#sorry these are probably hard to read without clicking on the pictures

[wreckedandpolemic]

white and gold - matty healy

(mdni) in which you become both entangled and enamoured with your father's boss. 13007 words.

warnings (buckle up): 18+, problematic age gap, masturbation, corruption kink, slight exhibitionism, praise, degradation, heavy daddy kink, slight dumbification, unprotected sex, oral (f and m receiving), filth filth filth filth filth!

Your heels click against the tiled floor as you stroll across the lobby of your father’s office, giving a winning smile to the familiar security guard as he waves you through. Humming along to the song that plays over your headphones as the lift rises, you wonder idly why your father wanted to have lunch with you today; he had been oddly insistent that morning. The doors ding open and you step out into the office, fairly quiet at lunch hour. Men in suits mill around, their gazes catching on you and darting away so they can pretend their lurid thoughts aren’t painted plain as day on their faces.

Scanning the room, you don’t immediately spot the man you’re looking for. On a closer look, your father’s thinning hair and crisp suit are nowhere to be seen. Strange, again; he’s always here to meet you when he wants to take you out for lunch. Your searching gaze lands on a man heading for the lift, the sight of him arresting, practically rooting you to the spot. Greying curls haloed around a sharp, handsome face, lips plush red. A silver hoop shines in one of his ears, standing out against his dark hair. The designer sunglasses that sit across the bridge of his nose should be obnoxious, but he wears them louche and rakishly charming. He’s younger than your father, but not by much; probably nearing twice your age. You don’t recognise him — you know everyone who works for your father practically inside and out, and you’d never forget a face like his.  

Suddenly, he’s in front of you, and you’re blinking dumbly at the material of his expensive suit. “Are you lost?” he asks, his voice low and alluring, wrapping around you like a caress. The sunglasses block your view of his eyes, leaving you unfairly unable to tell whether he’s reacting to you the way you are to him.

You swallow thickly, fighting to find your voice. “No,” you say confidently. “Well… kinda, I guess?” you add with a laugh. “I’m looking for my dad.” You offer his name, and he nods in recognition.

“Ah— My fault, that. Sorry, love,” he says, voice softening on the final syllable in a way that has you biting the inside of your cheek to get your racing heartbeat under control. “Kept him late in a meeting.” You nod absently, distracted as his tongue flickers out to wet his lips and leaves them pink and glossy. Hopefully you aren’t wearing your thoughts too obviously on your face. “Matty,” he offers, holding out a hand.

You take it politely, surprised at the calluses scraping against your palm. He doesn’t look the type for hard work, the very shape of him insouciant, privilege scented on him under the smell of cigarettes and expensive cologne. The weight of his hand in yours as Matty holds your gaze for just a split-second too long feels charged, tension welling between you. After a beat, you give your name and Matty quirks an enigmatic half-smile that you just can’t get a read on. You wonder what kind of picture you’re painting for him; ribbons in your hair, skirt short enough to tease without any promise, socks biting into the flesh of your thighs. Your soft pastels boast innocence, a clean sweetness begging to be ruined where the sharp lines of him are rough around the edges, something dark tightly controlled under his easy smile. The pair of you are incongruous, yet symmetrical somehow, an artist’s rendition of impropriety.

The coolness in your palm when he lets go feels like a physical loss, your entranced gaze lingering on his face for another brief moment. Then he gives a cursory nod and strolls off, the spell breaking and leaving you stock-still as if you’ve been doused with a bucket of cold water. His name rolls around your head as you pick your way to your father’s office; Matty, Matty, Matty, like a litany, the concurrent chime of warning bells going unheard, or maybe just ignored.

Your father smiles up at you when you enter his office, getting up as if to hug you and stopping awkwardly short. He doesn’t know how to act around you, a consequence of the years of long hours and late nights that afford you your lifestyle but cost you a family. You make clumsy small-talk on the drive; he asks you how uni is going, you ask about work, he forgets the names of your friends, you remember the names of his. The same circles you always talk in. It’s never unpleasant, but always stiff, artificial.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to meet you,” he says once you’re seated in a quiet corner of your favourite restaurant. He remembered that about you, at least. “I was in a meeting that ran long.”

You try not to visibly perk up at the reminder of possibly the most gorgeous man you’ve ever met. “Oh, yeah,” you say, feigned casualness layered over your tone. “I met the guy you were with on his way out. Who was he? I don’t think I’ve seen him before.” Your father pauses briefly, and you wonder if you’ve laid it on too thick, showed too much interest. But you know your father couldn’t reconcile the idea of you being interested in one of his coworkers with the image he holds of you as his little girl.

He sits up straighter, adjusting his tie in the way he does because he thinks it’ll lend more gravity to his next words. “It was actually a very important meeting, or I wouldn’t have let it run as long as it did. It was with the VP of the company, Matthew Healy.” He nods self-importantly. “Very nice chap, honestly. I convinced him to allocate us more budget next quarter, which means that…”

You tune out the rest of his corporate jargon, letting the new information you’ve gleaned rattle around your brain. Vice fucking President. The scandal you’d cause selfishly thrills you more, because who could gainsay it, really? Sure, your father would have some choice words, but he’d keep them to himself in public for the sake of his job. You almost giggle picturing the vein that would throb in his forehead, and then remember yourself and focus back into the conversation right as your father finishes talking.

The waiter who has been hovering a tasteful distance away seizes the gap in conversation to take your order. You order without looking at the price, leaning casually back in the booth as you rattle off the name of the dish in perfect Italian. A few minutes later, the smooth, dark flavour of an espresso martini on your tongue, your father finally gets to the point.

He says your name seriously, levelling you with a look that’s laden with meaning over his drink. “I wanted to meet with you today to talk about something.” You nod uncertainly, unable to track where this is going. “Your last year at university is starting in September, and I’d like to know you have somewhere to go when you’re finished. Other people studying your course have been making industry connections and networking for years, and I’m concerned that you’ll be behind when you’re trying to get into work.”

You let him talk, even as you mentally roll your eyes. He’s showing care in one of the only ways he knows how, and you can’t really begrudge him that. Never mind that the idea of trudging to the office every day in a dull grey pantsuit and attending mergers and meetings for the rest of your life gives you the shivers. You open your mouth to bring this up, but pause when he continues. “I know you aren’t sure about using your degree, but there’s a dinner this weekend that I’d like you to come to. Just to see how everything works, show your face, start making yourself a name, hm?”

The refusal sits on the tip of your tongue, balancing there on instinct, but then you consider that this might be your only chance to see Matty again. Of course, he might not even be there, but it’s a risk you’re willing to take. Your thoughts haven’t strayed from him for more than five minutes since you met, he’s a nagging itch under your skin that you just can’t scratch, and you need him. “Okay,” you say, cutting your father off. He goes silent mid-spiel, having anticipated you taking more convincing than that. “Is it black-tie?”

Your father watches you curiously as you sip demurely at your cocktail. “Yes. I’m very happy you agreed,” he adds, the implicit question hanging heavy in the air between you.

With an airy shrug, you set down your glass. “Like you said, I’m not committing to anything. I just get to have a free fancy dinner, basically.” It’s a casual excuse, characteristic enough of you that your father couldn’t even begin to guess at your real motivation. The same waiter suddenly materialises with your food, and you dig in happily.

Over the course of your meal, your father explains the most important figures who’ll be attending, and Matty is among them, thank God. You try, subtly, to pry into his personal life, but come up fairly short; you can’t find a tasteful way to ask if he’s married, although it’s not unlikely, with a face like his. Once your father’s free hour has dried up, he drops you home and you slink off to your room and fall into your bed.

Guiltily, you pull up a private browsing tab on your phone and search matthew healy wife. A grin spreads as you find no results, wider when girlfriend turns up nothing but a string of articles about his latest breakup. Switching to image searching, you scroll through dozens of photographs of him, posed and smiling, this time missing the sunglasses and letting you admire his sweet brown eyes. Then you come across a photo of him giving the camera the eyes, your thighs clenching as he smoulders in a way that feels directed to you, a twin of the look he gave you earlier.

You let your eyes fall closed, your phone thudding against the pillow as your hand creeps under your waistband. The first brush at your clit buzzes bright up your spine, a pleased whine falling from your lips. Instinctively, you dig under your pillow for your vibrator, your other hand tugging your skirt and panties down your legs. You lay in just your blouse and socks, the barest hint of wetness beginning to pool between your thighs.

The sudden pulse of heat as you press the vibrator to your clit is almost too much, your body tensing at the sensation. Your hazy mind conjures up an image of Matty, his spectre watching you touch yourself for him. He’s on you in seconds, the ghost of his kiss almost tangible against your lips, the idea of his calloused fingers running over your skin so real they almost feel like a memory. Rocking your hips, you chase the pleasure that rolls over you, coiling low in your belly. You can almost hear Matty murmuring encouragement in your ear, telling you how pretty and good you are for him.

Body writhing against the sheets, a whimper of his name spills from your bitten lips, pleading as you rub tight circles into your clit. Molten pleasure drips down your spine, sticking in your lungs and melting against your ribs. The phantasm of Matty’s touch trails over you, his hands replacing yours as you thumb over your nipples, moaning at the soft spark of pleasure that flickers under your skin.

It’s not enough.

Your hands are too delicate, too far from the memory of thick veins and scraping callouses that your body craves. Still, you work diligently at yourself, falling into a familiar rhythm. Your motions are perfunctory now, an aside to the fantasy building behind your closed lids. You picture Matty’s sleazy smirk, heat in his gaze as he rubs at you, working you closer and closer, filthy words pouring from his lips. Pleasure burns under your skin, close and electric under the sheets.

The coil in your belly winds tighter and tighter until it finally snaps, ecstasy rippling through your limbs as you bite down hard to keep a scream at bay. Rolling your hips, you ride out your orgasm, chest heaving as you gasp for breath and twist your fingers in your sheets.

Your face begins to flame as the afterglow wanes, the image of Matty fading and leaving a column of mortification in its place. God, how are you supposed to look him in the eyes after this? Flinging your covers off with a groan, you corral your thoughts into shape and march into the shower. Hot water pounds between your shoulder blades and you scrub at your skin until it’s pink and tender; you still don’t feel clean. It feels, suddenly, like you’re wearing a scarlet letter, like the evidence of your depravity is scrawled over your body in bold, dripping ink.

Still, you can’t stand under the shower spray forever, and the endless slog of summer reading you have to do won’t wait for your sudden crisis to be over. Taking a seat at your desk, you crack open a textbook and force yourself to stare at it until the words stop swimming in front of your eyes and you can process their meaning. You type up notes with practised ease, almost automatic and scarcely retaining the information. A chill grips you as you remember that this might be the rest of your life. 

A self-indulgent fantasy drifts across your mind, and you snatch at it greedily, rewarding yourself for your work with an unjustified distraction. Is it so much to ask that you want a life of ease? To be spoiled and showered in affection, to have no expectations on you? Maybe that makes you a lazy brat, a typical, self-absorbed princess, but you’ve worked damn hard the last three years. At graduation, you’d have your pick of droning, selfsame corporations if that was what you wanted; you’d have no difficulty following your father’s footsteps, letting your own daughter trace yours.

Truthfully, your private desire is much harder. Men that run in your circles want a woman like you, superficially — from the same stock, with your own family money, barely old enough to know who you are. Under the surface, though, you know women like that. They’re your aunts, the mothers of friends and old boyfriends. Unfulfilled, wearing dead-eyed Stepfordian smiles, finding their only pinched joy in passing snide insults dressed up as compliments, laughing behind their hands when their victim du jour takes the bait. No, being one of those wives would be the only fate worse than spending your decades as a spinning cog.

Without your notice, the sun has sunk beyond the horizon, a moonbeam slanting through your curtains when you switch your desk lamp off. You slip between your sheets, clad in a thin nightdress and low-waisted underwear, the thoughts that circle your brain winding slower and slower until they slip away like a whirlpool draining from the sink.

The next morning, you really are planning on taking school seriously, in line at a coffee shop with scholarly intent before 9:30. Impossibly, though, a familiar head of curls is waiting in the queue only feet ahead of you. Your heartbeat speeds as you debate whether to speak to him, hands clammy with nerves at the sight of him. You step up to the counter to order, and Matty’s head whips around at the sound of your voice.

“Oh! Hello, love,” he grins, and you smile back, hoping you don’t look as nervous as you feel. “Hey, no, I got it,” he says as you pull out your phone to pay. Matty taps his card before you can even react, then leans forward to address the barista. “Can I get mine for here instead? Is that okay? Thanks,” he flashes a winning smile and your heart flutters.

“Thank you,” you say shyly, toying anxiously with the buttons of your cardigan. 

He waves a hand, his smile almost dizzying as he looks down at you. There’s a faint dusting of stubble over his jaw, and you have to force yourself not to get distracted by thoughts of it scraping over your skin. “Don’t worry about it. Always happy to do a pretty girl a favour.” Your knees almost buckle, heat flooding your cheeks as you swallow thickly. Thankfully, the barista calls your orders and Matty goes to collect them, giving you a second to catch your breath. “Is it okay if I come sit with you? Just realised I never asked.” He grins sheepishly, and you practically melt into a puddle. “Don’t wanna distract you if you’ve got work to do, or something.”

“God, no, of course,” you say, suddenly a little panicked at the idea of him leaving. “Feel free. I mean, if you have time,” you add, a last-ditch attempt to feign casualness as you slide into a booth.

Matty sits opposite, observing you with an inscrutable look on his face before he speaks. “I’ve got time. I’m the boss, darling, they can wait.”

Your thighs clench, the casual reminder of his status sending a shudder up your spine as you smile blithely. Neither of you speaks for a moment, both taking in the sight of each other, testing the boundaries of this thing blooming between you. “Do you make a habit of taking time out of your busy day to have coffee with girls?” you say, tone teasing to conceal that you’re truly curious about the answer.

He grins. “Like I said, I do whatever I like,” he says with a shrug. “If I wanted to, I don’t know, spend my morning having coffee with a pretty girl, well. Nobody would be surprised, let’s say.” It’s a non-answer, and you swallow down the jealousy that starts to rise in your throat.

“You keep calling me pretty…” you remark idly, pausing to sip delicately at your coffee before you speak. “I’m starting to think you might have an ulterior motive, Mr. Healy.” You tack on the title with a smirk, leaning forward in challenge.

Matty swallows, slightly unnerved for the first time. “I think you’re pretty,” he says simply. “Don’t have to have any motives. Unless you want me to,” he adds with a smirk.

“And if I do? What’s that say about you, sir? Chasing after a twenty-year-old girl? Quite inappropriate, wouldn’t you say?”

He chuckles softly, eyes darkening. A shock of heat sparks under your skin as he takes your hand, gaze searching. “Very,” Matty agrees lowly. “Good, sweet young girl like you shouldn’t be getting mixed up with me, angel.” Something in you flutters at the nickname, the way it rolls thoughtlessly off his tongue.

“I don’t have to be good,” you say, deliberately widening your eyes and biting your lip in a show of innocence. “I can be naughty. If you want.” You lean back and deliberately pop a button on your blouse, a hint of pink lace peeking out from the gap in your shirt.

Matty tips his head back, nostrils flaring as he inhales deeply, eyes closed and trying to compose himself. “What am I going to do with you?” he mutters, more to himself, unable to drag his gaze up from the sliver of exposed skin.

“You’ll just have to keep playing and find out,” you smirk, purposefully leaning forward as you stand to give him a deliberate eyeful. “Have a nice day, Mr. Healy. Thank you for the coffee.” His gaze burns hot into your back as you walk away, and you make a conscious effort not to look back. You’re slightly annoyed as you wander down the street — that cafe is your favourite study spot, and you’ve effectively handed it away. You’ll never be able to set foot in there without remembering Matty’s smirk, his heavy gaze, the feeling of his hand over yours.

So, despite your best intentions, you find yourself spending the morning dipping in and out of stores instead, smiling blithely as your bank account dwindles. In the end, your evening winds up the same as yesterday, mindlessly copying up text without absorbing any of the information. You’re gonna kick yourself so hard when you have to use these notes to take an exam. Giving up, you shower and get into bed, shutting your phone off to sleep at around midnight.

When you stir, you know acutely that you’re dreaming. The bed is your own, the man sharing it is not. “Morning,” Matty says, in a low, sleep-thick voice that seems so real you can scarcely believe your mind conjured it up. He kisses your nose, your cheek, the hollow of your throat, but never your lips, as if your subconscious is saving the memory for the real thing.

“Hi,” you giggle, savouring the heat of his body against yours, willing yourself still for fear of the barest shift ruining your dreamscape. Matty’s hands run over you, one taking a firm hold of your ass, the other pinching gently at your nipple.

You whimper, and he gives a mocking pout. “Needy, hm?” You nod, eyes wide and pleading, and he cups your pussy, your hips rolling as you chase your pleasure against his hand. Arousal drips out of you, soaking your panties as Matty grinds the heel of his palm against your clit. Your head swims in pleasure, distracted and flailing as the dream blurs around you. Whining, you try desperately to grasp onto the vestiges, convinced that one last touch would have brought you there.

Eyes twitching open, morning light slants through the crack in your curtains, a gentle kiss over your sweat-slick skin. Embarrassingly, like you’re a hormonal adolescent again, there’s a throw pillow wedged between your legs, desire soaking into it through your ruined panties. An experimental thrust of your hips sends a scattered, delicious burst of pleasure up your spine, but you refuse to indulge yourself, already humiliated without feeling that sudden, crushing guilt again.

Once again, you force yourself under a punishingly hot shower, and once again, you can’t scrub yourself free of the sin. It becomes something of a routine; three more nights you dream of him, and three more mornings you try your hardest to melt the flesh off your bones in an effort to forget. The fourth night, the day before you’ll see him again, your sleep is mercifully dreamless, though you still wake with him on your mind. You stand in front of your wardrobe, hands balanced on your hips as your gaze darts between two dresses.

You need to be stunning, fuckable in a way that caters to Matty’s tastes perfectly. The amount of time you’ve spent scrolling through pictures of him with old girlfriends would surely be impressive if it wasn’t embarrassing, but it’s helped you narrow your choices down to two options. There’s a wine-red number, the thigh slit so high it practically bares your ass and the neckline plunging almost to indecency — it’s reminiscent of how his last girlfriend dressed, simple, dark elegance, deep hues paired with bold, striking makeup. Then, there’s a floor-length, pastel-pink silk gown, evidence of the virtue you’ll pretend to possess until you can show him just how dirty you can be.

The second dress speaks to you, more similar both to your own style and that of the youngest girl he’s ever dated. She was still older than you, though, you think wryly, four years ago twenty-three to his thirty. That being said, you wouldn’t be surprised to find he’d fucked every college girl from here to Edinburgh whose father had so much looked at her askance once. The thought sends a ripple of jealousy through you and you shudder, picturing dozens of faceless girls under him until you want to tear your hair out. The man practically has you in a chokehold, and you’ve met him once.

Your rational brain knows it’s crazy, that the idealised version of him built up in your mind means he’ll only disappoint, but you’re almost sure you’ll get a good fuck out of it at the very least. More, if you play your cards well enough.

With ribbons in your hair, silk gloves over your hands and a string of pearls at your throat, you pose in the mirror, practising your teasing pout, your innocent smile, the eyes that say please, sir, let me make you feel good. Your mother shouts your name, and you follow the sound down the stairs and across the foyer, smiling blithely at your parents as they take in the sight of you.

Okay, maybe you’ve laid on the innocence too thick, your makeup subtly widening your eyes and faintly flushing your cheeks. But there’s nothing technically wrong with your outfit, so your mother simply heaves a sigh and leads you out to the car. You arrive perfectly, politely on time, pose quickly for the few cameras and take your seats. Wait staff linger discreetly around, filling champagne flutes thanklessly, as if they exist on a plane below the guests’ notice.

You have to bite back a grin when the placard beside the empty seat at your table reads Matthew Healy; by some magnanimous twist of fate, he’ll be directly across from you, giving you an excuse to gaze at him as long as you like. He’s late, but only fashionably so, smirking and doling out insincere apologies as he saunters to the table. You don’t stand until everyone else has, playing clueless as Matty greets everyone around the table politely.

When he reaches you, his eyes flicker over you in a way that has your knees threatening to buckle, and you finally let yourself take him in properly. He looks fucking gorgeous, dressed in another expensive suit, his curls gelled back with that same smell of cigarettes and cologne seeping from his pores. He leans forward, brushing his lips against the apple of your cheek, and you almost moan at the contact your body has been craving for days. “You look stunning, darling,” he murmurs, so quiet that you could almost be convinced you’d imagined it, if not for the dark look in his eyes when he pulls back. 

A half smile pulls at your lips as he sits down, one of the ubiquitous, black-clad waiters coming forward to fill his glass. The conversation quickly turns to business you couldn’t care less about, giving the automated, reflex responses to questions you’ve heard hundreds of times. You pay attention only when Matty speaks, the low timbre of his voice addictive even when he’s not addressing you. Emboldened by his heavy gaze and the significant looks he fixes you with each time his eyes land on yours, you slip a stockinged foot out of your shoe and trace it across his calf. His eyes widen a fraction, and he raises his glass and an eyebrow in your direction, his gaze laden with promise.

There’s still time before any food gets brought out, and after a few minutes, Matty offers to take you on a spin, introduce you to some of the more important people in suits that are clustered around the room. Your father preens, convinced you’ve made such an impression in the bare moments you’ve held your own in conversation that he wants to mentor you, or something. You accept gratefully, his proprietary hold on your arm falling low to your waist as soon as you’re out of your father’s sight, the heat of his palm splayed over your hip hard to believe. “Let me get you a drink,” he says, steering you to the bar. The crowd parts around him, conversations going quiet like he’s some kind of divine figure, taking a nod and a brief greeting like a blessing from on high. “You’ll need one to deal with this lot,” he adds, jerking a thumb at the gathered crowd, still murmuring awed in his wake.

Smiling, you take a seat at the bar, letting Matty flag down the bartender before you speak. “What’ll you have, darling?”

“Surprise me,” you grin, batting your eyelashes teasingly at him. “So, you hate this stuff, huh?”

Matty huffs a surprised laugh as the bartender pours him a glass of top-shelf red and hands you an Aperol spritz. “Is it that obvious?”

You take a long, slow sip of your drink, watching the way his eyes fall to your lips, pursed around the straw. “I don’t think so. Not to anyone here, anyway. They’re all too worried about what everyone else thinks of them to worry about what anyone else is thinking.”

Something shifts in his expression as he takes in your words, suddenly appraising you critically as a person with thoughts, rather than just a pretty face he wants to take to bed. And he does. Want to take you to bed, that is. His eyes are wide, dilated, his tongue unconsciously wetting his lips more often, his gaze trained on your face so it doesn’t fall further. “Beautiful and smart,” he says finally, leaning back in his chair, all at once dropping the intensity and sinking easily back into irreverence.

“I try,” you say with an artfully careless shrug, letting one of the thin straps of your dress fall from your shoulder, enjoying the way Matty’s eyes trace the movement. There’s a dance in this, a skill; overt flirting between the pair of you, a casual, if laden, conversation to an observer.

“I want to do bad things to you in that dress,” Matty says, low and sudden, a bolt of arousal striking you at your core.

You match his tone. “Like what?”

“The kind of things a man like me shouldn’t be thinking about doing to a girl like you.”

“So, why don’t you?” you challenge, a flicker of carefully masked surprise crossing his face as you drop your facade of naïveté. “There’s always somewhere private at a party like this,” you say, implication heavy in your tone, spreading your legs slightly and licking your lips.

A muscle jumps in Matty’s jaw, jealousy and lust warring in his expression as he pictures you crowded up against a bathroom sink, mouth parted and eyes glassy. “S’that what you’re used to? A quick fuck in a bathroom with some pathetic boy?” He leans close, delivering his next words slow and quiet. “I’m not going to do that, princess,” he says with a disparaging scoff, the sobriquet sending heat pooling between your legs. “Have you ever fucked a man, angel?”

Swallowing your moan, your thighs clench as you whisper, “No.”

“Good. Means I get to show you how it should really feel. Because when I fuck you for the first time, I’m going to make you fall apart for me. Piece by pretty, perfect piece. Shall we?” he adds, standing and offering you a hand without giving you any time to process his words.

You swallow thickly, accepting his hand and standing on unsteady legs. True to his word, he introduces you to what feels like an endless string of people. Their faces all blur together, your body working on autopilot to churn out pleasantries as your mind turns over Matty’s words, spinning them over and over like a coin set on its edge.

“Stay right here,” you whisper to him as he starts to head back to your table, and you’re pleased to find when you return from the bathroom that he’s obeyed. As discreetly as possible, you press the scrap of lace you peeled off from under your dress into his hand. The sound of his choked-off inhale is infinitely gratifying, and you savour his gaze at your back as you stride away, a deliberate sway in your hips.

 By the time you’re back at the table, a thick wedge of business cards is tucked neatly into your purse to be left there and forgotten about until you shake them onto the floor the next time you need the bag. All but the one sitting on the very top, with Matty’s personal number scrawled on the back. He doesn’t take his eyes off you all through dinner, his hand dipping into his pocket at every free moment, the knowledge that his fingers are running over your panties driving you wild. Your legs cross so you don’t start dripping on the seat as you throw pleading glances at Matty every chance you get.

You practically chase him to the bar as dinner winds down, draping yourself over him as much as you dare. “I need you,” you whine, pressing a hand to his inner thigh, feeling the heat of him through his suit trousers. “I can’t wait anymore,” you plead, as close to begging as you can get without prostrating yourself on the floor in front of him.

Matty laughs, condescending. “Needy girl,” he pouts, crooking a finger under your chin. “If you were anyone else, I’d take you home right now, fuck all of these people. But we can’t have that, can we?” he teases. “Because you’re a good girl, yeah? And what would people think, good girl like you all spread out for a dirty old man like me?”

A pathetic whine slips from your lips, lust overtaking you even as the gears start to turn in your mind. “Take me home,” you beg, pulse hammering in your throat at the very prospect. “I can make an excuse, say I’m meeting friends or something. I’m a big girl, they won’t care as long as they don’t know where I actually am. Please?” you pout, leaning so close that your breath kisses across his lips. “I’ll be so good for you, I promise.”

And Matty is only a man, with a man’s self-control. He’s had a few more years to refine it, but he’ll never be immune. “Go on, then, sweetheart. Make your excuses and meet me out front, yeah?” He gives your ass a firm slap as you stand, the brief flash of pain melting into sticky desire that hums under your skin.

You spin a lie to your parents, some story that your friends are in a bar a few streets away, and surely they don’t mind if you slip away just a few minutes early? Honestly, they’re ecstatic you stayed as long as you did, waving you off with unsuspecting smiles. Then, before you know it, you’re in a taxi with Matty, your thigh pressed against his, one of his hands tracing a pattern into your skin. You crowd closer to him, struggling to breathe as lust swallows all the air between you.

He stays teasingly out of your reach, tutting softly when you chase his lips. “You promised to be good for me, princess,” he admonishes, trailing his hand further up your thigh. You obey, squirming as you fall back into your seat, his fingers cruelly close to where you need them. “Good girl. You want me to touch you?” Matty murmurs, leaning in to breathe the words against the shell of your ear, a shudder rolling up your spine at his closeness. You nod, bating your breath as his fingers find the wetness between your legs. “Nice and still for me, yeah, darling?”

Pleasure floods you when the pad of his finger finds your clit, the gentle scrape over your sensitive nerves somehow blinding, your hips rolling as you chase the sensation. “Matty, please,” you moan, pouting pathetically when he takes his hand away.

“You’re not being very good, love. Still, remember? You can sit and keep your hands to yourself until we get home, understand?” You nod, sinking back in your seat and sulking. “Don’t be a brat, princess,” Matty chides, closing his lips around his wet fingers, sucking your arousal off them with an exaggerated moan. “Just a few more minutes and I’ll give you what you need, yeah? Sweet, needy girl.”

You flush at the praise, at the way he can switch from gentle to commanding and back in a second. Your blood is thick with desire, heart working in overdrive to pump it through your body. Then, with no ceremony, the end of the most agonising minutes of your life is signalled by the crunching of gravel under tyres. Matty leads you into the house, his control on a tight leash until the door clicks shut behind you.

He all but slams you against it, crowding into your space, his breath hot on your lips. His smell of cigarettes and cologne envelops you, fills your lungs, dizzying and intoxicating. “Please?” you whine, and he finally, gloriously obliges. Your lips crash together, a messy slide of spit and teeth and tongue that leaves you bruised and begging.

Matty’s hands fall to your ass, squeezing hard at the soft flesh, pliant under his touch as his nails bite crescent-moons of desire into your skin. “Can you jump for me, baby?” he asks, breaking away from you just long enough to breathe the words against your lips. Your legs wrap instinctively around his waist, your dress hiked up so far that it bares your cunt as Matty grips you by the thighs.

Pleasure spreads slowly through you as you grind yourself against him, his lips falling to your neck as he carries you up the stairs, a squeal escaping you as he tosses you on the bed. He stands at the foot of the bed, breathing hard, greedily drinking in the sight of you. “Take that dress off. Now.” His tone leaves no room for argument, practically puppeteering you, expensive silk crumpled on the floor before you can even react. “Gorgeous,” Matty murmurs, one hand coming up to unbutton his shirt. “Can you touch yourself for me? Wanna see how to make you feel good.”

“Uh-huh,” you murmur, eyes fixed on the inches of skin being revealed, a covering dragged off a masterpiece. Dark ink peeks from the V of his shirt, dissonant from the toned, marble skin surrounding it. Impatient, you dip two fingers into yourself, the familiar stretch sending heat shooting up your spine. Gasping, you pinch at your clit, rolling it between two fingers, hips rocking as you moan wantonly up at him.

“Good girl. Does that feel good, princess?”

“Not as good as you,” you pout, fucking yourself desperately on your fingers. “Daddy,” you add, watching that final thread break, Matty’s eyes going dark as he collapses on the bed above you. He kicks off his trousers ungracefully, tugging your hand up to his lips.

His warm mouth closes around your fingers, sucking the taste of your desire off them with a moan. “Such a dirty little girl, dressed up all innocent like that when you just wanna be ruined by your fuckin’ Daddy.” His clothed cock grinds against your aching, soaked core, the contact achingly close to what you need, and yet agonisingly far. “You taste so good, angel. Want me to eat that sweet little pussy of yours?”

Your mind swims at the thought, his skilled, clever tongue buried between your legs, your hands tight in his curls as he devours you. But that isn’t what you need. You shake your head. “Want you to fuck me,” you say, the simmering well of desire endless in the pit of your stomach. “I need it. Please?”

“Oh, sweet girl,” Matty croons, shoving his boxers down his legs. You watch his cock spring free, thudding hot and sticky against his belly. “You want my fingers first, or can you take me all by yourself?”

The subtle condescension sets you on fire, liquefying your brain and sending it flooding down your spine, dripping out of you onto the mattress. You reach down, wrap your hand around him and pump slowly, swallowing his quiet hiss against your mouth. “I can take it, Daddy,” you promise, wide, innocent eyes turned on him.

The stretch when he enters you burns gloriously, your mouth falling open in a perfect, round ‘O’ of ecstasy. Matty fills you slowly, burying himself to the hilt, so deep that you can practically feel him rearranging your insides. “Such a good girl, takin’ all of me like this,” he praises. Discomposed, his accent thickens, rounding the vowels and blurring the ends of his words. Matty rocks his hips one shallow thrust striking a spot inside you that has your vision whiting out, ecstasy buzzing in your heavy limbs. “That felt good, huh? Yeah. I know, I know,” he soothes, swallowing your whines with wet, deliberate kisses, tongue sweeping every corner of your mouth and teeth grazing your lips.

Matty pulls almost all the way out of you, your body crying out at the loss, then slams his hips against yours so hard you see stars. “M-Matty, fuck,” you whimper, back arching desperately as he fucks you into the mattress, hard and fast, the obscene sound of skin meeting ringing out around you.

“Ah-ah. That’s not my name tonight, princess.”

His hips still, the waves of pleasure subsiding in punishment. “‘M sorry, Daddy,” you whine, bringing your hand down to rub at your clit, bright heat bursting between your legs.

“That’s it, angel,” Matty murmurs, pinching softly at your nipple with one calloused hand. “So beautiful all fucked out for me. I’m the only one who can get you like this, huh?”

Subtle jealousy hums in his tone, his kiss turning possessive as you writhe under him. “Yeah,” you whimper breathily. “Never had it this good before.” It’s not a lie. Your body feels at once wound into a coil and loose on your bones, the point where your hips meet your only anchor to your physical form.

Matty scoffs. “That’s because you’ve only fucked boys, princess.  Never had a man before, have you?”

“N-no, Daddy,” you whine, rubbing frantically at your clit, Matty’s rhythmic groans warm against your lips.

His lips fall to your neck, kissing and biting against your tender skin, the scrape of teeth a flash of pain undercutting your desire but gentle enough not to bruise. “That’s right, baby. ‘M your fuckin’ Daddy. Wanna be my girl, huh? Could have you like this whenever you want, never let you worry about anything, ‘cept staying all pretty and cockdrunk for me.”

Oh, God. How does he know? Involuntarily, your legs wrap around his waist, the new angle rapturous as his thrusts continue, long and so deep you practically choke on them. “Mm-hmm. Yeah. Could just be your little toy, never think unless you told me to. Want that so bad, Daddy.”

Matty’s eyes light up, wide and liquid with desire, your heartbeat hammering in your cunt as it throbs around him. “Oh, baby,” he murmurs. “Sweet girl. You wanna be my dumb little slut, huh? Want Daddy to fuck you stupid, turn you into my pretty fucktoy?” The words turn you to liquid, dripping and sticky under his skilled hands. “Yeah, you do,” he grins, arrogant and cocksure, your mind melting into fantasies of being Matty’s kept girl, of bending over with a smile whenever he liked, of spending your days keeping yourself pretty for him, and your nights split open like this. “I can feel how bad you want that, your pretty cunt keeps squeezing me so fuckin’ tight, angel.”

“‘M close,” you whimper, the words choked from your closing throat, desire clamping down on your body like a vice.

“Good girl,” Matty whispers, one of his hands joining yours at your clit, the pressure suddenly dramatically intense, every nerve in your body firing as one. “Cum for me, angel,” he orders, and your body obeys.

You come unglued from yourself, feel it in your whole body, euphoria crushing the air from your lungs. Your cunt pulses, thumping a sick rhythm in tune with Matty’s thrusts into you. Barely conscious, you feel amorphous, a messy string of liquid desire more than a corporeal girl. WIth a final, low groan, Matty spills inside of you, painting your insides white.

A whine escapes you as he pulls out, the loss tangible in your heavy limbs. “Oh, I know, baby, I know,” he soothes, falling beside you and cupping your jaw to kiss you tenderly.

“Thank you, Daddy,” you murmur shakily, and a soft smile brushes at his lips.

“So polite,” he says reverently. “Such a good girl.”

You pout at him and drag two fingers through your slick, messy cunt, sucking the taste of both of you off your fingers. Matty gasps, eyes wide, and you smile around your wet fingers. “You want more, darling?”

You nod frantically, the fire under your skin still raging, ferocious and uncontrollable. Weakly, you lift your head, transfixed to where his cum trickles out of you, pooling white on the mattress. “We taste so good together,” you tell him, without taking your eyes off your ruined core. “Looks so good, your cum dripping out of me. Want you to finger it out of me. Please?” you add, pouting until he kisses you gently, breaking away to smile against your lips. 

“Whatever you want, you’ll get, princess.” His fingers find your hole, teasing at you for a moment before toying with your sensitive clit, a stab of pleasure-pain winding sharply through you. “S’that sore, darling?”

“A bit,” you say, your body lax as he plays with you gently. All the urgency is gone now you’ve both come, the air honey-thick, your breathing slow and deliberate. “Feels good, though.”

Matty’s fingers are broad and thick as he pushes two of them inside you, your soaked cunt accepting him easily. He crooks his fingers, brushing that sweet spot that sets your nerves alight, and begins a slow rhythm. Lewd, wet sounds echo off the walls as you both watch his fingers disappear where you take him, cum leaking out around them.

An orgasm builds slowly at the base of your spine, your body jolting as Matty’s thumb comes up to circle over your clit. He swallows your sudden moan, languid kisses that have your eyes fluttering closed and let you fall into a daydream as he brings you closer.

“Mmm, can I cum again? Please?” you moan, hips rolling down to meet him. Pleasure swims hazy through your head, your blood syrup-thick and heavy with it.

“Can you hold it for a minute, baby? For me? Just wanna watch that pretty cunt of yours taking my fingers a little longer.” You whimper as he curls his long fingers inside of you, trembling with the effort of holding your orgasm at bay. “You make such pretty sounds, princess. Tell me who you belong to and I’ll let you cum, okay?”

“‘M yours, Daddy. Your good little girl,” you promise, words coming out slurred, your tongue too thick in your mouth.

“That’s right, baby,” Matty says, encouraging, grasping possessively at your hip. “All mine, yeah? Go on, princess. Cum,” he instructs, curling his fingers against your g-spot and rubbing a harsh circle into your clit in the same, breathless moment.

All the air crushes out of your lungs, white-hot pleasure melting your brain into liquid. Matty croons reassurances as you writhe under him, the thickness of his fingers visceral where you clench around him. You moan his name over and over in a litany, tasting something divine where the word spills from your lips.

You float back down to Earth, blissed-out and smiling, adoration in Matty’s gaze as he watches you. “There you are, sweet girl,” he grins, warm hand stroking gently up and down your side. “How do you feel?”

“God, incredible,” you answer, stretching back and luxuriating against his pillows. “Best fuck I’ve ever had,” you grin, watching his jaw clench at the reminder that you’ve fucked other people.

“Ruined you for other men, have I?” he says, smug smirk pulling at his lips.

“Other boys,” you correct airily. “Men like you know what they’re doing. Maybe you’ve given me a taste for it. Maybe I’ll fuck my way through the office, get all those men you see every day eating out of my hand.”

Matty practically snarls, silencing you with a harsh kiss. “Those fucking pricks couldn’t make you cum if their lives depended on it. Believe me, darling, I’m the best you’ll ever have,” he promises, and you give a quiet giggle. Your eyes are heavy even as electricity still buzzes under your skin, and you yawn, catlike, and settle against his bare chest. “Tired, angel?” he says, a hint of humour in his tone.

“Right shattered me, haven’t you?” you complain, swatting playfully at him. “Can I stay?”

“‘Course, darling. Long as you like,” Matty says, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “Want me to make you something to eat? Can’t have my girl going hungry after I’ve worn her out like that.” The casualness with which he flings the words my girl sends your heart racing, one of his hands coming up to cup your jaw then trailing up to play with your hair. It’s all so sickeningly domestic, more intimate than when he had you split open and dizzy under him.

“Sounds nice,” you say sleepily, but whine when he moves to get up.

You pout when Matty tugs on his discarded boxers, and he chuckles softly. “What?” he adds as your frown deepens, watching him pull on a pair of grey joggers.

“Was looking at you,” you say sulkily. “You have a cute ass.”

His head tips back as he laughs, baring the sloping column of his neck gorgeously, his curls bouncing with the movement. “Are you objectifying me?” he grins, mock-affronted.

“Yes,” you say immediately, sitting up and tracing your gaze deliberately over his chest, muscles rippling as he breathes. Your attention falls to the tattoo at his hip, half-hidden by his joggers, and the sudden need to taste the skin there overtakes you. “What else is a big, strong man like you good for? Fucking me right and cooking me dinner, and looking gorgeous doing it,” you tease, sucking in a sharp breath when he crosses the room in two strides and catches your jaw in a harsh grip.

“Don’t be a brat, princess. ‘Cause then I’ll have to show you what I’m fucking good for.”

“Okay,” you breathe against his lips, trailing your hand down his chest and thumbing over the tattoo, savouring the way Matty shudders under your touch.

The air under your hand goes cold as he steps away. “Needy girl,” he grins. “Food first, yeah? You want me to bring it up here? Serve my princess dinner in bed?” There’s that my again, one tiny, thoughtless syllable sending a thousand fantasies flickering behind your eyes. “Or do you wanna come down with me?”

You slip out from under the covers and set your feet on the floor, only for your knees to buckle when you try to stand. “Fucked me so good my legs don’t work,” you say with a weak laugh, smiling softly when Matty comes to fuss over you. “Can you carry me downstairs?”

“Here,” Matty says, handing you a shirt and boxers that are probably too small for him; they dwarf you, the shirt swallowing you while the boxers hang indecently low on your hips. At the sight of you in his clothes, he stops still, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply for a long moment. “Look fucking gorgeous wearing my clothes, darling. C’mere, I can carry you if you want,” he offers, scooping you into his arms.

Nestled happy against his warm, bare chest, you notice for the first time how fucking big his house is. It’s almost brutalist, but still homey, evidently lived-in. Framed photographs and prints litter the walls, slightly wilted flowers sitting in a vase atop a gorgeous upright piano.

“D’you play?” Matty asks, catching you admiring it.

“Since I was a kid. Do you?”

He huffs out a laugh above you. “You think I’d have a fifty grand piano sitting around that I don’t play?”

You shrug as best you can, still wrapped in his arms. “My parents have a baby grand that nobody played until I came along. It’s like a status symbol, or something, I dunno.”

“Yes, I play. The guitar too,” he adds, slowly strolling in the direction of the kitchen.

The realisation dawns on you, and your mouth drops in an ‘O’ of understanding. “So that’s why your hands are like that. I don’t know why I didn’t put that together. You’re hardly the type for hard labour.”

Matty laughs, setting you down on the kitchen counter. “You don’t know,” he teases, pressing a featherlight kiss against your cheek. “I could’ve been a mechanic in a past life.”

The thought of him, sweaty and dripping in grease, bending you over the hood of a car, makes your head spin, and he smirks as your jaw goes slack. “I wish,” you grin as he retrieves a pan from an upper cabinet, flexing the muscles in his back gratuitously with the movement. ement.

“What are you feeling like? Eggs? Pasta?” he offers, setting the pan on the stove.

You mull it over for a moment. “Can you make me French toast?”

“‘Course I can, baby.” You watch his hands as he cracks two eggs in a bowl, whisking them together with cinnamon and sugar. He steps between your legs as the bread sizzles in the pan with a healthy spoonful of melted butter, kissing at your neck and jaw. In the light, the fading hickeys scattered over your skin are visible, and he prods jealously at them. “Who gave you these?” he says, gravel in his voice.

Shrugging airily, you smirk up at him. “Some boy,” you tease, Matty’s nostrils flaring as he fights to control his reaction.

“Did he make you cum?” he asks, nails biting possessively into your hips.

“We didn’t get that far. Just made out on the couch. He was a good kisser, though.” At that, Matty captures your lips, kissing you slow and deep, the lingering taste of red wine filling your mouth. The kiss is hard, almost aggressive, like he’s trying to forcibly erase the memory of any kiss you’ve ever had. He bites gently at your lower lip as he pulls away, not hard enough to sting, but enough for you to read the message in the action. “Careful. Don’t burn my toast.”

A mumbled fuck makes you giggle, and he turns to flip the bread in the pan. “Don’t worry, angel. Still perfect.” He watches you as he speaks, wide brown eyes liquid and luminous, framed by delicate lashes.

Still, if he gets to be jealous, so do you. “Do you make midnight snacks for all the girls?” you ask, swinging your legs back and forth off the counter.

“Can’t say I do, darling.”

The implication of his words thuds hard in your chest, a warm flicker of hope striking to life like a match under your skin. “What’s so special about me?”

“Good girl like you deserves the princess treatment. ‘Specially from a dirty old man like me,” he grins, sliding your toast onto a plate. The sudden reminder of your age gap, of the scandal you’d cause if even a whisper of this got out, sends a shuddering thrill up your spine. Matty hands you the plate, topped with icing sugar and drizzled with syrup, and you tuck in eagerly. 

He picks up a pack of cigarettes from the counter, eyebrows going up when you go to reach for one. “What? I’m not always a good girl.”

“Oh, I know, love,” Matty smirks, lit cigarette dangling indecently from his lips. “Can’t have you ruining your pretty lungs, though. Here,” he says, pulling deeply on the cigarette and then pressing his open mouth to yours. Grey smoke curls from your parted lips as you suck in the smoke greedily. He shotguns you half the cigarette, your head light as the nicotine buzz hits.

You drink in the sight of him as you eat, taking advantage of the light to appreciate the finer details of him. The gentle glow of the cigarette where it sits between his plush, pink lips, the joggers obscenely low on his hips, the V of muscle that points tantalisingly down, a light trail of hair disappearing into his waistband.

“You wanna go back to bed, angel?” Matty smirks, the air between you shifting as he meets your gaze, eyes darkened.

You scoff. “Bed’s boring. You have this whole fucking house, and you wanna take me back to bed?”

Matty crowds close to you, stealing a kiss and dropping to his knees. “Alright, princess.” His fingers dig into your hips as he eases his boxers off you, dipping his head to kiss at your bare thighs. A filthy smirk spreads wide across his lips as he looks up at you. “You’ve eaten. Now it’s my turn,” he promises, and your giggle turns to a moan when his tongue meets your centre.

He devours you like he’s been starved, lapping at your still-soaked cunt in a toe-curling rhythm. A sudden flash of pleasure-pain strikes sharply where his teeth scrape at the tender flesh of your thigh, sucking and biting hard enough to bruise. A quiet moan tumbles from your lips, and you squeeze your thighs around his head to urge him back to your cunt. Obediently, he wraps his lips around your clit, the pressure at your sensitive bundle of nerves making your head spin. “C’mon, princess. You make such pretty sounds, I know you can be louder than that.”

Matty sets a dizzying pace, tongue-fucking you with fervour. Burying your hands in his hair, you shift so you can rest your legs over his shoulders, the new angle letting him drive his tongue even deeper inside you. Heat roils in your belly, winding around your organs, entangling sweetly with your veins. “Fuck,” you whimper, rolling your hips against his face wantonly. “Feels s’good, Daddy,” you moan out, gasping as Matty curls his tongue perfectly inside you, white-hot pleasure buzzing up your spine.

“Gorgeous,” he murmurs and tilts his head up to look at you, his lips and chin practically dripping with your slick. He sucks another bruise into your sensitive skin, kissing over the mark apologetically. Your skin is on fire, tension pulling tight in all your limbs at once. “Taste so fucking good,” he moans, kissing softly at your cunt, his laugh ghosting over your skin as you flutter needily in response. “Could spend the rest of my fuckin’ life between these pretty thighs, darling.”

Your head is hazy, barely coherent thoughts drifting in and out, an incomprehensible plea falling from your lips. Matty won’t let you get complacent with a rhythm, switching between broad, flat strokes over your cunt, deep thrusts into you and sucking on your clit so fast it deliriates you. “‘M close,” you whine, tugging hard on his curls as ecstasy builds at the base of your spine. “Wanna cum for you,” you add, a hint of begging in your tone.

“Say please, darling.” The words vibrate gloriously in your cunt, a shock of pleasure rolling over you.

“Please, Daddy, I wanna cum. Need it so bad,” you plead, whimpering when he scrapes his teeth over your clit, fighting to hold your orgasm at bay until he gives you permission.

“Go on, princess. Cum for Daddy, yeah?” The words are all you need, a string of obscenities interspersed with breathless moans of his name tumbling from your lips as pure euphoria overtakes you. Hot pleasure cascades over you, racing down your spine and along every nerve in your body. You writhe against Matty’s mouth, half-convinced you’ve left your body behind, made of pure sensation.

Boneless, you slump backward, sure you could fall asleep on the cool granite of Matty’s kitchen counter. He catches you, steadying, and gathers you back into his arms. “Thank you, Daddy,” you smile up at him, curling into his chest.

The thump of his heartbeat is soothing as he picks you up again. “Such a good girl,” he murmurs fondly. “Now do you want me to take you back to bed?” he adds, grinning teasingly. He carries you back to his room, laying you softly against the pillows and pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Just need you awake for a few more minutes, sweetheart. Need to get you cleaned up, then you can sleep, yeah?” He’s so tender, speaking softly and petting your hair for a moment before he fetches a damp cloth. Running it softly over you, he makes soothing sounds at your pained whimpers. “I know, baby, I know. ‘M sorry. Just a little more, okay?”

You’re half-asleep by the time Matty climbs into bed with you, sweeping your hair off the back of your neck and kissing softly at the skin there. An arm drapes over your waist, the pressure warm and soothing. “I wanna be your girl,” you mumble, more than half-asleep, barely conscious of the words as they slip unbidden from your lips. You’re unconscious before you hear his reply.

You’re sore in the morning, momentarily disoriented by the weight of a body in bed with you, before last night comes flooding back and you smile to yourself. “Morning, princess,” Matty murmurs, voice low and sleep-thick in your ear.

“Good morning,” you smile, stretching out your muscles and arching your back. Matty hisses as your ass meets his hips, his hardness pressing against you. “Oh, very good morning, hm?” Turning to face him, you reach down, slipping your hand under his waistband to palm his cock. He twitches under your touch, a sleepy moan falling from his lips as he rolls his hips into your hand. “Wanna suck your cock,” you murmur, his reaction visceral in your palm.

“Such a sweet girl,” he says, sliding his boxers off as you climb over him. You kiss his neck, the hollow of his throat, working your way down his chest. Indulgently, you bite a bruise into his chest, a twin to the ones that litter your thighs. You trace your tongue over the tattoo at his hip, his body shuddering at the sensation. His cock twitches against your lips as you press a kiss to the head, the taste of salt filling your mouth when you lick your lips.

You mouth at him teasingly for a moment, needy whines filling the air above you. Having power over him this time is intoxicating, and you hold his hips down as he tries to thrust into your mouth. “Not so fast,” you grin. “Keep still and hands to yourself, remember?” Matty swears softly as you repeat his words back to him, hands fisting in the sheets.

Teasing him for a few more moments, you kiss at his lower belly, smirking as he trembles under your lips, cock drooling. The moan Matty lets out when you wrap your lips around the head of his cock is obscene, low and keening, and you dip your head to take him in deeper. “That’s it,” he murmurs, threading a hand gently in your hair. “C’mon, sweet girl, just a little further. I know you can take it, angel.” The encouragement sends a shudder through you, liquid pleasure pooling between your thighs.

Obediently, you relax your throat, sinking further until your nose meets his skin. “Good girl,” Matty says. “Good fucking girl, takin’ me so well. So fuckin’ pretty all stretched out around my cock.” Saliva pools under your tongue, dripping helplessly from the corners of your mouth. “Fuck,” he groans, thrusting gently into your mouth. “Such a pretty slut, fuckin’ drooling on my cock.”

You pull off him, a string of saliva connecting your skin for a split-second. “‘M your slut, Daddy. Can go harder, if you want,” you say, wrapping your hand around his cock, spit-soaked and dripping, and pump slowly. You lave at him for a moment, licking messy stripes over his cock before taking him all the way in one motion.

Matty groans, bucking his hips. “You want me to fuck your pretty mouth, huh, angel?” His hand tightens in your hair as he thrusts into your mouth, the stretch in the corners of your mouth gorgeous.

“You can do better than that,” you murmur. “Want it hard. I won’t break. Unless you want me to,” you add with a grin, moaning around his cock as you swallow him back down. Finally, gloriously, Matty fucks into your mouth, sets a deep, punishing pace. He pulls you by your hair, the sting in your scalp divine as he uses you; you let yourself slip out of your body, sinking into the warm, fuzzy feeling of being his toy.

“That’s right, baby. Fucking made to take my cock, yeah? Good little girl just wants to be Daddy’s cocksleeve.” The filthy words wash over you, thighs clenching as arousal thrums low in your belly. Wetness pools between your legs and you slip a hand down your body to rub at your clit. The soft spark of pleasure grants you the briefest relief, and you moan around his cock. He’s losing control, the movement of his hips turning sloppy as your throat burns raw. “Fuck,” Matty hisses. “Gonna cum, angel.”

“You wanna cum in my mouth?” He nods, transfixed by your flushed skin and spit-slick lips. “Say please, Daddy.”

He moans, long and low, as you take him back in your mouth, swallowing around him. “C’mon, princess, I wanna cum in that pretty mouth of yours. Fuck, I need it.” He fucks your throat wildly, heat firing through your body, sensation cascading over you. “Please?” The word sounds delicious falling from his lips, sliding sweetly across your brain as you moan around him. With a final groan, he spills in your mouth, a cry of your name tearing from his throat. His cock pulses in your throat, the salt of him filling your mouth as you swallow obediently. “That’s it, take it all. Such a good little cumdump for me, princess.”

You pull off him, sitting back on your heels with a grin. “Did I do good?” you ask, pouting down at him.

You’re only teasing, but when Matty meets your gaze, chest heaving and eyes lidded, and murmurs, “So good, princess.” A gush of heat floods between your sticking thighs. “Where’d my good girl learn to suck cock like that?”

Falling back onto his chest, you give him a wicked smirk. “I told you already, Daddy.” You shift your hips, grinding your soaked cunt against his cock and whining at the soft buzz of pleasure that lights under your skin. “I’m not always a good girl.”

He groans, rolling his hips against yours. “You’re gonna fuckin’ kill me, baby.”

You giggle, pressing a kiss to the tattoo in the centre of his chest. “The elderly and their weak hearts,” you scoff, hissing when he pinches the flesh of your ass.

“Oi. Be nice.” Rolling your eyes dramatically, you mime zipping your lips. His fingers wander between your legs, anticipation thrilling under your skin as he finds your clit, the rough pad of his finger scraping against your sensitive nerves. “So wet, princess. Does being my little cocksleeve turn you on, baby?”

“Mhmm,” you murmur. “Feel a bit gross right now, though. I wanna shower first.” Matty grins, a vision of you naked and dripping wet from the shower playing out so clearly on his face that you can practically see it reflected in his eyes.

You hop up on the bathroom counter as Matty runs the shower, rinsing your mouth out with mouthwash and leaning over the sink to spit it out. Matty does the same, then steps between your legs, and you cross them instinctively behind his back. He catches your lips, mint taste mingling in your breaths as you kiss open-mouthed, hot and messy. Distracted, you lose yourself in the kiss, forgetting why you’re in the bathroom at all until the air is thick and cloying with steam.

Matty breaks away from you and helps you to your feet, tugging his shirt up over your head and discarding it to the floor. He can’t resist a greedy handful of your tit, gazing down to where the flesh spills over his fingers. “Pretty girl,” he murmurs, walking you backwards until you’re stepping into the shower.

You pull him under the spray, curls sticking to his forehead as the water soaks him. His hands trail over your body, grasping at your wet flesh as you press yourself needily against him. His cock is hard against your belly, heat pooling in your core as he pulls you in for a wet kiss. Matty grips your thighs, your head spinning as his tongue sweeps your mouth. “Jump up for me, sweet girl,” he says against your lips. “I’ll catch you, don’t worry.” Something in your chest catches as he smiles earnestly down at you, and you force it down before it bubbles out of control and something incriminating slips from your lips.

Obediently, you jump up, your legs tangling around Matty’s waist as he crowds you against the shower tile, his nails biting at your thighs where he holds you in place. You moan against his mouth as you grind your hips down against his stomach, a soft buzz of pleasure growing where your skin meets his. “Daddy, please. Want your cock,” you whine, steam curling around your bodies as you grasp weakly at his wet skin.

He laughs softly against your lips, angling your hips carefully as he lines up his cock. Torturously slow, he lowers you down, pleasure rolling hot under your skin from the point where his hips meet yours. Your cunt throbs, stretched wide around him as Matty moans against your neck. “God, this fucking cunt drives me crazy. Made for this,” he groans as he bottoms out, hips flush under the warm spray of the shower.

“C’mon,” you whimper, clenching your cunt around him and rolling your hips. “Fuck me. I need it,” you beg, scraping your nails down his back.

His cock twitches inside you, the barest flicker of sensation sending a pulse of heat thrumming under your skin. “Needy girl,” he says, clicking his tongue condescendingly. 

“Please, Daddy,” you moan, writhing in his arms, the plea on your lips breaking into a whine as he pushes into you agonisingly slow. Your head thuds back against the tile as your eyes slip closed, hot pleasure coiling between your legs as you clench your cunt around him.

Matty groans as he bottoms out, your legs locked around his waist as you pant into his mouth. “God, takin’ me so well, princess. Look so beautiful while I’m fucking you like this, fuck,” he praises, his words sending heat rushing to your cheeks. His head falls to suck and bite at the flesh of your tits, pain blooming into bliss under your skin as he fucks into you slowly.

You moan desperately, scrambling for purchase against his wet skin. “More, harder, please,” you whimper, rocking your hips as arousal pools in your cunt and drips out over him. He laughs darkly, and you shudder slightly, wondering what you’ve let yourself in for.

“Harder, huh?” he murmurs into your neck. “Whatever you want, princess.” It’s the only warning you get before he lifts you and slams you down on his cock, your hips meeting hard as he strikes deep inside you. He fucks you wildly, the slick heat of his body pinning you to the wall as he mouths at your neck, his breath hot on your skin. Incoherent moans fall from your lips, your head hazy and distant, pleasure welling hot under your skin.

His lips come up to cover yours, swallowing your wanton moans greedily, the faint taste of mint on his tongue as he licks into your mouth. “God, such a good girl,” he murmurs. “Wish you could see yourself, baby. Such a pretty little cocksleeve for me.” Arousal drips between your legs, mingling with the water soaking you, your cunt throbbing at his words. “You like that, princess?” he asks with a soft laugh, subtle derision cascading down your spine. “Little slut. Wanna be Daddy’s pretty toy, yeah?”

You whine, nails digging into his shoulders. His rhythm doesn’t slow, your grip on sanity slackening with every pulse of heat in your cunt. “‘M yours, Daddy,” you manage to get out around broken moans.

“That’s right, princess.” He’s practically dragging you up and down on him, using you like you really are a toy. “Gonna be a good girl and cum for Daddy, hm?” Your legs tighten around Matty’s waist as one of his hands leaves your hip to play with your clit. The rough scrape of his calloused finger over your sensitive bundle of nerves is too much, and it barely takes another minute before your world shatters.

Your scream echoes off the tile, cunt pulsing as your blood burns with ecstasy. Heat floods every nerve in your body, bone-deep pleasure swelling under your skin, incessant gasps and whines falling from your lips. Matty’s brutal pace never slows, chasing his own pleasure, silencing your whines with his mouth as you squirm against the overstimulation. “‘M almost there, baby. Just a little more, takin’ it so well, princess,” he assures you, rhythm sloppy and faltering as he gets closer. Your name spills from his lips in a groan as he pulses inside you, ropes of cum dripping sticky down your insides. 

“Fuck,” you murmur, whining as he pulls out and gingerly setting a leg on the floor, testing whether they can hold your weight. Matty’s hands hover at your waist, ready to catch you if you slip, and you stretch up to press a grateful kiss to his lips.

Matty pulls you fully under the shower, reaching for a bottle of shower gel and soaping his hands. “Feeling good?” he says, cocky smirk playing on his lips.

“Mhmm,” you sigh happily, settling against his chest as he runs his hands slow and tender over your body. In your blissed-out state, you barely notice your next words as they slip from your lips. “Wish it could be like this all the time.”

Matty croons softly, brushing a thumb over your nipple and kneading at your tit. “Wanna be my sweet girl forever, hm? I’d love that, princess,” he murmurs, the fantasy rooting in your mind despite how obscenely ridiculous the idea is — you’ve barely known him a week, for Christ’s sake. Something about him makes you feel safe, though, secure. Like you’ve known him for years — although, maybe not, given the circumstances. A moan slips from your lips when Matty digs his thumbs into your back, working the tension free from under your skin as your eyes slip happily closed. He cleans your cunt gently, smirking at the cum stringing between his fingers and swirling down the drain. “Can I wash your hair?” he offers with a soft smile.

Your chest feels distended, bloated with an affection you know you shouldn’t be feeling as you nod, the scent of his shampoo maddeningly comforting, sickeningly familiar. Matty’s skilled fingers work over your scalp, a quiet kind of bliss rolling over you as you relax into his touch. Stepping out of the shower, your hair scrunched up in an old t-shirt of his that he swore he didn’t care about getting ruined, you can’t hold back a pout when he wraps a towel around his waist. “Hey, no, what do you think you’re doing?” you gasp, suddenly distracted as Matty starts to bring a towel up to his hair. Puzzled, he stares at you blankly as you snatch it from his grip. “Gonna ruin those pretty curls if you keep doing that,” you tut. “Here, sit down. Let me spoil you for a second, okay?” You’ve never felt so cared for by one of your hookups, even by some of your boyfriends, so you seize a chance to return the favour. 

Obligingly, he sits on the closed toilet seat, letting you advance on him with a tub of obscenely expensive hair gel. He smiles softly, leaning involuntarily into your touch as you twist his curls around your fingers, defining them neatly and admiring the way they bounce back on themselves. You straddle his lap to scrunch the gel into his hair, batting his hand away when he tries to grab your tit. “Behave,” you chide, laughing and stepping away to take in your handiwork. With his hair loose and framing his face sweetly, he looks younger, more innocent, a far cry from the man calling you a pretty little cocksleeve not even half an hour ago.

“What are you thinkin’ about, darling?” Matty murmurs, searching gaze heavy on your bare skin.

You blink, shaking your head as if to clear it. “Just about how I could really go for that breakfast in bed right now,” you grin, teasing to alleviate the intensity in the air between you.

He huffs a laugh. “Think it might be closer to lunch by now,” he smirks. “How about I do you one better? Let me take you out for lunch, yeah?”

Your jaw hangs open in shock. Of all the ways you were expecting this to end, this wasn’t it. “Like… like a date?” A date means something, means being seen together in public, means being more than just a dirty little secret.

“Yeah, princess. Like a date.” He smiles fondly. “Here, I’ll call you a car. You go home, get changed, and I’ll pick you up in an hour, okay?” Instinctively, you nod, his tone leaving no room for argument even if you’d wanted to. You open your mouth to ask how he knows where you live, the answer coming to you with sudden, shocking clarity. Right. Because he’s your father’s boss.

Well, fuck. That certainly complicates things.

…But it’s not like complicated has ever stopped you before.

#the instalove is instaloving STRONG here loool #why is this longer than my Actual Novel that im writing so far #matty healy x reader #matty healy smut #matty healy imagine #matty healy #the 1975 smut #the 1975 fanfic #the 1975 #writing #smut #white and gold

[yunjardi]

my heart bel♡ngs to daddy [series]

[young sugar daddy jake x fem.reader au]

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[click here for this series's masterlist to read previous chapters, general warnings, and playlist]

[‼️chapter warnings‼️: smut [mdni], DADDY KINK, unprotected sex, finger sucking, fingering, dirty talk, a frat party, smoking weed, alcohol, high sex, being lowkey stalked (???), photographed without permission, rich people media drama] p.s. jeongin is referred to as 'innie' a few times in this chapter

*sorry for any grammar errors

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-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-

chapter 10: all eyes on you

"wow, y/n," yeji sighed out with a concerned giggle, "you are looking rough today." you looked up at her from the page of notes you zoned out on, dark circles visible under your eyes.

"oh, she really does," jeongin blurted out in shock, "sorry, y/n-ie." he sheepishly apologized after.

you took a sip of your drink as you closed your notebook. "is it that obvious?" you asked, pulling out your phone and using your camera as a mirror.

they both let out a string of 'umm's 'uhhh's and 'kinda?'s in attempt to be as nice as possible until they both came to their final answer.

"okay, okay i get it," you said flailing your hands around at them, "i know i look below par right now. i'm just super exhausted lately." you expressed. it wasn't a complete lie, but it wasn't the full reason why you looked a mess.

after crying with jake last night, you'd naturally look a little busted considering how much you cried.

"we should probably get going then," jeongin said, looking at both you and yeji, "we did a lot of work considering that this is our first meetup." he smiled and yeji looked relieved at the mere thought of being able to go home as jeongin began to pack his bag to head home.

jeongin waved to the both of you, and swiftly breezed out the door, eager to get some rest. as soon as the door closed, yeji looked at you with worried eyes, which made you chuckle nervously and ask her what was going on.

"i know that things have been hard with everything that's been being thrown around the media lately, y/n. i just didn't want to mention it when innie was around just in case you weren't comfortable with it and-"

"wait, what?" you asked, and extremely shocked expression immediately plastering itself into your face, "yeji, what are you talking about?" now you were feeling extremely alarmed at this newfound information.

"oh, i-i thought you knew," yeji said with wide yet serious eyes, "here. you've gotta see all this."

yeji scrolled on her phone for a bit before facing it toward you, still scrolling endlessly through pictures and articles. your stomach sank into the earth's core as your eyes scanned what you were seeing on yeji's phone. taking her phone out of her hands to get a closer look was a huge mistake.

"w-what the fuck?" you quietly muttered as you finally clicked on one of the articles filled with pictures, videos, and dramatic theories about what was happening, "when the hell?- yeji, what is happening?!" now that the initial shock wore off, you were fully beginning to soak up the situation.

"do you think innie has seen any of this stuff? you asked with your hand over your mouth in shock. "eh, probably not. he isn't exactly in touch with this kind of media, you know?" you nodded, relieved.

the world of business (or rich people in general) isn't exactly kind when it comes to outsiders, such as yourself, so when a commoner is spotted with someone closely affiliated with a huge international business, such as jake, all hell breaks loose. and it wasn't just a regular spotting of you and jake, no. it was dozens upon dozens of photos and videos of you and jake all over each other; hugging, holding hands, laughing and smiling together, shopping together, having dinner together, and even a few pictures of the two of you kissing each other. but it didn't end there, nope. the real drama was the videos, and not just any kind of videos, no. somehow, presumably because someone hacked his snapchat and got into his 'my eyes only', the explicit videos of you and jake doing 'things' were circulating all throughout these business drama accounts run by people who have nothing better to do than basically spy on these rich people.

you began to feel a bit light-headed at all this information that was just hurdled at you, yeji beginning to rub circles on your back in attempt to help calm you down.

"yeji, what am i gonna do now? there's no way i can go to that party, let alone go into public in general," you groaned with complete distraught, "everyone thinks i'm ruining the reputation of one of the biggest businesses in the country!" at this point, you would've bursted into tears if you weren't in public. "i'm already planning to hide in my room for a good month until this passes," you said dramatically, though that was truly a consideration that you had.

"what? no! fuck what these people think! let's just have fun! i've already got the stuff for your costume, y/n. pleaaaseee?" yeji begged to which you sighed. "but it's so embarrassing when the general public thinks you're a just a whore trying to ruin the reputation of a businessman, yeji," you complained. "y/n," yeji said as she reached for both of your hands, "this bullshit will pass before you know it. let's just party to help you forget it even if it's just for one second." yeji always knew how to sweet talk you into stuff. if she wasn't your best friend, you'd disagree immediately, but you decided to go along with her since she really, really wants you to tag along with her.

"okay fine," you gave in with a sigh, "i'll go." she grinned at your response. "hey! but only because you already prepared everything for it. if it was any other way, it would be a total no."

you couldn't believe that you were actually bold enough to agree to go to this party even after a good 47% of people attending have probably seen videos of jake blowing your back out.

a huge portion of you wanted to hide underneath your duvet and not come out until everyone forgot that you existed, but the tiny sliver of you that wanted to live your life as if no one was watching won the internal debate. you wish it hadn't.

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a bit later in the evening, you found yourself on jake's couch wrapped in a blanket in his arms, panicking and crying about the media situation as jake continued to swipe and scroll through articles after articles, pictures after pictures, and videos after videos.

"shhh, shhh," jake whispered, putting his phone down, "it's gonna be okay; i won't let anyone hurt or go after you." he reassured you as he helped you dry your tears of worry. you nodded, sniffling for the last time before jake planted a kiss on your hand which made your stomach fill with butterflies.

'why, oh why does he have to act so boyfriend-like?!' you thought to yourself while trying to internally swat the butterflies away.

"here, why don't we do something fun," jake suggested, "shopping, maybe?" your eyes lit up at his proposal, causing you to nod your head up and down excitedly. after all, you hadn’t been spoiled in ages and it was a perfect opportunity for you to put together some pretty designer pieces for your angel costume for the party tomorrow. 

“but,” you sighed and looked down at your hands, “i-i’m kinda scared to go out.” you admitted with slight defeat, disappointed that you were letting the media eat away at you. “hey,” jake said with a calm tone, his accent soothing you further, “i promise i won’t let anyone get to you and if they try, they’ll have to get through me.” jake joked as he flexed his arms and ‘grrr-ed.’ 

he’s so cute. jake is very cute. he’s so sweet. jake is very sweet. you couldn’t help but cheer up a little bit as his attempt to lighten the mood.

“okay fine, tough guy,” you giggled, “i trust you to protect me.” your tone was sarcastic, but you truly meant what you said; you did trust jake, and you knew that he wasn’t gonna let anything bad happen to you.

"look on the bright side," jake started as he looked over at you, "at least now everyone knows you're all mine." he smirked lightly as he usually did whenever he said something cheeky. "of course you have to sneak a little flirtiness in, jake" you smiled, nudging him before squishing your cheek against his upper arm.

"what else can i say? if it's out there in the media that we're fucking, that means you're off limits."

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once you and jake got dressed to go out, he excitedly put you in his car and began to drive to a high-end shopping centre. even after all this time, you still weren't used to the 'rich life' the way you thought you'd be by now. seeing other shoppers casually wearing burberry, dior, and prada garments, bags, and accessories still shocked you considering the way you lived before leaving your parents' house.

jake was about to open his car door when you grabbed a hold of his designer coat, gently pulling on the fabric the way a child would when trying to get an adult's attention. he immediately looked back and noticed your worried eyes.

"what if," you started, your voice already beginning to break a little, "what if people are watching?" you asked with worry coating your tone as jake placed his hand on your cheek, stroking your soft skin with his thumb to comfort you. "if they're looking at us, just let them enjoy the show," jake chuckled and smiled to lighten the mood. he earned a soft smile from you before exiting his side of the car to open your door as he usually did. "but really, don't worry, princess. if they're staring, let them. i won't let anything happen to you, remember?" you nodded at his reassurance then proceeded to begin looking left and right at all the shops to distract yourself from the fact that you were currently terrified of the public.

you were kinda stuck wondering if this media stuff was affecting jake emotionally, professionally, or otherwise. but since he told you not to worry, you promised yourself you'd do you best to obey him. after all, he is your (sugar) daddy.

jake couldn't help but gush at how cute you looked as you gawked at the designer shops and boutiques that lined the fancily lit streets. "go ahead and look inside the shops," jake said sweetly while he let you lead him around, "don't be shy; you know daddy will get you everything and anything you want, remember?" you nodded your head shyly, again, still not used to this rich lifestyle, though you weren't complaining about your current circumstances.

after a few minutes of window-shopping, a dainty dress store grabbed your attention, causing you to stop and look up at jake to silently signal him to walk you inside because you were still shy to be walking into expensive stores as a 'commoner.'

upon entering the shop, a subtle floral fragrance hit you immediately once jake opened the door for you.

'the store even smells expensive,' you thought to yourself while wandering the perimeter of the shop where all the dresses were neatly displayed.

you remembered that you still needed a full outfit for the halloween party once you spotted a puffy white dress that would look perfect for your angel costume. you kinda stared at it like an idiot for awhile whilst waiting for the employee to stop so blatantly flirting with jake. watching the employee lean closer to him from behind the checkout counter as she spoke to him about whatever topic she pulled out of her ass purely for the sake of talking to a hot guy like jake made you feel an odd sense of discomfort, which jake immediately caught on to. after all, you two spent a great portion of your time together, so he's bound to quickly become aware if something feels off with you.

"are you showing her around the area?" the lady asked, "she kinda looks a bit lost, don't you think?" she said, trying to speak in a quiet tone as if you were 1. stupid and 2. didn't already hear what she said. jake gave her a look of mild disgust at her comment about you as he gently grabbed your hand.

"she's just shy," jake responded, you nodded, "so cute, isn't she?." he gushed which made you genuinely feel timid. it was quite obvious that the employee was holding back on rolling her eyes at the fact that jake ignored her attempts at flirting with him, which made you feel a spike of confidence.

y/n: 1

rich people: 0

"...yeah, of course," she replied after a few seconds of painfully awkward silence, "um anyway... i see you have your eyes on our classic ivory dress. would you like to try it on?"

the atmosphere seemed to get even heavier and awkward with every word that tumbled out of her mouth, so you decided to step up and talk for yourself just to attempt to eliminate the unpleasant vibe of the situation.

"yes, i would love to," you smiled which naturally made jake smile. sighing lightly, the employee led you over to a huge, fancy dressing room after handing you the puffy ivory-colored dress.

she let you step into the dressing room, attempting to close the door before jake could get in. your eyes couldn't help but turn worried at being somewhat 'alone' in a rich people store where you felt severely out of place.

you convinced yourself that if jake wasn't basically glued to you while you were out shopping with him, you were lost.

"are you sure you wanna go in there with her, sir?-"

"yes, i'm sure. i know what my girl likes."

the words 'my girl' echoed loudly in your head as your cheeks began to heat up, a feeling of relief washing over you along with the butterflies that suddenly appeared in your stomach.

reluctantly, the employee let jake step into the dressing room with you before shutting the door behind her, the loud sound her high heels clacking on the wood floor as she walked away.

"sorry about that, princess," jake said with a pout on his face to which you just smiled with a slight chuckle. jake sat down on one of the fancy chairs in the abnormally large dressing room, watching you begin to undress to try on the dainty white garment you had picked out.

he gulped, sucking in a breath at the sight of your smooth skin on display for him.

you began to wonder why he had become so quiet, so you turned your head to check on him only to catch him staring at you. you couldn't help but giggle a little bit at the facial expression he made when he was caught admiring you.

"you're so cute, jake," you chuckled as you pulled the dress up, "here, come zip me up." you requested to which jake excitedly hopped off his chair to help you, happy to be close to you again as if you two aren't always together.

"you look beautiful, y/n," jake said with an amazed breath, "look at yourself." he gently spun you around so that you could look at yourself in the mirror, and you had to admit that the dress looked beautiful on you. a smile subconsciously crept onto your face as you smoothed out the fabric of the skirt part of the dress. jake smiled upon seeing how smiley you were from the fact that you looked and felt pretty.

"i think you’re the cute one in this situation,” jake chuckled, referring to the fact that you called him cute just minutes before which made you bashful for the nth time. “shush,” you whined, shoving him lightly, “now unzip me.”

“you should never ask me to casually unzip your dress for you; you know what i’ll be thinking about,” jake whispered in your ear as he slowly unzipped the dress, “and i know that you’ll be thinking about the same thing, baby.” 

shit.

jake is completely right. 

the feeling jake’s hand running against your back was enough to make you go feral.

“don’t tease me, jake,” you whined yet again. “or what?” jake taunted you sexily. “or you’ll have to fuck me, and i mean fuck me right now.” he pulled you closer to him as he guided the dress’s fabric down from your shoulders until you could slip it off from your legs. “gladly, princess. but you’ll have to stay quiet for me, okay?” you nodded your head frantically, needily. 

since you already had no clothes on, it gave jake easy access to your bare body. scooping you up, jake brought you over to the chair he was previously sat in, placing you in his lap so that you could feel his hard-on. “we need to make it quick, jakey,” you said nervously. “i know, baby, don’t worry. let daddy take care of you,” jake reassured you with a whisper, lifting you slightly so he could slide his pants and boxers down. his tip leaked precum as you positioned yourself into a spot where you could easily sink down on his length. jake brought his index finger up to his plump lips, motioning for you to remember to be quiet. you nodded, biting down on your bottom lip to control the noises that knocked at your throat, threatening to come out. jake wasn’t having an easy time controlling his moans either, opting to pull you into a kiss so that both of you could remember to be quiet. 

still lost in the kiss, you began to roll your hips against his, not bouncing on him to avoid the sound of your skin slapping against his. you broke the kiss to look into his eyes as his tip perfectly poked at your sweet spot. though you two were both trying to be as quiet as possible, you could tell that it was becoming increasingly difficult to not moan for each other. 

“keep going, princess. you're doing such a good job being quiet for daddy," jake whispered in your ear lustfully, “fuck you’re so hot. i need to cum inside you.”

and at that, you accidentally let out a quiet, almost silent, whimper as you continued to grind your hips down as far as they could possibly go, which jake found cute and sexy at the same time. “that’s a good girl,” jake praised in a whisper, “keep doing exactly that and daddy will fill you up with cum.” the thought of being filled with jake’s seed motivated you to ride him rougher until he finally let loose inside you, letting his cum turn your walls white. it gave your ego a boost to know that you could drive him crazy enough to where he'd cum quick.

he let out a deep breath then smirked sexily at you. "so needy that you couldn't wait until we at least got into the car, huh?" he teased to which you pouted.

"you started it," you huffed as you got off of him to put your original clothes back on.

"and i'm happy that i did," jake chuckled once he straightened out his clothes and opened the fitting room door, letting you walk out before him. fucking you in every dressing room you two walked into together became a budding tradition, and neither of you had a single complaint.

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it was finally upon you;

the night before halloween.

you were all gussied up for the halloween party, making sure to use your time diligently so that yeji wouldn’t walk into your house and scold you for not being ready. surprisingly, you were already in the ‘putting-on-my-jewelry’ part of getting ready. you selected minimalistic diamond pieces that jake had given you over time to add a touch of fanciness to your already expensive outfit; jake’s impact was really beginning to shine through. you let out a content breath as you spun around to take one last look at your outfit, feeling like a princess whose dress was perfectly tailored to her body. 

your outfit was courtesy of jake from the diamonds on your neck and wrists to the designer shoes on your feet, and the mini designer purse you held.

you really had to stop thinking about jake considering that you’re going to this halloween party to get a break from him and maybe find a new fling?

though if jake was a brand, you’d be his number one ambassador. 

but still, you made sure to text jake and tell him you’d be busy all day and night, ensuring that he was aware that you were occupied. 

you were shaken out of your princess fantasies by a knock on your door, coming from yeji, to scoop you up, toss you in her car, and drag you into the choi frat house. taking a deep breath, you grabbed your purse and opened the door to yeji who was dressed in a skin-tight dark red dress, devil horns, and pretty red stilettos. “woah,” you said with wide eyes, “you look fucking amazing.” yeji, turning red from your compliment, looked away bashfully. “says you; you look literally flawless.” now you were the one looking away due to shyness. “you’re making me blush,” you joked, extending the last syllable of the word for dramatization.

with a few more giggles, yeji pulled you out from inside your house. 

“ready?”

“ready.”

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“now remember, don’t panic, play it cool, and just have fun, okay?” yeji reassured you in a pep-talk manner as you nodded. “okay, i’ll try,” you sighed as you closed the car door, ready to walk into the frat house as if you actually wanted to be there. you straightened out your angel wings and halo before yeji knocked on the frat house door, the bass of the music already making the room vibrate. soon, the door was opened by yeonjun, one of the members of the choi frat house and aka party’s organizer. 

his vampire costume made him look exceptionally sexy; fake blood dripping from his neck, a blood-stained white button up, and a black cape to pull the whole outfit together. if you had the opportunity, he’d be your next fling. 

“hey, guys! welcome in!” yeonjun said as he held the door wide open for the two of you to sneak in, “drinks are... kinda all over the place, but still, you’ll find some eventually.” he said as he scratched his head with a sheepish laugh. “oh, also,” yeonjun leaned in, his voice becoming softer, “if you want weed, come find me.” your eyes lit up in surprise, not expecting for this party to be like that.

after the brief talk with yeonjun, yeji was off on her own, fully leaving you to sit at the party and do god knows what. 

not wanting to waste your time, you got up off the couch and decided to walk around and explore the oversized frat house. nothing special; just a bunch of college students getting wasted, making out, and doing... other things... behind the closed doors of the rooms. you were beginning to get bored of the party until you spotted a secluded part of the frat house, the strong smell of marijuana drifting through the air, a scent that you hadn’t encountered in what felt like ages.

you stood in place, having an internal debate about whether or not you should smoke since it had been quite a long time since your last smoking experience. you couldn’t lie and say that getting high wasn’t a fun idea so, ‘fuck it,’ you thought to yourself, bravely turning the corner to the secluded section of the frat house where very few people sat relaxed on the couches, passing a few joints. 

“didn’t expect you to be here, y/n,” yeonjun said, acknowledging you once you were in his view, “you know, since you’re the angel in your frienship with yeji.” he pointed out with a chuckle, motioning at your wings and halo, not forgetting to adore your pretty figure in the process. “who says?” you questioned with a chuckle, every guy looking side to side at each other with a smirk. “y/n, we’ve all seen already,” yeonjun boldly stated, referring to the videos of jake fucking you into another dimension, “i wouldn’t have guessed you were that kind of girl; you just seem so... innocent.” you immediately felt your cheeks turn hot due to embarrassment, your stomach beginning to churn nervously before you decided to respond. you figured you should just play it cool considering that they’ve already seen videos of you and jake being intimate.

“you’d be surprised,” you remarked with a shrug, “pass one.” you said, holding your hand out to which yeonjun handed you a generously large blunt, lighting it for you. feeling the smoke fill your lungs felt foreign yet familiar. yeonjun seemed impressed at how well you were able to take the smoke as he watched you blow it out. “your turn,” you smirked over to yeonjun, letting him take the blunt from you. he took a deep inhale, looking to the side to let smoke blow past his pretty lips, while he was looking to the side, you took it upon yourself to sneak two blunts into your purse. you knew they wouldn’t notice considering how many were scattered on the table. weed is expensive and hard to get, so you were gonna take what you could from this frat party you were forced to go to. 

after a hefty amount of time blunt passing, you were beginning to enter the ‘giggly’ stage of being high. you found yourself giggling at anything and everything in a matter of the few minutes you were smoking. 

“it’s kinda funny to see a good girl like you be high as fuck,” yeonjun chuckled as he passed the blunt to you again, “it’s also kinda hot.” 

you let out light giggles again, your mind clouded by marijuana and barely aware of what was going on around you. “you think?” you finally responded, a smirk forming on your face. “very bold and flirty of you, yeonjun. you really think i’m that much of a good girl?” he smiled sexily, scooting closer to you. “mhm,” yeonjun nodded, his vampire costume giving him a boost in his already prominent sexiness, “i love when women with a ‘good girl’ image end up having a naughty side. those videos didn’t lie.” 

the mention of those videos of you and jake were enough to make your cheeks turn hot again, throwing you into a pit of mild embarrassment. 

“heh, i’m getting a little dehydrated from smoking,” you chuckled lightly, trying to play things off, “can i maybe go get something to drink?” yeonjun reached over to the other side of the couch, pulling out a half-full bottle of soju. “is this alright or do you want water?” he asked as he was already preparing a shot for you. you pondered for a second. was taking a shot the best idea considering you were high out of your mind? no. but were you still gonna down it? absolutely.

“cheers,” you said with a smile as you clinked your shot glass against yeonjun’s still empty one before downing all the liquor. you felt your head spin slightly, but overall, you felt pretty light and airy because of the abundance of marijuana in your system. turning back over to yeonjun, you picked up the bottle of soju and poured him a shot the way he did for you. he downed it quickly, a smirk plastering on his face immediately after. 

“you really do have a naughty side, don’t you, good girl?” yeonjun’s tone of voice coated with the lust that you were no stranger to. “mhm,” you nodded, the two of you getting closer to each other with every second that passed, “wanna see?-”

“alrighty, i think someone should go home for the night!” you heard a familiar loud voice come from behind you. you quickly turned your head to see yeji right behind you, startling you. “you don’t have protection, so let’s not make any marijuana-induced decisions,” yeji whispered in your ear. “okay, but what if he does?” you pouted at her. “okay, that’s a highly likely possibility, but aren’t you worried about another “scandal,” y/n?” she seemed to whisper even quieter in a more serious tone, “rumors say that he’s also a big fan of filming his sexual encounters.”

you let out a light sigh because you knew she was right; it would be a bad decision for you to do this. all eyes were already on you because of your relationship with jake, and you didn’t need any more unnecessary drama or attention. “let’s say bye-bye to yeonjun for tonight, okay, y/n?” yeji said as if she was talking to a toddler, also lifting up your hand to make you limply wave at him. yeonjun’s face was plagued with confusion from the moment yeji popped up behind you out of thin air to the moment she was dragging your now-feeling-heavy body over to another area of the frat house.

“phone, now,” yeji said with a stern sounding tone as she stuck her hand out for you to hand her your phone. you followed her request, sifting through your small bag to retrieve your phone and handing it to her. once it was in her hands, she unlocked it and scrolled through your contacts until she found jake’s number, calling it immediately upon stumbling upon it. 

“hello?” yeji said over the phone, “yeah, um, y/n is a little... wacky right now. do you mind picking her up and taking her home?” you heard the muffled sound of his accent over the phone for a few seconds before yeji hung up. “why did you bother jake?” you asked quietly, your words slightly slurred, “i told him i was gonna be busy tonight.” you sulked. “well, no one else was gonna take you home, so i had to turn to him,” she shrugged, “now i’m gonna stay here until jake comes to pick you up, okay?” you nodded, slumping over onto yeji as you waited for jake to show up. “i had fun,” you said quietly, your words still a bit slurred. “good,” yeji smiled down at you, “i’m glad. you even almost had too much fun.” both of you shared a chuckle before yeji glanced over at your phone, seeing a text from jake saying that he was outside. 

“y/n, get up,” she said as she softly rocked your shoulder, shaking you, “jake’s outside-”

“i’m here!” you heard a familiar aussie accent from a few walls down.

yeji motioned over at him with a wave to come over to the couch where she had sat you down. “she’s okay. she’s just a little... you know,” she sheepishly chuckled, knowing it was partially her fault that you got high considering she was the one who dragged you to the party in the first place. you looked up and raised an eyebrow at his drastic change in appearance. 

“my jake doesn’t have black hair,” you remarked as you rested your cheek on the arm of the couch, “last time i checked, he had golden retriever puppy hair.” jake giggled slightly as he blushed at the cute sight of you being all giggly and looking a little sleepy. “well, baby, your jake spent the day dyeing it since you told me you’d be busy all day and i had nothing to do. i wanted it to be a surprise,” he chuckled at you sweetly as you reached out to touch his soft, now black, hair, “come on, let’s go now.” slowly nodding, jake helped you sit up. 

“it’s the man himself,” you heard another familiar voice from somewhere nearby, looking up to see who it was. you snapped your head up to see yeonjun and jake looking at each other, “fuck her good on my behalf.” yeonjun laughed cockily, nudging jake’s upper arm with his elbow. jake, feeling slightly jealous at the fact that you may have been flirting with him during the party, faced back over to you and put his big hand on your shoulder, his thumb caressing the exposed skin. “on that note, let’s go, y/n,” jake tried not to scoff jealously as he held onto you and led you out of the door and to his car,

“you’re adorable,” jake said sweetly with a giggle as he put you in the back seat, “go ahead and get some rest. we’ll be home soon.”

--------------------------------------------------------

contrary to your expectation, you ended up at jake’s house instead of your own though you didn’t mind. 

he sat you down on the couch in his main living area, similar to the way yeji did to you at the frat house. “stay here,” jake ordered, “i’m gonna get you some water, okay?” you hummed in response, slumping over the arm of the couch. you faintly heard ice clink into a glass cup and before you could possibly process any other sounds, jake was already by your side, offering you the ice water.

you took a few small sips before placing it down on a coaster as jake walked over to sit next to you.

“need anything else, princess?” jake asked, pecking you on the cheek. “hmm...” you pretended to think out loud before climbing on top of him, straddling him. jake sighed while running his fingers through your hair. “baby,” he said with a whiney yet stern tone, “don’t you think you’re a little to high? you should really get some rest; we can do it tomorrow.” his statement was enough to make you pouty as you planted your head against his chest, inhaling the scent of his cologne which only made you more aroused. “no, i’m not,” you pouted, extending the last word of your sentence. you reached for one of his hands, separating his middle and ring finger and bringing them up to your mouth, sucking on them because you knew that always got him going. 

he let out an audible groan, letting his head fall back as he bit down on his bottom lip. he’d be lying if he said that you didn’t know everything that made him aroused, because you literally did, but he was surprised that you remembered finger sucking was a huge turn on for him. 

“okay, fine,” jake let out a satisfied sigh to which you pulled his fingers out of your mouth, “we’ll make it quick.” humming in satisfaction, you reached over to get something in your bag. 

“i don’t have to be the only one who’s high,” you mentioned as you pulled one of the blunts (that you took from the party) out of your bag, “only if you want to, though.” jake’s eyes widened in surprise from the unexpected turn in events. “i don’t mind,” jake shrugged, “let me go find a lighter.” he said as he gently lifted you off him before going off to find a lighter. 

your stomach churned with excitement; you were super eager to see how jake acted when he was high. before you knew it, jake was coming back with a lighter, ready to start smoking. 

“have you done this before?” you asked jake with pure curiosity as he lit the blunt. he nodded. “multiple times, actually,” jake chuckled before inhaling the smoke then letting it blow out past his plump lips. watching jake smoke so effortlessly was only wetting your panties even more. “want me to shotgun you?” jake asked with a smirk. you nodded, practically drooling at the sight of him with the blunt in his mouth. you were pleasantly surprised at how well he was handling his weed; you didn’t think he was into weed, let alone smoking it.

he took a long hit of the blunt, proceeding to grab your face and blow the smoke into your mouth. the shotgun turned into an intimate make-out, the two of you giggling and smiling into the kiss. jake broke the kiss, beginning to take your halo headband and angel wings. 

“these need to come off,” jake stated, placing the parts of your costume aside, “nothing about what we did and are about to do is holy or angelic.”

his slick words made your pussy clench against nothing. you were already so turned on by his voice, so him dirty-talking to you only made things more intense.

swiftly, jake removed his and your clothes, preparing to please you as much as he possibly could. he sat you between his legs, spreading them apart so he could touch you with ease. his long fingers circled your clit so slowly that it was almost painful. “please?” you begged quietly, reaching around so you could push his hand down further, hoping that he would follow your lead and push his fingers in. jake smiled against your neck, placing a wet kiss on it while easing his middle and ring finger into your wet pussy. you whined as you held onto his wrist, which jake found cute; he loved when you’d grip onto him to stay put while you’re overstimulated. 

“so cute,” jake cooed as he pumped his fingers in and out of you, “you really love daddy’s fingers, don’t you? whimpering, you nodded your head. “mhm, feels so good,” you managed to respond. his fingers seemed to feel ten times better when you were high. wanting to please him too, you positioned yourself between his legs so that his throbbing hard cock was right in front of you. you wasted no time putting his length in your mouth, licking the precum that oozed out of his swollen tip which made jake let out a loud groan and grab a fistful of your pretty hair.

"that's a good girl," jake lowly and sexily muttered while you continued to tease him with your tongue, "you make daddy feel so good." you hummed against his cock in response to him, his thighs beginning to twitch.

"fuck, princess, get up," jake commanded once you released his cock from your mouth, "i need to fuck you."

you giggled and kissed his nose, jake playing with your boobs with one hand while the he used his other hand to guide his cock into your needy pussy. his tip pushed past your tight walls along with every other inch of him as you jaw fell open, moaning out for him.

"jake," you mewled out breathlessly, "i wanna cum so bad." you not-so-subtly begged as he began to thrust in and out of you. "i know, princess, i know," jake breathed out against your neck, "daddy's gonna fuck you good." you slowly nodded your head in approval as he picked up his pace.

roughly, he pulled his dripping wet cock out of you and proceeded to bend you over the arm of the couch. not wasting any time, he pushed his hard member into you, your walls immediately reacting by pulsing around his thick cock. "mmm, right there," you moaned out breathily, "d-don't stop." jake slapped your ass harshly as he continued to slam into your g-spot, confident knowing that you were being driven insane by his dick.

"my good little girl," jake praised as you began to push your ass back into his hips, fucking yourself on his cock, "fucking yourself on my cock like that. mmm yeah, you're my little slut, aren't you?" jake chuckled lowly and sexily while simultaneously pulling you close to him, your back now against his chest. "daddy's good slut," you moaned in agreement as he kissed from your jaw down to your neck. "i know you are, baby," jake smiled sweetly and gently while fucking you roughly, "are you gonna keep being a good girl and cum for me?" moans spilled from your lips uncontrollably, which basically answered jake's question. in your defense, jake fucks you so hard while expecting you to articulate a full sentence, so this time you decided to let your moans do the talking for you.

"such an angel," jake chuckled lightly.

--------------------------------------------------------

you woke up the next morning to the feeling of being walked on by a four-legged creature of some sort; whatever it was seemed to enjoy walking all over your legs, which was fine because whatever the thing was, it wasn't that heavy.

"hey! come here! don't walk on her, sweetheart, she's still sleeping." you heard jake whisper-yelling next to you as the thing that was stepping all over you moved over to him.

originally, you were just gonna go back to sleep and wait until later to find out what the thing was, but your body felt heavy, your back was sore, and your tummy was grumbling because you hadn't eaten. figuring that you probably weren't gonna fall asleep again, you decided to turn over to jake and take a look at what was going on.

you were greeted by the charming sight of a happy-looking, fluffy dog that was lying comfortably in jake's lap. your eyes immediately lit up with delight and excitement from simply waking up to a dog being in your face.

oddly enough, you couldn't help but think that jake and his cute little dog resembled each other in a way that you couldn't explain.

"i'm sorry, princess, did she accidentally wake you?" jake asked sweetly once he finally noticed that your eyes were opened and staring at his dog. "mm mm," you shook your head, "it's okay; i don't think that there's a better way to be woken up than with a dog right in front of your face and being the first thing you see."

the two of you shared a laugh before jake finally introduced you to his dog.

"y/n, this is layla, and layla, this is y/n," he smiled down at layla as he watched her sniff your hand, "my parents stopped by earlier while you were still asleep and dropped her off here because the kids who come trick-or-treating love to pet and play with her after getting candy from me." your heart grew warm at hearing him talk about his little halloween tradition that he had with layla, which made you feel a bit excited thinking about being able to pass out candy with jake with layla alongside you two.

you'd honestly forgot that today was actual halloween considering that you went to a halloween party the night before, but this was your type of halloween; not a huge frat party, but a small intimate moment that can be as tiny as just giving candy to kids.

"so cute," you cooed as you looked up at jake while gently petting layla, "should we get up and start getting ready for kids to start ringing the doorbell?" you suggested to which jake smiled and nodded, prompting him to let layla jump off his lap before standing up from the bed.

you quickly washed up and brushed your teeth before wandering into the kitchen where jake was preparing bowls of candy, layla sitting by his side and hoping that something would tumble off the countertop for her to munch on.

"you can go ahead and sit and relax, princess," jake said sweetly after you wrapped your arms around his torso from behind, a bit of post-sex clinginess still left in your body. you hummed against his back in response as you went to go sit down on the couch, layla following behind you.

"oh by the way," jake started before you were too far to hear what he was saying, "the boys are probably gonna stop by for a little since i was supposed to go to one of their little hangouts. i told them that i wanted to stay here, take care of you, and pass out candy, so they agreed that they'd just slide over when they're ready." you turned around to look at him with a pouty face.

"aww, you didn't have to stay here with me," you cooed shyly, "so sweet, puppy." jake blushed upon hearing you say puppy, while layla wagged her tail thinking that you were talking to her.

you sat down on jake's comfy couch, layla jumping up to sit next to. you continued to get acquainted with her; petting her and gushing about how adorable she is. you swore that her fur was so thick that it made your hand disappear every time you would pet her.

jake placed the bowls of candy on the coffee table along with a tiny witch hat which you presumed was layla's little halloween costume.

"look over here, sweetheart," jake called to her in a gentle tone, "let's put this on, yeah?" he said with a super cute smile on his face as he gently adjusted the elastic band that held the hat onto her little head. "so cute!" you squeed, layla wagging her tail with the same excitement that you were experiencing.

just then, you all heard the first doorbell-ring of the evening, jake excitedly picking up one of the candy bowls off the table while also pulling your hand so that you were trailing behind him.

jake opened up the door to a few kids, accompanied by their father, wearing adorable homemade costumes who looked excited as ever to be receiving their first bits of candy on halloween night.

the kids didn't forget to give layla a few gentle pats on the head before moving on to the next house.

"aww, they were so sweet," you gushed, putting your hand on your chest as you looked at jake. "i know, right?" jake agreed with a warm smile, "i wonder what it'll be like when i have my own kids, you know? letting them choose their costumes, taking them around the neighborhood to get candy, stuff like that."

jake mentioning having kids of his own one day gave you an odd mix of emotions that you weren't expecting; why did you seem to care? you couldn't pinpoint the exact emotions that were running throughout your body, so you decided to shake it off and let it go.

another ring of the doorbell, thankfully, snapped you out of your thoughts. without hesitation, jake opened up the door and was about to hand out candy when he realized his friends were out there, not kids. he laughed sheepishly, putting his hand at the nape of his neck before placing the candy bowl aside. you nervously hid behind jake as if you were a little kid hiding from strangers as he talked to his friends.

"oh yeah," jake said while scooting aside so his friends could see you, "this is y/n. it's about time you guys met her." jake chuckled, looking down at you then back up at his friends. you finally worked up the courage to lift you head up.

you thought it was just a hallucination of some sort; you couldn't believe your eyes.

a familiar face stood before you: pale skin, a mole on his nose, and raven black hair.

--------------------------------------------------------

a/n: yeah i'm hella behind on this series guys i'm so sorry

taglist: @axartia @jjhmk @valiantwastelanddelusion @jayroseyy @ayohahaha @asaheyow @lhsng @i-dalso @bunhoons @red-xherry @duolingofanaccount @lix-freckle3 @l0st-h0p3s @leeis @muffinminnie @green-orangeade @imbaeksbae @sunghoonmybeloved @sjakewrld @markleeisdabestdrug @futuremodeldiary @jeondolly @lil-iva @lalalalawon @noirgray @jckeplanet @teddy-lhj @meinapricity @jjkshies @bubbleseo @cherryunie @mqndnolia @bently-baby @fluffypiesstuff @ihrtk1ve @wonkiluvr @teti-menchon0604 @lovienikitty @rjsmochii @omgjwon @sunshine-skz @wy1999t @lv4rin @oceanyocean @jakeswhore @nyfwyeonjun @mxshimoo @multifandombtvh

©yunjardi on tumblr

#enhypen smut #enhypen #enhypen hard hours #enhypen imagines #enhypen x reader #enhypen jake #jake smut #jake sim #jake sim smut #jake enhypen smut #enhypen jake smut #jake enhypen #heeseung smut #jay enhypen smut #sunghoon enhypen smut #jake sim x reader #jake hard thoughts #jake hard hours #jardi's mhbtd

[daydream-cement]

Can i request a one-shot between Larissa x mind reader? The reader could be an old alumni at nevermore and the meet during a batch reunion. The reader knew that Larissa had always thought of someone else at that time, but when they meet again it seems that they are the one on her mind. Then when the reader was too overwhelmed reading other ppl's minds, Larissa calms her down? Sorry if this is long 🥲💕

- K

Blocking Out The Noise

Larissa Weems x telepath!reader

You had been fawning over Larissa Weems for months. Sure, to others it may just seem like a silly high school crush, but she truly was incredible. For one, she was always picture perfect. Always well put together. Second of all, she was talented. Easily taking on new clubs and activities and executing them flawlessly. And thirdly, Larissa’s personality some something you loved dearly. She was kind, had a wonderful dry humor, and had a deep sense of justice.

You had been resisting the temptation to read her mind, not wanting invade her privacy, but also not wanting to break your heart either. But  watching Larissa with her roommate provoked a lapse in judgment. You did read her mind. All she could think about was the raven-haired girl who always stood to her right. You were correct, reading Larissa’s mind would break your heart, but you also tried even hard to be seen.

During your shared classes with Larissa, you began going out of your way to talk to her. Through this, you found out that about your shared dislike for botany class, appreciation for a good thriller novel, and a mutual interest in sensible fashion. Larissa even sat by you at lunch a couple days a week. But her mind was still filled with thoughts or her roommate. 

Finally you had settled for friendship. Of course you would always probably want more, but without sensing any sign of interest within you, you assumed your relationship would be no more than conversations for passing the time from class to class.

Well you used to think that until your 10th reunion. You were a little late getting there, but once you arrived you saw many familiar faces. And much to your joy, Larissa made it a point to smile and wave at you as you walked in. You settled in with talking to your old archery club teammates and enjoying reminiscing.

Had y/n always been this attractive? Ran out in your skull. Typically you tried blocking everyone out to prevent emotional overload, but Larissa’s voice cut through. 

You turned your head to try and find Larissa. Lo and behold, she is standing near the drink table with her eyes on you. 

You hear her voice again, Oh, god. How didn’t I see it before? Should I ask y/n out?

You felt your brain almost short circuiting. Larissa wanted to be with you! She thought you were attractive! This is your chance! In your excitement, your typical control over quieting the inner monologues of those around you had ceased to exist. The voices of the room came flooding into your skull. 

It was agonizing to have that much going on at one time. You had completely forgotten about Larissa. You needed to find a quiet space.

You rush from the room, continuing through down the grand stairs and out the front doors. Exiting into the cool air of the courtyard, you finally stop, resting your body against the cool stone building. The voices were quiet whispers at this point, but the thought of all those voices at once still has you panicking.

Y/n has to be around here somewhere. Where could they be? Larissa’s inner monologue grew louder. You could hear the clicking of her heels approaching. 

You hear her real voice next, “Hello, y/n. Are you okay?”

Why did she have to be so caring? You glance up at her, tears stinging at the back of your eyes. You shake your head no, unable to speak.

Larissa took your hand and pulled you into a hug. You hadn’t told her want was wrong yet, but you didn’t care. She had enveloped you into a comforting hug and you weren’t going to ruin the moment.

Y/n smells so good. I wonder if they-

With your new serenity, you close your mind to peoples thoughts again, finally hoping to enjoy being in the moment with Larissa. You pull away from the hug and stare up into her beautiful face, “I’m better now. Thank you.”

“Should we rejoin the party?” Larissa asks with a smile and you gently nod your head.

You begin walking back into the building, a small silence between you. You finally break it to do something you should have tried years ago, “We should go on a date sometime.” 

“Yes. Yes we should.” Larissa responded glancing down to you with a smile. Her arm looped through yours and you walk back into the school reunion arm-in-arm.

#larissa weems x reader #larissa weems #wednesday netflix #oneshot #fanfic #gwendoline christie

[stealth-black-leg]

Tweeted a random thought last night, turned it into a twitter-thread ficlet and ended up going to bed at nearly 5 a.m. 😎👍

Nami gets the newspaper one morning and it's all over the front cover. Flashy headlines, pictures, information about the assassinated royals.

Under the king's picture there's a short chronicle about the loss of his queen and his third son only a few months apart, many years ago. Next to him, the princess, his eldest. She was beautiful, Nami thinks sadly, staring at what little she can see of her face, between her bangs covering half of it and a hand on her forehead casting a shadow over her eyes. "Died at 24", the paper says, and it makes her feel sick.

Then she looks at the deceased princes' faces and at first glance all she sees is Sanji's.

It's short-lived, but terrifying nonetheless, and for a second she needs to look away from the pictures to catch her breath. When she looks again, she notices the differences: they all have different hairstyles, and are probably not blond judging by the grey colouring. Their eyebrows curl, too, but on the other end, and they don't sport any facial hair. But their features—the shape of their nose, the line of their jaw—are all so terribly familiar.

When she reads their names, all the pieces click together.

—

She finds Sanji preparing breakfast in the kitchen, humming a happy tune as he dances around, hands flying here and there to make sure every crewmate will have their share. "Good morning, my darling!" he chirps when Nami walks through the door.

She hates doing this to him.

"Sanji," she says with a heavy voice, and he immediately stops fidgeting to look at her with worry, sensing something's not right. "Do you remember back in Jaya, when you mentioned you were born in the North Blue?"

He tenses, lips twitching into a nervous smile.

"Yes, dear, but don't worry about—" he tries to wave it off, but the words get stuck in his throat when Nami bluntly asks: "Were you a prince of the Germa Kingdom?"

Sanji stills. For a moment, Nami fears he's not even breathing, his frame completely frozen in place. Then: "How do you know?" he asks softly, quietly. Fearfully.

If it were anyone else asking, she thinks he may have lashed out, found an excuse to divert the topic into an argument and hopefully forget about it; but since it's her, he only watches like a deer caught in the headlights.

She really, really hates doing this to him.

Without a word, Nami hands him the newspaper.

Sanji is the most expressive person she's ever known. He's always emoting, be it happy or sad, thoughtful or absent, friendly or deadly; his face shows his every emotion, constantly shifting between grins and pouts and frowns and cheeky winks. It's never hard to tell what he's thinking, especially when they're at sea and it's only the Strawhat pirates aboard the Thousand Sunny.

But when he takes the paper from her, after his eyes fly over the headline and widen for a moment, his face turns stone-cold serious. She watches him read everything, for once unable to tell what he thinks, and it pains her more to see him like this than any other reaction would have.

"They're all dead," Sanji mumbles at large. It's not exactly a question, but not an observation either. It's like he needs to say it out loud for it to settle.

"I'm sorry," she says, because it feels like the right thing to say, even though she knows she's missing half of the story.

Sanji shakes his head, stiff and slow. His gaze is fixed on a single point in the page in front of him, and Nami has a good idea what it is when he says: "She didn't deserve this," his voice trembling with sorrow.

Nami tries to imagine receiving the news of Nojiko's sudden death like this and the mere thought makes her want to throw up. Sanji is probably keeping himself together way better than she would've.

"The others did," Sanji adds then, forcefully slamming the paper down on the counter, and hangs his head, hiding his expression from her. "My biological father, and my brothers—they were always awful to me, made my childhood a living hell," he confesses in an angry voice, fingers clenching and tearing into the paper. Nami can't remember ever having seen him so rageful, so vengeful, and it almost scares her. "I should be happy they're dead," he sniffs then, the darkness gone to be replaced with childlike confusion, and there are tears running down his cheeks when he raises his head to look at her and ask: "So why am I crying over them?"

Nami walks to him and pulls him into a hug.

Sanji holds on to her like a drowning man to a lifeline, arms pulling her as close as she can get as he sobs into her shoulder. She doesn't speak, because she doubts there are any words that can offer him comfort. She doesn't ask, because she figures Sanji will tell her when he's ready to.

She holds him. She helps him bear the weight of this confusing, soul-wrenching grief, and she shields him from the crew's well-meaning but invasive concern once they start joining them in the kitchen.

For as long as he needs her, she's there for him.

#one piece #one piece fics #sanji #vinsmoke sanji #nami #sanami #not quite but close enough #and now for the blog-specific tags: #chibi nasu #fics #kir's originals #tuttifrutis #parchises #supernenes #power rangers

[aidanchaser]

This fic is owed to @valiantlyjollynightmare for the original and @ladyofthenoodle for a full 3 rounds of beta reading. I haven't had so much redrafting of a fic or intensive beta reader work since I was writing the HP AU. She was truly a phenomenal help, and her work paid off. Please drop her a thank you for organizing the @mlsquaredance event and all her incredible hard work on this one-shot.

Read the original work here.

Read the remix on Ao3 or below.

Marinette left her phone on her bedside table as she trudged downstairs. She was done checking messages and pictures, and she was done with tears.

Luka had made his choice. He was on tour again, probably having a great time without her, and there was no sense scrolling through his posts for any signs that he missed her. She certainly didn’t miss him. She’d spent too much of their relationship missing him. Just because she was a bit horny didn’t mean she had to be sad about it.

But the apartment sure was quiet without him.

The refrigerator’s magnetic rubber seal broke that silence with a reluctant pop, and brilliant white light flooded the kitchen. Marinette squinted at her recently filled shelves.

Alya, Nino, and Adrien had been lifesavers after the breakup. Nino had filled her fridge with fresh vegetables; Alya had stocked her cabinets with bottles of wine. Adrien, whose finances were still a legal mess in the wake of his father’s passing, gave her his time.

She’d seen more of Adrien in the past two weeks since the breakup than she had seen of him in the past year while she had been dating Luka. He’d sat with her through her BBC Pride and Prejudice marathon, through three watches of Pride and Prejudice (2005), and through one watch of Pride, Prejudice, and Zombies. He’d even offered to stay overnight, to keep her company, as if he knew that company was the way she coped, but she’d turned him down.

One of the challenges of being newly single was waking up at midnight with a very strong urge to be dicked down. She appreciated that Adrien was willing to hold her while she cried through romantic movies; she did not need Adrien to see her wrestling with the urge to roll her hips against his thigh, especially when she couldn’t even be sure that it was Adrien that she wanted. Adrien was a friend, and she wasn’t going to use him just to get some temporary fix. Yes, maybe she had liked Adrien once upon a time, but it was all too complicated now. Just creating a friendship with Adrien had been so much work. She didn’t want to mess it up and lose him.

Neither the vegetables nor the wine held any appeal, so she closed the fridge with a sigh. Marinette leaned against the cool silver door while her eyes readjusted to the dark of her kitchen. Maybe a cold shower was what she needed. She usually had no objections to a steamier shower, but she didn’t want to end up crying her way through an orgasm. She was done crying over Luka, she told herself. She was done feeling sorry for herself.

She opened up a cabinet and pulled down a bottle of olive oil and a jar of popcorn kernels. She’d just make herself a greasy, salty snack before setting into Emma (2020).

The stove clicked and sparked until the gas caught and the fire ignited with a woosh. Marinette poured in the olive oil and waited impatiently for it to sizzle with heat. As she picked up the jar of popcorn kernels, a thud on the small balcony patio of the apartment caught her attention, more muffled than the sparks of her stove, but just as sharp and sudden.

Through her gauzy curtains, silhouetted in the dim streetlight, she saw the shape of a person perched on her balcony. She might have been terrified, or at least startled, if it weren’t for the cat ears on the shadow’s head.

Marinette dumped the kernels into the sizzling oil then unlatched the patio doors.

“What are you doing here?” she said by way of greeting.

Ladybug saw Chat Noir for patrol regularly, of course. But Marinette had hardly seen him in the past year. When Luka had gone on his first tour, Chat Noir had held her while she’d cried, but once Luka had come home, he’d disappeared. Did he know Luka was gone again? Did he know that she and Luka were properly done?

“Making the midnight rounds,” he said easily. His voice was low, like a cat’s purr. “A hero’s work is never done.”

Marinette shifted the weight on her feet, unconsciously pressing her thighs against each other. It was irritating that even just the sound of Chat Noir’s voice was enough to warm her core. Maybe Emma would have to wait until Chat Noir was gone and she’d rubbed out the memory of his purr.

Chat Noir paused and his nose twitched. “Are you cooking in the middle of the night?”

“Just popcorn.”

“Midnight movie?” he asked.

Marinette crossed her arms over her chest and used her ankle to surreptitiously scratch an innocent itch on her calf. She tried not to think about Chat Noir on her couch with the low light of a movie and the weight of a blanket draped over them both. She tried not to think about scratching a different itch.

“Maybe,” she said. “Maybe I just wanted a snack.”

Beneath his mask, his green eyes glinted with a familiar mischief. One eyebrow quirked. “All for yourself?”

She wondered if he was simply asking if she was alone or if he was implying that he wanted to join her. She couldn’t help the icy edge in her reply as she said, “I don’t have a boyfriend anymore, if that’s what you’re asking.”

His perky ears seemed to flatten. It was his turn to shift his stance uncomfortably. He leaned against her patio table, but it wobbled uncertainly and he straightened. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Do you want company?”

There was something delicate in the question. Something in it nagged at her brain, and she recalled the text that Adrien had sent her that morning.

Do you want company today?

Of course she had said yes. She needed noise, she needed distraction, she needed to not be alone with her thoughts. And then she’d sent him home after dinner, because Adrien didn’t deserve to see her like this—sleepless, lonely, and horny.

But Chat Noir wasn’t Adrien.

She pursed her lips and quirked an eyebrow. “I’m certainly in the mood for company.”

His ears perked up again, as if they were perfectly attuned to the purr in her voice. He stepped closer. “And just what sort of snack are you in the mood for?”

“Something simple,” she said as the first kernel of popcorn popped.

The corner of his mouth twitched with a smile, but she thought—maybe she was just projecting her own heartache, but she thought—something in his eyes grew sad.

“I can keep things simple,” he whispered.

She pulled him into a kiss. It was sloppy and wet and she ran her hands through his hair to pull him against her as if she could consume all of him.

It wasn’t her first kiss with Chat Noir by any measure, not as Ladybug, certainly, nor even as Marinette. There’d been kisses done to break curses, kisses done under the weight of curses, kisses done and rejected—and one very wary, delicate kiss on Marinette’s balcony. Chat Noir had told her that he was in love with Ladybug, but, somehow, in the midst of his heartache and her longing, they had kissed. She’d apologized, promised him that it didn’t mean anything, that she was in love with Luka anyway. And a week later, she and Luka had started dating, and Chat Noir had stopped coming by Marinette’s balcony—at least until Luka’s first tour.

He seemed to have an uncanny sense for when she was lonely.

She rolled her hips against his thigh and moaned into his mouth as the popcorn on the stove began to rattle in earnest. His hand trailed down to her waist, but he hesitated as he reached her hip. That wouldn’t do.

Marinette grabbed his wrist and, without breaking their kiss, yanked him into her apartment. She backed into the kitchen counter and guided his padded leather gloves to the elastic waistband of her pajamas.

He took her invitation readily, slipping his fingers inside the soft satin of her underwear and into her damp folds. She hissed like the fire on her stove and moaned with a heat just as warm as his fingers pressed into her clit. She rolled her hips again, but he dropped his other hand back to her waist and held her in place. She whined as he set the pace of her pleasure and whined again as he broke their kiss.

He pressed his lips to her cheek and then to her ear. His hand continued to pump her as he whispered, “You’re letting your popcorn burn.”

She hadn’t noticed that the sound of popping kernels had ceased. She hadn’t caught the whiff of charred popcorn yet. And now that he pointed it out, she didn’t care.

“If you stop, I will kill you,” she hissed into his ear.

His laugh was deep in his throat, another purr of pleasure as he picked up his pace. She gasped and tipped her head back. He responded by pressing his lips against her throat. The sharp canines scraped her neck and she shivered. She was so familiar with those teeth, familiar with the way they scratched her tongue and now her exposed skin. It was those teeth that assured her that she had never met Chat Noir outside of their masks. She would know the shape of those fangs on sight.

If his claws had not chosen that moment to catch on her clit, sharp and poignant, it might have occurred to her that the canines were as conjured as his expressive ears.

Her entire body trembled and she bit down on her lip to hold in her moan, not because she was afraid to be loud but because she was afraid that her pleasure would break her if she indulged it too heavily.

Chat Noir, however, didn’t seem to notice her attempt at restraint. He flicked the tip of his thumb against her clit again and she choked on another moan. One of her hands tightened in his hair, and her other squeezed his waist like she was afraid he would evaporate. He sucked gently on her neck and curled his fingers up into her.

“Chat,” she whined and gasped as her fluids soaked his hand, as her orgasm rippled through her until she was boneless, pinned between him and the kitchen counter, and still he didn’t stop. “Chat,” she cried again, breath hitching as his thumb drew her up suddenly into another tight coil and release. “Chat, please—”

He dragged his lips back up to her ear, and his teeth nipped at her lobe. “I thought you’d kill me if I stopped,” he murmured.

“I think I’ll die if you don’t,” she gasped.

She felt the shape of his grin against her jaw. He pulled his hand out from her shorts and pulled her back into another soft, delicate kiss, just as wary and gentle as the kiss they had exchanged a year ago. Her first epiphany of the evening sparked without warning and she pulled away from him with a start.

He didn’t love Ladybug. He never had.

“You lied to me.”

“I would never lie to you,” he murmured, and moved his kiss down her chin, back to her neck. He nosed against the underside of her jaw like a cat insisting on affection.

“You told me that you were in love with Ladybug.”

His lips went still against her throat. “You said you wanted this to be simple.”

“I want you to be honest.”

He still hesitated. The sizzle of the oil hissed in the kitchen, but its delicate scent was overwhelmed with burned popcorn. If they weren’t careful, the smoke detector would force their kiss apart, but Marinette wasn’t going to let him go without an answer.

Finally, he admitted, “I was in love with Ladybug. Until we kissed.”

She swallowed, painfully aware of the way her throat bobbed against his lips. “And so this past year?”

“I’ve waited.”

“Chat…”

“You’re about to burn your kitchen down,” he murmured, and pulled away.

Reluctantly, Marinette turned off her stove and scraped the black scraps of charcoal that had once been popcorn into the garbage. Chat Noir scrubbed his gloved hands clean.

Hot tears, fueled by frustration as much as embarrassment burned behind Marinette’s eyes as she scraped the blackened mess into the pan. She’d sent Adrien away because she didn’t want to risk her friendship with him, didn’t want to need him in a way he didn’t need her. Now here she was, doing to Chat Noir exactly what she had never wanted to do with Adrien. As much as she might want to give back, as much as she might want to meet him where he was, she couldn’t, and that knowledge hurt.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” she asked. She was glad that her voice was hardly audible over the running water; maybe he wouldn’t hear the bitter anger. It wasn’t meant for him, anyway. It was directed at herself.

She tried to nudge him aside so she could clean the pan, but he wouldn’t budge. Instead, he took the pan from her and picked up a towel. She was forced to watch as he scoured the blackened pan. He looked so intent on the task, she wondered if he had heard her question at all.

Then he turned off the water and said, “You told me that it didn’t matter.”

Her hand was on the pan, ready to take it from him and dry it off, but she froze. Though a protest sat on the tip of her tongue, she couldn’t give it voice. She was the one who had said that their kiss a year ago hadn’t mattered.

“I’m sorry,” she finally said, unsure what else she could say.

He shrugged, as if indicating carelessness, but as she took the pan, he anxiously twisted the ring on his finger. Though the green, glowing paw print was dim, it seemed brilliant in the dark kitchen.

“I’m no stranger to rejection.”

Her heart lurched as it occurred to her that his familiarity with rejection was her fault on two counts. But she never knew what she was supposed to do with Chat Noir’s feelings. Somehow she always managed to misunderstand him when he did nothing but lay things bare for her.

“I guess I should make more popcorn,” she murmured.

As she set the pan back on the stove, Chat Noir grabbed her wrist. “Marinette—”

She looked at him—truly looked—at the flat shape of his ears and the slump in his shoulders, haloed by the streetlight flooding through her open balcony. Despite the darkness, his green eyes glinted like his ring and his jaw worked as he worked through his thoughts. He was always so quick with his wit in a fight, but in the quiet spaces like this, when he was with Marinette, when he was asked to be vulnerable, he was always so cautious and careful.

“It’s okay with me,” he finally said, “if this is all it is. I just want to be with you, and I don’t mind if—”

“Chat, I can’t—that’s not fair to you.”

“I don’t care.”

“But I do.”

The irony that she cared too much to do this to him, that she cared but not in the way that he wanted, was not lost on her.

He let her go and turned toward the balcony.

“Chat…” She didn’t mean to call him back, but she didn’t know how she was supposed to let him go like this. “I am sorry,” she finally said.

His hand lingered against her kitchen counter, and his claws clicked delicately against the tile. “Would you trust me if I said that it hurts less to be with you, even if I can’t have all of you, compared with the agony of being apart from you?”

If she was just Marinette, maybe she would have accepted his offer. Maybe she could have trusted him when he said that he would let it be simple, that he’d allow her to use him as she needed without ache or bitterness. But she was also Ladybug, and she knew the way her partner threw himself on swords for others. She could not fight beside him each day while also destroying him each night.

But Marinette couldn’t tell him that.

As he took her silence for denial, his hands flexed and contracted with his unspoken frustration. He managed a rather tight, “Good night, Marinette,” before disappearing into the night.

She swallowed as he left, waited a moment in her dark kitchen as the silence filtered back in, as the quiet settled into her bones and the ache settled back into her heart.

Maybe she did know what he meant about the agony of being apart.

In search of noise and company, she went back upstairs to her phone. Her thumb hovered over Luka’s icon for only a moment before she swiped away. Instead, she snapped a picture of her laptop screen with the streaming page for Emma open and sent it to Adrien. Then she left her phone on her bed and went to take a cold shower.

Adrien would get the picture in the morning. He’d offer to watch it with her again during the day, and she’d accept his offer of company and distraction. Maybe they would watch Clueless after, or even branch out their romantic film subgenres beyond Austen films and try 10 Things I Hate About You.

But when she got out of the shower, there was already a text from Adrien.

I’ll bring snacks.

She was still reading the text, still trying to make sense of it, as she stood in her room wrapped in naught but a towel and her hair still dripping wet, when a gentle knock sounded from downstairs.

A key jiggled in the lock—she forgot that he had kept the key she’d given him to water her plants when she’d gone with Luka on his second tour—and her door creaked open.

Adrien’s voice broke into her dark, quiet apartment. “Marinette? I brought cheesecake.”

She shrieked, “Adrien, I’m not dressed!” and slammed her bedroom door closed.

His laugh was a snort, muffled and distant. Hastily, she toweled and combed her hair and yanked on a fresh, dry pair of underwear and shorts. She didn’t know where her bra was and she didn’t have the time to look, so she simply threw on a t-shirt.

When she came downstairs, Adrien was standing in her kitchen with two forks in hand. She knew she must look a mess, but he beamed at her, despite her own scowl.

“I thought the picture was an invitation,” he said, head tipped to one side.

“I didn’t think you were awake! I thought—I didn’t know—”

He cut her fumbling protests off with another laugh. Adrien settled onto the edge of her couch and opened up a pale pink cake box to reveal a cake with red raspberry swirled into the cream. She wondered where he had gotten a raspberry cheesecake at this hour.

“I’ll go if you want me to,” he offered, “and leave the cake.”

“No—stay.”

The words were hardly out of her mouth before Adrien was already pulling off his coat and collapsing into her couch. Beneath his neat black peacoat, he was dressed in his own pajamas, like he had seen her text and merely rolled out of bed and into a jacket.

While Adrien plated two generous slices of cheesecake, Marinette dug through the couch cushions for the remote. She found it wedged between Adrien and the back of the couch, yanked it out, and clicked on the T.V. The pale blue light flooded over the two of them, and when she turned to get cheesecake from Adrien, she found him staring at her with an unfamiliar expression.

He was smiling, eyebrows lifted in his usual fashion, like something between expectation and excitement, but she thought—and maybe she was just projecting her own heartache, but she thought—there was something sad in his green eyes.

Then those strangely sad eyes dropped to her collar and his hand drifted to her neck. His fingers brushed against her skin and lightning lanced through her lungs. A dozen protests bubbled to the surface, all the arguments she had just used with Chat Noir—she only wanted something simple; she wasn’t ready for anything truly intimate after this breakup; things were always complicated with Adrien—but they all died on her tongue, as her words so often did when it came to Adrien.

But instead of pulling her against him like she thought he might, he asked, “What happened here?”

In her haste to dress, she hadn’t bothered to check herself in the mirror, but her heart pounded with the memory of Chat Noir’s lips latched to her neck. Was it only a bruise of blood drawn to the surface, or were there also scratch marks from his canines? Her face was hot with blush, but she hoped in the dim light of the T.V., he wouldn’t be able to tell.

“It—” Her throat lurched against Adrien’s fingers as she tried to swallow down a lie, but she wasn’t sure how to tell him the truth. “I don’t—I mean, it’s only—”

And then Adrien’s fingers curled around the back of her neck and his thumb brushed the underside of her chin so gently, so carefully. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

Her heart stuttered with a familiar agony. She had promised herself that she was not going to cry about Luka tonight, that she was done with tears, but they welled up anyway.

She and Luka had tried so hard; they really had. But he always wanted more of her than she had to give. He wanted everything, and Marinette could never give her partner everything—she had too many secrets that she had to keep. She had too many bits of herself that even she was still processing, that were still too raw and rough to share.

She’d tried giving Luka everything that she could. She’d even left Scarabella in charge while she went on tour with Luka once, but nothing had ever made it better. She’d wanted time—they’d needed time—and there had never been enough.

But here was Adrien, offering her the two things Luka never could: her secrets and his time.

The tears she had been fighting all evening finally burst out, and Adrien pulled her against his chest, as he had so many times before. She didn’t want to know how many tears she had soaked into his T-shirts in the last few weeks, how many wrinkles she had worn into his clothes by clutching at them with tight fists, how much of her snot he’d had to wash out of his laundry.

With Herculean strength, Marinette rubbed her eyes dry and pulled away. She fumbled for a tissue, but the box on her coffee table was just inches out of reach. Adrien pressed a handkerchief into her hand, like he had come prepared. It wasn’t fair to him to take so much, but it was so easy when he gave so readily.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured.

Marinette wiped her cheeks and blew her nose. “What on earth are you apologizing for?”

Without her to hold onto, his hands found each other. His thumb rubbed into his palm like he might be able to push his explanation out. Even in the dim light from the T.V. and the street, she could see his jaw working through his words, like he was turning the pages of a dictionary in his head to make sure he picked the right ones.

“I…” He paused again and swallowed. “I didn’t mean to make you cry,” he finally said, which felt like so small of an apology when weighed against the length of the pause.

“It’s not your fault,” she assured him. “I just…” She didn’t need to explain how lonely she was to Adrien. He’d heard it all before, and of course he must know it, or he wouldn’t have shown up to her apartment in the middle of the night with cheesecake in tow. “I just really appreciate that you’re always there for me,” she finally said, and even though it felt small, it was earnest.

“I would rather be with you than not.”

Her heart fully stopped, and she searched for something in Adrien’s eyes, some clue that the connection between his plea and Chat Noir’s question was more than coincidence, but he was no longer looking at her. His eyes were on his hands as he twisted his ring around his finger. The dull silver still glinted in the dim light from outside.

She felt like she was looking at her Lucky Charm at the moment it fell into her hands, knowing the answer was right in front of her but unable to put all the pieces together. She followed her lucky instinct, though, and placed one hand over Adrien’s hands, forcing them still. The other lifted to the back of his neck and pulled him closer into a kiss.

It was soft, delicate, gentle. It made sense for Adrien in a way Chat Noir’s kisses had never quite made sense for him.

Adrien, who was so willing to give her his time, and Chat Noir, who was always there when the people Marinette wanted weren’t.

Adrien pulled away rather suddenly, like something had yanked him away from her. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I shouldn’t—you don’t want—this isn’t fair—”

It was unusual to watch Adrien flounder for words. Marinette, though, didn’t have it in her to be amused, not with the weight of this secret dawning. She waited a moment for Bunnyx to appear or time to reset, but Adrien continued to struggle his way through an apology, and the T.V. continued to hum its bright blue static glare.

There was no undoing what had been done, and she couldn’t exactly avoid it.

“I think,” she murmured, “that unfair is showing up on my balcony after I told you that I was ready to be alone.”

The panic in Adrien’s eyes was brief as he realized he’d been found out, but he crumpled into himself almost immediately. His hands raked through his hair and Marinette’s first thought was that she could be running her hands through his hair, but her second thought was how utterly broken he looked.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I didn’t want it to—I didn’t mean for it to turn out like it did. I just—I was worried about you. You know what it’s like at my house and—I know you think I don’t want to see you sad or something, but Marinette, being with you like this is a hundred times better than being without you.” He kept his eyes on his hands as he twisted his ring around his finger. “Please don’t tell anyone,” he whispered.

Marinette frowned. “I wouldn’t.”

“I mean it—I-I can’t let Ladybug know I’ve broken her trust.”

Marinette bit down on her lip. She wasn’t sure how to say the thing she knew she had to say next. Her throat felt tight with the secret she had kept for so long, that she had finally choked out to Alya after one terrible day.

But he looked so genuinely terrified to think he might hurt Ladybug, and Marinette had the power to assuage that fear. For once, she could offer him some comfort.

Marinette unhooked Adrien’s hands from his neck and pulled them into her lap. Then, she unfastened her earrings and placed them into his palm.

Though he did not move, did not look up at her, she watched the tension in his shoulders shift. His hand closed around the earrings and he felt the shape of them, the warmth from being fastened in her ears and from the magic that pulsed within them.

Finally, Adrien looked up at her. His eyes were still sad, but the longing was so much more prominent. His voice was tight as he said, “Are you… truly?”

She nodded.

Then his shoulders sagged and he looked away. “No wonder you keep turning me down. We have a job to do, and I suppose the job comes first. No sense complicating things, right?”

But Marinette’s need for simple had nothing to do with complicating Ladybug and Chat Noir’s relationship. It had always been about protecting her partner and protecting her own heart. But knowing that the boy she had fallen for long before Luka, the boy who was always there for her, and her loyal partner were one and the same? She was no longer interested in simple.

In fact, she felt like an idiot for thinking she could get away with only displaying the palatable parts of herself to Adrien. He knew her better than anyone, and she knew him, and it was never going to be simple when there were that many fractured pieces stacked together between the two of them.

“Adrien,” she whispered, “I think… maybe without so many secrets, it isn’t all that complicated.”

He met her eyes again and something in his posture perked; she could almost see the cat ears on his head lifting to attention.

“Marinette,” he said, so softly, so tenderly that Marinette could not help but lean in.

She leaned in until their lips were pressed together. The wariness, the gentleness, the tenderness—all of it was cast aside. This kiss transformed into nothing but want and need, as if she could draw all of him up into all of her.

Adrien’s softness and wariness evaporated suddenly. He turned his kiss against the corner of her mouth then to the underside of her jaw. “My lady,” he murmured into her neck, and his voice seemed to reverberate in her chest and curl into her stomach. He pressed her lips against the mark on her neck in a grateful, needy kiss and adjusted to sit on top of her, pinning her back against the couch as Chat Noir had pinned her against her kitchen counter.

Marinette fumbled for the remote and clicked the T.V. off. They didn’t need a movie to carry them through the evening, and they certainly didn’t need the glare of the empty screen. The dark was enough; each other was enough. The cheesecake would wait. Marinette had a much better midnight snack to get to.

#miraculous square dance 2023 #marichat #miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug fanfic #ml fic #ml

[quinloki]

Some Direction

Fem Reader x Roronoa Zoro

CW: Language, stalking, violence, sexual themes and situations, ptsd 18+ only

Chapter 1 - Table of Consent -

Chapter 2: Directionally

"Let me get this straight," you say, your hands pressed together in front of you as you sit in the backroom with Zoro. You had forcefully, and angrily, kicked everyone else out. "You left the dojo with the intention of walking to the main branch, so you could go through your Match Book in peace, and somehow you ended up here?"

Zoro, previously picture-perfected scowl and all, is sitting across from you, and just grunts in response.

"... Which direction did you go when you left the dojo?" You're almost afraid to ask.

"West."

"Okay, but..." No, no you weren't going to say it, never mind. Let's just put the fact that the Main Branch was north of the dojo off to the side for now. He could've actually gone north, thought it was west, and yet somehow ended up taking a large curve to the south and ended up in your library. "How can you be so bad at directions?"

Zoro's tongue clicks in irritation, and you realize you had said the last part out loud. No sense in apologizing, you had meant it and objectively it was true, and you felt like if you were overly concerned about his feelings he'd just get more irritated.

Sighing after a few moments silence, you set your Match Book off to the side. "Do you want to set up a meeting for tomorrow then?" You question. First meetings technically had to be witnessed, and were often attended by at least one family member from each side. You weren't breaking any laws by meeting accidentally like this, but it wasn't going to count for meeting within 48 hours if it wasn't properly witnessed.

"Sure." His face had been in a scowl for the last few minutes, but something about his tone made you think he wasn't angry, just uncomfortable.

"I'll... come to the dojo then. Your father's there, right? It'll be easier for both of you. I'm sure Brook will give me tomorrow off, so I can be by, uh, 1pm? If that's not too early?"

"It's not."

Well, it was a good thing you were used to having quiet nights. This man was certainly the laconic type. You wondered idly what topic of conversation you could get him on that would have him talking, even better - talking with a smile on his face. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn't imagine him with a big smile on his face, and some part of you thought that was a shame.

Everyone should be able to smile.

"Alright then, I... uh... look forward to it." You smile, but it probably looks as awkward as it feels. This whole arranged marriage stuff was even more uncomfortable than you had expected.

He grunts, but doesn't argue. "Are you only bringing one more with you?"

"Eh?" You question, stopping in the middle of getting up.

"Tomorrow. Bringing your mom or dad or both."

Oh right, he didn't get a chance to really sit down and read his Match Book before you interrupted him. Well, he'd have some time to read over it today and tomorrow morning. You finished standing up and nodded to his Match Book.

"It'll just be me," you say, and this time your smile is well-practiced. "Let me walk you out."

He grunts again, but doesn't question your or argue. Not that the poor guy had much room to argue, you just hope he was truly thrown off by the Match Book, and not actually that terrible at directions. Otherwise, you might beat him back to the dojo tomorrow.

You get him through the library without incident, and without running into Nami, though you were pretty sure that was thanks to Robin. When you get to the door you hold it open for him.

"Sorry again for just uh, coming up behind you like that." You apologize as he steps past you.

"It's fine, it worked out." He replies, nodding his head slightly, and walking away. You saw him drifting to the left down the wide staircase.

"Ah, Mr. Roronoa?" You call out, causing him to turn around. You smile and point to the right. "Unless you're running errands, the dojo's that way." You didn't stick around to see if he needed the help or not, stepping back into the library quickly.

You spent the rest of your shift distracted, but no one held it against you. Brook hovered around you a little, but he didn't pester you with questions. He spent most of his time intercepting people who came up to you with questions and directing them on your behalf. The old man was surprisingly quick when the occasion called for it. He had even told you to take the next day off before you had a chance to ask for it.

Such accommodations were to be expected, but the whole thing still felt a little surreal to you. Ever since the World Government had implemented arranged marriages, there had been a slew of TV shows and Movies that had depicted how awkward first impressions could be. Inevitably the two people would come to an understanding, given enough time and communication. It was, at its core, propaganda for the masses, to smooth over the whole situation.

Still, you found yourself replaying sitcom episodes in your head and listening to songs about enemies to lovers as you went about your evening once you got home. You weren't put off of Zoro entirely, but you felt apathetic toward things so far. You didn't really want to spend your life going through a routine that just happened to have someone else on the edges of it.

What unsettled you was that your first impression of him was that he would, like you, allow that very thing to happen. A listless life, with no direction and no momentum. The only saving grace would be the government's insistence that you have at least one child, and the energy and chaos of a child was enough to throw any family into motion.

Wild, unstable motion maybe, but life wouldn't be listless.

You soaked in the tub until the water started to cool, tossed on an old over-sized shirt and drifted off to sleep.

. . . . . .

The next day you let your day start slowly, had a light breakfast, and put on a simple dress before doing up your hair a little. You wanted to look nice, but you didn't want to go to the nines and show up to find everyone else in t-shirts and jeans. You slipped on a pair of smooth-fabric tight shorts under your dress, which made walking more comfortable and saved you from any embarrassing moments if your skirt went rogue. Plus, there was just enough pocket space for a bus pass, your id and house key.

Instead of heels you opted for what were essentially leather-topped sneakers. They looked nice enough for work, but they were delightfully comfortable. Most of your wardrobe was practicality over fashion, but you could still manage being fashionable. You made sure your socks were a little on the thicker side, if this was happening in a dojo, you'd need to take your shoes off and still keep your feet warm.

With one last check to make sure you were presentable you caught the bus to cover most of the distance to the dojo. You could feel someone staring at you while you were on the bus, but you did your best to ignore it. It was a short ride between your home and the dojo, but it would've been a long walk.

The grounds of the dojo were walled off, which meant the entire block was. It was more likely that, as the city had developed around the dojo, the wall had been raised to minimize distractions within. This led to there being a large entryway, enough for cars to go through when needed, with a side door for people to come and go through.

It was done well, honoring the origins of the dojo while still having a clean modern sense, as though it was welcoming the city instead of trying to reject it.

Standing outside the main entrance, looking horribly uncomfortable in a suit and tie, was a grumpy looking Zoro. You did your best to suppress the amused smile that was tugging at your lips as you got close enough for him to turn toward you. He seemed a little embarrassed that you'd caught him grumbling about the suit. In some ways, it looked good on him, in more ways though, it looked awkward on him.

"It seems you're more for function than fashion as well." You muse, trying to help ease the tension with levity.

He grunts, but his silence was a surprising response.

"If you want to lose the tie at least, I didn't exactly stick to tradition either." You admit, lifting up your skirt as he turns to face you. His face twists in shock for a split second before he realizes you were wearing shorts under your skirt. You couldn't help the small laugh that escapes you as your let your skirt fall back down.

"Here," you say, reaching for the tie. "Let me wear it. Then your father won't be able to argue, right?"

"How?" He questions, stepping back from you and loosening the tie himself.

You shrug. "Your Match Book gave me some idea, but I did a lot of research when I was looking to learn martial arts, to make sure I had a good teacher." You take the offered tie and slip it over your head. "There's a lot of weight given to tradition and history, which isn't a bad thing, but that's why I assumed your father didn't leave you much room to argue."

You let your hair down, so that it covers the loop of the tie, and covers your shoulders a little. This way you look like you're wearing a tie, and not a noose.

"There! And look, it doesn't even clash with my dress." You offer a smile. "Problem solved, yes?"

The door beside the gate opened and a rather severe looking man came into view. He was wearing a suit, and unlike with Zoro, the look suited him in many ways. It was as tight and disciplined as you imagined he was. The man's face was wholly unreadable, but contained neither anger nor irritation.

You bow, ignoring the tie dangling from you, and straighten with a smile. "Mr. Dracule, it's a pleasure to meet you."

"Miss (L/N), I'm glad you made it without issue." Mihawk's appearance and manner might be tight, but his voice was surprisingly smooth. "Please, come in."

"Thank you." You step inside as Mihawk steps aside. You turn to him after you've made room for Zoro to come in and smile as you hold onto the tie. "I hope you don't mind; I stole your son's tie when I arrived."

Zoro's ears went pink as he steps in and closes the door behind him, and the look Mihawk had been giving him melts away. He smiles at you, and the action is disarming, for the first time you think you might be able to imagine Zoro smiling.

"As long as it wasn't foisted upon you." Mihawk says pointedly, his gaze shifting to his grumpy son.

"Not at all," you assure him. "I was feeling a little under dressed and this simply makes us even."

Mihawk makes a noise that leaves you with the impression that he is simply accepting your explanation, despite not entirely believing it. You feel admonished, and almost start to apologize before he speaks up.

"Zoro, show Miss (L/N) to the tearoom." Mihawk prompts.

Zoro offers his arm to you without a word, and the level of etiquette brings a smile to your lips. You murmur a thanks and slip your arm through his. It was the most physical contact you'd had in years, and it was the first real contact you and Zoro had at all. He was warm, or you were warm, but there was no discomfort in that warmth.

Zoro leads you into the foyer, and you tuck your shoes away with the others you could see, putting on a pair of house slippers that had been provided, and stepping up into the hallway proper. You wait as Zoro does the same, and then leads you to the tearoom.

You were simultaneously relieved and disheartened to see a full table set up in the tearoom, western style chairs and all. It had been a long time since you attended a proper tea ceremony, and you were no longer as practiced at sitting properly for one. You could probably manage, but you'd be sore after. It would've been nice to get into the practice of it, but a first meeting wasn't the correct time to do so anyway.

The tea was delicious, and there was plenty of polite small talk. The whole point of a witnessed meeting was to try and shake off the awkwardness of first-time meetings. Generally, there were more than three people at the first meeting, but three was the minimum. You had no doubt that Dracule Mihawk was capable of keeping you and Zoro in check, no matter how things went.

After tea, Mihawk had Zoro take you on a small tour of the property. The landscaping was beautiful. There was a Zen Garden, a small western style flower garden in another area, and a green house in another location. You and Zoro opted to skip the green house, it was warm enough outside, the green house would just be humid on top of it all. There was a study and a small library, you were already in love with the place before that point, but the library was very well organized, and you gave your praise to whomever maintained it.

"A properly organized library is just relaxing." You muse as you leave the library behind and continue the tour.

"You sound like Mihawk-Sensei." Zoro replies, and you weren't sure if it was a compliment or not. He slides a door open, and it gives way to a large open room lined with tatami mats. No part of the property had been, by any stretch of the definition, messy, but the dojo proper seemed extra immaculate.

"Oh wow. Can I go in?" You question.

Zoro nods. "Sure."

You automatically slip your house slippers off before stepping onto the mats and walk slowly around the large open room. There are traditional burned wood planks that denote the Master, his assistants, and the students. The dojo is doing well, given the length of the roster. There are practical displays for shinai and bokken, and a few ceremonial displays that are likely true steel katanas.

Zoro is leaning in the doorway, just watching you move around the dojo. You're too absorbed in all the details of the room to notice anything more about him, but his gaze isn't making you uncomfortable.

"Is it rude to ask how old the dojo is?" You question, keeping your hands laced behind your back as you lean forward to read an inscription under a set of three katanas.

"The millennial celebration is in nine years." Zoro answers. "According to the official records."

"Mm. It's probably older than that then," you state straightening up. "It's good to celebrate what you can though."

Zoro grunts in response. You're starting to get used to it. It's his way of acknowledging that he's listening without prolonging a conversation he doesn't think needs to be prolonged. Time would tell if your assumption was correct, but there was nothing about him that made you feel he was duplicitous. He seemed like someone who didn't even want to waste time with the obvious, never mind wasting energy trying to hide who he was.

"Are you accepting new students?" You question half idly, half curiously, catching Zoro flinching slightly.

Mihawk answers, stepping into view, and entering into the dojo with you. "Are you interested in learning?"

You nod. "I haven't learned a weapon-centric style of martial arts before, but there's a practicality in getting back into the practice."

"Oh? What have you studied before?" Mihawk prompts.

"Tai-chi and Judo. The former more than the latter." You admit, walking over to two of them. "When I was completing my education to become a librarian, I didn't have the time to continue consistently, and after that I fell into my new job and hadn't looked for a new place to get back into things."

"Did you ever compete?" Mihawk asks, and you were starting to get the distinct impression he was asking on Zoro's behalf. Maybe everything he'd done today had been on the young man's behalf. As far as you were concerned that made him a good dad.

You shake your head. "I learned for self-defense and to keep in shape. Admittedly, the idea of hurting someone on accident during a match made me too nervous to try, and yeah I get that if I'm going to use it as self-defense someone is going to get hurt. But that's... different."

"Mm." Mihawk acknowledges shortly. "Your assumption being that in a match, your opponent doesn't mean to harm you."

"Yeah... Ah, I hope that's not rude of me?"

"To some, maybe. To others, no." He answers honestly. "It depends on the ideology of the person in question."

"Then... how would each of you take it?"

Zoro clicks his tongue and looks away with a scowl, and that was really all the answer you needed from him.

Mihawk offers you a small smile. "We are of a similar mind on this, but I don't begrudge you for your feelings."

"If he has learned his lessons well, then he doesn't either." Mihawk adds after a moment's pause.

Zoro grunts but didn't say anything else on the topic. "You've seen everything, are you hungry?"

"Yes, if it's not too much trouble. I had a small breakfast and the snacks from the tea seem to be wearing off." You answer with a strained smile, putting the house slippers back on.

The rest of the afternoon went well enough. You learned that Zoro wasn't much of a cook, but the meal of the day was a joint effort between him and his father. It was good, you weren't a picky eater, but it was as good as you could do, you were sure.

Light conversation continued, and things started to get a little more personal at the end of it.

"If it's uncomfortable Miss (L/N), you don't have to answer, but you brought neither family nor a friend with you today." Mihawk begins, "According to the Match Book, I can understand the former."

You nod, your practiced smile covering your face as you respond. "I'm sure the details were a little vague in the book, but I don't mind explaining." You take in a breath, no matter how often you told this story, it was always at least a little uncomfortable. "My biological parents were murdered by Kuro when I was five."

There was a lot hanging in that sentence, though neither Zoro or Mihawk reacted. Kuro had been a prolific serial killer 20 years ago, and everyone who had survived his bloody assaults had been believed to be cursed. It was simply referred to as being Kursed when people wrote it down, but the heavy emphasis on the word made it remarkable when spoken as well.

Kuro slaughtered nearly 100 people during the decade he was active, but he had double that in actual victims. The people who survived his attacks seemed to have a terrible aura of bad luck surrounding them, and people around those survivors seemed to die at an abnormally high rate. Sometimes accidents, sometimes disease, it wasn't like people around the survivors were murdered, but someone made a connection at some point and the idea of the curse was born.

You were, frustratingly, part of that statistic. "I was adopted some years later, and when I was sixteen my adoptive parents died in a car accident. After that I kept to myself. I petitioned the courts and was able to have myself marked as an adult at 16 and now here I am."

"I see." Mihawk says evenly, after a moment's quiet consideration.

You kept your same practiced smile. "I'm sure you can petition for a Rematch because of this, if you want."

Zoro's default scowl deepens, and you were surprised how neutral his original expression was in comparison. "Rematch? Over some stu-."

"Roronoa." Mihawk interrupts forcefully.

Zoro looks away, seething quietly.

"I doubt such action will be necessary." Mihawk responds. "My apologies for causing you discomfort Miss (L/N)."

"Oh, no apology needed." You assure him, and it was true. You had been dealing with the plethora of ways that people reacted to you being a survivor of Kuro's rage. 

The man was still on the loose, though most assumed he was too old to continue, since it had been some years since the last confirmed victim.

Next Chapter

#Some Direction #Roronoa Zoro x Reader #Zoro x Reader #one piece fanfiction #arranged marriage #reader insert

[iho6hi]

ASK GAME: 2, 9, 23

2. What's something about your OC that people wouldn't expect just from looking at them?

- So my devil's advocate! OC is an absolute cunt and a certified menace to everything and everyone and that much is obvious, but what someone (at first sight) wouldn't really get a sense of is how much they generally hold themselves back on most possible aspects in their life. In terms of relationships, they don't really go out of their way to initiate them, but there's also many things they would like to do and see what genuine connection feels like without feeling insecure or scared to approach the matter. They also tend to overanalyze and not dive straight into it, holding back on acting out recklessly which is generally ironic. That's not really what most people would imagine if I gave them a picture of my OC and their short description. IDK IF THAT MAKES SENSE BRO...

9. Do you have a specific lyric or quote which you associate with your OC?

- Show me how to lie, you're getting better all the time

And turning all against the one is an art that's hard to teach

Another clever word sets off an unsuspecting herd

And as you step back into line, a mob jumps to their feet

THIS MIGHT BE CRINGE BUT AS OF RECENTLY I AM REALLY INVESTED IN 2000-2010 AMVS AND THIS SONG (You're gonna go far, kid by Offspring) IS IN MY HEAD 24/7 AGAINST MY WILL MIGHT I ADD LIKE ITS HOLDING ME HOSTAGE AND PLAYING ON REPEAT SAVE ME!!!!!!

This will make sense later on trust me bro it will I just hope I get around to writing it at all

23. What emotion is the hardest for your OC to process? How about express?

- The hardest to process has definitely got to be experiencing hardship and failure. It doesn't click at first, catching them off guard. At first all they can do is just blink dumbly and have a wide open mouth, gaping. They cannot not be good at something, especially when it's in their area of expertise, they have to win and be on top of the game. And struggling on top of that? Tweaking. Literally tweaking. No coddling can fix them. They genuinely have to go on a journey to rediscover themselves after a loss (even more so if they believed that they were on even playing grounds/way better than the opponent).

What's hardest for them to express is a mix of things that fall under more or less the same umbrella (imo). These things are: happiness, vulnerability, care and concern. They're all about tough love and would rather off themselves than come clean about their emotions, so that's a big no (they'll come around). They would pretend to hate your guts and would scoff at you and maybe even laugh at you, but they do care about you and would do anything for you. But you need to be just as insensitive or accustomed to their behavior so you don't get easily offended. They're used to not showing their genuine emotions easily and not opening up and much rather being the listener than the one being comforted, even if the advice they give is more or less an act of battery.

SORRY IF THIS IS LONG AND NONSENSICAL BUT IM HAPPY YOU ASKEF ME STUFF!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! I KNOW THIS WAS PROBABLY ANNOYING TO READ BUT I LOVE TALKING ABOUT MY LITTLE MENACE AND I CAN GET KINDA CARRIED AWAY SOMETIMES...

[kaiwewi]

Now we most definitely need the next part of Guilty Conscience!! Hero deserves some comfort and Villain a redemption >:)

The hero definitely deserves comfort; and we're almost there, I promise!! Just a tiny little bit more angst first, plus some info about the new characters we'll meet soon 😏💕

Guilty Conscience #7

[Masterlist: Renegade Rescue Squad] [Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6]

Synopsis: Villain is carrying the injured hero up six flights of stairs. He'd rather be home with his crew.

tw: whump, knife, dead body, blood

Halfway up the third flight of steps, Villain’s arms started to protest under the hero’s weight.

Not that the little thing was all that heavy, objectively speaking. Villain had simply been slacking off a bit lately and wasn’t quite as in shape as he used to be; in his defence, it wasn’t often that people had to be carried up six flights of steps. And he usually had assistance and equipment available when handling or transporting patients and supplies.

Plus, Henchman had long since declared himself in charge of bearing all the heavier burdens. If only Henchman was here now; that guy could have jogged up those stairs, carrying the hero and him at the same time, without even breaking a sweat.

On the other hand, if Henchman were here, then, instead of the hero, Villain would have the weight of Henchman’s disappointment to bear, which in all honesty would weigh on him that much heavier than the hero’s thin body ever could. And Henchman wasn't the only one he'd let down; his entire crew had discouraged his team up with Other Villain. – A roomful of smart, loyal teammates and he still hadn’t listened to their concerns, hadn’t heeded their warnings.

He had so much to apologise for.

On the landing at the bottom of the fifth flight of stairs, he slipped on a small puddle of blood and would have fallen if he hadn’t managed to catch himself with his shoulder smacking into the wall and his elbow crashing down hard on the metal stair-rail.

Pain like a swarm of angry wasps shot down his right arm and along the outer side of his hand. He groaned, and would have spit curses if the shock hadn’t left him so winded.

The hero stirred in his arms. “You… okay?”

“’m fine,” – he turned back towards the stairs, propped his right foot up on the second step, and shifted the bulk of the hero’s weight onto his upper thigh so he could shake feeling back into his arm – “it’s nothing…”

After a few seconds, the uncomfortable tingling dissipated.

Just his luck, bumping his elbow at the exact right angle to hit the ulnar nerve….

His smartphone chose this convenient moment to give a series of buzzes. Apparently, they were close enough to the surface now for mobile reception.

He awkwardly manoeuvred his hand past the hero, around various folds of the heavy fabric of his open oversized jacket, and into its inner pocket, and pulled out the agitated phone.

The screen came to life with a click, showing a picture of his crew – with him and Henchman in the middle, surrounded by Bax and the 'kids' on the left and Angel, Harper, Doc, and Thief on the right – as well as a pop-up box on top reading “61 messages from 5 chats”.

He ignored four of them: Bax, 11 messages (no doubt telling him what a sorry excuse for a brother he was); Doc, 2 messages (likely about supplies); Supervillain, 1 message (should be interesting, just not right now); Angel, 6 messages (probably memes).

Which left: Henchman, 41 messages.

Henchman’s usually annoying habit of breaking up all text message correspondence into a bunch of single sentence chat messages almost moved him to tears. Skimming through the chat, he caught a few messages asking him to “call already” and to “please come home”, but he didn’t have the time to read all of it now and his leg was starting to hurt.

So he typed a quick reply – “pls track my phone and come asap. will explain later” – and slid the device back into his pocket the moment the two grey ticks lit up blue.

“I sent a message,” he told the hero. “Someone will come pick us up.”

Then, he readjusted his hold on them, gently turning their face towards his shoulder. He didn’t need the hero to see what they’d likely find at the top of those stairs, if the tiny trickle of blood from the uppermost step was anything to go by.

Careful to avoid any more slip-ups, he climbed the fifth flight of stairs. He gave both the blood and Other Villain’s lifeless body on the landing in front of him as wide a berth as possible. He had to keep going. Just one more flight of steps and he’d reach the ground floor.

And Henchman would come for him.

[Part 8]

#heroes and villains #hero x villain #villain #other villain #hero #rookie hero #whump #hero whumpee #villain whumpee #villain whumper #snippet #writing snippet #writing #my writing #writeblr #writers #writers on Tumblr #hero x villain community #whump community #guilty conscience #Renegade Rescue Squad

[mugiwara-no-toshokan]

Some Direction

CisFem Reader x Roronoa Zoro

CW: Language, stalking, violence, sexual themes and situations, ptsd -- surprisingly fluffy despite it all. 18+ only

Chapter 2: Directionally

"Let me get this straight," you say, your hands pressed together in front of you as you sit in the backroom with Zoro. You had forcefully, and angrily, kicked everyone else out. "You left the dojo with the intention of walking to the main branch, so you could go through your Match Book in peace, and somehow you ended up here?"

Zoro, previously picture-perfected scowl and all, is sitting across from you, and just grunts in response.

"... Which direction did you go when you left the dojo?" You're almost afraid to ask.

"West."

"Okay, but..." No, no you weren't going to say it, never mind. Let's just put the fact that the Main Branch was north of the dojo off to the side for now. He could've actually gone north, thought it was west, and yet somehow ended up taking a large curve to the south and ended up in your library. "How can you be so bad at directions?"

Zoro's tongue clicks in irritation, and you realize you had said the last part out loud. No sense in apologizing, you had meant it and objectively it was true, and you felt like if you were overly concerned about his feelings he'd just get more irritated.

Sighing after a few moments silence, you set your Match Book off to the side. "Do you want to set up a meeting for tomorrow then?" You question. First meetings technically had to be witnessed, and were often attended by at least one family member from each side. You weren't breaking any laws by meeting accidentally like this, but it wasn't going to count for meeting within 48 hours if it wasn't properly witnessed.

"Sure." His face had been in a scowl for the last few minutes, but something about his tone made you think he wasn't angry, just uncomfortable.

"I'll... come to the dojo then. Your father's there, right? It'll be easier for both of you. I'm sure Brook will give me tomorrow off, so I can be by, uh, 1pm? If that's not too early?"

"It's not."

Well, it was a good thing you were used to having quiet nights. This man was certainly the laconic type. You wondered idly what topic of conversation you could get him on that would have him talking, even better - talking with a smile on his face. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn't imagine him with a big smile on his face, and some part of you thought that was a shame.

Everyone should be able to smile.

"Alright then, I... uh... look forward to it." You smile, but it probably looks as awkward as it feels. This whole arranged marriage stuff was even more uncomfortable than you had expected.

He grunts, but doesn't argue. "Are you only bringing one more with you?"

"Eh?" You question, stopping in the middle of getting up.

"Tomorrow. Bringing your mom or dad or both."

Oh right, he didn't get a chance to really sit down and read his Match Book before you interrupted him. Well, he'd have some time to read over it today and tomorrow morning. You finished standing up and nodded to his Match Book.

"It'll just be me," you say, and this time your smile is well-practiced. "Let me walk you out."

He grunts again, but doesn't question your or argue. Not that the poor guy had much room to argue, you just hope he was truly thrown off by the Match Book, and not actually that terrible at directions. Otherwise, you might beat him back to the dojo tomorrow.

You get him through the library without incident, and without running into Nami, though you were pretty sure that was thanks to Robin. When you get to the door you hold it open for him.

"Sorry again for just uh, coming up behind you like that." You apologize as he steps past you.

"It's fine, it worked out." He replies, nodding his head slightly, and walking away. You saw him drifting to the left down the wide staircase.

"Ah, Mr. Roronoa?" You call out, causing him to turn around. You smile and point to the right. "Unless you're running errands, the dojo's that way." You didn't stick around to see if he needed the help or not, stepping back into the library quickly.

You spent the rest of your shift distracted, but no one held it against you. Brook hovered around you a little, but he didn't pester you with questions. He spent most of his time intercepting people who came up to you with questions and directing them on your behalf. The old man was surprisingly quick when the occasion called for it. He had even told you to take the next day off before you had a chance to ask for it.

Such accommodations were to be expected, but the whole thing still felt a little surreal to you. Ever since the World Government had implemented arranged marriages, there had been a slew of TV shows and Movies that had depicted how awkward first impressions could be. Inevitably the two people would come to an understanding, given enough time and communication. It was, at its core, propaganda for the masses, to smooth over the whole situation.

Still, you found yourself replaying sitcom episodes in your head and listening to songs about enemies to lovers as you went about your evening once you got home. You weren't put off of Zoro entirely, but you felt apathetic toward things so far. You didn't really want to spend your life going through a routine that just happened to have someone else on the edges of it.

What unsettled you was that your first impression of him was that he would, like you, allow that very thing to happen. A listless life, with no direction and no momentum. The only saving grace would be the government's insistence that you have at least one child, and the energy and chaos of a child was enough to throw any family into motion.

Wild, unstable motion maybe, but life wouldn't be listless.

You soaked in the tub until the water started to cool, tossed on an old over-sized shirt and drifted off to sleep.

. . . . . .

The next day you let your day start slowly, had a light breakfast, and put on a simple dress before doing up your hair a little. You wanted to look nice, but you didn't want to go to the nines and show up to find everyone else in t-shirts and jeans. You slipped on a pair of smooth-fabric tight shorts under your dress, which made walking more comfortable and saved you from any embarrassing moments if your skirt went rogue. Plus, there was just enough pocket space for a bus pass, your id and house key.

Instead of heels you opted for what were essentially leather-topped sneakers. They looked nice enough for work, but they were delightfully comfortable. Most of your wardrobe was practicality over fashion, but you could still manage being fashionable. You made sure your socks were a little on the thicker side, if this was happening in a dojo, you'd need to take your shoes off and still keep your feet warm.

With one last check to make sure you were presentable you caught the bus to cover most of the distance to the dojo. You could feel someone staring at you while you were on the bus, but you did your best to ignore it. It was a short ride between your home and the dojo, but it would've been a long walk.

The grounds of the dojo were walled off, which meant the entire block was. It was more likely that, as the city had developed around the dojo, the wall had been raised to minimize distractions within. This led to there being a large entryway, enough for cars to go through when needed, with a side door for people to come and go through.

It was done well, honoring the origins of the dojo while still having a clean modern sense, as though it was welcoming the city instead of trying to reject it.

Standing outside the main entrance, looking horribly uncomfortable in a suit and tie, was a grumpy looking Zoro. You did your best to suppress the amused smile that was tugging at your lips as you got close enough for him to turn toward you. He seemed a little embarrassed that you'd caught him grumbling about the suit. In some ways, it looked good on him, in more ways though, it looked awkward on him.

"It seems you're more for function than fashion as well." You muse, trying to help ease the tension with levity.

He grunts, but his silence was a surprising response.

"If you want to lose the tie at least, I didn't exactly stick to tradition either." You admit, lifting up your skirt as he turns to face you. His face twists in shock for a split second before he realizes you were wearing shorts under your skirt. You couldn't help the small laugh that escapes you as your let your skirt fall back down.

"Here," you say, reaching for the tie. "Let me wear it. Then your father won't be able to argue, right?"

"How?" He questions, stepping back from you and loosening the tie himself.

You shrug. "Your Match Book gave me some idea, but I did a lot of research when I was looking to learn martial arts, to make sure I had a good teacher." You take the offered tie and slip it over your head. "There's a lot of weight given to tradition and history, which isn't a bad thing, but that's why I assumed your father didn't leave you much room to argue."

You let your hair down, so that it covers the loop of the tie, and covers your shoulders a little. This way you look like you're wearing a tie, and not a noose.

"There! And look, it doesn't even clash with my dress." You offer a smile. "Problem solved, yes?"

The door beside the gate opened and a rather severe looking man came into view. He was wearing a suit, and unlike with Zoro, the look suited him in many ways. It was as tight and disciplined as you imagined he was. The man's face was wholly unreadable, but contained neither anger nor irritation.

You bow, ignoring the tie dangling from you, and straighten with a smile. "Mr. Dracule, it's a pleasure to meet you."

"Miss (L/N), I'm glad you made it without issue." Mihawk's appearance and manner might be tight, but his voice was surprisingly smooth. "Please, come in."

"Thank you." You step inside as Mihawk steps aside. You turn to him after you've made room for Zoro to come in and smile as you hold onto the tie. "I hope you don't mind; I stole your son's tie when I arrived."

Zoro's ears went pink as he steps in and closes the door behind him, and the look Mihawk had been giving him melts away. He smiles at you, and the action is disarming, for the first time you think you might be able to imagine Zoro smiling.

"As long as it wasn't foisted upon you." Mihawk says pointedly, his gaze shifting to his grumpy son.

"Not at all," you assure him. "I was feeling a little under dressed and this simply makes us even."

Mihawk makes a noise that leaves you with the impression that he is simply accepting your explanation, despite not entirely believing it. You feel admonished, and almost start to apologize before he speaks up.

"Zoro, show Miss (L/N) to the tearoom." Mihawk prompts.

Zoro offers his arm to you without a word, and the level of etiquette brings a smile to your lips. You murmur a thanks and slip your arm through his. It was the most physical contact you'd had in years, and it was the first real contact you and Zoro had at all. He was warm, or you were warm, but there was no discomfort in that warmth.

Zoro leads you into the foyer, and you tuck your shoes away with the others you could see, putting on a pair of house slippers that had been provided, and stepping up into the hallway proper. You wait as Zoro does the same, and then leads you to the tearoom.

You were simultaneously relieved and disheartened to see a full table set up in the tearoom, western style chairs and all. It had been a long time since you attended a proper tea ceremony, and you were no longer as practiced at sitting properly for one. You could probably manage, but you'd be sore after. It would've been nice to get into the practice of it, but a first meeting wasn't the correct time to do so anyway.

The tea was delicious, and there was plenty of polite small talk. The whole point of a witnessed meeting was to try and shake off the awkwardness of first-time meetings. Generally, there were more than three people at the first meeting, but three was the minimum. You had no doubt that Dracule Mihawk was capable of keeping you and Zoro in check, no matter how things went.

After tea, Mihawk had Zoro take you on a small tour of the property. The landscaping was beautiful. There was a Zen Garden, a small western style flower garden in another area, and a green house in another location. You and Zoro opted to skip the green house, it was warm enough outside, the green house would just be humid on top of it all. There was a study and a small library, you were already in love with the place before that point, but the library was very well organized, and you gave your praise to whomever maintained it.

"A properly organized library is just relaxing." You muse as you leave the library behind and continue the tour.

"You sound like Mihawk-Sensei." Zoro replies, and you weren't sure if it was a compliment or not. He slides a door open, and it gives way to a large open room lined with tatami mats. No part of the property had been, by any stretch of the definition, messy, but the dojo proper seemed extra immaculate.

"Oh wow. Can I go in?" You question.

Zoro nods. "Sure."

You automatically slip your house slippers off before stepping onto the mats and walk slowly around the large open room. There are traditional burned wood planks that denote the Master, his assistants, and the students. The dojo is doing well, given the length of the roster. There are practical displays for shinai and bokken, and a few ceremonial displays that are likely true steel katanas.

Zoro is leaning in the doorway, just watching you move around the dojo. You're too absorbed in all the details of the room to notice anything more about him, but his gaze isn't making you uncomfortable.

"Is it rude to ask how old the dojo is?" You question, keeping your hands laced behind your back as you lean forward to read an inscription under a set of three katanas.

"The millennial celebration is in nine years." Zoro answers. "According to the official records."

"Mm. It's probably older than that then," you state straightening up. "It's good to celebrate what you can though."

Zoro grunts in response. You're starting to get used to it. It's his way of acknowledging that he's listening without prolonging a conversation he doesn't think needs to be prolonged. Time would tell if your assumption was correct, but there was nothing about him that made you feel he was duplicitous. He seemed like someone who didn't even want to waste time with the obvious, never mind wasting energy trying to hide who he was.

"Are you accepting new students?" You question half idly, half curiously, catching Zoro flinching slightly.

Mihawk answers, stepping into view, and entering into the dojo with you. "Are you interested in learning?"

You nod. "I haven't learned a weapon-centric style of martial arts before, but there's a practicality in getting back into the practice."

"Oh? What have you studied before?" Mihawk prompts.

"Tai-chi and Judo. The former more than the latter." You admit, walking over to two of them. "When I was completing my education to become a librarian, I didn't have the time to continue consistently, and after that I fell into my new job and hadn't looked for a new place to get back into things."

"Did you ever compete?" Mihawk asks, and you were starting to get the distinct impression he was asking on Zoro's behalf. Maybe everything he'd done today had been on the young man's behalf. As far as you were concerned that made him a good dad.

You shake your head. "I learned for self-defense and to keep in shape. Admittedly, the idea of hurting someone on accident during a match made me too nervous to try, and yeah I get that if I'm going to use it as self-defense someone is going to get hurt. But that's... different."

"Mm." Mihawk acknowledges shortly. "Your assumption being that in a match, your opponent doesn't mean to harm you."

"Yeah... Ah, I hope that's not rude of me?"

"To some, maybe. To others, no." He answers honestly. "It depends on the ideology of the person in question."

"Then... how would each of you take it?"

Zoro clicks his tongue and looks away with a scowl, and that was really all the answer you needed from him.

Mihawk offers you a small smile. "We are of a similar mind on this, but I don't begrudge you for your feelings."

"If he has learned his lessons well, then he doesn't either." Mihawk adds after a moment's pause.

Zoro grunts but didn't say anything else on the topic. "You've seen everything, are you hungry?"

"Yes, if it's not too much trouble. I had a small breakfast and the snacks from the tea seem to be wearing off." You answer with a strained smile, putting the house slippers back on.

The rest of the afternoon went well enough. You learned that Zoro wasn't much of a cook, but the meal of the day was a joint effort between him and his father. It was good, you weren't a picky eater, but it was as good as you could do, you were sure.

Light conversation continued, and things started to get a little more personal at the end of it.

"If it's uncomfortable Miss (L/N), you don't have to answer, but you brought neither family nor a friend with you today." Mihawk begins, "According to the Match Book, I can understand the former."

You nod, your practiced smile covering your face as you respond. "I'm sure the details were a little vague in the book, but I don't mind explaining." You take in a breath, no matter how often you told this story, it was always at least a little uncomfortable. "My biological parents were murdered by Kuro when I was five."

There was a lot hanging in that sentence, though neither Zoro or Mihawk reacted. Kuro had been a prolific serial killer 20 years ago, and everyone who had survived his bloody assaults had been believed to be cursed. It was simply referred to as being Kursed when people wrote it down, but the heavy emphasis on the word made it remarkable when spoken as well.

Kuro slaughtered nearly 100 people during the decade he was active, but he had double that in actual victims. The people who survived his attacks seemed to have a terrible aura of bad luck surrounding them, and people around those survivors seemed to die at an abnormally high rate. Sometimes accidents, sometimes disease, it wasn't like people around the survivors were murdered, but someone made a connection at some point and the idea of the curse was born.

You were, frustratingly, part of that statistic. "I was adopted some years later, and when I was sixteen my adoptive parents died in a car accident. After that I kept to myself. I petitioned the courts and was able to have myself marked as an adult at 16 and now here I am."

"I see." Mihawk says evenly, after a moment's quiet consideration.

You kept your same practiced smile. "I'm sure you can petition for a Rematch because of this, if you want."

Zoro's default scowl deepens, and you were surprised how neutral his original expression was in comparison. "Rematch? Over some stu-."

"Roronoa." Mihawk interrupts forcefully.

Zoro looks away, seething quietly.

"I doubt such action will be necessary." Mihawk responds. "My apologies for causing you discomfort Miss (L/N)."

"Oh, no apology needed." You assure him, and it was true. You had been dealing with the plethora of ways that people reacted to you being a survivor of Kuro's rage. 

The man was still on the loose, though most assumed he was too old to continue, since it had been some years since the last confirmed victim.

#Some Direction #Roronoa Zoro x Reader #Zoro x Reader #one piece fanfiction #arranged marriage #reader insert #x reader

[literaticat]

I have a writing adjacent q for you, probs a bit random: I watched an 'entrepreneur' who demonstrated how to write books using chatGPT, then run the text through another AI to 'humanize' the language. Copy-paste and From there he published the books on Amazon. Is that plagiarism?

(SORRY IN ADVANCE this is super long. If you want to read the ENTIRE answer, that includes WHY AI is not a viable method of replacing authors, click the "Keep Reading" thing at the bottom!)

I mean, people throw up all kinds of trash to make money on Amazon. Plenty of people sell entirely BLANK books on Amazon, with covers they made on Canva. If there's a market for it -- OK. I wouldn't call those people writers, and I wouldn't want to work with them or anything, and I can't imagine they are really making THAT much money, but... whatever, I guess. It doesn't affect me or my books or regular publishers any more than a kid running a lemonade stand affects the bottom line of Minute Maid.

Questions of quality aside, you can't copyright IMAGES that are made by AI, but text seems a bit more ambiguous and that's something that I'm sure courts will be taking up soon enough if they aren't already. Meantime, that's a problem in terms of publishing, because anyone else could publish the same thing, and you wouldn't have a leg to stand on, nor would you be able to make money off things like movie rights, etc, because you don't own the copyright to the work.

(And further - - if it becomes settled law that AI generated text can't be copyrighted, but you decided Ethics Be Damned and registered for copyright anyway, how would the US Copyright Office KNOW? I have zero idea. It feels like a minefield of lawsuits waiting to happen.)

Questions of quality, copyright and ethics aside : IS IT plagiarism? I.... still have no idea. I've asked client and resident AI expert Martha Brockenbrough, whose YA nonfiction about AI is coming out next year and is called FUTURE TENSE: HOW WE MADE ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE AND HOW IT WILL CHANGE EVERYTHING. She says:

"It’s not plagiarism. Plagiarism is taking passages from the work of another writer wholesale without attribution (or, if not wholesale, for the most part). ChatGPT has been trained on trillions of words on the internet. Yes, many of those were copyrighted. Tech bros don’t care! They gots to innovate! To move fast and break things! To have bad haircuts!

It is deeply icky, though."

More from Martha, below:

"Someday, AI will probably write passable novels. That day is not yet here, and the people who think it is have bad taste. The people using Sudowrite as support are producing crappy work. I tried Sudowrite. It is … incredibly limited if you want to write any sort of imaginative work at all. Honestly, this will seem FINE to a lot of readers who don’t to pay more than $2.99 for a book and haven’t seemed to realize you can check them out for free at the library. Those people are not keeping us afloat.

AI is not yet doing good long-form fiction. It can’t handle the complexity.

Think of AI as a pattern-recognition engine and producer. If you train an algorithm with lots of data (e.g. the entire fetid ocean that is the Internet), then it will be able to reproduce the patterns in language it has encountered. This is all math. “The” often precedes “end,” and so the vector connecting those things will be short. “The” and “of” don’t go together often. So there would be a longer vector between those words. 

Stories also follow patterns. It’s not just the relationships between words, but also the shapes of sentences, scenes, and plot and character arcs. AI can reproduce those, to a certain extent. Because it doesn’t know what it’s doing (and in this way, is less capable than a mountain of monkeys), it has a hard time keeping things straight. What did the character say on page 1? The AI won’t yet remember that on page 365. Someday, it might. 

Novels are incredibly complex pieces of work. So are picture books—they do all that work in just a few words. AI can ape this complexity. But what makes novels and PBs good on an artistic level isn’t just adherence to a pattern. It’s an understanding of how to evoke human emotion—how to create an authentic emotional experience with paper and ink. 

Mediocre writing might be technically accurate, but no one is going to care about it. No one is going to have that deeply emotional experience that is the point of reading a story. 

Mediocre is what AI is most likely going to generate—in part because of how it’s trained. If you’re trained on a million novels and you want to generate something like a novel, the output is going to be the mathematical average of that in many ways. What makes humans interesting is their differences. Not how well they conform to the model of “human.” I played with a bunch of stories on different text generators, and invariably, the ending was based on a sort of coming together of “both sides.” That might work better for some genres than others, but in general, the failure to create endings that are both satisfying AND surprising is inevitable when the algorithms aren’t capable of measuring anything beyond the math behind the patterns on the page. There is the emotion in the reader, and that is something that isn’t being measured in this process.

There’s a reason for this. AI doesn’t feel—although I guarantee you that at some point, you will think you’re chatting with a sentient being. Humans make emotional attachments like whoa, and to me, this is one of the most dangerous things about chatbots, and it has been the case since the first one was coded in the 1960s. The chatbot doesn’t care back.

There is a branch of AI called “affective computing” that intends to measure and simulate human emotion, and I suppose you could craft an AI novel and then have focus group of humans read it and then adjust based on their reactions, and with that, you might approach the complexity a human writer can produce. 

Does this sound like fun to you? Does it sound useful? Does it sound like it will break down barriers for all sorts of storytellers? Or does it sound like a grotesque process foisted upon us by people who don’t want to do the actual work of writing and instead want to reap the rewards, which they assume to be bigger than they actually are. 

Technology has replaced all sorts of labor, and writers and artists aren’t a special class of human beings who should have immunity to this. But what problem is being solved by outsourcing this labor to machines? Creating art is good for human beings. No one is exploited by it. No one is seriously injured or killed on the job doing it. It doesn’t pollute. We can’t shut down stuff like ChatGPT, which wasn’t created to write novels. It was created to generate text, and without being explicitly trained, it also figured out how to code. People will use the tool for whatever end they want, and it’s really up to consumers to decide whether they want to buy something from a machine or a human being. What’s it gonna be, pals? Tang or orange juice? 

I know what I want."

[ihavenocluedude]

Major Conveniences ~ part 6

Klitz (The Girl Next Door) x fem!reader

Link to my main masterlist    Link to reading this on Ao3  

Masterlist for Major Conveniences

A/N - Once again so sorry this took for-fkn-ever. But uhm... I’m hoping the next part won’t take as long. But also it’s obviously not going to be as long. This is sort of what I would like to call about the midpoint of the fic??? But that’s just an estimate as I’ve not written the whole fic yet, I just have the picture of how I want it to look in my head y’know. Hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 7 147

"So... what are your intentions with our sweet Klitzy?" Eli had demanded to sit in the middle of the backseat. Between you and Klitz. But was definitely also turned way more towards you, almost to the point of facing you directly and having his legs in your lap.

 "You don't have to answer that," Klitz said quickly, trying to lean past Eli so you could see him.

The drive over to the hotel was interesting to say the least. Eli's demeanor is a hard thing to describe, probably mostly because you've barely even spent time with him yet, but it was definitely somewhere between dramatic estranged relative trying to catch up with you and a businessman that's always trying to get you to buy into his plan. Klitz was trying to help you out, almost acting as if he was your lawyer during an interrogation.

 "How do I... how do I even answer that?" You questioned back, more curious than offended. How does one even state their intentions? And... what actually are your intentions?

 "Are you planning on marrying him?" Oh... well that was usually the typical answer in every romantic cliche movie wasn't it? To say that you'd want to marry the person... Klitz... in a suit... at the end of the aisle with your loved ones around-

 "Oh my god, ELI!"

 "What? I'm just asking." Eli shrugged as if he hadn't asked a very big question to a person who was just in their first year of college. One who hadn't even dated her boyfriend for more than a couple of months. Klitz glared at his friend and yet you could also still see that he was curious about how you'd answer, even as he tried to defend your honor. "Okay... what about this... do you see yourself dating him in a year?" Easier question. Not something you can be sure of, but there was certainly hope there.

 "Yeah." Your answer came quickly, sure of itself in a good way. It wasn't an automated response or rushed, clearly something you'd thought about and you just hoped that came through. You found the proof of that it had come out like you wanted by Klitz's smile. And Eli's approving nod and grin too.

 "Okay, on to the harder questions." Eli could easily be an evil mastermind. He seemed like someone who could come up with some evil plan, and try to take over the world. Though you easily could picture Klitz as a hero, mostly because he'd saved you from anxious thoughts, helped you when needed, and so on... If Eli was an evil mastermind... Klitz would definitely be there by Eli's side, questioning of everything, but loyal.

 "Harder? How much harder does it get than asking me if I want to get married?"

 "Depends on how willing you are about me asking about your background information."

 "Like what?"

 "Family, your childhood, anything you're willing to tell me." Jesus.

 "This feels like an interrogation."

 "Well, you are smart. You've got it figured out, let's start..."

 Sure, Eli had come there just to meet you. They were visiting for you... and he had been the one that had started the whole idea in the first place. Eli was laser-focused on you and whilst you had known about all of this... You were maybe not quite prepared for this level of attention aimed specifically at you. The anxiety had been about giving a good first impression, which you seemed to have done by Eli's earlier 'We've clicked'. You had not been anxious about answering a thousand questions, but that was starting to rise.

 From then on it was mostly friendly banter, Eli trying to get to know you without using the slight interrogation-y tone he'd used earlier. Trying to get to know you through your own words and not what he'd heard from Klitz on the phone. But once in a while, there'd be a question that would catch you off guard. Probably one of those 'harder' questions he'd mentioned. And you knew he didn't frame these harder questions with the friendlier, chattier, more casual questions by accident.

 "And we're here!" Matt announced as he parked the car. Parked in front of a hotel that you'd definitely seen before. It could be seen from campus depending on where you stood, it was usually the hotel speakers stayed at, and it was definitely... quite expensive.

 Sitting in the hotel lobby with Klitz was the first moment of not being asked questions since you'd picked up Eli. And that was because he wasn't there but rather checking in and going to unpack. Danielle and Matt doing the same thing.

 "They're nice." You stated softly to Klitz, almost yawning, sat on a couch next to him. Almost immediately leaned your head onto his shoulder hoping to find that usual comfort, and you did. Hugging his arm and probably getting way too cozy in a hotel lobby.

 "Eli seems to really like you."

 "You're sort of saying that as if it's not good?"

 "It's good it's just..."

 "What?" 

 "I- I'm just... I don't know." 

 Klitz was on edge more than he'd thought he'd be. He had expected to be anxious about this visit. Scared that there'll be a moment where Eli will overstep, tell you a story that he hadn't dared to tell you yet, or that some detail he'd missed in a story he had told you would just... scare you off somehow. And not only that but the intensity of his friends in general. His mind gnawing on itself telling him that you'll be scared off. So much so that he'd built up the tiniest little things in his heads until they felt as big as a mountain. Such things as what if you reacted to how much they say the word 'dude'? He'd never thought about it before but now it scared him like hell.

 "Klitzy? You seem more worried than I was this morning." Your voice was almost pleading. Both of your brains at war with themselves. Your mind afraid that he's regretting letting his friends ever meet you.

 "I'm fine. I just... He's going to tell you everything." Klitz tried to say it in a cheery sort of joking tone, but the bitterness in his head sort of rots into the tone of his voice. 

 "So? I want to know more about you."

 "Yeah, but- everything, everything." 

 "Are you scared I'll find out something that you don't want me to know?"

 "I'm scared something'll scare you off." He mumbled, or maybe more like muttered, the bittersweet mix of nervousness and a kind of begging tone in his voice.

 "It won't. I promise." 

 ~~~

 "They're cute," Danielle stated almost immediately as the elevator doors closed in front of her, Matt, and Eli. 

 "We've barely even seen them together, thanks to him," Matt responds, nudging Eli with his elbow. 

 "They're cute. They're obviously in love." Danielle insisted before wondering out loud "Do you think he's told her that?" 

 "What that he loves her? No way!" Eli piped up, a laugh bubbled out of his mouth whilst still talking. "She'll definitely tell him first." 

 "You think?" Matt questioned next. Although Klitz had never really been the person to instigate things he did have his moments. Matt would not be surprised if saying 'I love you' would be in a moment like that. 

 "Dude, I know."

 ~ 

 The hotel was nice. Like in the way of 'you shouldn't afford this if you're a college student and a newly started filmmaker'. 

 Even if it wasn't what your parents would call 'civilized' you'd thought about asking Klitz several times about how much money they've made through the video. He'd sort of lightly breezed by it sometimes, mentioned what it had covered so far.

 Matt's tuition was fully covered, which was huge just by itself. Klitz's tuition didn't need that much help, scholarship, but they had fixed it up anyway. And Eli got a bit of a starter cushion for his career. That's all that Klitz had explicitly told you that it had covered but it felt pretty clear to say that Matt and Danielle's apartment clearly had at least somewhat been acquired through that money as well as Matt's car that Klitz had told you about. Furthermore, Klitz had been making it pretty clear that he definitely had a lot saved up too.

 It felt like some sort of ironic joke 'millionaire college students' among the more obvious 'students living on ramen as breakfast, lunch, and dinner because it's cheap’.

 Once the visitors had settled into their hotel rooms they'd come down to you two. All stomachs grumbling along in a choir of hungriness, you decided to head to the closest diner.

 When thinking of four rich young people... you did not expect their first suggestions of dinner to be the greasy diner that you mostly went to because they had a student discount. But there you were, Eli obviously sticking by your side to try and make sure that he could sit next to you again. Apparently finding the game of not letting Klitz sit next to you very funny. Klitz managed to sit down next to you before he could even try though, which was quite a comfort. To hold Klitz's hand in yours, resting in your lap, whilst you ate and still continued to get some interrogation-like questions from time to time.

 You wouldn't normally need this much physical attention. Normally it felt like it was just sort of for the peace of mind. A single touch reminding you to take a breath and enjoy whatever was going on. It grounded you. But in this moment it also just felt like a necessary security blanket. A necessary thing of 'keep me calm please'.

 Danielle noticed. She felt like the sort of person who always noticed those sorts of things. Someone who could read others really well. Matt and Eli didn't seem to notice though which was kind of... reassuring in a way. Not having to be seen as vulnerable too when you already felt that way. But you could see how much comfort they got from Klitz too. Although you'd obviously never seen them without him, after all you barely knew them so far. But just the way they talked about him, to him, the way they looked at Klitz, and how he responded made it so easy to see how much the trio loves each other in general. And although you didn't feel like it would be able to compare to that yet at all, you... well, you felt like you loved-

 ON ANOTHER NOTE the hotel room was fancy, big, and luxurious. A couch that probably folded out was in one of the corners of the hotel room even though it probably wasn't needed with the big bed in the focus of the whole hotel room. The typical hotel decorations galore. Big windows that faced campus.

 Danielle had offered that you all could hang out in their hotel room for a while once you got back from the diner. It was already pretty late and you felt like that would become the ending of the night.

 So there you sat on the couch with Klitz laying down, his head in your lap, still facing towards Matt and Danielle so he could talk to them. His long hair spread out across your lap with one of your hands intertwined in it, playing around. Danielle sat on the bed, her feet just barely touching the floor, and Matt sitting right in front of her on the floor. Eli switched between pacing around or sitting on the arm of the couch from time to time. Mostly ranting about his current projects.

 He'd apparently been racing through projects the last couple of months. Growing his empire as he called it. As soon as he finished production on one project he instantly started another one, the projects almost overlapping. He'd been in articles... not perhaps the most conventional magazines as is obvious but still several articles. He did however swear to Klitz that he hadn't told anyone about the 'mysterious actor behind the fencing mask'. Although pretty much every interviewer had asked. You weren't surprised by either fact.

 Eli might be dramatic, a slightly over-the-top guy but it was like he reeked of loyalty. Someone who'd defend Matt or Klitz to the end of the world. Or in the situation they had been through, make a sex education film to get one of his best friends out of trouble.

 By the time Eli had calmed down, permanently sat down on the couch by Klitz's feet instead of the arm of the couch or pacing the floor, it had been probably an hour or two. It was sweet and interesting and just as you had guessed it; 'word vomity'. His legs sort of bounced when he first sat down on the couch but slowly and surely calmed down the more time ticked by. Matt was completely leaned back against the bed with his face turned up towards Danielle whilst she had laid down on the bed, her head just slightly hanging off the bed to touch her head to Matt's. Meanwhilst Klitz had turned himself over on the couch about halfway through Eli's rants. Buried his head in towards you, being able to feel him breathing against your stomach as he hugged you to him.

 "You good?" You asked Eli as he let out a yawn. 

 "I think that flight took more out of me than I thought it did." He just paced enough to probably have walked around the whole campus like twice... and he was saying it was the flight that made him tired? Jesus.

 "You gonna go to bed, dude?" Matt asked, a smug smile once again on his face as he goaded Eli. "I don't think I've seen Eli go to bed first in years." He teased as if there was an obvious contest to it.

 "I think Klitz is the first one tonight actually." 

 "Is he?" Matt questioned next, aiming it at you. You leaned back a little to try and attempt to see Klitz's face a bit more. But once you tried his arms clung to you more. 

 "He seems like half asleep?"

 "Awake," Klitz grumbled, the sound muffled by you.

 "Nevermind, awake. You want to go, babe?" 

 "Yeah." 

 "And Klitz is the first one to go to bed!" Eli practically screeched. Making the rest of you jump slightly in the air, Klitz slapped Eli's arm once he sat up. Klitz's hair was the most adorable version of mussed up. "I win!" 

 "Dude." Was heard coming from everyone but Eli. Even you and Danielle joined in on the usual use of the word. 

 "Can someone please drive us back to campus?" Taking a taxi back to campus would be possible, but not preferred. Matt gave you a nod before getting up, grabbing his stuff and getting the keys from Danielle's jacket, the three of you heading out of the hotel room. From the second you stood up Klitz's arm was once again around you. Almost leaning onto you, just showcasing his tired state. Once inside the elevator, you reached your hand up to brush his hair back a little, intertwining your fingers in the soft hair and gently pushing it back. "Thank you, Matt." 

 "No problem." 

 "Backseat," Klitz said once you got close to the car, already opening the door for you before going over to the other side and laying down in the backseat, his head once again in your lap. "Seatbelt." His voice is simple as he already reaches up for the seatbelt before you have a chance to, putting it in your hands. 

 "I don't think I've ever seen you this tired before." You put on the seatbelt just as Matt got into the driver's seat. Klitz's face once again turned in towards you, handing you his glasses before he smushed his face against you. "This doesn't feel safe, what about your seatbelt?"

 "Fuck it." His tired voice muttered softly before hugging onto you again. A chuckle sounded from both the front seat from Matt and yourself.

 "You've ever seen him this tired?" You asked curiously, looking at the rearview mirror, his eyes meeting yours quickly before looking back at the road and then started talking.

 "Once or twice, sleepovers. Oh and sort of the one time I called him in the middle of the night once. Didn't see him but... yea."

  "Yeah."

 "He's a really good guy." He stated, his voice more serious than just a second or two earlier. His eyes stared at you in the rearview mirror until he had to glance back at the road.

 "Yeah, I know, he really is." Car rides with the members of the tripod in general apparently proved to be really stressful. This felt like an almost more serious version of Eli's earlier interrogation. Although you knew there would be nowhere near as many questions. This was Matt asking you about your intentions. His eyes observed you as much as he could. You in response tried to keep his eye contact without feeling like you were somehow 'backing down'. Or whatever one may say.

 "Is he asleep?" He then questioned, you offered a shrug in return at first before leaning back a little as you did back in the hotel room. This time his arms didn't pull you back to him, his eyes were closed and his face completely relaxed. Adorable.

 "It seems so, why?" This felt like standing at a cliff's edge and looking down at the long drop down. You trusted Matt, mostly because you knew the kind of trust that was between him and Klitz, but you trusted him nonetheless. He wouldn't want to hurt Klitz and therefore this wouldn't, couldn't, hurt in the slightest.

 "Do you love him?"

 "I... what?" You chuckled out in shock at the question. You'd expected a serious question but not that question. As if anyone could expect that to be the question. You'd figured that it would be some serious question... But that? Well, that certainly shocked you. If anything you'd almost wished he'd rather asked you about your intentions like Eli had earlier. Intentions suddenly seemed a lot easier when phased with the alternative of talking about the matter of love with your boyfriend's friend.

 But now you were here. Mostly just glad that Klitz's head was still in your lap, something to ground you. Although you'd instantly taken your hands away from playing with his hair. Maybe just somewhat worried that Matt would ask another shocking question and you'd accidentally yank Klitz's hair and wake him up.

 "Do you love him? He seems to love you." Well, that was a bombshell. But also a big relief.

 "I... Yes."

 "Good. I'm glad he met you." Was that it? Was that supposed to be all there was? His demeanor changed slightly back to the more playful casual way he'd been before, a small smile whilst looking at you through the rearview mirror. Meeting your eyes that just looked at him sort of disbelievingly, eyebrows furrowed.

 "Thank you? That... why ask me that though? Out of all the things you could've asked me."

 "Eli has his questions, I have mine."

 "You sound like- a fucking character in a mafia movie?" You scoffed back, a small laugh bubbling in your throat from the absurdity of it. "Did you know that you love Danielle like two months in?"

 "We moved together to DC like two or three months after just meeting." Matt chuckled in response. Right. She'd moved with him when he moved for Georgetown... That's risky. Sweet. But risky.

 "Right. I guess that's a yes then. I just... I wasn't prepared for that question. And... I haven't told him yet... obviously." Even though it had been clawing at your chest the past few days. You'd never pictured yourself as someone who'd say it 'early on'. But who's to say when it is too early or the right time in general. But... not now. For a while longer you'd keep your... 'secret'.

 "I won't tell him... I think." He responded, thankfully a jokeful tone in the small addition.

 "Dude." The 'dude calling' had gotten contagious apparently as it slipped out of your mouth in response. Matt laughed in response as he was parking the car.

 "We're here now," Matt announced and turned in his seat to look back at you and Klitz, although still keeping his voice sort of light due to the sleeping boy in your lap.

 "Thank you, Matt." You said with a smile before jostling Klitz a little, although still feeling jostled yourself by the conversation you'd just had with Matt. Klitz laid himself on his back, stretching a bit before he even opened his eyes, and started grumbling a little. Running your hand through his hair before placing his glasses carefully back on his face. Remembering a time that you'd accidentally poked his eye... you'd felt guilty, though most of the guilt you felt was for laughing. "Good evening."

 "G'morning."

 "Not quite. We're at the dorms though. C'mon baby."

 ~~~

 The next morning you'd all agreed to meet up in town, find somewhere local to buy breakfast, and explore the town. Eli had stopped with his countless questions, Matt was acting as if he hadn't asked the question he'd asked yesterday... although that was fair. It was obvious he didn't feel like it was a big deal for him to ask that. He just wanted to know something and so he asked it. He just wants to protect Klitz and so... he's trying to.

 But throughout this morning you found yourself asking why the fuck they'd decided to visit during the winter. The place was covered in snow and ice, you all had to bundle up in clothes, and since Eli had spent all of his time in Los Angeles lately... he was not at all used to the cold. In fact, the first store you went into was mostly to force Eli to buy a scarf, as he himself refused to admit that he was freezing, although accepting the scarf very easily for a guy that was 's-swelt-t-tering and sweating' and totally not freezing his balls off.

 New Haven is quite beautiful. Even though it was a snow-covered obstacle course of trying not to slip on the icy sidewalks at the moment. 

 Seeing a place through someone else's eyes for the first time was weird. Showing people the city you've by now sort of gotten used to. The sidewalks you've walked for a couple of months, exploring or just on a usual route to something around town... they don't feel as fresh as they used to. But now you're sort of seeing it again. Getting to appreciate it all a second time but through their eyes. It wasn't that long ago that you came to New Haven and you definitely didn't feel like you knew your way around the whole place quite yet but you'd still gotten used to it all.

 You'd linked one of your arms together with one of Danielle's and tried to talk separately for once. Which worked for the most part, except that Eli apparently has pretty good hearing and nudged in every once in a while. Danielle was asking mostly about school, thankfully. You didn't know if you could go through another interrogation about who you are or how you feel without slipping into an existential crisis.

 She'd asked you what you studied, how it was, if it was hard, if the whole college thing felt right. "I've been thinking of starting college. For a while now actually. I just... haven't pulled the trigger." She explained with a seemingly nervous chuckle and a small shrug.

 "What are you thinking about studying?"

 "I don't know exactly. Journalism maybe? Or philosophy, it seems... fun?" Danielle intrigued you, she wasn't as easy to read as Eli mostly was or as open as you felt Klitz could be. But she wasn't one of those people who keeps a wall up for their own safety, full of sarcasm or jokes that would shield them. She seemed genuine most of the time, although definitely having a knack for teasing and making her boyfriend flustered a lot. "Either way it'll be somewhere in DC."

 "Don't want to be away from your loverboy, huh?" You teased playfully and nudged her with your shoulder, thankfully she chuckled. It was hard to be the newest in this whole dynamic, but Danielle seemed to understand that. She'd been new at one point too... although from what you'd heard from the group yesterday her introductions to the group were quite the spectacle. It wasn't the slightly more awkward process of trying to fit into a group slowly and somewhat desperately, trying to find the boundaries, the unofficial rules, trying to get to know what kind of jokes they're comfortable with.

 So that somewhat joking question had been... well it had felt risky anyway.

 "I really don't." She admitted softly and pretty quietly, a way more sincere answer than you'd expected in that moment. Your head quickly moved to look at her directly, almost trying to study her whilst still trying to come up with an answer.

 "That's wonderful though, isn't it? Being... hooked?" You questioned back, a sense of both hope and slight nervousness in your voice, Danielle's eyes met yours, and gave a small nod. Your eyes returned to the path in front of the two of you. Klitz and you still felt... new. And all of this going on in just your first term at Yale? You were really hopeful about it all, who wouldn't be with someone like Klitz. But it also felt terrifying in a way. Although a lot of people describe love as scary don't they?

 "That's the perfect word for it isn't it? They've caught us. In the best way possible." She sighed keeping her voice rather hushed, making you realize that the two of you had kept your voices somewhat quieter, both of you apparently not wanting the boys to hear everything.

 "Yeah."

 ~~~

 "So Danielle never got the interrogation thing did she?" You asked Klitz, your hand in his lightly swinging between the two of you. You were all walking over to the bowling alley, you'd been trying to find something to do and remembered the bowling alley and thought 'why not'. You'd been talking to Danielle for the most part that morning. Talking about college, the guys, and just generally telling each other stories. But after a while, you'd just wanted Klitz next to you. Wanted to warm your hands on his and to see the slightly red cheeks that weren't from being flustered but just the cold.

 "No."

 "Okay. So... why me though?" They hadn't asked any more questions thankfully and it wasn't as if you were voting for the interrogation to suddenly switch to Danielle but you were curious.

 "Well everything happened quickly with Danielle I guess? And me and Eli got to meet her like just a while after Matt met her. You're my girlfriend. Different situation. Also, they were only hearing on and on about-" Klitz was quick to answer, almost rambling through the entire explanation before cutting himself off mid-sentence. His voice had for the most part sounded so serious until the very last word. As if it all was just there and logical.

 "About?" You asked with a smirk, already knowing where it was headed.

 "Well... they were- hearing... about... about... I have no way out of this do I?"

 "I don't think so no."

 "They were hearing on and on about you. Since we met. And Eli got really curious." His voice was still sort of urgent, straight to the point but he was clearly trying not to smile at you as you looked at him with a grin and adoring eyes.

 "I've been talking a lot about you too, you do know that right? Also... I think it's cute that you've been talking about me." You reassured him and raised your joined hands to press a kiss against the back of his hand.

 "Good." He sighed out of relief, you'd figured that he'd know that by now. That he'd know how smitten you were with him.

 "I need to show you that more, huh? Show you how much I care about you?" You wondered softly, slowing down until you stood fully still. Thankfully the rest of the group didn't notice. You looked at him and tried to analyze. Klitz had been really sweet with the way he showed his affection, if anything somewhat cliche, giving you his sweater and the grand gesture of the study room. You weren't someone to hold back on affection, especially not towards Klitz, but maybe it just wasn't as... visible. At least not to him. But you wanted him to see it. You needed him to.

 "N-no, I mean... I know."

 "You do?"

 "I think so."

 "Well, I want to make you sure of it, okay? I really really care about you." You told him, not a single waver in your voice, which felt almost shocking even to yourself considering the cold winds that rushed by that afternoon. Klitz nodded sheepishly and kissed you, squeezing your hand in his and letting his free hand rest on your cheek whilst he kissed you. It was a quick kiss but one that felt like it meant a lot more than the few seconds it lasted.

 ~~~

 The bowling sort of went as expected. Eli wasn't the best at bowling but when it went well you were not surprised that he was the kind of person to holler and jump up in the air. And although having heard about Matt often looking smug, this was an evening that showed you just how long a smug smile could last, the answer is 'way longer than anyone should be able to look cocky'. But Danielle was the only one who was actually really good. All of which honestly did not surprise you at all.

 You'd seen Klitz bowling before, although he was definitely putting more effort into it this time. The last time both of you had just tried to have fun, almost aiming for the bowling lane gutter for all it mattered. But this time his friends were there and he was trying to at least beat Eli it seemed.

 This was nice. All of the time spent with them had been nice too but this was... well you'd sort of settled in. You weren't as anxious, you'd gotten to sort of speak with everyone alone and you were having fun. The thought of them leaving the next day had popped up in your head from time to time which didn't bother you all too much, you had only met them yesterday and if all goes to plan you'll meet them sometime again. Might even have the courage to talk to them when they call whilst you're hanging out with Klitz.

 But with that thought of them leaving there was a sort of accompanying thought of how Klitz was going to leave campus in just about two weeks. Sure you were going to leave too but... it was just the thought of actually parting for the first time.

 You knew you'd have to spend more time apart than just some day when you've been too busy with studying or something alike. You knew that you wouldn't be able to just spend all of your time around him and there would be times when you couldn't just take a small walk over to his dorm room to see him. Besides the winter break was almost nothing compared to the summer break. Although... you'd figured that summer break would be easier to meet up during. Perhaps get to visit his home town for a few days or him yours.

 But that was months away.

 After bowling, which Danielle won by far, you'd gone to dinner and after that gone back to the hotel room you'd all hung out in yesterday.

 "So, any plans for tomorrow?" Matt asked making everyone look over at him. There hadn't really been any mention of the last and upcoming day but here it was.

 "We're leaving at like noon, dude." Eli was right, it wasn't like they would have a lot of time or anything. It would have to be something small if anything at all.

 "We still haven't seen the campus." She was yawning as she said it but Danielle was right after all. It almost felt ridiculous that they had been almost everywhere in New Haven this morning except campus. After all, that was where you and Klitz spent more time than almost anywhere else, you even live on campus. Most of your life is played out in those gigantic ridiculously old and extravagant buildings and you hadn't really even thought about showing it to them. Although you'd definitely been excited during the first moments on campus, glancing around at those ridiculously old buildings... but you hadn't really thought that they'd want to.

 ~~~

 "So the university was founded in 1701, which means all of these buildings are old as shit." You presented it in a nice tone as if you were a real tour guide. Although the words signified the complete opposite. "That's the library we study in the most I guess. The ol' standard. Which means if anyone needs to find me in the upcoming week or two... that is unfortunately where you'll find me."

 The final examinations before winter break were coming up, there was some time left but you still felt as if you had a lot to study.

 "And probably me too," Klitz added on with a small sigh, at least he would be at your side. Although he would be majorly distracting it would be nice. To have that comfort that he could give you just an arms-length away or so.

 The tour consisted of showing where you'd usually hang out, where your dorms were, and so on. But it didn't take long for the time you had to run out. Thankfully, Matt, Danielle, and Eli had packed that morning, checked out, and made it so you'd be ready to drive Eli to the airport when it was needed. And it was time.

 "This was completely worth it," Eli told you all before starting to say goodbye to everyone. The visit that had been planned and made just because of you had been 'worth it'. Which was... pretty nice to hear. You'd seemingly made a good impression, made the visit fun enough even if it was mid-winter season, and sort of in a way gotten his 'approval' even though you probably didn't need it, it was nice to have. "Klitz, don't screw it up." was the last thing he said before heading off, not completely seriously but still seemingly meaning it to some degree.

 Klitz flipped him off behind his back. Not wanting to chuck out an even just somewhat joking 'fuck you' in the airport. Matt and Danielle drove over to the very parking lot where you had first met them two days ago, although it felt way longer away than just that. All of you getting out of the car to say goodbye before Matt and Danielle would head off on their long road trip back.

 "So, this is it, huh?" You questioned with a sigh, your lips pouting a little at the thought that the weekend you'd dreaded so much beforehand but had enjoyed way more would officially come to a close.

 "It's not the end of anything you know, we're friends now." Danielle teased and hugged you, parting from you before adding on with a chuckle "Or as Eli said, we've clicked." rolling her eyes at the statement herself. You groaned playfully and rolled your eyes as well. "You have to call me, okay?"

 "Hey, my girlfriend," Klitz said, his voice seemingly completely devoid of any joking tone although making the rest of the group laugh as he pulled you gently by your shoulders into him before hugging you to him from behind.

 "Cute." You told him quietly and wrenching your head as to be able to place a kiss on his cheek.

 "Let me say goodbye to your girlfriend, dude." Matt huffed with a laugh and shook his head. Klitz squeezed his arms around you for a second before he slowly released you from his grasp so you could say goodbye to Matt. Hugging him too. Klitz having hugged Matt already whilst you were saying goodbye to Danielle, hugged Danielle shortly before returning to your side. The two couples facing each other.

 "This feels... weird." Klitz's voice was just slightly whiney, "We're going to see each other in just two weeks."

 "Yep, but just like Eli said; This wasn't about you Klitzy, it's about her. We're not seeing her in 'just two weeks'. So this is us saying goodbye to the two of you and hoping to see you again soon." Matt explained as if it was obvious whilst he walked around the car to the other side to get to the passenger side, directing the last 'you' of course specifically at you. Danielle quickly got into the driver seat, although keeping her door open, whilst Matt lingered a bit just at the opening of the passenger side door.

 "I hope so too." You responded easily, knowing that it was completely true. You really wanted to see them again. Hopefully, however, in warmer weather and not hanging out as much in a hotel room.

 A disorganized chorus of 'bye!'s later and they were off.

 And with just about two weeks until Klitz would be too.

 ~~~

 The reading period for finals had started just a day before Klitz's friends visited which meant that the time they were there was supposed to be spent studying... Not that you minded. But you obviously hadn't been studying during that time, so whilst your and Klitz's friends at Yale had started and were already off at space rocket speed into their studying you felt like you were starting at snail pace. Your brain jumbled and disorganized.

 But by Thursday, the day of your first examination, you felt like you were up and running. Thank fuck. Then it was just all about getting through it all.

 Klitz had spent nearly all of that time alongside you. And although you'd been right that it would be really distracting to have him there whilst you were trying to focus on studying... it wasn't the first time you'd studied together and if anything it helped to have him there. Be able to take a break together, get food or coffee whenever you were low on energy, or just simply be able to look up from your course literature or notes and see him. See his lightly furrowed brows and almost pouting lips as he stared down at his own course literature. Klitz has a serious focusing face, albeit you would rather call it cute.

 And even if it was distracting... you were really happy to have him there. It sort of felt like doing it all as a team. Even though you actually only had one exam together.

 The last two weeks of being at Yale were... exhausting mentally and emotionally. Your brain frazzled and tired by the time all of the winter examinations were done. The last day of school so to speak. And despite that you'd tried to convince yourself it wouldn't be a big deal... it kept popping into your head that you would be parting from Klitz at the end of the two weeks.

 It wasn't as if it would be the end. It wasn't as if you couldn't call him like every day if you'd wanted to. It wasn't as if he'd forget about you during a small winter break that would feel like it would be over in a heartbeat... But it kept popping into your head, annoying you. Even if it wasn't some big deal or anything you felt you had to worry about or anything like that... it just kept going.

 Until it was the day. The two of you at the airport, Klitz's flight to California being the earlier of the two separate flights to separate places. You'd been there ridiculously early. Both of you stressing although there was plenty of time. So you spent it goofing around in tax-free. Buying way too many snacks, getting lunch together at the ridiculously priced cafe, running through the airport, and getting sour looks from the security guards.

 But then it was time to stop playing around. You walked Klitz to his gate and suddenly you didn't know what to even say.

 "I- I... I'm going to miss you." You muttered, feeling as if you were unintentionally doing puppy eyes at him. Pleading without truly meaning it. Perhaps pleading with another purpose than to get him to stay. Bringing your hand up to sweep his bangs to the side, although unneeded because of the way it already naturally swung to the side nowadays, for the last time before next year. "I uhm..."

 "I'm going to miss you too. I... I love you." He clearly hesitated at first to say it but he seemed so confident with it. The same feeling that had been clawing at your chest, constantly wondering if he was feeling the same and there he was so confident about it. "Are you going to say something?" His voice was pleading as he placed a kiss on your forehead and hugged you tightly, but you still stood there just in shock. Your lips and brain together fumbling to say something, anything in response. You knew what you wanted to say but then the boarding was starting and suddenly he was walking towards the doorway. Your mind, heart, and entire body panicking.

 "Klitz!" You suddenly shrieked, thankfully not too loudly but enough to catch his attention to be sure. You walked over to him in a rushed pace, your lips pressed together anxiously, coming to a stand as close to him as you could.

 "I- I... I love you too." Stumbling a little at first but getting it together enough to say it with what you hoped was enough conviction to display that you truly meant it. Hugged him tightly again and before you absolutely had to leave you kissed him one last time. "You better call me when you get home." You grumbled the addition nervously, your eyes once again gone back to pleading. Klitz nodded and smiled at you, making you almost automatically smile back at him.

 You'd said it, he'd said it... It was said.

 "I will, I promise. See you next year?"

 "See you next year."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N - Dramatic 'I love you' scene... I don't know... it felt right?? I honestly have no clue if Eli would be one of those guys to like not admit if they're cold even if they are but I think he is. 

#klitz x reader #klitz the girl next door #klitz #klitz x you #Klitz stuff #paul dano #Paul Dano Stuff #paul dano x you #Major Conveniences #IHaveNoClueDude

[tropes-and-tales-archives]

Silver Linings, Chapter Nine

Word Count:  2884

TW:  Talk of domestic violence and stalking.

AN:  Part of a series.  The series masterlist here.

Rafael clenched his jaw so hard that his teeth nearly shattered in his skull.  He read through your file, and he felt an inhuman rage fill him for your ex who had made your life a literal hell.

He saved a margin of the rage for himself.  Everything that he’d been doubting about you suddenly made sense:  your unwillingness to talk about your past, your lie about being in Portland, your constantly ringing phone and how sick you looked when it did.  Opening your door with a baseball bat.  Being obviously overqualified to be an admin assistant.  Your broken fucking bones that still hurt you to this day.

He flipped through the pages in the file.  Liv filled him in and told him how Rollins had corroborated nearly everything you had told them.  

“She was sure that there weren’t any case files in California,” Liv told him.  “But someone was looking out for her.  It was all there.”

It was.  He read it all again.  It was like traveling back in time.  Your interview with Rollins and Fin.  The paperwork from your original restraining order, and the notice that it had expired.  Then came all of the stuff from California.  

A police report from San Diego P.D. detailing the arrest of one Mark Talbot.  A copy of the medical report on your broken arm.  The resulting charge of simple assault, a joke of a misdemeanor that resulted in a five hundred dollar fine.  The ADA in that case didn’t see – or didn’t bother to see – the restraining order.  Rafael doled out a margin of rage for that ADA as well.

Two reports from Stanford – one from the local police, one from university police, both with the same story.  The local charges were dropped, despite the concussion.  The university charges amounted to a recommendation to the student counseling center.  

Then even further back, to your hometown in a tiny town north of Sacramento.  An unpursued case where your father had gone to the local police about the bruises that were turning up on his only daughter.

That part you had left out of your interview with Rollins – you had told her that the abuse started after high school, but it clearly had been before that.  Maybe you had repressed it, or overlooked it, or convinced yourself that it was something other than what it was.

Rafael couldn’t stomach most of the pictures.  He stared at the one of your ex for a long while – a clean-cut all-American type with a strong jaw and handsome features, save for the dead eyes that glared back from the photo.  

There was one of you that he looked at for a long time too.  You were young – fifteen or sixteen – and you were sporting a black eye.  Rafael covered that side of your unsmiling face with his thumb, and suddenly he could see what you’d looked like when this nightmare started.  Just a kid, heartbreakingly young.

Did you even know what a relationship built around love felt like?  Rafael didn’t think it was likely.

He saw Liv out of his office and sat for a moment to get his emotions under control.  Then he took that familiar walk down a floor and down the long hallway to Callier’s office.  He didn’t know what he was going to say, but he winged it plenty of times in the courtroom.  He’d figure it out as he went, and “I’m sorry” was as good a place to start as any.

You weren’t in your usual place, though.  Instead, the smirking assistant who’d covered before, Henry, was at your desk.

“Rose is in court,” he said without preamble.  

Rafael cleared his throat and clarified that he was looking for you.

Henry shrugged.  “Out.  Monday flu, I guess.”

-----

Rafael left, taking a half day and probably shocking everyone at the courthouse.  He didn’t care.

He rushed to over to your place, and he imagined every bad thing that may have happened to you.  He imagined you murdered, or hurt, or kidnapped by your psychotic ex.  

The reality was more mundane.

He hit the buzzer to your apartment, and for a long stretch, there was no answer.  Finally, though, he heard the click and shush of static that let him know you were on the other end.  Listening, but not talking.

“Hey.  It’s Rafael,” he said into the intercom.  “Can I come up?”

A beat of silence, and then your voice, tinny across the line.  “Why?”

“I want to talk to you,” he replied.  

Another stretch of silence, but then the front door clicked as you buzzed him in.

At the top of the stairs, you were already waiting for him, half in your apartment and half in the hallway.  You couldn’t quite meet his gaze, and Rafael knew why.  He hadn’t spoken to you since your outburst in his office.  Now that he knew why you reacted that way, he felt twice as bad about he’d responded.

“Are you here to make sure I’m really sick?” you asked a little petulantly.  “Seems to be below your paygrade.”

He reached out to lay a gentle hand on your arm, but you flinched away from his touch.  He sighed and let his hand drop to his side.

“Can I come in?”

You bit your bottom lip and then nodded.  You stepped aside to let him in, and he turned to watch you lock the door. There was a new deadbolt there, an accusing shiny silver against the dull brass of the original locks.

You were still in your pajamas – a pair of wrinkled cotton shorts and a shapeless t-shirt that strained a bit around your breasts.  Your disheveled hair hung down past your shoulders, and you looked exhausted.  Rafael looked around your place, and the cheerful little nest had been transformed into something infinitely sadder.  Your blinds were drawn and the air was stale with the odor of old take-out.

“If you’re here about that day in your office, you should know that I already apologized to Amanda.  And I went to my supervisor and told her what happened too.  So you don’t have to.”  You stood in front of him with your arms crossed, but you still wouldn’t look at him.  Your eyes skidded past his face and settled somewhere behind him, over his shoulder.

Rafael shook his head.  “That’s forgotten.  I wanted to see if you’re okay.”

Your face screwed up in confusion, and he added, “Liv came by my office today.”  A pause.  “To discuss your case with me.”

Your confusion was replaced by something between despair and anger.  “I…I told Amanda there was no case.  To keep the D.A.’s office out of it…”

“I know.”  He cut you off, and he reached out to lay his hand on your shoulder.  This time, you didn’t flinch.  “You wanted a paper trail in case something happens to you.  I saw Rollins’ notes.  I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

“There’s no case to prosecute,” you started, but he cut you off again.

“I’m not talking as an ADA.  I’m talking as a…a friend.”

You looked at him finally, and he could see the exhaustion in your eyes.  “Is that what we are?  Friends?  Because you dropped off the radar pretty fast after, like, two dates.”

“I know.  I - ”

“This some hero thing for you?  Now that I’m a damsel in distress, it’s fine for you to come strolling back?”  You shook out of his hand on your arm and went over to your couch, plopping down gracelessly.  You ran your hands over your face and then peered up at him.

“I misunderstood some…signs you were giving,” he said.  He came over and perched beside you on the edge of the couch.  “I should have talked to you.  I thought maybe there was someone else in the picture.”

You gave a bitter laugh.  “There is someone else in the picture.”

“I know,” he said again.  “I’m sorry.”

You shrugged.  “You don’t have to apologize.  It’s just the way it is.”

Rafael reached out a tentative hand, and after a moment’s hesitation, you reached out to take it.  “Has anything else happened since you talked with Rollins and Fin?” he asked gently.

You pointed with your chin at the coffee table in front of you.  “I’ve been keeping a log.”

Rafael reached out with his free hand and picked up the legal pad.  He read your neat block printing the litany of harassment since Friday night.  Dates and times and notes:  hang-ups from a blocked number, emails from temporary accounts.  Another note, this time taped to your front door.  

“What did the note say?” Rafael asked.  He tried to keep his voice even, but he felt his rage from earlier rise up again.  

You released his hand and reached for a book on your coffee table – a library copy of Bulgakov’s “The Master and Margarita.”  You flipped it over and slid an envelope out from under the back cover.  You handed it to him.

Rafael opened it, and he could smell the cloying musky perfume that your ex had sprayed on the other note.  This one, though, was a piece of blank paper folded around a picture.  It was a photo of a lake and its surrounding landscape.

“That’s Camp Far West Lake,” you told him.  “We used to go hiking on the trails around there.  Camping, too.  My dad owned a cabin near there.”  You paused, and Rafael watched you draw your scarred arm against yourself, unconsciously protecting it.  “He…he told me once that it was a good place to hide a body.  Mark, I mean.  Not my dad.  It’s remote.  I thought he was just joking at the time.”

He tossed the photo and envelope back on your coffee table in disgust.  “We need to give all of this to Liv,” he said.  He looked at you, took note of your dark circles and almost imperceptible trembling in your hands.  He turned to face you, and he reached out to take both of your hands in his.

“Listen, you can’t stay here.  He knows where you live, and he’s escalating,” he started.

“I know that.  There’s nowhere else to go.”  You shrugged tiredly and tried to smile, but it was wan.  “I’m making plans though.  I guess I thought he’d get tired of me, or that I’d be able to hide in New York City.”

Rafael’s ears perked up at the mention of you making plans.  “Are you thinking of running again?”  He looked at you hard, and you glanced away, refusing to make eye contact with him.

“You can’t run,” he admonished you.  “He’ll find you again.  You need to stay here.  I won’t let him hurt you.”

That bitter laugh again.  “There’s no case…”

“Fuck the case,” he growled.  “SVU is the best, and they are on it.  We can keep you safe.”

You shook your head as he talked, and he kept reassuring you that nothing would happen to you.  You dropped your head then, still shaking it, and it wasn’t until he heard you sniffle that he realized you were crying, and trying to hide it.

“C’mere,” he said gruffly, and he reached out and pulled you to him.  Aside from incidental touches – tentatively held hands just now, brushed fingertips when you handed him his messages, gentle bumps into each other when he walked you home after Valentine’s Day – Rafael had never really touched you before.  Now, with his arms around you in such awful circumstances…you were rigid against him, awkward.  But he held you and rubbed soothing circles on your back, and you eventually yielded against him.  He kept holding you as the dam inside you burst and a lifetime of tears came forth.

*****

It wasn’t an ideal situation.

Of course, you always wanted to seem cool and collected and cheerful around the man you’d just recently had a crush on.  Of course, nothing in your life ever turned out the way you wanted.

You had wanted to be a lawyer.  You’d been in one of the most prestigious programs in the country on scholarship, but that hadn’t worked out.  

You had wanted to get married someday, have a kid, vacation in the same little cabin in the woods that you’d vacationed in as a kid.  That hadn’t worked out.

Finally, you had moved to New York and wanted just a little life for yourself, something tiny, nothing more than a library card and the occasional show and walk in the park.  That hadn’t worked out either.

Your entire life, you had recalibrated, from big dreams to little ones, and not a single one had worked out.

Now you were sitting in a tiny guest bedroom with your suitcases as Rafael bustled around you to put an extra blanket on the bed beside you.  

“It’s small, but you’re safe here,” he said.  “My building has a doorman, and my apartment door has top of the line security.”

Ideal?  More like embarrassingly bad.  You were exhausted, though, and Mr. Barba – Rafael – was excellent at arguing, and his points had made sense as he listed them out to you.  His building had better security.  As an ADA, he had access to a secured car service.  You worked in the same building.  He was already compromised as a prosecutor, so he could serve as a witness if and when you had a case that could be pursued.

Of course you agreed – how could you resist his points, let alone his bright green eyes? – and he had helped you pack.  When you protested that you should change, he had only tossed you your coat and said that you could shower at his place.  Now you were installed in his guest room, grimy in the same pajamas you’d worn all weekend, and he was acting like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Thank you,” you said softly.  

He sat down on the bed beside you and sighed.  “We’ll figure this out.  You don’t have to run anymore.”

A long pause.  “I owe you.”

He made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat.  “You don’t owe me a single thing,” he said.  He paused, then added, “Although, if you want to help set me up a Netflix profile, that would be nice.  Because I have someone’s log in information but she was very clear about not messing up her algorithm.”

You smiled and glanced at him shyly, and he was smiling back at you.  “I can probably help you with that.”

“Good,” he replied.  He leaned into you, jostling you lightly in a playful shove.  “Because there’s a police procedural I’m dying to watch.  Or maybe some ‘Ally McBeal.’”  He stood up.  “Why don’t you go shower and change?  I’ll order some take-out.  What do you want?”

You shook your head, still smiling.  “You choose.  Whatever is fine with me.”

*****

While you showered, Rafael ordered Chinese, then called Liv to update her.  He made a note to speak with Callier in the morning too – the more people who knew about the situation, the better.  

He knew he had to tread lightly.  He didn’t want you to feel beholden to him, or obligated to him.  As much as he liked you, he kept that at bay.  You needed action now, and you didn’t need anything complicated by a new relationship.

He just wanted to keep you safe until he could figure something out.  In truth, his feelings of infatuation had disappeared and been replaced by something more tender.  If he could, he’d lock you in his apartment forever, where no terrible men with their heavy fists could ever hurt you again.  He could just bring you Russian novels and bargain Valentine’s Day chocolates, and you could sleep in his guest room forever, and all he’d ever want is to hear you laugh again, or to give him a smile that didn’t look sad or tired.

But he knew he didn’t really want that either.  He wanted a life where he could take you back to that little café in the Bronx, where you could meet his mother and abuelita, where he could take you to a Broadway play and a nightcap afterwards.  

A life where he could show you what a relationship built around love and not fear could be like.

You both sat on his couch, eating lo mien and spring rolls.  You were scrubbed clean, your hair still damp, and you were in clean pajamas.  You had set up a profile on Netflix for him (smiling faintly, which was a start in Rafael’s eyes).  He had turned on some show about superheroes.  Rafael watched the screen but stole glances at you from time to time. You seemed a little revived – cleaned up, relaxed in a safer place – but still subdued.

“I can feel you watching me,” you finally said, your eyes focused on the screen.  

“Everything’s going to be okay, you know,” he replied.  You did a thing with your head, halfway between a nod and a shake, letting him know that you weren’t so sure.  

He repeated it to himself in his head:  everything’s going to be okay.  He thought it over and over until he started to believe it himself.

#rafael barba #rafael barba imagine #rafael barba x reader #rafael barba x you #law and order svu #law and order svu fanfiction #tropes-and-tales

[therelentless]

Oh, immortals held long grudges. Or short ones. It's one or the other--probably the latter this time. As the expertly coiffed blonde woman stands in the doorway, reality swelling and bubbling around her like a carbuncle of madness. (Ew.)

She points one pink, polished fingernail at the vampire. "Nandor the Relentless! Look upon what thou hath--" hast?-- "wrought!"

Her voice echoes as if from the bottom of the well. Wallpaper peels. The floors creak, even as the boards become soft and spongy, ready to suck him down into the basement.

So, basically it's a Tuesday night.

With a twitch of her free hand, a tablet materializes in the room, bobbing and floating toward him. It doesn't stop until it's hovering in front of his face, though it... keeps bobbing just a bit, as if to say 'hah hah! Behold!' The screen reads: 'INISIDE THE LIFE AND DEATH OF TOBY DALTRY', and yes, that is a picture of Toby with his "twin" brother smiling back at him.

"CANCELED! MY PROGRAM!" Blonde hair writhes about her face; she rises from the ground, still pointing that j'accuse-ing finger at him! "GO FLIP YOURSELF, NANDOR!"

[externalconceit, sideblog to themckaytriarchy for the 'why I hate you' meme.! ... RIP Toby. And "Bran". ... I am sorry for the absurdity.]

Tell my muse why you hate them ;; @externalconceit

"Not this shit again." He rolled his eyes in exasperation as a series of events happened right after another all around him without being able to do anything about it. He did try to reach for anything that would allow him to keep his feet firmly set on the ground before they ended up in the basement, but everything felt so soft and slippery(?) that he didn't stand a chance. With Nadja and Laszlo away, he really thought that tonight was going to be a quiet and peaceful night, but how wrong had he been.

Now in the basement, Nandor slammed his hand hard upon the table before him to force it back onto the floor so he could look at the screen better. He stared at the picture that was being shown to him, but with him being so bad at remembering faces and names, it took him a while to recognize the man. It had been such a long time ago, but it finally clicked. "This was your favorite show? No offense, but it wasn't that good to begin with." Why didn't she spend her time watching something else more interesting instead?

"Anyway, let's clarify things here. First. Rude. Second. Hello, nice to meet you too. A knock on the door would have been enough. Third. That television renovation guy. Hey, that was all Laszlo, my housemate? yeah, not me. I didn't even call those guys in! and Nadja, my other housemate, was the one who ate the guy. None of that shit is my fault, I was just... kind of there really."

#externalconceit #{ electronic letters } ;; !ask

[fi-fitz-flynn]

The First Assist {Self Para}

Prior Reading:

How could I refuse? {Self Para} Hiding In The Shadows {Flynn & Smee} In The Dark Corners {Self Para} Trust {Self-Para feat. James}

Timing: Late November.

Everyone had their assignments.

Gil and Leo were both in place as potential bidders.

Holley although not on active duty watching the comms and being their eyes in the ceilings. 

James outside, coordinating the strike when they were given the signal.

(Sorry Jake wasn’t technically here at the time)

Flynn, he was using his alias for the last time.

Behind the scenes Flynn watched everyone now, it was easy to tell who was in the know and who thought this was just another black market art dealer.

Those were the ones rushing around, making sure every artwork was the correct one, that the line up was correct and the information was readily available.

The others had buyers lined up. A price already set. They didn’t need to double check anything. They couldn’t, what they were fencing wasn’t something they could check on without blowing their cover.

Smee was here, Alex was here.

The buyers were flooding in and the crackle of his ear piece signaled that Gil and Leo were both inside.

Pushing off the wall, Flynn knew his assignment. The low level fencers, that’s who he was gathering information on.

The actual agents would handle the big guns.

Flynn walked by the couple other fencers in the area as they conversed lowly. 

Mikey and Lola, Both new to the scene but focusing on illegal magick items. Truly green if he was able to find that out while walking by them. It was almost a shame knowing they would be arrested while they were green.

Whoops. He should be using the RAS thought process. They were getting a new start after they just started on the wrong path.

Actual bullshit in his mind.

Texting as he walked he sent off the information to Holley, adding quick pictures for the file, for the arrest.

The next person was Alex, the person who got him into this. He had to wonder if she knew what she was doing, what she had gotten into.

Probably.

But this was Alex- an old contact that had helped him out before, and while he didn’t want to. He had a soft spot for her. She had always been good to Flynn though. 

She smiled at him as Flynn walked toward her, starting to speak, Flynn shook his head slightly as he pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. Pressing it into her hand walking right past her and not looking back. Not when he felt her eyes on him, not when he heard her heels click as she got out of there.

James would see her leave, the cameras would catch it too, but he knew she could escape. She always managed to.

And she would burn that paper. She had to.

Flynn didn’t know but just as this life burned into nothing he had to imagine that would burn along with it.

That’s the last of them. They are closing the doors.

We need some proof they are purchasing it while knowing what they are, or else we only have them on purchasing illegal paintings.

That was Flynn’s job. The records were here. The pre-set deals, who the auctioneer had to close quickly on once it hit a certain price. Give or take 50,000.

He had to find it before someone could burn it as the raid started.

Slipping past everyone, Flynn headed toward the back room as everyone headed to the front and he could hear the auctioneer start his speech.

Getting into the office wasn’t hard, find the safe, even easier. People needed to stop putting them behind paintings and only having one painting in the room- for an art auction house too. It was kind of pathetic.

Neither here nor there.

Getting to work on the safe, Flynn twisted the lock of what was supposed to be an impenetrable safe and yet he watched the pins fall into place without pressing his ear against it. Thankfully considering the way his heart beat so loud and so fast he could barely hear the agents in his ear.

The first two pins locked in.

Anyone could walk in and he’d be dead before anyone could help him, before anyone would know.

The third pin followed.

Something could be going wrong right now and Flynn wouldn’t be able to do anything, if he left without the list, he would have ruined everything.

The fourth pin fell in place.

This was a hell of a lot worse than just being the getaway driver. That he could do. He could leave anyone behind if needed, and yet- Flynn now was in the heart of it, He would be the one left behind.

The last pin fell in place and Flynn ruffled through all the paperwork taking pictures as Holley advised sending it immediately to their system.

List is copied, Putting everything back and heading out.

Flynn stated simply, putting everything back the way he found it and slipping back out of the office.

Good Job Rider, now get backstage again so one of us can arrest you when we get in there.

I swear if someone tackles me. I’m fighting back.

Please do.

Rolling his eyes Flynn did what he was told heading back stage watching as each painting went out.and came back being sold.

Waiting it out though had Flynn questioning how cool it was to be an agent. Waiting around doing nothing? 

Bullshit.

Go Go Go! Last painting has been sold.

Flynn barely heard the wording as doors slammed open and screams rang out. Instinct had Flynn jumping up and moving toward the nearest exit alongside Mikey and Lola when James and other agent kicked open a door, guns pointed at them.

“Down on the ground! Now!” 

Flynn hesitated the same as the other two but as more agents flooded the place, the other two slowly lowered to the ground and Flynn followed suit.

“Oh Happy day.” An Agent from London grinned snapping the cuffs onto Flynn. “Always a good day to put away those that help others get away with this stuff.”

“Mikey Strutham, Lola Pierce, Nick Holden. You’re under arrest for the tracking of stolen artwork, forgeries and illegal magick goods.”

Good job there Flynn. Keep it up a little longer. I promise we won’t let you stay in handcuffs for too long….Maybe.

Flynn rolled his eyes as person after person was marched out and put into cars. 

It was over, he was alive and he had helped put away some people.The items would be returned however best they could be and illegal dealers were off the street. 

The world was just a little bit safer, but Flynn knew the truth because these guys would just be replaced and it would start over.

Of course that was neither here nor there. But right now?

Mission Classification: Success

#self para #//again one shots that I should have written before Flolley kiss

[tolbachik]

Hi! Sorry for not sending an ask yesterday, I got caught up in school work, but luckily I’m all caught up now :D

I try to get as much sun as I can when I get the chance. Luckily the sun rises right before I have to walk into the building, so at least I get to watch that :]

Thank you so much for your kind words! Sometimes I can kinda lose sight of how far I’ve gotten since I first started learning. It’s kinda weird, but I can’t exactly put into words why I like Latin. Like, have you ever been drawn to something for no explicable reason? “It scratched an itch in my brain,” is the best way I can put it lol. It just sorta clicked haha

Also yeah, we use the Cambridge Latin Course :D The characters are always so memorable. My friend group was obsessed with Bregans and Grumio lol

I’m glad to know I’m not the only one who gets intimidated by the scale of things sometimes! Still, being able to see Andromeda through a telescope seems really cool! I’ve only used a telescope once or twice, but it’s a way different experience than seeing a picture of it. You realize just how real all of it is. Do you have any favorite things about astronomy? Favorite planets, galaxies, phenomena, anything really :D

I’m glad to hear you’re excited to check them out! I hope you like them. :D I always find it really comforting to see musicians helping each other, it’s sorta like a reminder that there’s good in the world, y’know? It probably sounds a little parasocial, but it just makes me happy to see them happy haha

Also, I’d love a copy of the extended release, if it isn’t too much hassle! I could also keep checking YouTube, it seems like things like that seem to just pop up and then go back down at random haha

I do a little art here and there. I can definitely relate to having a lot of ideas, but not the time or energy to create them haha. I do a little writing, but more research style stuff than narratives. I’m always rotating an idea for an essay around in my head, but I always drag my feet when it comes to actually writing it lol

By the synopsis of your novel, it sounds like something I’d really enjoy reading! I’ve always admired sci-fi writers, it takes a lot of creativity, skill, and knowledge to be able to craft a story like that! Once you finish the book I’d love to read it, if you’d be comfortable with that. What would you say is your favorite part of the writing process? I know some people prefer worldbuilding, while others enjoy crafting the narrative more. Do you prefer one over the other, or do you like something other than one of these two? :D

Sorry again for not sending yesterday’s message! I hope that you’re doing well, and that you have a great day/night! :]

- 🎲

Hello again, no worries! Both anons, please take all the time you need in between asks, ok? It's ok if you can't reply ASAP; I totally understand! Also, I hope your work went well for you! Aww, that's good at least! I know it can be so rough without it 😭 Of course, I'm so happy you found a passion like that and stuck with it! What do you think you'll do once you get through this next bit with it? Oh yeah, I absolutely get that. It's weird how the mind works, but hey; at least you're enjoying it! Those books were the best! I'd like to try to find ours again at some point, I loved learning more and being able to understand more of the story, it was always so exciting! Oh god, I almost forgot about Grumio, Bregans too! Me and my sister liked Quintus and Clemens (who we actually had a cat named after!), and haaaated Salvius from what I can remember lol It's all very hard to comprehend, and when you're forced to reckon with it, it can be so unpleasant! I agree, though; seeing stuff up close is really exciting, even if it is a little scary at first! It really does help you realize that everything is, well, real like you said. When I first saw Jupiter through my telescope, it really was so different from just seeing a picture! Also, personally? I really love Uranus and its moon system, Venus, Mercury, and Saturn and its moon system as well! I don't really like too much outside of our system aside from a few stars, mainly just because of the whole scale thing again lol. What about you?

Thank you again; I appreciate it! I've gotten into a bit of a musical rut, so between you and the other anon, I'll have a lot to get through! And I totally get that; it's nice to see other people happy! It's not an example of musicians working together, but one of my favorite musicians is a good example of seeing other people happy. In a lot of Norma Tanega's songs (like here), you can just hear her smiling as she sings, and that always makes me feel so happy too!

Of course, no hassle at all! I'll keep that in mind for after all this, then. I'll get it uploaded to my dropbox for you after all this!

Ooh, nice! What sort of essays do you like to write? Back when I was in school, I loved writing essays and doing all the research for them. Actually, what other sort of things are you interested in? I'd love to learn more about you! Aww, thank you for the kind words! Sorry again for not sharing much; it's something I'm incredibly passionate about, but worried about showing to the world yet. It's hard sometimes, y'know? And, y'know, I'm actually going to be looking at getting beta readers a few months from now! It'll be once I reach a decent spot, so I'd love to pay you to give some feedback! Ooh, my favorite part? That's tough! I think researching, as well as just letting it marinate in my mind. I don't like not writing, but in the times where I can't write much, it's really refreshing to just run over concepts and ideas I've had. Sometimes, I get big breakthroughs that way! Just recently I was struggling with how to tackle life at the extreme ends of the poles, but after doing a little research, I think I finally got a few leads. It's nice just letting things end up where they end up, y'know? Thank you again for the lovely ask, I really appreciate the time and energy you both put into these. I mean it; it makes my day! Please take care, take all the time you need, and have a great day tomorrow! Talk to you soon!

#my posts #asks #cube #🎲 #srs23

[woobieiscool2]

9/18/22

I finally had my "big cry" I've been wanting

Finally after weeks of feeling down, I had an outburst. I wrote two separate notes that night. I don't want to read them again just now because I like having original thoughts and a clear mind when I write. I'm not sure what brought on the big cry. It was probably a combination of getting in bed at 9 on Friday again because I couldn't say no to a favor, thinking of how my one in a million chance to see you didn't happen, and being exhausted from the night before. I'm not even sure if I mentioned it in any of those notes, but I drove for a night out to meet someone in your city. Ever since I found out about that show, I was just looking forward to that tiny chance of seeing you, so many scenarios in my head and that reality probably being one billion parallel universes away from the one I'm in.

I expected a sense of relief crying, satisfaction from finally letting go, but it just kept going and going, the tears dripped everywhere and hardly had time to go cold from the next ones running down.

I've been so cold today, all day. Coldy oldy again. I must've clicked on your picture 100 times today. Well, picture of your dog, not you. Nothing changes for me. My new hurtful thought has been how I'm being "ignored" and how you could do it so easily. But that's just my mind hurting me again. I know there must be a reason. You have a good heart. My chest pain hasn't gone away either. It actually got me to workout the day after my cry, that Saturday. I ran in the morning after putting it off for so long and making excuses. I felt really good after. I smiled and worked on things to keep my mind occupied. I still thought of you a bit and wanted to talk to someone about you some more. I only really want to talk to you. I saw a lot of my family that day, and I had some big laughs, but I still felt awkward around everyone. I didn't feel like drinking and was getting anxious to go home at the end of the night. All day today I've been so tired and sleepy, and now I'm in bed and that's gone away. Right now I'm extremely frustrated at not being able to go out on Tuesday night because of something that got scheduled without me knowing. I want to go out that day and see my friend I've made and maybe make some more. It's so hard to talk to people. I think the little window into your life really really made me miss you horribly. I can't see anymore and it just hurts. I don't want you to think I'm a psycho, but I also don't want you to think I'd be willing to quit so easily. But at the same time, it must be so so frustrating if you're already with someone and I'm just pestering. I wish you would just tell me so or at least something.

I was thinking of the box I kept of our dates. My "🖤 box". I think that's the first time I've written your name in any of these notes, well at least written and not erased immediately. I remember the first thing in there was the movie ticket to Easy A. That was our first date together as girlfriend and boyfriend, sweet spot was just our date and the same night I asked you. I just accidentally wrote "Judy" instead of "just". That was one of our little typo jokes. It ended up being our codename for your mom. From time to time I think of her as well. Not in the same way of course, but just wondering how your family has been too and if you've mentioned anything about my messages to you to your sister.

Maybe in time you'll want to say something back or read what I said if it's not already gone. I don't know, it's been so long since that first message already. But like I've said there's so much dumb hope in my heart. All the coincidences I notice bring me back to this place where I'm at.

I'm very sorry. I wish I knew what to do.

I'm feeling like I might get a headache, so I'll stop here. All I did was stare at my phone waiting for you again. Hopefully one of the alternate universe mes got an answer. I'm sorry