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reiderwriter · 21 days

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Four In Some Velvet Morning

Chapter Two of I Can't Help Myself

Summary: Civility in the office is equal to pettiness in all things, but when you help Spencer out in a sticky situation, it's all your mind can think about well into the early hours in the morning.

Warnings: Uncomfortable situation with a student (non-reciprocated), suggestive touching, fingering, unprotected sex, rough sex, soft dom! Spencer.

A/N: The second part is finally here!! I hope you enjoy the various office shenanigans of Spencer and our reader. Based on the results of our last chapter, I've made a taglist, which you can access through the link below! Have fun reading, and be sure to let me know what you think in the comments~♡

Masterlist || Add yourself to the taglist~♡

You loved Mondays, or you did love Mondays when they meant only a single teaching hour and a free office to catch up on however much work you'd put off the week before.

But, like everything in your life now, Mondays were ruined by Doctor Spencer Reid.

When you and your coffee arrived at 8:45 on Monday morning, he was right there. You heaved out a sigh of frustration, and he didn't respond, so you sank into an hours worth of annoyed sighs and silence.

“Hmmph,” you huffed, standing from your desk and making your bookshelves. Still ordered alphabetically, and topically, you tried your best to look for the reference guide you'd been annotating all semester. But with no helpful guide to which topics it was that he'd used, you found yourself turning around to address your silent, unwanted companion.

“Spencer, my reference book, where is it?”

You stared blankly at him for a few minutes as you watched him trace a finger down the page he was reading. Delicately, he turned the page and resumed reading the next one, stroking the page like it was a lover in a tender moment, his fingers trailing down to offer his intimacy.

“Spencer?” You said again, and he again ignored you.

“Spencer, there's no way you're reading that fast, cut the crap and answer my question.”

“I can read 20,000 words per minute. Thus, I am busy. And weren't you ignoring me?” You took a deep breath and counted to ten in your head before replying.

“I thought we were being civil, Spencer.”

“I am being civil. I'm very civil. Are you being civil, Ms. Y/N?”

“Doctor,” you spat out. “I may have only one to your three, but I did work hard for it.”

He stopped reading and looked up at you, noting the angry look on your face. Standing up quickly, he checked his watch, grabbed his bag and jacket, making sure to carefully slide the book he was molesting into his bag, and walked straight for the door.

“Spencer!” You said indignantly, and he turned back to you with a sarcastic smile, pulling the book you were searching for off the bookcase and throwing it in your direction, before stalking out of the room.

“Jackass!” You shouted behind him as he sent a wave over his shoulder.

Civility. Well, if that was his idea of civility, you could be just as civil. And you'd start by taking all of the books off of the bookshelves once again.

When three hours had elapsed and Spencer had concluded the day's work, he was disappointed to find the office empty. He didn't dwell on the feeling for long, though, as he flipped the light switch to utter chaos.

You'd pretty much gutted the entire shelf, leaving pretty piles stacked all across his desk, chair, and the floor surrounding it, making it near impossible to make his way to his desk without moving something.

The shelves weren't totally empty, though. You'd left roughly thirty books on the centre shelf, held in place by paper weights he recognised as his own acting as bookends.

A post-it was stuck to the first book.

“Ignore this,” you'd written, a lipstick kiss pressed into the paper as your only form of signature. For plausible deniability, of course. You'd never sign your name to a crime.

He sighed and lifted a hand to start taking some books down when he spotted it.

“D…o…n….t…,” he would've gotten further but for the grin spreading across his face as he read the first letter on each book spine. You'd spelt out five words, and he felt a vague sense of satisfaction knowing you'd spent so much time just trying to mess with him.

“DONT TOUCH MY SHIT, JACKASS,” you'd written. But he was absolutely going to touch your shit.

Much to his chagrin, you didn't return to the office that day, too busy with other duties to need to go back. You also wanted to give him a wide berth, hoping that he'd have time to simmer instead of immediately retaliate for all the shit you'd pulled that morning.

Which was why Spencer found himself at work at 6 a.m., getting an early start so he could see your reaction to his, honestly quite tame reply.

You'd acted like a toddler throwing toys out of your pram for no reason. And while he wasn't exactly acting mature himself, he could at least liken himself to a young child throwing the toys back in frustration.

Everything about sharing this office with you was going to be frustrating.

He opened his book again - War and Peace - and began reading through it as he waited for the sun to rise and you to arrive with it.

It was well worth it to catch the look on your face.

“Jackass,” you muttered under your breath as you walked in, coffees and pastries in hand.

He'd put the majority of the books back on the shelf in his order and system. But he'd also left out a large pile of books, blocking the narrow passage between your desk and the wall. It was taller than you and hardly stable, and since you did not want to get concussed on a Tuesday morning, there was no other route to your desk but squeezing behind his.

You huffed out a sigh, dropping what you'd hoped would be truce coffee and breakfast on his desk before standing to push past him. He blocked your way with his arm as he finished up reading a chapter.

“Password?” He asked, not looking up from his desk.

“Very funny, let me pass.”

“Incorrect,” he smiled, nodding towards the shelf where you'd left yesterday's message.

“Seriously?” You asked. His answering look supplied the answer you needed - try me.

“Don't touch my shit, jackass,” you said in a sarcastic tone, trying once again to push past. His damn arm was still too solid, and he pushed you back once again.

“I'm sorry, Y/N, but that was yesterday's password. You'll have to try again.”

Squinting down at him in confusion, you did your best not to dump his coffee over the top of his head as he nodded to the shelf again.

Your writing was still there, but one shelf down there was a new message.

“BUT… ILO…I LOVE… TOU-” You froze, your entire body going hot as you walked back over to him. He was taking a sip of his coffee, as you desperately avoided eye contact. You knew you were attractive, but you honestly didn't think that Spencer would be interested in you like that. And flirting like this, so out of the blue?

Something had to be wrong with him.

“Password?” He asked, taking another sip.

“B-But I love touching you,” you stammered out, cheeks aflame.

He somehow coughed and snorted at the same time, shooting out of his chair with wide eyes.

“More-” he coughed. “That's not… There's more.”

Your eyes went wide as saucers as you ran back over to the shelves, reading to what was actually the end of the message.

“But I love touching your shit,” you mumbled, and he didn't bother even raising a hand this time. He let you pass, and you sat in tense silence for the rest of the morning.

You got over the awkwardness soon, though, and began using the shelves to torture each other between classes.

You'd once replaced all three textbooks for his class with Russian language versions, back firing spectacularly as he smiled and began reading from them anyway.

He'd started putting important texts on the very top shelf and hiding the only step on the floor in some classroom or the other. Though he too had quit that when other members of staff grew frustrated at the steps disappearance.

You both kept up with the book messages.

“YOU'RE… TOO…LOUD”

“I DIDNT… DO…ANYTHING”

“YOU BREATHED”

“BOO HOO”

“COFFEE…PLEASE”

“IM NOT…YOUR…ASSISTANT”

“WITH THREE… SUGARS”

“I HOPE…. DIABETES… GETS YOU”

“SO…MATURE”

If you were being honest with yourself, you'd probably have realized that you were having a lot of fun hating Spencer Reid. Which made him a little bit harder to hate.

You wished he'd have been more mature about the whole thing, really, so you could despise him without laughing at his audacity every five minutes.

Thursday was the worst day for both of you. Thankfully, he'd taken your advice and scheduled his office hours around your classes.

What he hadn't taken into account was that on Thursdays, you had several classes on different disciplines and for different degree levels, meaning a truck load of resources you had to either cart around with you all day (impossible) or you'd have to drop into your office regularly to pick up your things.

You'd ended up in the same queue as the myriad of undergrads that were taking his course or just auditing and wanted to pick his brain on his off hours, and it was hell each time.

“God, isn't he just so fine. An 18-year age gap isn't noticeable, right?” One girl whispered to her friend as you turned the corner, books in hand, ready to use them as defence weapons should the need arise. The need to laugh and yell it was too much had you biting your tongue quickly. The man was 10 years older than even you, and even you had to pause at the age difference. These girls were practically children.

“And his hair? I just want to tangle my hair in it and pull him down to my-”

“Girls! Please remember this is a hallway, and your professors are still trying to get some work done.”

To their credit, the two first years did turn crimson in shame, sending each other panicked and dirty looks as they communicated their shared horror.

You stepped up to the small hall window at your office and peeked through the blinds.

Another student was inside with Spencer, and the panicked look on his face meant that his conversation was probably going similarly.

The students in the hall whispered and glanced at you every few seconds, and if you weren't in the biggest rush of your professional career, you'd take the time to ask them if you had something on your face.

Instead, you just tried to knock on the glass and hope Spencer would notice your plea for access.

When Spencer noticed you at the window, his eyes locked with yours, his mouth forming a simple plea as the undergrad inched closer to him.

“Help,” he mouthed.

You shrugged in reply, wondering what would possibly be so bad that he'd need your help of all things.

It was then that you noticed the undergrad had reached out a hand to play with the buttons of his jacket, stroking her hand along his chest as he cringed backwards.

You watched him take her hands off him, but she was tenacious, or just a downright creep, and she grabbed his thigh this time, pressing her chest forward. You couldn't see it yourself, but you knew from his reaction and instantly turned head that she was dangerously close to flashing him.

Or she was just doing it.

His eyes pleaded for help again, and you barged into the room with a large cough.

“Doctor Reid, if I could have a moment of your time? It's urgent.”

You dumped the books on your desk, and he jumped up to greet you, stepping out of the young students' grasp and almost shielding himself behind where you stood.

“Of course, yes, Y/N. It is urgent, so I'm sure the students will... be understanding."

He turned back to the student and gestured helpfully to show her the door, but her angry gaze was stuck on yours.

“Old ass skank,” you heard her whisper under her breath. From the hand on your arm and the furrowing of his brow you knew Spencer had as well.

“I'm sorry, what was that, Miss….?”

“Hmm? I'm sure I didn't say anything, Doctor Y/L/N.”

“You-” Spencer began but you silenced him with a hand on his chest.

Her gaze flicked to it, and she grew redder in the face, as if she were truly angry at this development. Interesting.

“Spencer,” you span around, totally ignoring the student now, wrapping your arms up and around his neck. He blinked in confusion once and then twice and hesitated, but let his hands land on your waist.

“It really is so urgent that we speak. Alone. I wouldn't want your precious students hearing anything I have to say to you.” You leaned in closer for the last words, letting your voice flow like honey, neatly seductive as you did your best to remind the student of her place.

Which was as far from a professor's bed as possible.

“She's just leaving, Y/N,” he whispered, equally as breathy as you, if not more. He didn't bother a glance over your shoulder to check, though, keeping his eyes on you as if you were a tiger preparing to pounce on him at any second.

The student grabbed her things and huffed out the door. As soon as the thing was shut, you pulled the blinds totally shut and detangled yourself from Spencer completely, giving yourself a wide berth after bringing yourself so close.

You hadn't realized how long and pretty his eyelashes were until you forced yourself to look at him, how nice his eyes were. The image of them burned into your brain - jealousy, probably. Men always had the best natural eyelashes. It was incredibly unfair.

“What the fuck was that?” You whispered, trying to contain your laugh as you knew the walls here were anything but soundproof.

“Shh,” he hissed, his ear pressed to the door as he listened to the remaining undergrads outside start talking. They obviously hadn't got the memo.

“Is this an official FBI strategy?” You teased.

“Shut up, would you? They're talking about us.”

You found yourself all of a sudden pressed against the door next to him, trying to listen in on the conversation outside.

“So it's true? He's really screwing her?” You slapped a hand over your mouth, both from shock and to stop the hysterical laugh bubbling up in your chest from jumping out. The girl sounded distraught. She sounded absolutely heartbroken. "The coffees every morning were suspicious, and they're always in the office so wrapped up with each other, but I didn't think they were seriously screwing."

“No wonder she was giving us dirty looks earlier,” the other girl whispered back.

“I heard he got her the job here. Pulled some strings, you know. And then, when it didn't look so suspicious, he started and asked for the shared office.”

“Gross! Total nepo hire!”

“No, Tiff, Nepo is when your parents get you the job. What she's doing is just called being a whore.”

Your mouth grew dry, and you pushed back off the wall, suddenly uninterested in anything else the girls had to say.

“Y/N…” Spencer took a sympathetic step your way, offering you an awkward smile as you started busying yourself organizing books.

“Nothing I haven't heard before, Spencer, don't bother,” you said, throwing some papers into your briefcase and keeping your hands moving.

“Though I will say they're getting more creative with their back stories since I have been working here half a year longer than you.”

He watched you work around the office, picking up items and tidying them away as you made a line of tidiness through the chaos of your desk.

“Do you think they all think that?” You asked, curiosity somehow piqued.

“That I got you the job?”

“That we’re screwing,” you said, finally turning to face him.

But the movement was a mistake - you hadn't heard him step closer, so as you turned his face was directly in front of yours, his nose practically touching your own as he looked down at you. It was enough so that the sharp intake of breath you took smelt like him, like he'd wrapped himself around your body and kept you there.

“Do you think they think we're screwing?” He asked, meaning to move away, or at least give you the space for you to do so.

“It doesn't matter to me what other people think,” you smiled up at him. “Because I wouldn't touch you with a tensed foot pole.”

You're thinking about the comment well into the evening, right until the moment your head hits the pillow.

You're thinking about the way his eyes dropped to your lips when you said those words, how he stepped closer and closer until you were backed up against the door.

“You were fine touching me earlier, Y/N. What is it now that makes it unappealing?” He whispered into your ear.

A hand came to your waist as your breath hitched.

“Is it the goosebumps I leave on your skin?” His hand pressed harder as it rose up to your chest. You gasped as he took one of your breasts in his hand, fondling it.

“Is it the way your heart beats uncomfortably hard when I'm close?”

His hand dropped again, falling down the plains of your stomach until he was stroking along the top of your pants, begging for entry.

“Or is it the way I make your cunt wet? It must be so hard pretending to hate me when you want my fingers stuffed inside of you.”

You gasped, but your tongue suddenly didn't work, as he slipped past your pants and his fingers were suddenly on your underwear, grinding the pads of his fingers against your slick pussy.

“You dont have to answer, I think I can tell just from feeling this. Shit, Y/N, I could probably slip into you right now with no resistance,” his fingers pushed inside of you as you gripped his arm for support. It was stronger than you expected, rigid as he tensed his arm.

You let him use your body, aware of your soft sighs and moans as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

His hands were inside you, then they pulled out, and somewhere in between his fingers and his cock filling you, you'd been pressed against the bookshelf, facing it and grabbing at the shelves for stability as he made good on his promise and pushed right into you without a care in the world.

“Spenc-Spencer, the books-”

“You know the books aren't a problem, Y/N,” he groaned into your ear as he pumped deep inside of you.

But the books were a problem, and they fell to the floor with each rough thrust, vibrating as they landed.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. Buz-

Your eyes shot open the next day, and you jolted out of your slumber, a pillow between your legs as you tried to find your release squirming and humping against it. You reached out for your vibration phone alarm, switching it off quickly to avoid the memory of those falling books from your fast fading dream.

Spencer hadn't touched you in that office. He'd taken your comment at face value and let you leave for your class, but it had stuck in your head.

You'd spent the entire night thinking about his hands on you, and you were entirely uncomfortable with the conclusion you were drawing.

Because now, you supposed, you'd quite enjoy the idea of Spencer Reid touching you wherever he damn well pleased.

🔖@stillhere197 @understandingsunrise

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shyyubin · 6 months

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Our Little Secret˗ˏˋ꒰ ♣️꒱

<CEO!jaehyun x assistant!fem!yn>

synopsis: yn finally gets a job but her ceo just so happens to be the same guy who made the porn video she was masturbating to a couple days ago!

A/N: let me know if you want me to continue this

office romance // CEO x assistant // sort of slow-burn // smut // degrading // consent asking // secret dating

Yn takes a deep breath in when her number is called. “Number 25?” a lady in her 40s called, viewing the many other people beside yn above her glasses frame. Yn springs up from her seat, startling the others next to her. “25! I’m 25”; the lady seems unimpressed, “Follow me.”

She follows her carefully into the interview room which had 3 chairs for the candidates, and a long table to fit 3 evaluators. Two other candidates were already seated and waiting for yn’s arrival. “Sit down, please.” the lady points to the only empty chair as yn bows lightly and sits down. Standing in this very chair made yn remember just how important this job was.

The man from the middle from the evaluators seems focused on his papers, shifting through them diligently, taking occasional looks at the three potential employees in front of him. Beside him, to yn’s right, was a woman with a really prominent red lipstick, and on yn’s left was another man, dressed in a suit with a red tie. That man took one quick look at the papers and began speaking. “Introduce yourselves.” His voice was firm and steady, it made yn sort of intimidated.

Candidate number 1 began speaking; and then candidate number 2. They each said their impressive stories in less than two sentences. And now it was yn’s turn to surprise everyone.

“Candidate 3?” the man from the middle looks up from his paper, above his small glasses frames. His voice sounded very familiar to yn for some reason. This weird feeling made her forget her words.

“Uhm..Yeah. Sorry. I’m…My name is Yn. I uhm..I graduated from xxx University with a degree in xxx. I think I’m suited for this job because…well because I’m….” her tongue twists and her sentences make no more sense anymore.

The guy in the middle looks at her unimpressed. He seems bored out of his mind—actually, as if he’d seen people like this over and over in this single day. “Listen here, ms. yn. I don’t know what you went through or how tragic your backstory is—I just hope you know I take my job and my employees, along with their talents, very seriously. I don’t play around with cuties like you who have it all good because they’re pretty.” his words keep rambling, the woman from his left has to whisper him something to make him stop. However, his long narration made all the pieces put eachother perfectly in yn’s mind. She couldn’t believe it when she finally noticed why his voice sounded so oddly familiar and above anything, it made her weirdly turned on.

In that moment, her mind goes back to a couple nights before…

“Ah..fuck…” she moans out, sliding her dildo in and out, rubbing her swollen clit like her life depends on it.

“Come baby…Come with me~..fuck..” the voice from her phone rings. She picks it up from the couch and resumes watching the video of the sexiest guy she’d ever seen. A perfect body with an amazing vocabulary and a long and thick dick. His face was blurred out from the video but it didn’t even matter. His body spoke more words than his face anyways.

“Baby? ‘wanna cum with you…” he moans out, his palm hurrying on his hard length. “Come with me, yeah? I wanna feel your juicy cunt gripping my cock nice and well~”

Yn follows his pace with her dildo, letting faint moans escape her mouth. With a couple more thrusts, yn cums first as the guy continued to moan, soon reaching his orgasm as well. Yn listens through the whole video, wanting to see him release as well. Once he does, the video ends and she’s left in her quiet room, only her panting voice resonating in it and wet sounds from her dildo still inside her wet cunt.

Her mind snaps back to reality. The guy who has the closest possible voice match to the man that made her cum a couple days prior, is right in front of her…….interviewing her for a job. “Yn-ssi? Are you even paying attention to what I’m saying?” he asks in a bored tone. Yn gulps trying to get her mind back in place.

“I’m sorry, sir. Uhm…could you please give me another chance..?” the man sighs and sets his papers down, raising his eyebrows ready to hear her out one more time.

After she says her line and other questions are asked, she leaves the room feeling uneasy. Both that her interviewer who seemed to be the boss is actually also a porn star who posts erotic audios and videos for women to get off to—and also that she might’ve absolutely failed her job application.

But after a couple months, she receives an email telling her that she can start her job as the CEO’s assistant as well as congratulating her for obtaining such an important position. She’s left feeling an odd mix of emotions.

Yes, she was glad she got the job—a prestigious one at that—but..did it really have to be that CEO..? Regardless, she did as she was told and went to work the next day.

She’s met with wonderfully kind people who guided her well despite not being their intern. They all encouraged her to keep her head up, saying that their CEO is terribly strict and cold-hearted. Yn didn’t really know how to respond to those, having already heard him dirty talking and feeding into women’s praising kink multiple times before.

She slowly walks up to the CEO’s office door. A sturdy gray door with his name engraved in a plate which was screwed onto it.

“xxx Company CEO — Jeong Jaehyun”

She knocks three times, waiting for a response from the other side. “Come in.” his voice was firm and clear. Yn opens up the door slowly.

He’s sitting across the room, wearing a suit that seemed familiar. Now that she can see him from a closer angle, his arms looks familiar too. In every one of his videos, he wore a ring shaped in a snake which wrapped around his middle finger. It was always on his right hand. And now that she took a closer look, his ring was in the same place with the same design.

Yn clears her throat and adjusts her stance after analysing his outfit. “Well?” he asks making her quiver in nervousness.

“Uhm…My name is Yn. I was selected to be your new assistant! Thank you for selecting me, please be patient with me. I look forward to work with you, sir.” she says, bowing low to him.

“Well, no need to thank me. I chose you because you were suitable enough to be my new assistant. However, I mostly chose you to get a chance to talk something with you.” his voice was deep as he steps closer to her.

Yn stumbles back away from him, feeling her legs get weak from his voice. “What..what do you mean..?” her voice was small and quiet.

“I mean…I feel like you know something and that you’re hiding something from me. I don’t know if your little coworkers told you this but—my assistants never hid anything from me. So spit it out.” his eyes were intimidating and almost impatient.

“It’s not work related so I won’t be saying it. I apologise.” she tries to sneak herself out this situation.

Jaehyun chuckles and looks away unbelievably. “Listen here, miss. Whether it’s personal or work related, you tell me.” his demands reminded yn of his countless aggressive dominant porn videos making her cunt slowly quiver.

She looks away, unsure how to word her situation in the best way possible. As she’s thinking, Jaehyun sighs impatiently. “Have you, by any chance, heard me before? Somewhere else?” he seemed to catch on.

“Well…”

Jaehyun inches closer to her, making yn bump into the wall. “Hmm..” he analyses her expressions and body language. “I think I got it right..” he smirks when he sees her body be sensitive to his every move.

“Listen..It’s really not what it looks like-“ she tries to escape his grasp but he traps her in between his strong hands. Her face looks up at him in an apologetic way. “I..I’m sorry. I really didn’t want this to reach the surface—I was going to keep it a secret to not make it awkward between us…”

“Us..? Who’s us? We? Me and you? Don’t you think you view yourself a little too special?” he mocks as his hand sneakily slides up in between yn’s thighs. Her knees rub eachother as she can feel her core get hotter and wetter.

“Sir..please….let’s not..” she tries to take his hand away but he remains firmly.

“But I want to. And you’re my assistant so you should listen to what I say. Plus…you got off to my voice and videos until now, haven’t you? Wouldn’t it be better to experience this in real life..?” he asks, genuinely waiting for an answer from her, a bit unsure if he should really continue if she’s uncomfortable.

“I’m…I know I did that but..I don’t really feel alright with doing this with you..I’m sorry..” her head falls down in shame.

Jaehyun pulls his hand away and scratches the back of his neck, unsure of what to say. He clears his throat and goes back to his desk. “How does my program look today?” he asks not even looking at yn.

Yn panics, opening her notebook and checking his set program. “You have an appointment with your grandfather in about two hours.”

Jaehyun sighs. “Cancel it.”

“Sorry? Are you sure?!” her eyes grew surprised. She thought there must be something going on between him and his grandfather so she made sure not to push further.

“Yes. Don’t make me say it twice. You may leave.” he turns in his chair to face the large wall behind him made out of glass which stares into the city lit up by street lamps as if they were small fireflies.

Yn bows lightly before walking out the door.

The call with his grandfather did not go well. It made her realise just how much she’ll have to learn about his family and relatives, their names, their triggers, their phone numbers…And his grandfather definitely wasn’t an easy person to deal with. He was grumpy and always spoke in fancy language your ordinary young adult wouldn’t be able to recognise. Above all, he was very persistent. He told her that no matter what his grandson said, he wanted him at his house this evening. So after trying to argue with him for almost an hour, she bit her lip and finally agreed to bring him there—just to make his grandfather shut up.

After another twenty minutes of trying to figure out how to word it to Jaehyun in a way that won’t piss him off, she finally got up and knocked lightly on the door.

“Come in.” he said, clearly not expecting anything.

“Good afternoon, sir..” her knees trembled in nervousness and her words seemed to disappear from her mouth.

“Well? What do you need?” he asks looking at her above his glasses frames.

“Um. Right…Your grandfather…” she couldn’t even continue since Jaehyun already sighed heavily, taking off his glasses and pinching his nose bridge. Still, she continues. “I called him to tell him that you won’t be able to have dinner but…he’s sort of…”

“Annoying? I know. Don’t tell me you gave into his never-ending persistence…”

Yn bites her lip and nods, her eyes shut close as if he might throw something at her. Jaehyun groans in frustration instead.

“When is it?” he asks, sort of accepting his fate.

“In about an hour..” she replies with pity towards him.

Jaehyun rolls his eyes and gets up from his chair, grabbing his coat and wrapping it around his shoulders. “Come on. You’ll be my driver.”

“Sorry? Driver??”

“Yeah. You know how to drive a car, right?” he asks rhetorically, fixing the tightness of his watch on his slender wrist.

“Well…that wasn’t really on the application papers…” she mumbles but it’s still loud enough for Jaehyun’s eyes to widen in shock.

“Then how the fuck do you even imagine us to get there?!” he raises his voice.

“I don’t know?!! I thought you already had a personal driver!!” so does she.

“Don’t raise your voice at me, lady. Remember, I’m the boss in charge here!! You’re just my assistant.” after a long and heavy sigh, “Call an uber. You’re paying for it.”

“Why should I pay? You’re the one who’s rich here!!” she doesn’t let herself slip not even a little.

“Yes, but you’re my assistant. And you should listen to my words as your boss. Now go on, call a fancy uber for me.”

Yn shuts her eyes closed in disbelief before walking out and opening the uber app on her phone in the most annoyed way ever.

After a couple minutes of waiting for the uber, it finally sends a beep to her phone, signalling it’s waiting right in front of their building.

Yn opens the door to his office gently. “…Sir..your uber is here.” she whispers as to not disturb him.

“Alright then. Get ready. You’re coming with me.”

Yn buffers for a second, trying to process all his nonsense is really tiring. “I’m sorry? Why would I come with you?”

“Because I said so!” a sly smirk forms on his face as he walks past her.

Yn smiles at him with the fakest smile she could make. All her plans for tonight were cancelled just like that.

The two hop in the car which didn’t seem as expensive as Jaehyun was hoping. He gives Yn a look to which she just fakely smiles again. “I can’t afford limousines, sir.” she says sarcastically before wrapping the seatbelt around herself and staring out the window.

Once the car stopped, parking diligently, Jaehyun steps out of it along with yn. He straightens his coat and tightens his tie. Yn is carefully pulling out her hair from her scarf and sniffs her nose at the cold weather. She hurries to Jaehyun’s side and clears her throat, ready to face a very old-fashioned old man who is probably very strict and definitely doesn’t know how to joke around.

Jaehyun knocks four times at the big door which was supposed to be his grandfather’s. A lady opened the door for them. She had a thin body dressed in a white buttoned up shirt and a tight skirt which reached about two fingers above her knees. Her hair was tied tightly in a bun and her makeup was light but definitely there. She opened the door, lightly bowing.

“Welcome, Jaehyun-ssi.” she welcomes him with a gently smile. Her eyes turn to yn. “And you must be his new assistant. Welcome..” she bows one more time. Her politeness makes it a bit awkward but to tone it down, she bow as well.

The lady guides the two of them to the grand bedroom where his grandfather was waiting. He was sitting at a large table fancied with meals upon meals with side dishes. He hums when he notices the two of them enter.

Yn bows 90 degrees, greeting him in the most polite way possible. “Good evening, sir. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

His granfather nods in approval with a light smile. “You finally got yourself another woman assistant, huh?” he says, his voice grumbling.

Noticing the possible private conversation erupting, “I’ll leave you two.” she says, turning around for the door. Jaehyun grabs her hand, his face looks at her pleadingly, as if saying “please, for the love of god, stay with me.”

Her eyes widen in shock, mouthing out “why the fuck would I stay with you and your grandfather?!”

Jaehyun’s eyes grow more, his mouth turning into a pout. Yn never thought she’d see him this way.

“Why are you leaving? Stay here, let Jaehyun-ah introduce you to me.” his grandfather says, gesturing with his hand for yn to sit down at the table. So she gives in, she sits down and takes a deep breath.

There really wasn’t a way to make some time for herself tonight.

“Dig in! This food is for everyone here.” mr. Jeong insists as he sees yn be a little awkward.

She steals a glance to Jaehyun who is also visibly uncomfortable but it seemed as if he already knew what was expecting him.

“Jaehyun-ah, introduce her to me.”

Jaehyun sighs, “She’s my newest assistant. Her name is Yn and she’s brand new on the job. This is her very first day.”

“And…How is she?”

“She’s..fine. I haven’t gotten to see her true potential.”

Yn scoffs.

“Listen here, Yn-ssi. I’m pretty sure Jaehyun-ah never told you about his past experiences with his assistants..!”

Jaehyun groans in displeasure. “Don’t start rambling about that again…”

“They were all really bad at their jobs. One even tried to date Jaehyun-ah! Another one stole one of his most valuable watches!!” mr. Jeong seemed the most captivated in this story, although it felt as if he’s told this story multiple times. His enthusiasm makes yn catch onto it and be just as interested.

“Is that so..?” yn says in disbelief.

“And then he had one single female assistant once…”

Jaehyun smacks his fork on the table. “Pa, don’t.”

Yn glances at Jaehyun who seemed visibly annoyed and disturbed. Mr. Jeong sighs and sits back in his chair, giving up.

After eating in silence for a while, all of them finish their food and they say their goodbyes. Jaehyun unlocks one of his grandfather’s cars, opening the door for yn.

“So you knew how to drive this whole time?” she asks, getting in.

“Of course I did.”

The car starts and she stares out the window unsure whether to ask about what just happened or not.

“…You had another female assistant before me..?” she decides to take a leap of faith.

Jaehyun sighs, driving carefully. “I did.”

“Will you tell me about it?”

“Do you think we’re some friends?” his voice sounds pissed.

“Ah, sorry..” she looks out the window.

Jaehyun suddenly gets an idea. “How about we make a deal? I tell you about my last female assistant and you tell me more about your secret.”

“What secret?”

“The one I was trying to disclose~…You know..The non-work related thing..you should get into more detail…” his mouth curls into a smirk.

“Ah..” yn nods, unsure what to say.

“So? Deal?”

“I don’t know…”

“Hm, well, suit yourself.” he says, knowing well yn’s curiosity couldn’t last for more.

She grunts, giving in. “whatever..You go first.”

“Well…my last assistant….I really liked her. We started dating even though we knew our work could stop us from doing that. After a year or two of trying to make it work…she…uh, she cheated on me.”

Yn gasps, covering her mouth with her hand. “I’m..so sorry.”

“It’s fine. It’s in the past.”

“You still seem bothered by it.”

“That’s none of your business.” he says firmly. “Now it’s your turn.”

“Well…I sort of….always used your account..”

“is that so? In what way?” his face turned into a smirk.

“Oh, you know exactly in what way!” yn says, blushing.

“Fuck…” Jaehyun says under his breath. His car parks on the side of the road, in a more empty place. Yn notices his breathing getting heavier. “What were you doing to my videos, yn-ssi?”

“i…uhm…well…you know..”

“Tell me in detail.” he turns to yn, his eyes were growing with desire.

Yn was cornered. On one side, she wanted him so bad, ever since she started watching his videos, his dirty talk and his body was all she could ever dream of. But then again, this was her boss and she struggled so hard to get this job…

“Are you sure you want to do this, sir?” she asks first to be sure.

“I don’t know but right now…I don’t know for how long I can hold myself back..” he closes his eyes and tries to get the car started again.

“Are you sure you can drive like that..?” she says emphasising to his growing bulge.

“Shut up.” he snaps, continuing to drive forward.

Yn turns the other way, staring at the window, hoping her wet core would go away.

They both knew they wanted each other, there was just a slight something stopping them.

So when Jaehyun goes over a slight bump, it gets the both of you whimpering. “I..I’m sorry..” he says under his breath.

Yn nods to his apology, trying to keep her mind at bay at everything she wanted him to do to her.

Jaehyun slows down the car at the door to her house and stares down. “I’ll get…I’ll get going.” she says, pulling her purse close to her stomach and pressing the handle to open the door. His head raises suddenly.

“Let me escort you.”

Her head cocks slightly to the side. “Sorry?”

Before getting the chance to explain, he gets out of the car and opens the door for her. She walks by him to her door before thrning and awkwardly smiling at him.

“I’ll get going..!” she says one more time.

Jaehyuns eyes are fixated on her lips. With an inhale he leans in, sliding his hand behind her neck and pressing his lips close to hers. Although she knew this was wrong and could cost her her job, she didn’t stop him.

He deepens the kiss, lightly moaning into it. His other hand sneaks to the handle, pushing it down and slipping inside the warmth of her house. Not letting go of their hot kiss, they undress eachother of their coats. Jaehyun pulls away and stares at yn with a lovely smile before picking her up bridal style. “Where’s your bedroom, lovely?”

Yn points to a door a couple steps away and he walks directly there. “This is where you fucked yourself while listening to me moan?” he grunts, throwing her gently on the fluffy mattress, pressing his knees next to each side of her hips while he takes his shirt off, unbuttoning with tease.

“Tell me, baby. How did you play with yourself while watching me?” he moans, squeezing his aching length through his pants.

She looks away embarrassed while she slid her hand in her pants. He could see her hand moving around through the fabric. He grunts, looking at her with a lip bite and a smirk. “Look at me.” but she doesn’t. “I said look at me.” he repeats, grabbing her chin.

Her face was already showing pleasure and lust after only touching herself for such a short while. “So fucking horny for me…Already so wet~..” he grunts under his breath while his middle finger rubs in between her slit through her pants. She lets out light whimpers as her cunt tightens with every stroke. “Fuck..” he gasps, already feeling herself reaching close to her orgasm.

“Don’t tell me— Are you seriously going to cum from just this? Pathetic bitch.” his hand retreats and goes to his pants to unzip them.

Her mind was too blank to process his degrading but being called a “bitch” was a real turn-on. Yn licks her lips as he sees him pull out the dick she’s seen several times on pornhub but somehow looks 10x better in real life. “Fuck..I bet you’re fucking starving for my dick. You dreamed of it every time you saw it on my fucking porn page, right? Fucking beg for it, slut.”

“Mmh…Shit. Oh fuck, mr. Jaehyun…you have no idea how much I wanted to taste your delicious dick…please…pretty please~…” her eyes look up at him pleasingly as her mouth is an inch away from his pink tip.

Jaehyun curses beneath his breath before grabbing a fist-full of her hair and thrusting violently in her mouth. Tears form in her eyes as she gags at the sudden move. She can feel herself choking but he keeps going, taking him well, appreciating his every inch at how sweet it was—just like how she imagined it.

“Take it, bitch. Fucking take it..oh fuck…. fucking shit—“ she can feel his cock start to throb in her mouth as she prepares herself to take his delicious cream wholly.

“Such a whore. What a fucking slut I have here…A slut can’t live without her slutty cum, right? Take it, whore. Ah shit—take my cum~..”

there it was. his whimpers.

The ones she’d hear on his porn videos. Her pussy clenches and she moans on his cock as she receives his cum beautifully, tasting exactly as she anticipated.

He pulls his length out, pointing with his finger to her pants. Without a second of hesitation, she has them off. Her submissiveness makes him chuckle.

He awes at her messy cunt, throbbing and pulsating as if it just came. The tip of his cock collects all of her fluids, before sticking it in her entrance.

“Yn-ah.”

The use of her name wakes her up to reality.

“Tell me if you really want this.” he says firmly. “If…if you want, let’s stop here.”

Their eyes intertwined as she’s trying to process his words. “I..I want this.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, baby. Thank you. I promise I won’t make you regret it.” he kisses bellow her ear as he carefully slides his length in her slippery cunt. He lets out a long grunt which makes yn’s pussy clench around his length.

“Ah, shit. Fuck…Loosen up, baby…I can’t..shit…I can’t fuck you like this…Haha…I’ll just cum in you right away..” his grunts echo through her ears. Her breath gets heavier and she doesn’t seem to loosen up.

“Baby…baby baby. You’ll rip my cock off like this..ahng~” he moans. Although it hurt him a bit, he also fucking loved having his dick squeezed.

“Jaehyun..sir…ffuck…I’m so sorry~..” she cries out, unable to control her emotions around his handsome figure and voice. “Your voice…it’s such a turn-on~..” it hit him then that she was obviously most attracted to his voice since that’s why she continued to watch his videos.

He pets her hair whispering kind praises in her ear to help her ease up. His switch up from being overly aggressive to super sweet was confusing yn’s little cock-dumb brain but his kind words did help her breath calm down as well as give Jaehyun the opportunity to move inside her.

He takes the opportunity and starts to slowly thrust in and out, grunting in her ear with every thrust and blabbering about her amazing pussy. “So perfect. So wet. Oh fuck…I love you…” his thrust remain at the same rhythm, the only thing changing is the aggressiveness he slams into her cunt, thrusting his hips hard on hers and always hitting that sweet spot, sending yn into a moaning mess.

His hands pull on her hair as his thrusting picks up pace, making yn’s moans raise an octave. “Jae…Jaehyun…wait~…” her legs were giving out as his cock slid in and out her already worn out hole in a menacing pace.

“I want you so bad, baby…how could I slow down…” his husky voice sent yn in a moaning mess.

“S-stop…I’ll fucking squirt…oh fuck…” her moans get more desperate as he arms and legs wrap around his fit figure.

“Say my name, darling…let’s—ah, shit—let’s cum together~…” he almost begs with a needy tone. It doesn’t take her a moment of hesitation to get her moaning out his name as if he’s the only man on this earth that can get her feeling like this.

“Jaehyun~! Jae..!!” just then, he pulls his length out, letting her squirt all over his aching cock. He hovers over her stomach, releasing his sperm on it along with a long and pleased moan, almost making yn cum again.

They’re both left panting and catching their breaths and minds. Jaehyun collapses on yn’s body—her arms just wrap around his figure, lovingly. “What will happen to us after this..?” she asks, rubbing her thumbs on his spine.

His head turns to face her. “Let’s keep this out little secret for now, yeah?” his eyes were worn out but he still formed a light smile.

Yn scanned his expression before giving him another loving smile. “Alright. Our little secret..”

#fanfic #kpop #nct #nct dream #nct u #x reader #x yn #x you #fact check #nct 127 #jaehyun #should i continue?#nct jaehyun #nctzen #nct nation #kpop smut #smut #nct smut #jaehyun smut

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jethrowest · 2 months

Text

let me see you stripped down to the bone…

- stripped by depeche mode

congratulations! you’ve been hired as homelander’s entire glam squad! what an opportunity! now let’s try real hard not to let the fumes get to you, okay?

pairing : homelander/afab reader

word count : 5.6k

warnings : homelander in and of himself, toxic workplace environment, something akin to stockholm syndrome, fingering, smut. 18+, mdni

special thanks to @blindmagdalena @sehtoast @homeb0ys and @clockworkzeppelin for letting me scream at you about this!

writing tag

gif credit

divider credit

Homelander is an asshole.

That doesn’t bother you much. You’ve dealt with plenty in this field, which means you’ve learned how to make life easier for all parties. That particular learning curve includes when to stand out and blend in, at times concurrently depending on what variety of asshole they happen to be.

As a whole, the makeup artists and hairstylists at Vought take care of The Seven and go where they’re needed. And as a cosmetologist, you were hired to provide both services for Homelander and Homelander only, which you consider to be one of the most prestigious stamps one could add to their professional passport.

Before you became official, you were colorfully threatened by a Ms. Ashley Barrett, who, after the fact, had no qualms throwing you into the lion’s den to figure your own shit out.

In no uncertain terms were you told that if you fucked any part of this up, your sparkling resume would look best as something to sit her smooth, bare ass on while getting fucked on top of her desk. No lube or protection. It would then be tossed exactly like her salad.

Not an image you could have ever predicted crossing your mind. Honestly, you should have stopped her right there and walked your happy little ass out of her office toward pastures that might have not been greener (you were being handsomely compensated), but certainly not as toxic. While the red flags were a color you couldn’t quite ignore, you were also curious about why they stood out so much more than they did regarding previous employers.

None of this is to say you live under a rock. Anyone who has access to the internet is ambushed daily by these Supes’ personal lives. Homelander’s track record as far as choice in partners went hadn’t been ideal, so you understand that made him less popular at the time. That of course has nothing to do with you or your capabilities.

You opt to wear gray-colored glasses, seeing everything with a neutral blend of black and white. As much as possible anyway.

Nevertheless, curiosity killed the cat. But hopefully not your career.

The first day was awkward to say the least. Immediately, you knew you weren’t going to like your coworkers.

Glints of sympathy changed how they perceived you. A target, whether they intended for this to happen or not, was nailed to your forehead, and it made them buzz around you like avid, greedy wasps keen on seeing how rapidly the honeybee will be brutalized. You didn’t much care for going cross-eyed while staring at that target whenever you crossed paths. They didn’t know you, yet because of who you were working under, deemed you helpless. They didn’t give you a chance to establish yourself before branding you a victim.

Why should you respect them?

Small talk wasn’t entertained either, as their judgment tarnished any future encounters. They ostracized you once you showed no interest in engaging with them. That didn’t disappoint you. You weren’t here to make friends.

You do wonder how those before you fared: if they were jaded when they arrived or if they couldn’t help but succumb to the pressures of being at the top rung of a very unstable albeit sought after ladder.

Ms. Barrett quickly introduced you to Homelander, her parting gift before leaving the two of you alone.

You weren’t completely nervous in his presence. He wasn’t any different to you than the other celebrities you’d worked on, except he could rip you in half like a piece of paper if he was so inclined. But he’s the hero of this country’s story, so really, you should have nothing to worry about.

His demeanor, you noted, suggested arrogance, annoyance, and boredom. All things you’re used to. So you offered your hand to shake, which he eyed with a slightly upturned nose before grabbing, told him it was a pleasure to meet him and got straight to business.

Looking back, he was clearly expecting more out of you. Maybe not a display as excessive as getting on your knees and professing your undying love, but close enough. Somewhere in the middle, perhaps.

Part of you believes he might have also counted on fear. To you, he’s not anything or anyone unknown. Another big name in a fancy suit with impossible demands.

You were given a routine to follow and products to use. You did as you were instructed and found the process to be simple and, as Homelander’s expression revealed, uninspiring.

While you were utilizing a face brush to apply powder, he must have decided he was done enduring your lack of enthusiasm, because he suddenly asked, “What are you wearing?”

You stopped for a split second, no longer than, and continued. “The name of my clothing designer, you mean?”

He scoffed, waving his gloved hand at you, almost knocking the applicator you held to the ground. “No, your perfume. What are the top notes?”

You laughed and that seemed to confuse him. “Why, you want a bottle?”

“I don’t like it.” He sniffed sharply and cleared his throat. “Smells like you should be on the corner selling your used body parts.”

Ding ding ding. Alarm bells and red flags galore. You enjoy a challenge, however, and are a bit of a masochist, so you persevere.

“Well, what doesn’t smell like a cheap hooker to you? I’ll start wearing that instead.”

He cocked a brow, studying you. Trying to figure out if you were being serious or mocking him.

“It’s your first day.” A warning. “Are you on your best behavior, or can you do better?” He leaned forward in his chair, forcing you backward. “You should be working harder to prove yourself. Prove your worth.” He sat back again and shrugged. “Or maybe you really are worth as much as that dumpster juice you doused yourself in.”

At this point, he more than likely envisioned your happy little ass getting offended and storming out of the room. Breaking down, sobbing. Questioning why he was being so rude. One of those or, better yet, a nifty combination.

You’ve heard worse, unfortunately for him. Not always directed at you, but that doesn’t matter. You can handle it.

“You’re absolutely right,” you stated calmly, folding your arms across your chest. He looked at you with pretentious, petulant intrigue. “It is my first day, and I want to make a good impression. Which is why I’m asking you what you would like me to wear so I can continue to keep that good impression intact and, as our professional relationship develops, stay on top of it.”

Homelander’s mouth twitched. He sighed deeply and slouched in his seat, staring at the wall to the left of him. Then he deigned to cast his gaze back at you, resting his cheek on his index and middle finger. He tapped the arm rest with his other hand.

“Ugh, fine. Whatever.” A pause followed that lasted longer than necessary. Were you meant to guess? “Just wear something, I dunno, less. If you would have done your homework like a good little peon, you’d know I have super senses. Highly developed. Can you even imagine what that entails?”

Finally, he freed the canvas you were nearly finished with, and you flicked the soft bristles across the bridge of his nose. You smiled, more to yourself than him.

Felt rather on the nose, as the saying goes.

He didn’t comment on your grin. You didn’t give him time to. But he did huff like you were being obtuse on purpose.

“I can try. And my imagination is giving me some less-than-ideal scenarios,” you replied. Another pause. At least he was letting you do your job again.

You don’t know what compelled you to keep going, but something about his lack of a real answer made you carry on. “Do you have a favorite flower or baked good? Maybe a spice?”

Homelander almost glared up at you. You say almost because, for whatever reason, it didn’t seem like he was directing that harshness at you, though former words and actions proved otherwise. Something inside, perhaps. Or outside of this enclosed space.

“I already told you what to wear. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

You took the hint and remained quiet the rest of your session. Soon, you were done.

As you were packing and tidying up your station, he took it upon himself to stand behind you. He lingered over your shoulder, watching the scene play out like he was director and star and you were barely an ant on the sidewalk he acknowledged before squashing.

The heat radiating off of him was impossible to dismiss, a wall of it barricading your backside. He clasped his fingers underneath his cape and inched closer. You thought he was as close to you as he could get without touching you. He was that warm.

When you glanced up, he was staring at you through the mirror. As absurd as it was, you managed to get chills. Goosebumps broke the surface of your skin.

“Fresh chocolate chip cookies. Straight out of the oven. Like mom used to make.” He flashed an unnerving smile before turning to exit.

From there on out, even after you bent to his will and found a gourmand scent that matched what he described, Homelander tested you. Your work ethic, clothing choice, eating habits, and most of all, patience.

Your parents would ask how you were liking your job, how it was working alongside the Supes- not to mention the most famous of all- and you’d lie through your teeth. You felt you had no choice, Ashley’s threat ringing in your ears.

Resume, bare ass, tossed salad...

Oh yeah, it’s going great! They’re all super flexible. I couldn’t be happier!

At least that pun made you feel a little better about hiding the shame of what you’ve allowed yourself to take on.

This was all in the first few weeks. It started to get a little easier after that, which is surprising considering more was added to your to-do list.

You should have moved on before starting. But, for whatever asinine reason, you didn’t.

Every time you go back to your apartment and assess your appearance in the bathroom mirror, you wonder who’s making who up here. He’s changing your looks more than you are his. You’re like his human doll.

You’ve put up with a lot over the years, but this takes the cake and shoves it in your face. As fucked as it is, the flavor is growing on you. Like a fungus. Growing, nonetheless.

You can’t stop thinking about him.

It’s innocent enough, you try convincing yourself. Making sure you have the right outfit laid out the night before, the right lunch (no onions or fish or anything “freaky”!), etc. He is your superior, after all. You shouldn’t be viewing him in any other light.

He’s the most frustrating aspect of your existence these days, but he’s also the one you’re around the most. His penchant for workplace gossip and how unintentionally funny he is tends to make him palatable, which has regrettably become an understatement.

Months go by. You’ve witnessed how alone he truly is. How he has nothing outside of performing his tricks on Vought’s all-encompassing stage. And when he begins asking for your input, starts doing things for you that are so blatant it’s perplexing, you find your stress and vexation melting into cumbersome fascination.

It’s embarrassing. You don’t have the courtesy of enough time to dwell on your feelings toward the situation either, from beginning to whatever end you might be met with. You suppose that could be beneficial in the long run.

It also hits you when you least expect it; when you really don’t want it to.

Your body doesn’t wait until you finally have a moment alone. It decides, while you’re helping Homelander with his skincare routine that he insisted upon because you know more than these vacuous corporate douche-bags, to heat up without warning and slither from your head to your heart until it grasps you unfairly between your legs.

You try not to step into momentary paralysis. You understand to what extent his powers reach. It’s not like he doesn’t go on and on about them. About himself.

Whatever he notices, it’s not right away. A palpable tension fills the air between the two of you eventually. But it takes a more significant amount of time than you would have anticipated to permeate the natural flow of things.

Fuck, you can’t even be safe inside here, where your thoughts, whatever they may be, are yours. You can’t even have yourself. He has every part of you, and you are willingly relinquishing that control.

Your evening, once you can have it, consists of combing over every decision you’ve made leading up to this strange, disorienting space you find yourself occupying. All it does is leave you exasperated in a much different way than before and with an unsettling observation (or hallucination):

Was that the tail end of the American flag outside your window?

You are unacceptably late.

Rushing around, you throw on the first top and bottoms you see from your closet and spritz some perfume on your neck and wrists. You don’t check your phone. You’re afraid of what will pop up on your screen. And, frankly, you don’t have the time.

Your only option for transportation is the subway, as you’re sure the special vehicle from Vought is long gone. Why would they wait for someone like you, even if you’re practically Homelander’s personal assistant? One of his only friends. You doubt he has more than Black Noir, and that isn’t as perfect as it appears to the casual viewer.

You dread what kind of explosion you’re without a doubt walking into once you show your miserable ass up. You’re going to smell like everyone on this train. He’s going to go ballistic.

The question remains: why are you continuing to put yourself through this? It’s not your circus, yet somehow, the monkeys have become your liability.

You know, deep down, what keeps you going back. It’s simply too ridiculous to admit aloud.

Making your way past security, hurriedly presenting your badge, you realize you forgot to brush your teeth, or at the very least, gargle some mouthwash. You thank your lucky stars when you open your purse to a pack of gum tucked away in one of the compartments.

It will have to do.

When you open the door to Homelander’s dressing room, you see a couple of employees standing near the counter where the bag of supplies has been opened and rifled through, looking like they might soil themselves, a frantic Ashley, and an extremely pissed off Homelander in the middle of it all.

Reflexively, you cringe. You attempt to wipe any trace from your features, but it’s too late. Ashley is glaring daggers at you and Homelander can hardly bring himself to look in your direction. The others don’t matter to you. They never did.

“I’m so sorry I’m late. I know there’s no excuse-”

“You’re goddamned right, there’s no excuse! I don’t give a shit if god and his whole fucking choir of angels came down from heaven and divinely called you to give them a makeover! What were you thinking?!”

You’re about to answer, though you comprehend her query is more or less rhetorical. She interrupts your slightly open mouth while gesturing wildly, proving your point.

“Oh, that’s right! You weren’t thinking at all, were you?! But I do believe you’ve thought long and hard about what’s at stake here. And you know damn well we at Vought don’t tolerate this kind of sloppy behavior. Not to mention the way you’re dressed! It’s adding insult to injury!” Her hand swipes at the air, the length of your outfit, and you glance down, recognizing how comically mismatched you are. Her correct observation affects you more than it would have months prior, stinging your ego- one of the many things that’s been shelved in order to accommodate the person who won’t even grace you with a glance.

A dramatic groan cuts short any further commentary from the redhead, perpetually stretched thin between her absurd duties.

“Jesus Christ, Ashley, why are your big fucking horse gums still flapping?” Homelander’s booming voice slices through your mind like a jarring, dense migraine. He pinches his brow between middle finger and thumb, eyes closed. “I want you and Tweedledee and Tweedledum t’get the fuck out. Now.”

Ashley is plainly dumbfounded, struggling to see where she went wrong (a pattern when it comes to dealing with the volatile leader of The Seven), mouth agape. She shakes her head. “But sir, are you-?”

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about or doing. Clearly.”

Ms. Barrett turns a shade paler, staring at Homelander and blinking owlishly before snapping herself out of her stupor. She hurries her lackeys out of the room, shooing them along like a pair of misbehaving toddlers. She doesn’t give a final look, no further warning. She merely shuts the door behind her.

You also hear it lock.

What the hell does she think is going to happen?

You should have stopped this while you had the chance. You should have never taken this job. You should have stood up for yourself and walked out. You should have you should have you should-

“Who the fuck do you think you are?”

His caustic tone sends shivers down your spine. It’s unlike anything you’ve heard come out of him. And you’ve heard enough.

Again, you open your mouth. It fills with blood, thick and metallic and more potent than the mint from your gum. You’re silenced by it.

He stalks toward you and grabs you hastily by the shoulders, swiveling you around so you’re face-to-face with the choices you’ve made. Your mirrored image is reflected back at you, exhausted and searching for any last shred of who you might be beneath his heavy palms.

“Look at yourself! Do you even recognize who’s staring back at you?” No.

“What kind of game are you playing, hmmm? Is this… humiliating spectacle you’re putting on for the money? Your pathetic career? Like it’s goddamned rocket science to pick up a can of hairspray and use it. Monkeys have hands.” He makes a noise that’s akin to a snorting horse, exhaling forcefully past his nostrils. “I mean, did you really think you could pull a fast one on me?” He clutches your jaw, squeezing it between middle and thumb. Every muscle in your body tenses, your heart picking up rhythm.

“Spit that fucking gum out. Don’t think I can’t hear you grinding it between your molars like a dumb animal. You aren’t a mama bird, are you? Y’don’t have cute little baby birds t’force-feed your regurgitated leftovers, do you? Eugh, gross.”

You take a deep breath and exhale through your nose. It presents you with a false sense of security. You do as you’re told, and it lands on the floor in front of your shoe, saliva dangling on a thread as withered as your sanity.

Suddenly fresh breath seems like the most insignificant issue, when Homelander himself once made it out to be something earth-shattering.

You’re such a fool.

He leans in and sniffs your throat. Your fingers lengthen and bend.

You’re so many things at once. Confused, angry, nervous, scared. And, to your dismay, warm. God you’re so fucking warm. He’s heating you up from the inside out. You clench your jaw, still held in place by a firm bind.

“Get rid of those ugly clothes. I don’t care what you have to do. I can’t stand the sight or smell of them.”

You shut your eyes. When you open them, all you see is red. The other emotions are smothered in favor of that brand of heat. What happens next is a blur. You temporarily leave yourself.

“Fine. Have it your way, Homelander. You always do.”

Breaking free of his fluctuating hold, you start tearing at what you’re wearing, tossing everything- including your bra and underwear- to the ground. Your shirt winds up with the gum sticking to its loose fabric. You even take your shoes and socks off, not paying any heed to where your belongings go. Just that they’re gone.

You don’t process the glaring fact that you made yourself naked in front of your boss. In front of the most powerful man this country, and possibly world, has known. You don’t care that things have escalated this far. That they shouldn’t have. They shouldn’t have. But guess what? They did. And these are the consequences you both have to deal with.

“You wanna know what game I’m playing?” You turn around, forcing him backward. “It’s funny, I thought you’d be able to answer that for me, considering all the hoops I’ve had to jump through to not only save my ass, but make sure you had someone to talk to at the end of the day! Who on your team can you say goes above and beyond like that for you?!” He blinks at you now, eyes wide. Features fall to the floor where your clothes reside. You have his full and undivided attention.

An impressively dangerous thing to have.

“What more do you want from me, Homelander? I practically live with you without any of the benefits that usually includes! You’re really going to stand here and berate me like I haven’t given you fucking everything you’ve ever asked me for? Because I made one mistake? I gave up my entire world, which I know doesn’t mean shit to you. But it does to me.”

You fold your arms over your chest. Nothing covers it. You have to know before you lose all dignity. So you ask once more, hoping it won’t get lost in this bizarre mess.

“What do you want from me?”

Nothing. He can’t stop staring at you. You aren’t aware enough to be ashamed, but you are aware enough to be upset.

His infuriating silence compels you to bend down and gather what was a barrier between the two of you. You are no longer needed if he can’t do what he does best, which is spout off, leaking bottled words everywhere like a broken faucet. It’s a pretty simple question, you think.

That’s when the glass behind you shatters.

You flinch, pause what you’re doing and slowly stand. Cautious in whatever your next approach will be.

Surveying the aftermath, you’re relieved to find that you’re far enough away from the mirror so no injuries were inflicted.

When you finally lock eyes with the source, you see red. The atmosphere surrounding you heaves like the distended belly of a rotting corpse; hisses like an overflowing tea kettle; pierces you like lightning.

Homelander’s expression is rigid. His jaw quivers. Irises are a bright, shining scarlet. If you try anything rash, you might be next. But, having been around him for so long, you’re more inclined to believe he’s having trouble processing his own emotions. And that might have been one of the only ways to release them.

You drop the top and pants you managed to reclaim. Your brain hasn’t fully recovered from the constant devastating hit it’s taken, so you don’t want to put a name to what’s pushing you forward. You don’t stop until you’re directly in his line of vision.

Swallowing, you carefully extend your hand. The ruby color begins to crumble and give way to the vast ocean you might have drowned in one too many times. You lost track, blocking what you could out. Too real and intimate to accept for a realm that thrives off of inauthenticity and misfortune.

Homelander inhales harshly and you retreat, pupils hooking themselves to his. Searching for any sign you shouldn’t be right where you are.

Of course there are several; unfortunately, you are currently blind to them. Blind to everything but him.

That’s how it’s been for awhile, hasn’t it?

He has a habit of not granting you the luxury of time.

Quickly, he snatches your wrist and brings your palm flat against his cheek. He exhales, eyelids fluttering, nuzzling into you.

It’s so simple, yet it disarms you in ways you aren’t accustomed to.

Homelander basks in this chaste display of affection, and so do you, in awe of how enraptured he appears. Soaking you inside of his pores.

In turn, your cognizance reappears. You nearly topple over, realization infiltrating every part of you.

You’re not wearing a stitch.

A knock at the door startles you both. You glance over in that general direction and hear from the other side, “You’re on in fifteen, Homelander, sir!”

Gazing back up at him, you witness that same fire expand at a rapid rate. You use your other hand to bring him back down to reality, to ground him. It rests against his chest, delving into and cracking his ribs, flaying him open.

What strikes you is how vigorously his heart is beating. How you can feel it through his uniform.

This is how much you affect him. (Can you fathom that you’re only privy to a fraction?) Having evidence of the tiniest reciprocation drains you of any unwanted discomfort.

His fury subsides. You breathe out. He does, too.

“Go sit in your chair. I came here to do my job, after all.” The tenderness with which you speak seems to ease him further, his shoulders deflating with each word.

That aside, you’re playing with a lit match. You’re unsure who’s going to set who ablaze, but you’re willing to go down with this entire building to find out.

He does as he’s told, watching you the whole way like a mutilated mixture of a snarling cornered animal and a man fervently in love. He almost trips into his seat, not an ounce of grace in his gait.

Sacrificing his entire image just to get a glimpse of you.

Whipping his cape to the side, he sinks into the cushion. You get things ready as you typically do, your movements a bit jittery from the adrenaline sending haphazard jolts to your limbs. Despite this, you’re focused. You are more focused than you remember ever being.

You work efficiently, keeping in mind the limit that’s been put on your time.

Homelander bores holes through you. He doesn’t need lasers for that. You’re exposed and vulnerable and he pries what he fostered apart until it’s distinguishable by no one else but him.

You relearn his perfectly manufactured features. Different lights shape shadows you either haven’t seen before or feigned ignorance of. You commit to memory how he looks, smells, feels, the side of your hand grazing his cheek and hanging on.

He’s invigorating, your excitement building to a crescendo you can’t neglect. The heat in your core disperses, most of it congregating low in your belly and behind your expanding rib cage. His pupils drink you in, urgently and violently.

Your arousal is heady. He licks his lips. A hint of a whine caresses your ears and it makes you dizzy.

How could you have ever denied yourself?

You decide to take further control, testing the waters to a greater extent.

It��s your turn to watch him the whole way down. You straddle him, easing yourself atop his taut thighs.

After a few moments of humoring yourself, of pretending to concentrate on your work, dusting his nose with powder, you straighten. Eye contact has not been severed.

You motion toward his hands, balled into tense, repressed fists at his sides.

“Take off your gloves.”

Initially, it feels like maybe you said the wrong thing, or said it the wrong way. He doesn’t budge. You’re patient, however, so you wait like you’ve always done, the warmth from your cunt mingling with the hardness beneath you. Your mouth waters.

At last, Homelander nods and removes his gloves, tugging on the index of each. He places them on the armrests and transfixes himself to you once more.

“Do you want to touch me?” you ask, voice and body staying impossibly still in spite of your nerves.

Immediately, he shakes his head, “Yes,” the first time he’s spoken since your outburst, and without hesitation, reaches for your chest. You close your eyes, falling into his snooping lifts and tugs and squeezes, giving yourself permission to become possessed by the inhibited imaginations of how selfish, how rapacious his touches might be. How smooth his bare hands are, how ardent each digit is.

Leaning into you, he sucks one nipple into his mouth and palms the other, moaning and vibrating against your flesh. He digs his fingers into the pliant softness of your hip, steadying you with disciplined pressure. You squirm, attuned to every minuscule shift.

The lit match is tilted toward you now, swift and stunning. Your fingers release the brush you’ve been holding. It aligns with the slit of the cushion, forgotten and purposeless.

You wrap your digits around the hand on your curves and guide him toward your throbbing center. He doesn’t fight you. Doesn’t stop your movements. Doesn’t scold or challenge you. Instead, he curls his fingers in a way that makes you unabashedly moan, cupping your folds and pinning his thumb to your clit, adapting to your anatomy.

Your wants.

It seems like breaking away from you is a daunting task, but he does for a moment, brow furrowed, more engrossed and invested than you’ve ever witnessed.

“Fuck.” The curse sounds downright edible, your new favorite flavor. Your name tumbles from his lips like he’s been practicing, a sweet, rich icing on top. You gasp, his tongue adhering to you again, swirling around your peak before lightly biting it.

Rocking your hips back and forth, side-to-side, you grind hard into his palm. He strokes you like he’s studied what pace you prefer, how much friction you crave. You’re so wet, even you’re thrown off by it.

Once he’s finished with your chest, he’s back against the seat, unable to peel his gaze from you. Your full, swollen, glistening breasts.

His mouth hangs open, obscene, desperate whimpers slipping from it. Pupils are like whirlpools that drive you under. Drive you mad.

Homelander adeptly slips two, three digits inside your sopping cunt, unrelenting in his intentions to make up for lost time. The voracity of his actions propels you forward, balancing against his chest. He grasps and pulls at your other hip, groaning loudly in your ear, confirming his approval of how close you are to him.

It’s still not enough.

Pulling you even tighter to his blinding sun of a body, he encloses his free arm around you and desperately bucks his waist. “I want… I want… I want…” he chants. Your nails drag up his neck and along his scalp, overwhelmed by his warmth, his scent, him. Your lips ghost the sliver of skin above his collar, making him growl.

You anticipate and dread and yearn for what’s been building for so long. You clench and release, clench and release, clench and release, body chanting with him.

You’re intuitively thankful for the chair’s sturdiness; however, if it would have collapsed, you’re honestly not sure you would have noticed. Or cared.

You hear him come first. Feel the temperature rise temporarily. It’s so sudden and all-consuming that you naturally follow, his name an instinct you can’t help but divulge. You haven’t come down from the turbulent emotions rushing through you earlier, and that combination catapults you over the edge.

Your orgasm draws more deliberate, vehement grunts and sighs of satisfaction from him, as if your pleasure is inexplicably the same or worth more than his.

You can’t crumple into a boneless heap like you want to. You just can’t. You have to look at him. Look at his bliss; the glazed, barren-yet-so-full-of-you expression, of what these months of working in close quarters have done to him.

What you uncover is not what you were picturing. There’s a mixture of that haze with something almost apologetic below the teeming surface. Clouds of red to skies of blue. Destructive in and of themselves.

Sliding his fingers from your wetness, he wraps his lips around each one that was inside of you and spreads them apart. Your slick sticks to his glossy skin and stretches between digits, a generous amount. You whimper at the loss- the emptying, hollow feeling- and watch, mesmerized and delirious as he savors you.

Swallowing you whole, Homelander sweeps his knuckles across the apple of your cheek and presses his lips hard against yours. He wastes no time inhaling your gasps and moans, licking your mouth and the faint taste of mint, stealing it from you. You ingest what you can of him as well, exploring what was open to you longer than you realized.

He then seizes your wrists. It’s a rough gesture that evaporates into gentle circles along your pulse points. Still, you know you’re going to bruise where he turned the key and locked you into place: wherever he is.

A visible sheen coats his lips.

“I want you to tell me I’m good. Great. The best.”

His breathing is labored. So is yours.

He kisses the inside of the wrist smeared with perfume, your fluids, his saliva; ends with your hand and rests his cheek against the slope of it.

“I want you to be mine. All mine. Mine alone.”

You’re shaking. He moves forward and pets your hair, twirls it; grabs your nape and holds his thumb to the front of your throat. Securing you. Keeping you there.

“You have to stay. Be mine and stay.”

You thrum with an ache he forced upon you. He’ll claim you were starving and he was the only one who could satiate.

You nod. You were never going to leave to begin with.

Homelander made you his. And you thanked him for it.

#homelander #homelander x reader #the boys #antony starr #my writing #let me see you stripped down to the bone #oneshot #god it feels so good getting this out #i’ve been going through a painful writer’s block so 🥹#thank you everyone who helped and anyone who reads #this is my first full-fledged homelander fic so i’m a bit nervous but! very excited 🖤#love you all 🥰

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cher-rei · 5 months

Text

afterglow- pt.1 [ T.A.A ]

pairings: trent alexander arnold x femreader

summary: young and aspiring marketing and business major jamie carter (you) is privileged with working alongside the liverpool marketing and public relations team while also getting entangled with their star player and right back, trent alexander arnold.

[wc: 2.6k] [part 2] [part 3 ] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6] [part 7] [part 8]

genre(s): friends?? to lovers, work romance, fluff

notes: I've had this idea on my mind for months but I had no idea how to execute it at all. also instead of using the y/n insert, I gave the character a name even though it is read from your pov. It just made it easier to write lmao

"ms carter?"

your heart dropped at the sound of your name being called by an unfamiliar voice, which was something you were going to have to get used to. nonetheless, you turned around to see an older man approaching you with a warm smile and something in his hand.

when he got close enough he put out his hand and you politely shook it as a greeting, still not sure who you were talking to. before you could speak up however, you were interrupted by something being put in your hand.

"this is your staff id," the older man said and you took a closer look at the lanyard in your hand. the picture you had taken less than a few weeks ago was set neatly inside with your name, and position.

carter, jaime

[public relations manager- social media and marketing department]

public relations manager. those three words were enough to make you feel light headed.

you liked to think that your employment on liverpool fc's marketing team was nothing but pure luck. from the moment you handed in your resume for your university final year internship out of pure whim, then to you getting accepted for whatever reason until you got the email no less than a month after graduation asking you to come in for an interview.

all that lead up to the moment you were currently in. standing in the middle of the empty anfield stadium that you had visited for nearly every home game since you were a child. it was nothing but pure luck.

you were broken out of your daze by the older man chuckling about something, which showed that you hadn't heard a single word he said during the past five minutes. you mustered up a smile regardless to play it off and proceeded to follow him for what you thought was a building tour.

"I just realised that I never properly introduced myself," he laughed dryly and gestured for you to step into the tunnel before him. "I'm billy hogan- chief executive officer and I'm ever so sorry for being in a rush right now but I'd like you to be at the training center within the next 30 minutes."

your eyes widened in shock, your feet absentmindedly picking up its pace while hogan continued to speed through the building tour, leaving no room for questions but you decided to make a mental note to ask someone else when you got the chance.

you were escorted to the black s.u.v along with hogan immediately, running through the hundreds of questions you had at the moment. you know you only had room for one though before he was on another phone call.

"uhm sir-"

"yes ms carter?" the older man addressed without trailing his gaze from his cellphone screen or the pile of documents in front of him.

oh gosh.

you managed to clear your throat. "I'm not too sure why I'll be needed at the training center. shouldn't I be in the office or..."

when he heard you start to trail off, hogan shut the folder in his lap and turned to look at you with an expression you couldn't quite read. there was a moment of awkward silence that passed between the two of you in the backseat of the s.u.v, the driver not paying any mind to the conversation.

"our last marketing manager had to be fired because we found out that he was leaking information out to reporters and news broadcasters along with four other employees."

oh shit.

you shuffled in your seat as you tried to think of a response to the news but whenever you parted your lips to say something hogan would raise his finger as a sign that he wasn't done talking. so you swallowed the bitter taste in your mouth along with any comments and listened intently.

did it sound like he was targeting you and bordelined threatening you? yes, yes it did. but you were sure he meant well and was only trying to bring his point across.

"we're low on staff and that's why you were handed two very crucial roles and are expected to make up for the losses. you'll be working alongside the team as you read in the contract," he began once again with a knowing look which made your stomach drop.

because you didn't read the contract. not fully at least. your older sister was the one who urged you to sign it the second it was sent to your house. hell, it could've stated that you were required to donate an organ and you wouldn't have known all because your were too excited and didn't spare anything a second glance.

"but why didn't you just promote people that were already in the department instead of giving me the position straight away?"

hogan let out a dry chuckle and tended to his phone once again, not looking back at you. "because nobody else wanted the position. it's dangerous up there ms carter. so you may feel important right now, but if you can't handle the workload and expectations it's going to get messy."

well this is news to me.

to sum up hogan's lecture and recital of the contract off by heart, you were in fact set up to be working alongside the team as a higher ranking media representative because there needed to be more field work done. no pun intended.

but the fact that nobody else was up for the position didn't sit right with you.

"just make sure they look good for the camera and keep everyone entertained. you're an influencer yourself, so I'm entrusting you to keep everything in order. you were hired because you are young and are in the game already. so keep yourself level-headed and do your best."

no pressure I guess??

deciding to wear sneakers instead of heels today was by the far the best decision you've made in weeks. the weather in liverpool during september was nothing short of horrid. when you stepped out of the car your face was immediately hit with the harsh and crisp air that reminded you why you spent majority of your time indoors.

"welcome to our axa training center," hogan gestured to the building in front of you, it's ceiling to floor windows having you gawking in awe. "this is where you'll be spending a good amount of your time, but it's not as bad as it seems I promise."

what's so bad about watching a bunch of professional football players train half naked?

unlike your last building tour, hogan actually took his time showing you around this time. from the lobby, breakroom, staff rooms, gym and finally to the field where the team was out practicing-- or at least that's what you thought was happening judging by all the screaming.

the second you stepped foot out onto the field, klopp turned to look at you with a welcoming smile.

did he just sense my presence??

you felt frozen in your spot, the world had practically stopped spinning the second he called you and hogan over. when you made it over he halted his conversation with the person beside him to shake your hand.

"it's lovely to finally meet you ms carter," the team's manager politely greeted and it took every single nerve in your body for you to not do something stupid.

you bashfully laughed and brushed his comment off, "if anything, the pleasure is mine. I am extremely honoured to be working in this position."

after a few moments of getting to know each other and klopp giving you a bit of an idea of what he expected media-wise, you realised that you had work cut out for you, judging by klopp saying, "think of this as your second family. the team needs something different, and you ms carter, are exactly the home improvement that we need."

you felt like the weight of the world had just been put on your shoulders again, and his tone of utter sincerity wasn't making it any less pressurising. of course you wanted to do well and give your all into this role but it was going to take a bit of time getting used to.

I should have read that damn contract.

"would you like to meet the team?" klopp asked with a smile and lightly patted your shoulder.

the gesture alone was enough to render you speechless, and you weren't quite sure if you heard him correctly. "would I like to do what?"

"boys!"

your eyes widened in shock as he called the team over. you didn't know what to do or say, your fight or flight mode had nearly been activated and you swore you were about to sprint out of the training center, all the way back home.

you anxiously fiddled with your fingers, not knowing what to do with your hands as you watched the group of soccer players head your way with little to no care to which klopp gave you a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "don't worry, they won't bite."

you mustered up an awkward laugh, muttering under your breath as you mentally prepared yourself for the moment. you obviously hadn't met any of them before, the closest you had gotten was going to the stadium to watch their matches.

the closest you had gotten to any interaction with any professional soccer player in general however, would be at the beginning of the year when jude bellingham followed you back on Instagram. which was still the best day of your life up to date.

you were awestruck, words unable to form as they all huddled up in front of you. you could see the sweat beading on their foreheads which caused a shiver to travel down your spine.

"boys this is ms jaime carter." klopp gestured to you and you managed a small wave, trying to ignore the sound of your heart beating in your ears. "she'll be working with us from now on, as manager of the pr manager for both the marketing and social media departments."

you were greeted with a choir of 'hello's' and listened to klopp give everyone the run-down and a little enlightenment into the situation regarding the last bundle of staff that had to be cut off so abruptly.

"pfft, snitches."

you head turned to look in the direction of the comment, that was immediately reprimanded.

"curtis," klopp started and the soccer player pursed his lips apologetically.

"sorry boss."

"aren't you a little too young to be the manager of two departments?"

your eyebrows raised at the question from harvey. klopp and hogan had to attend to a last minute call from the clubs directors so you were left with the team to "get to know each other", but most of them got back to training which left you with harvey, curtis and trent.

you shifted your weight to your right leg, your head tilting to the side challengingly as you eyed the boy. "well you're younger than i am and playing professional football. what does me being a pr manager make any difference?"

trent and curtis couldn't help but snicker at your counter, jokingly mocking their younger teammate until he got visibly irritated.

"you can't deny us the right to laugh at you," trent said jokingly and kicked the ball to harvey, who passed it to cutis again.

their banter went on for a few minutes as you watched the ball pass between the three of them until harvey spoke up again.

"you're straight out of university though so--"

his sentence was cut off by someone yelling, "ball!", to which you all instinctively looked up only to realise a little to late that it was headed in your direction.

shit.

you backed away just in time to get the ball before it hit the ground. the second it came into contact with your foot, you sent it back virgil's way to which he gave you a smile.

a familiar feeling stired up in your stomach after, but you pushed it aside and for back to your train of thought. "and you're straight out of high-school. so i rest my case."

a moment of silence took over, trent and curtis both shifting their gazes from you and all the way over to virgil who was over at the goal post.

harvey was taking the moment to recollect your high school comment. it was because he was short wasn't it? that's all people had to throw at him these days.

it was trent's turn to speak up, his eyebrows raised while curtis muttered to himself about the distance or something like that. "have you played before?"

before you could answer, your name was being called by hogan since it was time to get back to the office building. you huffed out a breath and sent the three boys a smile.

"looks like today's 'q and a' was cut short." you took a few steps back, stuffing your hands into the pockets of your puffer jacket. "you might as well stock them up for next time. I'll be more than happy to feed your curious minds."

#trent alexander arnold fluff #footballer x reader #trent alexander arnold x reader #liverpoolfc x reader #trent alexander arnold fanfic #footballer imagine #cherrei writes

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moonshine-nightlight · 9 months

Text

Nothing's Wrong with Dale - Part Thirty

It’s been a week, but you’re fairly certain your fiancé accidentally got himself replaced by an eldritch being from the Depths. Deciding that he’s certainly not worse than your original fiancé, you endeavor to keep the engagement and his new non-human state to yourself.

However, this might prove harder than you originally thought.

Fantasy, arranged marriage, malemonsterxfemalereader, M/F

AO3: Nothing’s Wrong with Dale Chapter 30

[Part One][Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five] [Part Six] [Part Seven] [Part Seven.5][Part Eight] [Part Nine] [Part Ten] [Part Eleven] [Part Twelve] [Part Thirteen] [Part Fourteen] [Part Fifteen] [Part Sixteen] [Part Seventeen] [Part Eighteen] [Part Nineteen] [Part Twenty] [Part Twenty-One] [Part Twenty-Two][Part Twenty-Three] [Part Twenty-Four][Part Twenty-Five] [Part Twenty-Six] [Part Twenty-Seven] [Part Twenty-Eight] [Part Twenty-Nine] Part Thirty [Part Thirty-One] [Part Thirty-Two] [Part Thirty-Three] [Part Thirty-Four]

You blink at the woman for a few long seconds, trying to comprehend her words. “Excuse me? Did you just say Lord Dale has called off the wedding? Our wedding?”

“I…” The maid is at a loss for words in the face of your incredulity. She swallows. “Yes, my lady.”

There’s a rushing sound in your ears, like wind roaring. You stay perfectly still, your face blank as you try to think. That is not possible. It’s not. How could he do something like that? Why would he? You’d dealt with so many surprises, jumped over every obstacle, and handled every challenge. Why instead did you feel as though you had survived a trip at sea only to find your ship crashing into the pier while within sight of home? You feel numb.

Perhaps you are making some sort of expression because the woman grows paler. “I’m sure it is simply pre-wedding jitters, my lady,” she hurries to reassure you. “Lord Archibald will have him seeing sense before you can blink.”

“Best to continue getting you ready,” Ms Dearden says as she lays out your corded underskirts. You appreciate her practiced dismissal even if you fear there’s more at play here than she’s aware of. “Young men these days always get cold feet. He’ll be over it soon enough.”

“Yes, of course.” Your own voice seems distant to your ears, but your words are enough for Callalily’s maid to resume work on your hair. At some point she finishes and you’re helped into your underskirts. Your mind stays blank as you try to conceive of reasons for him to do such a thing beyond tiring of you and this whole facade. Distant imaginings of what your life would be like without the wedding crumble to fog.

You’ve been so committed and focused on today that the news feels nonsensical more than alarming. How could the wedding not be happening? Did you just speak with your sisters? Has every moment of the last few weeks been in service of it? Are you not now suddenly dressed in your lovely yellow wedding gown? The person in the hand mirror looks as though they are marrying today.

The door flings open and Steward Bilmont hurries in despite the reproach from the women in the room at both his presence and the dramatics of his entrance.

You only need to look at his face to understand that the situation with Dale has not improved since the first maid broke it to you. He opens his mouth to speak, but something about your countenance, or perhaps your lack of reaction, must inform him that you know something of the situation.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into him, my lady,” Bilmont says, wringing his hands. “He’s not been this unreasonable in weeks. Lord Archibald has refused to put a stop to anything, but Lord Dale refuses to see reason. He’s barred the door to his chambers after Lord Archibald wouldn’t accept his words.”

“I see.” With careful fingers you put down the small hand mirror and begin to stand, adjusting your skirts as you do so.

It’s Miss Adir who asks, her voice filled with trepidation, “My lady?”

“Excuse me,” you say, an undeniable calm spreading through your veins, as you cross the room towards the door.

“Where are you going?” Steward Bilmont asks as you brush by him.

You realize your decision as you reply, “To speak with my betrothed. Please continue preparations without me.”

The maid who brought the news is the one who speaks up, as your hand closes around the door knob. “My lady, I don’t think—”

“Continue without me,” you cut her off, eyes snapping, because finally some emotion has made itself known to you and it is anger. You’ve worked so hard and been through so much. Dale thinks he can just put an end to it all mere hours before you’re to be wed? No.

“My lady…” Bilmont tries, his hand settling gently on your arm. He’s almost wincing, the look in his eyes resigned. As though he thought everything had been going too well and this was the inevitable shoe that dropped.

You shake his hand off. “If Lord Dale wishes to call off our wedding,” some of that anger finally bleeds into your voice and you see the surprise in Bilmont’s eyes, “he shall tell me so to my face. Get out of my way.”

He obligingly steps back, hands hanging back at his sides. You don’t bother to observe the others' reactions, opening the door quickly, and letting it shut heavily behind you.

You walk briskly down the hall and towards the Northridge family bedrooms. No one else, servant or noble alike, crosses your path as you head that way. Not until you’re closer. You hear shouting and decide to peek around the corner, wanting to get the scope of the situation you’re walking into.

“—utter foolishness!” Grandfather is shouting at Dale’s closed door with two guards flanking him. He bangs his fist on the door for good measure. “Do you wish for me to find your Grandmother? I’ve kindly not informed her of your idiocy, but I shall have to if you persist!”

There’s no reply from the other side of the door, not even a sound. Grandfather rattles the door knob to no avail, but doesn’t try anything further with the solid wood door.

He groans in frustration and turns to the guards. “I want to know the instant he leaves this room and if he does not within the hour, I shall have to inform Lady Deidre as promised.”

“Yes, my lord,” the guards chorus looked properly cowed by the threat, even if it isn't aimed at them.

Grandfather turns dramatically enough you see more of the original Dale in him than you thought possible and storms off. The guards take up posts on either side of the door, not baring it, but still present enough that you stay where you are. You’ve no desire to speak to them or to shout at Dale with them nearby.

You frown, unsure why but something doesn’t sit right with you the longer you look down the silent corridor. It seems…empty, or perhaps still, in a manner that makes you feel as if you are not where you should be. Not that your presence is unwanted, but as if you are lost.

You study the scene more closely and find your eyes drifting towards the bright sunlight streaming through the windows and the faint light coming from under Dale’s bedroom door. After a second, you realize what is wrong with the light and shadow—both are completely still. Before, the maid had said both of them were shouting and you’ve never heard this Dale raise his voice except in a physical fight. If he were truly upset, or at least strongly emotional, there should be some evidence in the shadows, some unnatural movement.

You chance another glance down the corridor, but it looks utterly ordinary. As your gaze sweeps from further down where Grandfather disappears around a corner and then back closer to yourself they snag on the stairway down towards the studies and other meeting rooms. There’s no movement, but the shadows are deep and dark. There are no windows there, that stairway is more utilitarian than for show like the grand staircases in other places throughout the house, so that’s plenty of reason for the darkness, but…

You move as quietly and fluidly as you can towards that staircase, hoping not to attract the guards notice. You don’t want to talk to anyone except Dale. You don’t know what Grandfather would try to say to you given he is clearly trying to keep this news contained. He stopped attempting to prove anything with you since the attack, but you’re still not completely sure of what he thinks of you. Keeping your skirts just high enough off the floor and grateful your house slippers are soft and quiet, you make it to the stairs without the guards' notice.

Your footsteps are nearly silent as you hastily make your way down the flight of stairs. You’ve never given much thought to the amount of light that fills it, but surely it wasn’t this dark in previous mornings. Or is that simply your imagination? Is it just your hope that it means you can find Dale and talk some sense into him?

You peek out at the bottom, looking for anyone in this area of the house who might question one of the couple getting married wandering about alone. No one is present. An eerie silence permeates the corridor and like the staircase, it seems darker than it should be. You step out, eyes on the window that lets light in, but seems outnumbered by shadows.

Dale’s personal study is off a smaller side corridor from this hallway, in its own small tower. You think the upper floor might connect to his bedroom. Then there is the underground room, the real reason you believe the original Dale had requested his current quarters and this study.

There’s an oppressive aura that thickens the air as soon as you turn the corner and it builds the closer you get to his study’s door. You imagine that's partially responsible for the lack of others in this area, which in some ways you’re grateful for. You also manage to draw on its presence as fuel for your anger at such obvious overflow from his nature. The shadows under the door ripple, as if it were night and a lighted candle was guttering in the breeze, unremarkable except for the fact that it's closer to noon.

Cautiously, you reach out for the door knob. Grasping it firmly in your hand, you find that it's not locked as you had feared. The knob turns without effort and the door swings inside to reveal Dale’s study. The flickering shadows solidify as you step inside, eyes searching for Dale.

You find him quickly enough, a trunk half packed of books next to him. Somehow you don’t think they are being gathered for your wedding trip. He’s by the window, back to you, but you can see tension in every line of his body. All the breath desserts you at the sight of him. All the words you could say dry up in your mouth. The door shuts with an audible click behind you.

“WOULD—” Dale whirls, his frustrated voice cuts off the second his eyes land on you. Abruptly all the anger in his face leaves him. Instead he practically deflates, merely gaping at you. To your surprise, he spins away from you. “What are you doing here?” he asks, voice pitched higher than usual. “I thought we were not to see each other until—” He doesn’t finish his sentence, his shoulders slumping.

You take another few steps into the room and clear your throat. “Yes, well, I’m fairly certain that the betrotheds laying eyes on one the morning of the wedding is of no consequence if there isn’t to be a wedding, hm?” You’re grateful that you’ve rediscovered some of your anger and your frustration to draw on for the strength to weather this conversation.

“I…” Dale can’t seem to think of an adequate response even as he refuses to turn around.

Your heart constricts in your chest at this confirmation. “So it’s true?” You hadn’t realized how much you were hoping despite all the evidence to the contrary that once you found Dale he’d explain how it was all one big misunderstanding. “You’ve called off our wedding.”

He leans his head against the wall and says nothing.

“Dammit, Dale!” The words jump out of you, louder than you’ve ever spoken to Dale. “Look at me,” you say, your voice breaking. “If you’re going to do this, you’re going to look at me as you do so.”

Slowly, like a man condemned, he turns. Dale swallows, looking profoundly guilty. He murmurs your name, but you refuse to let his soft voice sway you and merely stare straight back at him. “Why? Why are you doing this?”

“My reasons are complex, but unchangeable.” His words are rote and his voice wooden. You imagine he said something like this to Grandfather. “I apologize.”

“I don’t understand,” you say as plainly as you can, tired of talking around topics and pretending to be sure when you aren’t. “Complex? How complex can they be that you won’t even enumerate them for me now. Please explain, justify, anything.” Dale just stands there and that anger surges through your blood. You take another step forward, your voice as stern as you can make it, “You owe it to me. Tell me why you are calling off our future.”

“I…” Dale starts before his blue eyes meet yours squarely for the first time since you arrived and he appears to shrink in on himself. He sighs a deep sigh, looking weary. “I could say any number of reasons, but you’re correct. They’re just excuses.” He pulls himself back up and braces himself. “In truth, I simply cannot bear to deceive you any longer.”

“Deceive me? About what? What can you not have told me that would cause our wedding to be canceled?” Panicked, wild scenarios begin to fly through your mind. “Did you marry someone else on your travels and they’ve arrived today? Have you been caught smuggling? Are you a wanted man? Did something happen this morning?”

Dale looks taken aback. He blinks at you. “Wha-? No, no—none of that.”

You feel some exasperation mixing with your frustration as he continues to talk around whatever he’s worried about. You’ve done this dance every day for weeks now and you are so, so tired of it. “Then what? I thought,” you swallow, hating how small your voice has gotten. You clear your throat and try again. “I thought you wanted this—wanted our marriage.”

“I do!” The words burst out of him, surprising you. How can he say so when he’s the one who is ruining it. He continues more quietly, as if the volume was what shocked you, “I do, but you don’t know…” He trails off again, looking away.

“Then tell me,” you plead, taking another step closer. Only another step or two and you could touch him. You could try in vain to keep him from leaving you.

“I,” he starts, looking at you and away again. “A few weeks ago, there was a… I mean to say that I,” he begins again, obviously having difficulty getting the words out. At least you can see he’s truly making the attempt this time. “Well, not me, but he…” Is this something the original Dale had done that was coming back to ruin everything? That was what you hoped for, in a strange way, because at least it would mean that this Dale still might want you. That whatever prompted this was out of his control. That maybe you could fix whatever it was. “I care about you,” he finally says, his eyes bright, bright blue as they meet yours squarely once more and your breath catches at the genuine sentiment in his voice, “more than I ever thought I would, but I’m not who you think I am.” He takes another deep breath and says bluntly, “Dale of Northridge died weeks ago and then I possessed his body.”

Everything seems to screech to a halt as he stares at you, his eyes pleading with you to understand. Aside from the relief at finally hearing him say it out loud, you don’t. Understand, that is. “Yes…” you say slowly, nodding. “And…?” You’re still waiting for him to complete the thought. To tell you what he’s been building to. Prompting him seemed to help before. “Did you eat someone a few weeks ago and have just now been discovered? Did something you forgot come back to cause problems now?”

“What?” Now Dale looks nearly as confused as you feel. It makes you want to scream in frustration because he’s the one doing this—he has to be the one that knows what is going on. “No, I don’t think you understand.” He talks more slowly, like you’re not hearing his words right. “I’m not human, I’m a demon.” He once again appears to brace himself for your reaction, but you still don’t get it.

Maybe you aren’t hearing him right, but that’s never happened before. Is this some new demonic power or collateral influence? “Yes, I know,” you reply just as deliberately. You enunciate as you ask, “But what did you do that means we can not be wed?”

“You must not be comprehending my words.” He seems to be aware of the issue, getting frustrated himself. He runs his fingers through his long dark hair before he takes on a consoling tone, “I know it is a great shock to find out your fiance is now a demon—”

“What?” You stare at him because is that what he thinks you are getting caught on? You put your hands on your hips and can’t say anything except, “Of course, I know you’re a demon.”

“What?” He leans back, eyes wide. “No.” Dale shakes his head. “How could you know that?”

“Did you think you’ve been doing an exemplary job of hiding it?” The response bursts out of you before you can help it. Because no, this cannot be the conversation you’re having. It can’t be. “How about we begin with how the human Dale was obviously interested in demonology and black market dealing. How excited he was the night before this,” you gesture to Dale’s entire body, “happened. How sick you were after and your memory issues. The fact that you occasionally have more eyes than is proper and your influence on shadows and the claws. You’ve had a tail at times, for stars’ sake!”

“Oh.” Dale’s voice is small and his eyes big as he stares down at you, clearly at a loss for words.

You’ve seemingly found a well of words with which to rebuke him. “Do you know how many times I’ve had to conceal your nature?” You take a step forward, unable to contain your ire and incredulity. He takes one back. “It is not as easy as you must believe to distract people from wriggling shadows and additional eyes and all the strange things you say. Did you really believe I didn’t know? That you were hiding it that well?”

“Well, I don’t know.” Dale sounds more flustered than you’ve ever heard him. “Humans are so oblivious most of the time!”

“Not that oblivious!”

Dale throws his hands up. “Well, no one’s instigated a purge, have they? And Grandfather and Grandmother don’t know, do they?”

Your heart rate is slowly returning to normal and you grudgingly admit, “No. Although Grandfather did think I’d cursed you for a couple weeks.”

“He thought you cursed me?”

“Yes!” you reply, exasperated that he didn’t even know. “After the hunt, where you did light knows what with the boar, he became convinced that I had cursed you or ensnared you with my ‘potions’. Perhaps while you were still recovering from your supposed illness. As a supposed practitioner of dark ritual or maybe even a summoner, he kept trying to exorcise me, which I had to make sure didn’t accidentally affect you.” When Dale just looks at you, obviously hearing this or putting the pieces together for the first time you can’t help, but feel as if you might be the one who has lost their mind. “You must remember when he practically threw a glass of holy water on us?”

Dale’s brow furrows. “…I did think that was a bit odd.”

You snort. “Yes, I would wager so.” Slowly, you realize you're laughing. You put a hand to your mouth but all it does is muffle the sound. Dale looks newly worried but you can’t stop. “I can’t believe you didn’t know that I knew.” Collapsing into a chair, you cover your face in your hands as you try to regain your composure.

How is this happening? How had you managed to get so far along without realizing he didn’t know that you knew? Who does that say more about him or you?

After a moment or two, you sense him near you and he asks, “Are you alright?” He sounds so concerned, like he’s still worried the knowledge of what he is, even if it isn’t new to you, might be capable of breaking your mind or whatever he feared would happen.

“Yes, yes,” you finally sit back up, blinking in the light as you attempt to reassure him. “I will be. I simply need a moment.” Dale hesitates from where he’s leaning over you before turning to fetch a cup of water. Haltingly, he holds out to you. “Thank you,” you say as you wipe away the tears that had gathered in the corners of your eyes while laughing.

You sip it carefully as you pull the tattered remains of your composure around yourself once more. Dale watches you take the first couple of sips before he begins to pace in obvious agitation. He’s clearly waiting for you to finish the glass before saying whatever is so clearly on his mind. You’re content to take your time and make him wait after everything he’s put you through, seemingly without even realizing what you were doing.

After a minute, you set the glass down deliberately and Dale comes to a stop in front of you. “I don’t…” he starts to say before changing his mind. “If you know, then why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?” you ask. He’s the one constantly doing incomprehensible things.

“Marrying me!” he says, rather emphatically, as though it should be obvious. He runs his hands through his hair. “Going through with this wedding! I don’t understand.” He sounds desperate to understand.

You feel of heat gather high on your cheeks, not having expected to have a light shown on your own actions so directly. “What do you mean? We’re betrothed. Getting married is the expected course of action.”

He gives you a flat look that says you’re not fooling him. “Try once more. I admit there were certain times where I did think you…” He looks at you, a distant look in his eyes as he remembers whatever particular instance. “Where I did think that you knew. Half a dozen times, I was sure you knew,” he continues, eyes intent once more, “but you didn’t do anything about it! You never revealed me or tried to exorcise me or even demand any sort of recompense for keeping it secret. You merely continued on as we had. You were still there, at my side.” He sighs and he looks so tired again. “And so I thought I must be wrong, that you couldn’t know.”

You're not sure what to say in the face of his conviction that you knowing what he is and you continuing to associate with him were so unlikely he’d discounted it out of hand. He made it sound like tolerating or using him was the most he’d expected. “I…”

“And you’re afraid of demons!” The words burst out of him. “So why would—?”

“I’m not afraid of you,” you reply because that’s certainly true. If the manner in which the shadows behind Dale are writhing in distress are any indication, the reassurance can’t hurt. You’re worried about how his nature makes life more complicated and what other people might do, but you’re long past the point of fearing he’d physically injure you on purpose.

“I heard you and Grandfather talking about Two,” Dale replies, as if that proves something. “How you feared them because of what they were. That night, when I remembered what I’d heard, I changed my mind again about what you knew.”

You stare at him before saying slowly, “Dale, I was afraid of Two because they were trying to kidnap and murder us. Their being a demon made them more dangerous, so yes, that made me fear them more than the others. You were who knows where fighting them on your own and I was worried about you.” If you thought Dale looked confused before, he looks downright confounded now. You keep talking, relishing in the opportunity to finally speak honestly about the attack, “However, you being a demon makes you stronger, which reassured me. I couldn’t say anything else because of Grandfather’s attitude, but I did not grow up in Northridge. I may not have met a demon before, but I didn’t live anywhere with the rigorous, studied suspicion and fear that Northridge cultivates.”

“The rest of the world is not Northridge,” Dale acknowledges having composed himself, “but it is not charitable in its view either. And it is not wrong in that opinion. I’ve been on the Surface before. No one has ever treated me in the manner you have after learning what I am. It was impossible to reconcile the person I got to know with someone who would want what humans understand demons to be.”

It’s not as though you can’t follow where he’s coming from. You haven’t told anyone else about what he is for a reason beyond just what Grandfather and Grandmother. You’d never even seriously considered telling any of your siblings because you know they wouldn’t understand. You want to ask further about the personal experience he’s alluding to but that isn’t what matters at this moment. “I…” You take a breath and finally say the obvious truth that you’ve never been able to say directly, even if you alluded to the sentiment right after the attack. “I do want to marry you.” Dale looks thunder-stuck. “Far more than I ever wanted to marry Dale before you took his place.”

“You do?” You’ve never seen Dale look so completely bewildered. “Why?”

“Because he was a selfish, mean, entitled prick.” The plain, honest words slip out without thought and Dale’s eyes widen. “Because you’re not. I like you.” You swallow and continue, “I think we get along well. I would have tolerated marrying him. You make me look forward to marriage.”

It's a weight lifted to finally say those words, but they inevitably bring up your own confusion, your own lack of understanding of this Dale’s motivations and you can’t pass up the opportunity to ask. “But this is not just about why I have stuck to this facade. Why have you?” You still have no notion of what a demon might want. You’d only barely convinced yourself that Dale wanted this partnership since he was going along with it. He isn’t now. So perhaps you don’t know anything at all. “You could have stolen all you could from Dale and then disappeared to live your own life about a week after being here. You don’t have to be, to be,” you search for the words to define what’s he’s been doing, especially knowing he’s not been working toward the same end goal as you, “taking part in all these events, and playing dutiful grandson with Grandfather, Grandmother, or all the others.” You take a deep breath and add, with only a small shake to your voice, “Or being with me. Why are you still here?”

Dale opens his mouth, but no sound comes out as he stares at you.

Your shoulders slump in the face of his inability to give any reason, let alone a compelling one. “Although, I suppose there is no more wedding, is there? You’ve called it off, for all you haven’t left or told me why.” The prospect of the fall-out to come leaves you exhausted and hurt already. “I assume that leaving will be your next move.”

“No, no,” Dale starts to protest, “I…” Something changes in his expression as he searches for the words to say and this time, they come out steady, “Originally, I stayed because it was easy. I thought the best stroke of luck I’d had in my existence was when that imbecile broke himself opening an unguarded portal and I’d won the fight for his body.”

“Oh.” It had never even occurred to you that there might have been such an event. No matter what he does next, you’re grateful this demon is the one who won too.

“It’d been so long since I’d been up on the Surface,” Dale says wistfully. “I didn’t have a plan beyond getting here. I suppose, at first, I had considered taking what I could and leaving to make my own life. Except…” Your breath, your future hangs on that “except.” “I enjoy it here. Northridge, I mean, not just being out of the Depths. It’s somewhat impossible to know how much is experience and how much is borrowed memory, but I care for Grandfather and Grandmother. And for you. What is here in Northridge is more than I’d hoped for. A safe den, a loyal clan, a bountiful territory, an exemplary mate. Why would I go searching for better when it seemed I’d already found all I could want?”

“Truly?”

“Yes.”

Dale seems so sincere but that only brings your mind back to what prompted this conversation. “Then why are you trying to stop the wedding?”

“Because I thought you didn’t know!” he protests. “I told myself that since I’d never out-right lied to you, that was good enough.” He sighs. “But I realized if my only reason for not telling you who you were even marrying was because you might make a choice I didn’t want, that it was rather despicable.”

You can’t help, but ask the obvious. “Then why didn’t you simply tell me instead of calling the wedding off?”

“Because I’m selfish too,” Dale says, “and I couldn’t bear for you to know the truth and look at me like—.” He breaks off, shaking his head.

He’s returned to not meeting your eyes. Tension has crawled back up his spine to settle in his shoulders. His arms are crossed and he still seems one wrong word away from running. As if Dale’s still waiting for you to reject him. Perhaps you need to make up for all the times you didn’t speak up before. It seems like a fair concession if the hope blooming in your chest is proven true.

You stand up from your chair, crossing the remaining distance between you and Dale. You place gentle hands on his forearms and they loosen under your touch. Carefully you push those crossed arms down until they hang by his sides where you can entwine your fingers with his. You take advantage of the height he has on you to look up into his eyes, not even surprised to find more than just two. “Well, I do know.” Those glowing blue eyes stare back down at you with the same hope reflected in them. “And I still want to marry you. If you do.”

Dale’s answer is immediate and earnest, “I do. I want that. I want the life we spoke of building more than anything else I’ve ever thought to want.”

You nod, a smile breaking out across your face. “Good. Go-” He cuts you off with a kiss, which starts out light but grows in pressure when you kiss him back. He tries to lift a hand to your face, but instead the back of your own hand still held in his touches your cheek instead. You pull back to see the pout he makes as he stares at his hand, obviously unsure of whether to let yours go or to keep holding on.

The sound of a door opening above you followed by disgruntled voices pops the bubble of privacy you’d been enclosed in. You sigh. “While we still need to have a full conversation, I think it can wait for tonight at the least, yes?” Dale nods eagerly. “Then I must return to getting ready.”

“And I must assure Grandfather my ‘bout of childish insanity’ is indeed over. I’ve never seen him so furious.” At the look of surprise on your face, Dale smiles. “Regardless of what he thought before, Grandfather certainly thinks well of you now. He repeatedly told me that this would be the worst decision I ever made if I went through with it. He’s refused to even tell Grandmother, more out of fear for me than for her.”

High on emotion and relief, you giggle, too pleased that Grandfather spoke so strongly in your favor. “Did he?”

“Yes,” Dales says as he leads you to the study door. “And it's not as though I could provide a solid defense when I knew he was right.” He pulls you into a solid embrace before letting you go with a final kiss pressed to your forehead.

You pull the door open without looking away from him, not able to resist asking for one last reassurance, “Your word that you will be there at the other end of the aisle?”

Dale smiles. “Yes, sana, I give you my word that I will let nothing stand in the way of our wedding, not even myself.”

[Part Thirty-One]

#my writing #story: nothing's wrong with dale #story part #nothing's wrong with dale #monster romance #monster bf #exophilia #terato #osha compliant #slow burn #arranged marriage #reader #idk where today went #literally all i did was work on this and go to a bridal shower #and the day is gone #the anticipation just for myself for this chapter has been ridiculous #so i'm rly glad to hav finally gotten here and finished it!#hope you enjoyed the chapter!#let me know what you think!

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ethereallocs · 9 months

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Femmé Fatale-Modern Au!Chp 1.

[Pairing: Aemond Targaryen (Married Businessman) x Fem Reader ( Secretary)

[Content/Warnings:!!18 PLUS!!, Lust, Tension, Adultery, Toxic, Domestic Violence, car sex,p in v penetration, Biting, Hair pulling, oral masc receiving, ass eating, Choking, Violence, Obsessive, Stalking, Mentions of infertility and Swearing.]

Aemond’s morning was always the same but today something was different his wife Alys had decided to climb on top of him and wake him up with a bit of lazy morning sex which wasn’t how it use to be but he appreciated the long awaited intimacy. You see he loved his wife dearly but thing haven’t been the same since they lost their unborn child 3 years ago. Alys had become cold after the doctors told her they shouldn’t try again due to the fact that she almost lost her life as well. Aemond had given her the space she needed and tried to be that support system for her. Their relationship just wasn’t what it used to be anymore. Alys rutted on top of him halfway moaning in his ear. He knew she was only doing this for him so he tapped her shoulder and kissed the side of her head. “It’s alright we don’t have to do this.” He whispered sincerely. She stopped in her tracks and sighed rolling off of him and wrapping herself up in a robe to go to the kitchen and make him coffee. Huffing in frustration he got into the shower and finished himself off which didn’t take too long.

He quickly got dressed and passed through the kitchen to gulp down his coffee and grab his briefcase before he left for work. He came behind Alys wrapping his arms around her waist and pulled her in for a kiss but she dodged his lips and in embarrassment he pulled away and left without saying a word. He hopped into his car and sighed letting it run while the scene played in his mind over and over again. He did love his wife he kept telling himself that he had to have they were together for quite sometime and grew so much together and he didn’t want to be the dick to leave his wife when she needed him most. He was becoming numb to it all..was this really how life with her was going to be now? He pulled off knowing that when he went to work at least that would keep his mind off his marriage that was falling apart right before his eyes.

Walking into work he was greeted by his staff and nodded and smiled speaking to each and every person that passed him by. This was the one place he felt like himself in. Approaching his receptionist’s desk an old lady wearing a floral cardigan was smiling up at him. “Aemond, how are you doing this morning, dearest?” He smiled back leaning into the desk. “I’m fine Grace how are you? You’re looking exceptionally beautiful today.” He made the old lady blush and just when she had almost forgot she passed him some papers. “Oh! This is the information on the new secretary you had Helaena interview. She’s waiting for you in your office, love.” He nodded looking through them and liking her résumé. “Hmm..thank you Grace.”

Walking through the threshold of his office doorway saw a small figure sitting in the chair just in front of his desk. “Good morning! Ms. Y/N! I’m Aemond Targaryen…but..” he was stopped in his tracks when he saw his new employee in all her glory. She was gorgeous. Clearing his throat he continued his speech looking down at the papers. “You may call me Mr. Targaryen. I hope you understand this is a very serious and important job and your job is to make sure nothing slips through the cracks and to make sure everything stays on schedule, yes?" Y/N nodded while she listened attentively and smiled charmingly at him. He was taken aback by everything about she was absolutely breathtaking but the thoughts of Alys hit him like a wrecking ball knocking him out of the trance this young woman had him in. "Mr.Targaryen, is everything alright?" She looked at him with a concerned look and Aemond just cleared his throat. "Sorry...I blanked out I had a rough night. But I've looked over your resume and your references have spoken wonderfully about you so I believe you will be a wonderful addition to "Targ Trade". Are there any questions you have for me?”

She thought for a while looking him over once more as she did whilst he spoke spying the wedding band on his finger. Interesting she thought as she notice how happy he was to see her within his pants regardless of how hard he tried to stay professional. “No sir. I know what you need from me and I will deliver. If there isn’t anything else I’ll go to my desk. Thank you for the opportunity, Mr. Targaryen.” He cleared his throat, “Yes of course..You’re welcome.” This was the first time he’d heard her voice and it was completely sinful, the thoughts of how’d she’d sound moaning in pleasure underneath him. Watching her leave he groaned under his breath watching her hips away. He shook the thoughts from his head thinking of Alys again trying to remind himself he was still very much in love and happy. Knowing he’d become miserable a few months ago waiting for Alys to even seem the least bit happy but that day never came.

The rest of the day he spent his time focusing on work being distracted briefly if Y/N came in to give him some paper work or when she paged into his office to let him know he had a call. She knew exactly what she was doing leaning ever so closely to him letting him smell her perfume and catch a small glimpse of her cleavage. She flipped her hair in just the right way and leaned against his desk almost pressing against him. He pulled away and she only smiled innocently seeing the red tint come upon his pale cheeks. “So a few of your colleagues and I were going to go to a bar tonight and have a few drinks. Do you want to come? You seem like you need to have a little fun.” He listened closely just loving the way her voice filled his ears. He thought for a moment. “Umm…I can’t I have a lot of..uhhh work to do.” She pouted and sighed. “Alright…your loss.” She spoke in a singsong tone before leaving his office.

They only had two hours left before business hours were up and he played that question in his head over and over up until he noticed everyone getting up to leave. He knew if he went he was going to do something he’d regret…but he’d regret it more if he never saw it through. He decided to call his wife and no surprise she didn’t pick up so he decided to leave a text letting her know he’d be out late tonight having a drink with friends. He could feel the guilt eating him up already, but he didn’t really care. He grabbed his briefcase and caught the group of his employees and Y/N before they headed out. He hadn’t looked her way, but he could feel her watching him within the crowd as they all decided to meet at the bar. Criston Cole was especially interested in Y/N and Aemond was a bit irritated as he watched them drinking and flirting whilst another one of his employees talked his head off. He was knocking back whiskeys and sulking while Y/N was loving the attention. A few people started to make their way home, but he stayed behind waiting for his chance.

She decided to approach him since he was too worried about what anyone else would say. She smiled so deviously and maybe he should been alittle more cautious, but he was to enthralled with her to even notice how dangerous this woman really was. “You’ve been staring at me all night, but don’t have the guts to say anything.” He chuckled and looked at his finger which binder him to another. “I think you know why, Ms.Y/N.” She took a sip of her martini and crossed her legs flashing her unclothed cunt for a moment. The sir immediately grew tense and he sighed kicking back another whiskey. “From the way you look at me you can’t be too happy…you look hungry…for something she reached to touch his hand and he quickly pulled it back as there were a few of his colleagues lingering about. She was right, but he had to put up some type of a fight..right? “You don’t need to worry about my personal life..all you need to know is that I’m married so that means I’m off limits..” He teased and smirked at her.

“Off limits? I don’t think I know what that means…You are putting on quite a show…you must really care for her…huh?” He hummed and didn’t respond. As disrespectful as this conversation was he had to admit he enjoyed it. The game they were playing. Cat and mouse. She toyed with him like he was her prey and he couldn’t help but enjoy it immensely. It was almost like a form of foreplay. Time had passed and they were finally alone…everyone from work had disappeared and they kept their conversations PG smiling and laughing while the fires of passions burned in their eyes. He sighed and stood to leave and she slowly followed. They both coincidentally had parked in the same parking deck which was now a ghost town..perfect. He had walked her to her car trying to be a gentleman and she had him right where she wanted him.

“Thank you for walking me to my car..” She let her hands slowly run over the boner that had been throbbing for her since their first introduction. He flinched away but pushed his throbbing cock into her hand. He groaned giving into the temptation and she smiled pulled him in for a kiss. His lips crashed into hers and he groaned tasting her for the first time. Her lips were intoxicating. Everything about her was enticing and he could no longer hold himself back. He grabbed onto her waist pulling her in while his other hand grabbed onto that soft ass he’d been waiting to feel in the palm of his hands. She could feel his cock begging to be freed and pulled away to unbutton his pants. He was thick and pretty long..she was a bit surprised. She looked into his eyes and easing down into a low squat. Her red lips wrapped around his head and he inhaled sharply. His knees buckled as she pulled him into her mouth further. He groaned and began to buck his hips and began fucking her throat. Her red lipstick smeared onto his cock and he had to admit she looked beautiful like this. He could feel himself ready to cum and he pulled back lifting her and turning her around to lean against her car. He squatted down and ripped a huge hole into her stocking admiring her exposed ass and opening her cheeks to look over her glistening pussy.

He buried his face into her ass and groaned at the taste of her. She whimpered and pushed back pushing his face into it further. He groaned lapping at her cunt hungrily kneading her ass cheeks together. He cooed tasting her sweet nectar devouring her ass and enjoying all of the sweet sounds she made. He stood up behind her and got her to grab her keys to unlock her car. He climbed in first and pulled her in sitting her in his lap. He slid his hands between her legs and she spread them open as he began to circle his fingers around her clit. She cooed ever so beautifully bucking her hips forward begging for him to fuck her. He grabbed his cock slapping it against her pussy before slowly pushing into her slick entrance. She gasped at the stretch and he groaned at the way she squeezed him just right. With her back against his chest he grabbed onto her hair putting an arch in her back. She hovered over him and cooed at the way he filled her up. Her hips began to buck back and forth and it caused him to shutter. “Fuck…” He groaned pulling her hair harder while he thrusted up into her meeting the rhythm of her hips. “So good.” She muttered panting like an animal.

Wrapping his hand around her throat he pulled her back flush against his chest biting into her neck before he pounded into her furiously. “Gods…I’m going to fuck you stupid….” She whimpered and moaned uncontrollably as he did just that. She played with her clit trying to get some relief she felt like she was going to explode. He knew she was close by the way her walls clenched and released him and he continued to pound his hips into her ass. The clapping sound filling the car as the windows fogged. “You gonna cum for me, Ms.Y/N?” She creamed around him as he continued until he was ready to spill his seed. Pulling away he came in a napkin he had in his pocket and smiled at the cum she left behind smeared on his cock. He pulled up his pants catching his breath and he looked over at her as she fixed her skirt. Immediately the feeling of guilt filled his stomach. It was sickening and heavy. He felt terrible, but he hadn’t felt this good in years and he was now hooked… Even after they had just finished he wanted more but he knew he had to restrain himself.

“I’m going to have to go…I stayed out longer than I intended.” She nodded and leaned over to kiss him one more time. He let her pull off first and he headed home. Once he was home he sat in the driveway for another hour. Thinking about what he just did. He was now officially a piece of shit. But he would be that if it meant feeling Y/Ns body on his again. He finally made his way into his home. Alys was asleep in bed and that gave him time to shower and throw his suit in the washer. She hadn’t stirred while he climbed in next to her there backs facing each other. He had gotten away with it for now…

To be continued…

#fic rec #hotd fanfic #read it #hotd series #10/10 reccomend #aemond fanfiction #aemond smut #aemond stannies #aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #prince aemond #aemond one eye #aemond x reader #house of the dragon aemond #aemond x you #hotd imagine

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simpforfandom231 · 4 months

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i don't forget too well PT4

The night unfolded with a quiet cadence, the hospital room cocooned in a delicate stillness that only the occasional murmur of medical equipment dared to disturb. Renée, despite the hospital setting, found solace in the shared intimacy she and Y/N had woven into the fabric of their temporary sanctuary.

As Renée settled into the makeshift bed, the rhythmic rise and fall of Y/N's chest became a reassuring lullaby—a tangible reminder of the resilience they both possessed. The Marvel shirt, the familiar hoodie, and the soft boxers created a cocoon of familiarity, a testament to the strength found in the simplest of gestures.

In the quiet of the night, Renée's mind wandered through the corridors of their shared journey—the highs and lows, the laughter and tears, and the unwavering love that had become the bedrock of their connection. She gently brushed a strand of hair from Y/N's face, her touch a tender caress.

"You're my superhero, you know that?" Renée whispered, her words a declaration of unwavering belief. "We'll navigate through this together, and on the other side, there's a world waiting for us—a world filled with love, understanding, and the resilience we share."

The night wore on, marked by the hushed conversations that unfolded in the dim glow of the bedside lamp. Renée, with a vigilant gaze, watched over Y/N, her heart a mix of tenderness and determination. The hospital room, once an unfamiliar landscape, now bore the imprints of their shared history—a canvas painted with the hues of love, hope, and a fierce commitment to weathering storms together.

As dawn approached, the room began to bathe in the soft light of the morning. The nurse, making her rounds, acknowledged Renée's steadfast presence with a warm smile. "You're doing a wonderful job, Ms. Rapp. Y/N is lucky to have you by her side."

Renée nodded, gratitude filling her tired eyes. The nurse continued her checks, ensuring Y/N's physical well-being, and then left them once again in the quiet embrace of the room.

With a gentle sigh, Renée stretched her limbs, feeling the remnants of the night's vigil. She leaned over, placing a soft kiss on Y/N's forehead. "Morning, cutie. Let's face the day together, okay?"

The routine of the hospital resumed—nurses passing through, the distant sounds of medical activity, and the ever-present hum of life within its walls. Renée, clad in the comfort of the makeshift bed, prepared to meet whatever challenges the day held.

The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a gentle glow on the hospital room. Renée, having just completed her morning routine in the bathroom, couldn't shake the melody of her song "Bruises" that lingered in her mind. Humming softly to herself, she felt a mix of emotions, her heart still heavy with concern for Y/N.

As she emerged from the bathroom, the room seemed to hold its breath. The silence was broken by a whisper so faint that it could have been a figment of Renée's imagination. "Come back, I miss you next to me."

Renée's heart skipped a beat. A flicker of hope danced in her eyes as she turned toward the source of the sound. Y/N, still nestled in the hospital bed, had uttered those words—a glimpse of connection breaking through the walls of dissociation.

A surge of emotions swept over Renée. "Y/N?" she called out, her voice a delicate mixture of excitement and concern. "Did you just say that?"

The response was a faint nod from Y/N, her eyes reflecting a hint of recognition and a longing for connection. Renée felt a rush of emotions—relief, joy, and a renewed sense of determination.

Without hesitation, Renée pressed the call button, summoning the nurse. The anticipation hung in the air as they waited for the medical professional to arrive. The nurse, recognizing Renée's urgency, entered the room with a promptness that mirrored the gravity of the moment.

"Something's happening. Y/N spoke," Renée explained, her eyes filled with a mixture of hope and worry.

The nurse approached Y/N's bedside, conducting a series of checks to assess the change in her condition. Y/N, still caught in the delicate transition from detachment to presence, gazed at Renée with a vulnerability that tugged at Renée's heart.

"She's showing signs of improvement," the nurse noted, a reassuring smile playing on her lips. "Sometimes, small breakthroughs like this can pave the way for more substantial progress."

Renée, unable to contain her emotions, reached for Y/N's hand. "You're coming back to me, aren't you, babe?" she whispered, her voice a mixture of tenderness and elation.

The nurse continued her assessments, making notes and adjusting the care plan accordingly. "It's a positive sign. We'll monitor her closely and make any necessary adjustments," the nurse assured Renée.

As the nurse left the room, Renée turned her attention back to Y/N. "I'm right here, princess. You're not alone. We'll face whatever comes together, okay?" she whispered, her words a promise etched in the quietude of the hospital room.

The morning unfolded with a renewed sense of hope. Renée, now by Y/N's side, engaged in gentle conversations, sharing stories, and playing Y/N's favorite songs. The hospital room, once a silent witness to the complexities of mental health, now echoed with the subtle rhythm of connection and progress.

As the day progressed, Renée remained vigilant, recognizing that the journey ahead might be filled with challenges, but also with moments of triumph. The melody of "Bruises" lingered in the air, a reminder that resilience could blossom even in the most unexpected moments.

In the quiet moments between conversations and shared glances, Renée and Y/N began to rebuild the bridge that had momentarily wavered. The hospital room, with its sterile walls, became a canvas for a narrative of healing—a narrative that unfolded with each heartbeat, each whispered affirmation, and each step forward on the intricate journey toward well-being.

As the day progressed and Y/N showed signs of emerging from her dissociated state, a subtle restlessness began to manifest. The pain in her wrists, a physical reminder of the struggles she faced, triggered an instinctual response—a desire to remove the bandages that concealed the wounds beneath.

Renée, ever-vigilant by Y/N's side, noticed the subtle movements and the pained expression that crossed Y/N's face. She gently reached for Y/N's hands, offering a comforting touch. "Hey, sweetheart, what's going on? Are you feeling uncomfortable?"

Y/N, still caught in the delicate balance between dissociation and presence, gazed at Renée with eyes that held fragments of recognition. However, the pain in her wrists seemed to override the connection, and a silent determination to relieve the discomfort took hold.

"I know it hurts, babe," Renée murmured, her voice a soothing melody. "But we need to keep those bandages on for now. The nurse said it's important for your healing."

A flicker of frustration crossed Y/N's eyes, an unspoken plea for relief from the internal turmoil. Renée, recognizing the need for empathy and understanding, continued to speak in a gentle tone.

"It's okay to feel this way, love. Your body is healing, and it's natural to want some relief. But we're in this together, and we'll make sure you're as comfortable as possible," Renée assured, her words carrying a depth of commitment that transcended the challenges they faced.

The nurse, alerted by the call button, entered the room once again. Renée, with a concerned expression, explained the situation. The nurse approached Y/N with a calm demeanor, acknowledging the delicate nature of the moment.

"Hey there, Y/N. I know it can be tough, but the bandages are essential for your healing process. We'll do everything we can to make you comfortable," the nurse reassured, her experienced hands gently assessing Y/N's wrists.

Renée, standing by Y/N's side, maintained a reassuring presence. "We're here for you, babe. If there's anything we can do to ease the discomfort, just let us know."

The nurse, after ensuring the bandages were secure and providing a mild pain relief option, left the room with a nod of assurance. Renée, still holding Y/N's hand, spoke softly, "I know it's tough, princess. But you're strong, and we'll get through this together."

As the day unfolded, Renée continued to engage Y/N in soothing conversations, recounting shared memories and playing calming music. The hospital room, though clinical in its surroundings, became a haven where the complexities of mental health met the unwavering support of love.

The arrival of the psychiatrist marked a pivotal moment in Y/N's journey toward healing. Renée, recognizing the significance of this session, welcomed the mental health professional into the room with a blend of hope and anticipation.

"Hello, Ms. Rapp. I'm Dr. Bennett," the psychiatrist greeted, extending a hand to Renée. "How has Y/N been since our last check-in?"

Renée, seated by Y/N's bedside, shared the developments and the subtle improvements Y/N had shown throughout the day. Dr. Bennett nodded in acknowledgment, her demeanor exuding a calm assurance. "Let's begin, shall we?"

As the session unfolded, Renée observed the exchange between Dr. Bennett and Y/N with a mix of apprehension and optimism. The psychiatrist, skilled in navigating the complexities of mental health, started with general inquiries about Y/N's well-being and emotions.

Y/N, still in a detached state but showing glimpses of responsiveness, answered the initial questions with subdued nods and monosyllabic responses. The room, despite its sterile hospital setting, transformed into a space where vulnerability met professional guidance.

However, as the conversation delved into the topic of Y/N's ADHD, a palpable shift occurred. Y/N, who had started to exhibit a bit more presence, retreated once again into a silent vessel—a manifestation of the dissociative state that had become a coping mechanism.

Renée, watching the transformation in Y/N, felt a pang of empathy. Dr. Bennett, recognizing the shift, adjusted her approach with a compassionate understanding. "Y/N, can you tell me how you feel about your ADHD? It's important for us to understand your perspective."

The question, seemingly innocuous, triggered a profound response. Y/N's eyes, once showing glimmers of recognition, now became vacant. It was as if the mention of ADHD had opened a floodgate of emotions too overwhelming to confront.

Renée, sitting by Y/N's side, gently reached for her hand, offering a silent reassurance. Dr. Bennett, attuned to the nuances of emotional states, continued to navigate the conversation with a delicate touch.

"It's okay, Y/N. We can take this at your pace. If there's anything you'd like to share or discuss, I'm here to listen," Dr. Bennett spoke with a measured calmness, creating a space for Y/N to express herself in a way that felt safe.

Despite the efforts, Y/N remained enveloped in silence—a silent vessel adrift in the sea of unresolved emotions. Renée, with a furrowed brow and a heart heavy with concern, spoke softly to Y/N. "Princess, take your time. We're here for you."

The session, though challenging, laid the foundation for the ongoing therapeutic journey. Dr. Bennett, aware of the intricacies of Y/N's emotional landscape, concluded the session with a compassionate reassurance.

"We'll continue to explore these feelings at a pace that feels comfortable for Y/N. It's a process, and healing takes time," Dr. Bennett explained to Renée, her words carrying a sense of hope and understanding.

As the psychiatrist left the room, Renée remained by Y/N's side, recognizing that the journey toward healing would be marked by both triumphs and challenges.

Feeling a gentle tug of exhaustion, Renée decided to step into the hallway, leaving Y/N in the care of the hospital room. The sterile, well-lit corridor stretched before her, with the distant hum of activity echoing in the air. Renée walked toward the hospital's small café, hoping a cup of coffee might offer a momentary respite.

As Renée stood in line, waiting for her turn, her mind oscillated between the complexities of the day and the hope that each small improvement brought. The scent of brewing coffee enveloped her, providing a brief sensory escape from the hospital's clinical atmosphere.

Returning to the room with two steaming cups in hand, Renée felt a renewed sense of determination. However, upon reentering, the sight that greeted her pierced through the fragile veneer of hope she had held onto.

Y/N, in her still-detached state, had managed to remove the bandages from her wrists. The sterile white sheets were stained with evidence of the internal turmoil Y/N grappled with. Renée's heart sank at the sight, a mix of worry and sadness washing over her.

"Y/N, no," Renée whispered, her voice laden with concern. She placed the coffee cups on the nearby table and hurried to Y/N's side. Gently taking Y/N's hands, she noticed the exposed wounds—a stark reminder of the pain that lingered beneath the surface.

Y/N, lost in the dissociative state, gazed at Renée with eyes that held fragments of emotion. The room, once a haven of potential healing, now felt like a battleground where the internal struggles manifested in tangible form.

Renée, fighting back tears, spoke softly to Y/N. "Princess, we need to take care of these. Let me call the nurse."

With a sense of urgency, Renée pressed the call button, summoning the nurse back to the room. The nurse, upon entering, assessed the situation with a calm demeanor.

"We'll need to rebandage these and make sure they're properly treated. Y/N, can you tell me what led to this?" the nurse inquired, her tone a delicate balance of professionalism and empathy.

Y/N, still caught in the silent vessel of dissociation, remained unresponsive. Renée, feeling a profound mix of emotions, shared the events leading up to the discovery.

"I just went for a quick break to get some coffee, and when I returned, this had happened," Renée explained, her voice laced with a hint of desperation.

The nurse, with a nod, began the process of rebandaging Y/N's wrists. Renée, standing by Y/N's side, felt a surge of protectiveness. The hospital room, now marked by the echoes of distress, stood as a backdrop for the intricate dance between mental health struggles and the unwavering support that sought to mend the wounds, both visible and hidden.

As the nurse finished the task, she offered Renée a reassuring smile. "Keep an eye on these, and if there's any change, let us know immediately. We're here to support both of you."

Renée, nodding in gratitude, watched as the nurse left the room. She turned her attention back to Y/N, who remained ensconced in the silent realm of dissociation.

"We'll get through this, princess.

As Renée sat by Y/N's side, grappling with the emotional weight of the recent events, she felt a deep longing for the presence of someone who understood both her and Y/N on a profound level. Ayla, a close friend who had been a pillar of support for Renée, seemed like the beacon of solace she needed in that moment.

With a sense of urgency, Renée reached for her phone and dialed Ayla's number. The phone rang a few times before Ayla's voice greeted her on the other end.

"Hey, Renée! What's up?" Ayla's voice, typically filled with energy, now carried a tone of concern as she sensed something was amiss.

Renée, her voice steady but laced with emotion, explained the recent developments with Y/N and the struggles they were facing. Ayla, always attuned to Renée's moods, immediately offered her support.

"I'm on my way. I'll be there as soon as I can," Ayla assured, her unwavering commitment evident in her voice.

Within a short time, Ayla arrived at the hospital, her presence a comforting balm in the midst of the turmoil. Renée, still seated by Y/N's side, looked up as Ayla entered the room. The exchange of glances between Renée and Ayla spoke volumes—a shared understanding of the complexities that life had thrown their way.

"Renée, how are you holding up?" Ayla asked, concern etched on her face.

Renée managed a faint smile, appreciating Ayla's ability to offer comfort without the need for elaborate words. "It's been a tough day. I'm just worried about Y/N, you know?"

Ayla nodded empathetically, her gaze shifting toward Y/N, who remained in the detached state—a silent figure lost in the labyrinth of her own thoughts.

"We'll get through this together," Ayla reassured, pulling up a chair to sit beside Renée. "How can I help?"

Renée, grateful for Ayla's presence, took a moment to collect her thoughts. "I just need someone here who understands, someone who knows both of us. I can't bear to see Y/N like this."

Ayla reached over, offering a comforting hand on Renée's shoulder. "We've faced tough times before, and we'll face this one too. You're not alone in this, Renée."

As the trio navigated the silent contours of the hospital room, Ayla engaged Y/N in a gentle conversation, speaking words of familiarity and warmth. Ayla's presence seemed to have a subtle effect on Y/N, as if the echoes of a trusted friend had the power to reach through the walls of dissociation.

"You know, Y/N, we were just reminiscing about that road trip we took last summer. The way you laughed when Renée got lost—it was priceless," Ayla shared, her voice carrying a blend of nostalgia and hope.

Renée, watching the interaction between Ayla and Y/N, felt a glimmer of gratitude. Ayla had an innate ability to bring a sense of normalcy to challenging situations—a quality that proved invaluable in the midst of mental health struggles.

As the day progressed, Ayla became an anchor in the storm—providing comfort, sharing stories, and offering a gentle reminder that the bonds of friendship could weather even the most tempestuous seas.

As the evening wore on, Ayla sensed the need for a brief respite and offered to fetch more coffee for Renée. "I'll be back in a few minutes. Take your time and look after yourselves," Ayla said, offering a reassuring smile before stepping out of the hospital room.

Left alone with Y/N, Renée settled into the chair, her gaze alternating between the sterile surroundings and Y/N, who remained in a state of detached contemplation. The room, illuminated by the soft glow of overhead lights, seemed to hold its breath, as if awaiting a shift in the delicate balance of emotions.

Minutes passed in a quiet dance of anticipation, the hum of hospital machinery providing a subtle backdrop. Suddenly, in a moment that seemed to suspend time, Y/N spoke—softly, hesitantly, but with a profound vulnerability that transcended the detached state.

"Renée," Y/N murmured, her voice carrying the weight of unspoken emotions. Renée, immediately attuned to the subtle shift, turned her attention toward Y/N.

"Yeah, princess?" Renée responded gently, her heart quickening with a mix of hope and concern.

"I... I need you," Y/N whispered, her eyes meeting Renée's with a depth of longing that spoke volumes.

Renée, sensing the significance of Y/N's words, approached the bed with a tenderness that only deepened their connection. Sitting down beside Y/N, Renée reached for Y/N's hand, their fingers intertwining in a silent pact of solidarity.

"What do you need, love?" Renée asked, her voice a soothing melody in the stillness of the room.

Y/N hesitated for a moment, as if choosing the right words amidst the labyrinth of emotions within. "I need you to... to come lay in bed with me. I just... I need you close."

Renée, her heart swelling with a mixture of love and empathy, nodded understandingly. "Of course, princess. I'm right here."

With a careful motion, Renée joined Y/N on the hospital bed, the sterile sheets offering a backdrop to the intimacy of their shared space. Y/N, enveloped in the warmth of Renée's presence, shifted closer, seeking solace in the embrace they had cultivated over years of shared experiences.

The quietude of the room became a canvas for unspoken conversations—the language of touch, the cadence of breath, the comfort found in the simple act of being together. Renée, mindful of Y/N's fragile state, held her close, offering the reassurance that transcended words.

As they lay there, the hospital room transformed into a sanctuary—a cocoon where the complexities of mental health and the resilient spirit of love converged. The hum of distant footsteps in the corridor, the soft glow of monitors, and the rhythmic cadence of their shared breaths painted a tableau of vulnerability and strength.

In the cocoon of their shared space, Renée whispered words of comfort, affirming the unwavering bond they shared. Y/N, in turn, found solace in the familiar contours of Renée's presence—the one constant in the ebb and flow of emotions that characterized their journey.

As Ayla returned with the promised coffee, she paused in the doorway, witnessing the poignant scene unfolding before her. The trio—Renée, Y/N, and the quiet sanctuary they had created in the midst of adversity—reminded her of the enduring power of love in the face of life's intricate challenges.

As Renée and Y/N found solace in their shared embrace, Ayla quietly entered the room, setting the coffee aside. The tender tableau of love and vulnerability spoke volumes, and Ayla, sensing the sacredness of the moment, hesitated before deciding to bid them farewell.

"Hey, I can see you both need some private time. I'm heading home for the night, but you know where to find me if you need anything, right?" Ayla said, her eyes reflecting a mixture of compassion and understanding.

Renée, holding Y/N close, nodded appreciatively. "Thanks, Ayla. Your support means the world to us. We'll reach out if we need anything."

Ayla approached the bedside, placing a gentle hand on Y/N's shoulder. "Take care, Y/N. Get some rest, both of you. And Renée, don't hesitate to call if anything comes up. I mean it."

Renée smiled, grateful for the unwavering support of her friend. "I will, Ayla. Thanks for being here."

With a final glance at the peaceful scene in the room, Ayla left, allowing the door to close softly behind her. The hum of the hospital continued outside, a distant symphony that underscored the intimate moments within the room.

As Ayla left, Renée turned her attention back to Y/N, who, in the gentle cocoon of their embrace, had drifted into a much-needed sleep. It was the first time Y/N had found respite from the detached state that had gripped her throughout the day.

Renée, a tender smile playing on her lips, whispered words of love and reassurance to the slumbering Y/N. The hospital room, now bathed in the soft glow of night, became a haven where healing unfolded in the embrace of dreams.

The rhythmic beeping of monitors and the distant echoes of hospital activity served as a backdrop to the serenity within. Renée, mindful of the fragility of the moment, gently adjusted the blanket around Y/N, ensuring comfort in every detail.

As Renée settled back into the chair, her gaze lingered on Y/N's peaceful form. The journey they were navigating, marked by the complexities of mental health, had brought them to this quiet sanctuary—a space where love, resilience, and the promise of a new dawn intertwined.

The night unfolded in a tapestry of quietude, broken only by the occasional rustle of hospital linens and the steady breaths of Y/N, finally finding repose. Renée, ever watchful, felt a profound gratitude for the moments of tranquility in the midst of the storm.

In the stillness of the night, as the hospital embraced its own brand of silence, Renée contemplated the challenges they faced and the strength that emanated from the shared bond with Y/N. The room, now an intimate cocoon where sleep and dreams held sway, stood witness to the endurance of love in the face of adversity.

As the night wove its quiet magic, Renée settled into a vigil of love, keeping watch over the slumbering Y/N—a guardian in the sacred realm where dreams and healing converged.

The tranquility of the night shattered as Y/N's peaceful slumber transformed into cries of panic and distress. Renée, who had momentarily left the bed to find some rest in her own chair, shot up at the sound of Y/N's screams. The urgency in those cries cut through the quietude of the hospital room, triggering an instinctive surge of concern in Renée.

"Y/N! What's wrong?" Renée exclaimed, her own heart racing as she rushed back to Y/N's side. The room, once a haven of repose, now echoed with the cacophony of Y/N's anguish.

Y/N, still caught in the grip of panic, frantically searched for Renée's comforting presence. The abrupt absence of her warmth and touch had spiraled Y/N into a state of disorientation, the boundaries between reality and distress blurring in the shadows of the hospital room.

"Renée! Renée, where are you?" Y/N cried, her voice strained with desperation.

Renée, bewildered by the sudden turn of events, reached out to Y/N. "I'm right here, princess. I didn't go anywhere. What happened?"

But Y/N, trapped in the labyrinth of panic, couldn't register Renée's reassurances. The disconnection between mind and reality heightened the intensity of her cries, creating an unsettling symphony of anguish.

In her attempts to understand and provide solace, Renée called for the nurse, her voice a beacon in the darkness of the night. "Nurse! Something's wrong with Y/N. Please, we need help!"

Within moments, the nurse arrived, her presence a calming force in the tumultuous scene. "What happened?" the nurse inquired, quickly assessing the situation.

Renée, her worry evident, explained, "I don't know. She was sleeping, and then she started screaming. She's panicking, and I can't calm her down."

The nurse approached Y/N, her experienced eyes scanning for any immediate signs of distress. "Y/N, I'm here to help. Can you tell me what's wrong?"

Y/N, still caught in the grip of panic, struggled to articulate her emotions. "I can't feel her. Renée's gone. Where is she? I can't feel her!"

Renée, realizing the source of Y/N's distress, gently took Y/N's hands in hers. "Princess, I'm right here. You haven't lost me. I'm not going anywhere."

The nurse, recognizing the signs of a potential dissociative episode, spoke in a calm, soothing tone. "Y/N, it's okay. You're safe. Renée is right here with you. Can you focus on her voice?"

Renée, in a bid to anchor Y/N in the present, continued to speak softly. "Babe, look at me. I'm right here. You haven't lost me. We're in the hospital room, and you're safe."

The nurse, working alongside Renée, began to guide Y/N through grounding exercises, encouraging her to feel the sensation of touch and focus on the tangible aspects of the present moment. As Y/N gradually emerged from the grip of panic, the room settled into a tense calm.

Renée, her concern etched on her face, held onto Y/N's hands, offering a constant point of connection. The nurse, satisfied that Y/N's distress was easing, spoke reassuringly. "It's common for individuals with dissociative tendencies to experience moments like these. We'll keep an eye on her, and if needed, we can consult with a mental health professional."

As Y/N's breathing steadied, the nurse offered a gentle smile. "Take it easy, Y/N. Renée is here, and you're safe. If you need anything, just let us know."

Renée, still holding Y/N's hands, felt a mixture of relief and concern.

As Y/N's panic began to subside, there lingered a palpable fear in her eyes—an unspoken plea for reassurance and an anchor against the currents of dissociation. Renée, still holding onto Y/N's hands, sensed the vulnerability that echoed in the depths of Y/N's gaze.

"Babe, I'm not leaving you. I promise," Renée whispered, her voice a gentle balm to the wounds of distress. The hospital room, bathed in the soft glow of muted lights, became a sanctuary where their connection transcended the barriers of fear.

Y/N, still caught in the residual tremors of panic, pleaded, "Don't go, Renée. Please, don't leave me. I can't... I can't handle being alone right now."

Renée, acutely aware of the fragile state Y/N found herself in, responded with unwavering assurance. "I'm right here, love. I won't leave you. We're in this together, okay?"

The nurse, having observed the delicate dynamics at play, discreetly adjusted the room's lighting, casting a soothing ambiance that mirrored the tenderness of Renée's presence. With a reassuring nod, the nurse withdrew, allowing the couple a semblance of privacy amidst the hushed symphony of hospital sounds.

Understanding the depth of Y/N's need for proximity, Renée made a decision. "Alright, princess. I'm not going anywhere." With deliberate care, Renée climbed into the hospital bed beside Y/N, creating a cocoon of warmth and comfort.

Y/N, eyes still wide with lingering apprehension, searched Renée's gaze for the anchor she desperately sought. "Hold me, Renée. Please, just hold me."

Renée, embracing the vulnerability in Y/N's plea, pulled her close, enfolding Y/N in a tender embrace. The sensation of touch, the shared warmth, became a lifeline—a tangible affirmation that, in this moment of fragility, they navigated the currents of fear together.

As Y/N rested against Renée's chest, the rhythmic cadence of their shared breaths created a symphony of solace. Renée, murmuring words of comfort, traced gentle patterns on Y/N's back—a silent promise etched in the language of touch.

"Babe, I'm right here. You're not alone. We'll face whatever comes our way, hand in hand," Renée whispered, her words a soothing melody against the backdrop of the hospital room's muted sounds.

Y/N, gradually surrendering to the sanctuary of Renée's arms, felt the tendrils of fear loosen their grip. In this intimate cocoon, the complexities of mental health, the echoes of panic, and the shadows of dissociation became fleeting specters—outshone by the resilient light of love.

As the night unfolded, Renée remained a steadfast guardian in the realm of shared vulnerability. The hospital room, once a witness to the echoes of distress, transformed into a haven—a space where the intricacies of mental health were met with the unyielding force of love and companionship.

In the quietude of the shared embrace, Renée and Y/N embarked on a journey of healing—one heartbeat at a time. The night, marked by the ebb and flow of emotions, became a testament to the enduring strength that flourished when love stood as a beacon against the shadows. And in the hushed serenity of their shared sanctuary, Renée cradled Y/N in a promise of presence—a pledge to weather the storms together, anchored in the unbreakable bonds of love.

#reneé rapp x reader #renee rapp x reader #renee rapp #renee rapp x fem!reader #reneé rapp x fem!reader #reneé rapp #fandom #fanfic

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prohistamine · 5 months

Text

M Allergies, 1.6k words

I'm back with another fic gang. This time featuring two high society exes reuniting at a fancy gala. In proper prohistamine fashion this one features allergies, a character with the fetish, and fun power dynamics.

Be warned! somewhat explicit sexual content and general unforgivable horniness

“Lovely of you to come, truly I’m so glad to see you both.” Lorna shook the minister's hand in hers, firmly and warmly. A handshake practiced a thousand times over. “Ms. Windsor arrived a few minutes ago I believe, I’m sure she’d be delighted to catch up on your party's substantial victories in the recent election.”

As he turned away Lorna selected a flute of champagne from a passing waiter's tray and took a healthy sip. She’d need it to get through the rest of the night. She turned towards the door, ready to resume her assessment of each new guest as they arrived, but when she saw the man who’d just walked through the doors her stomach dropped. His dark hair was shorter than the last time she'd seen him, falling in waves around his face. He looked smug as ever, and when he caught her eye he started walking her way.

“Colin,” she murmured through gritted teeth, “I didn’t think you’d be caught dead here.”

Colin grinned thinly. “Ah well, you would assume I’d choose to be petty, you always thought the worst of me.”

She scoffed. “That is a charitable way to describe two years of you repeatedly lowering my expectations.”

“Now Lorna, can’t we put the past behind us? What is it we always said, not to let pleasure interfere with our business?”

“Stirring up unnecessary rumors will interfere with business. Don’t you think it’s a bit soon for us to be speaking in public? The dust has barely settled, people will talk.”

“‘Oh the worst fate!” he said in mocking horror, “to be the victim of gossip! Do you think we’ll make it out alive?”

“Oh of course, because you're so above petty politics. I’m the one who’s obsessed with gossip and you just let it roll off your back.”

“Do you think you could say that again for me? Maybe I can get it on tape.” He smiled and rubbed at his nose absentmindedly.

“You know what? I’m glad you came. I really missed that familiar little headache you gave me. It's this sort of… gentle throbbing at the base of my skull? I’m just not the same without it.”

“I knew you missed me. I missed the exercise I got from our conversations, we should really make a habit of it.” He rubbed his nose again, with more intention, and was she imagining it, or was the motion accompanied by the faint sound of wetness?

“Are you just here to flaunt your ability to get yourself out of bed?” Lorna asked, “ Because if so, point proven. This is kind of an important night for me.”

“Ah well, I’m glad you recognize my presence as the achievement it is, but I do have something to-” he cut himself off with a sniff and a scrubbing at his nostrils, “something to discuss. I have to ahh- hehh-” Lorna recognized the face he was making immediately, the far away look in his eye, the crease between his eyebrows. His buildup was, as always, dramatically long before he snatched his handkerchief out of his pocket and sneezed into it twice “AaaSCHU! AaaeSTCHU!” As always, there was no attempt to stifle his violent outburst. He looked up at her blearily, “Ah, pardon me.”

There was a faint smirk in his tone. Lorna scowled. Of course this would happen, just what she needed when she was already struggling to maintain her composure.

“Bless you.” she managed to say, intent on keeping her voice even. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of having a reaction.

“Thank you I- oh there's- Aaah- ahh- AhGHSHUU! AESHTEW! AEGHEEW! Huhh. There were more.”

Despite her frustration, the familiar heat was rising in Lorna’s stomach and traveling down between her legs. Composure be damned, she leaned forward and hissed into his ear.

“Are you doing this on purpose?”

He chuckled. “Oh that would have been brilliant. I’m not that cruel, I'm afraid, or that creative. It must be the floral decorations. I’m desperately allergic, you see.”

Oh he was fucking loving this.

“People will stare you know. You’re embarrassing yourself.” She was looking for any way to take back power in the conversation, and she realized she’d been sloppy the moment she spoke.

“Embarrassing myself?” he asked smugly, “Oh you’d love that wouldn’t you.”

“I’m leaving.”

“C’mon now Lorna, I do have something important to discuss. How about we go out onto the balcony to talk. No worries about prying eyes, and the fresh air will be good for my nose.”

Lorna cast a glance at the large glass doors leading out to the south balcony. They had fabric drapes in front of them, placed intentionally for anyone desiring a conversation away from the eye of the press. Regardless of the privacy they’d have once they got there, people would be sure to notice the two of them leaving together. The smart decision would be to tell him she wasn’t interested in talking, but she desperately wanted a break from the crowd, and, pathetic as it made her feel, she wasn’t sure she could pass up the chance to continue watching him sneeze. It had been months since she’d had the pleasure, and she was beginning to feel like a woman starved.

“Fine.”

“Marvelous.” he said, words slightly muddled with congestion.

They made their way across the room, no doubt incurring the whispers of several guests.

Once they’d stepped outside and shut the doors behind them, Lorna turned to Colin only to see his face skewed in preparation for another sneeze.

“Hehh- Hhh- HhhSTCHU! HaAGHSHEW- I ha- hhh hhASHEW! I haahh- hadn’t realized it was …it was-” he held the handkerchief in front of his face expectantly as he struggled through the sentence, head tilted back as he gulped in air to fuel the fit, “ATZSHUU! ASHEWW! R-realized it was so… ahh- AschUUu! so cold out here.”

A sufficient chill had settled in the air since the sun had set, something Lorna hadn’t even considered. Colin was wearing nothing but a simple suit jacket, and he’d always been incredibly sensitive to changes in temperature. Just going outside in cold weather usually caused him a small fit, and the combination with his fall allergies was having quite the effect. He blew his nose into the folds of his handkerchief and then geared up for more.

“heeSGHEW! EESGHEW! HESHEWW!! Hehh- haaahh- ahh- ASHEW!” He was bending at the waist now with the force of them, and reached blindly to his left in search of the balcony railing, which he leaned on for support once he found it.

“Huhh-hhhh-hhoh god- heeehSHUUH! EESHEW! HEERGHSTEW! ESH-ESH-ESHU!!

The fit was punctuated by three violent little sneezes that tripped over each other to be released.

Since the moment he’d first sneezed, Lorna had felt like she was putty in Colin’s hand. His intimate knowledge of just what his allergies did to her gave him a maddening and tantalizing power over her. However, as he desperately wrenched forward with sneeze after sneeze, one hand shakily clasping a handkerchief to his face and the other doing its best to keep him upright, it was hard to see him as holding any kind of powerful position. For the first time that night she felt a twinge of pity for him. The feeling both frustrated her, and, of course, only served to further arouse her.

His fit finally subsided, and he slumped against the railing, gasping for breath.

“Sorry,” he managed, too exhausted to sound properly smug.

“Don’t be,” she couldn’t help but reply, her voice high pitched and obvious. She was so wet that she was worried it might actually start dripping down her legs. They both stood there for a moment in silence.

“So,” he started, still somewhat breathless, “about the election-”

“Colin-” she interrupted him, “I appreciate the effort to resume our professional relationship, but I don’t think I can listen to you talk about politics after that performance.” She knew she had admitted defeat, but in the face of his sniffling, shivering frame she found she no longer desired to one up him. What she really desired was to fuck him, to ease him open with her fingers and fill him up until he couldnt see. That or be fucked by him, bent over and begging for it as he held her by the hips with his big hands.

“I understand,” he said, “another time then. Perhaps then, before we go inside, I could talk to you about something expressly unprofessional.”

“Have at it Colin,” she said, trying not to sound like she was begging for it.

“There's something I’d like to show you. I warn you, it’s somewhat inappropriate.”

She felt her heart flutter in her chest, “I can handle that.”

He took a step toward her and then took her wrist. He guided her hand forward, lowering it beneath his waist and then pressing it between his legs where an erection was straining against the fabric of his dress pants. She moaned audibly at the surprise.

“Do you see what you’ve done to me?” he murmured into her ear, “this is what happens to me now, every time I sneeze. I can’t help it.”

“Colin,” her voice was strangled.

“How am I going to explain this to future lovers? You know how I get in the spring, I’ll be hard constantly. What will I say if they notice my cock twitch every time I sneeze? Every time they sneeze?”

Lorna’s clit was throbbing. Colin gave a liquid sniff, and she moaned again, body shuddering against his. Her hand closed slightly around his cock and he gasped sharply.

“My nose still itches terribly,” he murmured, accentuating the statement with another sniffle, “It would feel heavenly to rub it on something soft.”

“Please,” she begged him.

He leaned down slowly, placing a hand firmly on her hip, and dragged his nose across her shoulder, rubbing it in the nape of her neck. She trembled at the feeling of his soft nostrils, shifting as they rubbed against her, leaving her skin slightly wet.

“Fuck, that feels nice,” he said softly. She could do nothing but whimper in response.

She let it go on for a moment, their bodies intertwined, her hand on his cock and his nose buried against her. It took everything in her not to pull him into a kiss. Instead she stepped back, and wiped her shoulder with her hand.

“Thank you,” she said, wrangling her voice back to her well-practiced professionalism, “for that stimulating conversation on politics.” She took a moment to compose herself, taking a long deep breath and then continuing, “I have a gala to host, and you have one to attend. I think it best we continue this conversation later, after the guests have left. Perhaps in my personal chambers. You’d have to be discreet about staying behind of course, we wouldn’t want my guests to suspect we’re doing something illicit.”

Colin looked taken aback, and then broke into a wide grin, “Of course ma’am.”

She turned towards the door and then, before opening it, turned back towards him. “This does not mean I forgive you, " she said sternly.

Colin’s eyes sparkled. “Of course not.”

#snz kink #snz blog #snz #snzblr #sneezefucker #sneeze kink #snzfic #snz fic #my writing

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caramelcleopatraa · 3 months

Text

vi. SUIT & TIE

word count : 2.1k

x : hello hello hello beautiful people! it's finally starting to get good you guys! (lol) as always, excuse the errors you see, and leave comments.... I love comments. I do have a taglist! comment down below if you want me to add you <3

content: Mafia!Roman Reigns x Designer!Reader, suggestive themes, 18+

Your outfit for today

It was a surprisingly quiet Saturday morning. Today your shop was closed, but your staff was still working tirelessly to finish the influx of custom orders. This was no uncommon flux however, it was that time of the year. La Mesa Alta’s annual ball was right around the corner, and people were coming to you so that they could scrounge together some outfits. You’ve been on your feet for a while, cutting at different types of fabric, sewing, perfecting, and repeating. This would be a vicious cycle, but you loved creating too much to be burdened by the workload and demand requested of you and your staff. If anything, that demand made you work harder.

A busy 4 hours later, you finally get the chance to sit down. It’s been a day already, and it's only noon. You were a little concerned that Mercedes didnt get back to you at 10, but you knew she would call you back at some point in the day. You open your laptop, and see a notification at the top from a name you didn't expect.

! 1 Gmail Notification from [email protected]

‘I know you’re fucking lying’

“Umm Gio! Mads! Here… and quickly!” They hurry quickly to your side and look at your computer. “What is i- what the fuck is that?” Gio says, pointing at the notification in the top right corner. Madison folds her arms across her chest and sits in her hip, rolling her eyes “I know that’s not who I think it is.” You hear Gio sigh and add on, “This bitch.”

“Calm down with the ad libs alright? Who is this girl anyway? I didn't know anything about her until she came into my shop.” You felt like you were missing out on some important information. Everyone knew about this girl except for you, and you know everyone. Usually. “Oh, I forgot, you weren't out here when she was acting a damn fool.” ‘Excuse me?’

“When was this?” You sit back in the swivel chair, looking at Gio. “While you had your appointment with Roman. She was looking through the clothes saying that her friend JT could make one design better than your entire rack.” ‘THE FUCK?!’

You didn’t stand for disrespect. Both of them knew that. So they knew that this wasn't gonna slide by you. “Lemme see what this email is about,” you say, typing in your password and opening up your Gmail. You were in no way excited nor looking forward to anything that this email was going to say.

Good Morning Ms. Semele,

Hello, I hope I'm not bothering you.

‘You are.’

I admired your shop and your staff so much! Working at your shop seems like such an honor.

‘This fake ass bitch.’

I was wondering how I can apply for a job there. I would like to work closer with the best fashion designers in the east coast, and you are deserving of the title.

‘Whaaaaaaat?!’

Please email me back at [email protected]

~ With love, De’arra Washington

It was dead silent for the next minute and a half. She talks shit about your shop and then wants paid employment here the next day? You had seen all of it. ‘Maybe this can be helpful?’ With this influx of orders, you had been putting your staff through overtime. Maybe one more person could lighten the load for them. You didn't like the idea of her working at your shop based on what you had heard, but if she was offering help, you were going to give her a chance. You clicked the three dots and selected reply and typed a short response.

Hello,

Thank you. Much appreciated. Could you send in a resume please, so that I can look at your work experience?

~ Y/N Semele

“What the hell are you doing?” Madison looks at you with wide eyes. “Calm down, I don't plan to employ her, I just want to see if she’s any good. I already have another person who wants to work here that has a good resume.”

RING RING

Your phone buzzes loud against the counter and an unknown number displays at the top. You pick up the phone to hear a voice you had been waiting to hear all morning.

“Hello?”

“Hey, it's Mercedes. I’m calling from my personal phone.” Fucking finally. “What happened to 10am?” She chuckled to herself and replied, “Got busy. Do you want the information or not?” “I paid good money, didn't I?” She sighs and says, “Fair.” I settled into the chair and put the phone on speaker. You told Madison to tell the other employees to take their lunch break while you three listened to Mercedes give a rundown on De’arra. She joins back with you and Gio and you tell Mercedes that you're ready.

“Alright. De’arra Washington, daughter of Kenan Johnson. He was one of the richest thiefs in the west coast. Specifically in California and Oregon. He stole everything from pencils to old paintings to jewelry. He was on the run for a while, so he fled to Florida and started his own family business and made that into a family mafia. Here in Florida, he met up with a prostitute and turned her into a housewife and had a baby girl while orchestrating robberies from the comfort of his home. De’arra is all kinds of spoiled. Barely got her high school diploma, and her father bribed the president of Howard University so she could study there. Got into a lot of trouble up there stealing shit.. Who would've guessed. And daddy was there to save her. After 2 years, she decided she didn’t want the college life and desired wealth, like her father and moved back to Florida. Speaking of Kenan, he's been eyeing Roman since he moved down here. That’s probably why De'arra is hanging onto him like a lost child. If I knew anything from my years in this business, I'd guess that they are the family trying to challenge Roman, or disassemble the Anoa’i family.”

“So you’re telling me that I'm dealing with a girl with a case of sticky fingers?” She laughs lightly and says, “Basically.”

! 1 Gmail Notification from [email protected]

This must be the resume.

Of course! Here is my resume

resume.pdf

~ With love, De’arra Washington

“Is she emailing you?” Mercedes asks, her tone laced with confusion, understandable though. “Yeah, I'm gonna see what she can do or if she can help me out here at the shop.”

“I've seen her resume before, it's forged. She’s only worked at minimum wage jobs. So anything that has to do with corporate jobs and fashion design is fake as fuck.” ‘What the hell is going on here?!’

“You still gonna give her a chance?” Gio says, reading the fake resume. “She’s not getting a chance, but I'm still gonna let her do a training session today so I can see what she is about.”

2:30 pm

You emailed her back and told her to come here at 2:30 pm to do a training session, which would technically be more like orientation. Both Gio and Madison knew that this could go sideways quickly if she tries something, but they also knew that you weren’t dumb. You knew how to handle yourself in bad situations. And you didn’t let anyone push you around. A red corvette sped across the huge display windows and disappeared into the parking lot on the side of the building. You took a deep breath to prepare yourself for the foolery you were going to face today. You fixed up your desk space and closed the file filled with De’arra’s personal information.

You heard the door open and saw two people walking in. “Ms. Semele?” You give her a polite smile and depart from your desk to shake her hand. There she was, wearing a pink crop top stopping right below her breasts and dark ripped jeans with pink butterfly strappy heels. She was hand in hand with someone you didn't know you would see today.

“Hey Ms. Expert.”

That made you genuinely smile. “Didn’t think I'd see you here again. Helping out the missus?” He smiles at you and slowly licks his lips, eyes drifting up and down your body. His eyes found yours and he focused all of his attention on you. “Yeah, I said I was gonna take care of her, and imma do just that.” De’arra gushes and latches onto his arm, but he doesn't budge; he keeps his eyes on you, smirking at you, adding the cherry on top. ‘Was he saying that to me?’ You briefly remember the last time you two spoke in person, and it seems like he was going to make good on his words.

“Oh good, you're here, you can put your stuff in the faculty room. That ok Y/N?” Gio says walking in from the factory downstairs. “Yeah that’s fine. I need to talk with Roman anyways,” You reply, and Gio gives you a simple head nod. “What do you need to talk to him for?” You look at De’arra and she is already sizing you up. You laughed to yourself. There’s no way she’s really trying to pull these strings right now. “About La Mesa Alta’s annual ball.” You kept it short and sweet. Of course, that's not what you guys were actually going to talk about, but you needed to get her off your back. “Well my family is going to be added to La Mesa Alta too, so I should be a part of this conversation,” De’arra demands. “The only thing you should be a part of is your training session. Give me a second i'll be right there,” You fired back, shutting down her request. He trails behind you, but doesnt get far, due to De’arra’s small hand latching onto his wrist.

“You guys can just talk out here-”

“Hell no.” You were getting sick of this back and forth already. “Well why the hell not?”

“Because it’s a private conversation about mafia business.” You could feel that she was already catching an attitude. “Well what type of mafia business involves you being in a room with him alone?” ‘This bitch..’ You turned around for the final time, and your face couldn’t hide the fact that you were fed the hell up. “The type of mafia business that doesn't involve you. Come on Roman.” He follows you into the room and closes the door.

You wipe your hands across your face and catch him looking at you with a sly smirk. “Don’t look at me like that.” He walks closer to you and takes his hand in yours and holds it above your head, twirling you to face away from him. He wraps his arms around your waist from behind. You close your eyes and melt into his touch. You forgot how much you liked his touch. “That was so sexy.” His breath gave you tingles as he talked into the crook of your neck. “You missed me baby?” While he was luring you with his voice, his hands sneakily dipped into the waistband of your sweats. You turned your head to look at him and gently grab his chin. Your eyes shift from his eyes to his lips, and you lean in to kiss him, but his fingers teasing your folds stop you. “I didn't hear an answer.” He was already making you melt, and you were loving every single second of it. “Y-yes baby I missed you.” He was teasing you, getting close to your lips and then pulling away while rubbing at your sensitive clit. You couldn't stand it. You pull his chin closer to you, trying your hardest to kiss him, but he keeps pulling away still.

“Please baby, kiss me.” You wanted to feel his lips on yours so badly. Without warning his right hand clasps around your neck and finally attaches his lips to yours. His left hand was hard at work, pinching and applying pressure to your clit, while both of your tongues are fighting for dominance. You grind your hips against his hand, giving up on dominance for the time being and letting him take over. He takes his hands off of your neck to tug your tube top down to your waist, freeing your breasts. You moan into his mouth, feeling his warm hands grab at your breasts and the pressure building up between your legs. “Fuck baby that feels so goo-”

BANG BANG BANG

“De’arra decided she doesn't want to do her training session. She’s going to file a complaint to La Mesa Alta to have your shop shut down.”

‘Are you fucking serious?’

🏷️tags :) @reignsboy19 @2-muchsauce @theninthwonder @harmshake @alichesmi @thesamoanqueen @alyyaanna @empressdede @badbitchcentralinc @christinabae @fame-ass-ers @southerngirl41 @cyberdejos2

#roman reigns #roman reigns x reader #roman reigns smut #roman reigns x y/n #roman reigns x black reader #roman reigns x chubby reader #roman reigns x oc #joe anoa'i #roman reigns x you #caramelcleopatraa #[ S & T ]

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