throat. "Uhm...Think I'll get back to the-" you jerk a thumb in the direction of the party. No members of which had taken notice of you and Jack on the sidelines. Initially, you thought that'd been a good thing. Now, you kinda wish someone had looked your way. They could probably come over and-

        Handsome Jack's hand finds your shoulder once more. He's...very physical. If your discomfort with his touch is obvious, he completely ignores it. "Ah, ah, not so fast, cupcake...What's the rush? Truth be told, I'd rather chat with you alone. You catch my drift?" 

        It's a very firm grasp. One you wouldn't be able to throw off without making some sort of scene. Which is the last thing you want to do right now. Maybe you can play dumb. It should be easy, considering you really, truly are not catching that drift. Why would his conversation with you require privacy when he hadn't offered the same to anyone else?

        "Not...not exactly?" you try.

        He gives you a bit of a deadpan look. With the business you ran, he thought you'd be a little sharper. Whatever, if you're stupid that works to his advantage too. 

        "My office is over there." He tilts his head in the direction of the massive, sealed doors. "You clearly aren't a big crowd person. And I don't want any of those scheming bastards listening in. Best of both worlds, don't you think?" Jack turns you towards the door already, before you've even answered.

        You never got the chance to reply at all, as he practically sweeps you towards them. They slide open, seemingly only for him. People had passed by it plenty of times tonight and those doors hadn't budged at all. You ignore the finally turning heads. It's too late to try and wiggle out of this now. All you can do is helplessly walk alongside him, his grip on your farthest shoulder, arm slack around you. You shoot one last nervous glance back towards the party. No one seems to be very keen on intervening, although you do catch some hostile glares and side eyes. 

        God damn these suits. If they wanted to trade places with you, they could feel free to. 

        "Nobody's gonna interrupt us, don't you worry, honey." Jack leads you down a very long and ominous hallway that makes you wonder if he's actually gonna murder you and steal your skin in the shadows.

        To your relief, the hall let's out into an office. It's very obviously his, based on all the propaganda...er...completely normal Hyperion posters of him all over the walls, in place of old CEO portraits. That, and the massive golden statues of him hanging around either side of the room. Wow...this guy really likes himself. The moniker he chose kinda gave off that impression, but you didn't think the egomania would be this intense. You'd always figured people just exaggerated it. At least the view peering out into a starry expanse is nearly pretty enough to help you ignore the narcissism theme of the office. Seriously, breathtaking. Jack's arm slides off your shoulders as he proceeds to his desk. There's a much shabbier chair positioned across from his own. He allows you to stand there and drink in his awesomeness and his fucking sweet office. He assumes that's what you're doing at least--you look totally starstruck. Super cute, he notes. 

        Realizing you're looking out at space, and not at him or his statues or his cool chair or sexy posters, Jack clears his throat. Your attention returns to him. Balance has been restored to the universe. Jack taps at the desk, near the smaller chair. 

        "Alright, tour's over. Take a seat, pumpkin."

        You do as he orders, making your way over to his desk. You're still not quite over just how giant this place is. Fitting for his position, for sure. You sit down, hands settled nervously in your lap, like you're afraid to touch the same desk as him. You sit up straighter under his gaze.             

        "Let's get down to business, shall we?" 

        You nod.

        "So, what's there really to discuss, y'know? I'll cut to the chase. Your company makes some seriously nice tech. In fact, I think it might be better than some of the newer stuff I'm seeing out there. I know a lot of it...it's unfinished. But I know it's got potential, I know you've got potential. Hyperion wants it. I want it." He gives you a moment to drink in his praise properly before he continues. "In fact, I'll bet half the jackasses out there would have no problem partnering with you first and stealing you right out from under me. Which is part of why I've been dying to get ahold of you all night. Can't have any of those big shot fuckers poaching my find." 

        You're not...really sure how to respond. Why's he acting like you're some animal he's trying to hunt and kill first? "Oh, uh, I talked to the guy from Jakobs. He seemed nice," you offered him, a bit meekly, with a nervous smile. 

        "Eh, fuck him." Jack dismisses you with a wave of his hand, ring catching the light.

        You brows furrow. "I mean...with all due respect, part of why I showed up was networking a little. I...I think settling too fast could kill my company. I've seen it before. All my hard work would-"

        "Be totally wasted if you didn't at least consider my offer, here, sweetheart." The last few syllables ride on a laugh that sounds more mocking than good natured. 

        You fall silent. Jack's gaze was intense. A bit of a sigh comes from you, and you shake your head. You make the ballsy decision to begin to stand up from your seat, using it as an opportunity to break eye contact with him. Jack does the same, a little suddenly, coming around the desk to get in front of you.

        "Wait a minute-"

        He intercepts you before you can so much as take a step back towards that door. Jack's hand slams down against the desk, at your side, the other coming to grab at your bicep as your arm raises. Startled, you back up, feeling the edge of the desk dig into the small of your back. 

        "Hey," he says, tone much more dangerous, "I didn't say you could leave yet. We're not done here, cupcake. Not by a longshot."

        Fear stuns you into a momentary silence. You take a breath. Business negotiation...this is just a bit of an intense business negotiation. But your heart still pounds in your chest. This guy's way, way out of your league. If he so desired, the only way you'd leave this place tonight was in a Hyperion brand bodybag. Visibly, you shrink back a little under his intense stare. Jack's head cocks to the side a little, eyes traveling, like he's sizing you up again. Or maybe he's deciding on whether or not he's gonna put a bullet in you. Or shoot you out that airlock. Your knees start to feel a little weak. When your face begins to get noticeably pale, Jack decides to let up a little.

        Geez...can't a guy mess around a bit? You're taking this so seriously...

        "Hey, want a tip, honey? Lighten up a lil'," Jack leans forward to purr into your ear. "You're gonna hurt yourself, getting all wound up like that so fast." 

        "Le...let got of me..." you weakly sputter out, tongue feeling heavy in your mouth. 

        Jack draws in even closer and you flinch, which he ignores. But, he does listen. In his own way. Jack's large hand stops death gripping your arm, in favor of sliding up the side of your neck, to hold at your cheek. You whimper as his mouth finds your neck, cold skin of his grafted face brushing over you. His other hand trails up your abdomen to grab a handful of your chest as he pushes you further up against the desk, jeans grinding against your legs and dress. Your fingers reach for his wrist in a feverish attempt to push it away. He can practically smell the indecision on you, that fucking awesome turmoil...         “C’mon don’t be like that, cupcake,” he murmurs into your ear. "You don't even wanna let me try to convince you to go with me? Be a doll and make the smart decision..."         Sounds less like advice and more like a threat. He's seriously coming onto you and threatening you at the same time? Your grip lessens on his wrist, hand drifting down absently to his hairy forearm. His fingers massage into you, somewhere between gentle and a little too rough. Just on the edge. You clear your throat a little, face becoming more and more flushed as he began to suck at your neck, fully intending to leave the biggest bruise humanly possible. His teeth dig into your skin and you whimper, wincing underneath him.  He’s not at all a subtle kinda guy. And you just sit there like a fucking moron and let him. It's...it's hard to refuse power like his. Your head turns to the side, like you want to resist, but it only gives Jack more access.         “I j-just don’t know if-“ you begin, a meek attempt to try and resist, before his head lifts and he fixes you with his two toned glare.         He always looks so… intense. You wonder if he does it on purpose or if it’s only natural to him now. The furrow of his brows seems almost permanent. Even when he smiles, that scowl never truly leaves his face.          “-if getting involved with ol’ Handsome Jack himself is the wisest decision to make?”

        “You’re a mind reader now too?” you ask, a bit weakly.         His thumb tilts your chin up, head tilted slightly to drink in the look on your face through half-lidded eyes and a smirk. His teeth are too white. More of his unnatural handsomeness. “No…no. Nothing like that.”         He lets out an amused chuckle, smile stretching further at the corners of his lips. Slowly, he starts to push you fully onto the desk. Papers rustle beneath the weight of your bodies. You wonder if those are important. Jack's weight drops to his elbow, secured near the side of your arm, his body lurching ever closer to yours. His hand pets over your face briefly again and you can feel the band of his ring cold on your skin. His hands are warm.         “But you’re way too easy to read. Like an open book, hot stuff.” His index taps at your temple and you wince. He finds the scrunch of your nose adorable. “Every little thought’s on that cute little face of yours, clear as day.”         You gasp as his fingers suddenly entangle in your hair, tightening their grasp by tenfold to hold your head firm as his face draws closer. His eyes sweep over you hungrily, looking for every reaction. Then, he clicks his tongue with an air of faux disappointment.         “You’d be bad at business with a poker face like that…Why…” his nose is an inch from yours, his breath hot on your face. “Why they’d eat you alive out there.”

        His hand finally leaves your chest to grab the hem of your cocktail dress and lift it up. It'd already been riding up your legs--he's honestly doing you a favor here. His fingers trail down over your stomach, before reaching down to grope between your legs. You can smell the pomade in his hair, heart pounding in your chest, feeling your cunt begin to ache. It's almost embarrassing how fast he's turning you on. Does he have this effect on everyone? Jack’s lips press to yours, muffling the noise of surprise, his palm coming to press up fully against your panties.          “That’s why,” he continues on, between each kiss, “you need Hyperion- no, you need me to protect you, honey.”         Your eyes shut in guilty bliss. You've never felt something like that before. It's...it's new. And worst of all, it thrills you. His hand moves again to grasp at the side of your thigh. The denim of his jeans grinds up into you, as his hips move slow. Even through the thick material, you can feel him erect. A frustrated huff of air comes from Jack, like even he hadn't expected to get this worked up over some random chick he'd invited to the event. 

        Let's see those other corporate bastards steal you out from under him now, with his desk to your back. 

        Jack yanks your panties aside. Two of his thick fingers slide slow between your folds, circling slow over your clit. You shiver beneath him, and an entertained huff of air sounds from his nose. His smirks spreads as his fingers push into your waiting pussy. Knowing you're wet already for him, really turns him on. Your head thunks back on this desk, loudly, as a moan sounds from you. As his index and middle pump deep inside you, Jack adds in his ring finger. With his body practically pinning you to the desk, ignoring the way you writhe lightly, hips jerking against him, Jack had no difficulty sliding his other hand to your throat. Gently, he begins to squeeze.  

        "Uh-uhm," you start, eyes partway peeking open at him. 

        Jack shushes you. "Just a little, c'mon, honey," he coaxes you, "you'd look so pretty gasping." 

        You want to gauge the possibility of him killing yo here and now, while being knuckle deep inside of you, fingers stroking up against your walls. There's not much time to ponder when his thumb starts to circle at your clit. A strangled moan leaves you as he presses it harder into you, your face heating up. You feel like your head's gonna explode...your brows knot. Jack feels your walls clench around his fingers as your chest rises and falls more rapidly. Desperately, your fingers crumple the papers on the desk. 

        As you cum, Jack lazily pumps his fingers in you a few more times, just to see you jerk a little more. You're still catching your breath through his ever tightening grip. Jack pulls his fingers out, before licking them very visibly. His other hand stays wrapped around your throat, as you look up at him helplessly and watching his tongue curl between his digits. 

        "Yeah," he says, teeth flashing in a confident grin. His pupils are blown wide with lust. "Just like that. God, keep looking at me like that, baby." 

        He started to unbuckle his belt with one hand. He thumbs open the button, unzipping his jeans, damp fingers leaving dark marks in the material. His boxers drag down with the denim over his legs, equally hairy as his forearms. The heat in your face won't subside no matter how much your breathing attempts to steady...you're starting to feel faint. Jack's grip lightens slightly. Clearly this isn't his first rodeo. You're not sure how to feel about that. It's not that you're a virgin or have never done anything so...risky before. He's just...he's off putting. Unpredictable. You don't trust him, and maybe that heightens the thrill and adrenaline pumping through you further. 

        You're not able to catch much of a glimpse of his cock, being pinned down by your throat and all. But you certainly feel it, the way he rubs it up against your entrance teasingly, trailing your own cum all over your pussy. Another needy moan comes from you as you squirm beneath him. 

        "I wanna hear you say it," he says, voice breathy. "Say how bad you want this cock in you." 

        "Ngh...I...I want it," you manage, through uneven breaths and tears in your eyes as his grip starts to tighten once more.        

        "Y'know, I don't think I'm convinced, pumpkin. It's not often you get a chance to fuck someone like me...I wouldn't waste the opportunity."  

        So full of himself...as if he's not the one that came onto you first. Your jaw clenches slightly as you try to form a coherent, straight thought. Your hand goes to wrap around his wrist, the one at your throat. He feels your nails dig into his tanned skin, into his tattoo, the tendons in your wrist flexing visibly with how hard you squeeze him. Perspiration gathered at your hairline, your eyes faintly train onto him, eyelids barely open. Your eyeliner and mascara's starting to bleed. It gets him even hotter. 

        "I want you," you hear yourself say, in disbelief that the needy voice is your own. Possessed by your own horrific desire for this... "Please, Jack." 

        Jack laughs, face screwing up. You're surprised he can manage that much expression. "God, I'm gonna love making you my bitch, honey." 

        He shoves his cock into you. The initial shock has you throwing your head back and to the side, taking in a breath with the sharp pain. Jack squeezes at your throat against just as you do, like he's predicted everything, every last key moment. His hips come to rest flush against your own, and you can feel the rough curl of his pubic hair pressed to your skin. His name tears from your lips, raspy, almost a whisper. You begin to feel lightheaded as his dick pushes up against your walls, and he starts to pump slow and hard into you. Jack's own teeth start to grit. He hears you whimper as his hips grind up against your own, and his pace speeds up. A breathy laugh sounds from him. 

        "Shoulda brought a camera or somethin'," he manages, between every thrust, the slap of skin on skin downright lewd. "I'd keep the pictures in my wallet. Wouldn't you love that? I'd use them all the time..." 

        You don't have a response to that, far too blissed out to form a coherent thought, much less a verbal sentence. Another choked moan comes from you, and Jack feels it vibrate against his hand. As sex as you look, when he sees your eyelids flutter slightly, he knows to loosen his grip again. It won't be any fun if you actually pass out on him. Your hand still remains clenched desperately at his wrist. 

        He has an idea to drag you back in mentally.

        "Eighty-twenty," Jack says, not expecting to begin to lose his own composure. Loose strands of his dark hair fall out of place. "Obvious what goes to who." 

        Your brows furrow as you open your eyes to give him a look. Is he seriously trying to hash out detail now?! He drinks in the stunned expression on your face. To his surprise, you manage to shake your head. "N-No-"

        Looks like he hasn't fucked the common sense out of you completely. But it could be arranged. Jack's grip tightened once more. You've barely had time to regain your breath. 

        "Reconsider," he says, voice dripping with venom. 

        You actually have the nerve to shake your head again. Unbelievable...But you're even more stunned at him. He's fucking crazy is he thinks you're only gonna get twenty percent of your own fucking company. You may be stupid, even dumber for letting him do this to you, but you're not THAT fucking stupid. 

        To your surprise, instead of growing angry, Jack just laughs. "Stubborn, aren't you, honey? You're lucky you're so damn cute..." His pace picks up and he can't stifle his own moans anymore. Trying to gain control of himself, he throws out some numbers once more. "Seventy five-twenty fi-nghh, God, five." 

        "You're...you're...joking," you manage, voice weakening, your vision beginning to flash white. 

        Through gritted teeth, Jack growls. "Most people don't walk away with more than ten, cupcake. I'd take it." 

        A desperate whimper comes from you, as his hips rocks up against yours. You know you can't hold on much longer. 

        "That a yes?" Jack continues to push, and you feel his thumb stroking underneath you jaw as he continues to choke you. "Cuz' I'm not in the mood to negotiate," his cock twitches deep inside you, "much longer." 

        You try not to respond. It's a fucking terrible idea to make any verbal agreement here and now with him. You're unable to stop yourself from screaming out, coming close to a climax. Your orgasm is ripped away from you as Jack stops fucking you completely, cock sunk deep inside your cunt. 

        "Wha-" you start, before he cuts you off with another well timed squeeze.

        "Say yes, or you're not cumming," he snarls. "I'm dead fucking serious, cupcake." 

        You ache for him bad. Him so deep inside yet absolutely motionless is practically torture. Your breathing quickens. You shake your head briefly. But it seems like a part of you has a much different idea. That desperate, depraved part of you that wanted nothing more than to give absolutely everything over to him, to surrender completely.

        "Fine," you choke out the syllable, before another desperate moan of his name leaves you. Your head turns to the side, pleasure starting to ebb through your body once more as Jack begins to thrust into you once more. You feel his own body start to tremor against yours, but he keeps up his suave act. It's probably the only thing he's good for.

        "Good girl," he praises you, "I knew you were smart."

        Had you any air left, Jack wasted no time in taking it, lips crashing up against yours. His tongue pushes past your lips, deep and hot into your mouth as his cock slams up against your insides. Your eyes squeeze shut as you finally cum, hot waves traveling throughout your body. Quivering against him, your cry is only muffled against his lips. You struggle to break the kiss for air. Jack doens't let you. Not until you feel his abdomen and hand tighten against you. You feel his cock twitch again, and you feel his cum start to spurt inside of you. He pulls out, lips breaking away from yours so he can utter a shaking curse. His hand slides off your throat, and you're able to breathe in a sharp gasp, the first full breath you've gotten this entire time. As you lay there, struggling for air, Jack's hand strokes slow over his cock. Your chest rises and falls rapidly as he cums over your stomach. At first, you don't even register it, gazing up at the ceiling, white spots slowly starting to fade out of your vision. 

        Jack's hand grasps at your side, his lips pressing to your skin. Your neck has already started to bruise and discolor where his fingers had been pressing in. You shiver at the feeling of his mouth on your collarbone, at your breasts. Slowly, your breathing returns to normal. A sigh leaves you as your head falls to the side. You're able to gaze out into the starry expanse. At least, that was until he inevitably demanded your attention once more.

        "So," Jack purrs, finger tracing up your throat before he grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him once more. "I'd say we've got a pretty nice deal, don't we?"

        You don't feel as terrible as you thought you would, gazing up at him without a sound, still shaking with the aftermath of your orgasm. Maybe this is all for the best. Still, almost unconsciously, your fingers ball up into a fist on the desk beneath you. 

        The small movement doesn't escape his notice. 

#nsfw #one shot #borderlands #handsome jack #handsome jack x reader

[rottenstrawberrymilk]

rhys strongfork x reader

9.1k words

        “God, you’re the best,” Rhys says with a sigh.         “Hey, you say the word and I’m here bossman. Anything you want or need, I’m on it. It’s the least I can do.”         Zer0 eyes you from across the office. Or at least, you think he is. You’re still adjusting to the faceless mysterious thing that hangs around Rhys all the time. He probably still suspects you. Were you being suspicious? You suppose you’d gone out of your way to be especially good for Rhys and earn his favor. After all, if you had betrayed Maliwan to defect over to Atlas, what was to stop you from betraying Atlas as well?         You didn’t exactly start here with a shiny clean record. But Rhys had been so kind and merciful, taking you in, giving you a decent position like this. You just want to express your gratitude anyway you can. Chances are his decision to let you into Atlas had saved your life. Thus, you figure you owe him every breath in your body. And a bagel. Anytime he wanted it. You don't think you'll ever repay your debt to him, and you don't think you want to either.

        You think you could be happy here, at Atlas. And that's not something you imagined thinking about any one of the soul sucking greedy corporations that had their eyes on the planets in this system. 

        As you turn to walk out the room, attending to some other business you'd been assigned, Rhys's eyes follow you. Zer0's head tilts ever so slightly towards Rhys. He heaves a bit of a sigh, regarding the bagel on his desk. And you remembered the cream cheese he likes. He wonders if he's about to make a mistake. I mean, how could someone as nice as you possibly stab him in the back? He looks back up at Zer0, and the assassin just gives a curt nod.

        Just do it. Gotta find out one way or another.

        Rhys nods as well, before sinking down low into his chair and burying his face in his hands. If this is the right, smart thing to do, why does he feel so goddamn guilty about it? He finds himself wishing he was more like the other CEOs. Ruthless, calculating, business first, success first, able to actually watch their ass. Willing to do whatever it takes to hold onto that seat of power. But then he finds himself wondering how those men live like that, on the edge, suspicious of everyone, so sure death was seeking them out at every turn. It had to be miserable, right? 

        Meanwhile, you were making your way down a hall. Rhys said he'd wanted you to go check on the new maintenance guys and see how they were adjusting, and then report back to him personally. You don't mind having to run around headquarters all day, it's good exercise and you feel productive. It doesn't feel like he's just giving you busy work either, he's just having you act socially in his stead. The guy can't be in seven places at once, although you bet he wishes he was. He's never been a micromanaging type, but he is a bit of a chatterbox. 

        Suddenly, a firm hand grabs your shoulder, shoving you up against a wall. Momentarily, you're winded, gasping out, as the razor sharp tip of a sword presses lightly to the center of your throat. Zer0 suddenly appears out of thing air. Confusion is obvious on your face, but it's not enough to fool him so easily. Anyone, traitor or not, would have been shocked getting caught off guard like that. 

        "Talk," Zer0 commands. If it's not elaborate haikus, it's equally cryptic one word sentences. 

        You shift a little under his grip and his fingers tighten, to the point where you know he'll leave bruises. You wonder what the fuck is going on. Best communicate that. 

        "I don't...what the hell are you doing?" you ask, sounding less outraged and more afraid. Good, Zer0 can use that. It should make this all easier. 

        "You are still very new./ Where do your loyalties lie?/ Tell me the real truth." 

        Your brows furrow. "My...my loyalties?" you repeat back, a bit dumbfounded.

         Are you being interrogated right now? Was Zer0 that suspicious of you this entire time? You couldn't get a read on the guy no matter what, even back when you'd first joined Atlas (at Rhys's own suggestion). You know it's his job to protect the CEO, and you figured he'd do it whether he was contracted or not, but what threat could you possibly pose to Rhys? You feel a bit stupid for not immediately jumping to your history--even if it had been months ago and the majority of the conflict and siege had settled, that didn't change how long you had worked for Maliwan before coming to Promothea. It didn't matter if it had been against your will to be sent here to fight, to die, for Maliwan's cause. All that mattered was that you had been initially taking orders from Katagawa Jr. 

        You take in a shaky breath, heart still racing in your chest. The sword point remains steady. It pricks at your skin, already warning you for taking such a long, rather suspicious silence. The visor hiding his face is blank. No stupid little emoticons, no text, just black. You can see your own terrified reflection in it. You don't know what to do other than to tell the truth, just like Zer0 had demanded. But what if he still didn't believe you? Doesn't matter. You come to realize you don't have a choice. You force your voice to be steady. 

        “I’m loyal to Rhys,” you say, jaw set. “I owe that man my life.”         Rhys, not Atlas, Zer0 notes. He’s not sure how to feel about that yet. Slowly, he leans a little ways back. He steps away, giving you some personal space back. And the sword withdraws from your throat. Silently, Zer0 sheathes the sword over his shoulder, and the blade fades away into nothing. You know it will only be a few moments before he does the same. He lifts a gloved hand, holding up a stern finger.          “Please do not forget/ I am always watching you/ do not fuck this up.”         You know you could have not replied at all. You could have just looked away and let this nightmare of an interaction be over. But heart pounding in your chest, you can't help but give a response. “I won’t. Second chances don’t come around often.”

        Zer0 regards you for a moment longer. Then, he vanishes. Creepy...you'll never get used to that. You take a moment to stand there, unsure if he's gone or if he's going to continue tailing you for longer, just to double check. All he'd be affirming is that you were telling the truth if he did that. You think about going straight back to Rhys's office and telling him what had just happened. But you remember he'd given you an assignment to do. As shitty as all this was...the least you can do is get that done before returning. Rhys should know Zer0 is suspicious of you. But he'd also asked about the new maintenance staff's adjustment, and that's important too when it comes to rebuilding and cleaning up some of the HQ.

        A sigh leaves you before you resume the direction you'd initially been headed in. Lucky for you, the new maintenance guys seem pretty capable. It's not that you didn't trust Rhys's judgement in hiring (after all, he'd brought you on as some extra help), it's just...things had been hectic and desperate, and his priority had been to replace the former staff which had mysteriously vanished. Rhys said he knew nothing about it, and then mentioned there were no bodies, before promptly cutting off his ECHO device and never speaking of it again. None of your business, and frankly you're not nearly nosy enough to care. 

        You tried not to seem like your mind was elsewhere, still shaken from the encounter with Zer0. Instead, you politely smile and nod along to whatever the new guys are saying.         

        "Uh huh...well, good to see you guys are so eager to get started. The CEO decided to have some of the Crimson Lance join you guys as bodyguards. They'll make sure you're safe while you sweep headquarters, uh, no pun intended. Not all of Maliwan has been booted out yet." 

        They nod, murmuring their thanks. 

        "Great, the boys should be up here any minute. Feel free to mingle. Rhys wants the overall sweep done by about six. You can come back here and report the damages and body count to me and I'll pass it up to the big guy upstairs." 

        Rhys had always instructed you not to be too formal. He said it "ruined the vibe" he was going for. It was odd, you've never worked for a company that was purposefully attempt to maintain such a lax attitude. Especially right after an attempted invasion, takeover, and then additional total destruction attempt by Katagawa Jr. But if he said he wanted it done a certain way, you were going to make sure you adhered to his preference. The little voice in your head once again reminds you with a guilty twinge that it was the least you could do. It still felt weird to drop all the "sir"'s and formalities after years of having to do it at Maliwan. 

        You wonder if a company with that kind of hierarchy could last long against the other ruthless giants. With Hyperion gone, Dahl still getting back up on their feet from when Hyperion had initially come to power, there's once again a central power void waiting to be filled. Could Atlas actually do it? If Rhys could genuinely return Atlas to it's former glory, that would be incredible. You don't know if it's possible for mega corporations that primarily compete in the gun market to ever reach peaceful agreements, but you certainly believe Rhys might be able to pave the way to that new frontier. 

        Then again...he has his own shortcomings. 

        You hadn't known him long, at least, not before he became a CEO. But you're aware of his weaknesses. One of them, maybe being that his pet assassin slash bodyguard seemed to be allowed to free roam and terrorize whoever he wanted on a whim of suspicion...okay that one might have been a little personal. But, you've got the report and gave your little speech to the new maintenance team, so now you have time to go and talk to Rhys. You can communicate those feelings and hurt instead of letting it rot you inside, like you would have done at Maliwan. You still can't help but feel bitter, almost automatically in a bad mood whenever you're reminded of working for them...

        Goddamn Zer0.

        Of course it's not fair for you to be allowed to forget. Not with all the destruction and innocent lives Maliwan had cost Promethea. And you'd been on the payroll. You try not to fall too far into your own head as you turn away and head back to the elevator that ascended to Rhys's office. It's an uncomfortable wait, and an even worse silence. Usually, you stop to gaze a little at the massive aquariums lining the way to the CEO's office. But this is urgent. 

        Rhys looks up from his desk at you and smiles, although you feel like there's something...wrong. 

        You practice some restraint, and decide to give him that report on maintenance first. 

        "So yeah..."

        Rhys pushes his chin into his hand. "I hope they don't find too much damage. I gotta be even more on top of it with the finances around here, what with how I'm gonna have to rebuild the city too. Or bodies," he gives a nervous laugh, "hope they find even less of those. Identifying, funerals, cremations, burials, finding the families, it gets pricey y'know?" 

        Right...that was the other thing about him. While he's not nearly as bad as the other CEO's you've heard about in your lifetime (you heard Handsome Jack was a total monster), Rhys can be a little callous at times. CEOs generally seem to have a disconnect between themselves and everyone else lower in the company. A special kind of corporate breed of lacking empathy that can be a bit disturbing. His isn't especially awful but...you worry. You hope he can keep himself on the right path. 

        At your lack of response, he shifts a little in his chair. "You...uh...are you alright, (Y/N)?" he suddenly asks. 

        Your eyes won't meet his. "Can we talk? Privately."

        Rhys wonders if it's the smartest idea to grant that request. He knows Zer0 is in the office right now, being weird and invisible as usual. They're a great bodyguard, but Rhys sometimes feels a little nutty talking to thin air whenever Zer0 doesn't feel like uncloaking. The presence is usually comforting but...

        You won't even look at him now? Uh oh...

        Fix this, Rhys, fix this, come on... he tells himself.

        "Yeah, totally, of course." He turns in his chair, to a corner he hopes Zer0 is in.

        Sometimes they like to hang out near the bookshelves or the couch. He clears his throat. Zer0 promptly reappears on the opposite side of the room, prompting Rhys to embarrassedly swivel his chair the other way. Had the bodyguard been trying to make him look stupid in front of you on purpose? Anxiously, he goes to check your face for a reaction, to see you judging him, or amused, or...or still staring at a wall, away from him. His heart sinks a little. 

        "Just for a minute or two, Zer0," Rhys calls after him, having a feeling he won't be too far away.

        "Later, bro," Zer0 replies, walking out the office, still keeping himself visible. 

         If the assassin wanted to he could easily cloak and sneak back in. Which Rhys sincerely hopes they don't. Even though Zer0 had reported back that you'd only reaffirmed your loyalties to him, Rhys knew they still didn't trust you completely. Which is...fair. Anyone can say anything if they're under enough pressure. And he's seen Zer0 work enough to know how terrifying the guy can be. As well as unpredictable. As much as Rhys trusts them, it always seems like they're thinking eight steps ahead...freaky. 

        Rhys returns his attention on you.

        You give a soft exhale, like you're preparing to say something you don't want to. "Look, while I was going to get that update on maintenance, uhm..." Zer0 had attacked you, basically, was the truth. But you decide to play things safe. Maybe it's just a misunderstanding. God knows, Zer0 does his job incredibly well, and this is probably just part of it--you don't want Rhys suddenly not trusting his own bodyguard.         

        "I...ran into Zer0. Well, they ran into me, more like it, but, whatever. And he-"

        Rhys interrupts you. “I’m sorry, (Y/N). I asked Zer0 to do that. I just had to be sure-“         Your eyes finally meet his. The crestfallen look descending on your face is heart wrenching. Like he'd just kicked a puppy in front of you or something. Rhys wonders if it wasn’t the right choice after all to ask Zer0 to check your loyalties, to make absolutely sure you could be trusted. But lord knows he wasn’t brave enough to do it, not scary enough to get the truth out of you like the assassin could. He also couldn’t bare the thought of pointing a weapon at you, whether you were a traitor or not. Ironic, considering he's in control of one of many powerful gun manufacturers.          He just…he knows he has to be careful from now and into the future. The bigger Atlas gets, the more enemies he makes. The Maliwan invasion had been a very quick, brutal lesson in that.          You try to hide the disappointment on your face. Your voice comes shaky. 

        He knew. 

        You suddenly feel very stupid for coming in here in the first place. You shouldn't have said anything at all. You should have just kept it to yourself and moved on with your life, with your job, with your career at Atlas. It would have ensured this awkward, sad, stupid conversation never had to take place.          “Oh that’s…that’s okay I guess. I just thought…I mean you always told me the past is the past and it’s all behind me. That you didn’t care and that it was all behind me.” The hurt in your voice makes this so much harder for him.         “I know, I know what I said,” Rhys said, looking stressed. He runs a hand through his hair. There's some gray streaks already beginning to form. Embarrassing considering he's only in his thirties. “But…I needed to be sure.”

        Even though he knows this was all for his own safety, and this whole test was initially Zer0’s idea to begin with, Rhys feels bad. Like, really bad. He still gave his bodyguard the go ahead. He scratches at his mustache momentarily, trying to think of how he could…         “I understand, Rhys” you say a bit softly. He notices that there's tears beginning to form in your eyes. He starts to talk again, but you cut him off. “No, I really get it. I mean…only a few months ago I was basically under Katagawa Jr.'s thumb. You don’t have any reason to really trust me. Not yet, anyways.”         Bitter but true. And an insecurity that’d always clouded your mind at night before you fell asleep. Sometimes you still had nightmares of bullets flying past your head and people screaming and dying around you. But you’d always wake up, knowing things were different now. That instead of racing to the training field, you just had to race downtown to grab some coffee or froyo or a bagel or whatever the hell Rhys wanted that day before work. That Rhys was different, that Atlas was different from Maliwan. He’d promised you that you’d never have to hold a gun again— once again, ironic as Atlas is still another soulless weapons manufacturer. But Rhys had promised and that’d been good enough for you.

        Rhys looked even more uncomfortable now. He wears his emotions on his face. Something your former, much more homicidal boss never did. You don't consider that one of his weaknesses at all.          “But I do trust you,” he insists, “I mean— I sent Zer0, but it’s -it’s, God, it’s complicated. I trust you so much I had to just see if that trust was for real, does that make sense?”         It really doesn’t. If he trusted you there’d be no reason to suspect you in the first place, in your opinion. It hurts. He sees that little heartbroken look on your face still isn’t gone, even after his super smooth save. The tears are still gathering in your eyes and you still won't look at him. If he can't fix this, it's gonna drive him up the wall for the rest of the day.          “Y’know what? Dinner.” He claps his hands together, grabbing your attention with another awkward laugh and you swear you see a flush creeping up his neck. “Yeah, let’s do dinner. On me. Food fixes everything, right? Best way to say 'sorry' ever.”

        Could food fix a complete lapse in trust caused by his paranoia? He looks so earnestly at you, fingers still clasped together, almost like he’s begging you to say yes. Begging you to move past this with him and forgive this slight. Why not say yes? It couldn’t hurt. And it seems like it’s gonna make him feel way better than you would.         Under any other circumstance you’d shoot this down. It's unprofessional to go out with your boss. It's wrong. It's not right to let him pay for your food. It's not rational to...to...         The look on his face…he really does seem apologetic. You remind yourself that a boss like him is a rare thing during these times. You remind yourself that if there’s no Atlas, you’d be forced back to Maliwan or forced to try and make it on your own. Neither of those are options. You must have been thinking for a long time, because Rhys clears his throat and stands up from his desk. He approaches you, like he wants you to believe he trusts you not to snap and murder him. Because, hey, you used to be Maliwan, and that's all that you'd ever be to him-

        “It’ll be super cas, no pressure at all,” he says, with another nervous breath of air, interrupting your rather horrible train of thought. “Uh, like a ‘yayy you’re not here to kill me’ thing.”         “Alright. That sounds nice.” You smile at him but he feels like it’s not one of your real ones. It doesn't match the look in your glassy eyes. Was he shoving this onto you too fast?

        “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, I just wanna make it up to you-“         “Rhys,” you say, and he stops. “It’s okay. We’re cool.”         You hold out a hand for him to take, in spite of your racing thoughts. He does, giving you a firm squeeze. His hands are always so warm. He lets go after a brief moment. He takes a moment to fix his tie, which only skews it worse. You have to sometimes wonder how a guy like him holds a position like this one, much less built the formerly dead company up all on his own.         “I’ll pick you up at six, okay?” He says, and you nod.

        “But the maintenance team," you start and Rhys puts his head in his hand.

        "Right...right. Uh...seveenn?" he tries again.

        To his relief, you give another validating nod that didn't make him feel as stupid and dumb as he felt initially. "Can I ask where we’re going?”         “Nuh uh. Ruins my surprise. You gotta tr-“ He pauses. “Uh you’ll like it, okay?”         You give a light, exasperated shake of your head. Rhys breathes a sigh of relief at the bit of playfulness and the tiniest smile on your face. Seven gives you enough time to get that report to Rhys and go home for a few minutes. But until then, you have a slew of other shit to busy yourself with that Zer0's approach had totally distracted you from. The least you could do was throw yourself into your work for the rest of the day. There are some times where you spend most of your day at Rhys's side, waiting for a command or for him to need something. There are other days where you're out and about, in the halls of headquarters, or the streets of the city. Regrettably, you're relieved that it's the ladder today. 

        “Don’t worry, I do trust you,” you call out half heartedly as you leave.         Rhys wants to take one of the monitors off a nearby desk and smash it against his head. That couldn’t have gone any worse. ‘You gotta trust me’ seriously? After what he just did to you?         A bit of a groan escapes him and he goes back to his desk to sit down. Hopefully he can wrestle a reservation out of the place he had in mind. He figures you’re just telling him what he wants to hear— you’re a good employee like that. But before this all, you probably would have told him the truth. That dinner won’t fix him betraying you like this. That it’s not gonna magically put down the metaphorical middle finger he’d just put up to the months of time his relationship with you was built around. To the hours you spent basically at his beck and call. Doing whatever he told you to without a question or second thought. You'd always given off the impression you thought he was brilliant. And that made Rhys feel good. He's worried you won't ever look at him again like that. 

        He drums his fingers on the desk, resting his chin and mouth in his hand again as he shuts his eyes. 

        On the bright side…he’d finally had the balls to ask you out. Part of the reason he’d wanted Zer0 to interrogate you was because he’d really wanted to try going out with you. Obviously, he hadn't exactly jumped to let Zer0 know that. He still had a personal life! He was allowed to do that! CEO or not! He opens his eyes and reaches to the photo of Sasha on his desk, suddenly feeling guilty, and goes to place it face down. But he hesitates.         It’s…kinda lonely at the top. He feels it tenfold lately. And… well your smile had started kinda being the highlight of his day. Now he fears he's never gonna see the real thing ever again.          She’d want him happy right? He pulls his hand away from the picture. There’s nothing wrong with this. There’s nothing wrong with a guy like him wanting a girl like you. Of course there’s that pesky power imbalance, the fact that he’s your boss could make this messy… But other CEOs just do whatever they want, right? They don’t think about any of this shit. Although he doesn’t like thinking back to his time at Hyperion, even he remembers Handsome Jack’s reputation for fucking just about anything that moved. Whatever he wanted, he got. That was why Rhys had begun to admire him in the first place.

        Rhys rubs at his eyes. He doesn’t want to be like Jack though. Or Katagawa with that stupid ‘pleasure yacht’, or any other nutcase CEO. He doesn't want to just...just bend you over the desk and fuck you, like you're just something to use, he swears to himself it's not like that at all! It's more than lust that tortures him.          He wants you to like him. So desperately bad. He knows you like having him as a boss, that you like his stupid little jokes, that you like his mustache (he'd asked you once to be sure), that you enjoyed his company. At least once you did. But he wants you to like like him. The same way he feels about you. But it’d have been dangerous to let you in so fast without knowing for sure that you weren’t Maliwan’s last hurrah in an attempt to end his life. That you weren’t some super secret cute seductress spy attempting to exact revenge for Katagawa Jr. He wondered if it’d be rude to ask what your relationship with the other CEO had been. After how well everything else had gone? Yeah, probably.

        You'd been pretty low ranked in Maliwan, from what little you'd told him of it. He doubts that you'd ever received the high honor of boarding that stupid fucking pleasure yacht. He felt himself get a little angry still, at the notion of something he'd likely made up in his head and had no ground to stand on whatsoever. 

        “Should I follow you?/ She could still try to kill you./I know I would try.”         Rhys jumps a little as Zer0’s voice comes out of thin air. He’d forgotten that he'd sent the bodyguard out. And he certainly hadn't noticed him sneaking back in. Well not, sneaking, more like just sauntered right back in, plain as day and Rhys had been so lost in his incredibly frustrating thoughts he hadn't noticed. It'd been...a smart choice to have Zer0 leave the room. He’d have felt worse having him skulk around all invisible. Chances were the assassin had already listened in. And Rhys was none the wiser. What a powerful ally…He finds himself grateful Zer0 is on his side, even if he doesn't quite know what the answer is.

        “Ah, no,” Rhys says. “It’ll be alright. She’s not a Maliwan spy or anything— you heard it yourself.”         Zer0 gives him a look that needs no verbal explanation.         “I mean, you did interrogate her yourself. I don’t think she’d lie to you. Or me, as a matter of fact.”         Zer0 just shrugs. “I will still come with./ I will be outside the place./ Your foes still draw breath.”         Cool, a bodyguard outside the restaurant. And Rhys promises he’ll tell you too. Nothing but transparency from here on out! He can be better for you. Rhys wonders if it’s bordering on delusional to think he still has a chance with you after today. He’s reminded that you don’t have anywhere to go but Atlas. Anyone else would have breathed a sigh of relief at that security. But it only makes Rhys feel worse.

        What if you’d only said yes because you couldn’t say anything else? He’d never wanted you to feel as if turning him down wasn’t an option. You had seemed pretty genuine in accepting the offer. But if he brought up the idea of dating…should he just hold off on that? But he thinks about what Zer0 said, that poetic stuff about his enemies still breathing. He does have people out there who want him dead.         So if he’s gonna die, he’s gonna die like a man, dammit! And he’s gonna tell you how he feels because that’s the manly thing to do! Emotions are manly! Sharing them is manly!         So why does he feel like he’s gonna throw up on his desk?         Focus, Rhys, focus. The reservation hasn’t even been made yet.

        He hopes you'll like the place he picked. That is if you don't find an excuse by the end of the workday to flake out on him. He knows he might do something like that if he was in your position. Several hundred feet down, in the heart of the building, you do your best to stay busy and keep your mind off...everything. Every time you feel dread begin to rise, you beat the feeling back down.

        Free food. Free food. Free food. Free food.

        The repetition doesn't seem to help. 

        When the end of the day comes, time forever marching forwards no matter how badly you wish it wouldn't, you find yourselves at another crossroads. Maintenance had come back with their report. You knew you could take it to Rhys in person, as you usually do. It wasn't a formal policy or anything, it's just something the two of you had always done. In a company so absorbed in technology, it was important to have a little human contact. However you feel your stomach drop at the idea of jumping back on the elevator and going to his office...seeing him again. It's such a ridiculous turmoil--you have to see him again anyways later on in the night. But you just don't feel ready yet.

        You need some time to yourself. You need fifteen minutes to go home and cry on your bed, to get all the nasty horrible feelings chewing away at your insides out. Let yourself fall apart so you can string yourself back together, good as new. Then maybe, just maybe, you could handle dinner with Rhys. The last think you want to do is break down crying in public. It had been so hard to bite back the tears in his office, harder with every word out of his mouth. 

        You make the difficult choice just to forward the report to him via ECHO. If he asks any questions you'll just tell him you needed a little time to get home and get ready. Luckily, as you begin to head out the door alongside other Atlas employees, you don't receive any incoming calls from him. You wonder if he's up there, with that guilty dog-caught-eating-trash look, probably kicking himself for all this. It takes a lot of restraint not to turn around and go back into the building to check on him, like you've gotten so used to doing. 

        Maybe that's the worst part of today--is that you want to go crawling back. You want to sweep this under the rug, pretend like none of it happened, pretend like it's normal for someone you trust and maybe even love to do this to you. But you just can't. It'll take time. Or a way bigger gesture than dinner, you guess. 

        Dinner itself started off as awkward as you had imagined it to be. It's Rhys, so you figured there'd be a level of awkwardness whether what happened today had gone down or not. He still hadn't called you, to your relief, and had simply forwarded the address to the restaurant and the reservation time to your ECHO. You'd told yourself before leaving the house that if you really wanted to, you probably could have faked sick to get out of this or come up with some other brilliant excuse. 

        But you don't. You don't have the heart to stand him up like that.

        Oh also he's the CEO of Atlas and probably the man with the most power on all of Promethea. You'd weighed the possibility of him doing something drastic if you didn't show. You...you don't think he's that kind of man. But after the little loyalty test with Zer0, you're no longer sure. You're uneasy. So if sitting down for a little dinner with him takes that horrible feeling away, you'd do it. 

        He gives a bit of a weak, quiet whistle, hands in his pockets, somehow confident and nervous all at the same time. "Wow," he'd said to you, looking you up and down in your different outfit. "You look, uh, you look great."

        He gives you his signature 'ok' hand signal, a habit he'd formed lately. You'd just responded with a curt nod, still not sure what to say to him. You hate this. He hates this too. It feels like the two of you are strangers all over again. He's briefly reminded of your first week at Atlas, at his side. You'd rarely spoken to him, you couldn't look him in the eye, you flinched when he did speak, and everything you did, you did absolutely terrified. It'd taken half a month to get you to stop calling him sir, and even longer to convince you to address him as 'Rhys' rather than Mr. Strongfork. Was it gonna be like that again?

        What the hell was he thinking...

        He visibly seems to deflate, the smile flickering on his face. You feel bad for your coldness--it hadn't been purposeful.

        You clear your throat. "Y-You look good too, Rhys. Beautiful, as always." 

        That seems to perk him up a little. That dumb smile of his slips back onto his face. "Y'think? Parted my hair different, see?"

        You honestly can't tell the difference or if he's joking. But either way, you just nod again. Whatever, as long as that horrible ice is broken. It shouldn't be there in the first place. You painstakingly remind yourself that it's his fault it's there to begin with. He lead you over to a table, near the back of the restaurant, towards a large window that gave a rather nice view of the city. Well, what was left of it anyways. He has a lot to rebuild. 

        "This spot used to be the best in the house," he explains a bit awkwardly. "It's been a...a little bit since I've taken anyone here so I totally forgot that the city's, uh, destroyed--you ever been here before?" 

        He has this way of talking where every thought just goes straight to his mouth. Like you can follow his train of thought alongside him. That's why you'd trusted him so fast and warmed up to him so easily before. Now it makes you wonder how he'd been able to keep his plan a secret from you. Had he planned to do that to you for long? Or was it a spur of the moment Rhys thing? 

        Stop thinking about it.

        He was waiting on a response.

        You shake your head. "No. I haven't had the chance to check everything out here."

        Rhys wants to kick himself. Right. You'd practically spent most of your adult life working under Maliwan. You'd only come to Promethea to begin with because that's where you'd been ordered to go. Hopefully a waiter comes soon and saves him from this. Or...he could just be honest with you and say sorry. He'd been pacing the office, already planning out an apology in his head. He'd even written it down on a piece of paper, of all things, and then had promptly crumpled it up and threw it out. There's...there's a lot he wants to say to you and he doesn't have a clue where to start. 

        You watch Rhys call over a waiter with a rather brisk gesture that suggests the conversation is just as uncomfortable for him. Quietly, you put your order in. He orders wine-- a nice bottle from what little you know about fineries. You hadn't really imagined him to be a big drinker. He must be nervous. 

        "You can have some too. Obviously. As much as you want. My treat." 

        "Thanks," you say a bit blankly, finding your gaze wandering somewhere out the window. 

        He can wait for the alcohol to loosen him up a bit. To give him the courage to say what he need to. But he wonders if that might come across as inauthentic. If you'll think it's just the wine talking for him. 

        Fuck it.

        "Look," he says with a heavy sigh, regaining your attention.

        With your eyes on him, he's suddenly ten times more reluctant to continue. But he sets his jaw, he sits up straighter. His hand, the organic one, reaches across the table, in an attempt to mimic your forgiving gesture in his office earlier. You stare at it for a moment and Rhys heart stops in his chest. But then, gingerly, your arm lifts, and your place your hand in his. His fingers come to tighten around yours. 

        "I'm gonna be honest. No more lying, or hiding things from you. So I'll start by telling you that Zer0 is outside the building."

        He waits for you to snatch your hand away, to stand up outraged and storm away from the table, right back out the door. He feel him almost brace himself. But you don't move. 

        "I'll hear you out, Rhys," you say, voice still low. "But I'm not going to make any promises that I can just magically forgive you, or we can go back to how things were, no matter what you say. To be honest, I'm not even sure how I feel right now."

        "Of course, of course," he says, just sounding happy you haven't stomped off yet. "But you deserve an apology. So here it is. I'm sorry, (Y/N). I really am. It was a mistake to ask Zer0 to interrogate you like that. It was a mistake to ever doubt your faith in Atlas, in me. I know you haven't been with me long, but I honestly don't know how I would have stayed sane lately without you around. You're..."

        Your work at Atlas is important to me. Say that.

        "You're important to me," Rhys says finally. "Which is why I couldn't risk losing you if Maliwan was still...well, y'know, in the picture."

        You're quiet for a moment. His hand's warm around yours. You've made no motion to pull away. 

        "I have a question for you," you say.

        "Yes, anything," Rhys says, practically halfway across the table, he's leaning in so intently. 

        "If I had been a traitor, er, a Maliwan spy...what would you have done?" The question had been burning in the back of your mind. 

        Rhys hadn't even stopped to think about that. Maybe it's because even when he gave Zer0 the order, he hadn't imagine Zer0 would come back with anything suggesting you actually were a traitor. That made him feel bad again. He should have trusted his gut...he shouldn't have questioned you. 

        "I...I'm not sure. I wouldn't have had Zer0 hurt you, if that's what you're thinking. I think..." What would he have done? "I think I would have tried to figure out why. Why you were still working with Maliwan. Wh-which you aren't! I know that! But I would have figured that maybe they were blackmailing you, or-or threatening to hurt you, or something."

        Your head tilts. "Why?" For the first time that night your gaze meets his again and he feels relief thrum through him.

        "Because I still wouldn't want to lose you," Rhys said firmly. He gives a bit of a laugh. "No, I wouldn't give you back to Maliwan that easily, c'mon now. Who'd bring me all my bagels with the extra cream cheese and coffee and whatever stupid thing I'm craving if you weren't around?"

        Your shoulders also move in a bit of a laugh. You know that you do more for him than that. He knows it too. But he doesn't have to mention all that. 

        Rhy's thumb strokes over the back of your hand. "And...y'know when I first found you, hiding under my desk--which is where I was going, by the way--I figured...something tells me you were just as afraid as I was. Even if you'd been sent there to definitely kill me on sight. I don't think you'd secretly work for a corporation that scares you that much when there's a better option. Atlas is wayyy too nice to betray, right?"

        You give him a half smile. 

        "Okay, Rhys, you don't have to keep going. That...hearing that makes me feel a little better," you admit. 

        Your chosen drink and Rhys's wine arrives at the table. When he offers you a glass as well, you accept almost immediately. His apology, although initially hard to start, seemed to set your mind more at peace. You seemed to relax more, especially after a few more glasses of wine. Before long, the two of you are laughing and talking like you used to, over various plates of food that he's pretty sure neither of you will finish. Leftovers...nice. His suite's pretty barebones when it comes to fridge content because of how busy he'd been lately. 

        He had not known before offering you as much wine as you wanted that you were a bit of a lightweight. He realizes when he signals for a check from the waiter that the night may get a little more interesting. Especially when you were hanging on his cybernetic arm, finally outside the restaurant. It's difficult to keep an eye on you, the to go bag, and trying to pin down a ride all at once. 

        He manages and makes sure you gets into the car safe first. As he settles down next to you with a sigh, he glances over at you. You already look half asleep. He'd hate to wake you up, you look so peaceful...He turns his head to give the driver instructions but finds his words stuck in his throat. 

        He realizes he has zero idea where you actually live. “Uh…..”         Guess you could just come home with him? You’re practically asleep on his shoulder already, head leaned into the crook of his neck.

        He tries to stay as quiet as he can for the ride over, not wanting to wake you until he absolutely has to. You naturally come out of it when the car rolls to a stop outside the building. You don't really ask any questions as he guides you in with him. Either you're too tired, or you don't care enough to ask what's going on. Rhys feels a glow in his chest. Which means maybe you trust him again...? For real? Not in the fake, amicable way from before?

        Rhys shoulders open the door to his suite for you. He momentarily abandons the food from the restaurant on the marble countertop. He brings you to the first place he can think of, or at least the safest, the bedroom. Like you think it's your own room, you collapse onto the bed yourself, without any further prompting from him. 

        "Man, remind me not to go drinking with you," he mumbled, throwing some of the covers over you. "You get sleepy wayyyy too fast." 

        His response is just an unintelligible mumble. For a moment, he sits on the edge of the bed as you nuzzle into the pillow--his pillow. Somewhere in your mind, you wonder faintly why your bed smells like Rhys for some reason. His weight shifts, an attempt to leave. The couch in the living room is plenty comfortable. And so is his chair and his desk back in his office if he doesn't sleep well tonight. 

        He hears the covers shift. He feels your fingers suddenly wrap around his wrist, gently tugging him back to the bed.

         “(Y/N),” he starts, but he sees the way your eyebrows furrow, like you’re in pain. Much different from the peaceful mini-nap you had been taking on his shoulder in the backseat of the car.          “Please... don’t leave me here alone,” you say softly, eyes still shut. “I don’t... I don't wanna be alone.”         He barely catches the last bit your slurring is so bad, but his mind quickly catches up and connects the dots. Slowly, Rhys settles back down onto the bed. You keep pulling at him and with a sigh, he gives in fully, laying down next to you. A bit clumsily, your arms wrap around him completely. He lays, flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling, as your hand rests on his shoulder, arm splayed put over his chest. You’ve turned on your side, face pressed to his arm.

        Rhys is careful not to move the entire night, although he can't help dozing off a few times. He doesn't even know how it's possible to do that with the way his heart is racing in his chest. This...this isn't usually what he has in mind during his weaker moments where he can't help but picture you here, on his bed, with him. He finds his hand reaching up to grasp yours on his shoulder, holding gently overtop. Not wanting to move and wake you up, he manages to turn off the lights, from the bed. The perks of keeping his cybernetics and ECHO eye in such a high tech city, he supposes. The curtains pull, as if compelled, completely shut, to block out any further intrusive light. 

        Was this professional by any means?

        No.

        But then again, he thinks, gazing down at you, ECHO eye allowing him to see slightly in the darkness... when has he ever really cared about professionalism?

        When you eventually wake, you feel like you just had the best sleep of your entire life. No screaming no nightmares, no clench of fear in your chest, no waking in a cold sweat. Could have been the alcohol, but it also could have been that you're not alone in the bed-...Wait a minute, where the fuck are you? Your fingers are resting on something, someone else’s shoulder. Your heart seizes in your chest. The last thing you remember was drinking with Rhys…his apology…wait.         Slowly and tentatively, in the pitch black room, your other hand, the one that had been placed on his chest slowly drifts up to touch over a cheek.

        You bite the inside of your own cheek, letting your hand travel slightly down until you feel thick hair under your fingertips, and a soft upper lip—it’s definitely Rhys.         What the fuck is wrong with you? You both get drunk and the first thing you do is fuck him?! Completely unprofessional. Would you even be able to look him in the eyes ever again after this?! This was the exact thing you'd always been trying to avoid in Maliwan. It was all too easy to sleep with a boss open enough to the idea and get an easy promotion through that--you'd always sworn you'd never be one of those girls, as lucky as they were. And you'd especially sworn to yourself that you wouldn't do that with Rhys, even if he was cute and funny in that weird way and-

        Jesus Christ.         You suddenly feel a warm hand grasp over yours, the non-mechanical one. Rhys moves your hand down, hesitating over his lips briefly, before he decides it’s safer to just hold it at his chest again. He’s still wearing his shirt from the night before. His tie isn't even undone. Which means…you think about all the various ways you could have had sex…which means absolutely nothing. But…your underwear is still in place and your dress is only askew because you had likely shifted in your sleep.         It’s like he can read your mind.         “We didn’t do anything,” Rhys says, voice a bit rough from just having woken up. “You just…I was gonna go sleep on the couch, but you said you didn’t wanna be alone.”         Your face heats with embarrassment. You said that to him?         “Oh…sorry. I just…” You trail off. Just because he'd been honest with you last night doesn't mean you owe him the same thing. You don’t want to tell him that every night when you go to sleep you have to relive Maliwan. You don’t want to let him know that there’s a personal hell waiting for you every time you close your eyes outside the workplace. You don't want-         “Why don’t you wanna be alone?” Rhys finds himself asking, interrupting your quickly spiralling train of thought. “Maybe it was just a drunk thing but-“         “Every time I go to sleep I’m back, working for Maliwan, people dying all around me,” you find yourself confessing anyways, like you can't help it. Like you're possessed by some obligance. “It’s awful. I kinda thought it would stop after awhile but it…I dunno.”         Rhys shifts a little. You think he might be looking at you. You see his pale blue ECHO eye glow a little in the darkness, fixed on you.         “Did it help last night? I mean, me staying?” he asks.         You nod. “Yeah. It did.” There’s really nothing else you can say to him.

        You can't see it in the dark, but Rhys frowns. Every time you close your fucking eyes you’re back, in the middle of a battle, being shot at? Being miserable because of your former corporation? And it follow you even today? It still haunts you? And here he was making an assassin go interrogate you, thinking you were going to betray him and go back to Maliwan?         He could not possibly feel sorry enough. He heaves a sigh, one that moves your hand on his chest with it.         “I’m so sorry, (Y/N). I feel like even more of an idiot now. I had no idea-“         You shrug. “How could you? It’s not like I was sharing my dream journal with you over lunch.”         You have a…? He realizes you’re just making a little joke. Awkwardly, he stays quiet for a few more moments. You feel him squeeze your hand a little tighter to his chest.         “I…I wouldn’t mind if you did. I want that. Uh…”         The mental health of my employees is very important to me!         He could save himself now. He could bail on this whole stupid crush. He could keep this professional and just find someone else. But he just... can’t.         “I really really like you, (Y/N). And you don’t have to say it back or pretend to like me to so you can keep your job. You’ll always have a home at Atlast, with me, no matter what your answer is.”         You’re quiet for a few agonizing moments that feel like hours to Rhys with the way his heart is pumping. It's too early in the morning for this shit. At least he thinks it is. He actually has no idea what time it is. He feels you shift in bed, sitting up. Are you leaving? Already his heart begins to sink. He’s glad it’s dark in here so you can’t see how red he is. He breathes out a soft sigh, shutting his eyes momentarily. You see his ECHO eye’s light disappear. At least he’d finally said something. At least-         He suddenly feels your lips at the corner of his mouth.         “Sorry, I missed,” you murmur, a bit embarrassed. “It’s dark in here.”         Rhys can’t help but take your chin in his hand, adjusting your position so he can kiss you fully on the lips. The first is light, experimental at most. The kind of thing you can wave off as a mistake and walk away from. The second kiss… not so much. It's passionate, deep, your lips moving against his, like you want him in his entirety. Such a desperate, lonesome kind of need...the nature of your feelings towards him becomes just a little clearer to Rhys right then. 

        He’s breathless when you pull away, chest rising and falling somewhat quickly.         “So…I’m guessing that means you like me too?” He asks, a hopeful twinge in his voice.

        You fall back into the mattress, at his side, hand still grasped in his. You have no intention of pulling it away. With a sigh, you respond.         “You have no idea.”

#one shot #borderlands #rhys strongfork #rhys strongfork x reader

[rottenstrawberrymilk]

your blessing

ryuji goda x reader

nsfw

12.8k words

Being terrorized weekly by Ryuji Goda wasn't exactly in your job description. But, from what you can tell, there's not much to be done about it. The other girls, they comfort you, but it's to your understanding that you have to just put up with someone like him. He throws so much money around, you'd be stupid not to anyways, right? You would have thought all that money, all the bottle of expensive champagne he buys, the other girls would get a little jealous. However, he's so terrifying, they don't mind at all he's taken shine to a newbie hostess like yourself. In fact, until he'd come along, you hadn't had a steady clientele at all. 

        You'd tried to see the bright side of it all. In fact, you thought you were even getting used to him. Sure, he's big and scary and his voice is rough and strange, and sometimes his accent is hard to understand and you have to ask him to repeat himself, but he's never been particularly awful to you. He's not even bad at conversation either, when he's not choosing to sit quietly and drink that is. He told you once he's just here to unwind with something pretty to look at (that's you). You'd been fine with that. Until he started getting more aggressive. Which you had been warned about from the very beginning, quite frankly. Usually, there's a manager to tell of even the richest of clients, there to make sure they keep wandering hands off the girls. But it really seems like whenever Goda's in your booth (and only your booth), they turn a complete blind eye. Any sort of effort to make a subtle hand signal, a clear of your throat, it all goes to waste. Half the time you can't even signal for a basic need like a towel. In fact, no one in the club even looks his way.

         They're terrified of him.

        You have a feeling you should be too. Before moving to this city, you'd never heard of him before. You never imagined being out of the loop would pose this much of a danger to you when it came to handling this particular local. Famous isn't a word they use for Ryuji Goda, notorious and infamous work much better. But you really haven't got a clue as to what he's involved in. Sure, you know about the yakuza, random gangbangers that come into clubs and cause a bit of trouble. But you have absolutely zero idea what you're face to face with multiple nights a week. Is he worse than an average yakuza?

        Ryuji can tell just by looking into your eyes that you haven't got a fuckin' clue. And he likes that blissful ignorance. Although he can tell you're nervous around him, it's not nearly the same level as the other girls in the club. He rarely keeps people in his life. He's better off alone, he's always figured. He's even made sure not to bring in the usual crowd of Omi Alliance thugs with him, recognizing how nervous they had made you the first time he'd done it. He wants you to himself, anyways. This could be different. Everyone needs a break from a little loneliness, right? And being a dragon is as lonely as it gets. 

        Sometimes it makes him bitter. So if a bit of company from a pretty chick in a cabaret club eases the pain a little, why not indulge?

        “Why don’t ya come a lil’ closer, hm? You afraid?” He asks one night, with a tilt of his head. Dark eyes fix on you. "I won't bite."         With his arms spread wide and comfortably over the top of the couch, his rough hand is able to grab hold of your shoulder. It’s not a suggestion, it’s a command. Do what I say or there will be consequences. Things go smoothly if you bend to his will, like everyone else does. A nervous laugh comes from you, while you desperately try to think of a natural way to shrug it off or escape. Just like always, your mind goes blank. The other week he'd put your hand on his leg with that strange, crooked smirk on his face. The same thing had happened. Just nothing in your mind until he backed off. 

        Is he actively toying with you or is just this his really scary way of flirting? You don't get him.         Still, you make the wise decision to scoot a few inches closer to him. A huff of air comes from his nose, although he looks anything but amused with your antics at the moment. Feeling the tension thicken, you’re quick to come so close your leg touches his own. Your hands stay nervously folded in your lap in a vain attempt to keep from fidgeting.

        The entire time, his huge hand stays enveloping your shoulder.         “Sit 'n my lap.”         It's so sudden you're not sure if you heard him right. Your face heats. “Um-“         He groans, cutting you off. “I don’t wanna hear that. You tryin' t'be difficult, doll?”         “N-No, of course not. I’m sorry, sir.”         His hand drifts down to your waist. When you go to move, he decides it’s too slow and simply yanks you onto his lap himself. One of your arms finds his shoulders, the other hand gripping at his knee momentarily to stabilize yourself. Your face is hot. Are you actually allowed to be doing this? Is it too much? Are you gonna get fired? On the bright side, as usual, no one spares a passing glance. It's a semblance of privacy. Ignoring you, he refocuses on his drink, bringing it to his scarred lips. The ice clinks as his head tilts. His arm traps you closer to him when you lean away. Still, holding the glass, he lets out a sigh and glances at you.         “Y'know, y'could stand t’loosen up a lil’.”

        It gets harder to understand him as the night goes on. The drunkness makes his accent even harder to understand.          You realize he’s offering you a drink. You can’t refuse. Your hand leaves his knee to take the glass. Ryuji doesn’t release it. Instead, he tilts it to your own lips. He decides when your done. You cough a little, not expecting that big of a drink. It burns going down, flaming your insides, and doing absolutely nothing to ease the redness in your face. He laughs at your reaction, and the slight grimace on your face, hidden behind an open palm to try and cover the coughing. 

        Goda sets the glass down in favor of grabbing your face, thick fingers chilled. Your hand drops, jaw clenching at the sudden contact. The aggression you'd been warned about so often by your coworkers... His fingers tighten at your jaw, forcefully turning your head to the side. His eyes scan over your face, an eyebrow slightly raised a slow smirk stretches at the scarred side of his lips. His eyes are dark. So, very dark.         “Dim in here. Never get a good chance t'see ya up n' close. You’re a beaut, ain't’cha?”         Despite his compliment, the look of unease on your face is unmistakeable. The guy has an infamous pin drop temper and is twice your size. Goda Ryuji is a fierce man. Still, your fingers dig into his pant leg a little, betraying you to him as you're unable to break eye contact.

        "Ya like it when I compliment ya? When I call ya pretty?" His face comes closer. 

        "I'm...I'm not opposed?" you finally try. 

        He laughs again. He finds he enjoys doing this dance with you far too much. You ease a little bit. Maybe you'll be spared that awful temper of his as long as you keep playing nice with him. Unfortunately, while the eyes of the managers and other hostesses may not have been on you two, a few other clients kept glancing Ryuji Goda's way. He flirts with you a little longer, through a few more refills of his glass, until (just like always) he's gone into the night.

        You'd breathed a sigh of relief. 

        Apparently, a few nights later, another client thought he could do the same things Ryuji was getting away with. All the touching and shameless flirting, that is. So instead of getting a rare break from Ryuji for a night, you ended up getting harassed by a different asshole who believed he was untouchable. You had just managed to signal a manager over when the man's hand had been squeezing at your knee, daring to venture further up your leg. Funny how they finally seem to pay attention now.

        Unfortunately, tonight is also the night you learn of Ryuji's unpredictability. A giant shape that vaguely resembles him lunges past you, after storming past the bouncers and into the club. You had no idea a guy that big could move so fast. You'd been so caught up trying to get the offending client's hands off you, you'd barely even noticed him storm in. A huge hand grabs the man by the collar of his shirt, yanking him straight across the table, shattering glasses and spilling any filled drinks all over you.

        In response, you yelp, jumping shocked to your feet atop the velvet plush seats. There's absolutely zero chance of not making a scene now. You try to get back into the corner, away from the nasty fight that's about to unfold in front of you. To Ryuji's credit (for once), there's virtually no fight indoors. Still, he wouldn't be Ryuji without managing to slip in one mean punch square in the man's face. You don't at all have a good feeling about the way he drags the man, now with a bloody nose from the start of a nasty beating, right out the door. No one dared to stand in his way. How could anyone? He's a blonde hurricane of a man, he's downright unnatural. He'd dwarfed the bouncers, shouldering them aside as he'd gone. 

        The club fell dead silent, all watching, the other girls with hands of horror at their mouths, the other clients now uneasy. Then, their eyes collectively fall on you, still perched on top of the lounge seats. You want to sink into the floor, disappear, and die right then and there. Instead, shakily, you sit back down at the soaking wet booth, hands tightly clenched in your lap, now reeking of champagne and the last hints of the other man's cologne. Your nails bite into your palms. What now? The seconds start to grind by like minutes, and the minutes like hours. 

        Ryuji returned in under twenty minutes, if the clock on the wall proved truer than your shaky perception of dragging time. You try not to let your gaze linger on him, standing at the entrance. The wall across the building seems far more interesting now. Averting your sight didn't make you deaf, however. You overheard some of his heated conversation with the head manager, rough voice and heavy accent unmistakeable. He's the only one who talks like that in here. He's got the manager by the collar, fist clenched, almost nose to nose with him, towering over. 

        "-you go n' give my girl t'some other prick, n' let him get all touchy with her, that's what's gonna happen to him, got me? Do yer fuckin' job or-"

        I'll do it for ya.

        Even trying to drown him out and not eavesdrop, your mind almost unconsciously finished the sentence. With your head down and the blood pounding in your ears, you don't see him coming. But you feel his hand clamp around your arm, and start a little, before glancing up at him. You give him a sheepish smile, trying to keep yourself from bursting into tears. How bad does it have to be for you to find some glimmer of comfort in him at the moment? You're still covered in drying champagne and just want to go home at this point...

        "Sorry 'bout the clothes," Ryuji apologized a bit gruffly. 

        You glance down, then do a double take. God, did that much splash onto you? It looks like the entire bottle, not just a few glasses. The state of your dress is more embarrassing than you'd first thought. Not that there was anything left to the imagination to begin with when it was dry and proper. Awkwardly, you wrapped your arms around yourself. 

        He nudges you, making you look up at him again. You genuinely look like you're about to burst into tears. 

        "Lemme getcha some new ones. C'mon. Get up."

        You try to just shake it off, to recompose yourself in front of a client. You're not gonna cry in front of Ryuji Goda, for God's sake. You're an adult, not a child. You're not gonna start crying at work. You wipe at your eyes with your arm, which reeks of champagne. A soft, shaky sigh leaves you.

        "I-I'm sorry, sir, I still have the rest of my shift-"

        "Yeah n' ya gotta spend it with me anyhow, so why not get outta this dump for the night?"

        He's not wrong. Chances are he walked in spontaneously, looking to put in some hours at your booth. He's notorious for getting his sessions extended so many times they don't even ask him anymore. He comes when he wants to and leaves when he wants to. Nobody wants to bother him. His offer sounded appealing-- you're already a little angry the club has done nothing to cover you up or get you out of here. You could leave...but you'd admittedly be at Ryuji's mercy. As if you weren't already constantly at his mercy here to begin with... Even taking into account the bouncers and managers, what difference would it make since they do nothing to help you out?

        Still, like it's instinct, you helplessly look around for a manager to step in and tell you otherwise and give you a reason not to leave with Ryuji.

        Like hell they will. 

        Will things go quieter and smoother if you just obey him? Like always? You notice a few nervous glances from the girls working nearby, trying to regain the flow of the conversation they'd previously been engaging a client in. Your jaw clenches, fingers turning into a fist in your lap momentarily. For the sake of the club and the other girls, you'll do it. If he causes another scene, you can't imagine the damage it will do. And what if it comes out of your pay? 

        "O-Okay." You offer Ryuji another weak smile. "Sounds like fun, thank you." Could you sound any less enthusiastic after everything that had happened tonight? God, it's hard to put back on the act. 

        Ryuji notices the slip up. 

        As you stand, he shrugs his coat off, putting it over your shoulders. The dark, furred hem almost drags on the ground, it's so much larger on you. If you weren't in heels, it certainly would have been sweeping up all the dust and dirt on the floor. These shoes aren't at all good for walking or strolling out on the streets of the city, but they make your calves pop and Ryuji would be damned if he didn't notice that. His coat provides you some modesty and would probably stop any stares on the streets. Unfortunately, you're pretty sure being seen with someone like him will get you looks anyways. 

        You're wrong about that entirely. It's actually worse. No one dares to look at either of you at all.     

        You notice the blood spatter on the sides of his shirt collar and the cuffs of his sleeves. Implying he'd taken off his jacket and someone had held it for him while he'd beat the everliving God out of that man he'd dragged out of the club. You hadn't noticed the spray when his coat was on. Mildly disturbing but...strangely comforting? You decide not to address the conflict inside you. 

        Most of your suspicions about him had been confirmed in that instance. Something more than an average yakuza--he had a sort of command over this area the usual scumbags didn't. He carried himself far more differently, as well. You think you should be much more afraid of him now. But...it's been all this time with him at that club and he hadn't been too horrible to you. Why would he start now? After all, he's going out of his way to take you out on a date and all...

        You try not to waste more energy thinking about it. Ryuji ended up taking you to a really nice shop you wouldn't have glanced twice at before. Way out of your price range. He got you a new dress-- five of them, in fact. All of them more expensive than the last. It's the type of finery you'd have to save for, even on your better than average salary. All that money Ryuji was spending at the hostess club apparently had just been pocket change to him. He barely blinks at any of the price tags. You insist a few times, walking next to him, trying to catch up to his larger strides, that it really is too much and you couldn't possibly accept any of this.

        "Shut yer mouth, woman." He looks down at you, arching a thick blonde brow as he comes to a stop in the middle of the busy walkway. They go around him. "You don't wanna insult me now, turnin' down all my gifts, do ya'? That ain't smart, doll."

        Hoping to get him to move along and out of traffic's way, you shake your head quickly, before dropping your gaze to the street. "No. Of course not. I'm sorry."

        He takes your chin between a thick forefinger and thumb, lifting and surveying your face carefully, leaned in close and slightly bent over. Then, he gives a soft 'hmph' and releases you, standing back up to his full height again, hands going to his pockets. Fuck was that about? 

        "Don't go n' think too hard 'bout all this. Now, c'mon. I see ya walkin' funny and I ain't got nothin' to do with it, so it must be the shoes. Yer gettin' new ones." 

        You open your mouth instinctually to deny him once again, telling him it's too much between all the fine fabrics (and jewelry to match). But he's not wrong. These heels are meant to be changed into in a back room and then sat in all night, not walked in. They're cute but...your feet are really killing you. He'd noticed this quickly? You shut your mouth, like he'd kindly suggested earlier. Ryuji's scarred lips turn up slightly when you don't reject his offer. Good, you catch on quick. 

        In the shoe store, he simply sat and watched you get properly fitted for a more comfortable pair. He has a way of sitting and spreading out that make him looks like he owns whatever establishment he happens to be in at the moment. It's something you've never seen before. He's...he's really something. 

        The pair you went with had less heel to them and they were far less narrow. You give a bit of a relieved sigh upon trying them on and being able to stand more comfortably. Ryuji folded his hands beneath his chin, elbows resting upon his knees as he watches you smile up at the salesman and thank him. You catch Ryuji looking at you and the smile falters a little, but you dare not let it slip from your face. Instead, you give him a shy little wave from your spot. 

        Ryuji's lip quirks up slightly. He has the strangest smile. Like it's more of a snarl, the way his eyes crinkle and brows furrow. Unusual, but not completely ugly. You feel a little strange. Some emotion you don't have a word for yet. 

        He asked if you were hungry a little after, walking down the street, watching you survey all the lights and sights. Despite having been settled in Sotenbori for a few months now, you've hardly taken the time to go for a stroll or do any sightseeing. You hesitated, coming to a stop. Ryuji cuts in again before you can fabricate some white lie to somehow shorten this date. 

        "Don't lie. I know you girls in that club like t'look all dainty n' shit but that don't matter to me, you understand?"

        You nod, a bit slowly. "I'm a little hungry, yeah," you admit with a shrug. But you realize fast he's going to try and pay for it again--chances were he'd find the fanciest restaurant in town to do it in as well. "But I can make something at home, so please don't worry-"

        Ryuji scoffs with a slight roll of his dark eyes. "Ya ain't gettin' back to that club any faster if ya turn me down. C'mon. I know a spot."

        Is that what he thought you were trying to do? You can't imagine going back to the club tonight now. Honestly, you just wanted to stop spending so much of his money. It made you feel a little guilty and something tells you Ryuji Goda is not a man to be indebted to.       

        In lieu of your silence, Ryuji glanced down at you again. You've shrunk a few inches without the other pair of heels and his coat is dangerously close to skimming the street. Quite frankly, he doesn't care about that either. When you feel his eyes on you, you return the glance, height difference made much more apparent to you once you met his eyes. You've been looking back at him more tonight. You look less nervous when you do it, too.

        People don't usually regard him without fear in their eyes so...so it's a welcome change. 

        You give him a nod. It's still halfhearted, but less so than the others before it. Ryuji has a way of being really convincing.

        The restaurant he brought you to wasn't overly fancy like you'd predicted, but God the food was good. It's obvious he knows his way around this city. It's as natural to him as the back of his hand. Which still has some blood spatter on it that you try to ignore. His fingertips are a few inches from yours at the table as he focuses on the plate in front of him. You learn fast the guy can fucking eat. It makes you feel a little more comfortable about digging in yourself. His ability is almost impressive, and you figure he needs every bite to maintain that body of his. Without that coat, he doesn't look any less huge. You can't help but notice the muscles shifts under his shirt, it's so tight on him.

        Are you...are you checking out Ryuji Goda? 

        Based on the look on his face when you open your mouth as the waiter brings the check, you know better than to offer to split. You shut it. He nods with that strange half-smirk at you, and looks down at the bill. You're starting to figure him out a little bit. But you still worry on how you're going to pay him back. You already have an idea of what he wants from you--he's a man after all. And all men are pretty much the same. You just take in a breath to calm yourself.

        Things had been going so well too...

        You decide you'll cross that bridge when you get to it. No use in stressing out about it right now. Maybe you'll work out some kinda deal with him so you're not underneath him in the next hour. It's not that you don't want to or-er... it's just...it's complicated. As nice as he's been tonight, you worry it's for that exact ulterior motive. And...he wouldn't be the man you thought he was after tonight if he pulled a stunt like that. You don't know if you can trust someone who wants to use you in that fashion. And as gruff and rough around the edges as he was, there'd always been a strange sort of classiness to him that differentiated him from all the other piggish men thinking with their dicks first and their brains second. Regardless, you're worried about getting involved with someone as dangerous as him.

        Nervously, you toy with the fur lining his jacket. 

        It's no time at all before you're back on the streets with him, your arm around his. It's gotten more crowded as the night has gone on, leaving you pressed to his side. Eventually, Ryuji seems to tire of people bumping into him. With no warning, he turns into a random alley, dragging you along. You stumble a little, but quickly recover. Still, your heart begins to race. Isolated, dark alleyway with no one else in it. This can't possibly go well. You wonder if your understanding of him wasn't correct after all.

        A huff comes from him as he turns to face you.

        "Crowd was pissin' me off. Gimme yer address so I can make sure all those clothes I gotcha get sent over to ya." 

        You gave him a funny look, the most expression he's ever seen on your face outside of those fake smiles. Your eyebrow draws in, nose crinkling. His head cocks to the side a little bit as he takes another step towards you. 

        "What?" he asks, voice becoming lower and gruffer. "Ya scared of me or somethin'? Think I'm gonna start showin' up at yer door?"

        He looms over you, the most menacing he's looked all night. Ryuji glowers down at you as your back presses to the alley wall. Passerby pay no heed. It's better that way. Any interruption would just cause a massive scene. You're sure you can deal with him on your own. Your eyes meet with his. And suddenly, you can't help but laugh. Maybe it's the combination of nerves and the absurdity of this all, of being taken out by the scariest man you'd ever met in your entire life, practically against your will, and still managing to have a good time? If Stockholm hadn't already been a named syndrome, you're sure now it was your surname instead that would have been used. 

        Ryuji's brows furrow a little. But a small, uneven smirk shows up on his face and the shadow leaves. Now that's a real laugh. Nothin' like those shy, little huffs of air or nervous giggles. No hand in front of your mouth to feign some sort of politeness either. Just a good, loud, open-mouthed beautiful laugh. 

        You sigh, catching your breath once your fit is over. "Fuck, at this point, why don't you just walk me home too?" You ask, raising the back of your hand to wipe an almost tearful eye. Ryuji sees how your shoulders relax, and how that smile on your face develops. None of that club manufactured bullshit. If he'd known it only took one date to shake the hostess outta you, he would have dragged you out way sooner. 

        It may have just been hysterics, but he'll be damned if that wasn't your real laugh and smile. He swears it is. 

        Ryuji does just as you've suggested. The dragon walks you home. It's a pleasant walk, alight with the neon flashing signs and billboards surrounding the town. Upon arriving at your door, you expect him to force his way in and try to take this up a few notches with how well the night had gone for him. To your surprise, Ryuji doesn't. He simply stands there, hands in his pocket, looking down at you. 

        "Hey," you suddenly say, getting his attention right before he silently turns away. "Ummm...your jacket." Quickly, you slide it off, then lifting it to him so he can take it. Ryuji throws it over his broad shoulder, eyes still trained on you. 

        "And...thank you," you continue. That stupid ass smile won't leave your face no matter how hard you try.  "See you when I see you? I guess?"

        You seem to lean up onto your toes for a moment, up towards his face. Then, you hesitate, and that smile fades. Your eyes, once glancing at his cheeks, maybe his lips just momentarily, leave and settle back down at your feet as you clear your throat awkwardly and fall back to your heels. It just looked like a nervous sway. Ryuji knows better. A bit of exasperation fills him.

        Still, he doesn't push. Ryuji just gives you another one of his own crooked smiles. From his smile alone, you know he knows what you almost did. And then, he's gone into the night, likely to take care of some of his own business. You breathe out a sigh you didn't know you were holding. It's not...entirely one of relief. Maybe one of regret. You're confusing yourself...Still, you shut the door. It's honestly too late for this level of inner turmoil. 

        You regard it all furthermore as you ready yourself to crash into bed. Other than an arm over your shoulder or around your waist now and then as you'd roamed the streets through the night with him, Ryuji wasn't nearly as...well monstrous as he was in the cabaret club. It's strange...you'd even felt comfortable enough to have your arms around his at one point, something you'd never dreamed of doing. This all feels like a dream, as a matter of fact. 

        You check to make sure you remembered to lock the door with another soft huff. For a moment, you stare blankly at that door.

        You don't think you'll ever figure Ryuji out.

        Either way, the next day, you find all of his gifts to you at your doorstep. When you go back to work that night, wearing one of the dresses he so generously bought you, your coworkers pull you aside in the back room. You touch up your makeup in your compact mirror, half listening at first to everything they were telling you about Ryuji Goda. You start to properly listen when they get more into the gritty details. When they start detailing just how high up he was in the Omi Alliance, of all things, you look sharply at them, up from the mirror. 

        “Why didn’t you tell me who he was?!” you asked, voice in a hushed, angry whisper, fingers coming to clench over the compact, snapping it shut.         “Aww, c’mon (y/n)… we wanted to but- but he’s…y’know… a little harder to work with. A-And he got along with you so well that we didn’t see any harm in not sayin’ anything!” The girl closest to you whines. 

        You look even more embarrassed, anger leaving you as fast as it came. "I mean...I mean I thought maybe he was...y'know, b-but I didn't think he was that high up." Your voice is hushed like he's in the next room over, listening from the wall. If Ryuji's who they say he is, you wouldn't be surprised about him having eyes and ears everywhere. 

        Your blood runs colder the more they tell you. 

        "We didn't even think you were gonna come back at all!" one of the other hostesses says, her voice hushed and tight. "I mean, seriously. You just walked out with a guy like that?"

        "I mean...was I supposed to tell him no? It would have just made things worse. For everyone." You put your knuckles to your lips momentarily. "Do you think he'll come back here--or will they let him in at all?"

        Another hostess scoffs. "I mean, like you said, nobody tells that guy no. If you're here he's obviously gonna come back." 

        You let out a heavy sigh, shoulders slouching. "Sorry...This is all...this is all a lot to take in." 

        The guy kills people. You just thought he was a little rough around the edges and liked a fight every now and then. He told you once a real man oughta be a little stupid, in defense of his rather uncouth habits. It'd made sense at the time. You cross your arms, giving a bit of a helpless look to your coworkers. 

        "Look, I'll try to deal with him. I mean, things will maybe probably go back to normal, right? It was just one night out." 

        You know your shift starts soon. No amount of gossip can justify you not being ready. Your old heels bite into your feet as you walk back to your usual booth. It's been cleaned, thankfully. It's a little annoying they had waited until after you left. Why hadn't they just moved you to a different booth to work yesterday night? You try too hard not to poke anymore at the slowly growing embers of despise for this haughty place. As you sit, you think about the shoes Ryuji bought you.

        The shoes that the Dragon of Kansai had bought you. 

        You still don't know how to feel about him, about all of this. So you just try to focus on working. Luckily, as you'd predicted things seemed to largely return to normal. And Ryuji didn't show up at all. It makes you uncomfortable instead of relieved now. He's probably just busy. After all, he'd dropped in unexpectedly the previous night, much more frequent than his usual schedule. You put your thoughts regarding him aside for the millionth time that night and try to focus on smiling and laughing at whatever the client was droning on about. Once in awhile, your eyes leave his and momentarily check the front door for a big blonde head.

         It never comes.

        It's a surprise at all you were still having guests seated with you, after what he'd done to the other one. But you'd argue his reaction, while not justified in its violence and disruptiveness, was semi-rational. You hadn't wanted that man to touch you and the managers weren't helping, so he'd taken care of it himself. At least, that's how you chose to see Ryuji's actions. But as the week drew on, you realized the flow of clients to your booth was slowing considerably, down to a trickle. You're lucky to get one person during the night at all. And it isn't as if the club isn't busy either.

        You're confused.

        Are they avoiding seating clients with you? 

        And then, before you know it, by the end of the week, you're fired.

        What the hell?

        This was the first steady job you'd landed in a long time, and you'd blown it, and you don't even fucking know why. But...let's be real. A small part of you does. It's him. This is his fault. You can't help but grow frustrated and then, eventually, straight up angry. So, you do the logical thing--take your last payment and find the nearest bar. You don't even stop to change shoes or clothes in the backroom. 

        You don't want to look at this place ever again, blinking back hot, furious tears. 

        You're not a very heavy drinker, which means it's much much easier and much much cheaper to reach the level of drunkness you wanted to be at. Hopefully, enough to forget all of tonight and to stop feeling entirely. To stop feeling the shame and burning fury eating up your insides, enough to make you feel sick to your stomach. You drink all night. Enough to get kicked out of one bar and go wandering the streets, lights blurring in your eyes as you stagger.

        God these shoes fucking hurt. Your heel snags in the cobblestone and you almost fall over. So you rip them off, giving them a good beating into the nearest brick wall, until one of the heels breaks off entirely, and then hurling the pieces over the next bridge you find before storming off further into the city. Only thin stockings separate your feet from the walkway. You don't know where you're going. You don't care. It's not like you can see anything to begin with, vision still blurred with enraged, drunken tears. 

        You pass through a random alley, getting sick of the passerby on the street looking at you. Why won't they stop looking at you? It makes you wish you'd kept your shoes to throw at them instead. Your empty hands clench into fists. A hostile hand grabs your shoulder, turning you to face a man you could have easily gone your whole life without ever seeing. Behind him, are more, each uglier and meaner looking than the last. And you despise every single one of them. 

        "Getthe fuck off me," you snap, tongue feeling heavy in your mouth. You go to shove his hand off your shoulder. 

        "Fuck you say to me, bitch?!"

        Your foul mood and even fouler words seem to do little to nothing to dissuade them. You give him the filthiest look you can muster, swatting his hand away for a second time. The man lunges for your throat, a palm pressed against your chest to shove you back into the brick wall. You cry out in pain, feeling it grit into your skin. The pain and feeling of helplessness only makes you angrier. You hate these fucking people. You hate this fucking town. And you think you hate Ryuji Goda too.

        With strength you shouldn't have had in your state, you rip yourself out of the man's grip, delivering a mean knee directly between his legs. Angrily, you shove against his own chest, hoping he falls back and cracks his head open as he cries out in pain, calling you about every name in the book. When you go to spit at him as he tried to regain balance, three more yakuzas get their hands on you in an attempt to avenge their boss. One of them violently shoves you to the ground. No matter how angry and hurting you are, you can't realistically fight off this much muscle and that many hands at once. One of them grabs at your leg, knelt down by you, fingers traveling up.

        With your face smashed into the concrete ground, a nasty foot flying into your side on intervals, a single clear thought crosses your mind amongst the messy, unorganized ones. 

        What's the fucking point anyways. 

        Suddenly, hands are torn off you. Hot breath is off your neck and shoulders, the rough fingers leave your hair, formerly yanking and pulling in an attempt to cause as much pain as possible. Blood spatters across your arm. And it isn't yours. There's thundering footsteps, all near your head, but never striking. Then, silence closed in. You stayed on the ground, holding your breath, heart pounding in your ears.

        A hand touches you again. Again, you grow angry. 

        “Get the fuck offa me,” you mumble, raising a half hearted arm to shove the unwanted touch away.          An iron grip takes your wrist this time. A stronger wave of rage crashes over your— irrational and all too sudden. You go to smack whoever’s touching you before even really looking at a face. Everything’s still too blurry for you to really focus on anything. Your palm makes satisfying contact with a cheek, grazing over thick sideburn. Ryuji Goda does not flinch, he does not yield, in fact, he does not move even a fraction of an inch. His head stays where it is. Even more frustrated, you go for another strike. This time, he catches your other wrist as well. He feels you strain up against him.         For such a seemingly quiet, shy girl, you’re quite the belligerent drunk. Can you not even recognize him in this state? It's been awhile since he's visited the cabaret club, having been busy dealing with family matters, but he hadn't been gone long enough for you to forget. Your eyes finally meet his. And you have the nerve to glare at him.          “Get up, woman,” he says. “The streets is hardly a good place for ya.”

        “Shove it, you-you jackass,” you snarl. “I’m fine. Might as well get used to it anyways.”

        Now what in the fuck does that mean?         “I ain’t givin’ ya a choice anymore.”         Ryuji releases your wrists. Your first choice, obviously, is to try and get up and make your escape. You don’t have to bow to this asshole’s every whim anymore. You’re not his little hostess anymore. What had he called you before? His girl? However, while your mind has planned a swift getaway (he’s bigger than you, surely you can outrun him?) your very drunken, uncoordinated body disagrees. You’ve barely turned over before you feel rough hands on your sides, yanking you up off the ground.

        You’re so panicked and angry now, being turned to face him, and then thrown over his broad shoulder with little effort, that you haven’t even had the time to think about why he’s doing this. You had imagined Ryuji Goda would be the type to give you a kick in the face for even looking at him wrong, drunk on the ground.

        But as rough as he was picking you up, arm firmly trapping you atop his shoulder, you weren’t…hurting. At least, not from him, anyways. Your body still hurts from all the kicking. Your wrist is a little sore from his death grip, but he hasn’t beat on you at all. Unlike the other yakuza, who were still lurking and spying from street and alley corners, where they thought the Dragon couldn’t see them.

        “Get me a fuckin’ car. I ain’t goin’ out tonight no more.”

        He almost bumps your head getting you inside said car. He’s not at all gentle. Like he’s completely incapable, or like he doesn’t know how. At least, not anymore. But he tries, and that’s what confuses you further in your drunken haze. Why is he even trying?         A huff comes from him as he settles down beside you in the backseat and barks directions at the driver. With all the action getting your blood pumping, you regain some of your ability to move. Away from him— obviously. You choose the opposite door to lean upon, fatigue settling over you. Plus the cold helps with your nausea. Your eyes start to fall shut, despite the tense silence.         Some ways down the road (wherever he’s taking you) the driver hits a fast turn. The force sends you straight up against Ryuji’s shoulder. It’s like hitting another brick wall. An exasperated sigh leaves him and he throws an arm around you, keeping you firm there. When you go to struggle, he gives you a warning squeeze.         “Road gets bumpy here. Yer just gonna get thrown ‘round more.”

        If you were sober, your blood would have run cold. A secondary location, and one far from the city, no doubt. Where no one could help you or hear you scream. Unfortunately, you’re much too busy feeling frustrated at the heavy arm around you, too focused on thinking of a way to break his grip. You end up giving up entirely, resigning yourself to your fate. It wouldn’t be the first time tonight. 

        The car rocks you into his side as you feel yourself already begin to doze off. Seriously? You're being taken to some mystery location, too drunk to even walk, much less run away, in a straight line, down a pair of shoes, in a car with a man who has killed people and this is the time for a quick nap? You want to scold yourself into being awake. Into continuing your temper tantrum. But your eyelids feel heavier and heavier and Ryuji's so warm. Out of the corner of his eye, the Dragon watches you try to fight off sleep. He's not surprised when you fail. It's past two in the morning now. Between the bruises on your arms from being jumped in the alley and the reek of booze on you, it's a wonder you'd stayed conscious for this long at all. He feels the weight of your cheek on the side of his chest, the heat of your breath burning through his layers of clothing, reaching his skin. Almost unconsciously, his arm holds a little tighter around you. 

        You're allowed maybe ten more minutes of light slumber before the car comes to a stop. Naturally, you start to wake up. Ryuji takes his arm off you. He ducks out of the car and your gaze follows him. He holds out his hand for you to take. You ignore it and scoot to the edge of the seat, standing up yourself. You grimace a little feeling the forest floor beneath your feet. It'll be an unpleasant walk, wherever it is he's taking you. 

        "C'mon," he mumbles, arm wrapping around you. 

        "The hell d'you think you're-"

        He bends down briefly, forearm braced against the back of your legs. Ryuji lifts you up, throwing half of your body over his shoulder, securing your bottom half against his front. You let out a gasp at the suddenness, fingers finding a grip in the back of his jacket. 

        "I can walk myself," you say, voice tense.

        Ryuji scoffs so hard you feel his shoulders bump you up briefly. "Doubt it. If y'could ya wouldn't even manage a straight line." The mocking tone leaves his voice. It quiets, just a little. "N' it ain't right to make a lady walk barefoot 'n all this."

        That part was nice, you could admit. With your luck tonight, you would have gotten a burr or a thorn stuck in your foot. Not that you're in a place to choose, but he could have at least carried you bridal style so you could see where he was taking you. All you can do is watch helplessly as the car disappears into the woods, swallowed by trees and the night. Awkwardly, you try to crane your neck around to catch a glimpse of where Ryuji might be going. You think you see a house, a decently sized one. What's it doing all the way out here?

        After he's on the front porch, you feel him shoulder the door open. A kick from him is enough to close it tight once he's ducked inside with you on his shoulder. The light flicks on and before you know it, he's settling you down on a couch. You sit up a little straighter, tense as all hell, glancing quickly around your new surroundings. It's fairly modest. On the table, you can't help but notice the sheathed katana. 

        "Least yer soberin' up a lil'," Ryuji comments, taking a seat nearby you, slouching forwards so his elbows rest on is knees. Maybe he's trying to make himself smaller to not freak you out as much.

        "Where the fuck are we?" you ask, gaze landing on him once more.

        He raises an eyebrow briefly. Once you'd been all prim and proper before him, dressed to the nines, perfect makeup, perfect hair, and that shy little attitude that really got him going. Now you're down both shoes, stockings torn, dress practically falling down, hair and makeup messy and askew, talking to him in a voice and tone he's rarely heard before. Back in the alley, when you'd laughed, it was there, just a little. If this is who you really are...he's not too displeased. You're...you're a lot like him. Maybe more than Ryuji initially thought. 

        He shrugs his shoulders, sitting back into the couch, arms outstretched over top of it. "Safehouse, kinda. A hideout. I dunno. Just somethin' away from the city." Ryuji's eyes linger on your face, watching for a reaction. "Nobody knows 'bout this place but me n' my old man." 

        Was that supposed to make you feel better? 

        Before you have a chance to edge in with another remark, Ryuji glares at you. "Now it's my turn--lemme ask ya a question. What in the hell were ya doin' to land yerself in that alley with six assholes on ya? Ain't'cha supposed t'be workin'?" 

        It's incredible how those last four words have the mystical power to piss you off all over again. Your fingers clench into fists. 

        “Not that it's any of your business but they fired me,” you said bitterly. “Once some of the clients started talking after what you did to that one jackass, no one wanted to request me anymore. Figured I was more trouble than I was worth, being 'Goda’s girl' and all.”         For the first time in a long time, Ryuji feels a little bad. Usually, it’s just rage and that little itch of ambition pushing him onwards. And of course, that familiar rage does settle in soon after. Firing you isn't just an insult to you, it’s an insult to him. But petty honorifics and insults aside, at the end of the day, he is the reason you were out, drunk out of your wits on that filthy street in torn stockings.

        Those stockings… He looks at your legs for a little too long. Uncomfortably, you notice and cross them, lips tightening.          “Those dogs I chased off ya..." he starts, apparently on his way to hit on every single topic you didn't want to talk about tonight, "They do anything?”         You look at Ryuji. His eyes are dark. They’re always dark. He’s always hungry for a fight, for blood, another way to demonstrate his supremacy, to show that he is always on top. That ego and his possessiveness is the reason you’re here. But you swallow your spite. You tell the truth, albeit reluctantly. The fire's long gone from you when you have to admit it.         “One of them touched me.”         “I saw that, I was talkin’ about-“         “Before you showed up. One of them touched me.” You give an awkward clear of your throat, fists now at your thighs. You’re getting nauseous again having to talk about this with Ryuji of all people. You get ready to hear some disgusting shit from his mouth, the type of shit he whispered in your ear so shamelessly at the club when he was flirting. He was probably just gonna get mad he hadn't gotten to grope you first. 

        He’s silent. Just for a moment. “One hand, or both?”         You give him a frustrated look. Unbelievable, is the only thought that crosses your hazy mind. He’s still not used to seeing what you’re really feeling on your face. It’s unexpectedly…new. But not something he wouldn't like to get used to. There's some kinda of excitement to knowing you're taking off that little mask all hostesses wear for their clients, and getting personal with him specifically. No one else. Just him, he's sure.          “You’re asking me to remember which hand he put up my skirt?” You ask, deadpan. Chances were you would have burst into tears if you weren't busy being irritated at his absolute gall.          Ryuji’s head lifts a little and he looks down his nose at you. “No. Nothin’ of the sort. Just thought you’d want a lil’ jurisdiction over how he’s gonna pay.”

        You see in his face he’s not joking. And for the first time ever, you don’t fucking care. Fuck keeping the peace-- look at what it's gotten you. Let Ryuji do whatever the hell he wants. It's not your job to babysit him anymore. It can’t reflect back on you in a way that truly matters anyways. As a hostess, once when he’d mused of violence, of how he was gonna beat the life out of a guy who looked at you wrong once, you’d begged and pleaded with him not to do anything.

        But a part of you had always wondered if he was the type of man who wasn't just talking to talk. You wondered if he'd really go the distance for someone like you. Only one way to find out. 

        Let him have his fun now.

        His brow lifts a little when he hears no sort of plead for this man’s wellbeing. He’s not stupid. He knows as a hostess, you’d been putting on a little show, an act, as they all do. It’s a character they play, and yours had been his favorite to tease and toy with. Even if the personality was fake, your blushes and flustering had been oh so very real.

        And now he sees you as you are. And he likes it more than he thought he would. Your arms cross indignantly.         “If you think I’m gonna care, I don’t,” you spit. “Do whatever you want.”

        Ryuji just smiles that uneven, unnerving smile of his.          “Your blessin’ is all I need.” 

        Ryuji leans forwards to grab the katana off the table. Like it's second nature, he allows it to rest over his shoulder--the one that he had carried you on. You watch him head towards the door again. That smile's still on his face. 

        "N' here I thought I wouldn't be needin' this tonight." Then he glances over his shoulder at you. "Sit tight, doll. There's not anything civilized within miles of here, so I'd stick around n' wait. Won't be long." 

        Then, he's gone out the door. You wait for a few silent moments, trying to figure out if he was joking. Probably not. He probably also wasn't lying about nothing but woods being around the house. If you really, really wanted to you could make a break for it. But there's something especially unappealing and unpleasant about the idea of wandering barefoot in the dense woods at night. And...if for whatever reason Ryuji managed to come back in time to track you down, he wouldn't be too pleased with you.

        The smartest decision, as usual, is to obey. You let out a hefty sigh, pushing back your hair from your face and then letting your head drop into your hands exasperatedly, bent over in half. Now you have to be sobering up? You're already on a roll tonight the least Ryuji could have done to make up for getting you fired was fixing you another drink before he left. He almost looked too happy with that katana over his shoulder. 

        You flop onto your side, curling up into a ball.

        Bastard coulda left a blanket or something too. As uncomfortable as it is being left alone in a strange house, you manage to fall back asleep. 

        You only wake up when the door slams open. You shoot upright, blinking the sleep from your eyes, squinting as Ryuji comes back in. There's blood spray across his face and stained onto his jacket. With a heavy sigh he tosses his furred jacket off and to the ground, carelessly. Kicks his shoes off too. Frantic breath stirs at his chest. Confused and out of it, you watch, headache beginning to set in. He throws his katana onto the other side of the couch, drawing nearer to you. He stands before you.

        "Fucker that touched ya down both hands now. Shoulda seen him, cryin' on his knees like a fuckin' bitch." 

        "You...you cut off his hands?"

        "Yep."

        He answers like it's no big deal at all. You should be beyond fucking horrified. You should be reeling back, scared and panicking, worried that you're next. But you can only look up at him and feel a certain gratitude knowing that the fucker who groped you has paid for it in a way even you couldn't dream up of. Punishment from Ryuji is not for the weak. 

        "Thank you...Ryuji," you say, voice strangely quiet. Like even you're not truly sure how you feel.

        "Anytime, doll. I mean that." 

        His hands suddenly find your waist, pulling you up to your feet and off the couch.

        "Somethin' 'bout this all really gets my blood pumpin'," he says, voice raspy and close. 

        "I thought about kissing you that night," you randomly blurt out, catching him off guard. Ryuji looks at you a little funny. Do you mean...when...oh. That. Your face flushes. 

        Ryuji's dark brown eyes search yours. You don't know what he's looking for. But suddenly he leans forwards and his rough lips press against yours. You taste whiskey on him. His large hand entangles itself in the back of your hair, his body lurching against your own as you lean into his kiss. You don't know why. But a sort of tension lifts off you when you do. Like something that you'd been holding back for too long now, suppressing deep down, to a point where even you couldn't comprehend it. As you shut your eyes, you think about all the times you'd been nervous to even sit near him at the cabaret club.

        You're not even a little afraid as a soft growl comes from him and he bites down on your bottom, pulling at it slightly before he breaks the kiss. 

        "You ever sleep in a king sized bed?" he asks, voice gruff.

        "Huh?"        

        "American thing. You're gonna find out what it's like tonight." 

        Before you have a chance to ask another question, Ryuji practically drags you out of the room and down a hall. It all happens so fast you don't even have time to take in the structure of the house. The way he banged open the door to the bedroom should have knocked it off its hinges and onto the ground easily. Miraculously, despite his brute force, it holds. 

    Ryuji’s mouth crashes against yours once more with increased fervor, tongue pushed into your mouth. His hands take ahold of you, roughly, squeezing at your waist and the side of your thigh. He pushes you onto the bed. Only the light leaking down the hall from the other room fights off the dimness. You see the lust and fire flash in the Dragon's eyes as he drops over top of you, like some beast loose from those woods. You've seen it before, back in the cabaret club, back when he couldn't do something like this. Now there's nothing stopping him. 

        And that excites you now. 

        Surely you must be drunk. Surely you've lost it and that's why you suddenly need him like this. There has to be some sort of logical explanation for this all. But your mind stops searching when Ryuji rips what's left of your dress up and over your head, stripping it off you like it's nothing at all. You swear you hear stitches pop, he's so rough and unforgiving. It's the only other noise to penetrate the silence, other than your combined heavy breaths. 

        "Yer too fuckin' hot," Ryuji whispers into the skin of your throat, before you feel the heat of his tongue press against it. His teeth graze over you as he rips off top of his suit, and starts unbuttoning his shirt underneath. Something possesses you to pull it off by the sleeves, down his arms and off his body. 

        Suddenly, Ryuji grabs onto your legs, dragging them up and hooking them over his shoulders. Before you can say a word, he's grabbed onto your thighs, yanking you up further until only your upper back and shoulders touched the bed. A short squeal escapes you. The heat of his breath soaks through your underwear as he glances down at your briefly, eyes intense. His lip curls a little at your shocked expression before his face suddenly buries between your legs. You feel his hot tongue through the thin fabric, lapping slow and long. Whimpering, you squirm a little. Ryuji's hands shift to grip fully at your ass, keeping you square on his face, despite your fidgets and gasps. 

        He's already too much for you and he hasn't even taken your underwear off yet. 

        His teeth graze over you and you hiss between your teeth. "Ryu-" He yanks your underwear to the side, fingers kneading into your ass. You're cut off completely as his tongue presses flush to your pussy. You throw your head back into the mattress, muscles tensing as a moan leaves you.

        "Yer sensitive," Ryuji mumbles against you, looking up and into your eyes. "I like it when ya moan like that, doll. Been wonderin' how it would sound..." 

        The flush on your face worsens. 

        "So ya still get all red n' cute even when yer not playin' hostess with me?" 

        You glare at him, overwhelmed and embarrassed. "Sh-shut up, Ryuji! Just- just, God-"

        He laughs, and you flinch, hypersensitive, under each searing breath. Your thighs squeeze tighter around his head. His thick, blonde sideburns are so strangely soft against your skin. You'd always thought they'd be rough, like his hands or his lips or his voice. 

        When he comes down from the laughter, his face suddenly...softens. "Ya've never called me by my name before." 

        You wonder if that's a good or a bad thing. Suddenly, his mouth is back on your pussy, nose pressed to your clit momentarily as he starts to eat you out once more. There's your answer. You gasp out, breath spasming at your chest. Your fingers clench into the sheets of the massive bed, curling them into your firsts as your teeth grit. Cold pleasure wraps around you, dragging it's own fingers through your system, inch by inch, pressure building. Your hips buck up, against Ryuji's face and he takes full advantage. Does he relinquish his need for air, he's so determined to taste you as well? 

        As you call out his name, his grip tightens furthermore, like he thinks you're going to suddenly slip away. He sucks on your clit suddenly, noises downright lewd. You scream, before clamping your hands around your mouth, eyes screwing shut. Your thighs spasm around his head as he makes you cum. 

        "(Y/N)", he groans, voice low, continue to lap at you.

        "Ngh, Ryuji," you whine as he continues on, throwing your head to the side, teeth glinting in the dimness as tears gather in your eyes from the overstimulation.  

        He doesn't stop until you've climaxed two more times. You're gasping for air, maybe even more than him, as he lets your legs drop down from his shoulders. They shake, even relaxed on the bed. Ryuji groans out again, nearly collapsing over top of you to kiss along your collarbone. He pulls you up further onto the bed with him, a hand under your back to guide you along. 

        "We ain't finished," he growls out, hand tightening on your waist as he looks up at you, eyes shaded by his heavy brow. His hips grind up against yours and you feel his cock hard, huge.

        God, is the only coherent thought you're able to form, panting beneath him.    

        His hand leaves your waist to reach down and palm at himself through his pants. Loudly, he cusses, something not entirely uncommon for him, but the heatedness of his voice has you bothered and shifting restlessly beneath him once more. You realize fast you should make yourself useful. He watches as you reach down, fingers shaking, to undo his belt, sliding it off him. Tensely, he continues to observe as you thumb open the button of his pants, and move onto the zipper. He groans when the back of your knuckles drift over the outline of his erection and he suddenly grabs your hand. You freeze, before he brings your hand down completely, rubbing it over his clothed cock. You feel it twitch under your hesitant touch. You think you might burn alive, the way heat keeps enveloping you. 

        "Y'feel that?" he growls in your ear. "Better be grateful I gotcha ready fer me." 

        He feels you pull and releases your hand. For a moment, he wonders if you're gonna back out here and now. Instead, your hand shifts up to the waistband of his pants and pulls needily. All too encouraged, Ryuji joins your efforts, shoving them down, kicking them off the bed. His boxers are the next to go. You take in a breath at the sight of his cock. 

        It's properly huge, like him. Dark at the head, along with the coarse hair lining down to it from his stomach. Black hair...so he's not a natural blonde. I mean it was obvious, but based on his dedication with his facial hair, the sideburns, the eyebrows...you kinda thought he would have followed through with bleaching the rest of his body hair too. You can't help but smile a little at that discovery and Ryuji's head cocks to the side. 

        "Wha'so funny?" he asked. 

        He yanks your own underwear off, noting the way you still shiver at his touch. As he drags it down your legs you give him a giggle.        

        "It's just..." your fingers lightly brush over his eyebrows when he raises back up, face level with your own. "With all the bleach going on I thought you would be...y'know...down there too?" 

        "You been thinkin' 'bout my pubes a lot then, I take it? That's what was goin' thru that pretty little head of yers all this time? No wonder I couldn't figure ya out." 

        "Figure me out?" you ask, "I was trying to figure out what the fuck was up with you this whole time!"

        "Well, see," Ryuji says, giving a heavy breath as he leans closer to you. His cock rubs unattended against your stomach as he comes nearer. "I'm jus' a stupid man. N' when a stupid man wants a woman real bad-"

        He's funny. Ryuji Goda, Dragon of Kansai, whatever the fuck of the Omi Alliance, soon to be terrifying patriarch of the Go-Ryu clan, was funny. It seems so much easier to be vulnerable around him now. You start wondering if it'd really be so bad to continue giving into your desires, to his desires. Would it be so awful to be associated with him? He's already proven he could protect you if he needed to--there's some poor bastard roaming the streets with stumps where his hands should have been to back it up.

        "Y'gonna keep torturin' me n' gigglin' down there or d'ya wanna have some real fun now?"

        "Sorry," you smile. You sit up slightly to press a kiss to his lips. He goes to hold your cheek when you pull away, bringing you back in briefly. You remember when you'd thought perhaps he didn't know how to be gentle. 

        He did. He'd just never had the opportunity to prove he could be. 

        Ryuji lines himself up with your entrance. His hand rubs over your cunt, collecting your wetness and coating his dick with it, along with the precum gathering near the top. The hot tip of his cock pushes up against you a moment later and you inhale sharply, even though you knew it was coming. His palm pushes up against the side of your leg, fingers digging into your skin lightly. You'd expected him to be the kinda man to slam himself right in, ignoring whether or not you were ready for him. Just another way you suppose you've misunderstood him. He glances up at you, pausing momentarily. You realize he's waiting on you and give him a quick nod. 

        You try to relax as Ryuji begins to bury himself into you. He curses again, this time under his breath. 

        "Fuck yer tight. Ya squeeze me so good, doll. Gonna lose my fuckin' mind..." 

        His praise makes you weaker than you already are beneath him. A shaking moan leaves you, your eyes squeezing shut. "Uh...ughh..."

        Ryuji begins to move. Slow at first, giving you time to adjust to his sheer size. Your legs wrap around him as his cock starts to pump with more confidence into you. You gasp out beneath him, eyes rolling in sheer bliss, fingers burying into his skin, your nails biting the dragon inked into his back. The burn of the stretch subsides, replaced with nothing but pure pleasure.          “Ryuji…Ryuji…” you moan out, voice keening as he brings you closer and closer to another powerful orgasm.         Body rocking beneath him, he growls, dragging his hips slow and harsh against yours, pushing in as deep as he possibly could. He bottoms out entirely, your cunt welcoming him. He'd imagined it'd feel something like this, while marveling at you in the cabaret clubs for so many nights. Ryuji grunts out, breath staggered as perspiration starts to form at his bleached hairline.

        “I’m gonna buy out that shitty fuckin' club,” he suddenly snarls in your ear. He reaches back to grab one of your wrists, pinning it above your head and to the bed. “N’ I'm gonna fuck ya, hard, on every single thing in it.”

        Desperately, your other hand leaves his muscular back. Your hand finds his thick, gold chain, encircling his neck. Fingers tight at his chain, you let out a moan as Ryuji mercilessly fucks into you. He growls, feeling the metal dig into his skin. 

        “Oh, Ryuji~,” you manage, through panting, “Ryuji, please, please Ryuji, oh my G-Godd…”         He captures your lips in another kiss, cutting off any further stammering. As much as he loves to hear his name, rolling, shaking, off your tongue, he prefers having his tongue down your throat far more. His ferocity, his passion, is beyond anything you’d ever imagined. He bites, hard, on your bottom lip, pulling slightly as you whimper beneath him, the pain mixing beautifully with the oncoming waves of euphoria. Ryuji’s rough, large hand, the one on the side of your leg, massages even harder into you, enough to leave bruises. He releases your wrist to grab your other leg, rutting your hips up against his own when you can no longer keep up with his pace. 

        "God, f-fuck..." you whimper, fingers traveling over his chest and then curling into his shoulders next. You still try to grind your hips against his, like you're desperate to prove yourself, trying to take him deeper inside. He growls through gritted teeth, the snarl on his face natural. He's like an animal. 

        It turns you on. 

        R-Ryuji,” you manage once more, and you feel him shiver at the sound of his name, your voice trembling as his cock drags slowly through you, working you through your orgasm. Your eyelids flutter as cold pleasure washes over you again and again. Heated moans sound from you--you can't hold them back anymore.         Even with the intensity of the moment, the way your body convulses beneath him, your hand reaches up, shaking as well, as you hold gently at the side of his face. Taken aback initially by the tenderness, Ryuji’s pace falters. His eyes meet yours, brows furrowed with effort. Your fingers caress along his skin, before pushing through his thick, blonde sideburns. His large, warm hand envelopes the top of yours, pushing your hand up harder to his face. He buries his cheek into your palm and a stuttering moan leaves him. 

        "Gonna," he mutters through gritted teeth. "Gonna cum...ya want it, sweet girl? Huh? Tell me how bad ya want it..."

        You nod, frantically, world spinning. Your headache from the drinking's gotten worse, but you don't care. All you care about right now is pleasing him. "I need you, Ryuji-" 

        He jerks you flush against him, not sparing an inch between the two of you. He strains, teeth clenched. You feel his hot cum filling you and suck in a sharp breath. Even when he's finished, he spends a few more moments buried inside you. His weight falls on one of his elbows, now placed at your side, in an attempt to not crush you. 

        "Fuck," Ryuji breathes out. 

        He rolls off of you, to your side. You sit up for a moment, catching a glimpse of the massive golden dragon inked into his back. Holy shit? He watches your facial expression change, then realizes what you've seen. 

        "My...my pride n' joy," he manages, still catching his breath. 

        Crawling closer to his side, you take a closer look. You suppose when you've been pinned under such a big guy for that long in a room this dim, it'd be kinda hard to notice. Ryuji sits up as well. Quietly, you put your hands up to his back again. You've left reddened welt along his back from the drag of your nails. Your fingertips trace over the dragon's face. You'd be lying if you didn't admit it was the coolest tattoo you had ever seen in your life. 

        "If ya want," Ryuji started, giving a glance over his broad shoulder. "Y'could see it every day." 

        Your eyes meet his, hand finally leaving the art on his skin. "Hm?" 

        He turns over fully to face you, lounging down onto the mattress. He looks up at you. "Ya said y'lost yer job, right? Wouldn't mind too much if ya hung around with me, til' you got a new one." 

        He's offering to let you stay with him? Here? 

        "Ummmm..." he sees the way your shoulders sink a little. Uncertainty dances across your still reddened face. 

        "Got other places around the country y'know. Doesn't have t'be here." He flattens his hand against the sheets, giving them a pat. Telling you to lay down. You do so, facing him. His arm wraps over you, bringing you closer, so you're practically nose to nose with him. "I feel bad. 'Bout gettin' you fired. Honest. I wanna help ya get back on yer feet."

        "I-I don't have anything against that, Ryuji, it's just...I dunno." 

        "Well 'course ya dunno. Practically fucked yer brains out." 

        You smile a little. "Guess you're right about that," you sigh. 

        Ryuji brings you closer to press his lips to your forehead. Your eyes fall half shut as he holds you in his arms. The dragon coils around you. Staying with him doesn't feel like a bad idea. But you know better than to make such a big decision this late (or early in the morning), still a little drunk, and coming down from the high of that many orgasms. 

        "Tell ya what," Ryuji murmurs against your skin. "Sleep on it a lil'. Y'don't gotta worry 'bout a thing."

        A sigh leaves you and Ryuji feels your body relax in his arms. You shut your eyes, nuzzling into him. You feel his chin on top of your head, his hands roaming up your back to hold you close. 

        "Just know I've gotcha doll." 

#nsfw #ryuji goda x reader #ryu ga gotoku #yakuza #one shot #ryuji goda

[rottenstrawberrymilk]

lost puppy

brick x reader

nsfw

11.2k words

        The cold became sickening after this long. And so had the loneliness. Like Mordecai, you'd been sent out to do some fast reconnaissance. You felt like you lucked out--yours was only a brief search of the area around Sanctuary. That poor skinny drunken bastard and his bird got sent all the way out to the Tundra Express for God knows how long. Your survey had been finished in the matter of little less than a month by your count (it could have been a day or two off). 

        You'd been excited to return to Sanctuary. It's a hell of a lot warmer than all the ice and snow and glaciers outside. You wondered how the doctor was holding up, how Marcus was adjusting to the move, just how everyone was doing in general. Sure, you had some decent intel to share with Roland and Lilith about some bandit camps nearby and the layout of everything, but you were the most excited to see Brick again. The two of you had become pretty close even before the incident at New Haven.

        He'd been the one to find you, someways outside the town, half dead after being jumped by a rather impressive group of bandits. You didn't see it with your own eyes, but you've heard about it enough from Brick himself to know that he absolutely obliterated those bandits. You believe the phrasing he used in reference to how badly he'd beat them all up was "little red stains". You attribute the saving of your life to Brick completely, who is much more used to using his hands to end lives, not extend them. You'd never forgotten how gently he'd held you in his arms, even as a stranger at first, getting you to Zed's at New Haven. You'd both been covered in blood. The stuff covering him wasn't his own, unlike you, which was something Zed found out very quickly. 

        After you'd recovered a little, you'd gone to find Brick and thank him. Upon seeing you limp towards him with the shyest of little smiles, he'd beamed so wide. 

        "Look at ya! Little badass! Walking around already after what those skaglicks did! You're one seriously tenacious babe--mad respect, little lady!"

        "Ah well, I wouldn't be limping around right now if you hadn't found me. So, uh..." you'd awkwardly leaned closer and pushed the knuckles of your closed fist into his arm. It felt like pressing your hand into pure concrete. "Thanks." 

        "Anytime! If you're ever in a tough spot like that again, don't you dare hesitate to call me. Don't go gettin' hurt too much though, got it?       

        You nod with a bit of a smile. "Right, 'course. Uhm. I gotta get back now though. Technicallly, Zed doesn't know I snuck out." When Brick laughs, you regain a bit of your nerve. "Come visit me, i-if you want to. It gets all boring in there. Bye now!"

        Idiot, stop smiling like an idiot.

        You'd turned your back to him before you could gauge his reaction. Zed had obviously wised up to you disobeying doctor's orders by the time you'd returned. God the earful you got from him...once he'd threatened to amputate your leg to keep you on bedrest for certain this time, you'd decided it'd be wise to actually obey. Fortunately, you didn't have to boredly twiddle your thumbs for long--Brick visited you at least once a day, every day in fact, until you were fully recovered. 

        "Truth is, I'm happy t'see y'get outta here. Big guy that comes in takes up a lotta space. Makes a lotta noise too. No offense, 'course."

        "None taken," you respond, stretching out your arms.

        Only a few of the wounds had scarred over. At one time you'd be unhappy about that. But after spending so much time with Brick, seeing the way he proudly revels in and displays his scars and the stories behind them, you now feel a little disappointed you don't have more to show him. He'd indicated to a deeper gash on your right bicep once, while visiting you. 

        "That one's gonna scar all nice, just wait n' see," he'd told you with a grin. He gestures at the clawed gashes tearing through his own shoulder. "I'll take ya to get mauled by a bullymong sometime, then we can match." 

        He's...such a fun guy. You don't know what you would have done without him during your recovery. The stories he'd filled you head with...lord knows which ones are true and which ones are exaggeration, but it doesn't matter because they were entertaining all the same. 

        He'd made you feel like you belonged here. To be honest, he was your only true friend here at all. Maybe on the entire planet.

        To say you're dying to see him again after a month alone out in the field was an understatement. Contact with Sanctuary or anyone there over ECHO was supposed to be kept to a minimum if possible to avoid accidentally leading anyone with loose lips to the city. Brick used to secretly jump on the line here and there, just to check on you briefly. A few weeks ago it stopped completely, which you figure means Roland wised up and told him to knock it off unless he wanted to jeopardize Sanctuary. 

        You suppose it was for the greater good. But you can't help but develop a sneaking suspicion that something's not quite right. You figure seeing that big stupid smile on Brick's face would be enough to ease your anxieties, which is why you were determined to find him as fast as you could. You figured he was probably at headquarters. He didn't have a reason to be at Moxxi's since his drinking buddy was out at the Tundra Express. 

        "Good to see you, soldier," Roland greeted you as you busted through the door.

        "Hey! You seen Brick around?" you asked, unable to even take the time to greet him back properly. 

        Roland's expression doesn't falter. He's pretty straight faced, so that's a given. But this time it feels...different. He clears his throat a little as Lillith side eyes him from across the room. "...Things didn't work out," he eventually says, sounding like he's carefully choosing his words.

        Your face drops immediately. Is he...? "W-Wait what?!" 

        "He's not dead," Roland says quickly, realizing his mistake. "There was a disagreement. I figured it'd be better if he went his own way."

        "That's ridiculous," you say, eyes still filled with tears. You gather yourself for a minute, only to start breaking down once more. "That-that's fucking bullshit, he loves you guys, he'd never-"

        "We found the Hyperion leak a few weeks ago. Shep Sanders."

        "...Shep?" you ask. The name only lightly rings a bell. That tool with the mask?

        "Brick got to him first. He was completely out of control. The things he did to that man, traitor or not, were downright inhuman. It's not right and it's not the type of behavior we can have in Sanctuary. It's no better than the shit the bandits do."

        You feel yourself begin to get angry. Does Roland even hear himself right now? "That fucker Shep sold us out! New Haven's gone, actual innocent people are dead, and it's that asshole's fault! Brick probably had every damn right-"        

        Roland's hand finds your shoulder suddenly. His eyes lock onto yours sternly. "Believe me. He didn't. The man was unrecognizable."

        You don't know if he was referring to Brick or Shep. Either way, you can't stifle the rage bubbling up over. Clenching your jaw, you shove Roland's hand promptly off your shoulder and step back. You give a disapproving shake of your head, unable to find the words at first. Slowly, you begin to back away, towards the door. 

        "Unbelievable. Brick would have done anything to protect this place. To protect both of you." 

        Lilith finally slides off one of the tables. "(Y/N), I know you two were close, but you have to understand-"

        "No, no, I don't have to understand anything. You kicked Brick out, you abandoned him for some stupid fucking city and your stupid fucking bullshit fake sense of moral highness." Your face screws up momentarily and you clasp an open palm at your face to hide, just for a moment. Think of what really matters right now before things get out of hand...You take a few more breaths in. "Where is he?"

        "Calm down, (Y/N). Sit down for a second," Roland gestures a bit awkwardly to a chair. 

        "Where did you send him?" you ask again, voice more strained. Your hand curls into a fist. 

        Lilith lets out a frustrated huff, crossing her arms. "Look, if you go after him, you're gonna get yourself killed, okay? I'm sure Brick's fine. And the last thing he'd want is you getting hurt trying to find him. He'd want you here, safe-"

        "Don't fucking talk for him. Just 'cuz you guys turned your backs on him doesn't mean I have to. If you don't tell me where he is, I'll search everywhere myself. I bet that'll get me killed even faster!" 

        Lilith throws her arms up frustratedly. Roland just stares, silently. A bit of a sigh leaves him before he breaks eye contact. 

        "I'm sorry, soldier. We have a city to protect." 

        "I don't. Goodbye." 

        Without another word, you turn and leave. If they won't tell you where Brick is, you're sure someone else will. And if someone can't, then you'll search every inch of Pandora until you do find him. When you strike out with Zed, Marcus, and even Moxxi, you know you have know choice. Roland must have tipped them off and told them not to say anything to you. What you do know is that Brick can't be out at Three Horns--you'd just been all over and would have seen him. Lynchwood maybe? That fucking sheriff who killed his dog was there and if he was on a roll for revenge, he'd want her dead too. So, start at The Dust. 

        You don't even bother catching up with anyone else you'd been wondering about. You manage to convince Scooter to lend you a ride. He'd openly let you know at first that Roland had explicitly told him not to give you a runner. But Scooter said if you French kissed him he'd do it, so you offered to break his nose instead and he immediately gave up the pursuit. A quick little trick you picked up from Brick, of course. He said some shit about scary chicks getting him going, but at the end of the day, you still got yourself a runner so you chose to disregard all that. He's further away from headquarters so you figure it'll be a good while before news reaches Roland or Lilith that you've skipped town. Unless Scooter decides to snitch early. Whatever. All that matters now is the wind in your hair as you speed to The Dust.

        If the Crimson Raiders wanted their intel they'd sent you to gather initially, they should have told you where Brick was first. Now they can send some other poor bastard out to scope Three Horns. 

        "You don't think she'll actually go out there looking, right?" Roland finally found himself asking Lilith, as the two peered out over the center square of Sanctuary through the open front door.

        Lilith scoffs, sitting up on one of the tables. "I mean, even if she does, she'll probably lose the nerve and come back soon. Pandora's a pretty big place."

        They're certainly right about that. 

        Your hunch about Lynchwood ended up leading you to absolutely goddamn nothing. No Brick. Just a bunch of scary ass bandits with big shotguns and bad attitudes. Hearing the Sheriff's announcements over the horns made you figure that she was still breathing, meaning Brick wasn't here. If he'd been here, she'd certainly be one of those little red splats on the ground he tends to leave in his wake. Anyone you could have asked for some information would rather put a gun to your face before speaking a word. 

        Dejected, tired, dusty, and already sporting a few wounds from bullets grazing you and a few nasty hits from bandits that had gotten too close, you'd returned back to the Dust. Fine. You'd just check off everywhere one by one. Pandora was big. But it's not endless, for Christ's sake. And Brick couldn't have gone that far. After all, he still hated Hyperion. He'd want to be nearby, close to the action, close enough to cause some serious hurt to those corporate bastards. 

        It's between the Friendship Gulag and The Highlands now. You're in no shape to confront Hyperion robots head on. Low on ammo from defending yourself in Lynchwood, and you can feel some of your old wounds coming back to haunt you. The Highlands it is. You manage to set up a small camp before it gets too dark. Despite your exhaustion, you still have trouble sleeping. 

        You lost track of how long you spent searching the Highlands for any sign of Brick. You'd stumbled across a town called Overlook. The residents mostly kept to themselves, indoors, on account of the skull shivers and hyper surveillance by Hyperion. You took the time to gather more supplies, but figured it wasn't a good idea to stick around long, based on how ominous that giant Hyperion canon looming nearby looked. Rest is more and more fleeting to you. Food gets scarcer, even as desperately as you try to ration everything out. 

        You don't have the guts to try taking on one of those stalker things in order to try and feed yourself. 

        You'd never felt so weak in your entire life. This place is so unfamiliar, it's nothing like trying to survive for a month at Three Horns. You think you've searched every square inch of this place. But there was absolutely goddamn nothing. You're so tired and hungry you can't even spare the energy to get mad at Roland all over again. All you can do is tuck your knees closer to your chest and ignore the rumbling of your stomach. 

        Time to move on. 

        In your wanderings you'd taken note of three of the signs to the paths leading out of here. Opportunity, Thousand Cuts, and the Wildlife Exploitation Preserve. Like the Friendship Gulag, you knew Opportunity was a Hyperion run area and that there was no way Brick would set up shop there. Having become wary of the stalkers and threshers in this hellhole, the Wildlife Exploitation Preserve didn't sound like it'd make your life any easier. Save the worst for last you supposed, and decided on Thousand Cuts. 

        After several stalker and thresher attacks on the way over, there wasn't much left of your runner, which had already taken a beating while you'd been exploring The Highlands and the Dust. If you ever saw Scooter again, you'd have to give him that kiss. It's a hell of a vehicle. But you knew it would have taken a miracle to take it any further. You ended up having to ditch it right outside the entrance to Thousand Cuts. You were lucky enough to get mobbed pretty badly by a pack of stalkers. One of them had put a pretty nasty gash in your leg before you'd managed to break free.

        There was some janky looking bandit camp built into the mountains. Thank God you aren't afraid of heights...A Hyperion settlement laid across from it, along with a giant torn up piece of earth, filled with dents and smoking holes. A no man's land, perhaps. You think you can hear gunshots and fighting in the distance. Your gaze tears away from the distance to focus on what's in front of you. The pain in both of your legs is worsening equally. You feel like your feet are about to fall off entirely. 

        There was a little shack built no more than a few dozen yards away. Some bandit was hanging alone, near the front porch of it. He hadn't noticed you yet. It's never smart to approach bandits, even if it looks like there's just one. There's always bound to be more than one. And they're rarely going to be friendly. But you have to chance it. Remaining out in the open any longer could lead to you getting attacked again...and what if that pack of stalkers was still on your trail? 

        Your body is killing you. You're in desperate need of rest, help, both. 

        Stumbling closer, feet dragging through the dirt, you try to throw together the words you want to say to this lone bandit. Your staggering is anything but quiet. The bandit's head turns and you fall into his line of sight. He stands up straighter, but his hand doesn't immediately reach for a gun, which you want to believe is a good start. 

        "-hell happened to you?" you managed to catch, through your throbbing head and pounding heart. 

        When you open your mouth to respond, the pain becomes splitting, enough for you to almost lose your balance. Your head becomes unbelievably light, your world grows blurred and hazy. You can't fight gravity any longer, foot catching on a rock. The fall you took was pretty nasty, but you doubt you'll remember it. 

        You hope you asked for help. You hope you said anything at all. 

        You wish you could see Brick. You wished he was here right now.

        When you open your eyes again, you're on the ground, leaned up against a wall. Coming to far too quickly, you sit up, and are greeted by splitting pain in...well in everywhere. You wince, loudly sucking in air between your teeth in a sharp hiss. A soft 'fuck' leaves you as you lift a shaking hand to your forehead and grimace visibly. Your vision seems to steady slowly as you glance around the room, instinctually checking the darker corners first. With your back against the wall, you should feel safer. You don't see hordes of bandits like you were expecting in a room of this size. Just one. And it isn't the one that you'd walked up to before.

        This one's...bigger. Impossibly big, maybe the size of a goliath. He wears a giant mask, he seems more metal than man. How does he see out of that fucking thing? He stands up from the massive makeshift throne he'd been sitting on and steps closer. You get the sense you should be terrified. But you can't help but lean forward and squint, particularly at the chain around his neck--specifically what's on that chain. Is that...?

        There's only one man on Pandora with a necklace like that. Or with scars on his arms like that, now that you can look closer.

        "B...Brick?" you ask, voice hoarse. 

        He gets down on a knee in front of you. One of his hands lifts off the horned mask. And there's the face you'd been yearning to see for weeks now. The wash of relief over you is unlike anything you've ever experience. Brick can almost see the muscles in your body loosen in real time, like you're letting go of a breath you've been holding for far too long. 

        "Damn, woman, you look real beat up..." Brick lifts your chin slightly to get a better look at you. At the dark circles under your eyes, at the gauntness brought on by the weeks of malnutrition. Bruises and cuts scattered here and there. "My Slabs do this to you?" His tone becomes much darker. It's like the very air around him changes in demeanor as well.

        You shake your head. "N-No. I don't think so, at least-"

        Now that he points it out, there's some bruises you don't remember initially being there on your arms. Maybe from being shoved or grabbed too tightly when you'd been barely conscious, unable to stand on your own. If they'd been rough with you, you don't remember enough to point a finger their way directly.

        "They're idiots, sorry 'bout that. I can punch one of their heads off n' make an example if ya want."

        Again, you shake your head. "It's okay, Brick, honestly. With how close you are to a Hyperion base, I wouldn't be too friendly towards any strangers showin' up unexpected at the door either." You wince a little, feeling the pain from before suddenly coming back. "Uh, y'got a bed or somewhere I can sit down?"

        "'Course, right this way, little lady. I'll make sure none of those tools can disturb ya." 

        As he stands up, he brings you with him, thick fingers wrapping around your arm. He sees the way you wince at even his touch, and he moves much slower, giving you a quick apology. You sway a little on your feet. In a manner he can only describe as completely exhausted, you look up at him. But there's still relief and that...that other emotion he doesn't have a name for yet in your eyes. 

        "Right, before I forget, mind lookin' like you're fightin' back a little bit? I'm supposed to be the Slab King still, gotta sell the whole ruthless bandit thing." 

        You give him a tired smile. "I'll do my very best. I...I can't move well right now."

        "Aw, you're the sweetest. Hang tight. I'm gonna throw ya over my shoulder to make it look legit." 

        Brick puts the mask back on. It's still a little unnerving, even if you know he's behind it. He bends down slightly, nudging his shoulder into your midsection. You allow yourself to fall limp over it as he rises back up to his full height. Some of the bolts screwed into his vest dig into you, but it's only a little uncomfortable. You hardly notice, with pain and soreness shooting through every other inch of your body. It's hard to keep your eyes open. With the way the ground starts to move below, you figure it'd be okay just to shut them and avoid getting dizzy or nauseous. 

        "You're up, c'mon," you hear Brick's voice, muffled behind the metal of the mask. 

        You take in a breath. Hoping the effort didn't look too weak to be taken seriously, you raise a gently closed fist to smack into the back of his vest. You take in a shaky, difficult breath. When did your throat and mouth get so dry? Either way, it works in your favor and only makes your screams and demands to be let go shriller and hoarser. You're glad you keep your eyes shut, what with the noise of stomping boots and bandit voices getting closer.

        The Slabs rushed forwards, driven by the thrill of the commotion their king was causing. They holler, swarming, like a pack of wild dogs. Brick puts his foot down when their hands start to reach out towards you. Reestablish order, or at least some semblance of it, he tells himself. 

        "HEY!" He shouts, and they all shrink back in terror. "Lemme make one thing crystal fuckin' clear, this one's MINE! GOT IT?! Any one of you Slabs put a little pinkie finger on her, I'll cut it off n' make ya choke on it! So back the fuck off!"

        They scatter away, cowering even further, opening up a path for him. You're almost tempted to open your eyes and take in the view, to see Brick's power. You know he's just playing his little character, the Slab King, you think it's called. But your stomach flips a little at the possessiveness of his words. Just a character. Just a character. He'd never actually mean that. Just friends. You're just friends with him. Really good friends. And it'd be a shame if you went and ruined that. 

        Once the two of you are for out of sight of the other Slabs, Brick goes to set you down. You had half a mind to tell him he could keep on carrying you with the way your legs were still killing you. They felt like they were about to fall off. You think there still might be a thresher spike in there that you hadn't been able to dig out yet. 

        "A pinkie finger, huh?" you manage, despite your faintness. "Figured I was at least worth a thumb." 

        Brick smiles. Banged up as you are, you still have that sense of humor. He's always liked that about you. However, he sees the way your expression falls into a wince when weight is put onto what appears to be your bad leg. Or at least, the worse leg. They're both in bad condition, with tears and rips all through your pants, revealing the bruises and gashes. A few older looking bandage wraps here and there suggests you'd run out of medical supplies awhile back. Brick offers a forearm for you to take, to lean onto for support. He knows he's too big to get your arm around his shoulder without lifting you off the ground. 

        "I just say whatever comes to mind. These guys, they're dummies, they eat it right up." 

        Whatever comes to his mind, huh? Seems like maintaining that 'Slab King' image means a decent amount to him. 

        Brick guides you to an upper level of the makeshift town, even farther away from prying eyes. Judging by the decoration and layout, as well as the size and privacy, you'd guess it was his own room. You sit down on the mattress, covered with a few blankets thrown here and there and a pillow without a case. Not shabby at all. At least, compared to what you've see in the last few months, it's like a penthouse suite. A heavy sigh leaves you as you fall back onto the mattress, arms spread out as you shut your eyes. 

        "Man, looks like you already wanna fall asleep," Brick comments. 

        Your eyes open again slightly. It's been awfully tempting to not respond at all and just lay there awhile longer with your eyes closed. 

        "I haven't felt safe in ages. Not enough to relax, at least." 

        Brick feels a pang of sympathy. He knows you can handle yourself decently. It's Pandora after all, you have to be able to do that to survive. But to go as long as you did out there, alone, with zero assistance from anyone...even the tougher bandits here needed to stay in groups. 

        "Y'look like you've been through hell. Get some rest n' tell me all about it later." 

        Knowing you have the okay to take a bit of a nap, your eyelids drift shut again. Another heavy sigh leaves you, along with the tension in your body. "Just...don't go and leave me." 

        It'd be easier to sleep if you knew he was watching out for you. By the time Brick thinks of a response, you've already turned over on your side, back to him, and fallen asleep. Your back's to the door as well. You still trust him. Brick comes closer, making a conscious effort to quiet his heavy steps. It doesn't do much. But you're so exhausted, you're out like a light. He doesn't think even a buzzard crash could wake you up. A bit hesitantly, Brick's hand reaches for you. Gentle, as gently as he possibly can, he moves some hair from your face. Closer up, he can see all the dirt and bruises. Ouch. Brick shakes his head a little as he reaches to pull one of the blankets over you more.

        All of that misery...just to find him. You've got balls. Like, in a distinguished and badass lady way, of course. Does that make any sense at all? You make his brain confused sometimes. More so than it already feels. Obviously, he knows why Roland had primarily expelled him from Sanctuary. Truth be told, he'd been giving some thought to taking off anyways.

        He's afraid that one day he'll hurt you. Like he hurt Shep Sanders. He knows he gets out of control sometimes. And up until now, there'd never been a doubt in his mind that whoever received the brunt of his hair trigger temper deserved it. And although he'd tried to ignore what Roland had said, about Shep not deserving it, about how it was 'too far', the words are still etched in his mind. He'd thought it'd just been a grudge at first, but Brick's come to realize it's doubt in his judgement, in himself. That traitor did deserve to die. He's sure of that. So why did he feel so...nervous suddenly when it came to you. 

        If he didn't hurt you accidentally, Brick was sure he'd at least be the reason you did get hurt. And it's not like you haven't been hurt, going out with him before to loot or burn off some extra energy. But it'd always been part of the game. No, he's worried someone out there, like the same people who hurt Priscilla and Dusty, would take you and hurt you too. Just to get at him. 

        The way you look up at him...he's stupid, but he's not that stupid. And most of all, he knows he looks at you the same, almost unconsciously. It's not the way a friend looks at a friend. At least, he's pretty sure it isn't. And anyone who'd seen it would know that too. 

        People and things that meant something to him...those are always the first to go when someone wants to get back at him. He's hard to hurt. So they always go after something weaker than himself. And with Brick's size and strength, that could pretty much be anyone. 

        Either way, he'd left town willingly, hoping that it would also do some good and protect you. And here in Thousand Cuts, he'd doubted and regretted his decision to leave without you often. When he got close to breaking and going to look for you, he'd always remind himself that the pain was worth it if it meant you'd be safer. But here you are, bruised and bloody, and all fucked up. You'd still gotten hurt. So...what the hell right? He forgets that you're your own person too, and that you're stubborn and loyal, just like he is. Instead of blaming himself for it, the least he can do is be right at your side from now on, so he can maybe be the reason you don't get hurt this bad again. 'Cuz he cares about you. A lot. Maybe more than Priscilla, or Dusty, or Lillith, or Roland, and hell, even Mordecai. 

        If he leaves, you'll follow. And he knows there's no talking any sense into you. 

        His large hand stays on you, overtop the blanket. The weight is calming to you, even in your sleep. 

        Hyperion wouldn't take this from him. Nothing could take this from him. 

        So, just like you'd asked of him, Brick stays for the next few hours, almost motionless. His eyes train hard on the door. His Slabs should count themselves lucky for not being stupid enough to dare and try to disturb him. Looks like he'd managed to scare them pretty good.         

        He feels you stir suddenly. He'd been expecting to sit there for a few more hours. Maybe longer. 

        "How long have I..." you yawn. "Been out?"

        "Couple hours. It's night now." 

        You roll back over, tangling up in the blanket. It...smells like him. You try to ignore it. "You've been here the entire time?" 

        Brick glances over his scarred shoulder at you, giving a bit of a shrug. "You ask me to stay, I stay." 

        You sit up. "Y-Yeah, but you got that uh...the uhm..." Fuck are they called again?

        "Slabs?"

        "Yeah, them, to run, right? Aren't they gonna freak since you've been gone this long?"

        Again, Brick shrugs. "They ain't real Slabs if they can't handle themselves for a few hours." 

        You recall the Hyperion base nearby, and the still smoking no man's land you'd observed when you'd first dragged yourself to Thousand Cuts. "What about Hyperion?"

        "Like I said," Brick repeats, "They ain't real Slabs if they can't handle themselves. I'm not here to baby them." He gives a bit of a laugh. 

        "Oh, so you don't baby people now?" you ask sarcastically, an eyebrow raised, as you lift up the blanket on top of you.

        Brick shakes his head. "Them? Hell, no. You?" And you swear you see his face soften a little bit. "You, I don't mind babying one bit." 

        It's your turn to laugh, before you fall quiet. Brick was quiet too. A very rare thing to see from him. He tries to think of something to say to you. Something to make you laugh again or...or something to bring up the extremely obviously elephant in the room. Brick turns a little to face you, shifting on the edge of his mattress, to say something. 

        "I missed you a lot," you blurt, before he can even get a syllable out himself. Then you glance at the wall for a moment to compose yourself briefly. Your gaze returns to his, as your heart begins to pound relentlessly in your chest. "Like a lot. When I went back to Sanctuary, you weren't there. So I left too." 

        "Roland tell you everything?" Brick asks, eyes flitting away from yours. His face darkens a little bit.

        Anger sparks in your chest. "I don't care," you immediately say, "that bastard deserved it. He got so many of us killed, he-he got New Haven destroyed! He-" You pause for a moment to contain yourself once more, feeling a headache start to set it. "That doesn't matter. Not to me, anyways."

        Brick looks back at you. He thinks about all the time he spent doubting about whether or not doing what he did to Shep was the right call. About how you would have reacted. He'd only been able to imagine the horror on your face. But now knowing it'd all likely been a product of his rare overthinking...just a figment of his imagination. 

        You'd been on his side the entire time.

        The anger dissipates from you, almost faster than it had flared up. It leaves with a soft sigh, as your head bows. "I just missed you." 

        "Well I figured," Brick says, fully facing you now. "Ya came all the way out here just to find me. So what's on the agenda now?" 

        You fall quiet, suddenly looking very lost. Uh oh. He hadn't meant to make you look so down. Did he fuck this up already? 

        "I...I don't know. I kinda thought I'd die out there. I didn't think I'd get this far." 

        That's right. You were sure so many times you were going to die, full of thresher thorns or with a stalker's talons buried deep into your ribcage. Bleeding out, wishing you could see Brick just one last time, wishing you could hear his laugh just once more. Wishing that you could touch him, hug him again. Arm wrestle, secret handshake, fistbump, whatever the fuck. To simply be with him again, just to feel okay. The only time you ever felt okay was with him. And now that you think of it, he's the only reason you'd stuck with the Crimson Raiders, much less on Pandora, at all. 

        Then the thought occurs to you. What if you don't get this chance again--a chance where you're in a nice, quiet room. Where no one's shooting at you. Where the skags aren't trying to eat your face off and missiles aren't being launched your way. It's almost never quiet for long like this on Pandora. There's not even wind whistling in your ears, muddling your thoughts. 

        You'd always imagined these words would come if the two of you were together, out there, pinned behind some cover, in the worst situation possible, bullets flying past your heads, psychos screaming and bandits hollering. Maybe a nice little explosion too.

        But once again, you remind yourself that you might genuinely never get this chance again. That you're not gonna get that moment you'd always fantasized about, because this right here is perfect as long as you can finally just fucking tell him. 

        "Brick?" you start, voice tense. 

        You'd been quiet, lost in thought, for too long. Brick looks up at you, silently. And you have a feeling, just by the way that he's looking at you, that he already knows. That he's known for a long time, or at least suspect. You're sure showing up to his camp covered head to toe in bruises and dirt and cuts just to find him would have confirmed any number of those suspicions regarding your feelings towards him. 

        "You know what I'm about to tell you right?" you ask, under his pale blue gaze.

        He has pretty eyes. You don't think anyone would notice that about him. The scar tearing through his upper lip, or the black eye, or the muscles, or any other number of things about him usually steals the show. And you don't think anyone's ever been brave enough to look him in the eyes long enough to notice. 

        "Course I do." His face looks like it's getting a little red. "But, uh, just in case I don't...y'should say it." 

        You take a breath, hand going to grasp over the back of his, left idle on top of the blanket. How is this so difficult still? Now or never.        

        "I think I love you."

        Even though it's the truth, it still sounds so...intense. 

        "Or at least like you. Like a lot. So much."

        You can't keep eye contact anymore either, turning your head to look at the boarded up window instead. Cracks of moonlight stream in. The night sky is always bright on Pandora. But it's dim in here. Not so dim that he can't see how red your own face is getting. God, you're such a fucking wuss. The embarrassment floods you. 

        Brick's other hand lifts, pressing gently against the side of your face to bring your gaze back to his. 

        "I like you too, (Y/N)."

        You're not sure what to do next. Or, at least your mind doesn't. But your body sure does. You lean forwards, weight shifting onto your knees, hand lifting off his, reaching upwards to take his face between your palms. He slouches a little, to close the distance further. You kiss him, soft at first. Brick's arm wraps around your back, bringing you closer to him. He leans over top of you, deeper into the kiss. The texture of the scar on his lips...it's what you thought it'd be like. Maybe better. A muffled gasp escapes you when he pushes you down onto your back entirely, a knee between your legs, pinning the blanket to the mattress. 

        You kick off your shoes, and he's quick to follow the gesture. Only one place this could be going now. And you don't mind one bit. 

        "Brick," you sigh out, ash is lips shift from yours to press to your jaw, then lower, down to the sensitive skin of your neck. Your arms come to rest around his shoulders, fingers drifting over the hardened muscle of his back. God, he's so big. You wonder if this is gonna kill you. What a way to go. 

        His tongue's hot on your skin, making you shiver, before you feel his teeth clamp down slightly and he starts sucking. As thrilling as it was, you suddenly remember just how disheveled your state is. Now is the time you break out of that blissful trance and start to feel self conscious? Great timing...

        "S-Sorry," you blurt out, eyes screwed shut. 

        Brick's head lifts and he momentarily abandons the hickey he'd been working so dilligently on. "Whatchu apologizin' for?" 

        "I haven't showered, and I'm-I'm a mess and I'm all-"

        Brick's thundering laugh cuts you off. A wonderful sound, but it's not enough to distract you from your sudden shame. He forgets sometimes that as badass as you are, you're a check, and well, chicks are just kinda fussy like that sometimes. Doesn't matter what planet they're on. He wonders if he should tell you that he hasn't showered in days either. He's a bandit king now, after all. Everyone's got masks on all the time and it's not like anything reeks worse than the smoking Hyperion base nearby and the general nastiness of the town. It might have been a bit of a turn off if he proudly told you all that, he thinks. 

        But all the same, he knows you'd appreciate some encouragement.

        "Doesn't matter," Brick says, once he's regained his breath, smile still on his face. "Y'think I'm gonna care about that?"

        "I just-"

        "I don't." His words are firm. Then his head cocks to the side. His free hand goes to grasp at your hip. "Now you want me to take off your pants or not?" 

        Relief floods you. "Yeah. Yeah I do. Just...watch the bad leg." 

        "I'll be careful." He presses another kiss to your lips. "Cross my heart n' everything." 

        You're just happy you'd had the wisdom and foresight to choose to wear looser pants before you went on your search for Brick all those weeks ago. He moves his knee out from between your legs to straddle you properly, sliding the blanket off before reaching down. You still wince as the fabric is pulled down your legs. But, just like he promises, Brick's gentle. Or at least he tries his very hardest to be, which is also very sweet of him. Your own hands reach for the buckle and his largest belt. The chain with the locks however...you're not really sure where to start with that. The very visible contemplation on your face as you toy with one of the padlocks is cute to Brick. 

        "I mean...it's badass, but it's gotta be a little inconvenient, right?" you ask, a bit weakly.

        "Nah." He reaches down to grasp the chain. Giving it a firm yank, it breaks open no problem. One of the broken chain links falls to the bed, and the rest of the belt slides off of him, with a heavy thud. Sexy. So incredibly sexy. Your face is hot again, you know it is. 

        "Didn't know you were gonna be into that," Brick jokes, upon seeing your less than subtle reaction. "Y'look like you're gonna finish already." 

        He's not wrong. "You're just so..."

        Your brain searches frantically for the right word. It's like he makes you dumber. 

        "Strong, I guess. It makes me feel safe, when I'm around you." A soft breath leaves you, as your arms wrap around him again, his midsection specifically, taking him into your embrace. The side of your face is snug against him. "I don't ever wanna leave you again."

        You feel him laugh again. One his large hands reaches down to stroke over your hair. "Whaddya talking about? You ain't leaving me anytime soon, believe that, (Y/N)." You hear the zipper on his jeans. "After all, you just got here..."

        You release him, only to fall back onto the bed, to rest your weight on your elbows and watch those tight jeans slide down. His legs...he's something else entirely. Boxers ridden up slightly, it's quite the view. Brick can't bring himself to believe how easily you ignore the extremely obvious erection tenting in them. Instead, your hands go to rub slow over his quad, fingers tracing along his skin. His cock twitches, and a bit of a groan leaves him, almost unconsciously. 

        He's thought of you touching him like this before. He's wondered how your mouth would feel around him. But he'd always banished it from his mind back then, not wanting to think of you like that. He didn't wanna ruin the friendship. he didn't want his little badass to turn her back on him. But now that he knows it's been mutual this whole time...he wished he'd known sooner. He could have taken you with him here no problem if he knew this ran deeper than 'just friends'. He could have spared you all that wandering, all that hell, all that pain just to find him again. 

        Brick swears to himself he'll make it all up to you. For as long as he needs to. And quite frankly, he hopes that's forever. 

        Your hand drifts between his legs, to palm over his cock slowly. It's painfully unattended to. Another rough moan leaves him, almost a growl, head bowing in pleasure at your touch. You see his jaw tighten a little. You suppose there's only so much a guy like him can do to attend to himself in a place like this. The sensitivity makes sense. And you suppose you're no better and in absolutely zero place to judge him with how damp your panties are already getting. 

        "You're so big," you marvel, voice soft. "I wonder how we're gonna get you to fit..."

        "I've got a few ideas," he manages through gritted teeth. 

        "I'm listening, Brick."

        His name soft on your lips...it's gotta be the closest thing there is to heaven on this hellhole planet. Brick smirks a little, hands grasping at your legs. He pulls them up and out from between his own. At first, you're confused, not quite sure what position he's trying to get you into. Then, his hands shift under your knees, starting to pull your legs up over his shoulders. Ohhhh.

        "W-Wait," you say, and he pauses. Man, if he'd known you weren't game for that, he would've- "Take off the vest first. The bolts." You gesture a bit with your hands. "They're gonna dig into me." 

        You'd be lying if you were to say you hadn't thought ahead a dozens times over for this exact scenario, were it to ever happen. Brick lets go of your legs, allowing them to fall just at his hips. As he takes the vest off, you bite the inside of your cheek slightly. 

        "And the shirt," you say quickly, as the vest slides off him and hits the floor with a metallic thud. 

        You bet if you waved a magnet over the building when he was wearing that vest he'd fly up and hit the ceiling. You think about telling him that to see if he'd laugh, but you're too determined to see if you can get him to take off more of his clothes. He seems to catch onto that rather fast...he coulda just positioned your legs wider onto his bare shoulders and avoided the bolts sticking out of his vest entirely. But he feels a sort of pride to your very obvious attraction to his body. Usually, it scares people more than it turns them on. 

        Undershirt over his shoulders and then off his head, he leans forwards to kiss you again. You can't help but let your hands stroke over his chest, over his nipples, before your fingers knead into him. You moan softly beneath him, reluctantly allowing him to break this kiss to speak.

        "You're gonna have to make up for all that squeezin' later. It don't come for free." Brick warns you, that smile still curling at his lips. 

        "Sure," you say breathlessly, eyes drifting down once more. "Whatever you want. It's worth it." 

        "Whatever, huh?"

        Brick kisses you again, before starting to work his way down your body. You shudder as his lips press to your throat, then your exposed collarbone. His hands reach to grab fistfuls of your shirt. Between all the wear and tear, in his opinion, it'd look better off anyways. A chill runs through you when he tears it clean off you, practically into shreds. Then, he returns right back down to your chest, scarred lips pressing to your right breast, then left. His hands, huge around you, travel down with his lips, as he moves down the bed to properly cover all of you. The key on his necklace was cold against your skin as it dragged, and you shivered pleasurably beneath him. His teeth graze right above the waistband of your panties. He gives your right thigh a squeeze. 

        "Y'still want it?" Brick asks.

        You nod, still breathless. Without any prompting, your hand travels down to start yanking down your underwear. He tears the fabric down your legs entirely, apparently unable to keep up the gentleness for much longer. He glances up at you again before lifting your legs over his bare shoulders. You feel the muscles in them tense as he grabs around your midsection. God his hands are huge. 

        Boldly, the way he does everything in his life, Brick's hot mouth envelops your cunt. Not expecting his aggression after he's taken things so slow with you, you gasp out, voice little more than squeak. The stiffness in your body, partially due to nervousness, partially due to anticipation and horniness, seems to melt away under his tongue. A detail you hadn't properly included in your prior fantasies was the texture of his scar, rubbing up against your pussy as well. There's no need for him to target anything specifically. His mouth is so big he's hitting about everything at once, which was another bonus you hadn't thought of before either. 

        Sensitive to his burning tongue, you moan, voice twisting with bliss, squirming slightly beneath him. When your hips buck up into his face, he lets them, taking advantage of your desperation to suddenly tighten his grip and keep your cunt flush against his mouth. Gripping the mattress so vainly beneath you doesn't help anymore. Like they're lost, your hands wander. They find Brick's head, and you cry out, fingers arching at the soft buzz of his hair, unintentionally pushing him ever harder between your legs. You think you can feel him pause to laugh at your sudden ferocity with the way his shoulders shake under your legs. The pattern of his breath from his nose is unmistakeable. 

        "Ah, ngh, Brick," you manage, almost embarrassed he's gonna get you to cum this fast and hard. What can you say? The guy's fucking relentless. It's the sort of roughness you'd been secretly praying for, enough to have you throwing your head back into the mattress, gasping out. "Fu-Fuck!"

        Even as you climax, gushing onto his face, Brick continues on a little longer. You squeal out, hypersensitive, mind reeling and vision blurring. He feels your nails against his scalp, he hears the way you cry out and decides not to torture you anymore. At least not until he can taste you one more time. Again, he brings you to another orgasm, before finally coming up for air. 

        Face lifted, still glistening with you, Brick beams wide. "Man, I didn't think you had that in you!"         “I-It felt good,” you sputter, still trying to catch your breath, heart pounding in your chest as your face starting to heat further with embarrassment.

        He shrugs before reaching and giving the side of your thigh a brisk smack. There, his hand holds, endearingly. “If suffocatin' between those legs is the way I go, mark me the happiest guy on Pandora.”

        At one point you'd think he's the least slick guy on the planet. There's no sort of subtlety to him and he's awful at being smooth, much less clever. And for some reason that does it for you--more so than any man with a silver tongue and functioning brain cells could. Your blush worsens, somehow. 

        Brick's other hand slides up, between your legs. Gently, his thumb nudges at your clit, eliciting another gasp from you. Briefly, it circles and you shut your eyes. Arms still shaking from the previous orgasms, you attempt vainly to reach back and undo the clasp of your bra. Somehow, of all things, that's still on your body. You fling it off the bed, half in heaven once more under Brick's heavy hand. 

        "Better keep track of that," Brick warns you, and you heave a disappointed sigh when his hand leaves your clit. "We don't got any extras lying around." 

        He leans forwards, further up the bed and over you, focusing now on your exposed chest. For a moment, under his gaze, you feel the slightest bit of self-conscious. The feeling is forgotten when you feel the warmth of his hand enveloping your breast. His lips press to the corner of your mouth, as his thumb rubs over your nipple. The knot in your stomach ties itself all over again. 

        Brick's cock is still painfully hard in his pants--the erection's worsened considerably. There was only so much he could do with how sexy all those noises you'd been making before were. Brick can take a lot...but he knows he's gonna break soon. It fucking aches. Almost curiously, your gaze flits down, and your hands slide over his narrow hips to push down the waistband of his boxers. He watches to see your reaction. He's hoping it doesn't scare you. But you just seem...entranced. He fights to stop himself from wrapping your hand around his cock right then and there. It'd probably look huge in your fingers...

        Your head moves to the side a little bit. He's downright impressive. I mean, you've checked him out before--it's impossible not to with how tight those jeans of his are. But your imagination paled in comparison to this. Almost breathlessly, on your own, you reach out to tentatively stroke over his dick, fingers light, slicking precum down his length. Brick's hand jerks down to grab your wrist with a groan, stopping you suddenly.

        "Wait, y-you're gonna make me-" He can barely get the sentence out when your hand playfull squeezes at him. 

        "That's what I want," you reply softly, heart still pounding in your chest. 

        He lets go, in favor of pushing his hand down into the mattress, pinning your body between his arms. With his head so close, he's happy he can kiss you again, as your hand strokes up and down more over his shaft. He lurches against you, brows strained with another grunt, muffled by your lips, cumming only after a few more pumps of your soft hand. He'd feel bad, spurting all over your stomach like that if you didn't look so sexy beneath him. Hand still wrapped around him, continuing the lazy pace, he feels your tongue push into his mouth. 

        Reluctantly, Brick finds himself breaking away. You take in a sharp breath of air, looking up at him, pupils blown so wide with lust he couldn't tell you what color your eyes were even with a gun to his head. Your thumb drifts over the reddened head of his cock one last time.

        "You still wanna keep goin'?" he asks, a sort of intensity straining his voice. 

        "You have no idea." 

        Lube isn't exactly super easy to come across in Pandora. Which is insane, because other than killing each other, what else is there for people to fucking do on this planet? So, turns out it had been a good call for the two of you to both be this covered in cum already. Carefully, Brick's hands find your thighs, jerking you closer to him. He's still fully erect. Leaning forwards, he lines himself up with your entrance, jumping a hand up to put his weight on near your shoulder. 

        You nodded, giving him the sign to start. Just waiting longer is gonna make you more nervous. He watches the way your face screws up a little, as the head of his cock pushes inside you. Your jaw clenches a little as he continues, slowly. Brick fits. Just barely. And you'd be lying if you didn't say it still hurt at first. Unable to hold back your breath any longer, you gasp softly. Your hand finds his forearm, right near your shoulder and your fingers curl around him. Brick feels your nails dig into his skin. You're quiet, like you're concentrating hard.

        He's trying to fuck you, why are you the one concentrating? Brick shakes his head.

        "This is hurting you, isn't it?" he asks, and you feel him start to pull back out. Frantically, your hand readjusts to grab his bicep suddenly. You shake your head. Hesitantly, you open your eyes, worried he'll look disappointed. He doesn't though. He just looks concerned. 

        "I-I can take it, please, Brick," you beg him.

        His blue eyes fix onto your own teary ones. "I'm serious, (Y/N). It's no big deal, we can try again some other-"

        "What if there isn't another time?" your voice came, shrill and tense. Like you really are about to cry. They're frustrated tears, and your bottom lip quivers a little bit as you try to control yourself. "We could get killed tomorrow." 

        Brick sighs. "I don't want you to force yourself to take this just because-"

        You cut him off again. Steady, you emphasize each syllable. 

        "I. Want. This." 

        Brick's own breath is getting ragged, as he tries to reason with you. The fit had been uncomfortable for him at first as well. But you're so warm, squeezing around him now just right, even as he tries to pull out. It makes it damn hard to wanna follow through on the good will gesture. Brick wanted to protect you. That's what he'd always wanted, right? What's he supposed to do now if you want him to hurt you like this? If you're begging him, with that pretty voice of yours, with that even prettier cunt practically begging him too?

        You sense his inner turmoil. He's one of those guys where if he's thinking, it's really obvious on his face.

        "You'd never hurt me," you manage, sitting up slightly. You wrap your arms around his shoulders once more. The closeness manages to push him back in a few inches and you quake against his body. It's...it's starting to feel good now. "I know that, Brick. But if I don't fuck you at least once in my life, I'll never forgive myself, you hear me?" 

        Brick scoffs a bit. "What, I'm some bucket list item to you?"

        You know he's just kidding around. But still...

        "No. No, you're not. I just wanna be with you. In every way I can, until I do get blown up, at least." 

        His dark eyebrows furrow slightly. He's quiet at first, but then you feel his cock start to push deeper into your again. Yes! One of your legs tangles around his. You're holding him so tight, it's like you wanna force yourself into his ribcage. It's...It's cute, how clingy you are. You hope he understands now how desperately you've always wanted this closeness with him. How badly you need him right now. You think about voicing it to him.

        Any words are wiped clean from your mind by the time Brick quickly gains the courage for a few gentle, slow pumps. You already feel like you're on the edge. He's tearing you apart in the best way possible, with just a bite of pain to accompany the bliss. Hot, he's so hot. Drunk on pleasure, you moan into his chest instead. He feels your teeth graze over his skin, as a breathy whimper and a soft call of his name sound from you weakly. 

        Brick's jaw clenches. It's not that he's never...well had sex before. He has, but never like this. Never with this sort of neediness from the other person. It's so genuine. Raw. Vulnerable. Everything you shouldn't be on Pandora. 

        You're less tight around him now, and are more snug than anything else. You love and trusted him to take care of you that much...Brick doesn't know if he can handle something like that. His worries are quickly washed from his mind when your cunt clenches around him--you're gonna cum again soon. This time, he'll probably join you, still hypersensitive from your very brief handjob. Unable to control himself, his once contained, slow pace becomes fervent. His breath gets hotter, more uneven. 

        "I love you," you practically sob into his chest as he rocks you hard against the mattress. "I love you!"

        Your fingers dig into the back of his neck, your hands clench, and every muscle in your body tenses as you approach another orgasm. Brick wishes he had something more lovey dovey and meaningful and shit to say back instead of the heavy "FUCK!" that ends up coming out. 

        He cums first, gasping out. At the warmth now flooding you, spurting down your legs, the knot in your stomach snaps as well, and you can do nothing but join him in the euphoria, breath combined, hearts pounding, sweat dripping off both your bodies. Despite how tired your arms feel and the soreness now returning to you, you stay wrapped around him. 

        Eventually, Brick heaves another sigh and rolls over onto his side, taking you with him. One of his arms secures itself around your back. 

        "Dragged yourself all the way over here," he manages, catching his breath, with a bit of a smile quirking up his lip, "Just t'fuck." 

        You giggle. "I wasn't expecting to. But it's definitely a perk of surviving Pandora for that long." 

        Brick heaves another breath and leans his head back onto that pillow without the case. Such a dude set up. Before you can roll you eyes and poke fun at him for it, he speaks again. Maybe it was the post sex clarity that made him feel the need to tell you.

        After a moment longer, his voice sounds, a bit quieter. "I was gonna go back for you. Thought about it a lot. And I ain't sayin' that just 'cuz we boned." 

        Such a way with words. 

        He continues on. "I didn't mind leaving. Sucks, but I wasn't gonna fight Roland on it. But I was pissed at first I couldn't bring you with me back then." 

        "Stupid reconnaissance mission," you mumble. "I never even gave the Crimson Raiders any of that info, I left so fast to look for you. I...I'd been looking forward to seeing your big dumb face again when I got back...and when you weren't there..."

        It seemed so long ago now.

        "I was gonna shoot ya a message on your ECHO," Brick started, "but everything Roland said got me thinkin'. And y'know, I don't usually do that. But it got me thinkin' that maybe you were gonna be safer without me around Sanctuary. That if I left and you stayed, maybe I'd protect you better." 

        You shake your head stubbornly. "Safe or not," you said, "you're my best friend. I mean that. And sometimes you take big risks for your friends. You taught me that, back in New Haven. Before I met you, I didn't give a shit about anybody but myself."

        Brick laughs. You could have been referring to the time he'd grabbed a live grenade thrown into the town square, near Roland and Lilith and just took off with it. That'd taken a week to heal from and even longer to regain the feeling in all his fingers. Or you could have been talking about the time he'd tackled a gigantic skag headed straight for you, and held it down, while it clawed and bit at him, waiting for you to reload and handle all of its equally pissed off skag friends. It could have been any of the times you've watched him do something downright fucking stupid and dangerous just to protect somebody else. Because that's just how Brick was.

        And you'd always loved that about him.

        "Anyways," you said, after clearing your throat, shifting a little in his embrace to nuzzle closer. Your arm drapes over his chest. "You're not getting rid of me anytime soon. I'll just keep coming after you, so don't you forget that." 

        Brick laughs. "You don't gotta worry about that," he assures you. "'Cuz I ain't leaving you again. Promise." 

        He presses a kiss to the top of your head. And for what it's worth, you believe him wholeheartedly. 

#nsfw #brick x reader #borderlands #one shot #brick borderlands #brick the berserker

[rottenstrawberrymilk]

Hii I was just reading ur Yakuza fanfics and wanted to say that they're really good (⁠・⁠∀⁠・⁠)

Also I like that u write for characters that don't have much fanfics!!

Thank you. hope i can have more up soon. i have some majima stuff in the works just takes a lot of time for me.

[rottenstrawberrymilk]

ur fanfic is the inspiration for that game called My Dear Hatchet Man, right? how do u feel bout that? i just found out bout the game a little bit ago and i was like wtf this reminds me of something lmao

It wasn't inspiration the creator blatantly stole my work (and admitted it) my version of toby >>>>> peter your boyfriend rip off

hate it its so embarrassing to be linked to but i guess its the reason we have those last 6 chapters that were not planned at all

[rottenstrawberrymilk]

hooked

crocodile x reader

nsfw

9.2k words

On account of having your outfit torn to shreds, you had nothing to go home in once you'd cleaned up. Crocodile had let you take care of that in the bathroom of the office, awkwardly using the hand towel and water from the sink to try and wipe down. He's quiet in the other room. You rub away any stained mascara from your tears and attempt to gingerly fix what's left of your makeup. There's no saving your hair, messy and completely undone. The most you could do was try to neaten it and then promptly give up, sighing at you disheveled reflection in the mirror. 

        Jesus Christ. 

        Crocodile's solution to your wardrobe malfunction was for you to take his coat and keep it on tight. You could only be frustrated at yourself that you hadn't thought ahead enough to save your clothes or stop him from shredding them. Something in the back of your mind tells you that nothing you could have said would have swayed your boss. Like he said, he knew what he wanted. Lucky for you, he's merciful enough to direct you to a back exit. 

        No, not merciful. Generous, remember?

        The back exit would prevent you from walking through the middle of the still very busy casino. It'd spare you the humiliation. People talk in there. A woman, Crocodile's personal assistant to be specific, walking through with his coat on, makeup ruined and hair a mess doesn't leave much to the imagination. It seems he respect your concern for your privacy to some degree. 

        It's not that you were embarrassed to be with him. You're just afraid of what might happen to you if people find out. If your coworkers hear, you'll never stop hearing the end of it. Rumor spread like wildfire around the town and the casino. And...Crocodile's a little shady. Actually, not a little-- a lot. With the privacy and legal greyness he acts with, you're not sure if associating with him so closely will put a target on your back. You're also not sure if he'd be willing to protect you if it did put a target on your back. In fact, he'd probably kill you himself to save his own ass. 

        Obviously, the same thoughts have crossed his own mind. Of course Crocodile had put you in danger by doing this. He'd understood completely well how pursuing you for the sake of pleasure could very well be the end of you. There's other fish in the sea. But he likes the idea of you especially walking home naked under his coat. The thought of you wrapped in one of his favorite garments almost makes him want to call you right back and go for another few rounds. However, that would have been plain cruel. You'd been shaking with exhaustion, clearly aching in the worst of ways as you'd left. There's no mistaking the limp, which had simply made his chest glow with pride. His fingers tighten around his newly lit cigar as he leans back in the chair. His foot was propped up on the desk, belt still undone.

        Satisfied, he retrieves his shirt and cravat from the ground with a lazy swing of his hook. Along with what was left of your own clothes. He brings them to his open hand. You'd left your bra on the desk. As he regards it lazily, his hand tightens into a fist around the shreds of your panties and dress. 

        Meanwhile, you tried to keep to the alleys and shadows as you made your way back home. The most you can do is silently stand under the shower stream, forgetting momentarily about you recent efforts not to waste as much hot water. The boiling water doesn't take his hands off you. The bruises and lovebites laid dark against your flushed skin as you dried off properly. 

        The next morning, you figured that Crocodile expected you to return that jacket. It's rightfully his, after all. And you don't want to be caught owing him any more. So, when you came in for your next shift, a day later, you'd attempted to find him. He wasn't in the casino, near the bar, any of the dealers tables... Had he taken the day off? When you'd made and double checked his schedule for this week you couldn't recall him having a day off. Then again, he's the literal boss, if he wanted a day off he'd just take it.

        Still, usually he notifies you. 

        You can't help but feel a little stung by the sudden cold shoulder from the man who had held you tight in his arms only a good few hours ago. Yeesh...impossible to keep up with this guy. 

        As you'd stood there, dejected and dumbfounded, one of the bartenders had asked you why you had the boss's fur jacket. Thinking quickly, you'd simply replied "laundry". It seemed to be a good enough answer, as you were left alone after you gave it. No further questioning. You'd already been making up which drink he'd spilled on himself too to make your lie that more convincing. 

        Great...he's turned you into a total liar too...

        There was one last place you hadn't checked and that was the office. You'd been holding off on going in there until the last minute. It just felt...awkward opening the door and having to look at the desk Crocodile had you pinned against, crying out for him and moaning like some whore. A bit of a chill sweeps through you. Promptly, you ignore it upon spying a note on said desk. Gingerly, as if the thing was going to bite you, you drew a little closer to give it a read. 

        All it was...was an address and a time. Along with instructions to take the note with you. Tentatively, you shift the heavy furs into one arm and quickly pick the note off the desk. If not for the dress code he so vehemently enforced on you, chances were you would have had a pant pocket to slide it into. Instead, you do your best to keep it neat and straight between two fingers, shifting the weight of the coat back into two arms with a bit of a huff.

        Your eyes sweep the room to find the clock on the wall. It's already five minutes past the time specified on the notes. Which is insane, considering you had just arrived for your shift. Was Crocodile expecting you to go sprinting into his office? Had he imagined you'd be that overjoyed to return to him? 

        Godddddd....this man...

        You aren't entirely sure of why you have to go to another location. So you just sigh and turn away from the desk. Asking questions never gets you anywhere around here, which is why you had stopped asking them long ago. And you were already late. There's no time to waste.

        Lucky for you the directions were familiar--it was a street that was very close by to the casino. So, you rush out as fast as you can, not even taking the time to bid farewell to your coworkers. Seeing what a rush you were in, they minded their businesses. Maybe working for Crocodile wasn't as fun as it looked. 

        You ended up arriving at the gates of a huge house. Rainbase was a wealthy city, with more water than the other struggling towns in Alabasta. So, it's not uncommon to see bigger, more luxurious houses in contrasts to small, quaint ones (like your own). However, this estate seemed to bring a whole new meaning to luxurious, with white marble spread out farther than you could even process. And when you take note of the bananagator statues snarling and curling at the front doors, you know there's only one person in the entire country this house could belong to. 

        You'd always assumed he slept in the moat with his beloved, prized pets.         

        There's almost a complete lack of security as you walk up the steps to reach the grand front doors, reaching far above your head. They'd have to be big enough to accommodate a man Crocodile's size. You're not sure if the lack of guards is a good thing. It makes things so much...eerier. Like you're not supposed to be here. You double check the address on the note.

        Yeah. This is the place. A heavy sigh leaves you as you hesitantly reach for the front door. You knock. You're hoping no one's home or no one hears so you can turn around and go back to the casino and lie about how no one answered the door and you tried your very hardest but unfortunately he'll have to pick up his jacket at the office, oh no! You barely take a breath in when the door opens, revealing someone who is very much not Crocodile.

        "Uhm..." you say, in lieu of his silence, offering the thick furs forwards for the man to take. "I have Sir Crocodile's coat."

        You wonder if you should elaborate on why or lie about him sending you to get it laundered. But you've learned in your time working for Crocodile, that saying less tends to benefit you. There's never telling who knows what. The man at the door simply shook his head.

        "I am under strict instruction not to take it."

        "Uh..."

        "I'm to escort you to the dining hall."

        Your brows furrow. You take in a breath. "Um, okay...how do I put this..." 

        It's not even sunset yet. You still have a few hours of your shift left. You're not even hungry. If you were, the idea of being trapped in a big ass dining hall with Crocodile after he'd finished rearranging your inside no more than a day ago would have certainly killed your appetite. You could be getting ahead on some work instead of this... Lately, Crocodile's taken to having you look over a majority of his papers and even sign them. He claims his hand is tired. 

        "Please, miss. Make this easier for all of us." The look the man gives you is so desperate and exasperated you can't possibly refuse. People pleaser until the end. You remind yourself that none of this is this poor butler's fault. 

        A sigh escapes you. But he can tell you've given in. "Okay...but tell him-"

        "Anything you have to say, you can tell him yourself." 

        He's actually in the dining hall? WAITING for you?! Is it too late to turn back? Why can't your boss be normal? Why can't your boss be normal? Was it possible you shouldn't have been so quick to sleep with someone like him? Maybe it all should have stayed a late night, fatigued fantasy for you to indulge in once you came home from those long shifts...

        Either way, you have very little choice other than to let the butler accompany you down lavish halls. You are fully aware that Crocodile is wealthy, but this beyond anything you'd ever imagined. It's not tacky either...it's a sort of refined elegance that made you feel like you stuck out like a sore thumb. You feel uncomfortable here. Your fingers tighten around the coat, delving deeper into the fur for comfort and warmth as cold marble walls and floors greet you. 

        The dining hall, you find, is equally huge. It's like for all those guests and friends in higher places of his. You take a moment to marvel, gaze sweeping about. Then, it focuses on him. Crocodile is the only one there. Cigar in his mouth as usual. Just waiting. Creepy. But you don't usually see him in lighting this good. 

        You turn to say a quick 'thank you' to the butler. When you go to look at him, he's already gone. The door shuts behind him. You envy him. When you glance back over at Crocodile, he's looking directly at you. He enjoys the discomfort on your face. God, do you look utterly scared. 

        "Sit," he says, gesturing to the seat next to him as he pulls it out with a well placed foot.

        You can only be relieved that it's not his lap this time. You know the servant is gone, but the idea of someone walking in and seeing you seated upon your boss is utterly mortifying. Left in peace, there is little you can do to deny him of his very reasonable request. Some might even say it's polite and gentlemanly of him to pull out a chair for you. 

        The smell of his cologne fills your nose as you take your place next to him, his jacket in your lap. It makes your heart race a little. Crocodile sees you swallow. For hours he stalls you there, by means of shallow conversation. The tenseness of the room thickens, becoming suffocating. The silences draw on longer, permeating a sort of awkwardness that only makes your heart pound louder in your ears. He'd insisted you eat while you were here.

        You decline, although you're just a little hungry. He'd fixed you with that icy gaze of his, the one that seems to pierce right through you, spear you directly where you sit. A look that says he's not messing around.

        "Really, you must stay. Don't make a poor host of me..."

        "I...I guess it won't do any harm." 

        Just as usual, you bow to his will. After all, you'd hate to make him feel bad or insult his hospitality. You indulge in some of the plates he has brought out. None of the servants will meet your eyes. Crocodile continues to talk casually. You accept the drinks he offers as well, hoping it'll take some of your edge off. Somehow, it doesn't do much to offset your nerves. 

        At some point, you set the coat off your lap and onto the chair at your side. Crocodile's eyes flicker over your revealed body. You'd been, annoyingly enough, hiding it under that damned coat. Either you don't notice the hunger in his face, even though he's just dined at your side, or you've chosen to ignore it. 

        By the time you glance out the window and notice it's completely dark out, it's far too late. The chandelier had been so dazzling and the lit candles along the tables and walls had been so bright you hadn't even noticed. Shit. 

        Sitting up a little straighter, you clear your throat.

        "It's getting kinda late...I should really get going, sir," you said, quickly. "Thank you for the wonderful-"

        "It's far too late for you to be leaving," Crocodile interrupted, cutting you off almost entirely. 

        You wince a little at the commanding tone. There's no room for negotiation with a man like him, but you can't help but try.

        "Yes, I'm sorry, I guess I wasn't keeping track. But don't worry too much about me, sir-"

        Before you're even able to come up with some excuse as to how you'd be completely, one hundred percent safe walking home at night, he's cut you off again. From anyone else, the never ending bulldozing would have irritated you. However, you're far too nervous to even register any sort of annoyance at the habit. 

        "I won't," Crocodile says, eyes unwavering. "You'll stay the night here." 

        Through a stammer, you try once more, to dissuade his show of goodwill and chivalry.

        "Oh, uh..." The words don't come. You'd thought maybe you could just get him to settle with walking you home, but you have a feeling that man will not budge from that chair unless you're at his side being lead deeper into the winding halls of his estate. 

        "It would be unwise to let a drunk, young, pretty thing like yourself walk home alone at this hour. Who knows what trouble could await you...someone could snatch you right up..." Crocodile stands suddenly, pulling your chair out with him. He leans down, face closer to yours. "Come with me." 

        You open your mouth to try and argue further. You have a feeling it won't do much. So, you close it. To his credit, Crocodile is right. Even though Rainbase is a higher class city, the nightlife can be rowdy and wild. Like any other town, it would be dangerous for you to venture at night. When you go to awkwardly stand up, his point becomes much clearer. Apparently, the liquor had finally caught up to you. The world seems to spin just a little, and it isn't lost on Crocodile when your hand finds the back of the chair for support. Gingerly, you lift the coat from the other chair, before feeling a push against your back, urging you forwards almost impatiently. Grains of sand flow past you, over your skin. Quickly, you step closer to Crocodile. It came from his hand, which soon reassembled itself on his wrist.

        "S-Sir?" you try.

        He gives a soft grunt in response, as he turns to walk through another door, leading out of the dining hall. It is not the one the doorman lead you in through. You follow after him quickly. 

        "I'd prefer if you didn't use your power on me. I come home with sand in my clothes." 

        "Do you now?" Crocodile inquires, purposefully condescending. It makes you wonder if maybe you just imagined it. "I have control of every grain. I would know if you took any of it home with you." 

        You're quick to yield to his will. It isn't smart to argue with a man like him. 

        "Maybe it was just my imagination. Sorry, sir." Your apology comes quick. 

        He's not lying. He does have control of every grain. Which is why he makes sure some always makes its way home with you. He gets off to the idea of pieces of himself always being near you. With you. He often imagines you frustrated, trying to brush the sand off your skin, out of your hair. It really can be quite a mess. But, just as Crocodile expects, you're the same as ever. All too willing to give in and bow the minute he pushes back. Another one of his favorite qualities about you. What a gorgeous carpet you make, letting him walk all over you like that. 

        His lips quirk up a little around the cigar, teeth flashing slightly as he exhaled with satisfaction. 

        "Do you want your jacket somewhere particular?" you ask, desperate to change the subject and tiring of carrying the article. It's heavy, even folded up as small as it could be. Pounds of fur is something only a man as large as Crocodile could comfortably wear. 

        "Of course." 

        He doesn't elaborate. Does he enjoy stressing you out like this? It's amusing to him, to watch you panic a little bit. The discomfort brought on by his silence is fun to observe. That fun comes to an end once he brought you to stand before two humungous doors. You would have thought they lead to a treasury or another lavish dining room with how grand they are. 

        Crocodile pushes it open with ease you can't wrap your head around. He shoulders the door aside wider, standing so you can step by. He holds the door for you. What a gentleman. You can expect nothing less from Alabasta's hero. His cold eyes follow you unwaveringly, unblinkingly as you pass with a soft 'thank you'. 

        What lays before you is no dining room or treasure. Just an absolutely massive bedroom. The curtains are drawn over the window, making it difficult to discern what all is in the room. Even in the dimness, however, you can see the bed. You swallow a bit nervously, fingers tightening in the fur of the jacket in your arms. 

        "On the bed," Crocodile says, a bit carelessly. 

        The jacket. He's talking about where he wants the jacket pit down. Standing up straighter and cleansing your mind of any unwelcome thoughts, you walk over to the bed. Gently, you set the jacket down at the foot. The hair on the back of your neck stands up as a shadow falls over you, seemingly out of no where. When you turn, Crocodile is inches away. You didn't hear him walk. You don't like that he's so much more comfortable using those powers around you lately. You can still see the sand reforming at his shoe. 

        Crocodile repeats himself. "On the bed." 

        So he did mean it like that-

        "Oh, um-" Nervously, you glanced back at the huge bed, and then Crocodile. 

        He sighs, sounding a bit exasperated as he leans closer. Your personal space doesn't register with him often. 

        "What's the matter?" Crocodile asked, head tilted to the side as he watches your face. "You didn't enjoy our time together before?" His hand lifts to take your chin, roughly tilting your head up as he observes you through half-lidded eyes. 

        "Of course I did, sir," you say quickly, not looking to displease him. "I'm just not sure if-"

        Crocodile cuts you off, rolling his eyes a little. They return to you. "You don't need to be sure of anything. In fact, I don't want you to think at all."

        You don't reply. Not because you can't think of what to say next. Because he'd given you a command. Exactly what he wanted. You're very sharp when you choose to be. He'd half expected you to continue making up excuses. Crocodile shifts the cigar out of his mouth, into his fingers. Your head stays how he positioned it, gazing up at him. He can't ignore the chill sweeping through his own body as you watch him, blankly and motionlessly. He hasn't felt something like that in years. Usually he feels nothing at all.

        The blunt curve of his hook replaces his hand at your chin, lifting your head just a little higher. He leans down. And Crocodile kisses you. 

        Less than a second has passed before his hand sneaks around to hold at the small of your back. He pulls you in a little closer. His kiss was soft at first, meant to mislead you. Suddenly, Crocodile jams the smoldering end of his cigar against you, burning through the dress and scorching into your skin. Expecting your panicked reaction, he only jerks your body tighter towards his, your hips bucking up against him in an attempt to instinctually get away from the cigar. Tears spring in the corners of your eyes as Crocodile takes the opportunity to snake his tongue past your teeth, curling it against your own. His thin lips move slow and rhythmically on yours as his knee grinds up in between your legs. He leans forwards as you moan against his lips, still feeling the pain of the burn throbbing through you. 

        What a nasty thing to do to you...

        Your hand rises to grab at his green cravat, fingers desperately burying into it. Your knuckles whiten with the strength of your grip. Crocodile feels the tug of it on his thick neck. It's intoxicating to watch the tears roll down your face, expression one of sheer agony. He finally drops the cigar, now put out. His weight on you starts to increase, his free hand rising from your back. 

        Crocodile's powerful, large hand grips at the neckline of your dress. He pulls it down. Wisely, you'd chosen something more expensive and to his taste to wear. He sees no point in shredding it off of you like that disgusting fabric from before. A smile quirks up his wide lips. Just as he's commanded, you're wearing the lingerie he had bought you. 

        What a woman...so obedient...how had you possibly known to wear it? Of course, Crocodile knows you were likely expecting, even desiring him the very next time you saw him. Even if it had been an unconscious choice, made out of anxiousness to please him, it'd been one you made purely for his satisfaction. 

        He lifts your chin with his hook, his hand at your hair.

        "Good girl," he praises you, that wide smirk stuck on his face as he stares down at you. His shadow swallows you. His palm strokes over your head briefly, as though he's rewarding a pet. 

        His hand drops from your head, to your waist, larger, thick fingers grabbing at you. His weight increases against you as he starts to push. With more force, he pins you down to the bed. Your fingers remain tight at his cravat, pulling his head closer, like second instinct as his mouth presses to yours. You gasp out for air when he breaks away, instead starting to kiss along your jaw and neck. A bit of a growl sounds from him, exhale heating your skin.

        Suddenly, he pushes you further up the bed, up to the plush pillows near the headboard. You stay pinned firmly beneath him as he continued the barrage of kissing, sucking, and biting. Under his breath, Crocodile remarked that the bruises he'd left that night had already begun to fade away. Huge hand at your jaw, thumb warm against your cheek, he returns along those favored spots on your throat and collarbone, biting and sucking harder as you moan beneath him. Your eyelashes flutter as your eyelids fall half shut with bliss. 

        Crocodile's hand lifted off your face. He takes a moment to relieve himself of the button up black shirt still clinging to him, winging it off the side of the bed. His hand then travels far down to reach in between your legs. His thick fingers stroke against your, touch heavy through the lingerie panties. The metal and jewels adorning his rings were cold against your inner thigh. A soft whimper escaped you beneath him. 

        "Sir..." you murmured out softly. 

        Your hips start to rise, possessed, muscles in your body tight as his thumb started to circle your clit. Your face is flushed heavily as you pant out. How can you need him so achingly badly in such a little amount of time. For the moment, you forget any kind of soreness left over. When you look like you're about to finally reach ecstasy, Crocodile's hand pulls away. Distressed, you open your eyes fully, sitting up, your eyes glassy with tears.

        "W-What?"

        "You'll have to finish on your own." 

        What a cruel man he is, torturing you like this so early on. This was going to be a long night. Crocodile rolled off of you with a slight groan. He laid back, up at the headboard, giving you a dark smirk. 

        "I have an idea of how you could go about it..."

        His massive hook catches the light on the bed as it lands on his lap, elbow bent. Crocodile tilts it towards you, as if the implication couldn't be any clearer. Your face heats up more. You can almost see your reflection in the gold, it's so well polished and taken care of. The heat both in your face, your body, between your legs--it's near unbearable and your mind fogs. 

        Nervously, you sit up more. It's enough to let him know you're game. Still, you seem to doubt yourself. Which irritates him. You're an amazing lover when you get past those little hang ups of yours...you just need a little push now and then. 

        Your voice shakes. "I...I don't know..."

        "I won't touch you for the rest of the night if you don't. I wanna see you do it." When the hesitation doesn't leave your face, his gaze softens. Gently, Crocodile's head cocks to the side. "What happened to my good girl, hm? Willing to do whatever your boss tells you?"

        There's worse things he could have asked of you. The burn in your back throbs a little as a reminder. So, you crawl over to him. Crocodile's hand reaches out, his fingers caressing over your spine, tracing down to the back of your thigh as you climb on top of his waiting lap. His hook shifts lower, to rest down at his thighs, almost parallel to his body. To the best of your ability, with his hand still on you, you straddling the hook. One of your knees is slotted in between his open legs. Lazily, Crocodile props one of them up. The growing bulge in the crotch of his dress pants does not escape your notice. 

        He watches you expectantly through those cold eyes of his. You bite your bottom lip tentatively before lifting your hips a little, trying vainly to find a comfortable position. Face burning, almost as much as your body, you part your thighs around the blunt curve of his solid gold hook, sharp point turned downwards. It’s shameful but his…oddness. The weirdness of his demand, the discomfort of starting to pleasure yourself on that thing… it turns you on more. You move further up the hook, aiming more for the base. Through the thin, delicate lace of the lingerie you can feel every ribbed layer on the rounded base of his hook. Crocodile shakes his head suddenly, sitting up higher against the headboard. The hook jerks underneath you, and you yelp out, surprised.         “No cheating now,” he reprimands you, a thick, accusing finger pointed. The ring on it glitters, almost menacingly. “The hook. Now.”         You turn your gaze away from him, down at his lap. The gold gleams. You position yourself lower, grinding your cunt up against the actual curve once more. Most of your weight is still on your hands, planted stiffly at his large thigh. A stifled moan of pleasure comes from you. You’re aching for any sort of relief.

        Crocodile watches you ride his hook, looking so frustrated yet determined to get yourself off. It’s like you forget he’s even there watching you. But how could you not feel those cold, empty eyes burning holes into you. His pants feel tighter as his erection starts to get harder to ignore. Almost painful. His massive hand reaches again for the small of your back, holding it tightly. It’s difficult not to rip that lacey bra off you right now. He’d ordered it just a little bit smaller than your actual measurements. Just to see the way it squeezed into you.

        Your skin is already reddening from irritation where the straps and ornate lace are rubbing in. Crocodile takes in a breath to calm himself. 

        “S-Sir…how much longer?” you whimper out.         Crocodile regards you lazily. How can he control himself with the even more obvious erection in his pants? Surely he's faking this air of nonchalantness. Still, his lips spread in the smallest of smiles, one of his crooked eyebrows quirking.         “You’re not satisfied?” He responds to your question with a question.         “It-it’s just not the same as…as you.” You’re furiously blushing now, barely able to even keep eye contact with him.

        A pleased groan comes from him. To know it is one thing, to hear it straight from your lips is another entirely. It's enough to make him break and indulge. His hand leaves your back, to unbuckle his belt, slide it from his hips with ease. He thumbs open the button on his pants, zipper pulled down in a heartbeat. It's hard to stay focused on doing what you've been told to when he pulls his cock from his pants, thumb rubbing over the tip.

        Crocodile's hand strokes over it, his eyes sharp on you, on the look of soft bliss on your face. Your head starts to fall back, eyes shut as you focus on chasing your own high. How selfish of you. Crocodile's lip curls a little, and he jerks his hook upwards, forcing you to lose your balance. You land forwards, face down on his lap. Confused, you give him a look, before your face only grows redder at the sight of his cock in his palm, only a few inches away from your nose.

        "If you want to continue, I want you to suck it," Crocodile tells you, that same twisted smile on his face as he gazes down at you. 

        You don't know what it does to you, but before you know it, your hands are wrapped around the base of his member, and the flat of your tongue is pressed against the head of his cock, dripping with precum already. You lick a long, slow stripe that has him heaving a shaky sigh. His cock twitches up against you lips as your fingers trace at the underside, feeling over the veins and thick hair. 

        He's so much more...impatient this time around. Your tongue laps over the sensitive head and Crocodile lets out a soft hiss between gritted teeth. Your lips part as you attempt to take the most of his girth possible into your mouth, laid out across him. Your ass is raised a little, hips still propped up against his hook. Through the bliss, he sees the way your thighs tighten around the gold. 

        Anything you can't fit into your mouth, you stroke slowly in your soft hands. Soft, because of all the luxury products and lotions he's been spoiling you with. Your fingers bite into him, just slightly, enough to squeeze and feel absolutely exquisite. Crocodile groans out, his head falling back, as his smirk widens.

        "Yess..." he purrs out, voice rough as his teeth flash in a blissed out smile, "That's it...good girl...good doll..."

        You forget almost entirely about your own climax, driven wild by his praise, by the way he comes undone. Some of his hair has sprung forth, curtaining his face as his head rolls a little. You see his adam's apple bob in his throat, jaw clenching as you suck. The hair on the back of your neck practically stands at the sound of his groans. You forget about the dull ache and scorch of the burn on the small of your back too. Crocodile's hand travels to the back of your head. You wince, anticipating for him to shove your head down violently, to make you choke him down even more. He's almost touching the back of your hot, tight throat, testing your gag reflex. 

        Instead, his thick fingers simply tangle through your hair. His rings snag now and then. But he doesn't push. Crocodile allows you to work at your own pace. A pace he very much seemed to appreciate, as it's only a few more moments before his hips push up, forcing his cock further into your mouth. You struggle to breathe momentarily, fingers tightening even more around his shaft. He cums, moaning out, and your insides twist. It's hot, dripping down your throat, trailing from your lips as you lift your mouth from his cock. 

        You know better than to stop, looking for praise once more. With no hesitation, your head dips once more, so you can lap up the sides of his shaft, cleaning it of his seed. As you swallow, Crocodile's head lifts, that same lazy, wide smirk on his face. It's downright eerie. But you wait for the praise, for him to tell you that you're good, that you make him feel good. It doesn't come.

        Crocodile suddenly looks irritated, satisfied expression dropping almost instantly. 

        "You stopped fucking my hook," Crocodile suddenly says, sounding displeased as he sits up on his elbows. 

        "S-Sorry?" You try, face still flushed.

        How could he be mad with you when you'd just gotten him off? Your cunt still aches, too needily. Sucking him has only made it worse. You're hoping he's not actually gonna make you finish on that damn hook. It's cold. It's not warm like he is. 

        A soft growl comes from him. "Mm...come here." 

        His hook suddenly pulls out from underneath you. It lifts, catches you around the waist, attempt to yank you face down onto the mattress. A startled yelp escaped you, only to be muffled by the sheets as you went down. You let out a slight huff, turning over quickly on your back, ignoring the searing pain of the cigar burn. Your skin around it is heated uncomfortably. Crocodile settles on top of you once more--which is a terrifying sight on its own. You shrink back into the bed as his massive shadow falls over you. He still sports an erection. His stamina is ungodly. Are you going to survive tonight? You still ache from before...

        For a heartbeat, he's still, watching the nervous expression on your face. He watches all the thoughts course through that brain of yours. You've always been extremely easy to read. Ever so slowly, he leans down. Crocodile kisses you, before starting to focus along your jaw. Your heart races, feeling his lips on your face, the heat of his breath puffing from his nose. 

        "Um, Crocodile-" you start, voice trembling.

        "You talk too much," he rasps against your cheek. 

        You can't recall if that's true. He doesn't care. His hook rises to pull the green silk from his thick neck. He takes it in his hand. You open your mouth to ask what he's doing. Crocodile stuffs his cravat in your mouth. A muffled noise comes from you, before he shushes. 

        "Be good. Don't spit it out. And I'll make you cum plenty, doll." He smiles down at you. It doesn't quite reach his cold, grey eyes. His smiles never do.  

        A complete chill sweeps through you. 

        His hook lays diagonal across your body, pinning you down, preventing you from squirming away from him. Your hips don't even have the room to buck away from his mouth. Damn, that thing is heavy. How does he haul it around all day? That must be where this strength comes from... His other hand was busy yanking your leg open wider. His fingers hook at the waistband of your panties, yanking them down and off your legs. They lay abandoned across the mattress no less than a few moments later. Crocodile's arm slides underneath your leg, grabbing at it from the outside next. It's a more comfortable angle for him to use his remaining hand. 

        His mouth presses up against your pussy, tongue lapping up against you. The pressure increases when he reaches your clit, forcing a muffled gasp out of you as you throw your head to the side, teeth coming to grit tight around the cravat. Your brows knot as he sucks mercilessly. Your fingers curl into the sheets, nails dragging along the material. When your thigh trembles, threatening to close near his head, his hand yanks it open wider.

        The sound of your muffled moans and cries were wonderful to Crocodile's ears. He did not mind returning the favor to you. But all the same, he ached to hear his name, loud and clear, on your tongue again. All this Mr. 0, "The Boss" garbage has him absolutely yearning to hear it. 

        Crocodile grows careless, and his attentiveness to his hook on your body wavers. Wild from the waves of cold euphoria, your body unconsciously jerks, hips bucking into his mouth, begging for him more without words. The sharp, gold point happened to tear down where your collarbone started, creating a gash. It's not anywhere deep enough to kill you, but it couldn't have felt good. The pain makes you cry out through the green gag in your mouth, spasming again beneath him, with no where to go under the weight of his hook. Your body shakes, the sensations all too much combined, and you orgasm crashes over you hard. Crocodile ignores the muffled babbling in favor of licking up the cum dripping and sticking between your thighs. He glanced up, observing the deep red pooling on your chest, spreading its fingers far over your body, reaching up to your throat and down your stomach. It quivered with every trembling breath you took, heavy through your nose. It's staining the last piece of lingerie clinging so tightly to you.

        Crocodile gives a soft sigh as he adjusts himself higher on top of you, sliding his hook off to your side. He reached to finally pull the cravat out of your mouth. His hand stroked unusually softly over your face as you opened your eyes with a whimper. 

        "Cr-Crocodile-" you start to choke out, tears brimming at your eyes.

        His eyes roll a little. "It's not deep. You'll live." 

        So cold. But you can't forget the burning heat of his mouth against you. You'd been worried about the blood staining his sheets. But you figure he doesn't really care about that, judging by how he's on top of you once more, hand pushed down, unforgiving, into the mattress between your head and your shoulder. 

        After all this why do you...why do you still need him so badly? You should be exhausted, pushed to the edge, on the brink of unconsciousness. You should be exhausted. But you only feel more alive, blood and adrenaline thrumming through your veins. You only want more. His hand digs underneath you, and he undoes the clasp of the bra finally. Cool air stings where the straps had been irritating. It's strange. Usually the clothing he selects for you are perfectly sized. 

        Meaning he must have done it on purpose. 

        The bra joins its partner and the abandoned fur coat near the edge of the bed. Crocodile's head dips so he can kiss along the skin of your chest, along where the red marks from the straps still remained. He doesn't seem to mind the blood one bit, the edge and bottom of his thin lips stained red. Staring down at you, he smirks. 

        "I see that look on your face. I'm not through with you yet. After all," Crocodile leaned in close. "I have you all night." 

        His hand reaches down to your leg, yanking it open, hard. With enough force, he could have dislocated it. Tears spring in your eyes, making you think he almost did. Eyes trained onto yours, Crocodile grinds his hips into yours, cock lining up with your entrance. He sinks into you, deep, making you choke out his name. Your hands grasp at his biceps, head back into the pillow as rapid breath stirs at you. The last of the fresh blood rolls over your ribs, eventually thinning out enough to dry over your skin. He moans out, a tremor in his deep voice, as your cunt tightens around him. God, you squeeze him so right. His fingers dig harder into your thigh, nails denting in your skin. They'd bruise for sure. 

        By the time the blood has fully coagulated on your chest, Crocodile shows no signs of slowing down. The rhythmic fucking slams the massive headboard against the solid wall. The bed is well manufactured and strong, enough to take a man of his size. But even you worry he might break it. His hand suddenly moves from your thigh, to dig underneath your body, to yank you closer to him. His hook, slammed down dangerously near your head, jerks with every rough thrust. With his cock stuffed fully into you, you feel the coarse, curling hair lining down his stomach rubbing into your skin. A moan, punctuated with gasps, tears from your throat. You feel him throb deep inside your cunt, already coming close to breaking. It seems even a man like Crocodile can be worn down by a night like this one. 

        Desperate to cling on, your arms wrap around him, fingernails scratching down the length of his muscled back. He rasps out another deep groan, wrought with sheer pleasure. How he adores you like this, pressed tight to him, holding on for dear life, surrendering even an inch of space for yourself. You become selfless and selfish in those moments--such a wonderful combination, he thinks, as he pounds you into the silken sheets. 

        He can't help but let his fingers drift down your back just a little, arm still strong and supportive against you. It wouldn't have mattered if he'd moved it anyways, not with how tight you're holding onto him. The urge to make you squirm just a little harder is like second nature to him. His hand feels over the fresh burn wound left on the small of your back, making you spasm in pain and gasp out. Just as he imagined, your cunt squeezes tighter around his cock. He loves when you do that. 

        You scream out his name, like a mantra, and you lose all shame. With the way that name rips through your throat, roughing it in the best way possible, you lose all sense of yourself as well, pinned tight beneath that man. Crocodile's hips rut up into yours, hard, enough that you know you'll bare the bruises days later. 

        You cum again, arms wrapped around him, fingers curling into Crocodile's back fully. Your climax shakes you for a long time, so long you can't believe you're still conscious. His hips rock against yours, guiding you through it, until you're left gasping against his chest, arms weakening. He pumps into you a few more times, reaching his own orgasm with a low groan. His hips stagger against yours and his muscles tighten under your fingers. 

        He gives another rough exhale, surprisingly enough, needing to catch his own breath as light perspiration beads at his hairline. His hair has come loose from its usual style. Slowly, he rolls off of you, arm reaching around you quickly to keep you near. 

        Still catching your breath, you tentatively move closer to Crocodile. His arm slides off you as he reaches over to the nightstand instead. He lit another cigar as you attempted to get comfortable, mind still buzzing and blurry. Of course he has a stash near his bed. How has lung cancer not taken this guy out yet? You splay out across his chest with another sigh, fingers sunk into his skin, mouth slightly agape. Crocodile's hook rests, crossed over you, pinning your legs and hips down, keeping you firm once more at his side. The crook of his elbow hugs the curve of your back.

        "How about another?" he suddenly rasps into your ear, cigar waiting in his hand. 

        It takes you a moment to realize what he's asking. 

        "I...I don't know, sir. It hurt." Your head is still swimming with pleasure, thighs sticky and wet beneath his gold hook.

        "What did I tell you before?" Crocodile coos the reminder all too softly. 

        Stop thinking so damn much. Momentarily, you go quiet. 

        "Okay...where?" you ask, voice still tense. 

        "The back of your neck."

        His answer is confident. He's been thinking about it for awhile, obviously. Chances were he'd wanted to do it earlier. 

        Hesitantly, you nod. 

        Crocodile's right arm moves over, cigar ready. You hold your breath, squinting your eyes shut as you bury your face into his chest. Your fingers ball into fists against him, anticipating the pain. Crocodile's lips widen into a slow smile. Cigar pinched between his thumb and pointer, he uses his other fingers to shift hair out of the way, clearing it from the back of your neck. Then, he presses it down on the revealed skin. You grit your teeth, hissing in pain against him, body stiffened with agony. 

        It's not nearly as bad as it was the first time. Maybe because you knew it was coming. 

        The cigar finally lifts after a grueling few seconds. He took his sweet time. Even with it pinched in between his fingers, the rest of his hand goes to stroke along your jaw. Crocodile's head lowers as he kisses the top of your own. 

        "There's my good girl. You did well tonight. Very well..." 

        His praise is lovely, but the novelty wears off when you're focused on the intense, throbbing scorch on the back of your neck. You're not sure if you can handle many more nights like this. As good as it felt, it's certainly exhausting and messy overall. You feel bad making a request, but it's the least he can do after you've let him stub fucking cigar onto you. You lift your head from his chest to speak, voice soft and a bit shaky. Your throat is sore from the crying and screaming for him. You pray to god none of the estate attendants were nearby to hear. It had to have come through these thick walls. 

        "...Is there a shower nearby? I feel...dirty. I don't like the blood." 

        It was uncomfortably stiff where it's dried, spilled still across your chest and neck, frozen and dark. It makes you a little woozy to see all of it. Likely the shock and the blood loss combined, even if the wound was overall shallow. Crocodile takes your hand in his, smoldering cigar pinched between two of his fingers still. He brings the back of your hand to his narrow lips, pressing your knuckles to them in a soft, chaste kiss. Against  you, he chuckles, glancing up through thick lashes and heavy eyelids.

        "Of course. Come with me." 

        You follow him from the bed, when he rises. You wrap your arms around yourself, covering what you can. Now that the perspiration on your body has dried and the heat has died down, a chill starts to creep up on you. It's impossible to ignore. All you want to do is jump into a hot stream of water as soon as you can. Crocodile senses the quiet but desperate urgency coming from you and his smirk widens as he leads you into the bathroom. 

        The architecture and design, like the rest of his estate, is downright gorgeous. It's a type of glassy, black marble, and matching colored porcelain for the counter tops. An expansive mirror lines the wall. You dare not look into it, knowing what a hot mess you probably looked like. Mosaic glass lines the entrance of the massive shower. Of course it would need to be this big in order to accommodate Crocodile's sheer size and his taste for luxury. 

        You feel his hand on your back--you'd lagged a little to observe your surroundings. He guides you into the shower with him, before reaching to turn the handle. Behind you, he stands, hand reaching out into the water. Warily, just for a moment, his cold eyes glance down onto you. Mimicking him, you reach out to feel the temperature. It's smart to be on guard. It's smart to be twenty steps ahead in any and all scenarios. His hook glints, held at his side.

        He knows better than to take it off. 

        The thought that you could be an assassin has dawned on him now and then. Usually, he pays it no mind, knowing that you don't have many cards up your sleeve. You're easily predictable, but almost too obedient. Then again, you're also very weak, as far as he's aware. You pose no threat to him.

         But now that he's near water, the one thing that can stop him and his sands, it's returned to his mind. 

        You don't seem to notice the tension in the arm bearing his hook.

        "This is good," you tell him softly, voice echoing off the walls. You step into the stream, watching it start to take the flaking, dried blood off your chest and abdomen. 

        You're careful not to immediately submerge any of the burns Crocodile's left on your body. You're lucky it was only two. His large hand brushes over your back, holding at the small of it, as he joins you in the shower stream. If you truly have any ill intent, it is a matter to be attended to later. For now, he only wishes to watch the water glisten over your body. To watch the dim light reflect off of you. 

        His head comes to rest on top of yours. 

        You worry, at first, that he may try to go for another round. But Crocodile makes no further advancement. Instead, he simply holds you in the shower, hand falling from your back in favor of his arm slipping around you entirely. His hair comes undone underneath the stream, long black strands falling in front of his eyes. 

        A relaxed, heavy exhale sounds from him, almost a groan of pleasure. You feel the tension start to leave your own muscles beneath the drumming of the hot water, head turning slightly to the side, your cheek rested against his chest. Even when the water stops running red with the dried blood, the two of you remain for ten minutes more. 

        Only when fatigue plagues you enough to the point where you no longer have the energy to stand straight, does Crocodile reach to turn off the faucet. 

        You know that when you'd been lead back into the bedroom that you could have grabbed what was left of your clothes. That you could have thanked him for the evening. That you could have left without another word and gone back to your own bed, alone, for the rest of the night. Crocodile pauses at the side of the bed, a little ways behind you, watching with a bit of interest. You stare at the mussed sheets.

        And you return to them, settling back down with a soft sigh. Your head sinks into the pillow, back turned to Crocodile. He finds the light amount of indignance amusing--the stubbornness as to not gaze up at him or meet his eyes once more. You feel his weight at your side, on the bed as well. 

        His arm reaches over you, bringing you closer to him. 

        It remains there for the rest of the night, snug to your body. Some time ago, you would not have dared to move it. Now you wouldn't even dream of such a thing. 

#nsfw #crocodile x reader #one piece #one shot #sir crocodile

[rottenstrawberrymilk]

crocodile x reader

nsfw one shot

12.2k words

        All you were trying to do was make end's meet. It's expensive to live here, where the water is so abundant, driving the demand even higher. Droves a new people flock to Rainbase. You can't even blame them or get angry with the competition--you had come for the exact same reasons. 

        You'd been one of the lucky few able to snag a job at the ever exclusive Rain Dinners. The competition had, once again, been brutal, and you'd been completely surprised to see that your application had been accepted and you were expected to start almost immediately. You suppose they need more staff to accommodate for the droves of people flocking here during such turbulent times. 

        While the pressure of learning on the job was intense, it was worth it once you had familiarized yourself with the layout of the casino. Serving cocktails and drinks isn't all that hard. You even get along well with your coworkers and the bartenders. The worst part of the job was probably just dealing with some of the drunk patrons. It's becoming all too often that you have to laugh off a crude joke or pretend like you didn't just get practically felt up by some stumbling jerk who didn't understand personal space. The rest of the girls can relate to you, which gave you a sense of belonging. They even gave you some tips on how to deal with a couple of the regulars that caused the most trouble around here. You once asked why the bouncers couldn't just take care of the issue. Apparently there's some rule to avoid escalation at all costs to keep the customers happy. The bouncers won't do a thing unless there's a case of violent assault. Meaning you have to keep putting up with all the petty bullshit and misbehavior.

        Besides that, you'd actually been doing well for the first four weeks. It really seemed like this was going to work out nicely for you and be a steady job with equally steady income. You live on your own, meaning it's not all too difficult to support yourself. You're starting to piece together which outfits and hairstyles and what color of lipstick or eyeshadow can rack you up the most amount of tips in a shift. 

        Unfortunately, when things go well, there's almost certainly something coming to balance it out.

        You don't know what exactly had happened, or even how it had happened, but one day you crashed directly into the owner of the entire fucking casino. The man's huge, but somehow you had completely missed him. One minute, he'd been off to the side, chatting with one of the dealers. You'd sworn that he'd been far enough away for you to pay no mind in particular and focus on getting this next round of drinks to the table demanding them. You'd been walking with the platter, steady on your feet and path, the customers in plain view. And then the next moment, you're smashing into a wall of ever expansive black. You'd been stunned, confused, and absolutely drenched in alcohol on the ground, not sure where the hell you are or what the fuck just happened. 

        The casino drops to a silence for only a few moments to observe the noisy accident. Like second nature however, people returned back to their machines, their games, their drinks and food. Whatever luxuries were in front of them was more entertaining than yourself, apparently. The embarrassment stings just a little less knowing that everyone had gone right back about their nights. Still, once your head stops spinning, you pale a good amount. When you looked up, heart gripped in cold fingers of fear, Sir Crocodile was already looking down at you, cigar in between his teeth as usual. 

        You've only ever heard of him. Basic descriptors, his...community service? But this is the first you've seen of him up close and in the flesh. Once or twice, you'd spied him from a distance while taking orders at a table. But you'd never dreamed of ever approaching him, much less having his attention on you. He's...he's scary. And that massive gleaming hook at his side makes you certain that it's him for sure.

        You're so focused on said giant, scary ass hook, that you'd failed to notice him extending his hand out. He offered it to you, rings glinting in the light along his thick fingers. Gruffly, Crocodile cleared his throat. 

        "If I were you," he says, voice easily cutting through the surrounding noise, "I'd take it." 

        Any apologies you might have had ready was instantly struck from your mind and mouth. Speechlessly, you take his huge hand. It envelops yours quite completely as he pulls you to your feet. Your face goes from pale to flushed with embarrassment when you see the shine and wetness of liquor on his coat. Some of the fur lining is damp. Oh no...

        "I'm so sorry, sir-" There's that apology you'd been so desperately searching for. "I didn't mean to, I-I don't know what-"

        He puts up a hand, signaling for your silence. Instantly, you obey, shutting your mouth. Your hand almost unconsciously reaches to hold over your lips. God if you lose your job over this...

        You can no longer hear anything in the casino but Crocodile's voice.

        "I don't care. Get those customers what they ordered. And another round. On me." His pale gaze drifts over to the table, then back to you. "Then come to my office." 

        Those words sink your heart like a rock in the moat surrounding the casino. Down, down, down it goes. You can't stop your eyes from stinging a little bit and your throat from tightening. It looked like you were about to burst into tears. You're barely able to collect yourself, giving him a succinct nod. Your hand trembles over your mouth.

        Crocodile's gaze doesn't waver on you. 

        "I'd be quick about it."

        You nod again, heeding his warning and turning away to quickly make your way over to the bar. The bartender gives a whistle at you, shaking his head. You just tell him to make those drinks again, along with another round as the boss had ordered. Your heart is still pounding in your chest by the time you receive the drinks and try once more to get them to their designated table.

        Upon arriving, you apologized for the wait. Just as Crocodile had instructed you to, you made it very clear that the bonus round was completely on him. You could only stand and listen awkwardly as the customers gushed over him. The way they talk about him almost sounds like they're speaking of a puppy, praising him for what a wonderful man he is. They swoon over Crocodile's generosity. The whole time, you just smile, strained. You try to ignore how that same generous wonderful man is probably going to personally fire you in about ten minutes. Maybe fifteen if he feels chattier. 

        After you finish serving the table, it takes you a few moments near the bar to work up the nerve to go into the office. The bartender offers you a sympathy shot. You turn it down, knowing you need to have a clear mind if you're ever going to get out of this fucking mess. 

        Reminding yourself of Crocodile's pension for brevity, you stop wasting time and walk over to where his office door is. You'd been taken by it once or twice when you'd first started working here and had received a quick tour of the building. Your mentor at the time had jokingly said to avoid going in there at all costs and its better if you stay put on the floor, busy with the guests. Hesitantly, you knock on the door.

        There's no response.

        Tentatively, you tried to open the door. It's unlocked, which you hated. You push it open, just a little bit, like it was going to protect you from the man inside. Crocodile's at his desk, smoking his cigar and reading a newspaper. It's kind of a mess in there. You open the door a little wider when he doesn't acknowledge you.

        "Sir?" you try, voice so quiet you're not actually sure if he'd heard it. 

        He did. Crocodile looks up at you, silently, his expression unreadable. 

        "I-I wasn't sure if you were in. I knocked," you said.        

        "I heard." 

        Why is he so fucking weird and scary? God, you wish you didn't crash into him. You're still not sure entirely of what the fuck had happened still. Due to the confusion, you have no where to put the blame but on yourself. Unless you can come up with an explanation as to why you were walking towards the customers, blinked, and then suddenly you were facing Crocodile's massive back in the middle of a fall. 

        A gigantic shadow swims by--there's an aquarium of sorts stretched out on the wall behind his desk. Reptilian, slitted eyes survey you over Crocodile. It reminds you of his own gaze. Visibly, you shrink back, hands still on the door as you weigh your options. Before you make up your mind, Crocodile speaks.

        "I don't bite as hard as it does. Come here." 

        Is that supposed to be a joke? You're too afraid to even fake a dry laugh. You obey, stepping into the office, closing the door behind you. As you approach the desk, the awkward silence settles in. You can hear your heartbeat in your ear. You tried to strike up some small talk to destroy the overall tension.

        "I didn't know you kept gators in the moat around here." 

        "You've been working here for a month now."

        He's not looking at you anymore, refocused on his newspaper. You can't figure out if that statement is relative to anything you'd just said. Mulling over it, you pull out the chair and sit down, hands on your lap, fingers pushing into the fabric of your dress anxiously. You figure it's better to go along with him. Let Crocodile lead the conversation. Control freaks like him dig that sort of thing. 

        "Yes, sir," you reply, trying to sit up straight and not shrink back into the chair. "I enjoy working here." 

        Crocodile hums pensively around his cigar, his strange brow lifting slightly. He still hasn't looked back up at you. He sets the newspaper down on the cluttered desk. Some of his hair had become equally as messy, hanging down near his face. You hadn't realized he had such long hair with how neatly he slicks it back. His earring glints in the blue light from the aquarium, momentarily catching you eye. The gator swims lazily away, apparently having grown bored of you. Your gaze follow it, distracted once again, your mind pleading to focus on anything but him. Unfortunately, when you look back, Crocodile is staring at you dead in the eyes. You become rigid under that stare.

        You feel cold. 

        "I'm glad to hear that. I've seen you often. (Y/N), wasn't it? You work well."

        Why the hell are you here? It doesn't sound like he intends to fire you. Should you ask him about it? Or will that just prompt him to change his mind and possibly fire you for real? Your head runs wild with 'if's and 'buts'. Once again, the awkward silence settles in. It's familiar now. Crocodile's eye contact does not waver. Your face feels hot.

        This is the worst. 

        "Um." Breaking the silence is hard. "Can I ask why I was summoned? Here? Sir?" 

        Still, Crocodile is unreadable. He leans back into his chair, with a shrug of his broad shoulders. His coat shifts atop them. His hook settles on his lap, his remaining hand finding a place to rest atop the gold. 

        "What type of establishment would I be running without properly disciplining my employees?" 

        "A bad one," you responded all too quickly, wanting this to be over with no matter what the outcome might be. "Sir." You'd almost forgotten formalities. 

        A rough laugh comes from Crocodile, making you flinch. You don't know if that's good or bad and you can't get a fucking read on him. You offer the most pathetic of laughs back. The sound fades off as he takes a breath, regarding you in a manner you can only describe as similar to the gator in the aquarium. 

        "So...is this the discipline?" you try, still wildly confused. "I-It was an accident. I swear, I didn't see you, sir. I don't know how but-" 

        Crocodile holds up a large hand. It's a familiar gesture that once again earns your immediate silence. Whatever job you had held previously, it seemed you were well trained, Crocodile notes. 

        "Accidents happen," he says, finger tapping at the base of his hook a bit thoughtfully. "I wouldn't count on allowing this one to happen twice. The supplies here are precious. I won't wasting them. Do we have an understanding?" 

        You feel a spark of indignation, angry that he expects you to take all the blame for his freakishly big ass getting in your way. But you quickly let the anger die away. If the boss says its on you, it's on you. Only a total moron would challenge him on something this petty, especially when he's showing such unusual mercy. Instead of arguing, you just nod, breaking eye contact to look down at your lap. No matter how hard you try, you can't quite hide the scorn the curls your lip.

        "Yes, sir. Loud and clear." 

        "Then you are excused. Next time, I won't be so generous."

        "Of course, sir. Thank you." 

        You've never gotten up and rushed out of an office faster in your entire life. He's so creepy...but that raspy laugh of his stays in your mind for whatever reason. Even as you return to work the rest of your shift, still shaking, it echoes through your head. Whenever any of your coworkers ask you what happened, you just tell them he lectured you on professionalism and proper conduct in his casino and let you off with a warning. They'd simply sighed, disappointed that there wasn't any juicy gossip. But that's basically the whole truth, isn't it?

        Nothing else of note had happened in there. Nothing at all. 

        Your worst nightmare comes to life when you start seeing more of Crocodile after that fateful meeting in his office. Or maybe it was that you just weren't looking out for him before, too focused on working to notice. Despite his seeming increase in appearances, you aren't at all swayed from picking up more hours and shifts. As many as you can, in fact, to keep working and keep the money coming in. 

        Things were starting to get pricier at Rainbase as the drought worsened elsewhere. 

        Sleep starts escaping you, as you leave yourself little to no breaks. 

        It doesn't help that Crocodile has taken some strange liking to you, often approaching you a few times a week. Usually, it's because he wants you to serve someone special tonight. A guest of his or some VIP. He has those often. His reputation is important, after all. You aren't sure why it always has to be you. He says something once about you being the most efficient of the bottle girls. You pray to God that no one else had heard that, because the last thing you need is jealous animosity pointed in your direction from your coworkers. You'd be embarrassed if you were the reason for any jealousy and conflict in the workplace. 

        Interactions with Crocodile goes from commands, to small talk here and there. A "how are you" sometimes. You try to keep things brief on your end. You don't exactly have a distaste for him, but even the repeated exposure isn't enough to completely dull your fear. It's...exhausting to deal with him sometimes. Or maybe you really are overworking yourself. It catches up to you after awhile. 

        Your lack of rest became apparent during a routine chat with Crocodile. You'd been tipping him off as to what supplies the casino seemed to be running lower on as certain mixes and cocktails fade in and out of popularity. Stocking and inventory isn't your job, but the information gets to him quicker through you. And because you'd been working so many hours recently, your information happened to be the most consistent and current. 

        You'd swayed a little on your feet towards the end of the conversation.

        Crocodile's hand found your shoulder. It's gigantic, but you're always much more grateful it's that instead of the alternative--the terrifyingly huge hook of his. With his hand on you, you start to feel a little woozy, maybe even more than before. You'd imagined his intention was to simply steady you, but you only feel worse now. Like his very touch makes you nauseous. 

        Your palm rises to your temple, pressing lightly to try and distract yourself from the pounding of an oncoming headache. Your eyes shut momentarily to try and stop your head from spinning. Your mouth suddenly felt very dry.

        "Um..." you mumbled. "Give me...give me a second here. I'm sorry, sir. I suddenly don't feel well." 

        "You're in no state to serve tonight." 

        You hate admitting that Crocodile is right. You shake your head in feverish denial, but his hand stays heavy on your shoulder. The weight prevents you from shrugging it off and going on to your job as usual. His concern was very flattering, but flattery won't keep your lights on. And it certainly won't keep water running, growing ever more expensive as the country's civil rest continues. 

        "But I need the money," you say softly. The fatigue is worsening. Like you're being drained of energy. It's unlike anything you've ever felt before. You wonder if you've seriously pushed yourself too hard. 

        A thoughtful hum comes from Crocodile. "You'll work tonight. Just not as a waitress. Come work for me instead." 

        "I already do work for you, I thought-"

        "We'll talk it over," he cuts you off. "C'mon."

        His voice is gruff. You can tell he isn't looking for a 'no', much less an answer at al on your part. Just unfaltering obedience. If it lets you keep your job, you'll give him that unquestioningly. 

        Crocodile had you follow him straight to his office, offering you a seat on the other side. You still don't feel too hot. Still, you tried to sit up straight and keep your head up to a respectable degree, hands placed politely in your lap. You wait in anticipation as he rummages through the desk. After a few moments, he produces what seems to be some kind of a contract. 

        His pointer finger taps at the form. "I don't want you out on that floor anymore."

        Your heart drops, blood running cold. The color somehow drains even more from your already pale face. Are you getting fired?? But what about what he had just said?

        "I'm...uhm...sorry sir, have I done something wrong?" Your voice trembles. 

        Crocodile shakes his head in a 'no'. "Nothing of the sort. Think of this as a promotion. The pay is higher. You said you needed the money, didn't you?"

        Your fingers tighten in the material of your dress. "A promotion? What's the position?" God your head is pounding.

        "My personal assistant."

        You're woozy, but not too much to recognize how your heart keeps sinking. A promotion was supposed to be good news. So why does this feel so wrong? Why do you feel like you shouldn't do this? At your lack of reply, Crocodile's head tilts. His huge hand lifts to rub at his own temple. A bit of a huff comes from him, like he dislikes admitting this.

        "I find myself...busier as of late. I need someone to straighten out my schedule and help out. Even if it's just tidying the place up. Give it a test run tonight. Think it over. You'll be compensated with your usual wage." 

        You still hesitate. But eventually, you nod. The last thing you need is to be under all those harsh casino lights, with the flashing machines and obnoxious amount of chatter and noise. Crocodile offers you a glass of water, noting that your condition seems to have worsened. You fail to notice he only offered it after you had agreed to his proposal. You feel just a tiny bit better with the glass in your hand, sipping gingerly. 

        Crocodile's lips upturn ever so slightly. His smile is always offputting.

        "And take the day off tomorrow. I want you well rested." 

        "Yes, sir."

        The work in the office is much lower effort than the work out on the floor. Your feet down hurt as much from the heels. It was quieter. You're not overwhelmed by blinking lights and the smells and sounds. It's more comfortable in here, in the dimness lit only by the aquarium glass. You're away from the multitude of eyes and stares. All but his of course. Crocodile's cold gaze isn't much more fun, but at least it's only him in here that you have to be wary of. 

        You ended up being deeply and unexpectedly grateful for the day off he demanded you take. It was hard to believe that he genuinely had any best interest of yours at heart. You hope he doesn't pry at how you'd spent it, because the answer was just sleeping. 

        Showing up for your shift normally the next day was almost a tragedy. You do feel much more refreshed, however. There was no sign of Crocodile tonight. You breathe an unconscious sigh of relief. It had not escaped either of your notices that you had not signed the contract on your way out of the office the other night. To be honest, you were still thinking it all over. Crocodile was right--you had liked working closer with him, more than you thought. But he still kinda...creeps you out. Like he's thinking something but you still don't have a clue as to what. 

        You're unsure. Which is enough of a reason not to immediately pursue that promotion. It feels too good to be true. 

        You know better than to abandon your usual duties tonight. Special treatment before did not mean you were relieved of your responsibilities. There's a job to be done here. You're still on the salary of a bottle girl here. But life has a weird way of balancing out. You hadn't realized you were walking into the worst shift of your life. 

        The customer you were supposed to serve tonight was no stranger. In fact, you and the other girls tend to have more problems with him. Drunk and disorderly is a complete understatement when it comes to this man. For months, he had walked the thin line between misbehavior and felony. Enough to make the bouncers turn their head his way, but never take any action on account of that stupid fucking policy. Because you had gotten the day off before, your coworkers insisted you go serve him tonight. Partially out of guilt, you agree to do it. They're starting to catch on to Crocodile's favoritism towards you and it's starting to create strains in the workplace. 

        Just like you'd predicted. 

        Honestly, workplace tensions should have been the least of your worries. You'd failed to notice just how far in the corner the table the customer had chosen to sit at tonight was. Far enough to escape the notice of the nearest bouncers, even out of direct sight of anyone at the bar. You just wanted to take the order, laugh off the creepy jokes and shrug an invasive hand off your hip and be done with this. 

        When you'd glanced down at your notepad to check the order, you felt his hand on you. He grabbed at your waist--something you'd typically been able to shrug and giggle off. But this time, he becomes more aggressive. His other hand grabs at the side of your neck and he yanks you closer. As usual, the reek of alcohol is strong on him. 

        "Let go!" you snap, trying to wrestle out of his grip. He'd stood up from the table, using his full strength. 

        Your hands push at his chest, trying to put some distance back between the two of you. 

        "Y'know I've been lookin' to get with you for a loooong time," he slurs. You can barely hear him over the crowd of the casino, which means the nearest bouncer certainly can't hear it either. 

        Helplessly, you cast you gaze back, keeping up your fervent struggle. How is absolutely no one noticing this shit?! Your mouth opens to scream out louder to get someone, anyone's attention. You can't hold him back for much longer, buckling under the pressure of his arm against your back. His grip tightens on your throat, hard, choking out the scream. His palm shifts to clamp over your mouth, breaking the gap between his body and yours. Jammed up against him, all you can do is thrash. 

        "N'got a knife. Really big one, 'll cut your neck ifya yell-" the man threatens, breath rank on your face.

        He's not lying. You felt it jamming into your hip this entire time, making your blood run ice cold. The utter fear brings tears to your eyes. His hand leaves your mouth to grab at the strap of your dress, yanking it down roughly. You can't help but sob, desperately trying to shift away from him. You tried to lift one of your hands from his chest to clasp the fabric back to your chest. But he keeps pulling and you're utterly trapped.

        Stupid, stupid, stupid.

        Your attempt to protect yourself had bit you in the ass--now it's the reason you can't save your dignity. His grip is so tight, the back of your hands and pressed to your collarbone. Your fingers curl frustratedly, once again in a vain attempt to get away from him.

        You don't recall there being even an inch of space between you and this animal. But somehow, something slides in between. Cold metal presses up against your stomach, icy even through the material of your dress. It tears you completely out of the man's grip, which falls slack all too quickly. Your first instinct is to go to cover yourself, still crying, eyes shut. Your hand is gripped in a fist so tight on the mangled strap of your dress that your knuckles are white. Bouncers finally start rushing over, attention drawn by something unable to go ignored. You wondered, looking back, how much further they would have let this carry out, had there not been interference. 

        You already knew who had stepped in.

        Crocodile's hook curved around you, pressing you up close to his body instead, under his coat. You open your eyes to look up at him, still flushed with panic. He's using his free hand to strangle the man who was assaulting you. At first, you blink, not sure how he's able to reach out so far. Then you notice the flowing sand extending from his elbow, allowing his fingers to wrap around that man's throat.

         Of course. His devil fruit powers. You've heard of them, whispered about to and fro among casino goers and your coworkers. It's a topic that's pretty impossible to avoid for anyone in any of his circles. Still, you had done your best to mind your business. Now you're seeing those powers up close and personal, being used to protect you. 

        Crocodile's ring glints in the casino light. Although he's usually unreadable, you recognize that contemplating look on his face. Like he's deciding how much harder to keep squeezing. The man is choking out, pleading in his grip. When he goes to rake nails over Crocodile's sleeve, his fingers simply slip through flowing sand. Your blood is pounding in your ears. You stay stunned at Crocodile's side, hand protectively put over your chest as you shrink away from the scene.  

        Just for a moment, short enough for someone unobservant to miss, Crocodile's eyes shift down to yours. Blink and you'd miss him searching for an expression on your face--inspiration for what he'd do next. Heavy fumes from his cigar flow on his exhale, curling around his head, puffing into the man's face. He makes up his mind.

        The bouncers swarm the man once Crocodile tosses him to the ground. The sand returns to him, becoming one with his body again. It's freaky, watching his hand reattach itself to the reformed wrist and forearm. The casino had fallen silent. Crocodile ignores their gazes and hushed murmurs. 

        "This is no place for animals," he growls, every syllable punctuated with smoke. "My casino is not a damned pigsty."

        You think the crowd around might have applauded him. They cheered him on while jeering at the man the bouncers were roughly dragging out. You spot people hurling their drinks at him. Another case of Crocodile heroics it seems. There he goes, saving a damsel in distress. He's like a superhero! He's just what this kingdom needs! What a gentleman he is, how chivalrous, how caring, how protective and just. 

        His attention refocuses on you. Out of everything tonight, it's the worst feeling of all as shame sinks its teeth into you. Solemnly, you give a soft sniff, not wanting to look at him, arms still crossed protectively over yourself. Crocodile shrugs his coat off his back, wrapping it around you. That man had done a number on your dress. Not enough to strip you naked by any means, but he senses your mortification. 

        He takes you somewhere quiet, away from prying eyes. Back in his office, of course, where else? 

        Even then, you're still shaken, sat down in front of his desk. Vainly, you attempt to recenter yourself. You're okay. You're okay. Nothing truly bad had happened. His coat was still wrapped around you. Your fingers absentmindedly bury themselves in the fur. It smells like him. Everything smells like him in here. On the other side of the desk, Crocodile was silent, lighting yet another cigar. You notice his most frequently abandoned one was almost bitten in half. 

        Ooh. He was mad. 

        The heavy smoke fills the room, pieced through with blue light. It's weirdly soothing, drifting by. The reflection of the water casts fine lines across the two of you. Connecting strings, maybe. You eventually find your voice. Quietly, you thanked him. Crocodile just nodded.

        After a few more moments of silence, you spoke again.

        "I wanna work for you instead, sir." 

        He quirks a brow. 

        "The position you offered me, is it still open?"

        "It is."

        You don't want a repeat of what happened tonight ever again. You don't want those people in the casino ever looking at you with their prying eyes again. How they surveyed you with glee, taking in all the messy dramatics. You had heard the whispers on the way to the office. Unconsciously, you pulled the fur coat closer around yourself, like you're trying to erase the indecency beneath it. In all truth, you'd pulled your dress back on properly and it looked just fine. But you feel like it's always being torn off now. Like no amount of cover, no amount of layers will ever be enough.

        "I'll take it. I...I don't think I can go back out there again as a waitress. It'll be too much for me. S-So it's either I take the promotion or I quit."

        "Why not quit?" he asks, mostly out of his own curiosity. His interest towards you is no guarded secret. In fact, he's made it almost painfully obvious. But the question of why you stayed, despite how uncomfortable he seemed to make you, had always burned in his mind. 

        Crocodile is not stupid. He observes how you flinch when he speaks. How you tense up when he's even close by. The way you seem to be at conflict with yourself--unable to decide if you want to be in a room with him or as far away as humanly possible. Some days you looked to enjoy the small talk he made with you. Others it appeared as though you can't think of anything better than to shy away and busy yourself once more. 

        He has no time to decipher a question with an answer only you can give him honestly. And he knows you'll be honest. You have no reason not to be. Not after he's saved you. You owe him.

        You take a long moment to reply.

        "Despite everything," you say, carefully, "I still want to work here. With you. U-under you."

        Did that sound wrong? It sounded wrong. Your face flushes a little. Under him, what the fuck were you thinking? Would he take it the wrong way? Are you thinking too much about poor phrasing? What other way was there to put it? You were beneath him in the hierarchy here, he's the fucking boss. Top of the food chain. 

        Your overthinking, as usual, is for naught. Crocodile just nods, satisfied with your answer. Honestly, he'd expected you to simply cite the generous salary he'd offered to you some nights before. This was unexpected...but not an unpleasant response. 

        "Wise choice. You're a smart girl."

        Crocodile's praise sends chills down your spine. He slides over the contract, which had still been left on the desk. Instead of water this time, he offers you a pen. 

        The first few weeks weren't so bad.

        It'd been awkward at first. He's a fairly quiet man. Your boss valued his silence and spoke only when it really mattered. You know that trait is usually attributed to his intelligence. You personally theorize that it's because he doesn't like talking around his cigar. Either way, his silence is extremely different from the bustle and noise of the casino laying outside of his expansive office. You hadn't realized how overwhelming it had all been when you worked out there. Maybe you'd just gotten used to the rush. Now you're not sure how you lived without the quiet.

        Crocodile isn't actually around as much as you thought he'd be, either. There are nights where he doesn't come in at all. Which explains his need for a personal assistant, as the paperwork really starts to pile up when he's not around to sift through it. You're expected to take it over once he's trained you on how to properly handle it. 

        His schedule is as odd as he is. He says he's been busier lately, but the calendar he provided for you seems weirdly open. There's large periods of time blocked out rather meticulously, months out in fact, all at random. You swear there could be a pattern, if you only knew what you were looking for. They're always unlabeled. No code name, no abbreviations. And you're strictly prohibited from scheduling any sort of meetings with potential importers or sponsors during these times. Even public showings for the sake of his reputation and name fall in priority to those mysterious blocked out sections.

        However, one of his first policies he'd made crystal clear to you was not to question him. 

        Wisely, you choose to leave it alone and never ask him about it. Even if he could have been using that time to promote and better his business more. You didn't know it, but that was one of his favorite traits about you. Crocodile tells you to do something, you do it without question. You don't ask too many questions either, even minor ones. You just do what you're told, exactly as you've been told. You're a good girl. You're a smart girl. 

        Sometimes, you'll see him talking with a woman in a white coat. You'd seen them together once in the casino as you'd passed by. Crocodile hadn't spared you a glance. You don't know why but it made you...jealous. As much as you hate it. Maybe you're not jealous. No. Wrong word. You don'twant to be jealous and there's no rational reason to be. Curious. That's the word you'll use instead. They don't seem particularly close, which makes you breathe a silent sigh of relief you didn't even know you were holding back. There's nothing you could do anyways if they were. All you can do is head to that office from hell to tackle Crocodile's terrifying amount of paperwork. Coincidentally, it's only increased since your promotion to this position. He said something once about looking to expand his business lately. 

        There are nights where you have to stay hours longer because of it, desperately trying to sort through invoices and receipts and other forms. Willfully, you give him hours of your time. Crocodile usually sits by, apparently not a fan of the noise and light of the casino either. He quietly reads whatever newspaper came by today, cigar pinched between his fingers instead of his teeth. You don't feel his eyes on your back. But that doesn't mean they aren't there. 

        Perhaps your senses have dulled. Maybe you even trust him.

        On top of better pay, sometimes you'll find little gift baskets have been sent to your home. At least that's how they started out. They've been getting bigger recently. You wondered how Crocodile knew your address. You figure you'd probably filled out the application form with it. The baskets are always signed rather shamelessly with his name. You try to be fast about bringing them into the house, not wanting anyone to see. The growing amount of favoritism from him embarrasses you sometimes. You're not entirely sure what you've done to earn his favor this intensely. All you had done was worked equally as hard at this job--the same amount of effort you'd put in when you were still just a bottle girl. 

        But, like he said, you're a smart girl, like he said. It's downright stupid to reject some of the expensive products and garments you're getting for free, courtesy of your generous boss, Sir Crocodile. Maybe it's silent payment for the hours of extra work on late nights, spent on your hands and knees, shuffling through filing cabinets in between rubbing the sleep from your eyes. 

        Sometimes you wished you could wear something comfier. Crocodile put his foot down. He's firm in reminding you that the dress code of the casino still applied and you wouldn't be getting any special treatment regarding it. You don't quite understand why you have to wear the same dresses you wore as a bottle girl when you're just working as his personal assistant. But he doesn't pay you to question him or long held policies, he pays you to obey. So you suck it up and try to just pick longer dresses in your wardrobe, or stay upright on days where you can't wear one. 

        This also means you usually don't have any other choice but to occasionally wear some of the dresses he's graciously given you. Wisely, you decide you don't want to ask or know how he knows what your sizing is. Measurements were something you certainly don't remember writing down on any application.

        He called you in on a day off once for a full shift. Unpredictable as always. It doesn't help that you always feel like you owe him something for his generousness. He wasn't lying about the better pay. And his gifts were always so wonderful--things you never would have dreamed of buying yourself if you even knew where to find them. Crocodile treated you well. Both the gift baskets and his actions on that night constantly lived in your subconscious. You never catch on, but it's one of his oldest tricks in the book to truly own someone. No one's quicker to obey Sir Crocodile than someone who thinks they have no choice due to some debt.

        In your opinion, his request is reasonable in the shadow of everything he has done for you. The least you can do is come in whenever he asks, even on scheduled days off. 

        Maybe he just misses me really bad, you'd joked to yourself on the way into the casino. You ignore the stares of old coworkers. Crocodile had told you that your only focus should be on your new position. Their thoughts on you will never matter more than his--he made that painfully clear. 

        Tonight however, things feel...different. It was strange as the hours had gone by as they usually did, with you fulfilling any of his errands or requests he didn't feel like doing himself. You had about thirty minutes until your shift was over and you could go home. Attentively, you stood by the office door. Usually, you don't sit down unless Crocodile has invited you to first. There's been times where he's left you standing there for an hour, which is insanely boring, but leaves you immediately ready to attend to anything he might need. It's better to remain there if he wants you to greet and escort a guest to his office or a VIP booth on his behalf. 

        Once you'd asked him why you're extended such a privilege of acting in his stead, in his very name. 

        Crocodile had simply told you that sometimes his guests prefer a prettier face. 

        You think it might have been a joke, aimed mostly at himself and the massive scar ripping across his face. Personally, you'd never found that scar ugly. But his response had remained etched in your mind for days after. He thinks you have a pretty face? 

        Eventually, Crocodile invited you to sit. 

        As usual, you went to pull the chair out from the other side of the desk, relieved to have the weight taken off your heels. For once, the desk was fairly clean and organized. There's just a couple of unpaid bills and his precious newspaper. You'd worked your fucking ass off this week to keep everything straightened out. It's like overnight it turns to chaos again, requiring constant attention. Whoever his last assistant had been did not make this an easy job for you. Most of your time in this position had been spent redoing the entire organization of Crocodile's drawers and cabinets. 

        Running a casino seems to be hard work. How he manages while disappearing off and on throughout the week boggles your mind.

        “Not there,” he suddenly mumbles around his cigar, his hook gesturing to his lap. "Here."          Your face flushes. Ever fiber of your being seems to grind to a violent halt. You don't breathe, you don't speak, you don't move or blink.

        What?

You consider asking him to repeat himself, wondering if perhaps you'd misheard him. Or-or misunderstood, or maybe-

        He gives you the moment to hesitate, but when his eerie gaze flits up to you once more, you know better than to make him ask— no, tell— you twice. Crocodile doesn't make mistakes. Gently, you push the chair back in, standing back up fully. You take in a soft breath, fingers clenched into anxious fists as you walk over to him, around the desk. He pushes back his own chair a little, giving you room between his body and the desk. He watches, expectantly, unblinking.

         A familiar unease you haven't felt towards him in a long time comes creeping back in. But just like always, you obey.          Your face is still flushed as you sit upon his thigh. He’s much bigger than you. A breathy, smoky exhale leaves him as leans forward, his remaining, ring clad hand tracing over the papers in front of him. He’s quiet as he reads, fingers drumming every now and again. You’re really not sure what to do with yourself. Your head is spinning.         “Mm…you turn the pages instead.” His voice is gruff in your ear. You nod a bit shakily. His hook glints in the dull light, resting on the desk now beside the newspaper. You can't tell if it's supposed to be threatening.         His other hand, the one nearest to you, goes to grasp at your side. You try not to flinch under his sudden touch. The dress clinging to you doesn't provide much a barrier between his skin and yours. It's thin. One of your older ones, before you had began to receive the salary of Sir Crocodile's personal assistant. To say the least, you're completely taken aback. Not...opposed, you find surprisingly, as he silently reads. Just caught off guard. And you’re also not sure when he wants you to start turning pages. The quiet you'd once valued so dearly is killing you.

        Right after you'd worked so hard to reach a comfortable silence in this damned office too...

        He lets you know soon enough.         “Turn.” He rasps in your ear. His fingers trace up your body further. You obey. The smell of his cigar and cologne fills your nose until you’re lightheaded.         Crocodile’s hand reaches higher. He kneads at your breast, squeezing a little harder when he read something he must not have liked. He simply sighs as you have a difficult time swallowing, hand shaking on the page.

        "It's difficult times for Alabasta," he murmurs. "The people are getting desperate." 

        Your face is red. His is as pale as ever. Like there's nothing of note happening at all. His fingers slide under your arm, to the opening of your sleeveless dress, against your body, and they push your bra up. There’s nothing barring him from your skin. Another few gentle squeezes and strokes. He’s using you like a stress ball. You don't know how he can be so collected doing something so...provocative. A soft, panting gasp escapes you. You feel that flash of jealousy you had banished long before. Does he do this sort of thing often?         “You’re soft,” Crocodile observes, suddenly uninterested in reading the newspaper on the desk any further. “Very soft. You’ve been using the lotion I gave you, hm? And the oil? It's best after a long, hot shower.”         “I-I try not to waste anything given to me,” you respond, trying to get a grip on yourself. “It…it seemed too expensive not to use. And I didn’t want to be rude.”         “And you like the smell?” The rough tip of his pointer rubs over your nipple slowly, feeling it start to perk up. You shift on his thigh visibly, grinding into his pant leg. But you don’t stop him. Crocodile’s teeth clench a little harder around his cigar. For a man who sits around, bathing in luxuries, running his casino from behind closed doors, his hands are textured.         “Y-Yeah,” you reply, voice tighter.         He nods. “Good. I enjoy it as well. It’s wonderful on you. I imagined it would be.”         His face leans in closer to you. Your jaw clenches as you feel air draw over your throat in his deep inhale. You feel the heat of his cigar burning near the back of your neck. 

        “Um, sir…?” You manage.         His deep hum comes in reply, heating the side of your neck even more.

        Your voice is hushed, like you feel like you're overstepping just by making such a simple request. "Please don't burn me..." 

        "I wouldn't dream of hurting my lovely assistant. It'd be a downright shame to mark your skin like that." His voice sends chills up your spine. 

        Truthfully, Crocodile is lying. Many times he's watched you work, thinking of the most sensual places he could scar with the end of a lit cigar. He wondered what kind of sounds you'd make as he burned you. How your tears would taste. How you would taste, marked, bitten and sore thighs quaking around his head. 

        Perhaps another time. He's getting far too ahead of himself. Even he can recognize his ambitious lust. Crocodile has no intention of chasing you off so early. Not when you were such a good little worker. And not when there were so many more things he could do to you if given the right amount of time. He's no stranger to a good investment. 

        His hand comes into your view, rings glinting on his thick fingers. You swallowed nervously at the mere sight of them, fantasies already running wild. Before, they hadn't been so suggestive. How you were ever going to work for him again, fully focused, was a mystery. Between his pointer and thumb is his cigar. 

        "Hold it. I don't believe in wasting a good cigar." 

        "Right. Of course." You obey. 

        His lips, still warm, press up against the sensitive, thin skin of your neck. The nip of his teeth is gentle enough not to sting so far. You don't want to squirm with his precious cigar in your hands. Surely, he won't mind if you set it down near the ash tray. He's so focused on your neck, he thankfully doesn't. A soft moan escapes you as he sucks.         Your now free fingers, the ones not on the paper, go to knot into his pant leg when he hits a particularly sensitive spot. “Are you sure about this, sir?” 

        It's more disbelief than it is doubt that Crocodile wants you like this. It's something you'd maybe thought of in your weakest moments. When you'd felt the most ashamed and sinful for ever looking at him like that. Clearly, your desperately professional sentiment and guilt had not been mutual. Your question doesn't please him.         There’s a gold flash. His hook has gone quickly from the desk, to your throat. If he wanted to, Crocodile could have slit it with the wicked point. Your heart starts to race. Instead, it angled, so the dull curve pushes under your chin, lifting your head higher up. He trails another few kisses along your neck. His tongue is like fire on your skin, before he bites down and starts to suck again, with the intention of leaving heavier bruises. You can’t help but give an involuntary whimper beneath his mouth, eyes squeezing shut. You try to forget about the proximity of his hook to your throat.

        His voice comes suddenly, startling you.         “I am a man that knows precisely what I want. Don’t question me again.”         You’d have nodded if not for his hook at your jugular.         “Y-Yes. I’m sorry, sir.”         “Good girl. You’re very obedient. You make a fine companion for nights like these.”

        You breathe a sigh of relief when the gold drops away from your neck. It goes lower. His hook draws the hem of your dress up, far over your thighs, to rest halfway up your abdomen. He clicks his tongue disappointedly, observing your rather plain undergarments. The cold metal of the hook pushes into the side of your ass. He gets ahold of the waistband, tearing into it with ease.         “You don’t appreciate the other gift I sent you?” He asks gruffly. You detect a twinge of offense in his voice.         His hand, long abandoning the papers on the desk, go to trace over your bruised throat. You wince a little under his heavy petting. You imagine it isn't likely he understands his own strength. Or, the likely alternative is that he does, which makes him all the more intimidating.          “Um… the… the clothes that you-“         “The lingerie-“ he corrects, cutting you off, his fingers completely wrapping around your throat. You feel the bands of metal encircling them indent into your skin very lightly, delivering a warning. “It was very expensive. I want you to wear it next time. You understand?”         “Yes, Crocodile,” you practically whisper out.

        Next time? He's planning for more?

        The thought is so wrongfully tantalizing. You want so badly to be conflicted about Crocodile, about everything he's doing to you right now. You want to remind yourself that nothing good comes from a relationship of this sort. That he's a dangerous man and that it'd be better if things stayed professional. But his teeth marks are in your skin, and even when they faded away, you'd remember his love bites forever. Even when the bruises were gone, you're sure you'll look into the mirror and they'll always be there in your mind. It troubles you, knowing that you've already thought of how your fingers will stroke over them after tonight, pining, loving the little aches. 

        Your brain grind to a halt as his arm jerks suddenly.         He tears through your panties, the hook whisking it straight off your body. Mere moments after, his rough fingers drag down your neck, to your shoulders. They stiffen with anticipation and nervousness under his touch. His pointer and middle fingers slide under the delicate strap of the dress. With ease, he pulls up sharply and snaps it. You aren't able to hold back a startled yelp with how sudden it is. 

        "Cheap," he comments breathily in your ear. 

        "It's...older," you explain, a bit embarrassed. 

        Automatically, your hand had reached up from his pant leg to pin the top of the dress back up to your chest. His hand leaves your neck to grab onto your own, stopping it before it can reach all the way. His grip tightens on you. 

        "Surely," he scolded with a growl, "you can afford better than that with what I pay you now." 

        "Y-Yes. Of course. You're very generous to me, sir." 

        He drops your hand. You're not sure what to do with it. He snaps the strap on your other shoulder to prove his point further. You let your hand hover tensely as Crocodile's larger hand goes to push down the front of the dress. You feel your bra, still partially pushed up your chest tighten momentarily as he draws slack on the band in the back. You're actually happy he doesn't use his hook to destroy it as his hand shifts to pull it off you. It lands on the desk near his smoldering cigar. 

        Crocodile's hand strokes over your collarbone. It's large enough to almost cover your chest completely. Your stomach drops a little. His hand goes to knead over your right breast. Shakily, your hand goes to hold overtop of his. The jewels on his rings push into your palm. 

        "Then you won't mind when I tear the rest of that excuse for a dress to shreds." 

        Though your voice trembles, your answers become more confident.  "No, sir." 

        He does just as he swears, hand still playing with your tits. His faithful hook carries out his promise. Crocodile buries his mouth into the juncture of your neck and shoulders, bringing his marks down further. He's shifted you fully onto his lap, legs open just a little beneath you to force your own into the same position. One of his pets swims by the aquarium glass, looking generally uninterested. You barely even notice the massive shadow as you bask in wavy blue rays. The gator carries on and Crocodile's hand drifts down your body, squeezing as it goes, feeling over every naked curve. You feel bad, knowing you're staining his pants--he has you so worked up. 

        This is the most legitimate action you've gotten in a long time. This job had practically consumed you, leaving no time for a social life. He feels you soaking through the crotch of his pants. You feel his cock start to harden against you. His self control compared to yours is incredible. 

        Crocodile's belt buckle clicks against his fingernails as his hand shifts to undo it behind your back. His boxers shift down so he can free himself. Your heart pounds harder as his cock rubs along between your thighs. It grazes over your cunt, warm and ready. He's gorgeous in every sense of the word--it almost makes you more lightheaded. You feel the thick trail of hair wandering up from his cock, soft against your back and your ass. He's big, as you expect. Everything's proportional for a man as large as he is. Crocodile sees your fingers clench around his pushed down pant leg, knuckles whitening. 

        "No reason to be nervous," he says, voice quiet in your ear. "I'll treat you well. I always have." 

        "But I am," you reply, struggling to keep your voice from shaking. It's a mixture of nervousness and sinful anticipation. You worry, despite his gentle reminder. "W-What if it doesn't-"

        "It will." 

        Crocodile says it with such determination there's no room to argue back. What he says, goes, after all. His thick fingers snake over your inner thighs, taking your attention off of your fears. With almost embarrassing ease, they delve into you. A strangle moan comes from you, your head tilting back with the intrusion. His thick fingers pump slow inside of you, slowly stretching you open. It almost feels like it's too much at first, the pressure unreal, until something in you breaks. Pleasure floods your body, each wave stronger than the last. You gasp out, muttering a soft curse under your breath. The sound of his fingers in you is so lewd, you would have blushed even harder if you could.

        Tears gather in the corners of your eyes. Your hips automatically go to buck against his hand. With an unholy amount of strength, he shoves your hips right back down. His cock curves underneath you, rubbing tantalizingly. It glistens with your wetness as Crocodile's fingers thrust harder. You feel him curl them deep inside you, and you cry out, a tear rolling down your cheek. His cock twitches up against you at the sounds of your sobs of pleasure. And the way you beg him for more as you cum all over his fingers. Purposefully, he removes them early, not wanting you to ride out your pleasure. Pathetically, you whimper, obviously frustrated.

        He's been wanting to see you come undone like this for a long time. Maybe since the moment he saw you. When he'd used his devil fruit powers to quickly step into your path. That dealer, who saw everything, had known better than to ever tell you what had actually happened that evening. 

        With ease, Crocodile turned you over in your lap, so you were facing him. He watches the tears roll down your flushed face, your lashes dark and spiked from crying for him. They'd looked that way the night he'd saved you from that disgusting man in the casino. It was easy to arrange for his mysterious disappearance. It's not often he utilizes any ranks of the Baroque Works for such petty, personal reasons. 

        Crocodile's hand reached up to cup your cheek, sandpaper rough thumb stroking under your eye to clear away the tears. You can't help but lean into his palm, either one of your hands coming to hold his wrist. He's still erect--you can feel him up against your stomach. 

        "Your shift ended ten minutes ago," he tells you. Is this his way of giving you an out? You won't take it. Not with the way your insides are throbbing, needing him. Needing more of him. The fact that he's able to see the complete mess he's turned you into only gets you hotter. 

        "I...I've stayed later for far more trivial things."

        A bit of a chuckle comes from him at your weak excuse. Your body moves with his. Crocodile's hand leaves your face. Feverishly, your own hands go to undo the buttons of his black shirt. They're shaking. His free hand moves to undo the silk wrapping around his throat. 

        "You'll have to give something in return," he warns, as it flutters down from his thick neck. It falls to the ground, long abandoned by its wearer. It's a strange request, considering you're practically naked already.

        You nod, obediently, no questions asked as to what he's demanding. "W-Whatever you want, sir." 

        Crocodile likes the sound of that. He gives a hum. His voice is so rough it sounds more like a growl coming from him. His hand suddenly goes to tear off the last of your mangled dress, barely clinging to you. The veins in his hand define as he yanks it, aggressively, with a grip like iron. The threads give away and snap, ripping whats left of the fabric encircling your body completely open. It doesn't even make it over your head. What's left of that ratty old dress joins his cravat on the floor. 

        His massive hand secures at your thigh. His thumb presses so hard into your flesh you think it might bruise. 

        "C'mon now, pretty little thing," he encourages. 

        Your fingers trace along the underside of his waiting cock. It's still wet with your arousal. Somehow, his grip only tightens on your leg. Nervously, you let out a soft exhale. Then, your hands go to his chest to support yourself as you raise your hips. You look down, centering yourself over top of him. Slowly, you start to sink down. He feels your fingers bite into him as the head of his cock pushes into your aching cunt. Your breathing becomes uneven, even though you had tried to steady it.

        Crocodile waits patiently, allowing you to work at your own pace. It's the least he can do, with what he has in mind for the next hour. A soft "fuck" sounds from you as your hips start to lower. His fingers had helped a great deal, but the stretch is enough to reintroduce tears into your eyes. Your mind is hazy with lust, and you're too determined to quit now. None of your usual hesitance seems to plague your face. The hair on Crocodile's arm stands up a little as his thumb massages into the side of your leg. He's never seen you so focused. Your thighs are quivering with the effort of trying to stay upright and in control of your descent. A frustrated huff comes from you, perspiration starting to build at your hairline. You wished he would just take you and-

        Crocodile's hand leaves your leg. Instead, it secures itself at your waist. He pushes you down, faster. Before you have the chance to complain or even react to the sting of the stretch, Crocodile suddenly starts to stand up. Panicking at your loss of balance and control, you yelp, arms changing position to wrap around his neck. The weight of his hook crashes down onto the desk before you do. His hand slides to hold at the small of your back, arching your hips into his. You're barely able to catch your breath before he starts to fuck into you, a low growl in your ear telling you to behave. 

        "Aaah~! Sir!" you moan out against him, face buried in his chest. Your teeth grit as your whimpers of pain turn to those of pleasure. The pain of him stretching you open has faded with every long, gruesome pump. 

        The newspaper crinkles beneath you loudly and the desk creaks with your combined weights. 

        "Please!" You beg, tears streaming down your face. 

        You arms stay wrapped around him, fingers extending down. Your nails rake over his back, struggling to find a hold amongst the expanse of scarred muscles. He's getting so rough it's difficult for you to cling on. He shifts you up his body, practically using you like a toy, letting you drop back down onto his cock with a shriek. You breathe in the scent of him, his cologne, the cigar smoke. He tastes like cigar too. His head had dropped down to have your lips for his own as well. You'd take up the habit yourself if it meant replicating the feeling of his mouth on yours, tongue buried deep as his hips crashed against yours. Long, dark strands of his hair frame his face. 

        "Tell me who you belong to," Crocodile rasps in your ear, taking it between his teeth and biting it. Yet another of the menagerie of bites he's left on you. By the end of the night, you're sure you'll be more bruise than skin. 

        "Y-You! Always you!" you practically sob out. 

        His lips twist into a strange smile, teeth bared, like it's mixed with a sneer. "Say. My. Name. Say you belong to me." 

        "Fuck! Crocodile! I belong to you, Crocodile! Ngn-No one else! Just please let me-" 

        You can't finish your sentence, mind turning to mess. Muffled, you moan into his skin, face alive and crawling with pure fire. You feel like you're going to melt beneath him, suffocating, the way he fucks you. He fills you like no other man had before, in a way where you know you'll never be the same. The tears keep coming, ones of overwhelming ecstasy. You pray they never stop. 

        Crocodile laughs, deep from his throat. "Good girl." 

        You cry out God's name. Then his. Again and again. It's more than he ordered, above and beyond, in fact. As you cum beneath him, somehow you pull him in more. You don't ever want him to stop fucking you, if that's somehow possible. He stays bottomed out deep inside you, lazily pumping in and out shallowly to stay buried as you ride out your orgasm. He doesn't seem to care about whether you've finished or not. His hand at the small of your back pulls you closer to him before taking you off the desk. Crocodile's other arm, having been much more neglected, finally raises. 

        His hook is so huge it curves over your entire abdomen, snatching you up against Crocodile, even closer and tighter than before. He's able to finally take his hand off you and use it for something else. The head of his cock stretches your insides as it delves deeper into you once more. You cry out, head bowed as you practically curl into him. Your spine bumps up against the curve of his hook--the iciness shocks you. The proximity of his hook keeps you pinned tight to his massive body, leaving no space between. No relief from the almost painful bliss.         “Nghhh, Crocodile~” his name slips out in your needy whine, with no formalities. He likes hearing it more than he imagined.

        He continued fucking into you. You wonder how much longer he can go. The more appropriate question is how much more can you take? You can't come up with an estimate, suddenly feeling like you're being watched. Your eyes dart off to the side, head turning slightly to glance at the office door. You could have sworn you heard something. Or seen it. Maybe just a shadow. Your vision isn't exactly clear and straight at the moment, having being fucked into a stupor. All the same, you're worried someone might come in. Crocodile looks irritated--it's obvious you've been broken out of the post climax trance he'd been so pleased to put you in. 

        A scowl curling at his thin lips, Crocodile aggressively jerks his hook, forcing you up against his chest once more to regain your attention.

        "I'm not expecting anyone tonight. You should know that." 

        Your face is still flushed. "I-I know." He's still thrusting into you, slower but with the same amount of power and hunger as before. And he gives no sign of stopping. Certainly not even if someone did open that office door.

        "Then what's with that panic on your face?" 

        The pace his hips rock into yours makes it harder for you to focus on a response. Your eyes squeeze shut as you duck your head, trying to momentarily regain your composure. Your hands had slid down from behind his thick neck, coming to rest at his chest once more. Your fingers curl with euphoria.

        "I don't want to...to...to be interrupted." Your words practically slur together. There's that blissed out look on your face that he loved so much...

        Crocodile takes the opportunity to keep tormenting you, slowing his thrusts down a near murderous amount. He sees your upper lip quiver with frustration. "And why is that?" he asks, his fingers sneaking down between your legs, to your clit, to rub equally slowly in time to his cock.

        You bite the inside of your cheek, letting out a soft hiss of pleasure. "You feel. Too. Good," you choke out. Your breathing starts to come undone again as his rough fingers circle between your legs.

         He feels your pussy clench around him and lets out a sultry groan of his own. Your hips rock with his, in a feverish attempt to buck into his hand and come closer to him. Crocodile curves so amazingly inside of you--it's a wonder how you hadn't done this sooner. How have you lived so long without this man fucking buried in you?

        You can't think straight in the haze. 

        Crocodile groans out, his cock twitching deep inside of you. Once again, you're reminded of his unpredictability. His cum fills you, hot inside of your cunt, and you sigh out his name, voice shaky. You feel his seed stain between your legs, leaking out around the base of his cock as he finished out the last couple of thrusts. The pleasure is unreal as his fingers continue to toy with you. Between the rough circling of them around your clit and the searing heat, and God, the length of his cock still deep in you, a moan spills from your lips. 

        "God," you moan out. "Oh my God."

        You cum again around him, ducking your head, teeth gritted as your body tensed. A heavy sigh leaves you as you fall limp against his chest. Your arms had lowered to wrap around his abdomen. He feels your smaller, trembling hands on his back, your cheek pressed to him as you struggle to catch your breath. 

        Crocodile basks in the afterglow for a long time. Although it's quiet, you can hear his own uneven breathing start to steady. His fingers stroke absentmindedly at your inner thigh. His palm shifts to circle over your leg, fingers going to massage into it slowly. 

        You take far longer to recover, body battered and bruised by him. It's something you'd take again. His hook hasn't dropped away from your back yet. So even if you wanted to, you couldn't leave Crocodile. Not that you had plans to anyways. There's no opportunity to feel shame or guilt. All you can feel is the heat of his pale skin against yours. 

        "Next time," Crocodile says, voice lowered to a growl, lifting his hand carelessly to slick back the tufts of his hair that had fallen loose back into place," you'll be wearing that lingerie. Understood?"

        All you can do is nod, exhaustion weighing heavy on you. With another bliss filled sigh, you sink further into him, arms wrapping tighter around him. You don't want to let go. 

        "Yes, sir." 

#nsfw #one piece #one shot #sir crocodile #crocodile x reader

[rottenstrawberrymilk]

Fanfic HATCHET user asks: Hello my dear writer I'm just curious how would you describe Toby for an AI? Please writer-sama. Sorry, I'm using a translator.

I do not give permission for any of my writing, work, or characterizations to be sampled, used or given to an AI . hatchet toby is an abusive character and is not to be romanticized by AI.

be satisfied with what exists

i dislike AI. only humans make actual art . AI creates soulless dead mockeries. keep it out of drawing. keep it out of writing. it is lazy and is trained off stolen content.

its not a smart idea anyways. my characterization of toby is in his late twenties for the sake of telling the story in my mind properly.

the actual character of toby rogers as he is known In the CreepyPasta fandom is a 15 year old boy. I would reconsider.

#from what i know there is also drama with tobys original creator #complicated mess im not involved in and not getting involved in #hatchet

[rottenstrawberrymilk]

Just finished "hatchet" (I leave you 10000 Kudos and cannot wait for your next work) - but I got a lil question (SPOLIERS FOR CH. 5 and 8)

Y/N surprised kissed Toby while they were in emotional distress and crying then, later in the story when Y/N was in emotional distress and crying Toby surprised kissed them

Did Toby think it was an appropriate time because that's what Y/N did? Or did he just seize the moment?

thank you, i want to do eyeless jack next c:

toby is a nut. he is also under -socialized and (in the beginning of the story) not good at reading body language and social cues

Probably a mix of the two. Wanting to reciprocate + return back to the feeling of being kissed in a moment where the relationship is most strained and hurting and confusing to him. like his way of trying to turn back time to when it was better (his unhealthy, immature definition of "better")

He wasnt entirely lucid starting near the end of ch 5 and lasting until ch 12 . with the way i ended this story, i do not believe he would be completely lucid again for a long time after suffering the seizure. even when he has clarity he's still not right because toby is just beyond gone to begin with. i was attempting to hint at that with a lot of his internal monologues.

for future reference, in my telling and characterization of toby rogers-- he is not a good guy and the final chapters are not meant to redeem him. none of his actions are redeemable by any means haha. the tags on the work are all there for a reason (INCLUDING unreliable narrator)

#forgive me if anything clashes + seems inaccurate #the first half of hatchet was written years ago and its hard to remember for me #hes meant to be confusing and contradicting on purpose he is a mess #tobys a confusing character and that is because i am confused while writing him and drunk usually #hope this helps #hatchet

[rottenstrawberrymilk]

I'm not sure what that previous ask was talking about. Haven't seen anything resembling the updates you posted from the socials of the visual novel- Regardless it really sucks what happened and I'm sorry that it's discouraged you from writing.

Your writing is awesome and I genuinely hope they keep their promise to change anything they stole- though they should have never done it in the first place.

im just putting blind human fatih in them i dont check in on the socials bc it gives me 2nd hand embarasment kinda like u know how embarassing it is its wildly embarrassing to get ur stuff stolen and see it used like that.

got an email being like yadda yadda were changing it yadda yadda i havent bother respondign to anyone but the person who stole from me

a03 stuff shuld rlly stay on a03 like thats my secret freak hole

idk ill finish hatchet soon one cahpter left and then i dont have to care abt it anymore .a03 comment sections off to prevent more harasment so its whatever now ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

how bout i write an eyeless jack thing thats 15x better + sexier so we can talk abt that instead :33

#last chapter of hatchet will be nsfw

[rottenstrawberrymilk]

hey!!! Just wanted to say I appreciate your lupin fanfics they bring bouts of nostalgia thank you so much for writing them 💕

thank u

jigen is so sexy i have lotsa unfnished old lupin stuff. maybe theyll see the light of day

[rottenstrawberrymilk]

all stuff on a03 now

EDIT: work will be reposted over to tumblr once again

I am too lazy to repost everything old but all new work and commissioned pieces will go here 

all work has been taken down here . no more new/old pieces will be uploaded here they will all be kept to a03 only

my a03 acct:

https://archiveofourown.org/users/rottenstrawberrymilk

links to work collectives

slasher/horror/dbd

lupin iii

jjba

genshin

hatchet (ticci toby short story)

walls (brahms heelshire short story finished ) 

extra works r also on the a03account that never made it here/dont feel like linking

#important #x reader #slasher #horror #dead by daylight #lupin iiii #jjba #jojos bizarre adventure #genshin impact #ticci toby #brahms heelshire #jigen daisuke x reader #lupin iii x reader #jean pierre polnareff x reader #il dottore x reader #arataki itto x reader #brahms heelshire x reader #ticci toby x reader #creepypasta

[rottenstrawberrymilk]

Hi, really sorry to bother you especially with drama. I just found out about someone stealing your work and using it for some lame ass video game. I was wondering if there’s anything that we - fans of your work, good samaritans, etc. - can do? I feel really bad that your work was so blatantly ripped off and that the thief acts like they did nothing wrong. Again, super sorry - and I understand if you don’t want to talk about this!

-💕

i am happy that there are people standing with me . its good enough for me. ive known abt it for a longtime. i didnt think speaking out would rlly do much. when i did talk abt it a lot of comments came in accusing me ofstealing it first and trying to like. tell me how to react "properly". i think i can do whatever i want ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

kinda makes me wantto not update it anymore bc i heard when i updated they copied/or rlly write at all but well see. rott retirement arc?

[rottenstrawberrymilk]

btw, u should totally upload some fic to AO3. It could help with the exposure

its already on a03

im notactive here any more

only recently got notifications of ?s thru my email

[rottenstrawberrymilk]

dude, dude, the video game my dear hatchet man that based on ur fic hatchet Ricci toby x reader. After u update it, lol, the copycat copy ur update too, definitely trying not to be obvious. But come on, we both know it. Just check their content on Twitter, u will definitely know what I am talking bout

the situation was handled thru email--a bitt too late imo. my email has always been available on my a03

they claimed they would rmove all references/stolen excerpts from my fanfic

i dont rlly feel like double checking that but thats what they promised in the email

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[rottenstrawberrymilk]

You are the best greetings from Mexico I love you creator or creator of fanfic.

<3