#i’m really working on the atmosphere of his penthouse with this one | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

itbe-jess · 3 months

Text

I just need to get this off my chest.

I feel like so many fans give CL Rayman a little too much credit. They’re always praising him, but I’ve never seen one person who is reasonably critical about him. (Except the one who aren’t really really fans) Yes, Rayman doing explicit adult activities, saying fuck, abusing drugs, and killing people is fun, but he’s technically not perfect. I’m tired of fans pretending like he is. I like the premise of his character, and this whole new approach is very interesting to me. But I’m sorry, the edgy Flanderization is just really annoying.

Yes, Rayman is supposed to be edgy. He has always been edgy. Rayman 3 being a big primary example of this. However, Rayman in Rayman 3 wasn’t just some mischievous edgy frat boy. He had more variety. Aside from having edge, he was also this laidback dude who loved to relax, had a wholesome childish spirit to him, and overall shows he cares for others around him.

That’s what CL Rayman is missing: Variety. Hell, I wouldn’t be a Rayman fan today if Sparks of Hope only portrayed Rayman as nothing but this salty millennial who can’t let go of the past. There’s not one scene with CL Rayman, outside of work, that doesn’t involve him in anything vulgar or offensive. I’m not gonna count any scenes where he’s in his TV Persona, because that’s technically not him being himself. That’s just him doing his job. Look, I love edgy characters, but not when they’re oversaturated with the one thing they��re most known for. Angel Dust couldn’t even compete with that level of edge. I’m not saying Rayman can’t be angry and depressed. As a matter of fact, he has every right to. His feelings are completely valid. But would it kill the writers to show him being funny or wholesome for one minute?

His least edgiest scene in the whole show has got to be his interview with Bullfrog. While it still presented an angsty atmosphere, and the vomiting moment was unnecessary, I’ll admit it was a breath of fresh air seeing him take a break from all that swearing and accept a juice box. My favorite part of that scene has got to be seeing a smile on his face. A real smile. You know, something tells me that Ubisoft doesn’t want Rayman to be happy in his series.

Rayman doesn’t feel like Rayman, either. Or even a character for that matter. In my opinion, he feels more like an early 2000s’ Newgrounds parody. Yes, I KNOW he’s supposed to be a whole different take on the character, but you know something? You CAN make an already existing character entirely different! It’s a really bold move to experiment more depth with that character. However, it’s also important to let them keep a tiny bit of their old, familiar charisma, so that they’re still recognizable to the fans. Familiarity is the key. Without that familiarity, that character might as well have a different name and appearance. CL Rayman doesn’t have Rayman’s charm, his humor, or even his good heart. Just his looks, and identity.

He does get struck by guilt after learning the truth about Eden, and he sacrifices his entire career just to fix his own mistakes. However, those don’t count as being kind. He’s killing fascists out of good intention, but in the end, it’s just violence. Not kindness. It’s really hard to see Ramon as the type of guy who would give me a hug when all I’ve seen him act is angry, depressed, and violent, not to mention he has snorted coke and ate sushi off of prostitutes in the comfort of his million dollar penthouse. If they want me to believe he truly is a sweet guy, THEN I WANNA FUCKING SEE IT! Have him, ya know, interact with kids! Comfort Dolph on his loss! Maybe even form a dorky, yet wholesome friendship with Bullfrog! There are many ways to have him express kindness, and not just through violence!

I’d also like to add that Rayman’s heel turn moment just felt kinda forced. We don’t even know how he got access to firearms. In the last episode, he was so whiny and weak. Then all of a sudden, he’s strong? C’mon, the dude has been loyal to Eden for years. They could’ve at least shown him reflecting on the impact of his actions first, and then figure out a way to resolve the problem at stake. I would have rather the show end like that so that the writers could give themselves time to build up a climatic story for season 2, not just get right to the point. Six episodes or not, it’s a poor writing direction.

I don’t care what anyone says: A 100% serious role does not work for Rayman. Don’t get me wrong; You can take Rayman seriously, but we’re also supposed to laugh at him, and with him. He’s not Spider-Man (a character that blends realism with lighthearted comedy), he’s a freaking Looney Tune! Even a game as dark and serious as Rayman 2 had moments to make us giggle. Humor plays an important role in Rayman’s character. Michel Ancel also intended humor to be one of his most defining traits. Just by looking at him, you know he’s someone you can’t take seriously! A Rayman that isn’t funny makes as much sense as having Crash Bandicoot talk.

I beg the writers to PLEASE flesh out Rayman’s character more in season 2! He can still swear, kill, snort coke, I don’t care, but at least bring out his sweeter side! Maybe make him a little goofy, too! For Polakus’s sake, make Rayman do something “Rayman-like” for once!

#Rayman #video games #Captain Laserhawk: A Blood Dragon Remix #I’m not saying you should stop loving CL Rayman. I’m just saying that you have to accept that he’s flawed.#I have a fair share of criticism with the Raymen I love dearly #I’ve always been afraid to speak this out cuz I was worried it might sound too controversial.#Please don’t disown me fans.

11 notes · View notes

dalekofchaos · 1 year

Text

DCU Superman wishlist

Title:Man Of Tomorrow

Superman’s suit looks something like this art by SmartSheepArt

Metropolis actually looks like the city of tomorrow. You know how Batman adaptations make Gotham very distinct with a broody atmosphere and Gothic architecture? We need the same energy for Metropolis. Metropolis should look bright, shining and borderline futuristic. Metropolis should have a proper 50’s retro-futurism vibe. Long monorails, golden shiny buildings, rounded glass penthouses

A proper Fortress Of Solitude.

Properly show that Jonathan and Martha Kent instill in the values that makes Clark Kent Superman.

Show Superman actively saving the people of Metropolis and Smallville. Show why Superman is a symbol of hope and why the people love him

Do not kill off Pa or Ma Kent in the first movie.

Actually focus on Clark’s life as a reporter for the Daily Planet, how the non-superhero aspects of Clark are just as important as his time as Superman and so there should be a good amount of screen time dedicated to showing and exploring that. Oh and actually show his friendship with Jimmy Olsen instead of stupidly introducing Jimmy and killing him off. Hahaha fuck you Snyder.

Make Lois the sassy and hard as nails reporter who gets shit done no matter what with Jimmy as her right hand man

Make the Clark and Lois dynamic as wholesome and charming as always. Have Lois figure out about Clark being Superman quite early, but waits for Clark to tell her. Make sure that it's clear that Lois loves Clark for Clark, not just because he's Superman, 'cause I'm sick of that "She wouldn't look twice at him if he was just Clark" bullshit some people spout.

Have General Lane, Dr Hamilton, Maggie Sawyer, William Henderson and Dan Turpin be reoccurring characters

Make Lex Luthor a legit threat that could bring Superman to his knees. Show Lex as a corrupt businessman. Like a Jeff Beezos/Elon Musk type Billionare and show him as the mad scientist who tinkers and experiments on humans to further the reach in his quest in destroying Superman. Lex Luthor is cunning, he’s a genius, a criminal mastermind and will ignore all ethical boundaries until his goals are met. When Luthor is in the room, he owns it. Every word that comes out of his mouth is meticulously planned and he is a master manipulator. The reason why he is such a brilliant Superman villain is because even though he has no physical powers, he can always beat the Man Of Steel on intellect alone. And the worst part? He believes his crusade against Superman is just and to some degree would have reasons some might believe him. Also? Lex should see himself as The Man Of Tomorrow. Lex worked hard all his life. Studied for years to increase his knowledge. Did everything he could to escape his abusive father and the town he grew up in, and eventually became one of the richest people in the whole world. And then this alien comes out of nowhere. He sees all the destruction he’s caused and sees the terror he could represent. But the people love him? and suddenly everything is all about him and everybody seems to love him…and Lex can’t understand that at all nor can he do anything to be like Superman. He’s human after all. All he can do is view Superman with distrust and think of the worst cases possible. What if this flying man decided to rule us all? What effects will this flying man have on humanity? Will he actually prevent humanity from evolving by making them dependent? Those are the questions Lex Luthor has and in his mind, he’s the one in the right…and if you really think about it, some of his concerns are quite valid. In his own way, He believes he’s helping humanity by trying to eliminate Superman and that one day, humanity will understand why. In his mind, Lex Luthor is the Man of Steel determined to save the world from the evil alien. But we’d see this is all a façade. The true Lex is nothing but a megalomaniacal maniac, a genius who gives a reason why he hates Superman, but at the end of the day, is just a petty jackass who refuses to help advance humanity until he gets what he wants.

More than just Lex. I want to see more villains than just Lex. Adapt What’s So Funny About Truth, Justice and The American Way? So we can see Manchester Black(and for the love of god don’t cast a person of colour to play a racist, because WTF Supergirl) Monstrosities Of Lex Luthor:Show off the mad scientist aspect of Luthor and introduce both Metallo and Parasite and maybe include Bizarro in this mix. Bring in Brainiac as the big bad around the third movie. Hell even throw in Livewire, Mongul and Darkseid. I’m tired of people saying Superman doesn’t have a good rogues gallery, so we need to show them how wrong that is.

#DC #Superman #Clark Kent #Lois Lane #Lex Luthor #Jimmy Olsen #Jonathan Kent #Martha Kent #Brainiac #Parasite #Bizarro #Metallo #Livewire #Mongul #Darkseid

6 notes · View notes

hhawks · 3 years

Text

!! welcome to sintober film festival day nine !!

✰ now screening: take care of me...

✰ starring: toji fushiguro + daddy kink ✰ synopsis: you've had your eyes and your heart set on toji for forever. he's got a wife and kids, but does that stop you from climbing into his bed when they're away, just asking for him to take care of your lonely body? ✰ content warnings: daddy kink, infidelity, impact play, degradation, light brat taming, breeding. ✰ word count: 2.0k

his wife drives you crazy. fucking nuts. toji’s kids are your sun and moon; you love them half to death but there’s just something about their mother that irks you. you pretend you don’t hear the snide comments she passes to her friends during high tea, about how her new nanny just doesnt seem to get her work right. you roll your eyes when she critiques your pancakes, saying there’s too much syrup on them or they’re not fluffy enough.

toji treats you well at least. or, at least, nicer than his bitch of a wife. he never complains about your work, always insists you sit at the dinner table with them during meals even if mrs. fushiguro rudely remarks about your broccoli. “just ignore her, honestly,” he snickers to you one day. “i’ve been doing it for years.”

you dont really question the sincerity of their marriage. toji seems to avoid her pressing questions with a small grunt or an affirmative nod, so you do the same. the kids are angels, at least, and that’s the only thing that keeps you around.

well, not the only thing.

you realise this when you see toji step out of the shower one morning after you’ve sent the kids to school. he’s not usually home at this time, either already in his home office working or at the gym, so it catches you off guard. he’s barely clothed, just a measly towel wrapped around his waist as rivulets of shower water drip down his torso. you yelp, turning away. “s-sorry, mr fushiguro— i didn’t know you were home,” you stutter, shielding your eyes, making yourself busy dropping the keys into the bowl.

but he just laughs. “don’t worry ‘bout it kid.” and then he’s gone, but you can still smell him, feel him lingering even with his bedroom door closed. you clench your thighs together— no, no, you can’t think of him like that. he’s your boss, he pays you, so why is your cunt aching at the image of his body?

he’s so… well built. pretty, thick eyelashes, slate grey eyes that seem to know everything. you wonder if he’s noticed the change in atmosphere since then, the way you avoid coming close to him. you hope he doesnt; but even if he did, he doesn’t show it. he hardly shows any emotion as it is now, you doubt this has any effect on him.

but, god, the effect it has on you. has his muscles always been this prominent, thick sinew up his arms, pressing against his black t-shirt? you cant seem to think of anything else, not even when mrs. fushiguro is yelling the house down at you for mixing the teaspoons with the dessert spoons. “are you even listening to me?” you hear her shrill voice and you’re yanked out of your reverie. “god, you’re fucking hopeless. i don’t get why toji insists on keeping you around.”

“she’s good,” toji remarks from the dinner table, balancing each of his kids on either knee. “the kids love her.”

“well, i don’t. i want someone who can actually do this dishes right.”

you snort. “well, mrs fushiguro, if you paid me for doing the dishes maybe i can do them to your liking. i’m your nanny, not your housekeeper.” you watch her roll her eyes at you, muttering something under her breath.

“i’m out for the night,” she reminds you. her weekly night out with her colleagues, you remember. “i’m staying at mitsuki’s, since it’s closer to the restaurant. toji, dear, put them to bed soon, will you?”

it’s quiet once she’s gone. it always is. you relish in the little moments you have alone in the fushiguro house. it’s pretty, ornate japanese furniture blending in seamlessly with the modern style of the penthouse, floor to ceiling windows overlooking the skyline. you like to watch it twinkle as you clean up the living room after you put the kids to sleep, or dry the dishes and put them back in their drawers. but now you have nothing to do. you should go home, but there’s a small inkling, the thinnest thread telling you to stay.

“it’s late.” oh, there it is. “shouldn’t you be heading home?”

toji’s voice makes your thighs rub together just slightly, a small gasp escaping your lips. “yeah,” you manage. “i was just about to.”

he nods, a hand coming up to scratch the back of his neck. “do you… need anything?”

you smile. “i need a lot of things. not sure you could fulfill any of them though, mr fushiguro.”

something dark flashes across his face, and you almost miss it if it wasn’t for the fact that you’ve been around him so much you could read him like a book. “you’re a sweet girl, baby. what do you want with a man like me?”

the petname has you weak at the knees, but you steel yourself. “i didnt say i needed anything from you, mr fushiguro—”

“toji, please.” he steps closer to you. “we’re around each other too much for you to still be calling me that.”

“toji,” you try it. it feels weird on your tongue, but you decide you like it. “toji.”

he’s silent for a second, before reaching his hand for yours. “come here.” you obey, tentatively placing your hand in his. it’s warm, softer than you imagined. he’s pulling you close, almost too close. you collide with his chest, neck craning upwards to look at it. “you really think you can get away with it? the way you look at me, the way your thighs rub together. i know, baby. you don’t have to hide it from it.”

“i-” it’s lost in your throat. “toji, i just–”

“you’ve been thinking about me, haven’t you?” he smiles, and you realise how pretty he looks in this dim lighting. “that’s why you keep staying. that’s why you’re still here.”

you whimper. how did he know? you’re pressed against him, powerless in his strong arms.

“you want it?” nod. “beg for it.”

your jaw hangs open. beg? beg for what? “toji— i—”

“i’m not gonna ask twice.”

and you fall apart. “fuck me, please, please,” your fingers twist into his shirt, pressing yourself flush against his front. “i’ve been thinking about you, waiting f’you forever, forever, toji, just wanna feel you—!”

he smiles. it’s half predatory, half adoring. you drink it in, whimpering for him. “please,” is hanging on your lips as he picks you up with ease, fingers digging into your plush thighs. “want me to fuck you, huh? want a married man to fuck you? dirty fuckin’ girl.”

and then he’s pushing the door to his bedroom open, guiding you to his bed. he’s gonna fuck you in his bed, in his wife’s bed. guilt flashes at the forefront of your mind but you can’t seem to let it stop you. you’re quick to pull him over you, let him clamber between your parted legs. “kiss me, kiss me,” you’re babbling, looping your arms around his neck. he obliges, slotting his lips against yours and you fucking moan. it’s everything you’ve dreamed of, warm, honeyed. he’s holding you like porcelain and you want him to shatter you.

toji’s a menace, cooing at your disheveled form under him. his hair falls into his eyes and your brush it off, and he grips your wrist, pressing a small kiss to your palm. “i’m gonna make you mine, promise,” he whispers. “fuck, i’ve been dreaming about you too, you know? always wondered how good your pussy would feel around me. i bet it’s heaven.”

you giggle. “why don’t you find out?”

you don’t know how it happens. he barely has to prep you; fully soaked and whimpering his name, begging him to just put it in, toji, i can take it, promise only to regret it later when the massive cockhead is pushing against you. “you still sure about that?” he licks the shell of your ear.

“y-yeah,” you stutter, shivering at the feeling of his plush tip mashing against your slit. “holy— fuck, need it, need you—!”

“i got you, i got you.” and then he’s pushing, pushing against you until your slit crumbles around him, letting him in. you gasp, and so does he. it slides in slowly, the sheer girth of it stretching you to your fullest. you’re trembling, fluttering around his length. it’s fucking you dumb, pushing every thought out of your tiny pretty head. your breath leaves you in a shudder. “look at you. i’m not even moving and you’re already falling apart.”

you dont have the brainpower to retort, just whimper. “‘s-so good, so b-big,” you murmur, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he thrusts shallowly. “h-holy fuck, i– i…”

“yeah? yeah?” he sneers at you, thrusting faster. “tell me, pretty baby. like being fucked like a whore? like my big fucking fat cock in your tight little pussy?”

your eyes widen at his words, but it makes you whine, heat sent straight down to your cunt. you nod dazedly. “mmhm, mmhm, love it, l’uh, l’uhv it.”

“mmhm? cmon, tell me. whose fucking pussy is this?” he grins sadistically, hooking your knees over his elbows to push deeper into you. you yelp, hands scrambling in the sheets. “who’s making you feel this good?”

and you have to muster all of the will you have in your power not to melt into his arms, not to let your tongue loll out of your mouth and drool over his pillowcases. “y-you! you are, your pussy, toji— fuck, ‘s all yours, daddy!”

you hear him scoff. “daddy, huh?” he coos. “i like that sound of that. daddy’s precious little girl getting fucked so good, right?”

oh god. he’s fucking you faster, deeper, almost as if the honorific made him just that little bit harder. “daddy,” you whimper out. it’s all you can say at this point, your mind melted into a pile of goo on the pillows. “daddy, daddy, harder, wan’ it harder daddy!”

“so demanding.” you feel a sharp smack on your ass, but youre so detached that you barely honour it with a whine in reaction. “this what you wanted? wanted your daddy to fuck you? pathetic little slut just needed to be dicked down.”

“w-wanted you,” you stutter out. “deserve better than- than her, daddy.” you’re barely registering what you’re saying, but toji loves it, loves your youth and your innocence.

“ah. wanted to replace her, huh?” he’s whispering into your ear, hand gripping the headboard to rock deeper into you. “wanted me to make you a mommy, wanted daddy to give you your own cute little babies? is that it?”

and you’re whining an affirmative, voice cracking and hiccuping sobs. “‘s too much, s-slow down, please—“

he hums softly, cupping your cheek, thumbing away the tears you didn’t notice spring into your eyes. “but you can take it, can’t you?” toji muses, hips snapping faster. “gonna make your pretty pussy my breeding bitch, yeah? make you such a pretty momma.” he grunts, and you flutter around him as you cum unexpectedly, pushed over the edge with his words. you’re whining, cunt gushing and your belly feels like it’s being torn open. “i bet,” he whispers. “i bet you’d be so much better than her. so sweet, so kind. wanna make you my wife. gonna let me?” he’s pressing his forehead to yours, catching your lips softly. it’s a rarity, seeing toji this soft, this vulnerable. you can’t tell if he’s pussydrunk, mumbling nonsense in the crest of his orgasm, but you drink it all in. you nod, whispering how much you want it, how much you trust him.

he’s falling in love with you, your youth and your sweet voice. of course, nothing’s ever as easy as that. he’s fucking you in his wife’s sheets, his wife’s pillows. but for a moment, just a little bit, as he whines as he cums inside you, the world blurs, and it’s just you and him. for a second, you’re holding on to him, murmuring, thank you daddy, i love you daddy, and he thinks he could live in it forever.

taglist: @hannie2kay @starwberrymilktea @getdevils @kruptchildren (if your name is crossed out, it means i could not find your blog.)

#toji fushiguro #toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji smut #toji jjk #toji x you #tw: daddy kink #hera’s ktb #writing tag #.top

1K notes · View notes

sourholland · 3 years

Note

Some timothee fluff pleass :)) love your work !!

Cake || Timothée Chalamet

Summary → You go live on Instagram and bake a cake. Timothée comes home halfway through and doesn’t realize you’re live-streaming.

AN → This is just pure fluff tbh, a little short but pure fluff

Pairing(s) → Timothée Chalamet x Fem!Reader

Warnings → Strong Language

Word Count → 900

You stepped back, pressing the ‘go live’ button on your Instagram. In the shot behind you was your oven and white countertops, a few plants, and the earthy green cupboards.

Since you had done 73 questions with Vogue, your New York City penthouse apartment had become sort of famous. Everyone had absolutely died over your kitchen, adoring the many plants and bronze pots and pans hanging from the ceiling.

You were dressed in a pair of white flowing pants, overtop of it was a simple black tank top and a grey zip up that belonged to Timothée.

Within the first few seconds, thousands of people had joined the livestream. Comments began to flood in, some of them making you laugh while you leaned in to glance at the phone you’d sat against the counter. There were dozens of remarks just on the atmosphere of your apartment.

It was heavily raining outside, a thick smog covering the city. You had lit candles all throughout your’s and Timothée’s shared space. He didn’t mind the crystals scattered around, resting on windowsills and shelves. He quite often asked for you to read his tarot cards, loving the way you would sit crisscross in front of him on the carpet and explain what everything meant.

userone: im so fucking in love with you

usertwo: where’s timmy????

userthree: make a tiktok pls

You scrolled through comments, laughing at a few, making sure not to dwell on some of the harsher ones. You smiled at the few familiar friends joining the live, exchanging a bit of banter as you grabbed some ingredients out of the fridge.

“Okay—so, as you all know, I’m no chef,” you snorted, holding up the box of cake mix. “All it needs is like eggs, water, and oil—I figured I couldn’t really fuck that up.”

florencepugh: i’m disappointed y/n

oliviarodrigo: you’ll find a way y/n/n

“Flo, I’m sorry,” you whined, drawling out the y.

The soft hum of Fleetwood Mac played in the back, Spotify just barely visible behind you on your laptop. Timothée was out, and you had tried to occupy yourself, finding nothing better to do than bake.

You cracked the eggs into the large plastic bowl, grinning at the phone in the process. You couldn’t help but laugh at the fact that someone would turn these clips into an Instagram edit.

userfour: i love u sm

userfive: how do u look so effortlessly good tf

usersix: i love ur kitchen stoppppppppp

userseven: bi panic

“You guys are hysterical—shit, I think I almost put too much oil in,” you said in a hushed tone.

lydianight: NOT U LITERALLY FUCJING UP CAKE OUT OF A BOX PLEASEEE

odessaazion: ur literally so hot y/n even if u can’t make food for shit

userseven: LMAOO DID SHE EVEN READ THE BOX ???

“You guys have no faith in me,” you said, chuckling as you whisked. “It’s disheartening, really. I’m hurt!”

You jokingly placed a hand on your heart, pretending to cry. You had bits of the packaged cake mix on your cheeks, hair pulled back and out of your face. The pan was greased in front of you, This Town by Niall Horan coming on behind you.

You were so focused on getting the clumps of chocolate powder separated that you hadn’t even heard the jangle of keys at the front door, or the sound of it shutting. You held the bowl up to the camera, nodding that it looked good enough.

You yelped when a pair of hands slid over your hips, pulling them back and making you jump. Timothée turned you around a moment later and cupped the nape of your neck, pulling you in for a quick kiss. He was in a grey hoodie and black joggers, hair skewed about under a navy blue baseball cap and slightly wet.

“If the whole world was watching I’d still dance with you,” he mumbled, spinning you around in a playful dance a moment later.

“Didn’t hear you come in,” you giggled at his swaying motion.

“Yeah? I yelled your name,” he pecked your lips in between each word.

usereight: im gonna go cry now

usernine: tell me ur single without telling me ur single

userten: fuck that’s so cute

usereleven: AND NIALLLL STOP

“I’m on live,” you said, watching him look over at the phone and awkwardly wave.

“Shit, why didn’t you tell me?” He chuckled, dipping a finger into the cake mix before you could swat his hand away.

He sucked on his index finger a moment later, ignoring you as you hit him a few times with the oven mitt at your right. He snatched the wooden spoon not far from him and held it up with a wide grin.

“You sure about that?” He mused, waving it in the air.

usertwelve: when they hit each other with kitchen suppliesssss

userthirteen: i’ll never be over this

“Was the cake mix any good, at least?” You couldn’t help but ask, watching him take off the hat, ruffle his hair a bit and then put it back on.

“I love you—but it tasted like shit,” he barely got out, running as you started to swat him with the mitt again.

userfourteen: god im so alone

#timothee chalamet x reader #timothée chalamet x reader #timothee chalamet #timothee chalamet imagines #timothée chalamet imagines #timothée chalamet imagine #timothee chalamet imagine

4K notes · View notes

fukurodanni · 2 years

Text

love for the rich and emotionally stunted: a comprehensive guide

ch. 3/7 -- prev. -- next. pairing: jumin han x f!reader warnings: n/a series summary: in the months following the incident with his father's most recent paramour, glam choi, the corporate heir of C&R finds himself discovering exactly what it is that makes a person in love so blind. ao3 link

note: it's been a hot minute. that's my b. work sux

He takes you to a restaurant.

Not he— actually, his driver does. You sit in the backseat next to Jumin and make contented, jittery small talk about the weather and how each of your days have been. It’s the first conversation you’ve ever had with him past noon.

He’s dressed as he usually is, three piece pinstripe suit and groomed to magazine cover perfection, but there’s something else. You haven’t actually spent that much time looking at him— really looking, not past the brush of your fingers on the sleeve of a coffee cup and morning greetings past the elevator. He holds the door open for you when you leave the car, when you enter the restaurant.

You take a moment to stare— to indulge. He takes the seat opposite you after pulling out your chair, and as he settles himself into that ramrod straight posture he looks like he’s some bygone marvel, set in amber and unknowing for all to see. The lights are yellow and dimmed, they bear down on him and for some reason you can’t help feeling a little overwhelmed by it all.

Jumin acts the perfect gentleman through the drinks and the appetizers and it isn’t until your meal is laid in front of you that you notice him finally start to loosen. He’s attractive, sure, but he’s a lot softer than what the papers say. The magazine opinions and the TV interviews.

“Something on your mind?” He asks finally, and it makes you freeze.

You’ve started loosening too, eased by the good food and expensive wine and the way he sometimes smiles at you like sunlight, if only by the faintest curve of his lips. “Nothing much,” you reply, and his eyes are like the calm before a storm, the darkening of rain clouds and maybe you are a little tipsy. Can’t let him know you’re waxing poetic about him. “You know, I wonder why we haven’t gone out before.”

“I have a very busy schedule,” Jumin interjects, and he leans a little further towards the table. Towards you.

You let out something of a laugh, half exhale and half chuckle. “I wasn’t aware that petting your cat in the darkness of your penthouse warranted a time slot.”

“Well. Do you plan on earning one of your own?”

“I’m very competitive.” You tell him, “And I’d hate to have to compete with a cat.”

“I’d say she’s worth it.” Jumin says, and it’s with such fondness that you almost forget he’s talking about his cat. It’s one of those oddly endearing things about him. Like the small talk he sometimes struggles to make and the way he still glances at his phone wearily as if expecting periodic advice from it.

Maybe that’s where he gets his ideas.

The next idea is yours, of course, and it’s three hours of conversation at a coffee shop. The atmosphere is softer here, softer in the way he holds himself and the way he talks. He still shows up in a dress shirt and slacks, but it’s less than usual and that’s enough for you.

Here he tells you about his family. About his cat and his friends, about the RFA, the advice that he does actually get from his phone. The way that admittedly he doesn’t drive much, nor does he cook very often. He likes embroidery, which is something that comes up sometime during the iced Americano and after a second blueberry scone. It isn’t something that he’d inherited or taken up out of desperation, something all his own. He seems very proud of it.

In turn, you tell him about your family and your friends, where you went to school and where you grew up. The way your hobbies have grown over the years and the way you’d never really expected to be having this— thing between you, much less this conversation.

“I don’t hate it,” he says, in reference to ‘this thing.’ It’s a plain statement but there’s something deeper in his tone that says maybe he was expecting to hate it. You don’t question it any further.

“I don’t hate it either,” you say. “I’m still expecting you to slam that door in my face one of these days.”

“It will look like the perfect accident,” he quips, and then you laugh and there’s a returning smile on his face that makes you think you really, really don’t hate this.

“Really though, how long did you hold that door open before you realized I work with C&R? It’s your company, damnit.”

Jumin shakes his head a little, as if warding off the memory. “That’s all my fault, I suppose. I make it a point not to pay too close attention to that… end.”

“I’m offended. Ouch. Look, you’ve wounded me.”

“I’m sure you can handle it.” He smiles a little, hesitates before resuming. “It doesn’t have anything to do with you, if that’s your implication.”

You wave it off with a shrug. It still kinda stings, but curiosity bites at you more fervently than any kind of insecurity about your day job. “What’s it got to do with, then? Or who, I guess.”

Jumin scoffs. “Women.”

“Yeouch.”

“That isn’t— you aren’t—”

“Jumin. I know.” You’re ready to laugh it off, but there’s a deeper kind of trouble in his eyes. It makes the grin at your lips ebb, and you reach a hand out across the table, an olive branch.

He stares at it, as if worried. “I didn’t mean that you—”

“Would you tell me about it?”

He reaches out then. You think— you hope— it’s the first of many where he’ll do this, in all confidence and uncertainty. It makes you wonder how many times he’s been given the opportunity to reach out, to reach back to a hand willing to listen.

His hand is kind of cold, not quite so calloused and probably moisturized regularly with some luxury brand lotion. There’s a joke dying at the back of your throat about that, but you figure that isn’t really important right. Jumin looks down at your hands, one on the other, and then he talks.

His relationship with his father from what you’ve seen and what you’ve heard is mostly good, but it makes him so worried. There’s this crease between his brows that you want to press flat with your fingers, borne out of a concoction of worry and love for his father and it permeates him like an ominous cloud as he talks over the incident that had happened earlier that year.

Every gay rumor you’ve ever heard about him is starting to come together like some sad, convoluted tabloid puzzle.

Jumin finishes his story, falling action, and he almost sounds insecure about it all, about being manipulated and forced into his father’s impulses— overt in some hindered tone that he takes like he’s trying to defend himself with it.

“I’ve— I am not a relationship person.” Jumin says. “I don’t believe I am.” He squeezes your fingers just slightly, trying to cement the feeling as he looks back at you. “I hadn’t wanted to be.”

This is also the longest you’ve ever had any kind of physical contact with him. It’s soft and mundane, easy like another routine you wouldn’t mind committing to memory. “Well, what now?” It’s much quieter than it had been before, silence like a blanket.

“I worry that I’m going to end up like him,” Jumin confesses. “What makes it any different?”

“I think everyone worries about becoming their parents at some point,” you say, and he doesn’t look very reassured by it. “That’s the first part of– of healing, though, isn’t it? Coming to terms with your dad’s habits and then wanting out of that cycle.”

“He wants romance just like any other person, I think.” Jumin says. “I couldn’t tell you why those women were all….”

“Like that?”

He lets out a noncommittal hum. “Like that.”

“I’m different though,” you say confidently, and it’s meant to come out as a joke but he nods in agreement so quickly it gives you whiplash.

“You are.”

“You too,” you say, sort of brokenly, but it slips out and you’re not quite sure what you meant by it.

Neither is he, apparently. He asks, “How so?” and it makes you shrink a little in your seat. He’s tracing patterns on the back of your hand and you zero in on it so intensely that you notice the neat trim of his nail beds.

“I dunno,” you confess. “I was kind of thinking you’d just be a distant work crush forever. This is different from that, it isn’t… it’s not Hallmark, you know? It’s good-different.”

“Good-different?”

“Good. Different.”

“That’s good.”

“Good.” Jumin smiles kind of crookedly at you, so small and human and real that it makes your head spin. He kisses your knuckles then, looking up at you, just barely brushing them with his lips. And you figure that’s the end of that.

From there it’s weeks of sideways smiles, of good and different and patterns on the back of your hand, the small of your back. Like a special secret to be let in on.

You ask him about an art exhibit next, pinky-finger in his between murals and portraits and sculptures, tugging him closer by the arm. It’s more comfortable than anything, the heady rush of being near him and around him. The humdrum of it all, the way it warms you to your fingertips, to the apples of your cheeks and the temple where he kisses.

You find his affinity for physical affection at a wine tasting the following week when he nudges at your hand the fifth time since arriving, standing so close that your knuckles brush and you can feel the warmth of him beside you.

It’s a crackling edge at rose colored glasses every time he does, the way he leans into you and you into him. And the only singular, striking thing about all this is its ambiguity– the label you’ve never bothered to give it.

However good and different it is, every time you talk about him to other people it comes like ad-lib: Jumin, the guy I’m seeing, the one who gets me coffee in the mornings, or sometimes just him. Whatever label the two of you are supposed to have, he’s never mentioned it directly to you or vice versa and it makes you wonder if there should have been something to follow his “not a relationship person” remark, dialogue that feels like a lifetime ago.

Maybe he’s scared.

Maybe he thinks it’s implied.

Maybe it’s because you still work together?

And in all truthfulness you realize “all of the above” might also be a viable answer. But you’re a couple to all eyes but each other’s, the dates and the casual intimacy and the ground swallowing you whole whenever he smiles at you in that way he does, the way your name rolls off his tongue like Catholic prayer, more devout than he ever was growing up.

He gives you gifts, too. Lots of them.

It might be a Pavlovian sort of response, or so you’ve garnered. He gets lots of gifts himself, whether they’re from his father or from companies looking for his sponsorship, co-workers and the like. He buys you things like eventually he’s gearing up to give you the world; the moon and stars on a string of pearls. It’s a good feeling, knowing that you are cherished and thought of, the glint in your eye while you’re window shopping with your hand in his or a personal interest that you’ve mentioned offhandedly, excitedly, while Jumin makes note of it.

But you’re starting to get a little fed up.

You spend the afternoon at an arcade, shuffling between new VR sets and old time-y joystick games (he seems to be very good at Q*bert and little else). It’s a quiet drive home past the occasional comment about how many times you’d beaten him in multiplayers, the coincidentally cube-like shapes he’s tracing into your palm in the backseat. Jumin opens the car door for you, walks you to your home and suddenly– very suddenly it’s like he’s crowding you against the door and you haven’t even stuck the key in.

“This was nice,” you say into the crook of his neck, hoping and praying this goodbye hug lasts longer and longer. He smells like expensive cologne and cheap arcade nachos and the juxtaposition is enough to have you grinning even now.

“It was nice until you started going power hungry about your win count,” he whispers back, hand soothing along your back. You laugh softly, tipping your forehead to knock against his chest. He sits his head atop yours like routine. Like it’s easier than rainfall, easy like breathing.

“I think that’s just because you suck.”

“You could stand to have a little decorum, you know.” He leans down for a second, kisses the top of your head, and resumes. “I don’t know how much more public humiliation I can stand.”

Your breath hitches as if to say something, but then Jumin pulls back just far enough to get a good look at you. The way he looks at you isn’t new, like an earth shattering mundanity– it’s tangible and bright in the palm of your hand.

He looks like he’s going to kiss you.

#god please message me if ud like a tag #i really. i am losing it a little #jumin han x reader #jumin x reader #mystic messenger x reader #mysme x reader #mystic messenger fluff #jumin han x mc #my writing #emu writes #WC: 2.2K #lftr&es #its been saved in my docs as lftr&ems who was gonna tell me my own acronym was wrong

97 notes · View notes

kozumekenza · 3 years

Text

on my mind :: seven

:: suna rintarou x f!reader :: playlist :: masterlist ::

:: taglist: open :: wc: 1.8k ::

After a drunken one-night stand with your ex, you thought you could get him out of your life for good. Unfortunately, the two of you can’t seem to keep away from each other. Why can’t you leave each other alone? And more importantly, why is he still on your mind?

tw: alcohol, profanity, gets a bit nsfw at the beginning, implications of sex

“Do you wanna come inside?”

Your voice may have been slightly pleading, but you didn’t care. You wanted to have this conversation with Suna, wanted to tell him how you felt, wanted to wake up next to him tomorrow morning and all the mornings after.

“Are you sure?” Suna seemed hesitant, and you knew why. He knew that by inviting him in, you were inviting him to a conversation about your relationship.

You nodded your head and unlocked the door to your apartment. You poured two glasses of wine and then found yourself in a familiar position; you sitting at one end of the couch, Suna on the other.

“You probably know why I asked you to come in,” you said, sliding one of the glasses down the coffee table towards Suna. He nodded, and you continued. “I really wanted to wait until after the Olympics, so I wouldn’t be distracting you, but I just can’t wait any longer.” You looked him in the eye before continuing. “I love you, Rintarou, and I can’t wait any longer to tell you. I want to be with you, I want to go with you back to EJP, if you’ll have-”

Your words were cut off by a very enthusiastic Suna who had dove across the couch to capture your lips with his. You kissed him back passionately, until he pulled away to whisper to you.

“Of course I want you to come to EJP with me. I want it to be you.” You giggled somewhat childishly, allowing yourself to be caught up in the sheer happiness of the moment. You could feel Suna’s smile against your lips, his hands roaming across your body.

“Do you wanna stay the night?”

Suna nodded enthusiastically, pulling you up from the couch. You led the way to the bedroom, tugging Suna’s hand and leaving the half-empty wine glasses on the table.

As soon as you crossed the threshold of your bedroom, Suna was pushing you up against the wall, hands holding your face with such reverence that you thought you might cry. You could feel his lips ghosting across your jaw, neck, and collarbone as you carefully tugged off his shirt. You put your hands against his chest, reveling in the smooth, hard muscle there. As you started working on the button of Suna’s jeans, he still hadn’t made a move to undress you.

“Rin, please,” you whispered, voice feather-light and absolutely pleading.

You could feel the sinister grin that spread across Suna’s face against your neck, and you knew you were in trouble. “Already begging for me, babe?”

You scoffed and pushed him back until his thighs hit your bed, watching as he fell backwards into the mattress. “Fine, I’ll do it myself.” You took your clothes off rather unceremoniously, Suna smirking at your own impatience. Standing in front of him in just your bra and underwear, you slid his jeans off. He continued smirking until you straddled his waist, only two layers of cloth separating you two. His hands found your hips as you leaned down to kiss him. Suna’s lips were soft, perfectly distracting you as his hands drifted.

You allowed yourself to be caught up in the heat of the moment, your mind completely drifting as Suna took control. Whispered words in the dark made your heart beat faster, soft confessions of love and Suna’s deep voice praising you. You savored the feeling of him, strong arms wrapping around you, a hand grabbing both of your wrists, back muscles rippling underneath your fingertips.

When you fell asleep later that night, you were tucked into Suna’s chest, his arms wrapped around your body.

---

The sunlight streaming in through the windows woke you the next morning. You found yourself stifling a laugh at the familiarity of waking up with Suna, only this time, it was under much better circumstances. You didn’t make a move to disentangle yourself from his arms, instead sinking farther in and allowing yourself to close your eyes and listen to his heartbeat.

He stirred, leaving a gentle kiss on your forehead as he rolled to face you completely. A hand came up to rest on the side of your face. Suna’s eyes were soft, a sleepy smile on his lips.

“I’m not dreaming, right?”

You giggled a little at his question.”No, this is real.”

“Good.”

“Why do you ask?”

He gave you a long blink before answering. “‘Cause it’s everything I’ve been dreaming of for the past eight years.”

You swatted at his arm, laughing. “You are so soft for someone who has chronic resting bitch face and never answers personal questions in interviews.”

“You watch my interviews?”

Blushing, you nodded. “Every single one. And every highlight reel. Every game. Anything to do with you.”

“Who’s the soft one now?”

His knowing grin made you groan, lifting yourself off the bed. Suna clung to your arm like a sloth. “Where do you think you’re going?”

You rolled your eyes. “Breakfast, I’m hungry.”

He released you and flopped back into the bed, burrowing into your blankets. You smiled at his antics, then got up to make coffee and something to eat.

---

The weekend passed in much of the same fashion, you and Suna staying in bed much longer than you should, watching replays of EJP games (Suna needed your opinion, apparently) and talking.

On Sunday afternoon, you pulled out your laptop to email a resume to EJP’s coach, but Suna stopped you.

“I already called coach, the job’s yours if you want it.”

You snapped your head up to look at him, laptop sliding off your lap. “Huh?”

“You got the job, it’s yours.”

“What do you mean? I haven’t even applied or sent a resume.”

Suna just looked at you. “You don’t need to, you’re hired already. I called coach and gave him your credentials, and he wants you to be our trainer.”

You gave Suna an incredulous look. “When did you do that?”

He smiled, “Two weeks ago.”

Your jaw dropped. “You were that confident that I would get back together with you?”

“I call it hopeful. And yes.” You rolled your eyes before pulling him in for a kiss.

“Thank you, Rin. And let me guess, I already have somewhere to live?”

“Of course, with me.” You grinned. “My apartment’s pretty big, more of a penthouse, anyway. We can move back together after the Games.”

Your smile became even wider. You liked the idea of “together”.

---

When you and Suna walked hand-in-hand into Monday’s morning practice, Atsumu laughed.

“I fucking knew it. You two can’t keep away from each other.”

Suna punched Atsumu in the shoulder before dropping you off at your office with a kiss on the cheek.

Practice was much better now that you and Suna were actually together. With two weeks until the move into the Olympic Village, training was picking up. The hardest would be over at the end of the week, with the week before the move-in full of easier drills and low-impact exercises. You enjoyed being able to watch Suna without restraint, taking in every move, every muscle.

You spent your evenings with Suna, taking extra care of sore muscles and aching joints. He laughed at your fussing, but you didn’t stop. You wanted him to play at top form in the upcoming Games, and you were going to do everything you could to make sure he got there.

Atsumu was petty about you “playing favorites”, as he put it, but his jealousy was quickly dismissed when you threw an ice pack at him.

On the last practice before you left the National Team training center, the atmosphere was electric. Training was minimal, focusing on stretching and keeping muscles warm rather than drills and practice matches. You even watched tapes from the most recent world championship, taking notes on opposing teams and players.

When practice was finally over, you helped Iwaizumi pack all of the training gear.

“Thank you for doing such a good job this season, y/n. I know the team will be in good hands with you.”

You smiled bright at his praise. “Thank you. I hope you enjoy Argentina, although I and everyone else will miss you.”

Iwaizumi shrugged. “It’s about time I left anyway. My fiance’s been waiting for me for quite some time.”

You laughed a little bit. “That’s quite romantic.”

“Just wait ‘til you meet him. He’s the opposite of romantic. In fact, he’s quite annoying.”

“I’m going to meet him?”

“Yeah, he plays for the Argentina volleyball team. He’s gonna be all ‘Iwa-chan, how dare you be on Japan’s side. How dare you be their trainer. I can’t believe you.’ Just wait, it’s obnoxious. You’ll wish you didn’t meet him.”

Stifling your laughter, you replied, “I’m sure that’s not true.”

Without missing a beat, Iwaizumi said, “It is, trust me.” He looked over his shoulder at you. “Anyway, I should be the one congratulating you. It seems you and Suna finally figured everything out.”

Your cheeks flared red. “How’d you know about that?”

Iwaizumi chuckled. “Atsumu, of course. The whole team’s been making bets on how long it would take for you two to get back together, for Suna to realize who took his jersey, pretty much everything.”

You paused, one of your hands still in a box of athletic tape. “He told you everything?”

Iwaizumi nodded, watching as you stomped towards the locker rooms. “Excuse me.”

Iwaizumi proceeded with his packing, only pausing slightly when he heard a very loud, very agitated, “Miya Atsumu!”

---

You dropped the heavy box you were carrying, wiping the sweat from your forehead. Suna dropped his box next to yours, then flopped on your bed.

“Get off, Rin. This isn’t your room. And we have more boxes.”

He groaned, looking up at you. “C’mon, y/n. It’s hot, and I need to rest. Big games coming up, y’know?”

You grabbed his hands, dragging him off the small bed. “A few more boxes, Rin, I promise.”

Later that night, after unpacking the boxes of training supplies and going over schedules with the coach and Iwaizumi, you were finally settled in your tiny room in the Olympic Village. You were rooming alone, with team supplies taking up half of the space. Just as you were about to drift to sleep, your door opened, a tiny sliver of light from the hallway slipping in.

You didn’t even roll over. “Rin, there is not enough room for you in here. This bed is tiny as fuck.”

“C’mon, y/n. I can’t sleep when I’m not next to you.”

You tried to ignore the pleading tone in his voice, but you could picture the puppy dog eyes he was probably giving you. “Fine,” you sighed, lifting the blankets for him to join you.

“Thank you, babe.”

You hummed, relishing in the warmth of Suna’s chest, just about to fall asleep when-

“Hey, do you think it’s true that these beds break if you have sex on them?”

---

The bed broke.

taglist: @sunasexual @call-me-lulu @ntimacy @circleglasses @porcolie @keikotaro @rintarovibes @kenmaslov3r

69 notes · View notes

one-piece-aus · 3 years

Note

If you haven't watched past Dressrosa arc then it's okay! How about hcs of Nico Robin, Perona, Izou and Basil Hawkins as roommates in Apartment AU?

Mmmm, you smell that freshly cracked egg? I certainly do because this is an awesome dynamic to give to me!

Nico Robin, Perona, Izou, and Basil Hawkins as Roommates (Headcanons)

So, each of them were looking for a place and roommates that weren't going to question what they do or who they are

None of them had enough money to be on their own, except for Perona since she is receiving funds from Moria until she is able to support herself

She was staying in Moria's penthouse for the longest time until she had a sibling-like fight with Absalom, somehow ended up chilling with Mihawk, Zoro, and Kaku for 2 years in Mihawk's penthouse, then after her two bros moved out she got bored and also wanted to be independent so she moved to her own apartment

She set up an ad looking for roommates with 3 spots open, received and ignored a bunch of generic messages but then she got the eye-catching ones with an unusual first question

Robin sent the first

Robin: Is there a background check?

Perona: Why would there be?

After a discussion, Robin found out she would be safe at that place since Perona didn't seem to care what people did outside the apartment or their past history

Izou sent one that at first confused her

Izou: You don't mind if I'm a crossdresser?

Perona: What's a crossdresser?

This was back in the day when that wasn't exactly accepted so it was a bit hard for Izou to find a place other than Pops but luckily Perona only saw it as a positive thing because they could do makeovers

Hawkins' question only granted him a guaranteed ticket

Hawkins: There is a list of hobbies I have, one of which is tarot card reading, will that be a problem?

Perona: Card reading you say, what other hobbies do you have?

Not many people wanted a roommate with Hawkins' particular hobbies, fortunately, Perona enjoyed spooky aesthetics and wasn't bothered by it

Perona sent a message to each of them that they can move in the next day

Just imagine the look on their faces when all three arrive at the building at the same time and go in the same direction xD

It's an interesting group but they learn to get along, they're chill and civilized, and no one gets in the way of the other

They all have long hair so there will be a lot of hair products in the bathroom

There will be spa days and makeover days, Perona is going to make it happen and they all enjoy it

Braid train

When Izou is away for the night, Hawkins, Perona, and Robin have a horror movie marathon

The three have different tastes in horror sub-genres

Hawkins favors darker toned ones with symbolism or a deeper meaning

Robin enjoys morbid ones, usually the one with a murderer on the loose that require the audience to put the clues together to figure out who it is

Perona likes the zombie apocalypse or monster films, and she adores the ones that feature a haunted house

Izou made the mistake of coming home early one time while they had their marathon, never again

Whitebeard: It's getting a bit late son, you probably should-

Izou: If I don't keep these idiots from doing something stupid then who will?

Whitebeard: But you work in the morning

Izou: I can run on caffeine

Yeah, he ended up passing out on the couch from exhaustion after his shift was over

Perona, Robin, and Izou have a girls night out (Izou didn't want to at first since he didn't really count but Perona was persistent so he got dragged into it)

Surprisingly, it's pretty fun and they have it every 2 weeks

There was one time where a guy tried to "flirt" with them, and Izou just went "Hey buddy" (surprising and confusing the man) then punched the guy out, it was funny (I would love to see that as a mini comic)

Robin, Hawkins, and Izou share an interest to myths, lore, and other historical things in the past

They discuss it in the morning over a nice cup of coffee/tea

The true adults in the apartment

The place stays clean, mainly thanks to Robin's devil fruit abilities

And they take turns cooking dinner which gives them variety of different dishes to eat

There is one unspoken rule, and that is don't bring company other because there's always this tension that arises between the guest(s) and the other roommates (or if the guest is a strawhat they're just noisy which disturbs the usual pleasant atmosphere)

Somehow this was actually the perfect combination, sorry it took so long to make.

#one piece #one piece au #one piece headcanons #perona #one piece nico robin #nico robin #one piece imagine #one piece scenario #basil hawkins #one piece hcs #apartment au #one piece izou #izou #one piece hawkins #modern one piece au #one piece modern au #requested

127 notes · View notes

luminnara · 3 years

Text

Victor Zsasz x Reader NSFW | 18+

Fandom: Birds of Prey/DC

I don’t see nearly enough BOP!Zsasz appreciation here, so I’m determined to change that. Reader is fem, but if there’s interest I can definitely write stuff for male or nb! The reader also has a whole backstory because I’m way more into world and character building than I am reader inserts so this is practically a little OC fic lol

This is sort of set pre-Birds of Prey, don’t worry about it too much, it’s just fun

Warnings: Violence, Zsasz being Zsasz, reader is an assassin who unalives people, light smut

This is short because I’m testing the waters! If there’s interest, I’ll write a part 2!!

Requests are open!

When Roman announced that he was hiring a new girl, Victor was less than thrilled. He liked what they had going--Roman was the money and the brains, and Victor was the muscle, the devout follower, and the one who loved to spill blood. They didn’t need anybody else, especially not a new hitman, and especially not a girl.

You had grown up in Gotham City’s East End, a district that was infamous for harboring all sorts of crime. You knew every street, every dark alley, every burnt out shell of a once-great building. The East End was a far cry from Gotham’s nicer neighborhoods, with their shining skyscrapers and big fancy department stores, but what could you say? The East End was home. It was dark and gritty and dangerous, but you loved that about it.

Besides, it’s not like you could really go anywhere else.

You had developed quite a reputation for yourself over the past few years. Places like the East End have a tendency to breed criminals, and you were no exception--as soon as you left home, you followed right in your mother’s footsteps and became a gun for hire. Thanks to your family name, you had no trouble taking on the odd merc job here and there, working for mob bosses who didn’t mind the mess you tended to leave behind. Silent, sneaky kills weren’t really your thing, but you never really got into the whole...artistic thing that a lot of other killers did. You didn’t sit there and fuck around with the blood and guts, you just...weren’t very tidy. You were quick, but you weren’t clean. If somebody wanted their enemies taken out quietly, they knew not to even look in your direction, because you were not the girl for the job.

If somebody wanted to make a statement, though...

You were more than happy to crush some skulls and splatter some blood across the sidewalk for the right price.

Of course, so much killing got to be exhausting after a while, and even brutal assassins like yourself needed to relax every so often. So, that’s how you found yourself finishing up a job and heading back to your modest little apartment, hopping in the shower, and scrubbing all the blood and dirt off your skin as if you had just spent a long day at the office. It was all normal for you--the killing, the shady bosses, the weirdos you worked with--and you treated it the same way any of those prim and proper office people in Old Gotham treated their day jobs. It was a way to make ends meet, something to pay for groceries and take care of the bills...only, in your case, you were generally paid fully in cash, and sometimes that cash had some suspicious stains on it.

But hey, work was work, right?

That night, you headed to a club you had yet to check out. Done up in a little black dress and wearing some very expensive pearls you had nabbed off of a target a few months back, you took a cab and found yourself entering The Black Mask.

It was a nice spot, the booths and bar all packed with socialites and crime lords. Waitresses and shot girls flitted around, there was a band playing on the stage, and the atmosphere seemed to be cheerful. Honestly, it wasn’t what you had expected, given what you’d heard about its owner.

Roman Sionis was a businessman, as he liked to call himself, who had been steadily growing his empire. He practically owned the entire East End now, and word on the street was he was looking to expand further into the rest of Gotham. You had never met the man, but you had enough mutual connections that Roman knew exactly who you were the moment he spotted you at the bar.

“Zsasz, go get her,” he said, gesturing towards you with a gloved hand.

Zsasz followed his gaze and tilted his head slightly. “You got it, boss.”

You were minding your own business, ordering yourself a gin and tonic and elbowing drunk men out of your way as you carved a little spot for yourself at the bar. They were rambunctious, leaning towards you with wide grins and beady eyes that told you they were hoping to get lucky tonight.

As you were getting ready to throw another elbow, the men suddenly scattered, vanishing into the crowd as if something had scared them off. The bartender set your drink down in front of you, and just as you raised the glass to your lips, the scent of musky cologne filled your nose and you looked up to see none other than the notorious Victor Zsasz standing before you.

“Boss wants to talk with you.” He said simply, his voice rough and hoarse.

But you were too busy taking in his facial features to really listen to his words. His short hair was the lightest blonde you had ever seen, almost snowy in color, a stark contrast to the black stubble that covered his jaw. He was wearing a silky dress shirt the color of red wine, or dark blood, the kind that was thick and coagulated and dripped off of knives so beautifully.

As he stared right back at you, you saw the scars that cut into his face, straight, meticulously carved lines that you were sure he had given himself. After all, just as you did, Victor Zsasz had a reputation, and while you had never met him, you had heard plenty about the sadistic assassin who kept tally marks of all of his victims.

Part of you wondered just how many he had.

You took a sip of your drink, eyes never leaving his. “I only just got here. I haven’t even paid for my drink.”

“On the house, courtesy of Mr. Sionis.” Zsasz said, regarding you with heavily lidded eyes as he looked down at you.

Just as you knew of him, he knew of you. Even though he was pretty much locked in place with Roman now, Zsasz heard plenty about everyone else in the East End. You practically ran in the same circles, and he had to admit, he was a tiny bit curious about the lady assassin everyone was raving about. He almost admired the messiness of your kills, but he also thought that you were sloppy and too quick, never taking the time to truly appreciate what you were doing.

Now, as he glanced down at the swell of your tits as they practically spilled out of your dress, he couldn’t decide if he wanted to kill you, or fuck you, or both.

“It’s rude to stare, Mr. Zsasz.” You teased as you caught him.

“It’s rude to keep the boss waiting.” He shot right back.

“Fine.” you sighed, pushing away from the bar. “Lead the way.”

He offered his hand and you took it, holding onto him gingerly. The crowd parted for Zsasz in a way that they never would for you, smoothly and easily, club patrons giving him polite, frightened nods as he pulled you past. His grip on your hand was tight and harsh, squeezing as if you might try to run, but in all honesty, you were marveling at how warm his skin was around yours. You didn’t hate the way he led you over to his employer, and you knew that he was being gentle, or at least his version of it.

When he brought you before Roman Sionis, he immediately let go of you, moving to stand next to his boss. Roman himself was sitting in a booth, sinking into the lavish red velvet upholstery as he held a drink in his gloved hand. He regarded you with a calm smile, immediately gesturing for you to take a set across from him.

So you did, and the rest was history.

Roman Sionis had heard of you, and when he realized that you lived in the East End, in his East End, he had to have you. He had to own you. So, he did what he always did with people, and he bought you. All you had to do was complete one little, simple job for him, and he would keep you around on a regular salary, giving you all the benefits of joining his tiny little family. You passed his test with flying colors, taking out your target faster than Roman could have hoped for, and the next thing you knew, you were spending your days lurking around Roman’s penthouse.

You stayed quiet and obedient, not wanting to give Roman any reason to get rid of you. It was a good, steady gig, one you didn’t want to pass up, but you could tell that Zsasz wasn’t pleased. He scowled at you, always waiting for you to trip, always ready to watch you fall. You got the feeling that he viewed you as an intruder, someone who was messing up his life even though you gave him more than enough space. He would raise his lip in a sneer whenever you passed, showing off gold teeth in a maddeningly handsome way that always had you hoping and praying that he wouldn’t notice the way your cheeks sometimes flushed. He never seemed to care, as he never made any other moves. Maybe he was under strict orders not to fuck with--or just plain fuck---you, or maybe he legitimately didn’t want to.

You didn’t know why you had started to care so much.

You didn’t know about the way he watched your ass when you walked away from him, or the lewd way he sometimes palmed himself right out in the open. You never heard his pants and moans as he got off to the thought of you wrapped around him, and you never got to hear your name rolling off his tongue as he spilled into his hand, hips rocking of their own accord.

Yeah, Zsasz was pretty much head over heels. He was fucked.

He didn’t know why he liked you so much. There was just something about you, something about the way you walked and talked that always made his cock hard. He had reached the point where you would enter a room, and his pants would grow tight. Did you even know? Could you possibly fathom the torture you were putting him through every single day in Roman’s penthouse? Zsasz wanted to grab you and bend you over something, anything, hike that cute little skirt up and just go to town on your cunt. He dreamed about it at night, he wanted it, he craved the taste of your pussy...

But he couldn’t have it.

Not yet.

He would wait. He could be patient. After all, Roman came first. Roman always came first. Zsasz needed to focus on keeping his boss calm and happy, and he couldn’t afford to get distracted, no matter how much he wanted to press you up against the windows and fuck you so that the entire East End could see who you belonged to.

No matter how badly he wanted it, Zsasz would wait.

#victor zsasz #victor zsasz x reader #zsasz x reader #bop zsasz #birds of prey zsasz #birds of prey imagine #birds of prey x reader #roman sionis #dceu #dc imagines

231 notes · View notes

inkykeiji · 4 years

Text

if i find a way would you walk it with me

characters: dabi, shigaraki tomura

genre: hmm a healthy mixture of fluff and angst, i think

notes: weeee set in the break my bones but act as my spine universe!! ever wonder how dabi’s apology to the reader goes??? how he ‘makes it up’ to her???? well here u go! bit of tomura at the beginning because i couldn’t help myself yikes!! -sigh- poor dabi <33 | title credit: star shopping by lil peep

warnings: uhhhhh one (1) mention of cum in that very first paragraph (nice) but other than that i think it’s all good??? OH oh + use of the word Daddy (u shouldn’t be surprised by this point lol)

words: 3.7k

synopsis:

“I’m sorry for being an asshole,” he says, and to the untrained ear his voice would sound flat and monotonous, maybe even rude, like he doesn’t give a fuck about the words tumbling from his lips. But you—you can hear it, the sheer honesty embedded in his tone, the rawness bleeding into his voice, the way it’s ever-so-slightly rougher around the edges than it normally is.

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

It’s rare, nowadays, that you wake up to Tomura still at home. He’s sure to give you goodbye kisses every single morning before he leaves for work—kisses that last way longer than they should, kisses that are slow and messy, that manage to pull little mewls from you and leave you breathless, kisses that more often than not turn into your hands fisting in his dress shirt, little fingers playing with the buttons as you sleepily pull him closer, pleading in soft whimpers for him to fill you with cum before he goes—but he’s rarely still around by the time you actually wake up.

So, naturally, it startles you when you hear his voice, deep and gentle, murmuring that it’s time for you to wake up, princess, as slim fingers brush your hair away from your face, tracing along your cheek and jaw. Rolling onto your back quickly, your eyes snap open and you breathe out his name, heart pounding in excitement as you push yourself up onto your elbows, bleary gaze finding his.

Your near instantaneous reaction pulls a little chuckle from him, crimson eyes shining as they study your face, voice tender when he tells you that he finds your eagerness cute.

A pout settles on your lips briefly at his teasing, evaporating the moment your foggy brain realizes that he’s still home.

“Daddy! What’re you—A-Are you taking me to school today?” you gasp, sitting up a little straighter, a tiny glimmer of optimism in your eye.

And, God, the sheer, unadulterated hope on your face, eyes bright and as they search his, a tentative little smile tugging at the corner of your lips as you anxiously await his answer…it breaks his heart to shake his head slowly—he swears it fucking cracks in his chest when your expression absolutely falls, makes it feel like his ribcage is caving in, yielding under the weight of the ache that settles deep at the very core of his body.

A large hand cups your face, calloused thumb caressing your cheekbone, your eyes closing briefly at the contact, nuzzling into the warmth of his palm.

“No, angel,” he tells you softly, a frown marring his lips. “I have a meeting this afternoon, and it was easier to take the morning off and work from home,”

It’s only partially a lie—he does have a meeting, some fancy lunch with pharmaceutical distributors interested in investing in the drug they’re currently developing—but the ‘work’ he’s doing from home would technically be more productive if done at his office.

Really, he’s worried about how things might go with Dabi. If things get worse, there’s a chance he might just bring you to the stupid lunch with him instead, university be damned.

But you—you can’t help the sudden onslaught of tears that spring into your eyes, emitting a quiet, hurt sound that you nearly choke on as your chest hitches with a tiny sob, head nodding jerkily. Tomura coos, forehead wrinkling in concern as large hands find your hips, pulling you onto his lap and cradling you to his chest.

You shouldn’t be this upset. You know you shouldn’t—not over Tomura not being able to take you to school, and not over Dabi’s sharp words from yesterday. No, Dabi’s words shouldn’t even matter to you, shouldn’t mean anything at all…so why does dread flood your body at the prospect of seeing him, of being stuck in a car with him for a good half hour, at least? Why does it feel like your heart’s turned to corrosive acid, eroding everything around it, when you consider if he actually meant what he said, if that’s how he truly feels?

“I don’t wanna see him, Daddy,” you mumble into his shoulder, eyes squeezing shut tightly against the inexplicable fresh wave of tears the mere thought affords you.

“I know, baby,” Tomura says softly, fingers trailing up and down your spine. “I know,”

He doesn’t want to think about why Dabi’s words, that one simple sentence, have you so torn up.

Nor do you.

✰ ✰ ✰

Dabi arrives just as you’re finishing your breakfast, switching between fork and pen as you annotate a last-minute reading for school.

The entire atmosphere morphs the very instant he steps foot in the penthouse, and you swear you can almost see the tension in the air, heavy and suffocating. You wish Tomura were with you, have half a mind to hop up and run into his home office as you glance over at those thick mahogany doors with your lip caught between your teeth, but then Dabi’s heavy footsteps come to a halt, and your gaze snaps back to him.

He stops a few feet away, staring at you with those stupidly pretty sapphire eyes, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his black leather jacket.

His face used to be unreadable, but you’ve gotten better at deciphering his expressions, at decoding them to reveal fragments of his thoughts or mood, since you began spending more than eight hours a day with him.

So you know what it means when his jaw clenches twice (annoyed and dreading the interaction), when his front teeth nibble at the inner skin of his lip (unsure and nervous), when he readjusts his stance, nudging his feet just a little further apart (anticipating a verbal blow).

Placing your pen down on your textbook, you turn on your barstool to look at him fully, arms crossed over your chest and legs crossed at the ankles.

You steadily hold his gaze, and he briefly wonders if you’re expecting an apology, what Tomura told you about their discussion late last night, if Tomura told you about their discussion late last night.

“Hey,” he says, wincing at how gravelly his voice sounds and clearing his throat.

A beat of silence passes between you.

“Hi,”

“About yesterday…” he begins, eyebrows pushing together as he trails off, exhaling a harsh breath through his nostrils.

God, he fucking hates this. He hates that he spent most of the morning, the drive to and from going to get your apology gift, rehearsing what he was going to say, hates that it completely vanishes from his mind the moment he sees you, glaring at him in expectation or apprehension—he’s not sure, he can’t tell.

He hates that this is stupidly difficult—definitely more difficult than throwing an apology and gift at you should be—can’t fucking stand the incomprehensible feelings swirling around in his chest, the ones that make him feel like he’s inhaling smoke, choking on air, like he can’t manage to get enough oxygen into his lungs no matter how deeply he inhales.

He swallows, throat dry and scratchy, runs his tongue along the front of his teeth, and tries again.

“About yesterday,” he repeats, more sternly this time. “That was—I probably shouldn’t have said that,”

And the face you make as the word probably leaves his lips—features crumpling and contorting, your mask of passivity disintegrating to reveal pained eyes and a little pout—has him quickly backtracking before he even realizes what he’s doing.

“Definitely—I definitely shouldn’t have said that,” his chest heaves with the force of a heavy sigh, raking a hand aggressively through his hair. “I didn’t mean it. I, uh, I promise,” his eyes bore into yours, his stare so intense it takes everything in your power not to look away.

It’s unsettling in the very least, to hear him this unsure of himself. You think you might even be able to detect the smallest hint of a tremble to his voice, but it only seems to be audible on certain words.

It makes your heart ache in the most inexplicable way, bottom lip jutting out further as your pout deepens. Really, you think you should still be furious at him. Really, you wish you were. You shouldn’t be feeling sympathy for him, not after the way he’s treated you the past few weeks. You shouldn’t have to resist the urge to run to him, to take his face between your hands and tell him that it’s alright, it’s fine, you forgive him—anything just to stop the way his voice quivers ever-so-slightly on the word promise, anything to eradicate the melancholy in his eyes.

“Look—what I’m trying to say, I guess, is—”

The tiniest, softest little mewl sounds from his jacket and he looks down sharply, scowling at it. Eyebrows knitting, you laugh a little, head quirking to the side in confusion.

“Do you…Do you have a cat in your jacket, or something?”

Dabi sighs, shaking his head and murmuring something about how this was totally not your cue, furball as he holds his worn leather jacket open, revealing a small kitten stuffed into one of the inner pockets. He fishes it out gently—it’s so tiny that it fits in the palm of his hand—and holds it out to you, a peace offering.

You blink rapidly, shaking your head in disbelief with an odd little smile on your face. “Is it—Is it for m-me?”

Dabi rolls his eyes, but there’s a smirk on his face. “Of course, stupid,”

A surprised giggle escapes your lips as you jump up, rushing forward to take the kitten from him and cradling it to your chest, cooing softly. Dabi thinks it’s one of the sweetest things he’s ever seen, entirely powerless to stop the tender look that settles in his eyes as he observes you.

A thick, silky red ribbon tied in a large obnoxious bow adorns the kitten’s neck, a small tag attached to it with Dabi’s messy handwriting scrawled across it: I’m sorry for being an asshole. It’s fucking cheesy, cliché as hell, and you love every single thing about it.

“It’s uh, a Maine Coon, I think,” Dabi shrugs a little, hand rubbing at the back of his neck unsurely as his eyes dart away. “I paid a fucking fortune for him,” he says with a small self-deprecating smirk. “Three times the goddamn regular price,”

Your head snaps up, wide eyes finding his as the kitten gnaws on one of the drawstrings of your—Tomura’s—hoodie. “What?”

He shifts a little under your intense gaze. “Well, yeah, he technically belonged to someone else. Y’know how with those fancy breeders you gotta fill out those massive application forms and then wait for like, two years and all that bullshit,” he waves a hand in explanation as his voice trails off.

“Y-You paid six thousand dollars for this cat?”

“Just over,” he nods. “Plus a forty-five minute argument with the breeder, all for that damn furball, so you better fucking appreciate him, cause that guy was a jackass,”

Silence blankets the room again. You’re looking at him weirdly, and it’s starting to make his skin crawl, anxiety beginning to rise in his throat as he stares back at you, subconsciously holding his breath. Are you still angry? Do you not like the cat, was it the wrong breed? It was a cat you wanted, wasn’t it? Was this too stupid? Was it too much? Was it not enough? Tomura’s frequent yet random gifts are hard to compete with, but, fuck, he tried his best. He wanted to get you something that he knew you really wanted—he could’ve sworn he’s heard you go off on a tangent about how much you love cats, how you’ve never been allowed to have one before, at least three times in the short time he’s known you. He considered getting you the standard luxury shit women are ‘supposed’ to like, or whatever—he isn’t really into that gendered bullshit—but Tomura spoils you with these things so often and, well, they didn’t really feel like an apology.

Tingles flood your veins, feeling like sparks are coursing through your entire body, the thought of someone doing something so—so considerate making you feel giddy at first, then guilty. How could you not believe him, not believe his apology is sincere, when this gift proves to you just how attentive he actually is? That he doesn’t simply tune out your mindless rambling as he drives you to school, or when he lets you rest your head against his thigh after a long day? You’ve lamented to Dabi countless times about how you’ve always wanted a kitten—a Maine Coon in particular—and, knowing it’s the one thing Tomura hasn’t gotten for you, wouldn’t get for you…

Hastily placing the kitten on the island, you leap up, moving so quick he barely has time to register what the hell’s going on before you barrel straight into him, wrapping your arms around his neck tightly. The force of your unexpected hug causes him to stumble back a few steps, knocking a soft “Oof,” out of him.

His body freezes as you press up against him—you’ve never been this close before. A hand slides up his neck and into the hair at the base of his scalp—an automatic reaction, something you’re so used to doing with Tomura that it’s become second nature now. You don’t even realize you’re doing it.

But Dabi does.

Your touch burns, fingertips searing into his flesh in the most exquisite way, has him instantly craving more as his head droops just a little further, allowing you more access to move, your fingers instinctively combing through the soft, inky hair at the back of his skull. He wants to feel your touch all over his body, branded into his skin. Hours from now, he’ll still be able to feel it, still be able to feel the scorching warmth from your little hands scathing his flesh, still be able to feel your little fingers tangling in his hair.

Your sweet scent invades the space around him, overwhelms his senses, and he idly wonders if you taste as sweet as you smell, if the rest of your skin, your body, would feel as scalding as your hands do against his bare skin, if—

You squeeze yourself closer, body pressed flush against his, and his mind finally snaps into action, recovering from his initial shock and wrapping both arms around your waist, responding to your squeeze with one of his own.

“Thank you so much, Dabi,” you whisper, lips grazing his neck as you speak, an involuntary shiver coursing through his body. “I already love him,”

“Am I forgiven, princess?” his voice is low, rumbling in his chest and reverberating off of yours, chin resting atop your head.

A pause.

“Yeah,” you nod, eyelashes fluttering a little on his skin. “I—I’m sorry, too,”

“You don’t—”

“No,” you cut him off softly, and he can feel you nuzzling your face against him shyly, his arms squeezing you again in silent encouragement. “I overreacted. I just, um,” you stop, swallowing thickly as you struggle with the words. “I—We were making progress; or at least, I thought we were making progress—What I mean is, I just want t-to be friends with you,” you admit quietly, thankful that your face is buried in his chest, hiding your burning cheeks from his eyes.

He doesn’t respond—not with words, anyway. He doesn’t need to—his actions speak louder than words ever could. Lips press against the crown of your head, first gently, then firm, scattering a few kisses across your scalp.

The kitten knocks your pen off the island, it’s clattering against the hardwood startling the two of you, and you reluctantly break apart. He thinks it should be awkward—No, it should definitely be awkward, when he just dropped several unwarranted kisses to the crown of your head—but it isn’t. He waits for it to come, surprised when all that seems to remain is that same pleasant warmth as he watches you scold the kitten playfully, bending down to pick up the pen and gently tapping it against the kittens nose.

Your giggles, ringing out around the empty penthouse, are the most precious sounds he’s ever witnessed. Thoughts invade his mind, belatedly realizing that he’d do just about anything to hear you giggle like that again, soft and innocent and full of delight. The unfamiliar feeling of contentment settles in his chest, makes it swell so much it’s almost painful, thrumming through his veins and alighting his body.

Later, he’ll be pissed at himself for letting his guard down so easily, for completely losing control of his thoughts and actions, for becoming so fucking soft around you. But for now, he allows himself to bask in the feeling, just for a few moments before those heavy mahogany doors inevitably creak open.

“What should we name him?” your eyes are bright as you back at him, a cute excited smile on your face, lashes fluttering a little as you wait for his answer.

We. We.

And he hates the way his heart skips a beat at that one, tiny two letter word. He hates the way it makes his stomach swoop, makes more unknown feelings—sensations he’s never experienced before—explode in his chest, hates the way that stupid little word pulls a large, genuine smile from him entirely without his permission, a chuckle of disbelief passing through his lips.

We.

“I dunno, princess,” he responds gruffly, finally finding his voice.

“How about…” you stop, humming and closing an eye as you think, little tongue poking at your cheek in concentration.

Dabi isn’t sure he’s ever seen a more adorable sight in his entire life, and he has to physically restrain himself from marching right up to you and kissing you until you can’t fucking breathe, heels digging into the hardwood and hands curling into trembling fists as his body goes rigid.

“Isaac? Or, oh! Clarke?”

Isaac Asimov or Arthur C. Clarke, two of his favourite authors.

And, fuck, he can’t help the hearty laugh that bubbles up in his chest at the realization, pleasant tingles of warmth shooting through his veins again—more intensely this time, feeling like tiny shocks bursting throughout his body, his whole figure buzzing, high off your presence.

“Both are cute,”

“Yeah, but do you have a favourite?”

Later, he’ll lay awake in bed tonight, sheets cold and empty as he listens to the muffled sounds of Tomura’s ridiculously massive bed slamming against the wall while he forces the most beautiful sounds from your lips—later, Dabi will think about that sentence, those seven words, uttered so gently, so sincerely from your soft lips as you stared at him in earnest, genuinely interested in his answer. Later, he’ll think about why his opinion matters so much to you—if his opinion matters to you, or if he’s just desperately hoping it does, if he’s overthinking this entire situation, why the name of a dumb overpriced cat matters this much to him…

“I like Isaac,”

Your eyes soften, smile stretching even wider as your gaze flits to the tiny fluff ball now curled in your lap, small hand petting its head gently as it begins to fall asleep.

“Yeah,” you murmur, watching your hand’s rhythmic motions, the kitten beginning to purr loudly. “I like Isaac, too,”

Tomura reemerges then, both of your gazes snapping towards him. He observes the two of you, scarlet eyes slow and careful as they scan the situation, finally landing on the small ball of fur sleeping soundly on your thighs. There’s an odd look in his eyes—something you’ve never quite seen before, and it makes your heart drop.

“Look, Daddy,” you say softly, holding up the sleepy kitten to show him. “Dabi got me a kitty!”

The weird, undecipherable look on Tomura’s face evaporates in an instant as his eyes connect with yours, features softening.

“That’s great, baby,” he says as he walks towards you, coming to stand behind you and placing a large hand on your head. You hum a little, eyes closing at the contact. “Looks like we’ll have to go out tonight and get kitty supplies, huh,”

Eyes snapping open, your head falls back, resting against his stomach as you stare up at him. “Me and you? Just us?” he nods, and you gasp, face absolutely lighting up. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” he laughs a little, fondness settling in his eyes as he gazes down at you. “I’ll pick you up after class today, and we’ll go straight away. We can’t let poor Isaac go hungry now, can we?” Ruby eyes flit up as he speaks, hardening as they connect with sapphire. He holds Dabi’s gaze until the other man nods his understanding.

You’re so excited you don’t even realize you never told Tomura the kitten’s name. But it doesn’t matter—not in that moment, anyway, not when he tells you he’s decided to take the rest of the day off after the lunch meeting, to spend it with his baby and his baby’s baby. Not when you haven’t had a night alone with him in what feels like forever.

Tomura should be happy that it all worked out, right? He should be glad that he doesn’t have to find other arrangements, should feel relieved that you and Dabi smoothed things over, shouldn’t he? He is, isn’t he?

“Go get your schoolbag, sweetheart,” he instructs softly, tapping you on the nose. “You’ll be late if you don’t leave soon,”

You obey immediately, slipping off the barstool with the kitten cradled in your arms, explaining that you’re going to quickly ‘kitten-proof’ Tomura’s absurdly large bathroom and lock Isaac in there. For his own safety while you’re away at school, you say.

He watches you go, waits for you to disappear around the corner, before turning back to his colleague.

“Really Dabi, a fucking cat?”

Dabi bristles, exhaling slowly as he holds his boss’s gaze, and raises his eyebrows. “But she’s happy, isn’t she?”

#dabi x reader #dabi x you #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x you #dabi #shigaraki tomura #bnha #mha #for my lil star anon!!! <3333 #i hope u like it!#tw daddy kink #i ??? guess???

662 notes · View notes

bangtae-sohotddaeng · 3 years

Text

we’ll be counting stars | k.th. | 4

(^ gif cred: ON THE VOYAGE | pinterest)

pairing: idol!Taehyung x publisher!Reader

rating: nc-17 (for language and themes)

summary: You’d sworn off love and relationships forever. You were here to do your job - work with the biggest boyband of the world. Not forge friendships and...and whatever it was that you and Taehyung were building up with these sneaky glances. It was, to be very fair, your Chief Editor’s fault that you’d landed in this mess. Maybe you should quit your job? Maybe you should quit life -

Oh, he was staring again, and did he freaking lick his lips?

warnings: swearing (reader’s got a potty mouth) + this is set like 5 years in the future + reader has emotional issues, she's a relationship phobe + mentions of weed

genre: so much ANGST ugh + fluff + comedy + some crack

words: 4.6 k

note: hey, y'all. i know i've been awol and i'm really sorry about it, but, well - first i went back to uni for a while and got busy with my classes and my boyfriend. but this lasted for, like, barely three weeks, and then i came back home and got covid. yep, i finally got unlucky. my parents got it, too, after me, and the three of us had been home quarantined and getting treated for the past month or so. we're in better health now, though, so i'm getting back into writing. here's hoping i pick up speed super quick! 💜

< prev | next >

series masterlist

gimme feedback, much much appreciated!

Your first week of heading this project with all its roadblocks and exhaustion, as it turned out, had merely been a taste of what was to come.

Your Wednesday at work began on a positive note, though.

Towards the middle of the day, your phone rang, making both you and Jungkook jump.

Cursing, you pursed your lips at Jungkook apologetically, and fished the device out. He nodded at you with a chuckle.

Looking at your phone screen, you realised this was a call you'd been waiting for.

“Hello?” you answered.

“Hello, ma’am. I’m calling to inform you that we’re done.”

Your eyebrows immediately hiked up your forehead. “Wow, really? That’s great news!”

“Yeah, the cleaners will be in tomorrow morning. You can move in by tomorrow evening.”

You actually grinned. “That’s such fantastic news! Thank you so much, Mister Lin. I’ll initiate your payment later, today.”

“Anytime, ma’am. Thank you.”

You disconnected the call with a happy sigh. Jungkook squinted at you. “That sounded like a fun conversation.”

You nodded, smiling. “Our team is moving into an apartment, tomorrow.”

“Wow! You’ve been in the hotel for what, ten days now? Must feel nice!” Jungkook’s eyes sparkled.

You nodded with a sigh, shutting your eyes in relief. “Oh, yes. We’d made reservations at the hotel for fifteen days. We had to move into the apartments within this week. This feels so amazing. I’ll finally be able to prepare my own food.”

Jungkook giggled at that, scrunching his nose up. “Where’s the apartment? Hope it isn't too far.”

“Oh, no, it’s a few blocks away from here. Which is why we had to book a hotel in the first place. We needed two four-bedroom apartments on the same floor, in this specific radius, in three days.” You paused to laugh when Jungkook’s jaw dropped with a gasp. “It was a very hard find. But our agent was sharp, he did a great job.” You clapped your hands together. “I cannot wait to check out of the damn hotel.”

Jungkook nodded in understanding. “Hotels are hard. It could be a seven star luxurious penthouse, but you’d still wanna run away from it after a while.”

He seemed to be speaking from his personal experience, but running away from a seven star luxurious penthouse? You couldn’t relate. You hated your hotel because the curtains weren’t dark enough and the mattress was stiff and you couldn’t afford getting any of them changed. You also hated having to order Chinese every single day, but you also knew you’d be emptying your bank account if you got anything else.

None of this would trouble someone living in a seven star’s penthouse. But you didn’t want to make Jungkook uncomfortable by stating any of this when he was just trying to be a bit compassionate and empathetic.

“Food doesn’t bother me that much, though,” Jungkook continued after a thoughtful pause. “We’re usually either on diets or order takeout. I personally hate the mattresses.”

“Oh yes,” you sighed deeply, the kink in your upper back in absolute agreement. “I’m not really a fan of sleeping anywhere other than my mattress back at home, but hotel beds are the worst of it.”

Jungkook chuckled, nodding. “I completely understand. You remember that story I told you about lugging my beddings over to our dorm when we first moved into one?”

You nodded with a laugh. “Oh, yes. The rest of the boys were getting new mattresses, and you were busy dragging your mattress from your parents’ house. It may sound hilarious, but it’s actually very relatable.”

Jungkook looked a bit bashful as he nodded. “You know, when we first started preparing for our first tour, I had a half a mind to take it with me.”

You barked out a loud laugh at that, the mental image of Jungkook dragging a seven by four piece of bedding around and stuffing it into trailers. He laughed, too.

“Yeah, it was funny and really stupid. Half the time we didn’t even get to sleep in the bed we had taken with us, but whenever we did, I was nodding off the second my head hit the pillow.” Jungkook’s eyes sparkled as he went down the memory lane. “That one was nothing in comparison to the tours we go on now, but it was our first ever experience so it was still pretty difficult adjusting, Tour schedule is a different level of hectic, you know? You don’t have time to eat, you don’t have time to sleep. Just rehearsals and fittings and sound checks. I would fall asleep in makeup chairs,” he confessed with a chuckle, shaking his head fondly, “and when noona would wake me up, I would recall how I wanted to bring my mattress here. Such naivete.”

You smiled, nodding along. You hadn’t yet gotten to the tour discussion yet, as it was planned out for the third month of your blueprint, so all of this was brand new to you. But, at this moment you didn’t want to bring up plans and blueprints. Jungkook was compassionately being candid with you. You were becoming friends, beyond your professional boundaries.

Sighing, you decided to impart something personal, too. “When I moved to the States and got into this company, I rented the apartment with an old friend who was already living there. And it wasn’t my first time living in a house away from my parents. I’d been a university student, lived in dorms then rented apartments, both solo and shared.” Jungkook looked at you pensively, nodding with a little furrow in his eyebrows. “But when I got to this apartment, got all this brilliant furniture set up, all new and fresh, I couldn’t sleep. I missed my home.” Jungkook’s eyes softened, lips pressing down into an understanding smile. “Not the dorm, not the studio I’d been renting—I missed my childhood bed.” You exhaled, recalling all your sleepless nights. “There's this connection you build with the place you call home. I’m sure you must have started to feel this way about your dorms as time went on.”

Jungkook softly smiled, nodding as he looked into space. “Very correct. Tour life made me realise this exact fact.”

You both sat in a few minutes’ quiet, basking in the nostalgic atmosphere you’d built around you.

Then Jungkook grinned at you. “Now you’ll get to experience real Seoul life.”

You laughed. “Oh, yes. And I honestly can’t wait for it. The local markets, the grocery stores, everything. Everything here is very unlike home.”

“I’m sure you’ll love it!” Jungkook exclaimed, wiggling his eyebrows smugly.

You went back to work soon after, with Jungkook tossing in questions about your move and suggestions about what all you should do in the city, every now and then.

It was a good, productive, joyous day. You were hardly even tired when you got back to your hotel to spend your last night on that stiff ass mattress.

Thursday had started off pretty much the same, except for you guys taking a slightly early departure to spare some extra time to set your new place up after your belongings were moved.

By late night, you were all settled in two, pleasant, well-furnished, well ventilated four-bedroom apartments, next to each other. Your housemates consisted of Sana and Simon. Needless to say, you weren’t a fan. But you needed a room to build the office in and you preferred it to be under the same roof as your bedroom because you tended to work odd hours when you couldn’t sleep. Simon and Sana volunteered to share the apartment with the office and you, so you didn't exactly have room for complaint.

From getting the apartment cleaned one last time to accept you all, to ensuring none of you had left anything significant behind in your hotel rooms—you didn’t trust the hotel staff enough to not misuse it if they found anything related to BTS in one of your rooms—you had been the one that took care of it all. It was kinda on you, because you didn’t trust anyone from your team to do the latter responsibly. So, quite naturally, you were dead on your feet by the time you got into your soft as a cloud beddings at nearly 3 o’clock in the morning. Sleep pulled you in the seconds you rugged your covers up.

You were very dead on your feet when you got to the BTS dorm, five hours after you’d gotten into bed. You hadn’t had a drop of alcohol in your system for more than a few weeks, now, but man did you have a hangover.

So it goes without saying that when you bumped into someone on your way to Jungkook’s studio, your eyes were half shut. You wouldn’t have thought much of it and might have slinked away with a mumbled apology, if not for the familiar voice than greeted you.

“Good morning. Looks like you had a rough night?”

You blinked, miles away from sleep within a second when your eyes met a familiar pair of brown ones. Taehyung was dressed in the routine BTS loungewear that consisted of a pastel t-shirt that was one too many sizes bigger on him and dark sweatpants that covered his feet. His hair was the usual black and curly, mostly pulled away from his forehead with a few tendrils dangling over his brows.

Your interaction with him had been meagre throughout this week, only consisting of respectful nods of greetings and waves of goodbyes. You’d meant to ask him how Simon was doing and how he felt about his ideas being taken now, after you’d had a talk with Simon about it. But you didn’t know what you would do if he said he was hating how things were and wanted you to do something about it. So you had kept your mouth shut and watched from the sidelines as you tried to gauge Taehyung’s inner feelings by his facial expressions.

He was an extremely closed off guy, never really letting his face show what he was truly feeling. But sometimes you would catch him looking into space as if he was zoning out of his conversation with Simon. Now, he could very well be thinking deeply about something Simon said—you really couldn’t be sure with the guy. But it had you worried, nevertheless.

God. Why did Simon have to pick out Taehyung’s name?

By the time you realised you’d been staring at him for too long, he had realized it too. “Anything wrong with my… hair?” he innocently questioned, threading his fingers through the front of it.

“No!” you yelped, making him flinch. “I mean, no, it’s not that. I, um. We were moving into our apartments last night and it got kinda late. My brain’s processing things a bit slow, today.”

Taehyung chuckled at that, nodding with his teeth on display. “It’s okay. Congratulations on the move. Hotels suck.”

You sighed. “Tell me about it.”

Awkward silence hung over the two of you as you looked at the floor, at your feet, at his feet, tried to discern if his pants were very dark gray or blue, cleared your throat, scratched your ear, met his shifty eyes again—

“How…how is working with Jungkook?”

His question caught you off-guard. You looked at him in surprise. “Uh…it’s, um. It’s good. Very comfortable, very productive. It’s great, actually.”

Taehyung nodded, pursing his lips as he looked down again. “Simon has been a better listener this week. Did you talk to him?”

A weight was lifted off your shoulders on hearing that. You grinned at him with all your teeth. “Really? That is really good to know. Comforting, even. I did talk to him, yes.”

Taehyung looked into your eyes as his lips spread into a slow, soft smile. “Thank you so much for doing this for me. I thought you would think I was stupid for demanding so much, but…” He shrugged his shoulder, one corner of his lips ticking farther up his cheek. “You made it work. I feel so much better now.”

You exhaled, willing your heart to not beat so fast. It was your job to ensure they were all comfortable, this was part of what you were getting paid for. But somehow, the way Taehyung seemed to have taken it so personally made you not wanna mention the fact in the moment.

Also, he didn’t know how this wouldn’t last. You’d been giving Simon tips to handle himself professionally around Taehyung, literally every single day. It kept the wheel running, but it was tiring both of you out, immensely. Simon was out of his element and you were getting slowly overwhelmed and under-rest due to the amount of responsibilities piling on for you. You were determined to talk this out with your boss, this Sunday, and find a way out before you broke.

Right now, though, you gave Taehyung a bashful smile. “I wanted you to be comfortable and feel good about working on this project, Tae. I am constantly working out plans to better it.”

Taehyung looked at you with so many emotions swimming in his eyes, that the intensity of it almost made you wanna look away. But you didn’t. Instead, you tried to decode what any of it could mean.

This time the silence between you two was not awkward in the least. It was charged—heavy with this unknown tautness between your mind and heart and this indecipherable look in Taehyung’s eyes.

“Tae?”

The trance was broken by Jin, startling both of you.

He walked into the halfway from behind Taehyung, peering around him with a frown. His eyes widened when he saw you. You immediately bowed, always extremely cautious about being respectful around BTS’ oldest member. “Good morning, Jin-ssi.”

He chuckled at your address, insisting that you didn’t have to bow every single time. “Just the respectful good morning is fine. Did you just get here?”

You nodded, subtly glancing at Taehyung whose eyes were slightly rounded and still stuck on you. Why was he acting like you two were caught by Jin? You’d just been greeting each other and catching up!

Right?

Right.

“Ah! There comes Riya!” Jin suddenly announced the arrival of his partner on your team, cutely waving at someone behind you.

Your teammate Riya walked into the hallway after you, having walked here on her own insistence. “Good morning, Jin-ssi. Taehyung-ssi. Boss.”

You smiled at her, nodding in acknowledgement of the respect she paid. “Where’s Simon?” you questioned.

“Just here!” the man himself responded, rushing in after Riya.

You met Taehyung’s eyes, and he nodded with a meaningful look and a small smile on his lips. Your heart felt light.

The unexpectedly happy and positive start you’d gotten in the morning lasted with you the whole day, making your time with Jungkook a lot fun, and fulfilling in terms of work, too.

When Sunday came in and you received your boss’ call, her first question was about how well you were settled in the apartments, followed by how you’d handled things with Simon. You had done a decent job on the former, but the latter was gradually turning out to be a pain in your ass. You told your boss as much.

“Drag it out for another week, and then design a change of gameplan. If he really isn’t doing a good enough job by himself, it’s better if he works with someone else. This whole charade will tire both of you out. And V would be facing issues, too, if Simon’s heart isn’t into it.” Your boss had looked at you solemnly through the computer screen.

“Simon’s heart’s a bit too much into it, boss, that’s the whole issue.” You had derisively chuckled at your joke, but her words had left you thinking into the late hours of the night.

Taehyung had definitely been facing issues, you’d heard it from the man himself. And the respite he thought he’d gotten this week was momentary, because neither you nor Simon could honestly keep up with it for too long. And it was very unfair to Taehyung. This book was supposed to showcase a part of all the boys. A biography was the culmination of one’s whole life—something very personal, precious and endearing. The process of its creation should have been a similar experience for the boys, too.

You really would have to assign someone else to Taehyung.

On Monday morning, you knocked at Simon’s door at seven.

“Just this week, and then you switch,” you told him.

“Really? Oh, my God, thank you so much!” Simon cried out.

“Please accommodate him the best you can.” You sighed. “I’m too tired to give you notes everyday. Will you be able to manage?”

“I’ll accommodate him the best I can, just as you said.”

You hadn’t taken his word for it, but it seemed like the knowledge of his misery ending soon had done Simon well. He did a fair job of maintaining his professional composure, and on Tuesday, when you went in to grab a cup of coffee from the kitchen, you saw the two of them laughing about something, too. Taehyung had politely greeted you, exchanging more than a nod for the first time in more than ten days—minus that one altercation in the hallway, of course—and then immediately went back into the discussion.

He seemed to be really into it.

It made you feel a lot better.

On Friday, you and Jungkook went for a walk by the pool in the late afternoon with a cup of ice cream in your hands. He brought up Taehyung, asking how the elder was doing.

“You told me he was having some trouble with his partner?” Jungook asked, biting into a huge glob of chocolate ice-cream like a maniac and braving the brainfreeze with a straight face.

You grimaced at the sight. Then exhaled, plopping a spoonful from your own ice cream into your mouth. “He’s doing a lot better, now. It might not last, though”

Jungkook, instead of quizzing your ominous statement, nodded in understanding. “Does it have something to do with what I told you about hyung’s personality?”

You sighed. “Pretty much. We might have to change his partner.”

Jungkook paused at that. “Is there a possibility that…” He trailed off, confused, doe eyes looking at you.

You couldn’t lie to him. You shrugged. “Everything’s on the plate.”

On Sunday evening, you decided to gather the team for the call with your boss. Sending them a quick message once you all got home, you hopped into the bathroom for a long, relaxing showe.

When you came back, you stepped into your office to the welcome sight of your team occupying bean bags and chairs and spread across the entire surface area of the place.

Collectively, you all brought up Taehyung’s partner with the Editor-in-Chief.

“Why don’t you do it, Y/N?” your boss questioned you after the rest of them had briefed her with their progress so far and detailed out their future plans with their assigned boys.

You sighed. “I have been doing just as great as the rest of them, boss. It wouldn’t be ideal for me to stop working with Jungkook after we’ve been making such great progress.”

Your boss took her glasses off, the highlight on her nose glistening as her movement caught light. She shook her and then sighed. “One of you is going to have to make a sacrifice.”

Simon, rightfully, flinched with a guilty face.

“So either you talk one of your team members into doing it, or you do it yourself. You’ve got one whole week to discuss it. Tell me what you decide, next Sunday.”

You kept tossing and turning in your bed. You’d either have to force one of your team members. Or you’d have to disappoint Jungkook. Your prospects really weren't looking good.

You would like to believe you and Jungkook had become friends in these three weeks. It is impossible to remain a stone-faced stranger with someone literally relaying the story of his entire life to you. And besides that, too, Jungkook was a very likeable guy. He was a curious soul with a myriad of interests. Taking notes on literally every topic would always branch out into an enthusiastic conversation between the two of you.

Sighing as you recalled how the two of you had shared your roller-skating experience with each other just today, you shut your eyes and decided to finally go to sleep.

On Monday morning, your team members were gathered in your new office to begin with the scripting process of the biography. As you got down to comparing notes and checking off boxes, each one of you resolutely ignored the gigantic elephant in the room—that fact that one of you would not be working with the same person when this week was up.

Strangely, this forcible change of partners was weighing down on all of you not just because of how much more labour it would cost, but on an emotional level, too. Which was a very unfamiliar concept, at least to you. You never got attached to clients, knowing it would only cause hindrances when you had to criticize their work—which was why they were talking to you in the first place. You had been somewhat lucky too, in a way, because it wasn't easy for you to get attached to people.

But Jungkook turned out to be just a really easy person to get along with. You really had become friends.

This, you suddenly realised, would also mean that Jungkook would make friends with another partner just as easily.

“Guys, remember—it’s not just their story that we’re writing, it’s ours too!” you announced to your team, clapping your hands to raise their spirits as the six of them worked on their computers. “They’re the narrators, sure, but we are the writers. Use your words wherever you find fit, do not hesitate to trim, omit or add. This is what we were hired to do.”

At noon, you all ordered takeout and took a break.

“We’re all really on schedule, boss,” Riya, Jin’s partner, spoke up from her spot across the room from you. Her rounded eyes narrowed suddenly, and she winced. “Well… except Simon, but we kinda already expected that.”

Simon, seated on a bean bag to your immediate right, cleared his throat. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

“You’ve been really shitty at your job, Si,” Areum, Jimin’s partner, commented, looking at Simon through her round framed glasses, her face displaying disappointment.

“He really has,” you added. “But it cannot go on like this. You’ll have to be really professional with your partner, this time round, Simon. You’ve really done a lot of damage with Taehyung. Boss won’t just pull you off the project if something like this happens again, she’ll fire you.”

Simon visibly gulped, nodding with his wide eyes fixated on you.

“So, who’s gonna take his place?” Nathan, Yoongi’s partner, butted in, prompting Sana to stop stretching. “Have you decided yet?” he asked you.

You exhaled. “Why not ask dear Simon who he wants to work with? The last time he kept protesting about the assigned choice, and I didn't listen. Maybe he’d have done better if the selection of his partner was voluntarily done by him.”

All eyes turned to Simon. He cleared his throat, looking beyond nervous. “Please don’t put me in this spot. One of you will have to let go of a month’s worth of hard work for me, as it is.”

You looked around the room. “Any one of you willing to switch?”

Five pairs of eyes turned to look at you incredulously. “No one’s gonna willingly give their research up for you, Simon,” Charlotte, the only redhead on your team and Hoseok’s partner, spoke with a roll of her eyes. “None of us.”

“Simon,” You sighed. “Choose.”

And then Simon squeezed his eyes shut and fisted both his hands to whisper, “Jungkook…maybe?”

Of fucking course.

Later that night, you had calmed yourself down enough to tell yourself that everything was gonna be okay. You could be a darn hardass professional when you needed to be. In fact, being humble and empathetic was usually what posed a challenge to you. You would very smoothly transition into working with Taehyung, you were sure of it.

You belatedly thought about how much change these past three weeks had already brought about in your nature. You were starting to show a lot more compassion than you’d thought yourself capable of. That kind of came in this job’s description, because biographies made people vulnerable, and vulnerable interviews required compassion.

You had to unlearn some of the things you’d picked up over the span of your adult life to save yourself from hurt, and also the guilt that came with hurting others. Jungkook also helped, in a way. His openness and just the overall cheerful vibe that his nature eluded made you want to be more of a friend to him than a writing guide or an interviewer.

You wondered how Taehyung would be.

There was something undeniably intense and mysterious about him. Now, you weren’t naive enough to want to “unravel” the guy’s mysteries, but you sure were irked and curious. Maybe he was one of those kinds of artists that literally lived in their art.

Back when you didn’t work in this company with this hectic schedule and had enough spare time on your hands to write, you used to pride yourself to be one of these kinds of artists, too. You lived in your stories, kept building characters up wherever you went, whatever you did. You wondered if it was something similar with Taehyung for music.

You would find out, eventually. There was no point pondering it so much.

Sighing, you turned off your side lamp and decided to retire for the night.

Your writing week was gliding past smoothly. It was just Wednesday, and you all, ahead of the schedule, were at the verge of finishing up your writing parts.

“Are we super efficient or did we sign up for a longer duration of time than needed for this whole project?” Sana questioned, typing away on her laptop.

You snorted. “Or maybe, we didn’t design the blueprint with as much uniformity as we’re required to.”

“You don’t always have to critique everything, boss,” Charlotte, Hoseok’s partner chimed in, flipping her long mane of auburn hair off her shoulder as she shot you a look.

You glared right back at her. “Uh, actually, I do. That’s kind of my job here.”

You’d been harsher than was needed, making the whole room go quiet. Only the clicking of keyboards echoed around you all for a while.

“Where’s Simon?” Nathan, Yoongi’s partner, asked after some time.

You sighed. “In his room, finishing up his writing work there. He doesn’t feel comfortable sitting between all of us because, and I quote, y’all give off really judgy vibes that fuck with my concentration.”

“That might actually be true,” Areum, Jimin’s partner, mumbled in Korean under her breath.

“Did you mail Manager Woo about the switch yet, boss?” Nathan asked you as you got up to get a refill of your coffee.

You exhaled. “Nope, I'm stalling,” you confidently confessed, leaving the office to make a trip to the kitchen. On your way back, you knocked at Simon’s door before peeking in. “You doing okay?” you asked him flatly.

Simon gave you a nod, not moving his gaze from the laptop screen. You rolled your eyes and came back to the office.

“Should one of us do it? If it won’t look too unprofessional?” Sana asked.

You wrinkled your nose. “It would look grossly unprofessional, Sana.” You pursed your lips as you sat behind your laptop again. “Fine, I’ll do it right now.”

You took a sip from your coffee, and opened your email. This was final, now — no coming back.

You were officially gonna start working with Kim Taehyung.

gimme feedback, much much appreciated!

< prev | next >

series masterlist

Tags: @tangledsparkles @hoefortaeshands @getmemyfries

#vantaenet #bangtanarmynet #btswriterscollective #ficswithluv #thebtstown #taehyung angst #bts angst #taehyung fluff #bts fluff #taehyung imagine #bts imagine #v angst #v fluff #v imagine #jungkook imagine #bts v #bts jungkook #*mine #f: wbcs

68 notes · View notes

mandoalorian · 3 years

Text

Sugar and Spice [Maxwell Lord x Reader] - Chapter 6

Summary: When you are evicted from your apartment by your toxic ex boyfriend and have no place to go, who do you turn to? Alone in the city as the countdown to Christmas begins, you find yourself applying for a job as the assistant of the world’s biggest entrepreneur; Maxwell Lord. Little do you know, he has other intentions for you. No doubt about it, this Christmas will truly be like no other.

Word count: 3.1k

Warnings: Smut, mentions of a previous verbally abusive relationship, typical 80s misogyny (but very little of it), mentions of food and drink, alcohol consumption. This is a sugardaddy x sugarbaby fic soooo… a daddy k!nk too oops.

But in this chapter - angst… oops. Some allusions to sex but not much.

Author’s note: Starting to get fun now! It's the gala and there's a little surprise at the end. The DC fan in me is LIVING for this chapter. Hope you enjoy!

MASTERLIST

PREVIOUS - CHAPTER SIX - NEXT

You and Maxwell had been having so much fun together, you hadn't left his penthouse once, except when he had rented out a local boutique for a few hours so you could try on dresses for the big night. The boutique was an indie store, not too far from Black Gold Cooperative HQ, and when you arrived, they seemed to already know Maxwell. Of course, everyone knew Maxwell but it was like they had a personal relationship with him. You later found out that the tailors there fitted him for his suits and crafted his ties and pocket squares.

You were amazed. The boutique was small but decorated with rose gold and flowers; mirrors and paintings everywhere. It smelt like freshly cut grass and it made you miss home. It was rare you smelt anything like that when you lived in the big city. You were already in love with the atmosphere. The staff there were polite too, although they did seem surprised when Maxwell had brought you in. You caught them whispering about you but Maxwell interrupted your thoughts when he held out a short and black dress. “It’s Gucci.” he announced, double checking the label.

“Hey, it’s just like my thrift store dress I wore to the restaurant last week.” You chuckled and he nodded in agreement, a small ‘Ah’ escaping his lips as he hung it back on the shelf.

The store manager came over to you both holding a tray of tea and scones. “I thought you both might appreciate a bite to eat,” she said kindly, placing the silver tray on the little side table next to where Maxwell had been sitting. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

“No, we’re fine.” Maxwell replied quickly but you held your hand up.

“Actually,” you spoke up, clearing your throat. “We could do with your help. You see, I’m not used to coming to places like this.” you admitted sheepishly, and the manager shot Maxwell a strange and confused look. You failed to understand her bewilderment.

“Of course darling,” she replied. “My name is Korin. May I ask what the venue is?”

“No you may not.” Maxwell snapped and Korin’s cheeks rosied up.

Your head snapped into the direction of Maxwell and you glared at him, in warning to be polite and remember his manners. There was no need for him to be so rude. You turned back to Korin after a beat of awkward silence.

“It’s a Christmas ball,” you told the manager with a deep breath. She took out a notepad and began to scrawl your words down on the paper. “At the White House.”

Maxwell snapped your name so loud you jumped out your skin. You spun your heel around to face him. “Can I have a word with you? In private?” He asked, venom dripping from his tongue.

“I’ll go look for something suitable while giving you two some privacy.” Korin said awkwardly before padding off.

“What the hell is your problem?” you asked the CEO who was running his long fingers through his dark blonde hair. He loosened his tie slightly and placed a hand on his hip. He looked stressed.

“You told her the gala was at the White House.” He deadpanned, looking at you like you had just burned his favourite Armani suit.

“So?” you asked.

“You do not tell people -locals,” he corrected, “private information like that. Do you understand? It was in the contract.”

“I’m pretty sure it wasn’t in the contract,” you sighed. “You’re just being rude for no reason.”

“I always have a reason.” Maxwell snarled before storming outside in a huff.

You stood there, alone, in the centre of the boutique feeling small and inadequate.

❆ December 10th, 1984 ❆

It was the afternoon of the gala. The week between yours and Maxwell's argument at the boutique had been awkward— too awkward for you to feel comfortable staying with him. He was working long hours that week anyway, and you didn't like the feeling of being alone in his enormous penthouse. So, you went back to your small apartment, paying your rent to Tristan. He questioned how you had gotten the money so fast but you decided you didn't exactly owe him an explanation. That week you shut yourself off from everyone. Technically you weren't working because Maxwell hadn't called. You wondered if he had been getting off with another woman. Surely if he wanted to terminate the contract he'd let you know. You thought about him every day, anxiety swarming in your gut, but you had too much pride to call him. You were certain you had done nothing wrong, so why did it matter?

Truthfully, it mattered a great deal to you. You hated that you cared so much. The scene replayed in your head over and over again. You were going to just stand there while he was being rude to others. It didn't matter, you were seeing him tonight anyway. You looked over at the dress which was hanging on your bedroom door, admiring every miniscule detail.

It was crimson red in colour, perfect for a Christmas gala. It exposed just enough skin, the bodice being a plain velveteen material and the long skirt coated in a sparkling glitter mesh with a high rise slit. You paired it with red heels and a diamond necklace. You didn't know if you were going to be overdressed… you had never attended a gala after all, but you knew for a fact you'd look gorgeous.

Maxwell hadn't seen the dress. He had left the boutique before you had even tried it on, and so, something primal inside of you anticipated his reaction. He hadn't seen you in a week. You weren't sure how tonight was going to go. A knock on your door interrupted your thoughts. Answered it, you were greeted by a group of three men with beaming bright smiles plastered over their faces.

"Hello! We're here to help you get dressed for the Black Gold Cooperative annual Christmas gala!" one of the men said, sliding past you and dropping his bag on your couch before any words could leave your mouth.

"I-," you were semi speechless as the men invited themselves in and made themselves comfortable. "Did Max invite you here?" you asked curiously.

"Mr Lord did, yes," the same man nodded his head and began to unpack hair equipment from his bag. "Actually your place is quite small. Shall we travel to Mr Lord's penthouse? Might be better if we get you dressed there."

"No!" you said, a little too much panic rising in your voice. "I mean, it's fine. You know, I can do my own hair and makeup. And I appreciate you all coming… I really do… but it's not necessary. And the gala doesn't start for another three hours…"

"Three hours!" The stylist gasped. "Come on boys! We have to work quick! Chop chop!"

You were pushed into a chair and one of the men began by brushing through your hair, as another man started setting out the makeup. From the looks of it, you would be doting a smokey eye with red lips. Sultry but still festive. "Where is your dress?"

"Um, bedroom door." you replied, pointing down the hallway. "Why?"

"I must take your measurements to ensure the dress is tailored to perfection." The stylist grinned, shooting you an enthusiastic chef's kiss.

"Really not necessary." you replied, wincing as the hair stylist pulled a knot from your hair. "Ow! Listen I know you have to do what Mr Lord says but I'm telling you-"

"No ifs and no buts!" he shushed you. "Besides, it's more so Mrs Lord who we're scared of."

You sighed. You had repressed the memory of his psycho mother. "Max's mother is going to be there?" you grumbled, already feeling a headache bubble up.

"Of course! She loves all the galas and events. Mr Lord… not so much."

The three of them took their time getting you dressed but by the time they were finished, the result was indescribable. You looked like a princess. You had truly never thought you were capable of looking so beautiful.

"Ah, just in time! The limo is waiting outside!" The stylist squealed excitedly as he clipped the diamond berret in your hair. "Hurry up now! Don't want to be late!"

You smiled, thanking the stylists for all their help and left your apartment. Walking down the stairs, you were stopped by an all too familiar voice calling your name. "Tristan?" you asked, hesitantly turning around to be greeted by your ex boyfriend.

"Wh-" he was speechless as he drank in your appearance. "Where are you going?" he asked, swallowing the hard lump that had formed in his throat.

"None of your business." you snapped dryly, turning back around and continuing down the stairs.

"Wait- you. You look…" Tristan was truly at a loss for words. "Who's having the party?" he was quick to change his tone.

"A friend." you muttered, rolling your eyes.

"Do I know her?" Tristan quizzed.

"No, he's new." you sighed, picking up your speed as he chased you through the lobby.

"He's a he?" Tristan scowled.

"Just- stop!" you groaned, spinning around on your heel. "It's none of your business. Just leave me alone Tristan!" you cried out. Tristan didn't say a word and you scoffed in disbelief, racing outside into the snow and into the black limousine waiting for you.

The driver, Jeeves, opened the door for you and you slid inside breathing a sigh of relief. You froze up when you felt a warm hand on your thigh. "Max." you whispered, looking at him. It was the first time you had seen him in a week.

He looked amazing, exactly how he looked on television or in the magazines. His tux had been pressed to perfection and his hair was combed and straightened into place with hairspray. You offered you a small but hesitant smile. "You look exquisite." he said, his voice small.

You were so sure you wanted an apology from him but you didn't know if it was unreasonable to expect such a thing from Maxwell Lord. But in that moment, you didn't care. You hadn't realised how much you had missed him until you were reunited with him in the back seat of his car.

But Maxwell Lord had missed you. Every day his fingers grazed his office phone as he contemplated calling you. He missed your warm embrace. He missed your smile and the softness of your skin. He missed the feeling of release as he pushed himself inside of your soaked cunt as you moaned his name, coming undone beneath him. Maxwell gulped as you placed your hand over his.

"Never been to a gala," you admitted sheepishly.

"Stay by my side, I've got you." Maxwell promised, leaning in and brushing his lips over your neck. He smelled amazing. Like mahogany teakwood with a glance of sweet honey. If you could have it your way, you'd squirm onto his lap and take him right now in the car. You wanted to make a mess of his expensive suit and fuck him so hard his perfect hair falls out of place.

When the limo pulled up in front of the White House, the red carpet was rolled out and ready. "Shit, we're a good twenty minutes late." Maxwell cursed, biting his lip as he looked through the dark tinted windows. Thankfully, it seemed as though no one was in sight and he figured you could both sneak in unnoticed. Wrong!

Taking your hand he pulled you out the limousine. As soon as your foot stepped on the red carpet, an abundance of paparazzi and journalists came out of nowhere. They were screaming for Maxwell, going wild. The flashing white lights from the cameras were blinding you as Maxwell pulled you down the carpet. "Max?" you felt panicked, squeezing his hand in terror.

"Put your head down. Don't look up." Maxwell whispered harshly. You followed his instruction, cowering behind him nervously as he pulled you through the crowds.

"Mr Lord! Maxwell Lord! Hello, Maxwell! Could we have a word? Just one question please! Sir! Maxwell Lord!"

You wondered how he had it in him— how could he possibly put up with shit like this on a daily basis. Maxwell looked up and politely smiled. It wasn't the same smile that you saw. It was his television smile. There was no sparkle in his eye. He waved and nodded his head in the direction of a few journalists. "Head inside. I'm going to speak to a few reporters. Try and get some good press. Don't talk to anybody, understand?" Maxwell said sternly and you nodded quickly. The second Maxwell let go off your hand, you felt unsafe.

"Mr Lord, can I ask, what does Christmas mean to you?" one cheery reporter smiled. "One must wonder, how does the Lord family celebrate Christmas?"

"Oh indeed," Maxwell schmoozed. "For me, Christmas is a time to give back. Which is why I have chosen to donate a sizable sum of money to the orphanage and the children's hospital. The donation will be made in the name of our dearest Black Gold Cooperative customers and clients. Because at Black Gold, we believe that everyone who invests in us, will get a little something in return." Maxwell charmed. "And what about you doll, do you have plans for Christmas? Got a cute boyfriend you'll be going home to?" Maxwell flirted, causing the news reporter to blush wildly.

You scurried down the red carpet as fast as you could in your heels, when an arm grabbed you and pulled you to the metal barriers. "I'm Angela Matthews from ABC News reporting live tonight from the White House in Washington DC. Maxwell Lord has just arrived to his annual Christmas gala, albeit late, and it seems he has brought a woman. We are joined here tonight with the sensational…" the journalist took a deep breath and leaned into you. "What's your name?" she hissed, thrusting her microphone to your lips as the cameraman turned to face you.

"I- oh- I uhm-" hesitantly you gave them your name, folding your arms over your chest and briefly glancing back over to Maxwell who was grinning and laughing while talking to a different reporter.

"Fabulous, and might I just say you look stunning tonight. What designer is that dress?" Angela queried and the cameraman kneeled down to get a strong shot of your red number.

"Uh, from a, uh- local boutique." you smiled politely, itching to run away and hide. You wanted Maxwell.

"Wonderful! Supporting local businesses I see. And so what is your relationship with Mr Lord?" Angela beckoned further. You felt sick; you were on live television and Max had told you one thing— don't talk to anyone. Whatever. You'd never been one for rules. But how were you supposed to answer? You couldn't exactly tell the nation he was your sugar daddy!

"Uhm, friend. He's my friend." you grinned. Yeah, a friend. Surely that was the best possible answer you could give.

"Considering Maxwell Lord's reputation, I'm not sure how much the nation will believe that." Angela spat back and you felt yourself heat up with embarrassment. "So you're his girlfriend? Let's see your hands. An engagement ring, possibly?"

"No!" you cried out, beginning to get frustrated. You were so loud Maxwell noticed and he sighed. "He's just my friend." you confirmed as Maxwell hurried towards you. He slid an arm around your waist.

"Darling," he gritted out, pushing you away from the reporters. "I told you to go inside."

"That lady from ABC news yanked my arm!" you accused, frowning and rubbing the skin where she had dug her nails into you.

"Inside. Now." Maxwell demanded before turning back to Angela with the fakest smile you had ever seen.

"Mr Lord! Oh wow- Mr Lord it's really you." Angela gushed as Maxwell walked on over to her, a smirk playing on his lips. "I- my whole journalistic career I have been waiting to see you in the flesh. Can I- can I touch you?"

"Um, no." Maxwell scowled and the colour drained out of Angela's skin. Realising his rejection was broadcast on live television, he knew he had to make a smooth recovery. "But doll, look at you in that pink jacket. Simply ravishing. Tell me, is there a man in your life?" Maxwell charmed. Something he loved to do was change the topic at hand from him to whoever else. He was an excellent conversationalist although he wouldn't stand for nosey tabloids pressuring him about his personal life. Shutting them out and using his charisma in other ways was something he had gotten rather good at over the years.

You were standing in the lobby of the White House, impatiently tapping your feet as you waited for Maxwell to finish schmoozing with the press. You were in awe as you looked around. You had never imagined you'd be standing in the White House. Just being in the presence of all these important people made you feel powerful. You looked up, twirling around on your feet as you took in the decor.

You jumped slightly when you felt a finger tap on your shoulder. A man, average height, average build. His hair was dark and his eyes were an interesting combination of green-brown. He dazzled you in the suit he was wearing. It wasn't quite as designer label or extravagant as Maxwell's but the simplicity of the black on black tie was something else. He passed you a glass of champagne.

"You look lost," he smiles, looking you up and down and licking his lip. "I'm Bruce Wayne. And you are?"

Taglist: let me know if you want to be added!

December Magic: @100layersofdaddyissues @mrschiltoncat @honeymandos @thisisthe-wayson @this-cat-is-dea @blonde2bomshell @maiyaaaa0130

Permanent: @supernaturalgirl @phoenixhalliwell @ah-callie @luvzoria @stardust-galaxies @wickedfrsgrl @goth-topic @nerdypinupcrystal @wonderfulfluffer @kiwi-the-first @pedroepascal

#maxwell lord #max lord #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #maxwell lord x reader #pedro pascal smut #ww84

171 notes · View notes

extremelyblackandwhite · 4 years

Text

handmaid - 25

PAIRING: mob!sebastian stan x ingenue!reader

WARNINGS: age gap, sexual content (18+)

A/N: CHILDREN, SHIELD YOUR EYES FOR THIS ONE. For those over 18, i hope you enjoy this chapter xx

NEXT CHAPTER

It was late in the evening. Within the static sound of silence as the soft cricketing coming from outside his window, a roar of laughter broke into the atmosphere of his bedroom. Forcefully closing his eyes and pulling his duvet over his head, Sebastian wished the sounds would subside yet every time the silence over ruled his mind, another round of laughing would break through.

After what felt like an hour of trying to fall back into a deep and sound slumber, Sebastian quit his trying, instead climbing off his bed and walking off his bedroom. It was no oddity to have the house filled with people, in all honesty it was odder for the house to be empty, however, this particular day, everyone seemed to be having a good time between the smell of cigars and the sounds of bottles being opened. He observed the party from the end of the stairs, being mostly ignored by his father’s associates except for one particular woman.

He noticed her eyes drift from the party all to way to him, a warm smile forming on her face. Swiftly, she got away from the table, walking over to where he was standing and crouching over to his height. She dressed no different than the other women in the room, wearing tight yet beautifully tailored clothes with her hair swiftly brushed to the side of her neck allowing for the view of her décolletage where a gold necklace laid comfortably. Unlike the other women, she had a rather inviting smile and the type of eyes that always seemed to smile even when her lips weren’t.

- Hi, I’m Robin. What’s your name? - she spoke in a very soft velvety voice which convolved the atmosphere in warm cozy feelings.

- Sebastian.

- And who is this? - she pointed at the stuffed bunny he was holding by one of its ears.

- Oreo. - he coyly said, a bit embarrassed in the presence of the elegant woman.

- That’s a beautiful name. You have great taste. Is the noise bothering you, Sebastian? - he nodded, face hidden behind the fur of his stuffed bunny. - I’m sure we can do something about that.

Sebastian never really ended up going through his father’s office’s belongings, mostly getting his staff to pack it all in cardboard boxes which had ended up on the highest shelves that lined the walls of his office. Y/N had gotten to it rather fast and now they were surrounded by several boxes filled with contracts and piles of papers. Most contracts Sebastian had never heard of and was rather interested in reading while Y/N was looking through his contact book.

He couldn’t help but stare at her and how breathtakingly stunning she looked just while analysing a little black book, with little baby hairs falling in front of her face while she bite onto her lip mindlessly and a hand standing on top of the bird shaped charm on her necklace.

- No Robins. - Y/N sighed, the tinge of sadness overwhelming the breathing sound.

- I could swear my father knew someone with that name. - his hand came to rest on her thigh, rubbing invisible circles on the fabric of her trousers. - Maybe you ought to question Daniel or his father about it.

- I would rather avoid the “you’re not in the mob” discussion. - her cheeks raised up to the bottom of her eyes, a tight lipped smile slowly forming. - I shouldn’t be digging into this. They’re dead, it’s not like they’re gonna suddenly return if I find who they were.

- Listen ... - he scotched towards her, back slightly bent so his eyes were at the same height as hers. Yet, the handmaid seemed more interested in looking at the lines in her palm rather than the mob boss. Something in the back of her head screamed at her to let past be past and stop annoying and wasting Sebastian’s time and as such, she couldn’t hold eye contact. - Whoever they are, they can’t stay a secret forever. Nothing stays a secret in this business for long.

- What if they’re not dead and they just didn’t want me? - there had always been that option in her mind, mostly due to a comment one of her classmates had made years ago. It was the only plausible explanation as to why both Daniel and Mr. Forrest dismissed her questions about her parents. After all, it wasn’t like a baby is always welcomed and as mere workers maybe they didn’t have the money to raise her. Yet, the woman in the picture seemed to be dressed in rather expensive garments. Maybe the simple answer was that they didn’t want her.

- Who cares. Who the hell are they not to want you?

- Nobody seems to.

- I want you. - his finger caressed her jaw, pushing a few strand of hair away from her face. Her gaze lifted from her palms to his face and his clear blue eyes before she found herself leaning towards him, her hand placed on the back of his neck as she kissed him. Y/N pushed him softly towards the carpeted grounds of his office and climbed on top of him, removing her Christmas jumper before throwing it to floor, leaving her in a rather scandalous red lacy bra she had gotten from Gwen as it had not fit her.

She could see in his eyes, dark and blue, her own reflection and that of her nakedness, as well as his thoughts battling each other as he attempted to choose what to do - push her off and help her find more of the stuff she was looking or enjoy the time he still had and make a choice later. It didn't matter. Before he could say or do anything to prevent her, Sebastian was already enchanted by the way she rolled her hips on top of him.

He groaned at the look of her on top of him and his hands, instinctively, moved up to hold her thighs as to push her further against him. This allowed her to feel his thick member harden further under her, making Y/N moan and groan against his ear as she grinded against it as teasingly and slowly as she possibly could. Driven insane by the pleasure she was giving him, Sebastian grabbed her body, wrapping his large arms around the handmaid’s whole figure, turning and pinning her under his body, worshiping her body in any and every way he knew how.

Gradually, his kisses became wilder and wilder escalating from small pecks and nibbles on her neck to sloppy wet kisses and bites, painting her skin with hickeys that would show up later, and making her gasp and moan at the sensation of his warm lips on her cold body. He traveled further and further down, his tongue gliding skilfully across the valley of her breasts yet it was when he wrapped his hot tongue around her perky buds that Y/N completely lost herself with pleasure. At that moment, she was grateful there was no one at the penthouse as she was sure every room had a good understanding of what was happening in his office. She moaned as she pushed her hips forward, wanting to create some sort of friction to give some rest to the growing heat in between her legs. He smirked at this, sliding his fingers down to the middle of her legs and rubbing them over her entrance through her leggings, which had also grown wet.

- Isn’t someone excited ... - he smirked, hands making quick work of her leggings as he pulled them quickly, along with her matching red panties.

She bit her lip with need as Sebastian got rid of his own clothing, taking off his sweatpants and leaving him completely naked which made her mind go various other dirty places as she realised he had been going commando this whole time. Lining up his length, Sebastian pushed inside of her slowly to tease her further. Y/N groaned, tightening her hold on his waist, begging to be taken by him and for once he heard her pleas but gave her no time to adjust to his size as he snapped his hips right into hers before beginning to thrust.

- S...Sebastian, don't stop. - Y/N pleaded in murmurs, sinking her nail polish free nails into his back which would for sure would leave some red marks as he thrusted faster and harder into her heated core. He had settled for an easy albeit painful slow pace as not to hurt her but once her legs started to wrap around his waist a little bit too tightly he quickly understood what she wanted and moved his hips against hers as fast as a bullet coursing through pure air.

- You're still so fucking tight, angel. - he cursed, nuzzling against the crook of her neck and nibbling on the skin he found there which only excited her even more. In all honesty, she would have never pictured herself as one to do it outside the bedroom but here she was.

The feeling of his lips circling around already bruised hickeys on her neck made her moan loud and clear in his ear, hands moving from his back lightly covered with sweat to his hair which was glued to his skin, running her fingers through it as he kissed and peppered her with kisses, each more sloppier and wetter than the previous ones. The handmaid groaned deeply at the fast pace that grew, both in velocity and intensity. As her whines became harder to control, she found herself near the edge and with just a few more thrusts and she was sure to cum but once Sebastian took notice of this, he slowed down drastically.

- No ... Sebastian ... - she whined before she was cut off by his teeth nipping at her bottom lip, making her back arch towards his chest and her breasts press up against his chest as tightly as ever, specially since the two of them were in a mess of an embrace with one arm wrapped tightly around her back while the other served as support. She was a newly defiled virgin but she could bet he was probably better at this than the others. - Don’t.

- I adore you, little angel but you don’t get to give me orders. - he told her, teasing her as he pushed himself deeper and deeper. This made Y/N groan in reply, throwing her head back into the piles and piles of contracts. - Come on, my angel. Beg for it.

- What? - she questioned, a pout forming on her lips as she looked at his almost devil-like eyes. Sebastian found it adorable how confused she looked at now getting her way.

- Beg for it. - he stilled his movement completely making her whine. - Go on, little angel. I know you can do it.

- I need y...you so, so much. R..Right now, please. - she pleaded.

- I don't think so, angel. I'm having fun hearing you moan my name. - Sebastian chuckled darkly, running his finger along her jaw.

- P...Please, Sir. - as soon as the title escaped her mouth, she noticed how his eyes shifted and turned dark with lust. Y/N puckered her lips before raising her feet slightly, pushing him towards her.

With a swift motion, his arm slipped from under her body to her knees, raising them both so he could go deeper than before, making her whole vision turn dark with spots that slowly appeared as he continued faster and harder as he mumbled “you little vixen” under his breathe. His blue eyes, now as dark as stormy sea waters, hovered above her and watched her attentively with a smirk, biting and nibbling on her lips, barely muffling her moans.

- Sebastian! - she screamed loudly, a writhing mess under him as she finally climaxed, shivering and shuddering against his broad-shoulder figure while he continued to snap his hips back against her own, in a sloppier and messier manner, until he himself came with a loud groan erupting from his chest in the shape of he name. Exhausted, he collapsed right on top of her, turning so that she was laying on top of his chest. - Are you gonna send me off again?

- No, I think I’ll keep you here this time. - he smiled at her, pecking her lips in a soft, velvety manner. - I promise you we’ll find your parents.

- You know you don’t have to do that, right? I know how you have work to do and a reputation to maintain.

- I like a challenge, angel.

She rested against his chest, letting all her worries flow away. In this state, there was no Gwen, no mob, no money or status, it was just the both of them, intertwined. Nothing else mattered. However, 30 minutes away from them something did matter. A man all dressed in black, wearing a matching pair of sunglasses met up with another man just a bit outside of the Forrest residence. In his hand, a beige envelope.

- I hope you know I’m putting my neck on the line to get you this. - the one in the dark suit secretly and subtly handed the envelope to the other one standing in front of him. - I don’t know what you’re expecting to find in there, Williams.

- Trust me, if I’m right, your reward is gonna be bountiful.

tag list: @lilya-petrichor @xoxohannahlee @irespostthingsiwanttoseelater @nikkipea @madisonpillstrom @cevans98 @thelostallycat @sideeffectsofyou @anxiousdreamersworld @captainchrisstan @lookiamtrying @sarge-barnes-sir @stuffforreferences @thebadassbitchqueen @sebastianstansqueen @nsfwsebbie @strangerliaa

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan/reader #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan/you #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan/y/n #sebastian stan x y/n #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan drabble #sebastian stan fanfic #sebastian stan smut #mob!sebastian stan #mob boss!sebastian stan #mobster!sebastian stan #mafia!sebastian stan #mafia boss!sebastian stan #sebastian stan AU

425 notes · View notes

youreacowgirllikeme · 3 years

Text

Case Closed

note: Chris talked law on Prime Time again last night, so I felt inspired to write a second part of my Lawyer!Chris fic (you can read the first part HERE) sorry for eventual typos

enjoy :)

words: 2900

warnings: swearing, smut (dirty talk, oral, fingering, unprotected sex (wrap it irl, please))

“Your honor, the jury finds the defendant guilty of all charges.”

Oh. OH.

This was absolutely glorious. You couldn’t dance in court, of course, but on the inside, you were definitely having a victory parade.

A triumphant grin split your face as your gaze wandered across the courtroom over to the defense desk.

Chris Cuomo, the defense lawyer, looked absolutely crestfallen. His mouth was hanging slightly open, and he couldn’t even utter a word. Serves him right, smug bastard, you thought.

You had made an excellent case, a new witness and some very compromising documents were able to convince the jury of the defendants guilt despite all of Cuomo’s efforts to keep his incredibly whealty client out of jail.

The judge announced the sentence, and now Chris just slammed his fist on the table. This was getting better and better, but you told yourself to keep your smugness at bay, no need to stoop as low as your opponent and gloat.But there was something else you definitely needed to do, something you couldn’t let Christopher Charles Cuomo get away with.

After the defendant was taken away and you had packed up all your papers, you slowly made your way over to his desk.

“So, I was wondering if you are going to keep that horrendous tie on for dinner tonight? Because I plan on wearing a dress and I would hate for us to clash color-wise, you know.” You said, barely able to remain serious.

The look he gave you was so murderous, it sent a shiver down your spine. You weren’t sure if it was out of fear or arousal. You were still a bit sore from your encounter in the parking lot yesterday, and you really hoped on repeating it. Riling him up was just foreplay to you.

“If you’re really suggesting that I will take you out for dinner after that dirty game you played today, you are even crazier than in originally thought.” he hissed. The vein on his temple was back, pulsating as if it was threatening you.

“Dirty game?” you almost shouted, then pulled yourself together so you wouldn’t draw the attention of the people still lingering in the courtroom.

“Your client was guilty as hell, even you with your twisted sense of morality should see that. And you lecturing me about playing games, pot calling the kettle black.” You whispered furiously, unable to keep your unfazed façade on any longer.

“About dinner, you invited me yesterday, so you’re either not a man of your word or a coward. Maybe even both.”

You hit home with that, you could see that on the way Cuomo’s fists clenched around the papers he was holding, scrunching them up. Men were so predictable, you thought, call them a coward and they will do every stupid thing in the book to prove you wrong.

But you wanted dinner and, most of all, dessert, so playing into his insecurities was fair game this once.

“There’s a new Italian place on 5th avenue, across from the Public Library. I know the owner, I’ll get us a table. Be there at eight.” He muttered and was gone in a hurry.

Of course he knew the owner.

“I look forward to it.” you called after him, fake cheeriness in your voice.

+++

As agreed, you stood in front of the restaurant at eight. You wore your favorite dress, it was bright red and showed just the right amount of both legs and cleavage. You thought that you looked stunning, and you knew Cuomo would appreciate the look as well.

The roar of an engine pulled you out of your thoughts, and you spun around to where a familiar black SUV was pulling up. You rolled your eyes, if you didn’t know it better you’d think Cuomo was compensating with that car.

It stopped and he emerged on the driver’s side. And Lord help you, he looked fantastic. He wore a tight-fitting black suit and a white dress shirt with the top two buttons undone, showing a peak of tanned skin beneath. You wanted to climb him like a tree in the middle of 5th avenue. The confident, almost arrogant way in which he carried himself was infuriating and incredibly hot at the same time. Why was he so attractive while being such an asshole?

Your thoughts about his appearance were clearly written all over your face, because when he addressed you, he sounded even more smug than usual.

“Hi, Y/L/N, enjoying the view? I have to admit, you really clean up nice, I’m impressed.”

“Shut it, Cuomo.” You said, unable to suppress a smile. “You don’t look too horrible yourself.”

“Come on, I look great and we both know it.” he chuckled. And of course, he was right, but his ego was already big enough, no need to feed it any more.

“You look alright, I guess, but don’t to get ahead of yourself.” You said, “And now you better take me inside so I can have the amount of wine I need to make your company tolerable.”

+++

The food was absolutely delicious, and the wine the waiter recommended was so good that the two of you drank a whole bottle. It was Friday anyway, so no need to hold back.

What was really shocking too you was how good the conversation was. After a bit of initial bickering and arguing about which country produced the best red wine, you slowly started getting more comfortable with each other. The atmosphere was eased by the wine and you discovered that Chris wasn’t a completely horrible person.

Yes, he was a smart arse and cocky, and so fucking full of himself, but he was also incredibly clever, had surprisingly progressive views and on top of all he loved dogs!

When he told you that his favorite food were his mother’s spaghetti marinara, you could not suppress a little “aaw”. He looked at you funnily, but you just gave him a smile.

Your were slightly confused. This evening was supposed to be about you eating some fancy food for free and getting on Cuomo’s nerves (and maybe getting laid later).

But now, you were actually enjoying his company, and he didn’t seem hostile towards you, either. He hadn’t even brought up the trial, or how you allegedly played him dirty. Instead, he was actually listening to what you had to say and engaged into meaningful conversation.

You really were surprised, and when he was signing the bill later, you took your time to appreciate his appearance again while taking your newfound knowledge about him into consideration. Maybe he wasn’t the devil in person. Maybe, there was an actual decent human being under that expensive suit.

The two of you decided to go for a little after-dinner walk in the nearby Bryant Park, your favorite in NYC, and, as is turned out, Chris’ as well. Conversation shifted to growing up in New York and how your experiences differed from each other. But, as you found out, Chris actually grew up in a Queens neighborhood not too far from your own home, a fact that surprised you immensely.

“I could’ve sworn you were born on the Upper East Side.” You admitted “You certainly look and act the part.”

“I’m not gonna lie, prep school and Ivy and Law school certainly played a role in this. And of course, the firm I’m working for is high end. You’re expected to conduct yourself in a certain way. It’s a shark tank, you eat, or you get eaten. But I don’t have to tell you that.” His voice was quiet, almost wistful. He sounded like a totally different person.

“If that’s Queens Chris I met tonight, then I like him a lot better than this Cuomo guy from court.” You said, stopping and looking up to meet his blue eyes.

“You’re not the only one, I like him better as well.” He replied, meeting your gaze and reaching out to take your hand. His fingers were warm and rough as they intertwined with yours, holding his hand felt shockingly natural.

There were definitely sparks flying now, you could not deny it. You were drawn to this guy, and not only because of his good looks, but really attracted to the person behind the persona, you desperately wanted to know more about him.

“Tell me.” You whispered. “How did this happen? We were about to kill each other this afternoon and now were standing here, holding hands?”

“You tell me.” He murmured, and then he leaned down to kiss you. It was nothing like you expected, he was tender, gently cupping your jaw with his large hand, his thumb stroking over your cheek. His lips were soft and pliant against yours, a contrast to how hard and broad his body felt when you leaned against him to deepen the kiss.

The hand that was previously holding yours slipped around your waist and pulled you closer. You fisted your hands into the lapel of his suit jacket and what began as an innocent kiss grew increasingly steamy.

You groaned as he nipped at your bottom lip and slid his tongue inside your mouth and reached up to grab the short hair at the nape of his neck. He hissed into your mouth, his grip on your hips tightening.

You felt heat starting to pool between your legs and telling from the bulge that was beginning to press against your abdomen, Chris was sharing your sentiments.

“How fast is that ridiculous car of yours?” you panted, a bit breathless from the kiss.

“Very fast.” He replied, a grin on his slightly flustered face.

“How about we take this to your place before we get in trouble for public indecency?”

“You weren’t that concerned about it yesterday.” He chuckled “But I don’t care for the headlines either, so let’s go.”

+++

The door to Chris penthouse (you were right, of course he had a penthouse) slammed shut, and a second later, you were pressed against it by two strong arms. Chris effortlessly pinned your body against the wood with one hand while the other one fumbled with the side zipper of your dress.

The garment dropped to the floor, leaving you with only a matching black set of underwear on. Chris eyes wandered over your body and he swore under his breath before attacking your bare neck with his mouth, kissing and sucking on the skin, probably leaving another bruise.

“You’re really marking me like a fucking caveman, Cuomo.” You gasped, the effect of his lips on your skin evident, you were already slick with need.

“Come on, Y/N, you know you enjoy it.” he whispered, and you only groaned as an answer as he softly bit the junction of your neck and shoulder. You could hear his dark chuckle before his hand started to unclasp your bra, exposing your tits to the cool air of the hallway.

He sucked one of your nipples into his mouth, and you couldn’t suppress a whimper at the feeling of his hot mouth against your sensitive skin. Slowly, his large hand wandered between your legs, rubbing your pussy through your panties before pulling this last item of clothing down as well, only your black high heels remaining.

Releasing your hands, Chris slowly dropped down to his knees and grabbed one of your ankles to prob your leg over his shoulder. You let out a sharp hiss as his mouth wandered to your inner tight, leaving a trail of soft kisses before he reached your center. His fingers slowly dipped into your wet folds, spreading your arousal before he started to lightly circle your clit with his tongue. You cried out and threw your head back against the door, one of your hands fisted into his curly hair, pushing him closer between your legs.

“So bossy.” He murmured. “And so fucking wet for me.” Suddenly, he pushed two of his thick fingers into you while harshly sucking on your bud. White, hot pleasure surged through your body as you came on the spot, your knees almost giving up as you bucked against Chris’ face, coating it with your arousal.

“Fuck.” You whispered, slowly coming down from your high. Chris got up, looking very pleased with himself. You grabbed him by his dress shirt, pulling him in for a deep kiss and grinding your naked core against his very prominent erection.

“Bedroom. Now.” He groaned against your lips and kissed you again. Your hands were busy unbuttoning his shirt, tearing it from his body. It joined the rest of the clothes on the floor. You took a moment to admire his now exposed, well-muscled torso. He looked like fucking Greek god, and you wanted to run your hands and tongue over every inch of his tanned, smooth skin. You needed him, now.

“Fuck me right here, I don’t care.” You whispered, palming his erection before starting to work on his zipper.

“Filthy girl. You want me to rail you against the door.” Chris murmured, before pulling his pants down along with his underwear. His cock sprung free, hard and heavy, making your mouth water. With a swift motion, he grabbed your tights, effortlessly lifting you up against the door. The blunt display of strength just made you even wetter, your hands were grabbing his shoulders, nails digging into his skin.

“Stop talking and fuck me already, Cuomo.” You groaned, and a second later, he pushed his cock into you, the sudden stretch making you cry out in pleasure. He wasted no time, immediately starting a hard, fast pace.

“Fuck, Y/N.” Chris hissed through clenched teeth. “You are so fucking tight. Taking my cock so perfectly.”

“Shit, Chris, please keep moving, just like that.” You whimpered as he fucked you relentlessly, a stained expression on his face. He never slowed down his thrusts while he was holding you, it was like watching somebody run a marathon. Seeing him handle you like that was mesmerizing, bulging muscles glistening with sweat, his piercing blue eyes fixed on you. You were starting to feel slightly dizzy as your head hit the wooden door with each thrust, but you didn’t care.

Chris leaned forward to capture your lips in a bruising kiss, biting into your lower lip and pushing his tongue into your mouth. You let out a guttural cry as he eased his grip on your ass a bit, making you sink down onto his cock even more. The different angle created a totally new sensation, causing both of you to groan as Chris was thrusting into you even deeper now. A powerful, burning feeling was beginning to form in your lower stomach, quickly spreading through your whole body with every hard snap of his hips. Chris name was falling from your lips like a chant now, begging him to keep fucking you, to go harder, deeper.

“Who would’ve thought that you’d beg me to fuck you against my front door.” Chris said in a husky, breathless voice, never slowing down his thrusts. “Little Miss Perfect is not so perfect after all, huh?”

You couldn’t answer, your mind was fuzzy, and the only thing existing was the feeling of Chris, his large hands grabbing your ass, his hot breath on your skin, his cock filling you over and over again.

You were already hanging on the edge of your orgasm, but when he leaned down to sink his teeth into the tender flesh of your shoulder, the raw pain and the sheer possessiveness of the gesture were the push you needed to spiral down into your climax.

You came with a shout, your whole body convulsing, squirming against Chris. He moaned as he felt your pussy clenching around his cock, squeezing him until he came as well, calling out your name, his cock buried so deep inside you that you were sure you’d be limping tomorrow.

Neither of you moved for a minute, your sweaty foreheads pressed against each other as you tried to catch your breath. After a moment, Chris carefully pulled out and lowered you onto the floor before collapsing next to you with a huff. His hair was sticking to his forehead and his breath was tickling your face when he leaned in to kiss you. You were surprised by that motion, you had expected a cocky comment or a crude joke, but not this.

When he broke the kiss, you could see his trademark smirk spreading over his face as he inspected the hickey he left on your neck, tracing it with his fingers.

“I might really be into leaving marks on you.” He said, “A little reminder of the good time I gave you.”

“You really are just a caveman, aren’t you? Also, it seemed as if you enjoyed yourself as well.” you replied, your hand involuntarily reaching out to play with a lock of hair that clung to his face.

“I did, immensely so. In fact,” he said, voice going serious for a moment. “I’d like to repeat it, sometimes. Maybe even with another dinner, if you would like that.” His face was passive, but there was a softness in his eyes that you haven’t seen before.

“Are you really asking me on a date, Cuomo?” you exclaimed, the fake astonishment masking the giddy excitement you felt about the question. You wanted to go out with this idiot so bad, you could hardly believe it yourself.

“Looks like it, huh.” He murmured, and if you didn’t know it better you would’ve thought he was embarrassed.

“Hey, I’d love to go out with you, Chris.” Your voice was as sincere as you felt.

Chris gave you a brilliant smile, then winked at you.

“You know, I wouldn’t have taken no for an answer anyway.”

#chris cuomo #chris cuomo fanfiction #Chris Cuomo fic #chris cuomo x reader #imagine #cnn #cnn anchors #fanfiction #lawyer au

34 notes · View notes