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fanwarriorfictions · 28 days

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Not Again- Part Three

Azriel x Rowaelin daughter reader

Summary: The inner court has many questions about Y/n and her world. Missing home even more, all she wants is to fly and clear her head, luckily, her babysitter indulges her

Series Masterlist

-Part Three-

Azriel knew this was going to be a long day from the moment he woke up. Surrounded by his shadows who would not shut up for three gods damned seconds. She’s awake, awake, awake, upset, won’t eat, upset. The little busybodies had snuck off while he slept, and apparently they were very concerned about the state of the female next door for whatever reason.

He found himself dressed and in the hallway waiting for any sign of her, when he didn’t receive one in the ten minutes he’d stood there he’d finally crossed the hall and knocked three times on the door.

She was still in there, he knew that from the way his shadows kept trying to slip through the cracks towards her. And he could feel the shield of air she’d placed around the room, hiding the sounds of her approaching footsteps.

The door swung open and Azriel couldn’t explain why his breath caught in his chest. The house had gifted her new clothes, the traditional night court style that Amren preferred to wear, in the deepest darkest night court black. The silk cropped shirt hugged her curves, and the flowing high waisted pants left a small sliver of skin on display. Beautiful, pretty, black suits her. His shadows whispered again and again and again, he was about ready to lock them away for a moment of peace.

“Here to take me to the dungeons yet?” She asks, lifting her arms towards him as if expecting cuffs, amusement glittering in her eyes as she watches his eyes lift from her waist, “what’s on the table today? Just some light interrogation? Maybe a bit of torture?”

“Breakfast actually,” he replies dryly, “the others will be here shortly.”

“Well that’s no fun,” she pouts, dropping her arms to her sides, “lead the way then, shadowsinger.”

The title rolls off her tongue, that accent swirling and dripping with charm. A small smirk on her lips as she notices his hesitation, turning his back on her still felt like a bad idea, even though he didn’t glimpse a single dagger on her, he’s sure she wouldn’t need it.

She seems fine, less tense than the night before, a mask of cool amusement and charm, yet his shadows seem concerned, upset, they’d whispered all morning. As they walk he keeps one eye on her, taking in the way she examines every surface, every turn, every nook and cranny. She was mapping out the halls in her head, memorizing the ways out, smart. If she wanted to she could shift into that magnificent hawk form and fly through the halls and off the balcony before he could even try to catch her.

They turn into the dining room, Rhys and Feyre already sat at the table. The table set for several people, Azriel assumed the rest of the court would be here soon, Cassian flying them up from the River House. Elain would stay back with little Nyx, her mate there to protect them both.

“Good morning,” Feyre says, voice reserved yet kind, “I’m Feyre.”

Y/n grants her a small smile, bowing her head slightly in greeting. She doesn’t say anything, opting to examine the room around them like she’d done in the halls, nervous. She didn’t let it show on her face, but Azriel could tell, could see the tension in her shoulders.

“Please, sit,” Rhys says, gesturing to the seats across from them, “the rest will be here shortly.”

“Should I be worried about that?” Y/n asks, her tone is light, that cool amusement hiding the faint look of panic that flashes through her eyes.

Azriel’s shadows writhe at his sides when he sees that look, something about it settles wrongly. She had nothing to fear from them, but how would she know that? Strangers who had found her vulnerable, who had tried to look into her mind, who she knew next to nothing about.

Feyre laughs lightly, “no, no, of being talked to death perhaps, but I swear, no harm will come to you.”

That seems just good enough to Y/n to coax her to sit across from Feyre, her eyes glance warily at the foods laid out between them and instead of filling her plate like the High Lord and Lady across from her she simply leans back in her seat and watches. Azriel takes the seat beside her, pointedly filling his plate with mounds of eggs and bacon and bread with jams.

She won’t eat, eat, eat, eat, she needs to eat. Shadows angrily whisper in Azriel’s ears but he forces them away as he hears the sounds of his family grow closer down the hall, Cassian’s booming laugh echoing into the room. He can see the moment Y/n tenses, her body readying for a fight that would not come.

“A rambunctious lot you’ve got here,” she says coolly, that mask of indifference slid into place.

“You don’t even know the half of it,” Rhys sighs.

Cassian is the first to come through the door, followed by Nesta who rolls her eyes at her mates back.

“Is this the female who handed Azriel’s ass to him?”

The tension in Y/n’s shoulders slip every so slightly and Azriel feels himself relax too. He was prepared to leap inbetween his family and her, to protect which one he wasn’t sure.

“You say that like it’s such an impossibility,” Mor says as she and Amren step through the doorway, “I’ve seen plenty of females hand you your ass, Cassian.”

“But it’s Az,” Cass laughs, “Mister dark and broody spymaster caught off guard by the second female falling on his lap.”

“She did not fall into my lap,” Azriel sighs, “she was in the-“

“Whatever,” Cassian interrupts, waving his hand, “close enough.”

Azriel rolls his eyes at his brother’s antics, recognizing them for what they were, a way to break any tension, to make this seem like a simple breakfast instead of the interrogation it was sure to become. One glance at Y/n told him she wasn’t buying it for one second.

Her eyes travel over them all, stopping briefly on Nesta as their eyes lock. Both females had that cold stare that could freeze oceans. Though she’d given back a majority of the cauldrons power, it still lurked behind Nesta’s steely eyes, that silver fire rolling in warning. Y/n looked just as lethal, those cold eyes almost glowing with the power lurking below her skin, wether it was ice or fire, Azriel wasn’t sure he wanted to find out which she’d use first.

Nesta seemed satisfied with whatever she saw in Y/n’s eyes, grabbing her mates hand to drag him to their seats beside Feyre. Mor slipped into the seat beside Azriel, Amren taking the seat beside her.

“Well,” Rhys says with that charming grin, “now that everyone is here I’d like to introduce our lovely guest, Crown Princess of Terrasen, Y/n Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius.”

“Now that’s a mouth full.” Mor whistles as she piles her plate full of sweet pastries and fruits, “lovely to meet you, Princess.”

“Y/n will do.”

“Wow, you weren’t kidding about the fangs,” Cassian says when her sharp canines peak through her lips.

Azriel keeps one eye on the female next to him as he pretended to be interested in the food on his plate. Her arms were crossed over her stomach, her mask not slipping despite the eyes weighing her down.

“What is this place?”

Rhys raises a brow at her, “would you like to eat first before we get to the nitty gritty?”

Y/n nods towards the food, “I’d like to know exactly who and what I’m dealing with before I accept food from fae I don’t know. Didn’t anyone ever teach you stranger danger?”

Eat, eat, tell her to eat. Azriel tries to quiet the shadows, getting annoyed with how insistent they were. As if she heard them, Y/n glances at him, frowning at the little wisps that stray to close to her.

Rhys looks ready to give her a sarcastic response but Feyre rolls her eyes and butts in, “you are in Velaris, the heart and soul of our territory, the Night Court.”

“You’re the leaders of this place,” Y/n states more than asks.

“High Lord and Lady, few of many on this continent,” Feyre nods, “how’d you know.”

“I’ve dealt with plenty of royals,” Y/n shrugs, “Queens and Kings, Lords and Ladies, Emperors and Empresses.”

That peaks everyone’s interest, Azriel can feel the curiosity in the air. When Quinlann had arrived, she’d been at war with the Asteri, the ruling power of her world, despite having kings and queens, they all answered to the immortal, intergalactic parasites, as Quinlann had put it. She and her mate had succeeded in ridding their planet of the monsters, but who knew where else these creatures lived.

“What is your home like?” Mor asks, the question seemingly harmless, but depending on the answer could bring a whole world of consequences.

Y/n examines her, not missing the hidden question beneath is your world a threat to our own, “much like your own it would seem. We’ve been at peace for the last 25 years. Until a gate opened up and ripped me away from my family.”

There’s the briefest change in her then, that mask slipping just enough that Azriel recognizes it, grief. She’s upset, homesick, won’t eat. It made sense now, she’d said she’d been with her father when the gate had taken her, when she’d been dumped onto a foreign land surrounded by strangers she couldn’t understand. She must have been terrified.

“Before you ask, I have no idea how or why the gate opened, or why it took me,” she continues, “it shouldn’t have been possible. None have been opened since the lock was forged during the war.”

“War?” Cassian’s brow raises in question, “what lock?”

It seems to set her back into a memory, her eyes not entirely focused on the male who’d asked, “the war against the Valg. Demons from another world who liked the taste of ours. The fight against them spanned over centuries, over multiple wars, my ancestor was able to lock the King away with a stolen object not meant for her to use, but for that there was a price demanded from the gods who’d made the lock in the first place, an heir of her blood to forge a new lock, to open a gate and send them to their true home, my mother. Queen Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius, she almost died paying their price, and in the end they betrayed her anyway.”

Anger simmered in her eyes, Azriel could feel heat radiating off of her, that fire under her skin wanting to come out.

“What became of them?” Rhys asks.

She takes a moment to rein that fire in and then she meets the High Lord’s eyes, “she killed them all.”

A silence ripples through the room, her mother had killed her world’s gods. Were they like Midgard’s asteri, Prythian’s daglan, or maybe their own kind of nightmare.

“She locked the gates, fell through time and space, through hundreds of worlds, guided back by my father who would not let that mating bond slip through his fingers. When she’d come back, she had a fraction of her power left, the power that could end the valg Queen and King and save them all.”

“How did they win?” Nesta asks in the quiet that follows.

A smile, not a smirk finds Y/n’s lips and Azriel’s shadows dance towards her. He barely keeps them in check, one resting on the edge of her chair before it was reined back in. He catches the curious look sent his way by Rhys. He’d surely hear more of that later.

“My Aunt Yrene,” she says, “a healer, the valg were vulnerable to their touch, she took the evil shriveled soul of the valg King and turned him to nothing but a black stain on the floor. We put a rug over it.”

A surprised laugh slips out of Mor, “please tell me it’s hideous.”

“The tackiest thing I’ve ever seen, they let me paint on it as a child. It’s covered in bad stick figures of my uncles.”

They’d asked her questions until it was nearing lunch time. Cassian had about fallen out of his chair when she’d told them of the witches and their wyverns. From the look in Amren’s eye, Y/n knew that if she’d ever met Manon, the world would tremble in fear.

Rhys had been particularly interested in her mother’s journey through worlds, he had an uncanny feeling about it that he couldn’t quite explain. Feyre and Nesta had been shocked to learn that her mother was half human. Mor had asked her millions of questions that she could barely keep up with.

During it all, Azriel had been silent at her side. No questions on his lips but she could see the wheels turning in his head, could almost hear the whispering shadows that danced closer and closer to her every chance they got. She’d felt one drifting over her elbow for a moment before Azriel had glared right at the curious little shadow and it flew back to his side.

They’d slowly stopped their questioning and then they left one by one, Amren had left to look into this worlds knowledge on Wyrd markings and gates, Cassian and Nesta had said something about a training session, Rhys and Feyre needed to go relieve the third Acheron sister from babysitting duty and Mor had desperately wanted to see her nephew.

And just like that, it was down to Y/n and Azriel. She assumed he was still on babysitting duty, despite their apparent trust in her. She didn’t blame them for being cautious, Wyrd knows she’d not let a single one of them out of her sight if the roles were reversed.

Y/n stood stretching out her sore muscles, an involuntary groan slipping past her lips as she lifted her arms above her head. They’d been sitting there for hours and her body still aches from the events of yesterday.

“You didn’t eat anything,” his cool voice startles her, deep and slightly gravely.

She glances down at him, noting the way his eyes drag up from that small sliver of skin at her waist. The clothes we’re comfortable, yet much more revealing than anything she’d been used to. She can’t help the smirk that rests on her lips as she looks down at the handsome male, she could get used to clothes like this.

“I’m not hungry,” she shrugs, moving through the room, glancing towards the huge windows that showed the vast city far beneath them.

“You haven’t eaten since you’ve been here,” he says, eyes tracking each of her movements.

“Oh? And how would you know that,” she looks pointedly at the shadows, “I thought I told you to keep wandering eyes to yourself.”

He simply shrugs, “they do what they want.”

“Clearly.” She turns towards the door, “are you to play babysitter all day? Don’t you have anything better to do?”

She’s out the door before he’s has the chance to reply. The place was massive, she’d memorized the walk from her room to the dining hall, but the amount of halls that laid around told her she’d only seen a small portion of what the place had to offer.

“Would you care for a tour?” Azriel’s suddenly standing to her side.

“Babysitter and tour guide,” she snarks, exploring down the hall, “A double threat.”

“I’ve been told to keep any eye on you.” He looks down at her, “and that’s what I plan to do.”

“Oh I have no doubt about that.” She turns into a large living space littered with comfortable looking couches and chairs, a doorway leading to a balcony against the far wall. “I’m sure you’re a male who takes his duties very seriously.”

She moves towards that door, towards the open air beyond, Azriel following close behind. She could feel the wind beyond, begging to caress her wings, she’d shift and fly for hours and hours, maybe she could fly home.

“You could make this easy for both of us,” he says, letting a shadow block her path, “and quit trying to run away from me.”

“Now who said I was trying to run away,” she flashes an overly sweet smile over her shoulder, one that she can tell gets under his skin.

“You’re not a prisoner,” he almost growls, “but if you choose to make this harder than necessary, I have no problem tying you to a chair.”

She snorts, “Kinky, but no thank you, I’m not interested.”

He doesn’t respond, that carefully crafted expression not shifting an inch, though his shadows give him away. They writhe around him, reaching for her and pulling back over and over, like he was trying not to strangle her.

“Tell you what,” she says, “I’ll stick around you like glue if you let me go for a quick flight.”

She doesn’t hide the longing glance she gives the balcony, whenever she was stressed or upset her and her father would go flying, they would fly until she was ready to talk about what was eating at her, or until she tired herself out and he would take her home and tuck her into bed just to go fly the next morning. Y/n couldn’t think of a time she’d been more stressed than now, stuck in a foreign world with no way home, surrounded by powerful fae who she didn’t trust not to bury a dagger between her shoulders the second she turned around, depsite how kind they had been.

“Fine.”

Her eyes meet with warm hazel, surprise not hidden on her face. She would’ve thought he’d fight back harder, keeping her here, where she couldn’t fly away was safer, easier. But he’d agreed, and she gives him the first genuine smile she’d had since she’d arrived and says, “Thank you.”

He nods once, “after you.”

She’s out the door in seconds, shifting with a flash of white light, and diving over the edge of the balcony towards the city far far below.

Azriel was regretting his choice to let her fly, simply due to the fact that she was so damn fast. Despite the chill in the air, she flew over Velaris with such speed, the air biting his wings as he tried to keep up. She zigzaged over the city, following streets up and down, from the cliffs of the house all the way to the open mouth of the Sidra. They flew over the bridge into the Rainbow, the artists quarter and almost like an invisible string tugged her towards it, they ended up at one of the many amphitheaters.

Music of practicing artists flowed out, preparing for a concert later that evening, there was no single melody, a mesh of different tunes that somehow melded together into a new song of its own.

Y/n landed on a high wall of the amphitheater, that flash of light, and then she was sitting precariously on the edge, as if there wasn’t a steep drop directly behind her to the streets below. Azriel landed next to her, carefully sitting down with a comfortable distance between them. It felt wonderful to rest for a few seconds, letting the sun warm his wind chilled wings.

He watches her, the way she leans towards that music as if she couldn’t help but be drawn to it. There’s a longing look in her eyes, a sadness that cracks that carefully constructed mask to pieces. Azriel wants to comfort her, he’s overcome by the sudden need to fix whatever is wrong, but he was never good at that, so he just sits beside her, mouth firmly shut.

“One of the first things my mother did after the war was rebuild the theaters,” she says quietly after several minutes, “my earliest memory is sitting in the Queen’s box, they’d written a symphony about the final battle, it was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. I can still hear the horn that signaled my mothers arrival.”

Azriel listened carefully, “Your mother seems to be a brave warrior.”

“She didn’t have a choice but to be,” Y/n whispers, “Most of my family didn’t.”

“You seem to be a warrior yourself,” he says, “were you given a choice.”

Her eyes don’t stray from the players below, “Yes and no, my parents insisted I train, they wanted me to be prepared for anything, I wanted to anyway, mostly because I wanted to grow up to be just like them. My father is one of the strongest fae warriors in the world, Rowan Whitethorn, soldiers talk about him around camp fires like he’s a myth. He and my uncles, his cadre, oversaw my training. My mother too, she’d once been a renowned assassin, I’d begged and fought with her to teach me everything she knew until she got sick of me and relented.”

He could see that, the way she struck fast and quietly during their first encounter, she moved with the grace of a dancer, struck with the strength of a warrior.

“Quite the family,” he says, searching for anything to lighten the mood, something Rhys or Cassian would say, “I’m sure bringing home boys was interesting.”

She laughs, and he can’t help but enjoy the sound, “you have no idea, not only do you have to impress my parents, but also the kings and queens of several nations. I made the mistake of bringing a boy home when Manon was visiting from the witch lands. She tried to introduce him to Abraxos, I don’t think I ever saw him again.”

From what they’d heard of the witch Queen, Azriel hoped the boy had just fled the kingdom, instead of becoming dinner.

She goes silent, and a shadow whispers in Azriel’s ear, she wants to go home, sad, very sad.

“Would you care to eat now?” Azriel asks, raising to his feet, “I know flying works up my appetite.”

She flashes him a saccharine smile, one that does its best to hide the pain but it can’t hide her eyes, “are you asking for a date? I thought I told you I’m not interested.”

He rolls his eyes, but he can’t help the slight twitch of his lips, “Trust me, Princess, you’re not my type either.”

She climbs to her feet, and Azriel finds that stretch of exposed skin at her waist as she turns to him, the scent of pine, snow, and embers drifting towards him on the wind.

“I’m everybody’s type.” Her tone lowers, dripping with charm, the kind that could make men and women crawl on their hands and knees. “Think you can keep up this time?”

Without warning she jumps off the back of the tall amphitheater. Azriel has a brief moment of panic, shadows whipping out to try and catch her, wings flaring as he goes to dive after her. Then, brilliant white light blinds him for a second, and that red tinged hawk shoots past him, letting out a cry that sounds suspiciously like laughter.

He swears, jumping off that ledge and shoots into the sky behind her.

#the shadows are my favorite characters by far #I like the term busybody to much #Azriel doesn’t know how to deal with feelings properly #I need them to banter more because it gives me life #acotar x reader #acotar #azriel x reader #azriel #rowaelin daughter #rowaelin

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batwritings · 7 months

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Kinktober Day 5 - Dry Humping

Lt's turn now! >:3 Sorry for the wait for all my Ghost lovers lol. Enjoy!~

Warning! This piece does involve a few drops of degradation! Please be warned before reading! Thank you!

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To say the mission went well…wasn’t exactly true. A few more things exploded than need be and your target nearly escaped right through your fingers. But Ghost had your back as he always did, making sure the mission went off without too many hitches.

The only problem now that you were back at base now was the adrenaline coursing through your veins. You were doing this weird power walk that you did when you were on a mission through the halls of base. You remember hearing “Where’s the fire mate?” from Soap as you passed him, but gave him no response.

Your feet didn’t stop until you made it to Ghost’s office, rapping your whitening knuckles on the door three times. “Permission to enter Lieutenant,” you said, voice clipped and rushed.

A heavy sigh before you heard, “Permission granted.” from the other side. You quickly slipped into the masked man’s office, shutting the door nearly silently. You shut the blinds to ensure whatever went on in that room going forward, was entirely hidden.

Ghost didn’t miss your actions, but kept silent, trying so hard to actually finish his paperwork for once. It was a rare occurrence these days, with back to back missions keeping his plate rather full. Yet he knew, oh this man knew that you weren’t here to help, but to fully distract him. It was a war in his mind on whether or not he’d let you.

Before he could make a decision, you were in his lap, straddling his hips. “Adrenaline’s still pumping boss,” you advise him. Yours and Ghost’s relationship had fairly recently taken on a more physical tone, so the contact wasn’t entirely unwelcome or unexpected.

“Take it out in the training room,” Ghost tells you bluntly. “I need to get this work done.” Now, if you had heard this before you starting worming your way closer to the stressed lieutenant, you would’ve thought he was genuinely frustrated with you. But no, this was Simon’s way of telling you “keep pushing and you’ll either regret it or I’ll make it worth your while”.

You wrap you arms around his neck and hug your body close, letting your eager sex come in contact with his clothed one. “Please Si~” you whine, voice low and in his ear. You hear the pen stop writing and his member twitch, but otherwise Ghost doesn’t react. “C’mon, a little distraction won’t hurt that much.”

Before you get a verbal response, you’re being pulled back by the collar of your shirt. “If you’re so desperate to get off,” Simon growls, masked face inches from yours. “Why do you prove how bad you need it? Get yourself off on my thigh like a good whore.”

Your face flushed a bright pink at his demand, but you got the assignment quickly. You used your knee to nudge Ghost’s legs apart so you could sit your sex fully on his thick thigh. Just that little friction left you whimpering for more. “C-can I move, Sir?” you asked, voice now soft so he could focus.

“Go on,” he told you, eyes never leaving the work in front of him. You don’t waste any time, slowly beginning to rock yourself forward, dragging your sex along his thigh. You sigh in relief at the pleasure that courses through you, even through the durable fabric of your regulation cargo pants.

“Such a pretty little thing,” Simon hums, still not turning his burning brown eyes to watch you. “Always making such beautiful noises for me.” You whimpered a little louder now at his praise, trying to keep yourself from falling apart immediately.

“I’ll bet you just can’t wait for me to be done with this paperwork can you?” The man says, this time sounding more like a growl than his usual teasing hum. “Can’t wait to feel my thick cock inside you huh? Pinned to the bed and nowhere to go but where I tell you.”

“S-Simon–” you gasp, hips rocking harder and faster with each word that he spoke. It took some coaxing from you to even get Ghost to speak up in bed. He wasn’t exactly sure how to even commence dirty talk until you gave him a bit of teachings on what you liked. After that it felt like you couldn’t get him to shut up, not that you were complaining of course.

“What love?” He asks, so mischievously it hurt. “Can’t handle a little dirty talk? Don’t lie to me slut, I know you love it. Almost as much as being face down in your cot.”

Your nails were practically digging into the back of his t-shirt now, your sex making an absolute mess beneath the fabric of your uniform. “G-gonna come, please–” Your mind was so fuzzy, you nearly forgot to let him know of your impeding orgasm.

“Go on love,” Ghost tells you. In a move you hadn’t expected in the least, you hear fabric moving and then a bruise being sucked into your neck. “Make a mess for your lieutenant.”

Something about the way Ghost’s growl was unfiltered and the sudden contact had your peak practically punching you in the gut as you doubled over with a loud moan. Your sex pulsed against the inside of your underwear and uniform pants. You hid your face as best you could against Simon’s neck whining loudly as you finally finished.

You nearly went limp before strong hands caught you to hold you steady against Ghost’s chest. “That’s it love, good job,” he praises, rubbing your back. “D’you need water? Anything?” That was another learned thing that the lieutenant picked up on quickly; aftercare. He had no clue what it was previously until you walked him through it after a particularly nasty subdrop.

You shake your head, finally starting to calm down. “Thank you Si,” you mumble against the fabric of his shirt.

“Don’t thank me yet sweetheart,” the blonde chuckled softly. “You’re still getting punished for interrupting me.” Your eyes went wide as Ghost continued on writing his reports calmly as if nothing happened.

Well…not the worst way to end a mission you supposed.

#bat writes #cod smut #cod x reader #ghost smut #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley smut #simon ghost riley x reader

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sunshine-and-moonshine · 10 months

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Cod Men in a Dating Sim

Requested: No

Warnings: Light bit of angst

A/N: Did I watch a bunch of (and by that I mean 3) dating games just so I could get inspiration for this? ……Maybe

Ghost - The Punk/Goth Guy

By far the hardest and most frustrating character to romance, Ghost’s route leaves even the most seasoned completionist in tears. People who attempt to do playthroughs of the game won’t even attempt it, and much of his route is virtually unknown. His trust is hard won and easily lost, even the tiniest of mistakes will affect your whole game with him, to the point that you could very well lose all progress with him at any point. There have been demands and petitions for the devs to change his route, calling him stupidly difficult, not worth the effort it takes. Oh but those select few who get to peek behind the curtain? Those that get to woo him and make him blush, who truly hold his heart? They’re in love, will defend him and his horrible jokes and his sad boi personality until they die.

Soap - The Himbo Jock

Soap, the cheerful and upbeat type. Always doing some sort of high energy sport in his free time, his happiness infecting you everytime you two cross paths, his smile only growing bigger every time you both talk. He always wants to be doing something with you, his arm around your waist, loud and happy and brighter than the sun. Doesn’t matter what type of activity you like doing, he wants to be doing it with you. His route is the easiest to get through and his charm draws in all kinds of people, making him almost unanimously loved through the fandom of the game. To the point that people recommending the game always say that you should start with his route first. He’s kind of the poster boy of the whole game at this point.

König - The Shy Guy

König, the sweet librarian at your local library, always so kind but painfully shy when you try and talk to him. Books almost always clutched to his chest, twiddling his thumbs and ducking his head with a blush rising under his mask if you make even the slightest attempt to get close to him, an absolute mess if you flirt with him. He’s the adorable sweetheart of the game that, even if you don’t want to romance him, is just nice and adorable in general. But when you really get into his route, he is so flirty. Granted it’s only when he thinks you can’t hear (unaware that he has literal subtitles telling you what he says). And he gets so protective, always offering to walk you everywhere and just generally tending to stick around you and show you all sorts of things he enjoys, always eager when you return the favor and show him your own favorite things.

Alejandro - The Flirt

Alejandro likely met you through your mutual friend in the game, Rudy. Coming to visit his old pal and meets you at his home, instantly all over you, suave flirtations leaving his lips every other second as he tries to get you alone every chance he can get, much to Rudy’s annoyance. At first it’s a bit of a game, just another blip in the back of his mind, nothing serious. But as time goes on, it becomes more and more serious, more genuine. His advances start to become a bit softer but now carry real feelings in them. He’s a character that many think is too sleazy at first but come to adore him and his sweet nature as you progress through his route. He’s not as loved of a character as Soap but he is in the top three, tied with Rudy.

Rudy - The Best Friend

Rudy. Sweet adorable lovable Rudy. He is the character who plays the role of the best friend with the long time crush. Very poorly hidden crush by the way. He’s never very bold with his words but his actions communicate his feelings very well. He’s always happy to talk to you, and even listens to you if you’re trying to romance another character and something goes awry. It hurts him but he puts on a good act, even if he distances a bit from you upon learning of your feelings for a different character. His sweet and supportive personality is why he ties with Alejandro in the top three favorites, and many adore him and enjoy repetitively romancing him, never seeming to get bored of finding all his secrets.

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mirage-aera · 4 months

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•°. *࿐ Leave a light on

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : The Night We Met - Lord Huron

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x reader

Zombie au, don’t like don’t read.

Synopsis: When a scouting mission goes south and the 141 get stranded for days without help. They got told they would be sent updates for evac everyday at dawn. A hope to get out alive. So when the day came that Shepherd broke the news that they are on their own and a member died, they decided to try and make it back themselves. Ghost loses it at the sight of seeing Shepherd once they return.

Word count: 4.102

Masterlist

In the early stages of the outbreak, the government tried to keep control of the situation as much as they possibly could by sending out whatever was left of the military and mowing down the infected with the limited amount of ammunition they had. Once they realized that won’t work they decided scouting missions would be the plan to scavenge for various things that could be proved useful. However, people will get infected, specifically people who are fed up with living behind walls and want to try and survive out there. Outside of the safe sanctuary, the not-so-experienced won’t even last a day. And the military? Well, only the elite teams and some mercenaries are left. Within a week the majority of the emergency workers and military ceased to function. Too few of them to do something. Sooner than later, soldiers started dropping like flies, most of them turned as well and had to be killed by their own brothers and sisters during the ‘mowing down as many infected as you can’ operations. Which was just sending young men and women to their deaths. Once supplies started running low, the people who are running the shitshow have decided to send the 141 for supply runs. That currently is a 5 man army. Somehow you’ve always scrapped by some miracle.

Except this time. Eventually, you find yourselves trapped in an abandoned hotel, which is no doubt filled with those infected. With a horde of infected waiting outside of the building, there’s no way to get out of there. With no ammunition, and a limited amount of rations. The only thing you have going for yourselves is you’re all still alive granted, a little worse for wear, but still alive, and a radio. You’re hiding in the lobby of the hotel. You hear occasional bangs of infected trying to get into the building and the moaning and groaning that comes with the package. John immediately goes into captain mode. Something he frequently does when you leave the walls to go for supplies runs. “Soap, Gaz. Make sure to keep an eye on those infected outside and that they don’t come inside. If they come inside we’re in trouble. Ghost, radio Shepherd. Tell him we are stranded and need help getting out of this shithole. Hawk, you’re with me. We’re going to explore this place a bit. For if we need to retreat further into the building we can.” ‘Roger’ and ‘copy that’ are said and you all get to work. Simon immediately gets on the radio and tries contacting the general. He glances at you as you get ready to head with John further in. “Be careful.” You nod and give him a small smile as you check your gear, “you know I am.” He stares at you with worried eyes but says nothing. He continues fiddling with the radio. The thing is barely working but it’s one of the only options you have. Johnny and Kyle are watching the infected intently, specifically at the weak spots, like the windows and doors. If they start cracking they need to move instantly.

You move with John through the lobby as you traverse the ground floor of the hotel. “Keep your gun up and check your corners.” John says quietly, not wanting to alert the undead if they are here. “Yes sir,” you mutter out. You enter the restaurant area. It’s completely covered in blood but no undead to be seen. Either they’ve been dealt with before or they moved somewhere else. You can see that John comes to the same conclusion as you, “let’s keep moving.” You nod as you follow him. You continue doing the same for the kitchen area. Noticing it’s empty as well, you lower your gun and check the cabinets. Not bothering with the fridge, food in there would be spoiled by now. You grab whatever canned foods you can find and store them in your backpack. John does the same. With this routine, you secure the ground floor.

Meanwhile, Simon has made contact with Shepherd, “General. We need immediate help. We are surrounded by a horde of infected. We are currently holed up in the hotel.” He hears crackling as he awaits an answer from the general, “I hear you. We will try and lure the infected away, I will update you.” Simon mutters out a ‘copy that’ before letting go of the button. Now it’s time to play the waiting game and hope they don’t have to play it for too long. Simon pulls out his journal from his bag. Ever since the outbreak started he started journaling. It’s to help keep him sane, but it’s also to keep track of the evolution of the undead and the decline of humanity. He pulls out a pen as well and starts writing.

Day 109

Today we got sent out for another supply run as we’re running low on everything. Things went south when a horde of infected surrounded us. Now we’re stuck in the abandoned hotel awaiting evac from General Shepherd. I got assigned the radio while Kyle and Johnny were watching the windows and doors. John and (Y/n) were exploring the hotel in case we needed to retreat further in the building.

Shepherd said he will update us, this could take hours or even days.

- Simon

He draws a little skull face next to his name. A habit that you got him into. You said that during these unfortunate times, a little fun will be a good thing to make it less depressing. Sooner than later you and John return. You’ve cleared the ground and first floor. No undead lurking around those areas. You’re free to retreat in any of those areas if it comes down to it. Kyle and Johnny share their observations concerning the windows, stating they will do but won’t last long. Simon conveys Shepherd’s words along. That evacuation might take a couple of days. So either find a way back yourselves or wait for Shepherd to send help. You’d rather find a way yourselves than wait on that snake. You can tell by the others’ expressions they feel the same way as you do. John calls out, “we’ll wait for Shepherd. We have better chances of getting out of this, all of us. If we can get some help clearing the guys outside.” No one is too happy with his decision but you trust his intuition. He has gotten you all out before on past missions and during the apocalypse, so why won’t he now?

The rest of the day is spent chatting amongst yourselves and watching the windows. You’ve agreed that for the night you’ll alternate, with at least 2 at a time. You can’t take any risks. You would hate to wake up with a zombie chewing on your leg if you accidentally fall asleep, that would be just unfortunate. You and Simon take the first watch. Letting the others get some rest. You watch as the undead growls angrily at you through the glass. Simon puts an arm around your waist, “seems so surreal, doesn’t it?” You nod, it really does. “Funny how we used to joke that it would never happen, now look where we are.” You say bitterly. He nods, “can’t say we’re prepared for this either.” Comfortable silence envelopes you, aside from the groaning and banging. “Tomorrow John and I are checking the rooms on the second floor. Those are likely to be filled with infected.” You grimace at the thought of them. Yes, you’ve killed countless of them, but it doesn’t make them any less disgusting. He glances at you before turning his gaze to the windows again, “I can go instead of you if you’d feel safer.” He offers. Your eyes soften at his proposal, “it’s okay. I’m a big girl. I can handle it.” You lightly jest. You can tell he’s smiling behind the balaclava with the way his eyes are crinkling. “I do not doubt that, lovie.” You change the subject, “can I borrow your journal?” He raises an eyebrow but gives it to you nonetheless. You grab a pen out of your pocket and flip to his latest entry. You smile at the little skull face. You draw a tiny hawk next to it with a few endearing words and close the journal handing it back to him. You’ve done the same thing to some of his other entries. You have no clue if he has noticed. If he has then he hasn’t said anything about it.

After some time passes you get relieved by Kyle and John. You wordlessly get up and head back to where Johnny is probably snoring away. You spot him resting on his pack, using it as a pillow. Completely out cold. Simon snickers at the sight while you let out a small chuckle. Simon does the same, he sets his pack down on the floor and uses it as a pillow. He beckons you over with his arms outreached. You smile as you shuffle over into his arms. He rests your head on his chest, allowing you to use him as a pillow. He drapes his jacket over you two to act as a blanket. Even in a precarious situation, moments like these with him are the safest you could ever be. “Get some rest, lovie. You’ll need the energy.” He didn’t have to say that twice. A few seconds later you’re immediately out.

The next morning you wake up to the crackle of the radio. Simon is already up and listening to it. He sits on the floor with your head in his lap as he plays with your hair. He notices that you’re awake. He looks down at you, “good morning. Sleep well?” You smile tiredly at him, “yeah I did.” He nods before turning his attention back to the radio once he hears his name. You can faintly hear Shepherd’s voice on the radio. As the two continue their exchange you get up and walk over to John, who’s already up and probably waiting for you. You greet him as you grab your gear. He smiles briefly at you before nodding, “ready to go?” You nod, “ready as I’ll ever be. Let’s go.” No further words need to be said, he leads the way to the second floor.

As you head up the stairs. John speaks in a hushed manner, “just like yesterday. Guns up and check your corners. We’re likely to see them here, especially in the rooms.” He informs you. “Got it.” You check your corners as you move through the hallway. While John goes the other way. Sure enough, there’s an infected standing idly in the middle. Its joints are misaligned and softly grunting. You raise your gun to its head and fire. The silencer made sure that others weren’t alerted to your position. It slumps to the floor in a heap. Soon John rounds the corner and looks at the body on the floor and then at you. “That makes three then.” You nod. “Let’s check the open rooms, could be they have something useful for us.” You follow him as you clear rooms together, shooting down unsuspecting infected as well. You search the rooms for left-behind canned goods, ammunition, anything that can be proven useful. Most of these rooms have come up empty or the only things left behind are useless objects. John shakes his head as he emerges from a bathroom, “nothing useful here. Let’s go, we’ll check the other floor.” He says as he moves to the staircase. “Roger.” You quietly stick behind him, raising your gun as you go up. He holds his hand up as he motions there are three of them in front of him. You nod as you wait for his signal to take them down together.

He gives the go and you swiftly take care of them. They slump to the floor. You move up using the same strategy before. You’ll pinch them in the hallway and clear rooms together. He heads the other way as you continue going forward. You come across two more. You shoot them down and meet up with John. You hear two more thuds, signaling that he killed two as well. He comes into your sight as you lower your gun. “Fuck there’s a lot up here.” He whispers. You hum in agreement. “John. I think we should head back. There’s likely to be more in the rooms and there’s only two of us. If we get overwhelmed in a small confined room… It's too risky.” You warn him. He takes in your words. He knows you’re right. “Let’s go. You’re right, it’s not worth it. If anything happens we can just run to the roof.” You smile gratefully at him, happy that he considered your advice. You head back to the group. The two are still watching the ones outside and Simon is messing with the radio. John gives him a look. Simon shakes his head, “nothing new.” He says in frustration. “We might need to find our own way out soon.” He states. Or what he’s trying to say is, ‘Shepherd is going to leave us high and dry.’ John sighs, “I know.”

Night falls, the groaning and moaning outside lessens as they can’t see you inside anymore. You sit with Simon as the guys chatter about mindless things to pass the time. He wraps his arms around your waist as he converses with Johnny. Eventually its lights out as you all settle down for the night.

A few days pass with the usual things happening around you. John and you have cleared the way to the roof, Kyle and Johnny expressing their concerns with the window that’s separating the army of undead from you. Simon is still on the radio, growing more frustrated by the day. With the lack of updates, everyone is growing a bit restless. Well aware that you are in trouble if they don’t make an effort for you. As a new dawn comes you can hear Simon yelling into the radio. “What the fuck do you mean you’re holding off on support?!” His yelling wakes the others aside from John, who’s staring at the infected outside with a grimace. “So that’s it?! You’re leaving us?!” You hear him shout again. You aren’t stupid, you all know what’s going on. The general is abandoning you. The banging on the windows intensifies. Suddenly you hear cracking before glass shatters everywhere. “Everyone! To the roof now!” John barks out as he runs. You all follow suit, knowing damn well you can’t fight off the horde. You bolt up the stairs, the zombies following you, clambering up. Price pushes the door and holds it open as he waits for you all.

You make it through, the only one who hasn’t yet is Simon. As you look behind you to see what’s happening, your eyes widen in horror. You see him on the floor with one of those grabbing onto one of his legs. He’s kicking frantically at it, trying to keep its jaws off of him. You all left your guns behind in the panic. You pat your holster for your pistol and pull it out. You aim at the snarling thing and fire. Except it doesn’t fall back. Your pistol clicks, making you realize it’s empty. You’re out of ammo. In a panic you rush over to him, and you see the rest of the horde also closing in on him. He looks at them and then at you. “No! Stay back! There’s too many, just go!” You shake your head as you ignore his orders. There’s still time. You notice that the creature’s bottom half is still inside the stairwell. You run over and slam the door shut as much as it can go. You can feel the other zombies crashing into the door you’re desperately trying to keep shut. Their hands reaching out and trying to grab at you and Simon. Some have their heads sticking out as they try to snap their jaws at you. You grimace in disgust.

Simon kicks harder but the damn thing is determined to stay on him. Not thinking straight, you push your leg out to shove it away. Revealing your leg as its new meal. It snaps its head to your leg shoving it back inside the stairwell and latches onto you. Simon quickly pulls his leg out as he watches it bite you. You rip your leg out of its mouth in pain. Simon helps you shut the door completely and barricades it. He looks at you and then at your leg. You look at your leg in more detail. A bite mark. You realize you’re going to be one of them. His eyes soften, “lovie…” he gently calls out. You snap your head to him before screaming out in anger, and frustration. You ran out of luck. The others can only look on in surprise. It all happened so fast. One minute you were fine and the next you’re going to turn into one of those.

Eventually, your screams of anguish die down and are instead replaced by sobs as you collapse to the floor of the roof. Simon immediately falls next to you and cradles you in his arms, trying his best to comfort you. A few tears of his own slip, aware of what's going to happen. He shushes you as he tries to get his words across, “everything will be fine. You’ll be okay. Nothing will happen.” He blurts out. You both know those are empty promises. Everything is far from fine, you won’t be okay, and you’ll turn into one of them. That’s the hard truth. But it does the trick, it stops your mind from going into overdrive and his voice is calming you down. You sigh, “Simon. You promised at the start of this shitshow.” You softly say. He shakes his head, he knows what you are getting at. You promised when this all started that if one of you is going to turn the other would kill the one who’s compromised before fully turning.

“Not yet, please lovie. I can’t.” He clutches onto you. You look at him sadly. It isn’t easy for both of you. “I don’t want to become one of them. Please, Simon, do it for me.” He looks at you, tears soaking his balaclava. The rest of the group surrounds you both. They all look at you sadly. They're used to seeing people bit and turn, but it never was one of their own. You give them a small smile, “make it back for me, okay boys.” You look at Simon, “leave a light on for me? I’ll visit you. I promise.” He lets out a watery chuckle and frowns, “I’ll leave a light on for you.” He confirms. He pulls off his balaclava, showing his face to you. You smile, “there’s the handsome face I know and love.” You caress his jaw. He smiles sadly at you. He leans down to your face. Soon his lips meet yours as you share your last intimate moment. He pulls away and looks at the bite mark on your leg. Which is already swelling, black veins starting to spread, and your skin turning a purplish color. You smile at him, ready to go. “It’s time, love.” He shakes his head once more. You frown, not wanting to see him like this. You hear the barricade failing on the door, they’ll burst through any minute. The others noticed as well. “Simon we have to go…” Johnny voices out, handing his pistol to him. Knowing he doesn’t have his on him. Simon takes it shakily and looks at you, “I can’t leave you here.” You squeeze his hand, “it’s alright. They won’t hurt me anymore.” He lets out a shaky sigh but nods. He points the pistol to your forehead. A quick death, he’ll be damned if he lets you suffer. You nod at him, “I love you, Simon.” He smiles at you, tears falling. You close your eyes, “I love you too, lovie. Always.” The shot rings out as your body slumps forward.

He catches your limp body, ignoring the blood soaking his vest, and rests you in a corner so that you won’t be disturbed. He takes your dog tags off of you and puts it around his neck. He takes your pistol as well. It’s empty, but at least he’ll have something of yours that he can kill those bastards with, in your stead. He looks at you one last time before the door gets pushed down. “We have to leave!” John notifies the others. Simon follows as they make their way down the fire escape. Once they’re safely on the ground, they catch their bearings and march their way to the base.

Hours later, the dark blanket of the night conceals them. They’re met at the gate by soldiers who look at them surprised. Showing them that Shepherd has sealed their deaths. Anger courses through Simon’s veins. Once they’re checked and let through, Simon wastes no time to storm over to Shepherd’s office. He bursts through the door and glares at the man. Shepherd is surprised to see him, alive and well. “You!” Simon seethes. Shepherd looks at him, unbothered. “You made it out after all.” Simon raises an eyebrow, “you left us to die! You told me you were going to attempt! That’s why we waited, you bastard!” He roars in anger. This time Shepherd raises an eyebrow, “you all made it out no?” He can feel his eye twitch at his question. “She is dead because you couldn’t make a rescue effort in the first place.” He seethes in a low voice. He continues, “we could’ve all made it out if you could’ve just said you weren’t going to make an effort on day 1. You lost one of your best soldiers and you are solely to blame.” He says coldly. Shepherd nods, “if you’re done blaming me you can leave, Simon.” His eyes have a fire in them, “you can not call me that!! It is and always will be Ghost to you!” He yells. He has so many more insults to say to his face, but he does not feel like getting executed now. He has a promise to fulfill for you. He storms out of the office and walks to his room. He slams the door shut, throws his pack across the room, and sits on the floor. Not bothering to sit on the bed or by his desk.

Eventually, he gets up to grab a candle. He puts it by the window as he sits at his desk. He grabs his lighter from his pocket and sets the candle alight. “Hope you can see this from wherever you are, lovie.” He says to no one. Wishing you could hear him. He grabs his journal and sets it on his desk. He stares at it for a moment. He slams his palm on the desk, rattling the whole thing and everything resting on it. The loss of you dawned on him. He rests his head in his hands as tears start falling again. He cries it out, the flame illuminating his face, giving his tears a golden glow. Once he gathers himself he opens the journal and flips to a new page.

Day 114

I hope you are happier wherever you are than you were here. I’ll come see you in a few years. Until then, I’ll leave a light on for you at night. So you can always find your way back here. Rest well, my love. I love you, always.

- Simon

He draws his usual skull face next to his name, knowing you’ve always loved it. He flips a page back. Remembering you were writing something last time. What he sees makes new tears fall. He sees your little hawk next to his skull face and a message for him.

‘No matter what. If you leave a light on I will always come back to you, in this lifetime and the next. Even in the afterlife. I will come find you Simon Riley.’

Tears fall on his journal, staining the paper. But fortunately, none lands on your writing. He feels a cold air enveloping him. As if it’s hugging him. He thinks nothing of it. All he wants is you, in his arms. As he sobs he swears he hears your voice.

“I found you, love. I’m here now.”

#cod #cod x reader #cod mwii #cod mw2 #call of duty #call of duty x reader #ghost #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley

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astroboots · 2 years

Text

RED FLAGS ║ PART 2

CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Pairing: Steven Grant x female reader (hints of Marc Spector x female reader)

Summary: Something strange is going on with Steven. Or alternatively: how you fix your relationship by giving Steven the sloppiest office blowjob ever.

Rating: really fucking explicit

Warning/content: unease around male character, inappropriate office behaviour, blowjob, semi-public sex. Please do not attempt to re-enact this, it will land you with HR.

Word Count: 9.3k (guys this was meant to be a short interlude... idek)

Series Masterlist | Astroboot's Masterlist | Thirstworldproblemss' Masterlist

[PREVIOUS] - [NEXT]

Something is wrong.

You’re naked in your boyfriend’s bed—the very same bed where he took you apart some hours ago, desperate, worshipful mouth pressed tight between your thighs. But now he’s staring down at you, that very same mouth set in an almost-disdainful line, eyes flat and blank.

It’s like looking in a funhouse mirror and seeing a distorted reflection of reality. So many of the peripheral things are the same but the essence is different somehow. Off in a way that has your heart pounding loud in your ears.

The difference is jarring in the same way that the still-healing wounds on his torso are. Though in this low light, the bruising on his shoulder and the cuts across his chest don’t look nearly as bad as they did when you first saw them. Was it just the shock of their existence that made you think they were worse than they are?

He clears his throat and you realise with a start that you’ve been silently gawking at his chest for the last several minutes. When your eyes fly to his face, you find him poorly suppressing an amused smirk. He’s never looked at you like that before; you weren’t even aware his mouth was physically capable of curving into such a snide expression.

You don’t know what to say to him. To this stranger of a man who has replaced your sweet, awkward Steven. Don’t know what to do with yourself either. In fact, you’re pretty sure you’re staring at him like a deer in the headlights, covers still clutched to your chest.

His brows draw together, head tilting slightly to the side as he regards you, dark eyes sharp, almost predatory in a way that makes you feel exposed and vulnerable, like an insect pinned to a display board. Your breath stutters in your chest, and a wave of goosebumps raises the hairs along the back of your arms.

Something is wrong, and you want it to stop. And if it won’t stop, you need to leave.

But calmly. Years of experience with drunk blokes in pubs and with overly-handsy coworkers tells you to act normal. Make an excuse. Wouldn’t do to alarm him.

"Is… um… is your insomnia flaring up again? I should go. I… really need to be getting home anyway. Early morning at work, you know." You’re babbling nervously, can’t seem to stop as you start to gather up your clothes. You hurry as much as you can without letting go of the duvet, unwilling to lose the only barrier of protection you have against him.

“I’ll… um… Just let me–” you stammer as you scoop your ruined tights into your handbag and grab your boots. You back prickles uneasily and you have to force yourself not to look over your shoulder and see if he’s still standing there watching you. “I’ll just get dressed and be on my way.”

You don’t look at him or wait for a response. Things in hand and bedding still wrapped firmly around yourself, you scuttle across the flat like a deranged hermit crab, relieved to find that the doorway you spotted is, indeed the loo. You retreat inside, closing the accordion door firmly shut behind you.

Encased in the darkness of the small room, you listen anxiously for any noise from the rest of the flat, but all you can hear is your heart beating loudly in your ears. You fumble blindly with your handbag, pawing through the keys and makeup and all the other odds and ends that seem to accumulate despite your best efforts, cursing yourself for not being more organised.

Finally, after an infinitely long moment of listening to your breathing come faster and faster as you search, your hand closes around your phone, and you yank it free. Your fingers are clumsy as you thumb it open, turning on the flashlight so you can find the pull cord for the bathroom light and tug it down until the room flickers with a jarring glaring brightness.

You squint down at your phone, and the familiar background screen of you and Steven looks back up at you. Something akin to guilt floods your chest when you pull up the Uber app to secure a ride home—ETA: 12 mins. It’s followed immediately by relief.

You need the loo, but you feel too exposed to actually sit down for a pee while starkers. It’s ridiculous really, this isn’t a Hitchcock movie, and logically you know that no one is going to attack you from behind the shower curtain. Still you opt for dressing yourself as quickly as you can.

Fully clothed and with your escape route secured, you feel a tiny bit better, but the tightness in your chest refuses to dissipate fully.

You use the loo and wash your hands. Catching sight of yourself in the tiny mirror above the sink, you run a quick hand over your hair before giving it up as a bad job, less worried about your looks than… than… What is it that you’re worried about anyway?

Standing there staring at your reflection, peaky and fretful under the harsh light, you wrap your arms around yourself and wonder what the bloody hell is going on with you. You’re being ridiculous.

It’s just Steven, right? Your sweet, caring Steven. Except it’s not.

He hasn’t really even done anything untoward, and yet here you are, your heart in your throat, ready to jump out of your skin at the slightest provocation.

He was just so oddly still. Loose and almost... relaxed in a way you’re not used to from Steven.

Maybe that’s it, you tell yourself, trying to pluck up the courage to open the door to the rest of the flat. People sometimes act differently after sex. (Case in point: whatever is going on with you right now.)

Maybe this is just what Steven is like once he finally lets himself relax?

The thought warms you, makes the tightness in your chest relax marginally. But the warmth fades as soon as you open the door to find him standing in the middle of the room, staring at you.

He’s dressed now as well in the well-fitted shirt and dark jacket, so different from his usual oversized clothes. You note absently that it’s a good look on him, but the thought never truly takes hold because you’re too focused on his eyes, just as piercing as before. Another shiver works its way up your spine. This isn’t just your imagination.

Something is wrong with Steven, and everything inside you is screaming that you need to get out of here.

Now.

“I’ll just… um… wait downstairs, shall I?”

He says nothing, and you’re glad, even though that’s wrong too. Steven always offers to walk you, but this time you’re just as happy to be away from him that much sooner.

You’re uncomfortably aware of the weight of his eyes on you as you make your way to the door and start to unfasten the frankly ridiculous number of locks and deadbolts. Even for London this is a bit of an overkill, isn’t it?

Once you finally get the door open, you flash Steven one last wave and a quick, “see you around.” You duck out the door before he can reply, shutting it gently behind you. Resisting the urge to let your head thunk forward against the wood, you turn and head for the lift, still feeling odd about the whole interaction and vaguely on edge.

What was that? Why do you feel more like a witness fleeing a crime scene than a woman bidding a fond goodnight to her boyfriend?

It doesn’t help your nerves that the hallway is dark and empty and one of the lights keeps flickering, lending the whole space an eerie feel. You almost wish you’d asked Steven to walk you down, but you want your Steven, awkward and openly affectionate, not the odd, mostly-silent man you’ve just left behind in his flat.

You reach the lift and punch the call button, prompting a deep hum as the machinery starts to move. You’re staring at the bright red LED light indicating which floor it’s on, willing it to arrive when something grabs hold of your wrist. Hard and unyielding. The persistent grip makes you flinch, jerking your hand back and spinning around to confront… Steven.

He’s right there behind you, looming over you, looking impossibly large and menacing, and your heart hammers in your chest. You take an involuntary step backwards and clutch your bag to your chest. Your back bumps up against something cold, and you nearly shriek before realising you’ve backed into the door of the lift.

God, what is wrong with you tonight!?

It’s just Steven, you tell yourself, willing your rabbiting heart to slow down. (But it’s not. Something inside you is still screaming that this is not your Steven. His eyes are wrong, his stance is wrong, his fucking hair is wrong.)

And you don’t know what you expect (the worst. Oh god, since when have you expected the worst from Steven?) but it isn’t for him to take a step back and hold his hands up in the universal gesture of harmlessness.

Harmless… right. What a laugh. Right now he looks anything but. Except...

He regards you steadily, eyes dark in his too-serious face. He’s still too still, too... much to be your Steven, but...

There’s something about the way he’s giving you space. The way the stillness is deliberate now, controlled. He’s not trying to make himself smaller—not the way Steven always does—but he’s holding himself back. The power obvious in every line of his body is being restrained in an effort to reassure you, and it’s enough to overcome the worst of your irrational fear.

There’s a tilt of his head, as he gives you a nod, one that seems to say, ‘that’s right. You’re okay.’ And as those dark eyes burn into yours, you can almost bring yourself to believe it.

He seems to notice too, something shifting subtly in his face. His lips curve up into a small smile, but even that is wrong… almost condescending. And he tips his head slightly to the right.

It’s then that you notice your cheap watch hanging from his hand, the stupid thing looking tiny and delicate in his thick fingers.

Oh. Oh God. You’ve made a right idiot of yourself, haven't you? Embarrassed warmth floods your cheeks. He must think you’re a complete nutter, overreacting like that over the return of a wristwatch.

Your eyes shift from your watch back to his face, and there's something—the slightest quirk of an eyebrow or maybe the way that one corner of his mouth ticks up higher—that turns the expression cruel, like he’s having a laugh at your expense.

The heat spreads and prickles up over the back of your neck, making your ears burn. You’re not even sure anymore if it's nerves or embarrassment or something else entirely, but it rubs you the wrong way all the same, and annoyance comes to the forefront.

Narrowing your eyes, you send him a look that would ordinarily have Steven withering, but it only seems to amuse the man in front of you.

"Thanks," you tell him flatly, not quite daring to pop off the way you want to. Instead you hesitantly step forward into his space to grab the watch from him. The band pops apart—of course it does—leaving you each holding half of the useless thing, and you have to scramble to grab the other half from his hand under his taunting gaze.

What is wrong with you? What is wrong with Steven!? God, you just want to be done with this and far, far away from here.

Like the answer to your prayers, a loud ding sounds out in the silence, heralding the arrival of the lift.

The doors open behind you, and you back in, unwilling to take your eyes off the man who continues to watch you with the same expression of condescending amusement. Once you’re far enough in, you punch the button for the ground floor, and give him a perfunctory wave as the doors close between you, breathing a sigh of relief once the lift begins to move.

Still, it’s not until you’re safely ensconced in the uber on the way back to your flat that you feel like you can finally take a full breath again. And as soon as you do, doubt floods into you along with it.

What in the bloody hell was that!?

Why did you react that way? Somehow, in the veritable sea of red flags lining the road of your relationship with Steven, nothing else has set you off like this.

The whole thing seems surreal, and the farther from Steven’s flat you get, the less sure you are of what happened. Was he really even behaving oddly? Or were you the odd one for overreacting—practically having kittens over your boyfriend… what? Not fawning over you the way he usually does or nattering on about one of his interests in the middle of the night?

Your logical mind is scrambling for some rational explanation: It’s not outrageous to think Steven might be out of sorts because he couldn’t sleep. Or perhaps you had an unremembered bad dream, and the anxiety bled over into wakefulness. Half two in the morning is not anyone’s best hour.

But the way he looked at you there at the end, like you were nothing to him…

No matter how you try to explain what happened or excuse it away, the sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach remains the same. As does the fact that, for a bit there, for whatever reason, you were afraid to be alone with Steven.

And that’s a giant fucking red flag if you’ve ever seen one. One you don’t know if you can get past.

You don’t get any sleep that night, and the entirety of the following workday is a fog. There’s spreadsheets and Team meetings and more spreadsheets, and thank God none of it requires your active brain capacity, because you have none to give today. Your thoughts are entirely preoccupied with last night, and trying to decide what to do about Steven.

The logical part of you votes for cutting your losses and ending things now before you get in too deep. Part of you thinks it’s already too late.

Your phone pings from your bag, and despite your uncertainty and everything that happened last night, your heart still skips excitedly at the thought that it might be Steven. Fishing it out, you unlock it, anticipating a text from Steven; expecting him to be checking in on you the way he always does.

Except, it’s not Steven.

Instead it’s an unsolicited picture of an unimpressive specimen of male genitalia taken under the most unflattering fluorescent bathroom light possible. Definitely not Steven.

Hello, unwanted dick pic #13.

God, this is what you would have to look forward to if you break it off with Steven, isn’t it? A return to the dystopian, post-apocalyptic landscape that is the London dating scene.

You don’t want to go back to unsolicited dick pics; questionable men, who are either lying about their marriage status or their profile picture; and blokes who leer at you like you’re a piece of meat hanging from a hook in the window display of a butcher’s store.

But most of all you don’t want to go back to dating strange random men, because you want to be dating Steven.

You like Steven.

You like his puppy dog eyes, and his awkward adoration, and his enthusiasm. You like the silly texts that he sends you throughout the work day— random photos of cute dogs on the tube or Egyptian artefacts with captions full of lame puns and emojis and the reason why he thought of you.

You like all of it.

You like Steven. You like Steven a lot. Before last night, you might even have said you were falling in lo– (No. No, you’re not going there. Not right now.)

But last night was... not good. Quite bad, in fact, wasn't it? You can admit that now. In the space of that last quarter hour with Steven, he made you feel scared and... and... small. And you don’t know how to deal with that from someone you’re supposed to be able to trust.

Don’t know if you even want to try.

God, you’re a mess.

You shoot yet another glance at the wall clock, but it’s still not half five.

You’ve spent the last several hours counting down the minutes and seconds until you can clock out, but the more you check the time, the more it seems to drag on until you think the hands must be clinging to the face of the clock, slowing time itself just to taunt you.

It takes an eternity and a half but then, finally, the clock ticks over.

You gather up your belongings in a daze and bid your coworkers an absentminded goodbye before wandering off to the lift. You stare at your own reflection, distorted in the metallic sidewall as the lift descends, still fretting about Steven.

Do you want to break up with him? Keep seeing him? How the bloody hell are you supposed to know when you don't even know what it will be like when you see him again?

When the doors open on the ground floor, you can hear that there’s some kind of commotion taking place at reception.

“Sir, I’m going to ask you one final time: Who are you here to see?” The no-nonsense voice booms through the entrance hall of your office building

Susan, the loveable old battle-axe of a receptionist, is giving some poor bloke a hard time again. Nothing unusual there. You can hear her barking out, “If you don’t give me a name right now, you’re going to have to leave. This isn’t a bus stop, alright?”

“Sorry, Sorry.”

Oh God. You recognise that voice.

“I'm not loitering or anything dodgy like that. I'm just waiting for my... girl–uh... lady... um… friend."

Rounding the corner, you see him.

Puppydog Steven has returned. He’s wearing another novelty print button down and a hangdog expression. Back stooped and hunching into himself, he’s standing in front of the receptionist desk, holding a bouquet of roses the size of a carnival prize in front of himself like a shield.

“Steven?”

At your voice, he turns towards you, hunching further over into himself like he’s bracing himself for a blow. As you approach, you can tell he’s nervous and unhappy in a way you haven’t seen since your first date, and your first thought is that something awful must have happened, because of the contrast between last night and now beggars belief.

“This one yours then, love?” Susan asks, still eyeing Steven like he might be about to make off with the electronics.

“Yeah, he’s um… Yeah. Thanks, Susan,” you flash her a placating smile, then turn to Steven.

“Steven, what’s wrong? Why are you—,” but you don’t even get the chance to finish the question before he interrupts you.

“I’m sorry. Oh God, this is why I don’t— Sorry, sorry. I–” The words are disjointed, tripping over each other in his hurry to get them out, but clearly it's some sort of garbled apology. “Look, if I– If I did something last night that made you uncomfortable, I’m– Oh God, I’m so sorry.”

In your peripheral view you can see Susan, working studiously at the corner of the reception desk that offers the best position for her to listen in on your private conversation with Steven. You’re acutely aware of various other onlookers who seem to all have found reasons to loiter in the reception area as well. Unless you want to be the star of the workplace gossip blasted in the office kitchen tomorrow morning, you need to move the two of you somewhere less public, and quickly.

“Susan, can you block off one of the meeting rooms for me?”

She gives you a slightly dubious look, and for a moment you think she’ll refuse. Susan lives for any morsel of gossip to keep her entertained. But to your surprise, she does you a solid without any further prompting.

“Room 10, pet.”

“Thanks. I’ll owe you one.” You flash Susan a grateful smile and make a mental note to get her one of those fancy coffees she likes from the cafe around the corner for brekkie tomorrow.

“C’mon.” You grab the cuff of Steven’s shirt and tug gently.

Steven follows your lead, allowing you to pull him with you down the hallway of conference rooms. Rounding a corner, into a more secluded bit of hallway, you follow the corridor until you reach the last door in the row. The one to the conference room that affords the most privacy.

Swinging the door open, you all but shove Steven inside before closing the door behind the two of you. You flip the lock to ensure there are no unwanted interruptions before turning back to Steven.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he starts again as soon as you’re facing him.

“Steven, Steven. It's alright,” you interrupt, attempting to reassure him, because God, he looks miserable—every inch the cowering puppydog, just waiting for the kick he knows is coming—and you can’t bear for him to look like that. But he just shuts his eyes like looking at you is painful. He shakes his head, the set of his mouth all misery, and then your heart skips a beat when his eyes snap open and lock onto yours with an intensity that’s startlingly reminiscent of the night before.

“I just– Look, I— You’re the best bloody thing I’ve had in my life in a long time—maybe ever—and… and last night was amazing. Better—way better—than anything I could’ve ever imagined.”

He’s so open, so honest, gazing at you with large, pleading eyes. You feel yourself melting despite your earlier indecision on whether you should be done with him, especially when he continues.

“Last night was perfect,” he says with fervent conviction, but then falters and looks down, apparently shy. You feel your heart squeeze at how adoring he is. “At least, I thought so. You were perfect. And I got to fall asleep with you, which was perfect too. But then I woke up and you were gone. And I’m afraid I’ve bollocksed it all up somehow, the way I always do. Good ol' Steven, can't pull a bird to save his life, let alone hold onto one. And it never mattered so much before, but now it does because it’s you, and…”

And he’s still talking, but you’re stuck on one particular part of that word vomit.

He said… he said that he woke up and you were gone. But that’s not right. You know that’s not right. He woke up before you, so clearly you were still there! Does he... not remember?

You almost ask. Almost say so directly, but something holds you back. Some lingering fear prevents you from bringing up your last unnerving middle-of-the-night encounter. An absurd worry that you don’t dare mention that other, wrong Steven for fear of summoning him back.

Instead you interrupt Steven’s rambling to probe gently, “I was gone when you woke up?”

Steven nods.

“Yeah, this morning. Must’ve worn me out ‘cause I slept straight through.” He gives you a small shy smile that fades quickly when you don’t return it. “Was nearly late for work.”

You’re still reeling, your mind stuck on the bit where he doesn’t remember interacting with you in the middle of the night at all. (Maybe the idea of it being not your Steven isn’t so far-fetched after all?) But Steven doesn’t give you any time to consider; he barely even pauses for breath before barrelling on.

“I don’t blame you for leaving, of course, but I can’t help thinking that I must’ve–” he cuts himself off, gaze dropping to the floor like he can’t bear to look at you. “Look, you... you have to know by now. How dodgy my memory is sometimes. Missing dates or showing up on the wrong day and all that, yeah? Sometimes things happen that I don’t remember. I do things that I don’t remember. And I can’t bear–”

He breaks off, swallows hard, and finally looks up to meet your eyes. His gaze is serious and direct in a way that almost reminds you of last night, except that there’s no hint of that dreadful, supercilious amusement.

“I can’t help thinking that I must’ve done something, and I’m– I’m sorry if I– Sorry. I– Just please.” His eyes are huge, round and still so open and honest, and there’s something else there too as he continues, “Please tell me that I didn’t do anything to hurt or upset you.”

Fear. It’s fear you’re seeing in his eyes and written across his face. You recognize it now, and you think your heart might break over how scared he looks. Completely terrified over the idea that he might have hurt or upset you.

“Steven... ” You hesitate, brow furrowing as you trail off, not sure what to say or how to describe what happened last night.

“Oh. I– Oh. I did, didn’t I?” He looks vaguely sick at the idea and starts to back away, the hand holding the roses dropping to his side as he hunches into himself all over again, spewing apologies twice as fast as before. “Sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m– Oh God, what did I do? Whatever it was, I’m sorry. I wouldn’t ever– Or would I? Guess I did, didn’t I? God I’m– I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine why I would…”

This whole conversation has been a lot to take in, but Steven is clearly distraught, set to go on self-chastising indefinitely for something that seems to be out of his control. You hate to see him this way—it’s painful to watch his quick descent into misery and self-hatred.

“Steven— Steven!” You try to interrupt his spiral, but he doesn’t even pause. You don’t know what to say to break him out of it, so you stop him the best way you know how.

Surging forward, you grab onto the lapels of his jacket to hold him in place while you press your lips to his. It’s a little awkward—Steven is still talking, mouth open when you make contact, and you misjudged the angle slightly—but it does shut him up rather handily.

His eyes flutter closed and he melts against you with a moan so sweet that you want to tuck it away in a keepsake box and keep it all to yourself. When you pull back a moment later, his eyes are half-lidded and dazed, and he’s wearing an expression like he’s forgotten how to carry out the simple task of breathing.

“It’s alright, Steven,” you soothe him and it is. With him anyway. You’re not sure what’s going on exactly, but you know you lo– that you care about Steven a lot and don’t want to lose him to… whatever it is that happened last night.

He blinks, gaze focusing slightly as he’s coming back to earth. Then he really looks at you. And the dazed confusion is coloured with something akin to hopefulness in those wide eyes.

“So, I didn’t… do anything to hurt you?” Those round, pitch dark eyes are so sincere. So ridiculously vulnerable like he was never introduced to the concept of self-preservation. Steven is the living embodiment of wearing his heart on his sleeves to the point where you worry for him sometimes.

You shake your head no, a smile tugging at your lips at the sight of him, because when that sincerity is pointed in your direction you can’t help the swell of affection in your chest.

And it’s true.

He didn’t do anything to hurt you. You were unsettled at worst, and you’ve got the beginning of a suspicion that somehow it may not even have been Steven you were dealing with last night at all.

“So we’re... um...” he pauses and licks his lips, hesitating, and you try not to get distracted by the way his pink tongue slicks over the swell of his bottom lip, “We’re good then, yeah?”

You nod, smile spreading wider despite yourself. “Yeah. We’re good.”

“You’re... You’re sure?” he presses. He’s still gazing at you with those dark puppydog eyes, uncertainty painted across every line of his face. One stray curl has furled up against his forehead as he bites down onto his bottom lip, worrying the plump flesh.

You reach for him without thinking, wanting to reassure him, and you pull him in to plant another short, chaste kiss against his lips.

Eager for you as always, Steven meets your kiss. Soft, warm lips pressed to yours for a long moment, and then he’s licking into your mouth with a hungry enthusiasm that has your knees ready to go out from under you. His free hand comes up to wrap around your back, and you bury your own hands in his riotous curls as he kisses you hard enough to bend you back over his arm.

Steven’s kisses are always ravenous, but this time in particular, he kisses you like he’s seeking salvation from your lips; like you’re water when he’s dying of thirst, and he’s determined to consume all of you that he can get before you change your mind.

You have to plant your hands on his shoulders, barely managing to pull away from his lips long enough to catch oxygen into your lungs. He releases you with obvious reluctance, and your knees are weak enough that you take a moment to be sure they’ll hold you before you take a step back to look him over, drinking in the sight of him.

Collar askew, curls a frantic mess over his forehead, kiss-swollen lips, just a hint of uncertainty lingering in those big, dark eyes. Fuck, he’s so damned gorgeous.

And okay, yes, you want to reassure him, but you’re certainly not opposed to messing him up a little bit more in the process. Messy is such a good look on him after all.

You sneak a quick glance at the wall clock above—6pm, after office hours.

There may still be some unlucky souls still working upstairs in the office space, but no one is going to be using these ground floor meeting rooms at this hour. No one except you, that is, and you know exactly what you want to do with that privacy.

Grasping Steven’s collar, you tug at it to lead him further into the room.

He follows without resistance, but clumsily, nearly tripping on the carpeted floor. Too busy staring at you to watch his footing. He’s like a puppy learning to walk on a leash, and it’s adorable.

You lead him to the mahogany conference table, and take the bouquet from his unresisting hand, laying it down gently on the table top before pulling out one of the large rolling office chairs. A bit of manoeuvring, and you’ve got Steven standing in front of the chair with his back to the door, just in case.

He gasps when you drop to your knees in front of him, and makes an abortive movement like he meant to catch you by your shoulders but was too slow, leaving his hand hanging there uselessly in midair.

The rough carpet scratches at your skin through your tights, but you keep your attention on Steven as you make quick work of unbuckling his belt.

You can see the moment it dawns on him exactly what your intentions are. His eyes grow comically large, tongue darting out in a nervous fit to lick over the swell of his lower lip.

“Wait, wait. What are you–? There’s people outside. We can’t do this here, can we?” He sounds scandalised, and it makes you want to show him just how scandalous you can be.

“It’s fine,” you tell him, nuzzling at the crotch of his jeans and breathing in the scent of him, before the soft whisper of the metal zipper being lowered fills the room.

“We shou—oh fuck, that feels so…—Shouldn’t be doing this though, should we?”

For all his protesting, Steven is already half hard, the incriminating evidence pressing against the front of his underwear. His throat constricts as he swallows, a nervous reflex.

You still, fingers hooked into the edge of his jeans and underwear, and peer up at him.

“Steven. Do you want me to stop?”

“No.” The response is instantaneous, accompanied by a vigorous shaking of his head. “I-I– Don’t stop. Keep… um… keep going, please. If you want to.”

“Good.” You tug down the jeans and pants down over the ample curve of his ass to his thighs in one fluid motion, and his cock springs free from the constraints, rising to slap gently against his stomach.

“Then sit down.” You wrap both hands around his hips and give the gentlest of pushes, but he drops down so forcefully it’s like you’ve tackled him.

He’s so distracted—eyes wide and shell-shocked and glued on you—that he nearly misses the chair, not quite making it square in the seat. The chair wheels squeak noisily, as his momentum sends it rolling backwards away from you.

You blink in disbelief.

"Oh bugger. Sorry, sorry. Let me just...” Steven, clearly mortified, tries to course correct, planting his feet to kick forward, but he miscalculates the trajectory and sends the chair into a spin instead. “Oh god, I'm so sorry."

Giddy relief fills your chest, and you can’t help the laughter that bubbles up in your throat. Dear God, why are things with the two of you always like this? It’s practically a comedy of errors.

Still, if there was any doubt before, it’s definitely gone now. This man—the man in front of you, awkward and fumbling and sweet—is your Steven.

You shake your head and climb to your feet, still smiling as you walk over to him. Planting your hands on the armrests, you force the chair to a stop. Steven’s horrified expression, now inches from your own face, nearly sends you into another fit of giggles.

“Stay,” you order with a fond smile. “Don’t move. Just relax, alright? I’ve got you.”

While Steven is normally very good at taking orders from you, this is one that he entirely fails to follow. His whole body remains tense, fingers flexing as they hover nervously in the air until you take them and guide them to the armrests where they grip and hold on tight.

You drop to your knees again and lean forward until you’re caged in by his spread legs on either side of you. Steven lets out a breathless gasp even though you haven’t so much as touched him yet.

On your knees like this, your face inches away from his cock, you get an up and close personal view that you weren’t privy to the night before. The head is flushed dark pink and it shines slick with the precome that’s beading at the blunt tip.

Even his cock is ridiculously pretty. It’s really not fair.

This close the scent of him is even stronger, clean, with a hint of musk and something altogether Steven. Parting your lips, you ghost your breath over him, relishing the way he practically whines at the sensation, his cock twitching and jerking, more precome welling out to drip down the impressive length of him.

So sensitive, your Steven.

You dart out the tip of your tongue to lap up the runner of liquid. It’s a barely-there touch, but from the sound he makes, you’d think you had punched him square in the solar plexus. The choked-out, pitiful sob makes the blood in your veins sing.

You do it again, just to see if he’ll make the same noise.

He does.

Then again, and he moans, long and breathless, and it shivers through you. Makes you want to see what other sounds you can pull from him. But first you pull back for a moment.

“Shall I continue then?” you ask, pretty sure you know the answer already.

“Yes, please. God yes.” His voice is breathless, desperate, and you can’t help the self-satisfied smile tugging at your lips.

You wrap your hand around the base of his cock, and it jumps in your grip, thick and hot and throbbing against your palm. You love how reactive he is. Looking him in the eye, you drag your tongue against your bottom lip to wet it for him. Then without further ado, you wrap your lips around him.

“Shit. Oh bloody–Shit.” His whole body stiffens under the assault of your mouth, and you can feel him pulsing on your tongue.

Closing your eyes, you savour the sounds he makes for you. Keen little noises and punched out gasps like you’re holding him under water and drowning him in sensations until he can barely breathe.

His reactions, the way his cock twitches, the sweet tang of precome on your tongue; it’s all perfect, and your stomach clenches with arousal and the aching need to touch yourself.

It’s tempting, so tempting, to slip a hand under your skirt and indulge in your own pleasure, but you want to stay focused on Steven right now. Want to be able to take in every minute detail of his response to you. So you keep your hands wrapped firmly around the base of him as your mouth inches down, taking as much of him as you can before backing off again to tease him with just the tip of your tongue.

"Oh God, oh God, that feels amazing. You're so--oh fuck--so good at this… I mean why wouldn't you be? I mean... oh God.” He’s babbling. Fingers gripping the armrest so hard that his knuckles have gone ghost-white. “Pleasedon'tstop."

It is, possibly, the world’s worst and most adorable attempt at dirty talking. But it hardly matters. Steven is so responsive to your every touch, so obviously overwhelmed, that it’s impossible to take his words the wrong way. Impossible not to be aroused by his enthusiastic reactions.

When you kiss the tip of him, he keens. When you swirl your tongue, tracing shapes against the sensitive head, he’ll cant his hips upwards, in an attempt to get even deeper. When you grant him exactly that, letting him slide himself deeper into your mouth, his hands fly to your shoulder, fingers flexing there, digging in until they’re just short of painful.

And all the while he’s watching you with awe, gaze locked on you, as though he’s afraid to look away in case you disintegrate under his hands. As though he can hardly believe you’re real.

That look in his eyes makes you burn. Makes you want to do even more for him. To make him feel as good as humanly possible. So you suck and kiss and lick every inch of him you can, your hand wrapped in a tight fist around his slick girth to work what your mouth is unable to.

One large, shaking hand comes up to cup the side of your face, his thumb barely ghosting over the corner of your mouth where it's stretched wide around his cock before moving to your cheek. He rubs small, soothing circles over your cheekbone, gentle even as he's writhing under your mouth. The tender, doting touch sends pleasure skittering down your spine.

Even now, with you on your knees for him, the man is trying so hard to hold back. To be careful with you. His hips barely hitching up to meet your mouth, as you lick and lap at every inch you can.

“God, look at you. You’re so pretty. I can’t believe you’re actually–” He breaks off, gasping, then starts again, barely seeming aware of what he’s saying, “Your mouth feels so good. So fucking pretty, you are. Can you— Can you take me deeper?” Then when you hum an assent around his cock, “Oh God, oh please…”

The words coming out of him aren’t even particularly filthy, but they affect you all the same.

Heat blossoms in your stomach at how wrecked his voice is as he pants out how pretty you look over and over again. You can feel how wet you are—dripping into the already soaked cotton of your knickers. You squeeze your legs together, moaning around his cock when the pressure makes your cunt clench around nothing.

“Oh. You’re–? Fuck. You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Steven gasps out, and you pull back far enough to look up at him and shoot him a cheeky wink.

“God, you’re amazing,” he groans, thrusting up into your mouth just once, like he can’t help himself, then stilling. Whatever shyness or uncertainty had him tongue tied just a few minutes ago seems to be gone, and he starts to beg for you to “Touch yourself for me, love. Please. Fuck. Want you to enjoy yourself too. Please.”

Hah. As though you weren’t already enjoying yourself thoroughly.

Still, it’s no great hardship to do as he asks, so you pull off slowly, teasingly, and sit back on your heels to look up at him. Collapsed back in the chair, chest heaving, cheeks flushed and curls in complete disarray as those dark eyes burn down into yours, he looks gorgeously undone.

God, and he says you're the pretty one?

You can’t help but lose yourself in admiring him for a long moment.

Too long of a moment, apparently, because his brows draw together and the light of uncertainty starts to flood those big brown eyes. His hands rise to flutter in the air, a sure sign he’s feeling insecure.

Quickly, before he has a chance to overthink things too much, you make a show of sliding one hand down to cup your breast. Between your office clothes and sensible bra, you don’t get much out of it, but you’ve certainly captured Steven’s attention.

He looks utterly gobsmacked, mouth hanging open, and his eyes remain glued to your hand as it continues its descent down your body, and up under your skirt. His swollen, shiny cock jerking and leaking precome in an entirely gratifying manner.

You press a hand between your thighs over your clothes and gasp when even that muted pressure sends pleasure streaking through you. There’s an awkward moment as you scramble for the edge of your tights, and manage to drag them down far enough to wedge your hand under and into your knickers.

The angle is cramped and uncomfortable, but so, so worth it to be able to rub slippery little circles over your clit. Fuck, you’re already so wet, and you can’t help but moan as you feel wetness leaking down between your thighs every time your cunt clenches.

“Oh my days,” Steven breathes, eyes as wide as you’ve ever seen them as his gaze flits between your face and the hand buried beneath your skirt. He seems to have forgotten about his own arousal entirely, totally focused on you.

And, well, that just won’t do.

When he looks up at your face again, you catch his gaze and send him a naughty smile before ducking forward and taking his cock in your mouth again.

Steven lets out a gasping moan that sounds like it’s torn from his very soul, and this time his hips rise to meet you, no longer holding back. He’s all instincts and hunger now, and you’re reminded of the Steven who took control from you last night and drove you to three orgasms so intense that they left your legs numb in their wake.

His cock fills your mouth perfectly, and it’s almost too much. You struggle for a moment to fit all of him, but then the two of you find a rhythm between you that lets you take him deep without choking.

You rock your hips against your hand in time with his thrusts, and the muscles of your forearm ache as you chase your pleasure. It feels so good that you keep forgetting to time your breathing, but fuck, you barely care. Can’t help but love the burn of it down to your lungs. The taste of him, bittersweet and tangy on your tongue, is intoxicating and you could easily get addicted to this. To the uninhibited sounds he’s making at your touch and the taste and smell of him.

You’re overwhelmed, surrounded by him, head swimming with it. Or perhaps it’s the lack of air that has reality going a bit woozy around the edges as you match each roll of his hips into your waiting mouth with a roll of yours rocking against your hand. Your world narrows down to his cock in your mouth, his voice in your ears, and the devastating ebb of pleasure pours through you, building higher with each advance and retreat.

It’s too much and just the right amount because suddenly you’re there, right on the edge. Don’t realise that you’re moaning until the sound cuts off when you shove forward, desperate to take Steven as deep as possible. You roll your hips down one last time, pressing hard against your clit, and that’s all it takes.

You come hard, white hot bliss surging through you as you convulse on the floor of an empty conference room, Steven’s cock lodged as deep in your throat as you can take him.

Dimly you hear Steven’s shocked “Oh Lord, are you—? Oh my God!” and then a broken, breathy litany of “Oh God oh God oh God,” but it hardly registers.

You hold there as long as you can, until your lungs burn and the muscles of your arm threaten to cramp and you’ve wrung every last drop out of pleasure you can out of your orgasm.

Finally, shuddering with overstimulation, you have to pull back. Pulling your slick hand out of your underclothes, you flex your aching fingers, chest heaving as you suck in a long overdue breath and then another.

“Oh God, oh God, don’t stop.” The head of Steven’s slippery, wet cock glances off your equally slick lips as his hips rise to chase your mouth, “Pleasepleaseplease– I need– Fuck. Please don’t stop.”

His cock is twitching in your hand in protest from the sudden lack of attention. The length of it is dripping from your spit, precome flowing from the fat tip as if it’s drooling, glistening under the ceiling light.

You can’t help the shudder that works its way through you when your oversensitive cunt clenches at the depraved sight.

If your goal was to make a mess of him you’ve certainly succeeded.

To buy yourself time to catch your breath, you press saliva-slick kisses along his hardened length, relishing the way Steven descends completely into incoherence.

Half sentences and broken off words, begging for your mouth. It’s a far cry from the man who was all shy nerves, and worried about people being outside not so very long ago.

And you love it. You love it all.

The sounds he’s making are intoxicating. You want desperately to hear how loud he can get, but there’s a little voice in the back of your head warning that this is not the place to let the volume become an issue.

There shouldn’t be anyone down by this hallway, but the way that Steven is carrying on, you worry the sound will carry far enough that your co-workers on the floor above, still in their offices, will be able to hear you two.

“Steven,” you murmur, pressing another kiss to the fat tip of him, “I need you to keep quiet for me.”

You tilt your head until you can sneak a glance at him. How utterly ruined he looks, chest heaving, rising and falling in tides, eyes dazed, a light sheen of sweat on his forehead. You can’t help but smile, fluttering your eyelashes for his attention as you lap up the precome oozing down his cock with little kitten licks, savouring the way he shivers violently below you.

You know you’re being mean. He’s so overwhelmed that he looks like he is going to jump out of his skin, but you can’t resist as you continue to tease him.

“You don’t want me to have to stop, now do you?”

He whines at that, and if you had the luxury of time and privacy, you’d scold him again, drag out your fun and tease him just a tiny bit more.

“Sorry. I’m sorry.” Steven begs so prettily, shuddering below you as he stutters out, “I—I’ll be good. Quiet, I promise. Please, please don’t stop.”

“Good,” you say, then you lean down again and take him back into your mouth.

His hand flies up to his mouth, and he clamps a wide palm over it in a desperate attempt to quiet himself. It helps some, but you can still hear the muffled groan that rumbles from somewhere deep in his chest.

Your previous established rhythm falls apart.

His hips stutter into a staccato pace as he thrusts into your mouth in a desperate attempt to get deeper. The telltale sign of his sharp jaw tensing, the small muscle there flexing. Those gorgeous doe eyes roll to the back of his head, his face awash in pleasure.

God, he’s fucking beautiful like this. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to the sight of him.

From the way his thighs are trembling, you know he must be teetering on the edge even before he warns you with a hoarse and broken, “Close. I—I’m close.”

You hum, and the vibration makes him hiss like you’ve burnt him. His hands come to frame your face, attempting to gently pry you off of him.

You let him pull you away just long enough to form words, hands still wrapped around him to replace the momentum with firm strokes to keep him on the edge, as he twitches and jerks in your palm.

“Do you want to come in my mouth, Steven?”

He shivers, his eyes are shut tight, and for a moment you aren’t sure if he heard you at all. But then he nods forcefully, choking out a rough, “Fuck. You can’t just– God. Yeah. Yes. Fuck. Please,” that has the tip of your ears tingling.

God, he sounds ruined.

He also sounds loud, and he isn’t stopping.

“Steven.” Your voice is flat, cutting through his desperate rambling. “Shut it.”

A strangled moan tears out of him at your command, and somehow the suppressed noises he’s making are even louder than when he was babbling.

In a sudden fit of inspiration, you shove the fingers of your other hand, still sticky with your slick into his mouth. His tongue drags against you, and he gasps around the intruding digits. At the same time, you lean down to take him as deep as he goes, swallowing down the urge to gag when he hits the back of your throat. His body goes rigid, throwing his head back and baring his long graceful throat to you with a muffled groan. He suckles at your fingers, mouth hot against your sticky skin, and you can feel it the moment that he comes. His cock pulsing warm and thick against your tongue, as he floods your mouth, tangy and slightly bitter.

It’s quite possibly the hottest thing you’ve ever experienced, and it makes you want to drag out that pleasure for him and ruin him even more.

You hold him in your mouth, tongue lavishing at the stiff underside of his cock, your own fingers pressing against his tongue as he writhes underneath you. You don’t let up, drawing things out until his thighs are shaking violently beneath you and you’re sure that the overstimulation must be bordering on the painful.

Only then do you pull away, sitting back to take in the sight of Steven. Rosy-flushed cheeks, and half-lidded eyes boring into you. He’s staring down at you like you’ve hung the stars and moon in the night lit sky one by one.

All of a sudden, you find yourself feeling almost shy under that loving gaze. Flustered at the adoring attention from him. You feel silly to be the object of that devotion, while you’re still on your knees, knickers and chin equally sticky, and the remnants of his come still lingering on your tongue.

You don’t know what to say or do next, but it doesn’t matter.

Before you can even try to figure it out, Steven surges forward, dropping down to his knees in front of you and closing the distance between you to crash his lips against yours. He licks into your mouth with frantic desperation, apparently uncaring that you still taste of his come.

You can taste yourself in his mouth as well, as Steven devours your mouth with a hungry fervour that you’ve come to associate with his touch.

It’s sweet; it’s depraved; it’s ravenous.

It’s all the contradictions of Steven himself wrapped into a kiss. And for better or worse, it’s something you’re not sure you can live without anymore.

Eventually he slows in his pace, until the one kiss dissolves into many, syrupy and languid in a way that makes the air around you thin. And then...

“God, I love you.” He sighs the words gently into your mouth, so blissful and contented that it takes a moment for you to realise what was said.

You stiffen in his arms as his words fully register with you. Pulling away, you draw back enough to see Steven’s face, not entirely sure if you heard him right until you see the complete adoration in his eyes.

Oh. Oh wow, he really does mean that doesn’t he?

The expression on your face must betray how stunned you are by his confession, because Steven’s brows draw together in concern and he immediately starts apologising.

“Sorry. Should I… um. Should I not have said that? Not the most romantic moment, is it? Course it’s not. Confessing after you– you–” he stutters, clearly flustered. “Well, after that.” He flinches, face flushing bright red, and mutters, “God, I sound like a right bloody wanker, don’t I?”

He’s right.

This was hardly the perfect time, or a particularly romantic one. And he does sound like a bit of a wanker.

Your eyes meet, and he flinches, eyes worried and voice hesitant, as if he did something grievously wrong to offend you.

“Did I make you uncomfortable? I did, didn’t I?” He drops his gaze, as though he thinks he’s committed some grievous wrong to offend you. “I’m sorry, we can pretend I never said it if that’s what you want.” It clearly pains him to make the suggestion, but he makes it anyway. “I don’t– I don’t want to lose you.”

That’s the thing with Steven.

He's all in.

Whatever else he has going on, Steven’s never been half-hearted about this, about you.

He doesn’t time his moments or play tactics to win you over. Whether it’s bravery or stupidity, you can’t tell, but he’s always been open and vulnerable with his feelings, even that very first night at the restaurant, when his eyes lit up at the sight of you. They’ve always been right there on his sleeve.

And right now it’s clear to see that he’s en route to having a complete nervous breakdown if you leave him hanging any longer without an answer.

You’ve known for a while that you liked Steven, had feelings for him, and now there’s not a single doubt in your mind about how deep those feelings go.

“I love you too.”

He looks up at you timidly from underneath those thick eyelashes with shock that’s shading into careful, dawning hope. His mouth opens as if to speak, but then he hesitates for a long moment, jaw working, like he’s too scared to ask you to repeat it in case he misheard or you’re playing a practical joke on him.

“Yeah?” he asks eventually, voice whisper-soft.

You don’t answer him with words.

Instead you nod, pulling him close until you can kiss him again. Removing any lingering doubt that still might remain—for both of you. Whatever yesterday night was, you meant every one of those three little words, and want to stay to figure it out.

It’s you and Steven, red flags be damned.

~ Continue ~

Dedication and Credits

To the city of London itself, can you dedicate a city? No? I'm doing it anyway. I'm finally home after 2.5 years of being away and I miss her so. Love of my fucking life.

@thirstworldproblemss my love, my best friend, my soul twin, clown sister. Thank you for being with me literally every single day the past year and almost a half in my pocket, on good days, on bad days, and on the boring-nothing-special days. You've kept me going all this time, and the best part of my gloomy days would be waiting for you to wake up half across the world and start our nonsense for the day. My life is all the better because you're in it. Thank you for keeping me intact and in one piece all this time.

@frannyzooey the kindest, most talented, and most supportive person. You are so loved and truly one of a kind. You give so much of yourself wanting nothing in return and your presence is my life is such a gift. Thank you for always being there with a kind word when I was about to blow my freaking casket in the last year and a half. For talking me down, for being a pillar of calm and reason when I felt like dousing things down with gasoline and setting it on fire. Thank you for being you, I cannot wait to spam you with a million food photos from this day on, that's my promise to you.

@jazzelsaur for your beautiful, curly avocado toast hair that smells like delicious onions. I love you, your baby whore 🥑🧅

@radiowallet with your brilliant big mind. For you love of the comic and nerdy. For being so absolutely fucking wonderful and supportive and kind in a word that is anything but on some days.

@the-ginger-hedge-witch this is not a dedication. This is a call out, remember when you tried to character assassinate Brendan Fraser? Pepperidge Farm remembers. P.S. I love you dearly

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strawberrystepmom · 5 months

Text

yuji x f!reader 🩷 reader has defined characteristics and a defined ct, yuji and reader are both students (reader is a second year), a certain meddling sensei who may or may not be named shmendy can’t mind her business. 3.5k of hurt/comfort fluff.

divider by @/cafekitsune!!!!

“Hey Yuji?”

The voice of the second year sensei accompanies a knock at his door frame and he slides the shoji open, smiling at the sight of the woman standing outside of his door. He thinks he already knows what you’re here about but avoids giving away too much of his concern, tipping his head and leaning against the wood.

“What’s up?”

She smiles at him and pats his shoulder reassuringly but her face falls quickly, arms folding over her chest. The tension in the air is unspoken but they both know what the concern is - you. You’ve distanced yourself from the small network of support you have amongst your peers and instructors and now comes the real challenge.

How do they get you back?

“Have you talked to ___ lately?”

He shakes his head and she doesn’t fail to notice the way that sadness seeps into every little dimple and crease on his face, remembering all too well how it felt to be in his position when she was a student herself, caring so deeply but unsure of how to show it thanks to the awkwardness of youth. She’s been in both of your positions before, the one caring and the one hurting, and she hopes that age has granted her the wisdom to find the perfect balance of them both.

“No, I haven’t. She won’t respond to my messages.”

The second year sensei nods and smiles sadly, digging her phone out of her pocket and pushing a few buttons while Yuji watches and wonders what’s happening. Her thumbs move quickly and her brow furrows and she looks up with a half smile.

“You know what Gojo-sensei used to do for me when I was struggling?” The young man shakes his head but notices the faint dusting of pink across her cheeks even mentioning his sensei. Love spreads like wildfire around here, he thinks, and it’s beautiful to witness but it’s painful when you find yourself falling victim to a beautiful girl with big round eyes and cheeks and smile so bright it could bring the sun to her knees when she blesses him with it.

All he can think about is you. His heart threatens to burst constantly, to overflow like a leaky dam and cause a flood of affection, but he swallows it the best that he can. Right now his main concern is making sure that you are okay above all, well enough to keep going through the difficult days that come and go.

Despite how jumbled his thoughts are and how heavy his heart is thinking about you, he shifts his attention back to the woman standing across from him and keeps his temple pressed against the door frame. Maybe she’ll have the answers on how to help you, or at least ease your pain a little bit.

“He used to make me leave campus. Sometimes he’d lie and make up a mission, sometimes he’d just drag me along with him and I’d wordlessly follow along with whatever he cooked up but it always helped.” She looks faraway, as if it’s painful to put herself back in those shoes she got rid of many years ago. The two of you are so similar she understands how you’re feeling but doesn’t want to risk being pushy or over the top so she plays it cool and shrugs what she’s saying off. “It always made me smile.”

Yuji nods, able to read between the lines immediately. She looks down at her phone and conceals a half smile, pressing the device against her mouth.

“The three of us are going on a mission today.” Yuji raises his eyebrows in surprise but realization dawns quickly and he nods, understanding what she’s saying. She pulls her phone away from her face and slips it into her pocket. “We are going to Tsukiji to patrol for a potential grade three curse spotted around the food stalls, understood?”

Yuji is not the tough sell on leaving today but she leaves him with a pat on the back and shoves him into his room, sliding the door shut behind him before walking down the corridor to your room, taking a deep breath before knocking on the door in the same fashion.

“What?”

She laughs and you perk up slightly at her voice, sticking your head up from where it was resting on your desk with your notebook opened in front of you. It probably doesn’t serve you to sit here and stare at your dark menagerie yet you do, glancing at their faces and their hands and their half shaped forms until you fear you’re the one turning into something terrifying.

“We have been called on a mission. Me, you, and Yuji.”

A gut feeling tells you that she’s planning something yet you stand, slippered feet sliding toward the door. You slide the shoji open and attempt a scowl despite the smiling and hopeful face at your door, her head tipped to the side as it always is.

“Hi sunshine,” she teases and you groan, rolling your eyes and moving to shut the door again. She puts her hand on the frame and shakes her head, holding it open. “Nope. I’m flexing my muscles as your sensei today and your attendance is mandatory.”

She has been allowing you to tune into classroom days via your computer, perhaps a little too indulgent of this current stormy mood in her quest to be as accommodating and understanding as possible, but it appears the extension of her grace ends today with a wave of her manicured fingers. You blink at her incredulously and sigh, preparing to argue but she stops you with a shake of her head.

“We’re meeting in the common room at 10.”

You think back to what time it was when you remember checking the time last and it was just approaching 8:30. Your sensei digs her phone out of her pocket again and the screen lights up, showing you both that the hour has ticked to 8:45 without much happening between. You sigh again, slumping where you stand, trying to think of a way you can fake a stomach ache or a migraine or anything.

“Go, get ready. It’s gonna be fine.”

Easy for her to say considering she isn’t going to be forced to sit in the back of a cramped car with her crush for the entire ride to wherever she’s decided you’re going and you roll your eyes, turning on your heel and she slides the door shut behind you. You groan as soon as it settles in the frame and you hear footsteps retreating, walking to your closet to pull the uniform you haven’t worn since the last time you went to class a week ago.

“Damn it,” you mutter, pulling down your shirt and jacket and inspecting them for wrinkles. Why do you even care? It’s not like you want to impress anyone, yet you smooth a pleat out of the front of your skirt before tossing it over your arm along with the rest of your clothing and heading toward the showers, Yuji popping his head out of his room to catch your attention along the way.

“Hey!”

He beams at you and you find it hard to deny him a smile in return, giving him something small and noncommittal. He’ll remember it forever despite how carelessly you tossed it in his direction, the little curve in your cheek and of your lower lip, but he tries to play it cool by rubbing the back of his neck. You don’t stop walking, pushing forward to get ready to meet this looming ridiculous deadline and before you know it, it’s 9:50 and you are padding across the wooden floors on socked feet and into the common room where Yuji and your sensei wait with twin smiles.

“Ready to go?” Your sensei asks and you nod, standing on her side and opposite Yuji who keeps looking down to steal glances at you. You don’t meet his eyes but you can tell what he’s searching for, confirmation that you’re okay, and you aren’t ready to give it to him just yet.

It feels overwhelming to be out of your room and into the world, an autumn day that hasn’t quite turned into winter yet greeting you outside of the doors of the building that houses all the student dorms, and your sensei pulls her jacket around her body and shivers despite the sun burning above. It’s a beautiful day, just chilly, and Yuji finally speaks as your sensei takes her distance ahead of the pair of you, stepping quickly in the direction of where Nitta stands, twirling her keys around her finger.

“I’m happy to see you,” he admits and it makes you look away. How can he be so kind no matter how cold of a shoulder you shove in his direction?

“I don’t know why you would be.”

He laughs despite the distinct lack of humor in your words and you watch your sensei appear further and further away, conversing casually with Nitta while awaiting the two of you who seem to be walking in slow motion compared to her own quick steps.

“Well, I am. I feel so much better when you’re around, nobody else gets my jokes.”

Again, you aren’t sure why anyone would say that about you but it makes you feel warm nevertheless, cheeks heating and your eyes rapidly searching for anything to focus on besides the pink haired young man next to you. If you look at him for too long you’ll start to soften, to thaw out and let him in, and that’s the last thing you want.

Your sensei glances over her shoulder and swings her arm, motioning for the two of you to hurry up, and you make a face at her that she can see even from a distance. She feigns shock, just like Gojo-sensei would, and you roll your eyes, daring to let a little smile show itself on your face. Yuji catches it and smiles with great affection written all over his face, increasing the pace of his steps but still stopping to wait for you periodically.

He’s so effortlessly sweet it should make you angry yet you feel yourself soften further, arriving to where the two women awaiting your arrival stand. Your sensei stares at her phone before dropping it into her pocket and Nitta pops her gum, continuing to twirl her keys like an insubordinate teenager. Sometimes it’s hard to tell who is in charge and who is following around here and you shake your head at the sorry sight of the two of them.

“So here’s the plan,” your sensei starts, hands waving around. “We’re going to Tsukiji to check out reports of a spirit lingering around food stalls. Nitta-san and I will handle the food stalls, the two of you are going to be checking the perimeter around Hamarikyu to see if you see anything suspicious.”

You wish that the unmitigated gall of the woman standing in front of you were less obvious but she doesn’t turn to look at you. She knows you’ve caught onto what she’s trying to do and that you’ll only make her suffer with a cool glance if she shifts her gaze your direction so she continues, opening the passenger side car door.

“Let’s go kids! We have curses to catch.”

The two of you walk toward the car and Yuji doesn’t linger by your side this time, opting instead to walk ahead and open the door on the rear passenger side for you with an easy going smile. You have a snide comment about being able to handle it on the tip of your tongue but you press your tongue to the roof of your mouth and smile gratefully instead, sliding onto the seat and letting him close the door behind you.

In a moment, he slides in next to you and your skirt and tight covered thigh presses against his uniform plant clad one and your face heats up again. You wish you’d stop having this reaction to him, that you were less susceptible to how being close to him makes you feel, but you're not and no amount of wishing is going to change it. You just have to continue to steel yourself to his charm.

How hard could it possibly be?

The vehicle takes off, a little digital voice sounding through the speakers giving directions while Nitta and your sensei talk amongst themselves about happenings around the city and with the other sorcerers. Gojo and Kusakabe are arguing again although your sensei insists it isn’t over the crush each of the men has on her, Nitta talks about her brother in Kyoto and that they’re holding yet another potential round of try outs to find Maki and Mai’s cousin Naoya a wife. The happenings are treated as little more than petty gossip but Yuji tips his head, overhearing them talk about the situation with the Zen’in clan.

“They’re…auditioning women to be his wife?”

He can hardly hide how this concept puzzles him, clearly foreign to the way clan politics work, and your sensei turns in her seat with a little smirk on her face that tells you she’s been buzzing to discuss this in particular with someone. You laugh despite yourself, familiar with the face she makes every time Maki or Nobara are sharing their gossip with her, and settle in your seat and let your thigh drift a little further toward Yuji’s. Your knees almost completely touch and he chokes on his saliva, playing it off with a cough.

“They have to because he’s absolutely horrible,” she starts before laughing and widening her eyes. “Years and years ago I went to one at the recommendation of the higher ups, right when I turned 18, and they’re still looking so that tells you how it’s going.”

It strikes you as odd that there are parts of your sensei’s life that you aren’t privy to given how eager she is to share every other detail including what she is eating for lunch and what shade her highlights are, but you tilt your head curiously, arching a brow.

“I won’t tell you what was said to me while I was there because I don’t want to taint little ears but know that it was as hostile as anything I’ve ever been told.

You make a note to ask Maki if she knows about this and hum, pocketing this information for later, and roll your eyes over the little ears comment. The two of you, you and Yuji, are nearly full blown adults despite her annoying insistence that the two of you are children at the end of the day every time you get reprimanded. She isn’t doing a very good job of preparing you for impending adulthood, humming while pointing out random landmarks across the highway, childlike chatter filling the car between her and Nitta and Yuji and….you.

“What do you think?”

Lost in your own thoughts you abandoned the discussion you were just listening to completely, glancing at the floorboards under your feet. Looking up and to your right, Yuji smiles.

“About what?”

Your sensei scoffs and you scoff back when she turns in her seat again to glance at you with a frown.

“Were you even listening to me?”

You shake your head and she scoffs but follows it with a smile, scrunching her nose. The car pulls off of a highway exit and a short distance away comes to a stop, Nitta expertly parking and shutting off the engine, ready to let you out at the food stalls.

“Well, you won’t have to for much longer because we’re here. I’m gonna be here and she’s going to take you to the gardens but we will meet back here no later than 3, do you understand?”

Yuji nods and you do as well, satisfying your nosy sensei who smiles and yells over her shoulder as she exits the vehicle.

“Call me if you need anything!

Shutting the door behind her, you both breathe a strange sigh of relief but feel your breath catch again realizing you’re all but practically alone despite Nitta’s presence. The gardens aren’t far from where she parked and in a flash, the two of you are being let out on the sidewalk and wishing her goodbye with a wave. The day is hers to do what she wants pending no danger and despite the claims that there may be a cursed spirit or two lingering in this area, you’re certain that the same is true for the two of you.

“Alright, if I were a cursed spirit, where would I hide?”

You wonder if Yuji has noticed that the two of you have been set up yet, given how his pretty golden eyes scan the area around the park and his mouth moves with each sight his eyes dance over, fall foliage decorating even the furthest corner of the little slice of paradise with red and yellow.

“Probably nowhere in this place,” you mutter and he laughs, taking small steps to keep the two of you moving to protect yourselves from the November chill. The gardens are vast and you feel a little overwhelmed by it all, especially given how you’ve felt recently.

Despite this, though, the sun shines and the leaves rustle every time the wind blows, reminding you how it feels to be alive. Walking in lockstep with Yuji, watching his eyes widen and his fingers point wildly at whatever he sees, reminds you of that further.

It’s good to be here and to face this day, to stretch your limbs and your mind, to feast your eyes with foliage and ducks floating effortlessly across the taut and glass-like surface of the pond you are taking the wooden bridge across, slowly, step by step.

“Do you think there’s actually a curse here?” Yuji asks and you laugh with your heart for the first time in a while, letting your hands dangle at your sides and your knuckles brush against his.

“No. There is almost certainly not a curse here.”

“Damn.”

Despite yourself, you laugh again and he joins you, beaming down at you like your own personal font of happiness.

“Well, since we have time to waste, wanna go to the tea ceremony?

You weren’t expecting him to ask but you nod just the same, unable to form words with how swollen and full of love your heart feels, gazing at the building that houses the informal ceremony close to where the two of you step off of the bridge. He nods excitedly, leading the way, and you stop him by clearing your throat.

“Hey Yuji?”

He tips his head and smiles at you curiously.

“What’s up?”

You shake your head and look away from him, glorious reprieve despite the way your heart pounds in your chest, and feel the need to be honest. To thaw a little further under the autumn sun, to let him in.

“Thank you for being here for me.”

A blush as pink as his hair spreads across the bridge of his nose and you smile to yourself, satisfied with the reaction.

#yuji itadori x reader #itadori yuji x reader #kendall writes #written 4 my beloved mimi

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ghulehunknown · 6 months

Note

Hello!! Uhm may I request papa terzo dealing with a shy reader who wants to be fucked and mutters how she wants Terzo to take her right their and then and Terzo hears it and he goes”oh what was that? You would like me to fuck you raw yes? That is what I heard” or sum like that 😭 you don’t have too !!! Have an amazing rest of your week

Ask and you shall receive! / {Warning - the following contains NSFW smut}

Terzo x F!Reader

**NSFW**

Summary: You’re a new hire Sister of Sin and you’ve won the opportunity of having a private audience with Papa Terzo.

CW/Tags: female reader, shy reader, characters drinking alcohol, vaginal fingering, P in V sex, unprotected sex

Word Count: 1900

“La Lezione di Lucifero”

You walked up to his office door and hesitated before knocking. “Fuck,” you whispered under your breath. Were you really going to do this?

You moved all the way from your boring hometown to work at the Ministry. Wasn’t this the life you wanted to live - a life full of spontaneity and a little depravity?

Anyway, you had quite literally won the lottery. Every new hire got a chance to have a night with Papa…in whatever manner they wished to, so long as Papa gave you a particular wink in the hallway. At least, that’s what you were told. You were also told this was more or less an unofficial initiation ceremony to let Lucifer’s spirit into your body through Papa - though you were certain that was a crock of shit excuse Terzo used to sleep with as many Siblings as possible.

Finally you knocked on his office door, your heart beating so hard you could practically feel it in your throat.

The door opened and there he stood - Jesus Christ, he was even more intimidating up close. He looked surprised at first, then smiled almost smugly.

“Hello, Papa, I… I don’t think we’ve been introduced,” you stammered, looking at the floor, noticing the fine leather detail on his shoes.

“No, we haven’t. But I know who you are,” he said, stating your name matter-of-factly. “You’re new.”

“That’s right, Papa. You’re very observant,” you said sheepishly, instinctively reaching to tuck your hair behind your ear, still not used to wearing your veil.

“I notice everything. I have to; it’s my job.”

You nodded quickly, still avoiding his gaze though you could practically feel his white iris piercing into you. “Yes, of course Papa, I - I didn’t mean to…I mean of course you…”

“Relax Sorella, and come inside,” he said, stepping away from the door and gesturing for you to come in.

You stepped through the threshold of his office, never in your wildest dreams thinking you’d be granted entry in a million years. The room was dark - deep purple walls with tapestries, mahogany furniture, and black slate floor tiles. It looked quite elegant.

“Are you still working this late?” you asked him, entering the middle of the room.

“Mmm, a little yes and a little no,” he admitted. “No rest for the wicked as they say.”

You smiled at him and let out a tiny laugh.

“So,” he started, moving things around on the bar cart opposite his desk, the clink of the glasses bringing you to your senses. “You want to get fucked tonight, eh?” he continued with a smirk, pouring you both a glass of something clear in two ornate glasses. He handed you one.

How did he know what you had on your mind? Your face must’ve flushed bright red because Papa took a casual sip from the glass and spoke again. “Nervous? You don’t have to be. We won’t do anything you’re uncomfortable with. Mm?”

“Yes, Papa,” you practically whispered, taking a slow sip then coughing as soon as the burning liquid hit your throat.

“Careful, Sorella,” he said, leaning against his desk nonchalantly and lifting the glass to his regal mouth. You watched as the glass touched his soft bottom lip and you bit yours, holding back your imagination of feeling his lips on yours. You wondered if his Papal paint ever smeared, and what it might look like smudged onto your face. He brushed his bottom lip with his thumb and looked like he was pondering his next move.

You didn’t want to seem impolite so you choked down another swig of the - what was it, gin?

He set his glass down on a side table and walked towards you, taking your glass from your hand. He took a sip from yours and muttered “Mmn. Cherry lip gloss?”

You blushed and started to tuck your hair behind your ear again, before remembering your veil once more. “Yes, Papa.”

“Hmm, my favorite.” He set your glass down next to his. He lifted your chin so you were both gazing at one another. He tilted his head and leaned in to kiss you - suddenly it felt like you were flying and losing sense of time. Yes, his lips were soft, somehow even softer than you’d imagined. He pulled away, licking his lips. “È delizioso.”

You held your hand up to your mouth, already missing his.

He walked over to his desk and opened up a drawer, rummaging around and pulling out a very small, metallic package and setting it down. “How do you want it?” he asked plainly, looking at you.

“P-pardon?” you asked.

“How do you want it? On the desk, or on the couch? Would you prefer to be on top, or do you like to be on the bottom?”

“I, er - ” you stammered. You gulped, and took a few steps forward until you faced him on the other side of the desk. “On the desk.”

“Very well,” he responded. He began to open the little package when you noticed it was a condom.

You held your hand out to stop him. “No, Papa. I just need to feel all of you, right here, right now.”

His lips - Satanas, those beautiful lips - curled into a wicked smile. “Ho sentito bene? So you want Papa to fuck you raw, eh?”

Your hand still over his, you looked into his eyes and responded, “Yes.”

He reached for your face, grasping your cheek in his hand and dove in for another kiss, this time faster and rougher. You sloppily returned the gesture, feeling your tongues slip inside each other’s mouths in desperate fervor.

“Mmn,” he said, pulling away. “Sorella, I must disclose it would be safer if we used protection. I did, eh, just attend an orgy last night. Who the fuck knows what may be…lingering, you see?”

You nod, making your way around his desk. “I said, Papa,” you started. “I need to feel all of you right here. Please Papa just take me,” you breathed into his neck, kissing him again.

He held your waist in his hands, kissing you roughly then making his way to your neck.

You took off your veil, letting your hair fall around your shoulders. He took a strand in his hand, smelling it then exhaling. In one swift motion you unzipped your habit and let it fall to the floor, looking down at your knees and noticing your legs were shaking.

He gazed at you, biting his bottom lip as he watched you undress. He looked, for a lack of a better term, hungry. He noticed how shaky you were taking off your clothes and grasped around your waist again. “You’re shaking, Sorella. Let me help you.” He slid your panties off your waist and you yanked them the rest of the way off.

You hopped up on his desk, spreading your legs partially, hesitant to show him every bit of you.

“You are molto bellissima, Sorella. Has anyone ever told you that?” He held your chin in his hand.

You shook your head, pursing your lips.

“What a pity. Because you are very pretty. And you would look prettier filled with my cock on my desk.”

You tilted your head back as he kissed you again, placing his hand between your legs, carefully caressing around your labia before slipping in between your lips and easily sliding his middle finger inside your entrance. You moaned, arching your back as he filled you and slid back out.

“You are very wet for your Papa already,” he said in a praising tone. He slipped his gloved finger into your mouth. “See? There’s a good girl.”

He unbuttoned his shirt, revealing a bare chest (minus a few dark hairs across his pecs) and soft but toned arms. He kissed your neck as he unzipped his trousers and flung them, his gloves, and his underwear off. His hard cock bobbed as it was released from his pants, flushed pink at the tip and ready to enter you.

He caressed you, sliding his hand up to your back and unhooking your bra in one hand, holding your face with his other as he kissed you. You slid the straps down your arms and let the bra fall to the floor.

Once your breasts were free, he took each in his mouth, pinching your other nipple in between his fingers as he swirled his tongue around the other; taking turns and switching.

He kissed you roughly while he lined his hips up with yours, sliding his erection in between your folds and pausing at your entrance.

“Are you sure, Sorella? We can use protection, it does not take anything away,” he said, looking at you earnestly.

You grabbed onto his ass and pushed him into you, sliding him in with ease. “I need to feel all of you Papa, and invite the Unholy Spirit inside me.” Your mouth opened in an “ahh” as he filled you.

He groaned. “I guess that’s my answer,” he said, chuckling, leaning in to kiss you again while he began to pump in and out of you. “Sì Sorella, ahhh - cazzo you’re so fucking tight! - this is - fuuuck,” he breathed, pummeling into you at a much faster pace now. “This is the most effective way to induct you into the Church, mmmn, ahhh Satanas...” His breathing was much heavier now, yours escaping your lips in shudders.

You moaned with every thrust into you, feeling him fill you and stretch you. Your hands trailed all over his body and through his perfect raven hair. “You’re an ahhh - amazing teacher, Papa.”

“It really is the most effective with a female orgasm,” he said on a sigh, continuing to thrust. He brought his hand between your legs again, circling around your clit with his thumb, matching the pace he was fucking into you.

“Oh fuck, Papa!” you exclaimed, feeling your orgasm take over. He bent his head down to suck on your nipples, taking your high even higher. As your whole body quivered, you could feel yourself clench around his cock - which, clearly, sent him over the edge as well.

“Shit, Satanas!” he moaned, pumping his seed into you. You both clung to one another, breathing heavily before pulling away and beginning to put your garments back on.

“Did it work, Papa?” you asked inquisitively, putting on your habit and zipping it up.

“Mm?”

“Has Lucifer entered me? Am I admitted into the Church?”

“Ah - ” he said, stuffing himself back into his trousers, clearly pulling this explanation out of his ass. “Sì Sorella, but you may need to - hmm, come again tomorrow. I believe you need more sessions to fully let Lucifer in.”

“Is that so, Papa?” you ask coyly, looking towards his crotch - still half an erection poking through, then back up at his eyes.

“Sì, it is…imperative that your body be worshipped as a temple, and these praises be whispered in tongues into your skin. Your body is to be celebrated for creating the most sinful of acts. You may not be aware of how powerful the female orgasm is.”

Your brain wandered, thinking of all the possible things this could mean.

“And of course, you must…ingest the soul of Lucifer too,” he added.

Now that one you were pretty sure you understood. You tilted your head down in a bow. “Of course, Papa. I know Satan requires this of me before I am fully admitted to the Church.”

He cleared his throat. “Same time tomorrow, Sorella.”

“Of course, Papa.”

{to be continued..?}

Italian to English Translation

- La Lezione di Lucifero (Lucifer’s Lesson)

- È delizioso. (That’s delicious.)

- Ho sentito bene? (Did I hear correctly?)

- molto bellissima (very beautiful)

- cazzo (fuck)

#the band ghost #ghost band smut #papa emeritus x reader #ghost band fanfic #terzo #terzo fanfiction #terzo my beloved #terzo x reader #papa terzo x reader #papa emeritus iii x female reader #papa emeritus iii x reader #papa emeritus terzo #ghost bc #ghost band fanfiction

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99hook · 6 months

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#16?

16. I won’t let anything happen to you

—

“I’m nervous.” You admitted, clutching his arm as you walked a little ways down the sidewalk.

“Why?” He asks, slowing down a little.

“There’s a lot of people. I know you’re used to huge crowds but i’m not. You know people are crazy these days.” Your anxiety was getting the best of you and Tyler could tell. He placed his hand over yours that was wrapped around his inner elbow.

“I come here all the time. Nothing crazy ever happens. It’s a lot of people but it’s pretty laid back. I really think you’ll enjoy it.” He says as he leads you towards the line of people out front.

“Look how many people” you gaped as you two stood in the back. “How does this many people even fit on a rooftop?”

He cracked a smile and looked down at you, slinging his arm around your shoulder and pulling you into his side.

“Baby, you’re worrying too much. You’re about to have a good night. We both are. I promise.” He says, kissing your forehead after.

“I just worry about being packed on a roof with what, like, 500 people? On top of a building? How do I know someone won’t bump into me and I fall off?”

He couldn’t help but laugh at that, shaking his head. You saw his dimple on his cheek peeking through and couldn’t help but smile at that.

“There’s rails up so you can’t just fall overboard, baby. It’s not that cramped when you get up there. I promise, you’re just overthinking this. You’re gonna love it. And if you don’t, say the word and we’ll go find somewhere else to spend our night out. Just give it a chance, okay?”

You nodded back, smiling up at him. You felt his arm tighten around your shoulders and lifted your chin in a silent request for his kiss, which he granted.

“I won’t let anything happen to you.” he whispers, “You have nothing to worry about at all. I’m not leaving your side, and nobody’s gonna be pushing you over the railings on my watch.” He chuckled, and you knew he was teasing you but you couldn’t help but to laugh.

“My hero.” You bantered back, placing one last kiss to his lips, leaving him with a smile afterwards.

#hook aew #hook aew x reader #tyler senerchia

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dirty-bosmer · 4 months

Text

First WIP of the Year! Thanks for all the tags this week and last: @thequeenofthewinter @skyrim-forever @elavoria @ladytanithia @lucien-lachance @nuwanders @rainpebble3 @chennnington

From the The Illusionist (sorry for slow updates the writers block is real 😅). A tense convo between Mephala and Nim:

“No, blood will flow as surely as the spinning wheel revolves. Such is the cycle. That you choose to press on aimlessly, widdershins, is of no consequence to Me. Not anymore. I offered you sanctuary, an anchor, a chance to learn what glory could be gained in sacrifice, and instead you clung to this bland mortal life as if it could save you from your nature. Dear Brother, how fruitlessly you toil, trying to keep yourself concealed. So lean you’ve grown in your denial that it’s almost laughable to watch you. Warping, twisting, draining all those caught in your web as if their disfigurement could make your ugliness anymore bearable. As if picking at their threads could ever grant you the power to weave something greater than My tapestry.” Nim rubbed at her nose with the back of her hand, wiped whatever came out on her blouse. “Alright,” she said, “Now can you open the door, or is there more you wish to say? I understand you’re quite upset, maybe feeling a bit cheated in all this. Jealous even, given the circumstances, and while not my intention, I—” “Jealous!” The laugh that bubbled up from that bottomless well of Mephala’s voice elicited a sour taste in Nim’s mouth and the desperate urge to spit. “You poor, misguided Brother of Mine. Did you think to leave here a hero, right what was never wrong? You have taken nothing from Me that I won’t get back ten-fold.” “Okay then. One day I’m sure we’ll look back on all this and laugh.” She gestured again to the door. “So…” “Blind as a worm yet not half as supple.” Mephala’s scoff hung heavy with disgust. “One day you will learn that the end and the beginning are one and the same whether you fork left or fork right. Haven’t you realized by now that every step you take in this world serves the same function? All you’ve done is drag the wheel along another turn.” Whether Mephala’s magic had receded or Nim had found a means to dislocate, she couldn’t say, but the sticky mantle on her skin had lifted, leaving only the weight of the sanctuary’s damp cold. Time elongated, ticked by, chewed at her heels like famished rats gnawing at wallpaper paste, and Nim found herself staring again at the Black Door, staring hard, willing herself to find some message, some meaning in the negative space of the stone relief. Reliving the moment when it all went wrong, when she had become irrevocably loosened from the woman she’d imagined herself to be, she found it. There chiseled upon the door was a vision of the future— a warning or a promise to all those who entered— one fate had since collected upon. How many times had she passed through and refused to consider it in earnest? There, an example for all those who called this place home that the blood of the covenant flowed only one way, and the beating heart it supplied had never been her own.

Tagging forward: @atypicalacademic @memaidraws @justafoxhound @inkysqueed @wispstalk @throughtrialbyfire @viss-and-pinegar @kookaburra1701 @paraparadigm

#Sonny writes #wip wednesday #The Illusionist #The Dark Brotherhood #Oblivion fic #was brain storming this with my fiance. His feedback: no says “blind as a worm” I was dumbfounded :o

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pixydustworld · 1 year

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The war began on a Thursday, but if you asked Hermione Granger, the war had begun their first year. Eleven years old, knobby knees shaking as they faced Voldemort in the school dungeons.

A lifetime of fighting.

Everything after that blurred together, the gore of it all. Broken limbs and bleeding bodies — the screams of the dying, the weariness of the realization that the war was their new reality. That nothing would ever change. That the life they had before, was lost forever.

Child soldiers, fighting a war that wasn’t even their own, not really. Even Harry was part of a big picture, his role decided for him long before he was born. Defending a world that didn’t want her; the fighting was monotonous.

And then one morning, Hermione found Draco Malfoy’s broken body just beyond their property line, and that, in itself, was something new.

Something different.

She stood over him for a long time, watching as his chest struggled to breathe shallow breaths. In her mind, he hadn’t changed. She remembered him untouched by the war, a boy sneering in the school hallways.

That wasn’t the man who stared back at her.

He was frozen under her stare. Maybe he was shocked to see how she looked, too. Remembered her differently, didn’t remember her at all. Couldn’t believe that out of everyone, he’d had the terrible luck to be found by her.

Now, he’d never be free of her.

“Why are you here?” Unflinching. It was war, after all. And he was the enemy. She'd seen him on the other side of the battlefield too many times to convince herself of his innocence.

“Luna.” He gritted out. “She told me to come here if I ever changed my mind.” The snow beneath his body was stained with his blood, ruining the pristine surface. Dirtying it.

“Change your mind?”

“This is never going to end.” Malfoy said softly, “Not the with the way your people are fighting. I can help.”

“Help?” She felt like a broken children’s toy, repeating all of his words.

“Yes.” He said flatly. “Are you going to repeat that, too?”

“No.” Hermione snapped. “Why would Luna tell you to come here?”

He shrugged, looking perfect, even as he bled out in the snow. “Family has to stick together.”

Cousins, so similar, yet different. Same upturned nose, same white hair and pale skin, same glittering eyes — same blood, running through their veins. Hermione wondered if Malfoy had her smile, wondered if they both took their tea with 4 sugars.

Wondered if, maybe, they had been friends, once. Eager to see the other during the holidays, hours spent together, giggling over nothing and everything. Wondered, if perhaps, Luna Lovegood had unintentionally turned the tide in the war, granting them safe passage through the storm.

“This won’t be easy for you.” Hermione said, not to be cruel, but just to be honest, “Trust is earned, not given.”

As it turned out, it was easy for him.

Harry partnered with him on missions, their skills together in battle annoyingly good — Ron, who Hermione had once considered an impenetrable fortress of hatred against Malfoy, relented like an eager puppy (desperate for belly pats) and played Wizard Chess with him every evening.

He helped Neville in the garden, he laughed with Ginny while they made potions, he listened intently to Cho’s strategy meetings, asking the questions that were already on the tip of Hermione’s tongue.

Once, Hermione had overheard a conversation in the medical tent that made her head spin. “Malfoy, you’re such a good healer,” Padma had said,“I’m so glad you defected. I’m not sure what we would’ve done without you.”

“I think Granger was taking care of the lot of you, just fine on her own.” Had been his terrifying reply.

“Oh, yes!” Padma had rushed to say, “No, Hermione is brilliant.”

“She is.” Malfoy had said, not sounding afraid to admit it.

She wasn’t sure how to categorize her feelings for him, they were overpowering and heavy; she wanted to hold him close, she wanted to set him on fire. Hermione wanted, desperately wanted, a reason to not trust him — to prove to everyone that he hadn’t changed.

But, because the world was cruel, and Hermione was supremely unlucky, these opportunities never seemed arise.

Instead, Malfoy seemed to only further prove himself as a trusted member of the order, and Hermione was beginning to miserably feel as if she was the only person in the world who saw him for who he had been once, not who he was now.

“Maybe you should give him a break.” Ron said one evening, “He’s changed a lot.”

Ron, Ron was telling her to be nice to Malfoy — to find peace, to let everything go. Ron, who once had fashioned a dartboard with Malfoy’s face as the bullseye. Ron, who on more occasions than Hermione could count, had talked in great length and detail about what hexes he’d like to use on Malfoy, if given the opportunity.

“He hasn’t changed at all.” Hermione had replied.

It sounded like a lie, even to her own forgiving ears.

But the worst part was seeing him with Luna.

It seemed as if everything melted away in her presence, stripped down to the bones; Luna made him human, thawing the ice that had grown for years across his skin. Hermione often found them together, whispering over the fire — making up for wasted time, perhaps. Falling back in to their easy routine from their childhood.

He did have her smile, but he also had her laugh; a loud noise, cracking through the air.

He should laugh more often, Hermione found herself thinking. And then: Or he should never laugh at all.

She hoped his influence on everyone would fade, a temporary effect, but it only seemed to grow, evolving into something more as time passed. A part of them that she had to learn to accept.

In her worst moments, Hermione reminded herself of all the terrifying things she’d already done in her life: fought in a war, flown a dragon, lived in a tent with two teenage boys — facing Malfoy should be easy, in comparison.

Her breaking point came when he was chosen to lead a mission.

“You’re leaving me behind?”

He didn't look up from the map. “You’re too important for a simple raiding mission.”

“You don’t get to decide what I’m too important for.” Didn’t he understand? This was the only thing she was good at, fighting was the only thing she knew how to do anymore. If he took that away, Hermione would have nothing — and then, everyone would see that. See her for what she really was.

A smile, barely there. “I do.” He said, “As the leader. Deciding things is in the job description.”

“Fuck you,” Hermione spit. “You’re just doing this to control me.” He still wouldn’t look at her, which was infuriating. Malfoy was always looking at her, watching her every move — but now, in this moment, when she was so desperate for it, he refused to meet her eyes.

“I don’t think anyone could control you,” Malfoy sighed, looking tired. Perhaps his leadership role was taking time away from his beauty sleep, “Least of all me.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes.

“I understand that you hate me.” Malfoy continued, finally looking at her, “I get that. It’s a miracle that you even stand to breathe the same air as me. I was never good, not like you. But I’m trying.”

“Try harder.” Hermione said.

He rewarded her with a smile, then, wide and all encompassing. “You see everything so clearly, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“Hm.” He said, “Perhaps you should take a step back. You are the brightest thing I’ve ever seen, more powerful than any god I can think of, and you’re upset that I’m not bringing you on a pointless mission? Why would I force you to be near me? To trust me? To put your life in my hands?”

“That is not the point — ” She wanted to scream that she wanted to be near him, wanted to be by his side, wanted to be as far away from him as possible. Hermione survived because she understood, and it was terrifying, the way she didn’t understand him.

“That is the point I’m making, actually. You should see yourself the way others do. The way I do.” His eyes were glassy. “Golden. You’re untouchable.”

Hermione didn't feel that way, dirtied by the terribleness of the war, gaping wounds of loneliness littered across her skin; she felt like a poor imitation of herself, like someone had tried to draw her from memory. But here was Draco Malfoy of all people, seeing her clearly.

As if it was easy for him, simple, like breathing.

Maybe, there was truth in his words. She hated the nickname, felt like it was a cruel joke; but perhaps, it was given to her for a reason. See yourself the way others see you, the wind seemed to sigh. See yourself the way he sees you.

“I might not get a happy ending,” he was saying, “No one will build a statue in my honor. And that’s perfectly fine. My reward is here, in this moment. In the light in your eyes. In the realization that you’re brighter than all of us.”

She thought of how he’d changed, whether she liked to admit it or not; how she felt warm whenever he was near. A feeling she often confused with anger, but perhaps, it was something else, something new.

Something different.

And then, everything made sense, all at once.

A horrifying realization, but at least, it seemed, she wasn’t alone in this. Whatever rolling feeling she felt for him, he felt for her, too.

“Do you know why I came here?” Malfoy asked, voice soft, like she was a wounded animal that needed soothing. Maybe she was.

“For Luna.” Hermione said, that sharp edge she’d grown so familiar with lacking from her voice. “You told me when I found you.”

Malfoy grinned, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I thought I had died. I’d been wondering the woods for hours when you found me. Luna, she told me where to find the camp, but not how to get in. I’ve never been lucky.” He said, “It seemed a fitting fate for me, to die an inch away from salvation — but then, you found me. And I thought to myself: How lucky am I, to get a glimpse of happiness, before my suffering begins?”

The strange look on his face, how he’d looked so lost — frozen on the ground. Hermione had found him in the snow and everything had been set in motion.

“But then, you let me in,” he continued, “You hated me, but you let me in.”

Hermione was silent, watching as he ripped apart her memory, rearranging it to his version of events — she’d been prepared for a fight, but nothing could have prepared her for whatever this was.

“Luna told me to come when I was ready, but I didn’t come for her.”

“Who?” Hermione’s voice was stronger than she expected, unwavering. “Say it.”

“I came for you.” He said. “To be near you, that would be enough.”

“You never talked to me — ” Hermione’s head was spinning. The lengths that he’d gone to avoid her, to give her space to snarl at him, to hate him, were incomprehensible. He felt so deeply, yet seemed content to sit in his misery. To live through the pain.

Pain, that Hermione was beginning to recognize, as something familiar. Something she felt, too. Without even noticing it.

“I’m not a fool,” Malfoy said, eyes colder than a moment before, “I know how you feel about me. I wouldn’t subject you to my feelings, knowing you don’t reciprocate them.” He took a deep breath. “Being near you,” he repeated, “is enough.”

“What if it isn’t enough for me?”

The question left her chest without permission, bursting from its cage, hanging in the air between them. In the background, Hermione heard people moving about — heard Ron’s laugh, heard Harry’s voice in the cacophony; but in the tent, time seemed to slow.

Malfoy was very still. Watching her with sharp eyes, flickering across her face, looking for cracks to slip between.

Hadn’t she once been brave? A few minutes ago, even. When she’d stormed into his tent, ready for a fight? Where was that version of herself now?

“Your feelings aren’t completely unreciprocated.” Was the only thing that came out of Hermione’s mouth. She could feel the blush overtaking her face, splotching down her neck, could feel the way his eyes tracked over it.

Malfoy nodded. “I see.” He said quietly. And then, he was touching her. A gentle brush of fingers across her arm, warmth tracing after his touch. So soft, a juxtaposition to his dark uniform, the sharp knife strapped to his leg, wand holster on his arm.

His fingers trailed upwards, until they danced across her throat, pausing at her trembling pulse. “I will take whatever you give me.” He breathed, “I’ll never ask for more. I’ll be grateful for what I’m given, and I’ll know I’m not worthy enough for more.”

It sounded like a speech he’d rehearsed in the mirror — and perhaps it was. A mantra he repeated to himself, over and over. Remnant of his old life; one he’d effortlessly left behind.

For her, she realized. For the chance to be near her, to exist in the same place.

In the end, Hermione’s hand made the choice for her — reaching up to his, fingers sliding easily along his flesh. Feeling his pulse jumping on the inside of his wrist, a pattern she would soon know by heart.

“You can have everything.”

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silent-sanctum · 11 months

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Do you do AUs? If you do, may I request Jotaro x fem!reader where he is a mafia boss? 💖💖💖

Oh anon, I absolutely love writing AUs, they're actually my specialty ^^ So I had a nice time writing this one for you. Everyone say thank you to anon for the request~ Granted, mafia aus are the fics I'm not too well-versed with, but I did my best! Hope you and the others enjoy it!💖

Lowlife Princess - Jotaro x Reader

word count: 9.9k+

3 minuscule clangs echoed throughout the darkened ballroom, followed by the screams of pain.

How unfortunate was it to think that this space used to harbor so much events may it be a drinking fest to drown the glutinous, a town hall meeting to indulge the corrupt, hell maybe even an orgy to satisfy the lustful.

Though with a couple of crimson smeared on the walls, unhinged doors cast aside useless on the floor, ruined furniture rid of their contents, and shattered glass from tall windows, the once grandeur of the hall has now been reduced to a decrepit room for slaughter.

All because the greedy politician couldn’t pay his debt.

Within the four corners, men in tailored suits stood by with an assortment of weaponry in their hands- a barbed bat, bladed steel, warm-tipped guns, etc. They remained still and stood to block every path of escape, watching their leader circle around his victim with a simple revolver in hand.

Around him, countless bodies of his guards lay motionless. All done by his hands. Red filled the spaces unoccupied by their corpses. His family was left unharmed but kept under close surveillance in case they try to flee and report.

And of the old coot? He’s bound to the singular chair in the middle of the room, stripped down to his sweat-soaked undershirt and piss stained boxers. 2 bullet wounds punctured his thighs, one each, bleeding profusely down his legs, while the last blew his right ear right off.

With the man stopping before him, the politician whimpered. “I-I swear the money was on its way 2 days ago! You can check my messages for proo-”

“I don’t give a fuck about your messages,” the boss gritted out, gripping the chair’s arms to lean forward with a deathly glare. “You owe us a shitload of funds and this is the third time you haven’t paid what’s due.”

This was also him being extra generous mostly due to this guy’s history with his family, but at the first sign of noncompliance, he won’t be tracing his roots just to spare one influential man. There are many other fishes in the sea after all.

He eyed the darkening skies outside the window and clicked his tongue. “It’s getting late. Might as well loot all your possessions and hack into your accounts to find my severance pay.” At the snap of his fingers, 4 of his men bowed and got to work in an instant.

With a cock of his head, another brandished a knife to slice the ropes off of the quivering politician. The adult immediately planted his face on the cold floor in a full bow, still whimpering. “T-Take all that I have! Just p-please let me go! I’ll find more ways to pay you more!”

The leader pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his blood-tipped gun, not looking at him. “I already let you go.”

A sliver of hope grew on his pathetic face. “Does that mean you’ll spare me?”

“No.”

Another bang echoed within the spacious area and the politician dropped to the ground with the others, a bullet lodged through his forehead.

He spared no more time watching his corpse rot on the floor and turned on his heels with the swish of his long coat. His men stood aside as he crossed through the door frame. “Report to me the details of the ‘transactions’ at my office. Understood?”

“Yes sir!”

▬▬ι══════════════ι▬▬

Jotaro Kujo was what one would describe as “ruthless yet reasonable”.

Being the 3rd patriarch of his family bloodline at the age of 28, he was a smart figure with a penchant for methodical violence. He had a lot responsibilities managing the Sangyosei, one of Japan’s most dangerous yakuza clans, infamous for its reputation of gaining followers through material benefit and killing traitors with prolonged torture.

It wasn’t hard but the fact that the 1st patriarch, Jonathan, established the Joestar mafia lineage in Europe and the 2nd, Joseph, in North America, it made the whole structuring a whole hierarchy from the ground up a hassle to deal with.

But it took him a couple months of proving what he’s capable of to his lackeys and enemies, until the Japanese mafia has solidified its place with its current reputation.

And while power felt good to many, he would thrive in it if he didn’t have to deal with … other matters. Paperwork. Interviews. Secret meetings. Training. Dealing with backstabbers.

Jotaro needed a break once in a while. Good grief.

He stepped out of his car, unbothered by the amount of blood painted on his long black coat, and walked through the clan headquarters' main entrance, followed by his men behind him. “Good day, sir.” Two maids bowed upon entry.

“Kakyoin, any updates on the tasks I told about earlier?” Jotaro paid no attention to the ladies’ greetings, instead shrugging off his coat to dump into their arms for wash. “I’m expecting an increase of numbers.”

A man with red curled hair decked in a sharply-pressed olive green suit stepped aside from the line of soldiers, a tablet in hand displaying the needed information. “Yes sir. Accordingly, I’ve received reports from Polnareff that whatever Takahashi had in his possessions, they managed to sack everything valuable he had in his manor and wired all his saved money into your account.”

He handed over the device into the boss’ hand as the two reached the top of stairs where his office situated. Jotaro flicked through the images of accessories and priceless décor and read the success notification of money transferred. “And the clean-up?”

“Avdol already ordered them to get rid of the bodies,” Kakyoin said as he opened the door for the raven-haired to enter. Behind them, two stationary guards stood by to shut them close.

And behind shut doors, Jotaro could finally let that menacing mask off his face for once and slump onto his chair, hanging up his hat on the nearby rack beside him. “This is the 5th time someone hasn’t met deadlines. Why do I still bother offering at this point…”

“Well, you could either say it was due to Ms. Holly’s influence on you or your great grandfather’s values,” Kakyoin said.

The boss pinched the bridge of his nose with the hints of a headache coming any minute. “Damn their persevering good will. Makes me wonder why Jonathan started a business this shady in the first place.”

“Hey boss! We’re back!”

The doors burst open to welcome a silver-haired Frenchman with the indigo suit and upbeat personality, and a dark-skinned man beside him who received all the embarrassment for his companion with his persimmon robes. “Polnareff, what did I say about keeping the noise down?”

“Ah come on, it’s just us here. Let loose for a bit.”

Aside from his numerous men working for him, Jotaro kept a close circle of guards around him, those who had better skills and attributes than the rest. Kakyoin, the one who offered his services in exchange for protection from the Kyuketsuki clan, was the one responsible directing his orders to the others and the one who obtains details about almost everything.

Polnareff and Avdol were both transferred from the American branch under the instructions of Joseph Joestar. Those two shared the same role of leading selected groups of men to do Jotaro’s bidding.

Years of working together had granted these 3 adults privilege to be informal with their leader and the latter to be more lenient towards them. However, they all knew very well not too take his generosity for granted.

“Well… what’s next on the itinerary boss?” Pol asked, reaching into his suit to pull out a lighter for a smoke. With his cigarette lit, he tossed the silver item into Jotaro’s waiting hand.

“Imports from Italy are scheduled to arrive at the docks tomorrow dawn.” He brought the small flame to the tip of his cigarette and flicked the lid close with a tiny clang. Blowing out a puff of smoke, he continued. “But I’ve also heard that bastard’s planning a raid to get rid of the stationed guards and loot all the guns from their crates.”

“Should we inform them of the attack?” Avdol spoke out.

“No need. I already phoned the captain of the ship to change the time of arrival from dawn to late evening. Those who were standing by have already received the new schedule and to prepare themselves in the probable case Brando’s lackeys do proceed with the raid.” The leader said, eyeing the map and other paperwork on his desk.

“And the cops?”

“Sent representatives to deal with them. If they do what they’re told accordingly, then we’re in the clear.”

All three nodded. “How about you,” Kakyoin said. “Are you coming with us to inspect the imports?”

Jotaro huffed and pressed the cigarette butt against the image of a blond man smirking at him through the photo.

The cool surface of his revolver grew prominent as he said with a sneer. “Wouldn’t miss an opportunity to take him down along with his bloodthirsty crew.”

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It was 11:30 in the evening and Jotaro walked through the alleyways leading to the docks with his men trailing behind him.

Prior to his departure from headquarters, he asked for any details if any sudden appearances transpired between 5 to 6 in the morning. Reports told him that several men did arrive fully armed with weapons, bearing the fang and blood tattoos on their skin.

And they were dispatched of at first sight.

Throughout the rest of the day, the raven-haired’s guards continued to monitor the area with sharp eyes, just in case the bastard tried to sneak another raid in an attempt to claim territory. He had another group of guards keeping an eye on nearby windows just in case someone dared to take him out in the clear.

But he arrived at the place the same time the ship delivered his goods with the captain and his crew members lowering the last of them onto the pavement. Around him, his men dispersed to secure the area and stood guard while their leader approached further.

The nearby street light allowed him to glance down and notice the visible red smears still on the wood panels below him and on those surrounding the landing docks. There’s the confirmation.

Though as he was about to move past the two buildings, Avdol spoke behind him. “Boss, you should stay hidden for now. Just so you wouldn’t feel too exposed.”

Jotaro regarded him for a split second and gave one nod. “Open them then but I still plan to have a personal talk to the captain after they load the goods.”

“We’ll just inform about your request to see him. Where shall the meeting take place?” Kakyoin said.

“Bring him to the nearest room here. Clear the area and make sure no one is around. I’d rather meet back at HQ but I know the captain has a tight schedule to follow.”

No further questions were asked and together with his two other personal guards, the red-haired turned to his tablet and went off around the corner.

Jotaro watched Polnareff and Avdol order people to open the crates, and felt satisfaction fill him as soon as he saw the items lifted from the sea of white Styrofoam- Beretta PM12 and MAC-10 sub-machine guns, Beretta 92 and Staccato CS handguns, numerous batches of ammunition, combat knives, bulletproof vests, and a couple of expensive wines and pasta as courtesy from Giorno Giovanna, Passione’s mafia boss- a subset branch of the Joestar business that Jotaro made connections with beforehand.

He shoved a hand into his pant pocket and had the other reach for his phone, informing his assistant to make sure the transaction wired to the young blond end up in success.

Though as he finished with the call, a commotion occurred in the direction of where he came from. He turned to see what caused the ruckus and stepped one foot back at the pack of rats worming around him.

Tiny scattering footsteps grew into regular human footsteps, echoing louder as it drew close. Jotaro reached for his revolver in an instant-

Only for a woman to jump out of the shadows in a panic and grab him with no ounce of decency, hiding behind him. “Help! Help me please!” The fuck? Informing his men of the intruder should be done by now, but she continued to point into the alleyway. “Some thugs are chasing me down! Hide me please!”

On cue, a couple more footsteps could be heard from a distance alongside the audible squabbling of men stating that they heard someone run here. Jotaro kept a firm stance and fixed his attention to the growing noise until a mob of 15 men came barging in with flushed faces and rabid mouths.

He gave one quick scan down their body to find the semblance of some tattoos belonging to a clan only to find none. The leader cocked his head. Just a bunch of predators I see.

One of them walked in front with a bottle of sake in hand with a hiccup. “Oi… you there… I think you should give her to us.”

“Why should I?”

The drunk laughed, turning to his fellow drunkards. “Would you look at this punk?” He spat on the ground. “You gonna regret denying us-”

“Take one step forward and you’ll be the one regretting.” The guy gave one last chuckle and put one foot forward-

Bang.

The sound rang throughout the alley, followed by the dull thud of his body collapsing onto the ground with a bullet wound in his head. Behind him, the woman yelped as she covered her ears from the sudden shot. The remaining mob staggered back in shock.

As if he wasn’t stupid enough, two more of them ran to the yakuza leader’s direction in a blind fit of rage, only for them to meet the same fate as the first with two more blasts of his revolver.

The rest of them cowered at the sight of their fallen brethren and froze on the spot. Behind Jotaro, his own men came running in at the sound of gunfire, and the rushing footsteps were enough for the mob to make a run for it. “Gun them down. All of them and make sure no one escapes.”

No response was needed as Polnareff charged into the shadows with his line of men, while Avdol and Kakyoin remained by their leader’s side.

“You…”

He grabbed the lady’s wrist and kept her securely in his grasp. “You’re coming with us to HQ to sort this little ‘mess’ you brought in today.”

She said nothing but offered him furrowed brows and a scowl in exchange.

“Kakyoin, have the captain wait for one of my calls and tell Polnareff to return as soon as they’re dealt with. And Avdol, secure the imports and bring them to base as soon as possible.”

“I have… other matters to deal with right now.”

Just as they retreated back into the shadows, the resounding gunshots echoed through the night.

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“Why am I dragged into this?” she said as she stood in the middle of the room, constantly glancing at the men watching her. “I’m the one being chased down yet somehow I’m also guilty enough to be here?”

“You’re here because you trespassed into yakuza territory and grabbed me unceremoniously that would have ended you dead like your chasers,” Jotaro said in return, leaning against his chair. “Consider yourself lucky that I left you alive.”

“Okay fine! I get it was rude for me to just throw myself to you out of nowhere and I’m thankful that you didn’t shoot me immediately,” she rambled on but the leader merely cocked a disinterested brow. “I’ll stop talking then. What do you want? Why did you bring me here in the first place?”

“Bold words for someone trapped in a lion’s den,” Pol spoke up, chuckling.

To which the woman averted her gaze to him with intentional judgment. “First time? What are you gonna do? Shoot me?” The Frenchman spluttered and reached for his gun, only for Avdol to stop him with a visible ‘what are you doing’ look to his face.

“Let’s start things of with some basic details about yourself. Start with your name-”

“Now why the hell would why-”

Multiple guns pointed to her, causing her to shut up with arms up in the air. “Your name, age, and occupation.”

Jotaro heard the lady mumble to herself before heaving a sigh and answering his query. “Y/N. 27. Investigator. You can check my pockets for my ID or badge or whatever.”

Avdol did what she said and found her identification card and badge, both having her in the pictures clear as day. “An informant and detective..,” the Egyptian muttered. “Boss, if we consider her occupation and… distasteful behavior, this could spell trouble for us in the long run.”

“Distasteful?!”

“I hear you Avdol, though with the information learned, we might be able to benefit from it as well.” The raven-haired turned to the woman as he poured himself a glass of imported whiskey. “I presume you’re smart enough to know that by having one yakuza clan save you from those drunks, you’re indebted to us.”

A rebuttal wanted to leave her mouth but with a swallow, she nodded. “Should’ve expected it.”

“You have two choices,” the clan leader presented a wad of bills and a pistol on his desk. “You pay us about 1 000 000 yen for our job and for you to shut up about this whole ordeal-”

“What?! But I don’t have that much mon-”

“Or,” Jotaro held up a hand, not finished with his sentence. “Offer your services to the Sangyosei Clan.”

All three of his personal men turned to him with surprise. Even Y/N widened her eyes at the choice of words. “B-Boss what?”

“Couldn’t we at least just make her one of our eyes in the city?” Kakyoin butted in. “We’ll just make sure she doesn’t end up spilling intel about the underground.”

“It won’t be permanent,” he said in return. “Only for a year or for how long I deem it to be.”

“Does she even know how to fight? Our job isn’t exactly a walk in the park.” Polnareff added to the cherry-haired’s concerns.

“That’s for us to see.” Jotaro snapped his fingers, prompting the attention of everyone in the room. “With the exception of my personal guards, I order for every man in this room to attack her. No guns or blades.”

The lady was appalled at the sudden decision and took in all 6 suited men with their fists up, ready to charge. She made sure to turn to the boss and cocked her head, tonguing the inside of her cheek. “Asshole.”

Admittedly, he didn’t know what to expect but he was curious on how developed she was in terms of combat. At the first advance of a guard, Y/N stepped to the side and elbowed the guy in the ribs, before dodging another incoming punch aimed for her face.

In return, she returned the favor and swept a kick on his knees, toppling him down. On her feet again, she lunged forward to the next guard, grabbed his arm, and twisted around, eliciting a yell from the man. Planting her foot on his back, she launched the guard onto the other one, knocking them both down.

With nimble feet and quick reflexes, she evaded the swings the remaining men had for her. Though, at an opening, Y/N ducked through them and landed a direct chop to one guard’s nape, dodging the last one’s last attempt at a jab. With his momentum lost, she returned the punch with one of her own, delivering a blow straight to his face.

To her luck, she was near the boss’s desk and with no hesitation, went for the pistol and aimed the gun at Jotaro.

“Boss!”

But the raven-haired only smirked, watching as Y/N tried to pull the trigger only for nothing but a dull click to come out. “Impressive. You’ve indeed excelled in your combat training for you to handle 6 grown men with no weapon… aside from reaching the fake model to shoot me with.”

“How’d you-”

“Quick look into your online profile and messages addressed to martial art trainers both new and old will do wonders in providing me information. Combined with your fearless attitude and your chosen career path, one could put two and two together.”

In a flash, Y/N yelped as he swiped the fake gun off her hand in a second, and pointed his revolver to her in the next. “Makes me wonder why you couldn’t fend off the bastards in the alleyways.”

“They were more than double of the men you have in this room, most armed with something. Even I have my limits boss-nim,” she scowled.

Jotaro huffed and gestured for Polnareff and Avdol to move. “Take her to her quarters. I’ll have my men fetch your essentials from your residence and you can start training tomorrow.”

Y/N clicked her tongue with irritation, but allowed the two guards to bring her to the ordered location. At their exit, he exhaled one long sigh, removing his hat to run his fingers through his black curls.

“I hope you know what you’re doing…” Kakyoin muttered quietly.

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What was promised to be a year or two turned to five.

And the next thing Jotaro knew was that Y/N rose in ranks, earning her a spot in his close circle of guards alongside the three men.

She was his right hand man.

And in an unexpected turn of events, he had strange fondness for her.

He could still remember how she performed during her first few weeks at headquarters despite her initial wish of just wanting to get out of her unfortunate situation. The leader had watched her sessions and monitored her performances.

He had to give it to this lady- she knew her way with weaponry as she was with physical combat.

She had near to perfect aim whenever she shot with the gun of her choice, had prowess in handling knives around their test dummies, and had able to withstand daily endurance tests that checked how good her stamina was.

With further research, Jotaro found out that you were an honors graduate at a police university that just so happened to have a club centered around martial arts. He double checked the images depicting her in the institute’s uniforms, scanned several lists she was in.

In every single one, she was there and he didn’t have to search further when her name would often be among the top students.

No wonder Y/N had no issues talking with criminals at their home base.

As days passed and she was given her own set of suits post training period, she was allowed in fulfilling assignments and thus followed orders from either Polnareff and Avdol to made sure whatever was asked was done, may it be to keep watch on a specified target, gun down non-compliant debtors, or secure an important object from a neighboring prefecture.

In the process, Y/N managed to be close friends with the two group leaders and his assistant:

“Hey you know, you’re not that bad as I initially thought.” Polnareff laughed, patting Y/N’s back.

“Really? But I do recall you wanting to shoot me when I was extra bratty that day…”

“Well who wouldn’t? Besides, you’re cool now. You do your job as a goon pretty well!”

She scoffed with a smile and a glass of alcohol in hand. They did come from a new mission to kill a new target and now they’re here in a small pub with blood splattered clothes. “Now that I think of it, I’d be annoyed by myself too, but… you’re right. After all, I do my job the best to my capabilities. Whatever it is.”

“To that I give my cheers to.”

“Is everything secured?”

“Hm, with Group A having returned fully loaded from floors 3 and 4 and Group B having cleared ground and 2nd floor and have helped with the other men, then I’d consider this a successful raid.”

Avdol smiled to himself, contented with a cleared task. “Though I have to say, it’s quite surprising that the Viper gang had several meditation books kept in one of the shelves.”

“And you’re saying this why?”

“Well, outside the bloodshed stress that I found myself in, I’d take most of my free time meditating in my room.”

“A zen person I see,” Y/N chuckled. “I figured you’d be one to let out some pent-up hassle through relaxing means.”

She crossed her arms and sighed. “I doubt our job won’t get any easier so Avdol-san,” you brought up one of the gang’s meditation books for the dark-skinned man to see. “Mind teaching me some of these relaxing methods you’ve mastered?”

With the rest of Jotaro’s men now heading back, the red-haired had stalled for a moment in the area of the interview to record the details of the events, making him more vulnerable to potential-

“Kakyoin!”

He turned around in shock at the sudden ambush of enemies heading straight for him. Though the guy had his gun prepared, he wouldn’t last too long. He pocketed his tablet in an instant and shot a couple of men down.

Y/N made the risk of running back into the fray to pull Kakyoin out of the line of fire. However, in the process of doing so, two bullets grazed her thigh and bicep, causing her to grunt in pain. “Shit! What the hell were you doing just standing there, you idiot?!”

Still on the run and frantic, the assistant reached for his phone to call for the men to return immediately, emphasizing the injury of his companion.

They ducked into the many lines of trees and hid themselves in a small cave hidden underneath moss-covered rocks and shrubs. “If your call did make it through and we keep quiet here, then we’ll make it out here alive.”

“Why’d you save me? You were already out of danger’s reach.”

She stared at him, stunned as if he spoke a different language. “Are you kidding? Don’t you know how mafia rules work? And I’m saying this as someone who’s newer to the clan.” She rose an arm to swat him, but forgot about her wound that she hissed in pain. “No one leaves brethren behind.”

Kakyoin pulled out a handkerchief to temporarily bandage the wounded spot. Y/N offered her own to deal with the one on her thigh. Just then, he let out a silent chuckle and she stared at him with confusion. “You’re right. I get too invested in my job too much that I tend to forget the most common of senses.”

She rolled her eyes with a disbelieving smile. “You sir are indeed an idiot.”

Beyond their small hideout, multiple rounds of gunfire rang throughout the forest together with the panicked screams of the attackers. “You’re gonna tell this to the boss, aren’t you?”

His acquaintance leaned on her good arm and responded with a cheeky smile.

Naturally, months of working together would eventually lead the once-hostile investigator to befriend his tightly-knit circle through violent yet worthwhile experiences. But Jotaro had also expected that organic growth of kinship to extend farther, stretching from his three personal guards to him directly.

Her ability to quickly adapt in any environment and headstrong personality were two factors that could penetrate through the Sangyosei leader’s intimidating aura. That was one thing… her providing insightful strategies and actively hanging out with him knowing he’s one of the country’s dangerous underground leaders were another.

And Jotaro, for the first time in his clan leader life, didn’t know how to respond to the woman’s clever approaches except with appalled intrigue.

“And if we turn to this side of the Hokkaido prefecture, there’s a gap here that will allow us entry to the Lotus gang’s hideout, and if we’re lucky, we’ll get some intel about the Kyuketsuki and their true motives.”

“But I see a slight problem in the plan and it has to do with the crowds we’re dealing with,” she said as she showed Jotaro the printed images of several people bearing lotus and/or blood-fang tattoos, standing guard or in the motion of surveying the area.

“These just came in from your men scouting the area and knowing the gang’s leader’s history of mischief and traps, they pretend to be unprepared to lure in prey.” Y/N said. “And who knows if they have goons on standby inside potential loot locations.”

“What do you suggest then?”

“We play the counter bait.” She reached for a pen and traced a circle on the area highlighting the gang’s main entrance. “If there’s another fact I’ve learned from the guy, he’s an addict to a good gambling game, and once he’s in, he’s in it to win it. Get one or two of your associates to deal a bet against his team and a distraction is set.”

“You got the head occupied but you’re aware of the guards still surveying the area.”

“That’s what everyone thinks, but I’ve studied his patterns long enough to know that once he’s in the middle of a game, he calls in everyone to watch the game in the main arena, because his pride is what fuels him, more so when he doesn’t have a single loss in his track record.”

She introduced three pairs of photos on top, all depicting a raving event featuring the gang’s leader and his cronies and empty pathways at the same time. “I’d know because it has happened thrice.”

“Even if he did leave some men on guard, it’ll be less and we’ll have enough workforce to take them down with the handy silencer equipped.” Y/N tilted her head, a finger under her chin. “Then we can ambush the remaining men from the shadows and capture the Lotus gang leader for info about the Kyuketsuki clan.”

Jotaro didn’t supply anything in return, speechless. Y/N turned to him with one raised brow. “What?”

“You are… very knowledgeable about a gangster mob that’s known to be discreet from the public.”

“Well you forget that I worked as private investigator for multiple clients. Nearly half of their complaints described the details of the same man you are targeting for. Call it a stroke of luck that you got me here now or else you guys would be in one hell of a night.”

And she did not disappoint. Her strategy was what earned Jotaro and his men a successful finish to a mission as his guards took the enemy crowd by surprise and shot them all down before they could launch a counterattack. Their leader, who was drunk with material wins and alcohol, was caught in the middle of his escape.

The bastard did spill intel about the bloodsucking yakuza, but he shared a bit more information than what Jotaro had initially expected.

“All you fucks searching for those leeches when there’s a bigger threat than that clan of his,” the Lotus leader said with his arms bound behind him on a chair. “Kyuketsuki this, Kyuketsuki that. I teamed up with them in the first place because I need to stay safe against the impending conquest of the Seiikigumi.”

“The Seiikigumi?” Jotaro asked, curious.

“Those guys are the real deal. Multiple mob houses and a clans have either fallen or submitted themselves to the mercy of that organization,” he said. “Scary thing is that no one in this city knows about them but Brando and high-paying info brokers.”

He did remember rumors of the mysterious yakuza clan spreading during his first years as leader, but he never saw any evidence to prove their existence. For all he knew, gangs fall because they were too disorganized and had high chances of getting caught by enforcement. Clans, especially the smaller ones, were disbanded due to insufficiency in human and financial resources.

“The Seiikigumi… I’ve heard of the rumors before,” Y/N muttered, deep in thought. “But people only told me details of them as if it’s a novel. I’ve yet to see a member of that group or their actions for myself.”

“Oh they’re real alright,” the bound man said with a grin. “So you better watch yourselves and be careful to not pry too much, or else the Sangyosei clan will be next on their chopping board.”

“The Lowlife Princess will have you as her next meal.”

Jotaro shot him clean in the head as soon the man started to cackle.

His words retained in his mind all throughout the rest of the day which was foolish for him to do. He had better more practical things to do than to fret about a myth. Yet, he found himself deep in thought in the middle of a meeting.

Eventually, it came to his realization that he was too busy scrounging his memories for any links to the Seiikigumi so he could devise something to prevent them from infiltrating his clan.

“Hey boss.” Jotaro blinked out of his mental thoughts and immediately made eye contact with Y/N standing before him in his office. “I’ve noticed you’ve been preoccupied with something. Is it what the Lotus leader said the other night?”

He sagged back against his chair and rubbed his temple, a mild headache starting to grow. “It’s nonsense but I’m here wondering why some drunk bastard is making me overthink.”

“You know, you’ve been busy lately- well, 24/7 if we’re being honest,” she said with casual tone, leaning against his desk with her back to him. “Have you even took breaks once in a while?”

“I have no time to let loose when anything could happen at any time,” he said. “Right now, I’m waiting for Kakyoin to update me on the whereabouts of the Kyuketsuki’s eyes. They’ve been too quiet recently and it peeves me off.”

“At this rate, you’re going to die from stress.” She turned to look over her shoulder. “How about we book the small, private restaurant nearby and eat? I heard the meals they got there are to your liking.”

Jotaro didn’t reply and instead stared at her with deadpan. Y/N rolled her eyes and lifted a white plastic bag filled with different boxes and cups inside. “Figured you’re gonna decline my every offer, but I insist you eat. You wouldn’t want the Sangyosei to find their boss dead on the floor due to starvation, would you?”

He was about to reject and suggest she share the meals with the other 3, but his guts had to betray him in that exact moment via a small growl. Jotaro closed his eyes in self-disappointment and Y/N smiled, smug as ever. “Chow time leader-nim.”

Starting from that offer to take-out lunch, the clan leader had granted the woman access to his social circle the same he gave to his personal guards. Where it stemmed from simple offers of drinks and food, slowly spiraled into conversations that didn’t involve the underground world, and eventually to flirting- both the subtle ones together with the direct.

That was the thing with her- she knew what she was doing, knew when to balance work and all the other stuff that was out of Jotaro’s field of specialty. One moment she’d assist him with formulating strategies and carry out orders as if it was merely shopping, and the next she’d share the most absurd stories about a client’s dead pet and its relation to a murder case while wasted beside him.

Y/N’s hardworking work ethics and clever planning eventually earned her spot as Jotaro’s right hand with the whole clan agreeing with the choice unanimously.

With her current position, she was able to connect with him more than before as she was able to follow him everywhere with no permission required. It gave her the power to convey approved orders to his men, acted as his advocate to associates wanting security, and watched over training sessions while he was busy with more serious matters.

With her by his side, Jotaro could feel himself getting swayed by her assertive charms and given how it seemed a heavy weight was off his shoulders, he had no complaints.

She’d start making advances that weren’t too subtle towards him- a sultry whisper into his ear, a brush of her hand against his, shared hooded glances, the press of her body against his in tight spaces, the quiet bickering of the two that contained suggestive innuendos-

It was unbearable, though not necessarily in a bad way.

The one that made the tightly-strung tension snap was the night Y/N made the conscious decision to walk into his office, fresh from a nightly sponge dressed in a silk robe while he in a dress shirt and vest. The raven-haired man swept his gaze up and down at her form with an intense look to his gaze, covering his actions with a quick “what are you doing?”

According to her, she came in with urgent news about the immediate sighting and dispatch of Kyuketsuki members making a move of sorts in the Gifu prefecture. At closer inspection, he learned that at that location, Brando kept majority of his weapons in storage, likely also containing maps leading to several more of his undisclosed bases.

If it were any other day, he would take note of the report and dismiss the reporter, but he kept her in the room longer than what should be.

“What’s wrong? Aren’t you going to send me to my quarters, boss?” Y/N said while she had the gall to cross her arms under the swell of her breasts.

Jotaro stood with furrowed brows, never cutting eye contact as he walked to her in an almost predatory way. “Do you think what you’re doing is funny?”

The closer he got to her, she walked back until she found herself against the wall. “What exactly am I doing boss-nim?” She tilted her head up to face the frustrated clan leader and narrowed her eyes as if to challenge him. “Am I annoying you greatly?”

“Don’t play dumb with me. You know exactly what you’ve been doing and you’re right-” He slammed his hand on the space beside her head. “You’re driving me crazy, you vixen.”

Y/N scoffed, lips curling into a coy smile as her fingers threaded over the buttons of his vest. “Is that so? Why don’t you fire me then?” She purred. “Send me back to the world above the underground where I can expose your plot to the public?”

He clicked his tongue and leaned forward until his voice came out as a growl into her ears. “I’d be damned if I do such a thing.”

“So what are you gonna do, hm?” She whispered.

“I’ll make you shut up the way you like it.”

In the darkness lit only by the light of the full moon, Jotaro had her pressed up against the wall, robe cast aside as he fucked her with vigor, releasing all his pent up stress that accumulated throughout the times she teased him. Y/N whined and cried with every harsh pound of his hips against hers, every inch of her shivering from the intensity of it all.

Once she came, Jotaro flipped her around to let her face him as he lifted her up and thrusted back into her warmth with no hesitation. Y/N tossed her head back and moaned a loud cry, hands grasping his dress shirt with desperation. With her chest bouncing in front of him, he took the opportunity to bite and suckle on the hardened bud, prompting a second orgasm out of you.

He railed her to oblivion to no ends, carrying her over to his office desk only to fuck her over it with the same stamina as the first round. She gasped, breathless as her body rocked back and forth against the smooth surface of his table.

By the time her third orgasm hit her, Y/N still found herself on her back on the same furniture, unable to focus her vision and control herself from drooling at the overstimulation of Jotaro’s rough thrusts.

He never gave her the time to breathe, irritation still bubbling in him. As soon as she came yet again, he maneuvered both of them to his chair, where he planted Y/N on his lap, fucking up into her hear and letting you ride and bounce on cock.

Her body started to grow weary but her moans and cries were still loud as ever, addressing his title with every stimulated cry. Even at that, Jotaro grew annoyed. He wanted her to shout his name.

And so, the second she tightened around him for the fifth time, he held her close to him and pressed the tip of his nose into her neck, trailing it up until his lips grazed the shell of her ear. Raspy from his nonstop grunts, he muttered. “Beg.”

Y/N croaked out her words with unfocused, glassy eyes and a foggy mind resulting from the brutal poundings. “P-Please… boss-”

“Jotaro,” he whispered into her ear, emphasized with a slow yet deep roll of his cock against her walls. “I want you to cry out that name every time I fuck you.” Just like that, he suddenly bucked his hips upward, eliciting a ravishing cry out her reddened lips, one that only bore his name.

As his own release drew closer, his pace turned erratic and his thrusts increased in both speed and intensity, but to hear this woman plea his name over and over again just as she’s told was gratifying for the yakuza leader.

Wringing out one last orgasm out of her, Y/N jerked and let out a silent scream, a stream of clear liquid gushing out of her hole the same time Jotaro groaned and stiffened, feeling his release shoot into her soaked and loosened pussy.

Damn. He was exhausted.

Jotaro panted, sweat beading down his body as Y/N’s sweat-slicked body lay limp against his torso, feeling fluids leaking down his cock and seeping into the fabric of his slacks.

He turned to look at her to check on her current condition. She passed out from their wild escapade, cheeks flushed, panting with ragged breaths with stray hair plastered on her forehead from sweat. Her arms hung over his shoulders, no longer clawing lines onto his shirt.

Strangely enough, he was compelled to brush the hair off her forehead and plant a soft kiss on the area, before lifting her ass up to free his softened cock and arranging her body into a bridal hold to carry her over to his bedroom.

Ever since that night, no words were needed to convey that Jotaro’s relationship with Y/N became more than just simply that of “boss-guard”. They grew addicted to each other, craving that intimacy every moment it was just them in the comforts of closed doors. They would spend time in private establishments to plot, chat, eat, drink, and fuck.

Eventually, she wanted more. She wanted to claim his heart and so brazenly expressed her desires to him. And who’s he to decline her temptations at this point? Y/N was perfect in every aspect- a strategist, communicator, soldier, leader. Why would he refuse someone possessing those talents?

Just as she yearned for him, he gave into her allure, letting this woman become his queen.

But was it for the best?

Months after they had made it official, Jotaro decided to make a move to infiltrate one of the Kyuketsuki’s buildings in Gifu. Everyone in his circle had gathered around to discuss matters of the task, devised multiple plans on how to raid Brando’s precious armory.

Once all was clear and a plausible map of operations were made, he and a selected group of men chosen by Y/N, traveled to the marked location. Avdol had volunteered to join the venture as to provide extra security for his boss, while Kakyoin and Polnareff stayed behind to watch over for him.

It took them a while to get there, considering the distance between Tokyo and Gifu was fairly long. If it weren’t for the pathways formed exclusively for illegal transport, he wouldn’t be able to make it in time to weaken Dio’s forces, causing double repercussions for the territory he left without his watch.

But Jotaro reached the Kyuketsuki’s armory by nightfall and set everything into motion. He stationed his guards in their planned positions, with Avdol leading half of them to stay put in the shadows to serve as Jotaro’s eyes and keep watch of reinforcement, while he and Y/N lead the other half into the building, fully armed and cautious.

They crept through the darkened hallways that were eerily too quiet for a building supposedly filled with lackeys who often indulged in casual games and alcohol. “Boss,” Jotaro glanced at Y/N. “The firearms are found in the hangar in the left wing, but the documents and maps are kept in the right where the offices are located. Do you wish for me to help in retrieving the guns or-”

“I’ll lead the looting. You focus on giving me the paperwork,” he said. “Remember to keep an eye out. Who knows where they’re hiding.” She nodded once and split from the group at the next intersection between the two wings.

Something’s off. Why is no one here? Even as he first arrived, all the building’s lights were off. Not a single fluorescent lamp shining through a window, a lamp from a nearby shed, nothing. No goons were roaming around either, the footsteps of a patrol was non-existent. A chill crept up his spine. This is wrong. What happened?

As someone who’s been bested twice by him, Dio should have placed numerous men around his goods just as he always did to ensure nothing else would be stolen to maintain whatever pride he still had in him. But where were they?

The silence persisted even as he and his men reached the door to the hangar, kept shut with a low-security padlock tied to a chain. Jotaro pulled out his revolver and with a silencer equipped, he aimed and gave two shots before it gave away and fell. He cocked his head to motion his guards to remove the chains and push the door open.

True to the report, what he looked for were waiting for him to grab with crates of firearm stacked on top of each other lay inside while other miscellaneous items such as makeshift bombs and melee weapons lie on shelves. If he looked closer, he could spot a huge safe tucked in a dark corner where cash meant for the lackeys lay inside.

He should be relieved that he didn’t have to spare himself the extra trouble of fighting against a couple of gangsters to retrieve several guns, but he wasn’t because he knew this situation was too unusual and easy for his liking.

Unless-

The door clicked shut behind him and Jotaro spun just as he realized the reality he found himself in. He walked into a trap, but he was a second too late. A hard blow to his head sent him to the ground, warmth leaking out from where the pain came from. He bled from the impact.

He gritted his teeth and attempted to get up only for men, his men, to force him still on the ground, pulling out a white fabric to stuff his face into. Are you fucking kidding me? Jotaro was pinned to the floor, getting chloroformed by his guards.

The last thoughts that circulated his mind before falling unconscious was Y/N. She was caught in this as well and now she’ll be taken captive if she ended up unlucky as he was.

He should have seen this coming.

But why couldn’t he?

▬▬ι══════════════ι▬▬

When Jotaro came to, he was bound in a rather… explicit way that he considered too vulgar for his taste.

He was on his knees, his whole body tied with red rope in a series of complicated knots. It was fortunate that his clothes were still on him or might as well shoot him where he knelt. Above him, a single low-hanging light was the only source of illumination this dark room had. Around him were people surrounding him with sub-machine guns in hand.

And out of the light, a lone figure stood in the shadows with two men standing guard beside them.

He squinted and tried to make out who it was. Dio Brando? Or some other lucky fucker who got a yakuza leader trapped? As a means of verification, he gritted out. “You’re being a coward now? Step out of the dark and face me, Dio.”

“Dio? Oh sweetheart, you couldn’t be more farther than the truth~”

Jotaro stilled, eyes widening and all air leaving his lungs at the familiar voice chirping at him. It was as if a cold bucket of ice had poured over him in an instant. It couldn’t be. How… How did… “Oh damn. I spoke to soon. Literally. But since I’m outed at this point, might as well not be a coward.”

The shadowed figure slowly stalked forward, revealing a woman dressed in a finely-pressed black suit ensemble fused with a black-laced sleeves and posterior half of a lace skirt trailing behind her, and with the culprit under the spotlight, he could see the wide almost excited smirk carved on her face.

“Y/N…”

“The one and only darling.”

He couldn’t fathom how he’s still able to keep it together at the revelation that the woman he saved that night, who served him to no ends for years, who became his lover, ultimately was the woman who would be his downfall. “Oh and you don’t need to worry about Avdol. I already sent them back to HQ, informing him that for investigative purposes, our half of the group had to stay behind a bit longer. And he listened with obedience.”

Jotaro felt a range of negative emotions boiling within him due to the most insulting betrayal he had throughout his life as a clan leader- anger, confusion, surprise, humiliation, hurt. “Explain yourself. There’s no point in talking about anything else now, is there?”

She hummed. “Might as well. Though there’s a lot of stuff I have to dump on you in one sitting unless you want-”

“Just get on with it, bitch.” He spat out, eliciting a delightful “oh?” from the other.

“Reaching curse words now are we? Alright, I’ll start from the beginning until where we are right now then.”

Everything started the night the imports from Italy arrived. With her associates, 80% of the civilians living in his turf, lurking in plain sight serving as her eyes, had updated her constantly on Jotaro’s every move. The same individuals who had sought his clan out for security.

The lackeys that Dio sent in an attempt to steal his weapons were all dealt by Y/N’s men who she called “wraiths”- silent and hidden only to strike at the right moment. The leech’s goons were all taken out by her snipers from the comforts of their undisclosed positions before they could reach the docks.

At the same time, Y/N had hired a group of drunk men she found in the streets, promised them she’d pay them for playing the part of assaulter, only for the promise to be in vain with them ending up dead.

The ID and badge that proved her "profession" as part of law enforcement were fabrications to sell her persona, but her combat skills and her way of handling weapons were very much true. Getting involved with the ruthless underground world would require one to possess at least one of those things.

Throughout her time working as one of his pawns, Y/N would do her job diligently, too diligent to the point where she was able to sneak through his and his men’s watch and kept contact with hers, updating them on new tasks to do that aided her and by proxy, the Sangyosei and she was able to do this without causing suspicion.

The strategies she had formulated were all due to her constant exposure to other clans and mob houses, studying their patterns, way of living, connections, and how their operations worked to find the one loop hole in order to flush her targets down the drain of defeat.

The photos she had presented him all this time, photos of which were high in definition and close to the target, where taken from her wraiths, not his men. How they knew where they were? Turned out she had eyes everywhere- a waiter serving meals, a mother and her child by the swings, a farmer in the fields, a ship captain or his crew members, a passing businessman, a politician’s bodyguard.

She had majority of the population in her grasp.

While they worked externally, Y/N did her part from the inside. She climbed up the ranks until she landed into a position where she shared power that equated to his. With new acquisition of power, she now had control over his men, sending a handful or two out to an empty mission only for them to get gunned down, replaced with wraiths disguised in their clothes.

The same wraiths who accompanied Jotaro to the hangar.

And of the Kyuketsuki’s lackeys who were supposed to watch over the armory? Y/N had them dealt with just as the time during the first day they met, their bodies disposed onto a nearby lake, leaving the building devoid of life.

“Now we’re here with you tied up under my mercy,” Y/N drawled out.

“You’ve got loads of conniving bullshit planned out admittedly well for a leader of a small yakuza clan,” he responded with a glare. “Must be tiring for your so-called wraiths to do so much just to do this.”

At that, Y/N tried to stifle it in but failed to keep the laughter from escaping. “Small? Do you really think my crew is just some fiery underdogs who knows what we’re doing?” This time, the wraiths in the dark laughed after her. “You’ve complimented me then insulted me, oh how do I process this?”

“Who the fuck are you then to spit this much confidence to my face?”

Y/N stopped her sadistic glee and faced him with sudden stoicism. She drew a few steps closer and grabbed his chin, making sure he’s facing her head-on as she sat on her heels and said.

“You’re here with the Seiikigumi darling,” she purred, tilting her head with a growing smile. “Lead by none other but yours truly, the Lowlife Princess.”

All this time… The myth spread around the underground about a mysterious clan taking down multiple others before him. The men skilled enough to not be caught by enemies. The leader responsible for running such business. Everything was bared open for Jotaro to experience first hand as their next target.

To that, he cursed to himself for being foolish to trust a random stranger pleading for help.

“As you’ve may or may not known, I’m notorious for shutting down clans as I please by first killing the boss and either letting loose a mass ambush to every known location where their men are or have them join my side… but-” She cupped his cheeks and held them dear. “You may be my first exception~”

“Just shoot me now and spare yourself the effort,” Jotaro hissed but she paid no attention and shushed him.

“Listen to what I have to say darling~” Y/N said with a pout. “Unlike the other fleabags I had to be with, you’re different. You’re competent, stoic, rich, intelligent, and above anything else, pretty handsome for a yakuza boss. Plus, your personal men were so lovely to be with. I’d hate for them to be killed from the get-go.”

“How about you swear loyalty to me and you get to keep the Sangyosei alive and running? You head back as if nothing happened and do what you do, but to imagine you leading your troops with me as your right hand knowing that you're actually mine to control?” She sighed. “Oh it would be such a waste if I were to do what you just said. I do like having my trophy be shiny with power.”

Jotaro growled. “In your fucking dreams.”

Y/N scoffed, standing back up to step back and pull something out from her pocket. “Of course, I’d expect you to be defiant. I know you too well.” She raised her hand to reveal a button. “Standard protocol for stubborn prisoners is usually torture with the usual go-to stabbing, breaking of fingers and/or toes, and other forms of prolonged physical pain.”

“But since I hold you to a higher regard than the previous victims I’ve kept hostage, I have a different form of torture for you~” She gestured for one of her wraiths to gag his mouth with fabric. “Consider yourself lucky~”

With a press of her thumb on the device, Jotaro widened his eyes as his hips jerked and back arched, letting out a strained groan as something stuck to his cock and nipples started to vibrate with much intensity, and he couldn’t do anything about it with his arms and legs stuck in a compromising position.

“I very much enjoyed the nights where you fucked me so hard I couldn’t think straight. Truly, an experience I’d love to be in again. So in your honor, you get to feel what I’ve felt during those times for the whole night.” She pressed the button and his muscles relaxed, sighing with relief.

Y/N slid the gag off his mouth for a moment and said, “So? Will I expect your compliance by dawn, Jotaro-ssi?”

His body still felt the lingering sensations from where the devices were taped on him and he’d expect worse to come, but he wouldn’t back down. He was better than to give his dignity away to a traitor who more or less, deserved to get killed by his rules.

Jotaro responded with a smug smirk, letting her know he’ll indeed be different than her past captives. “Go fuck yourself.”

And just like the first time she stepped into his office, she tongued the inside of her cheek and ordered for the gag to return to his mouth. She turned on her heels, pressing the button to the highest level, causing him to grunt and quiver from the overwhelming sensation of the vibrations.

The door opened for her to step through, but she paused to say one last thing, looking over her shoulder. “I’ll have you know that you’re being recorded as well. Knowing you’re a man with dignity, it be awful for everyone to know how the leader of the dangerous Sangyosei clan is tied like this, captured and shaking. Just something to consider.”

He locked into her gaze with a deathly glare.

“Though I’m proud of my title,” she smirked. “I’m glad you made me the Queen, and you only have yourself to blame.”

And the door closed shut.

#jotaro x reader #jojos bizarre adventure #jotaro kujo #mafia au #enemies to lovers #got inspired by an album with the same name sharing vibes with seulgi's mini album songs

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taizi · 10 months

Text

i’ve got my eye on you

tmnt 2k12 pairing: don & mikey word count: 2k title borrowed from say yes to heaven by lana del ray

read on ao3

“Mikey?” Donnie says, hovering in the doorway uncertainly. “Can I talk to you?”

Mikey looks up from the dough he’s kneading with round eyes, more bewildered than anything. No one ever asks if they can talk to Mikey. His presence in his family’s lives is like sunlight falling on the planet, warm and touching everything and taken for granted. They can always talk to Mikey.

So Don’s question is a weird one, but Mikey doesn’t mention it.

“Pull up some counter, Dee,” he offers instead, patting at the one square foot of the surface that isn’t covered in flour. His fingers leave little clouds behind. “I’m almost done.”

Donnie props his hip against the island and leans there to watch his little brother work. Mikey’s ADHD is textbook in a lot of ways, unpredictable in many others; it’s definitely been a fun learning curve for his family. Don did a lot of research. He’s read that generally people with Mikey’s disorder tend to struggle with tasks like cooking, that it can be an outright Herculean task remembering to eat or even just mustering the energy to feed themselves.

But Mikey loves his kitchen. He gravitates towards it in all his different moods. It gives his pinballing thoughts and restless hands something constructive to focus on with a clear and present reward at the end.

Right now he seems pleased with the dough and gathers it up in a neat little ball before transferring it to a greased mixing bowl and covering it tightly with plastic wrap. When the bowl has been safely stored in the fridge to proof, Donnie joins Mikey in wiping down the counter, mostly for something to do with his hands.

Something’s baking in the oven. Music is playing on Mikey’s phone across the room, acoustic and downbeat and soothing. This room is where everyone in their entire extended family comes to feel safe, even if they don’t know or won’t admit it.

“So listen,” Don finally says. “About earlier. During the race?”

A grin splits Mikey’s face, likely remembering all the fun he had. They’d been looking forward to the ninja race for weeks, ever since Leo first floated the idea.

Leo has come a long way as sensei. It was hard at first, finding his feet, acclimating to this additional burden piled on top of all the ones he already had to carry, but maybe not as hard as it should have been. Leo has always been more of a second parent than a sibling to the rest of them. He’s always been the one they ran to first, even when Splinter was alive; the boy who had to grow up too fast, the one who tried his dad’s oversized jacket on over and over through the years until one day he was surprised to find he had outgrown it.

All this to say—Leo can always tell when his little siblings and pseudo-siblings are due for a break. He poured hours into planning this event, all for his tiny clan of six, and it really showed. The race was part relay, part scavenger hunt, stretching for miles back and forth across Manhattan.

They drew cards out of a bucket to decide pairs, divvying up into three teams of two. When Casey drew the card that matched Mikey’s, he lit up with a manic grin and whipped his head around, a reaction Donnie wasn’t expecting.

“Oh hell yeah!” the human whooped, lifting both hands over his head for a double high-five. “We’re gonna make this night our bitch!”

“Language!” Leo barked, scandalized, like they each hadn’t already heard—and said—a lot worse.

Mikey, for his part, slapped his palms against Casey’s, giggling madly. Donnie looked between the two of them with a frown forming on his face. He had the distinct feeling that he missed something. They all tended to live out of each other’s pockets anymore, trauma-bonding at its worst. Its best? Whatever. If Mikey and Casey were buddies, Donnie would know.

They were both adrenaline junkies, sure. They both liked going fast, living on the edge. As a ninja clan, that was sort of the norm anyway.

But Mikey in particular could outrun anyone in his family any day of the week. Nothing moved fast enough for him. They tried to keep up with him, but sometimes he got too far ahead. He wanted to walk on his hands to feel the grit of asphalt on his palms and the blood rush to his head, or spin in circles in front of the stove while the water boiled, or cartwheel during katas because morning meditation ran too long and his full quota of focus was all used up.

Understimulated, touch-starved, eager for attention, desperate for—something.

Donnie just didn’t realize how desperate until he and Leo crossed paths with Casey and Mikey halfway through the race. From the rooftop, Donnie could see that the token the other boys were gunning for was on the opposite side of the BQE—across five lanes, up on the massive signage structure towering above the expressway. They were on the wrong side when they spotted it.

Smugly, Donnie thought, Tough luck—they’ll have to find a way around. That’s gonna cost them some time.

And then Mikey flew over the guardrail, sprinting straight out into traffic.

Donnie’s heart jumped up into his throat and stayed there.

He was rooted to the spot, like someone watching a train barrel down the tracks toward an inevitable collision. His body forgot how to breathe.

It took his little brother all of fifty seconds to dodge box trucks and SUVs like it was a children’s game, to a chorus of blaring horns from drivers that did not slow down. An eighteen-wheeler missed him by a foot.

Mikey scaled the structure, retrieved the token, and shoved it into the pocket of his over-sized hoodie. Then he waved both arms back at Casey, and pointed down at the guardrail immediately behind him, clearly indicating that they should regroup underneath the overpass. They both disappeared from view on their respective sides of the freeway, off to the next leg of the scavenger hunt.

Don just stood there numbly watching cars go by until Leo doubled back for him.

Raphael and April won the race by all of four minutes—and with it bragging rights to last the next two months, unfortunately for everyone else—but Mikey was in high spirits the whole way home anyway, bouncing with every step. Their brothers must have assumed it was those endorphins from a full night of high-speed play doing their job.

Leo rubbed the top of Mikey’s head with his knuckles fondly, and Raph said something like, “God, you just don’t slow down, do ya?” because they had no idea. They didn’t see it.

Donnie trailed silently at the back of the group, heart pounding so hard he could feel it in his throat, his eyes, his hands. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Mikey, afraid of what might happen if he let his guard down for even a second, replaying that scene on the expressway over and over and over. It took him hours to muster the courage to finally approach his baby brother in the kitchen.

And now they’re standing here together, and Mikey is humming under his breath, hands beginning to tap restlessly on the countertop. Donnie’s going to lose him in a matter of minutes. Trying to think of a delicate way to say it is getting him nowhere. He takes a page out of Raph’s book and just barrels in.

“I saw you run across the BQE for a token,” he blurts.

Mike tilts his head the way Icky does when she hears something she doesn’t understand. On one hand, he doesn’t deny he did it. On the other, more alarming hand, he also looks blatantly confused about why Donnie thinks it’s worth a discussion.

“We had to get the tokens to win,” Mikey points out, like Don isn’t the one who helped Leo with the rules and regulations.

Clenching his fists, and then folding his arms so Mikey can’t see his fists are clenched, Donnie says, “You wanted to win that bad, Mike?”

He can’t stop seeing the speeding cars; the smear of headlights in the dark; Mikey weaving his way across the lanes, his figure tiny and almost indistinguishable from the rooftop where Don was watching.

Donnie’s remarkable imagination provided the additional details: the way displaced air would have sucked at Mikey’s clothes at each near miss. The sting of the hot asphalt under his feet. The passing lights lighting up his face in fits and bursts, for seconds at a time, and maybe something distracted him—maybe there was a piece of glass or metal on the road and it cut him or he tripped—maybe a reckless driver merged lanes without warning—maybe, maybe, maybe one of a hundred things happened and Mikey was captured or crippled or killed, ripped away from his family because of a stupid, needless risk he took during a game.

They’ve been dragged through war, outer space, time travel. They’ve all been hurt before, in big ways and small ones. It's just. It’s different this time, because it was a game.

Maybe Donnie should be angry at Casey for enabling this behavior. Casey may not be their brother by blood but he’s their brother by every other known metric science has to offer and he should have dragged Mikey off the expressway by the hood of his stupid pink sweatshirt and lit into him for being so reckless the way Leo, April, Raph and Donnie all would have.

But Casey has his own reasons for doing what he does—a dead mom, an alcoholic father, a little sister CPS took away—and if he were a regular, neurotypical, well-adjusted teenager, he never would have put on his painted mask in the first place. He never would have fallen into Donnie’s family.

Casey would have been the one to run into traffic if Mikey hadn't beaten him to it.

Like recognizes like. That’s why they were thrilled to be on each other’s team. They’re both chasing something. They both have too much going on inside their heads to ever just be still.

And Mikey is always all smiles, always the first to offer his siblings a hug or a shoulder to lean on or a safe place to hide from the rest of the world and something sweet to eat in the meantime. Mikey, who hasn’t cried in front of his brothers once since the night their father died, who hasn’t come into Donnie’s lab after a nightmare in even longer than that. He smiles and plays and supports everyone and gives them reasons to run and shout and vent frustrations and groan in exasperation and laugh until they get sick.

No one has to ask the sun to shine, it just does that. And it will until it runs out of fuel, some five billion years from now. The star death was always going to be inevitable. Constant output, finite resources. Nuclear fusion that will hopefully last for as long as it needs to, but not forever.

The sun will get tired one day, and then it’s not going to shine anymore.

“Dee?” Mikey says loudly, in a tone that makes it sound like he’s been saying it over and over. Donnie blinks and he’s back in the kitchen, and Mikey is in front of him, more than a bit confused, more than a bit worried, but here and safe and whole.

Not even a scratch. If Don hadn’t seen it, he never would have known it happened.

He unfolds his arms and opens them. He doesn’t need to say anything for his little twin to spring forward, their plastrons colliding with a solid knock that would have winded a human person. The counters are clean but Mikey is still covered in flour and so Don is covered in flour now, too, and it’s wafting to the floor in tiny cloudbursts every time they move.

It’s the kind of mess Splinter would have made them stop and clean up. But it’s not hurting anything to let the kitchen be a little messy. And it’s Mikey’s kitchen. It’s the one place in the world where what he says goes.

He winds his smaller arms around Donnie’s shell and squeezes as tight as he can. Smushes his cheek against Don’s shoulder because he isn’t tall enough to hook his chin over it the way he’d probably like to. He’s warm and he smells like butter and baked bread and summer and boy. He’s survived every single thing he’s ever done.

Donnie closes his eyes and tries to replace the lights he can still see on the freeway with the ones here at home.

“Can I be on your team next time?” he says.

“Hell yeah, let’s do it,” Mikey agrees instantly. His voice is shaped so much like a toothy grin that Don can see it without looking. Mike doesn’t even know why he’s promising it, just that Donnie needs him to. “We’ll do a clean sweep, nobody’ll know what hit ‘em. B Team’s the Best Team, baby!”

He’s everything warm and light and safe about Donnie’s whole world, and he doesn’t seem to understand how dark every day would be without him. He doesn’t know what he would be taking from his family if he took himself away.

Donatello’s other siblings are self-destructive in obvious ways. Michelangelo, who is loud and obnoxious and has never known a secret he could keep for longer than a day, is somehow more subtle about it.

But now Donnie sees it. He knows what to look for.

#tmnt 2k12 #teenage mutant ninja turtles #hamato donatello #hamato michelangelo #b team #my writing #tmnt fic

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