#(least until tomorrow where I decided it is Not It)
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What You Deserve Part 10: It Counts
Masterlist: Here
CW: None
Tag List: @littlered0000 @saramelaniemoon @ali-r3n @sapphire4082 @sweetmoonlove0214 @eddies-girl-22 @darknesseddiem @peaches-roses-sins @blckburd @comeonatmebruh @daisy-munson @cultish-corner @mrsjellymunson @aol19 @micheledawn1975 @2000babies @marshmallowgem @ang3lc @angelina16torres-blog @transparentenemypenguin @alilstressyandlotdepressy @josephquinnsfreckles
A/N: I know y’all will enjoy this one and I’m very happy with the progress you and Eddie are making in this whole situation you two have got going on✨
“Did you have a good time tonight?” “Of course…I always have a good time with you..but you know you don’t always have to bring me flowers right?” “Well that’s the thing…I figured you’d eventually mention which ones you like the best and I’d just get you those but…you say every single bouquet I get you is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen so…I can’t stop until I find your favorite…” “you could just ask me what my favorite flower is?” “Where’s the fun in that?” “Well don’t let me ruin your fun then…but these…these are top three for sure.” “Really? Okay…tulips are in the top three…I’ll remember that.” “So…uhm do you want to come…uh inside?” “Right now?” “Uh yeah? Only if you want? I don’t-” “I’m sorry I didn’t mean for it to sound like I don’t want to…I just have an early morning-” “it’s okay…I get it…uhm can..can I ask you something?” “Of course…what’s on your mind sweetheart?” “Do you find me attractive?” “Excuse me?” “Like…do you…think I’m cute?” “Cute?” “Yes?…” “No…cute is for jr high school crushes…you’re beautiful.” “Oh..uhm thank..you.” “I’m sorry I clearly don’t make that known to you enough…I’ll work on that.” “You don’t have to uh tell me I’m like…beautiful all the time it’s..okay but uhm so…if you think I’m…pretty or uh whatever…how come you…haven’t tried…anything?” “Tried anything?….oh…ohhhh right…well I just didn’t know that was something you wanted from me?” “I just assumed it was part of the…arrangement?” “And if it wasn’t? Would that…change things for you?” “No no it wouldn’t change anything I was just wondering if that’s something…uh…you wanted…out of this?” “Sweetheart you should know me well enough by now to at least know out of all of this I just want to make you happy…you just have to help me learn how.” “But would…that…kind of stuff…make you happy too?” “Uh..yes.” “Why’d you hesitate?…you hesitated with the yes.” “I didn’t want to seem too eager but yes…I wouldn’t mind that kind of stuff being added to our…relationship but please understand I do not want you to do anything that will make you feel uncountable or that you’ll regret okay?” “Okay…I understand.” “Good.” “We can take it slow…like you hold my hand a lot now so maybe we can uhm…like kiss? Sometimes? Maybe?” “Are you trying to ask me to kiss you?” “Yes…does it count as our first kiss if I had to ask for it?” “I’ll let you decide after we kiss how does that sound?” “Sounds-” “Sorry you just kept biting your lip and-” “it counts…that totally counts…holy shit.” “It was good then?” “Shut up you know it was good you did that hand thing.” “Hand thing?” “Yeah you grabbed my whole face with your big…nice..warm man hands and kissed me…I need to go take a shower…can I get one more? For scientific purposes?” “Well yeah…anything for science.” “God how do you just…kiss people like that?…you’re so not fucking real…” “goodnight sweetheart…I had a great time tonight.” “Goodnight Eddie…text me when you get home please.” “I will.” “See you tomorrow?” “Sure I’ll stop by the Video store and bring you some lunch.” “Perfect.” “You want another one don’t you?” “No…maybe?…yes..” “last one then you’re going inside and getting ready for bed.” “Wait till I tell Steven how good of a kisser you are.” “Goodnight baby…” “goodnight Eddie.”
#what you deserve series#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson au#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson series#eddie munson social media au#sugar daddy!eddie#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson x female reader#eddie munson x fem!reader#Eddie Munson x fem!reader fluff#Eddie Munson#stranger things fanfiction#stranger things au#stranger things series#my little dungeon master baby
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Hybrid! Heeseung
Chapter 4: Don’t ignore me.
Pairing: Hybrid! Heeseung x reader
Warnings: really angst (might hurt a bit), Jealous h Heeseung, cussing, Heeseung gets slightly violent, angst to fluff (kinda), reader adopt a new hybrid, mentions of bleeding, mentions of Heeseung pushing reader, mentions of Heeseung punching and hitting the other hybrid. Suggestive behavior and language.
I called him again, no response. When I first met him he was so quiet and sweet, would never hurt anyone. Why did he change? Is it my fault? was I being too strict? No.. he knew, he knew and didn’t care.
So why should I care?
I wipe my tears, I head up stairs going into my room seeing him already laying down. I lay down next to him trying to avoid any contact whatsoever, he didn’t deserve it after treating me like shit. I turn onto my side, the silence and coldness felt like daggers stabbing me deep on my chest.
I close my eyes in attempt to brush it all off, maybe if I rest and he rest tomorrow will be better?
You go back to your room, Heeseung’s is already laying down facing the wall. You crawl back to bed quietly attempting to ignore Heeseung. It feels so cold, so empty.
This isn’t my fault… I didn’t mean to make him mad. I was just worried..
You thought to yourself.
A couple of tears slip out, but who cares? You shift around until you find a comfortable position, somewhat close to Heeseung. Enough to feel his warmth.
You fall asleep after. Wasn’t the best sleep of your life for a fact, but it’s better than not resting at all. At least, it was still going to be the weekend so school wouldn’t be stressing during this situation.
10:32 a.m
You slowly wake up, your eyes burn after crying yourself to sleep last night. Heeseung is gone again. But at this point it’s not like you can do anything about it now.
You sit up on the bed and rub your eyes tiredly. You kinda stumble getting up, as you grab onto the nightstand for support. You whine in pain as your head start hurting.
You walk downstairs, seeing that Heeseung is no where to be seen. You feel a slight pain in your chest but what is there you can do? You can either call Shuhua to ask if she has Jungwon with her or just let it go.
But then, a plan comes onto your mind. Make Heeseung jealous and treat him like he treats you. Yea it’s harsh, but that’s how he will learn.
12:06 p.m
You just got ready to head out. Head out where? Obviously, the hybrid shelter.
You make it to the hybrid shelter right when they opened. You enter and start looking around.
Should I get another hamster or maybe.. an exotic one? A fox? A black Panther? Hmm..
You look around near the exotic enclosures. But this one, this one black panther calls your attention. But the problem is, that he is known by Heeseung. The day you went looking for him, you saw this panther. This exact one. You decide to purchase the black panther. He’s shy and very introverted.
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His tail tucked between his legs as you walk him towards your car.
“ You know where Heeseung is. Don’t you?”
You ask the hybrid. He immediately starts getting nervous. Shaking his head rapidly. It was obvious he did know, I mean, how else would’ve he gotten caught and brought into this shelter?
“It’s okay, Heeseung ran away. Guess he doesn’t love me anymore, huh?” You chuckle slightly knowing this hurts you inside.
The hybrid seems to actually listen to you, hope he doesn’t turn out to be like Heeseung. Hope he is kind and won’t betray me.
“Whats your name anyways?” You glance at the panther from the driver’s seat.
“Riki.”
He says, his voice barely above a whisper but so deep.
“Okay, Riki.”
His ear softly twitch at the use of his name, he glanced over at you.
“I should let Heeseung go, right? I mean isn’t that what he wants?”
Riki shrugs. “Maybe he just.. doesn’t like being looked over.”
“I wasn’t even being strict.” You roll your eyes. “But can I tell you a plan?”
“Go ahead,” says Riki.
“Im planning on making Heeseung jealous. Maybe that way he will turn back to me.”
Riki nods and smirks
“I got you. He has always been jealous over everything that is his”
For some reason, your cheeks burn up. His? He claimed you as his?
2:12 p.m
Yo and Riki have already planned this out, Riki knew when Heeseung would come back. He could smell him near. That hamster smell made his pupils dilate.
“Is he near?” You ask.
“He’s walking down the hallway towards the door.” Riki answers.
Riki pulls you into his lap, you blush. You both pretend to be watching a movie or something. As you both hear the door open. You both look towards the door.
Heeseung stands there, clearly confused and jealous. The scene of his owner on some other random, no, not even random. His closest friend on his lap made Heeseung’s blood boil.
“Riki? What are you doing here?” Heeseung asks with a cold voice.
“I got adopted by this beautiful girl. Why? Something wrong?” Riki is playing along so well.
“She’s my owner. So she shouldn’t be on your lap.” He steps closer.
Riki is about to say something but you cut him off. “Stop arguing. It’s annoying. Heeseung just go out like you always do. Shouldn’t even bother you this much.” You glare at Heeseung. It was clear those words hurt him, his ears made it hard for him to hide his jealousy, anger, and sadness.
“I don’t care. Get off of him.” He demands.
“You don’t tell me what to do Heeseung.” You say back.
“Fuck off Heeseung.” Riki jumps in.
Heeseung looses it. He walks towards you and Riki pushing you off him roughly. He grabs Riki by his collar and punches him.
“Heeseung stop!” You yell pulling onto his arm to try and stop him from hitting Riki. That doesn’t stop him though, he pushes you away again. You fall to the ground as you keep yelling at him to stop but you slowly start passing out realizing that when Heeseung pushed you, your head hit the edge of the sharp table. The last thing you saw was Heeseung hitting Riki one last time before turning to look at you and you looking at you hand covered in blood from your head.
You half out after a seeing heeseung run towards you in a panic.
5:47 p.m
It’s been a while since you passed out. You woke up from the deep sleep touching your head and feeling something around the wound. Bandages. You look around for a bit and see Heeseung laying next to you no the bed.
“Heeseung?..” you barely whisper. He slowly opens his eyes and smiles. “You’re okay..” he says.
“Where’s Riki?” His ears slightly move down as you apparently didn’t care much about him but cared a lot for Riki.
“He’s sleeping. And you? Are you okay? I’m sorry. I lost control.” He says sadly. “It’s fine, I shouldn’t have made you jealous on purpose.” You apologize.
“It was on purpose?” He looks at you with a bit of an annoyed face. “I’m sorry I just wanted to make you feel how a felt.” You whisper.
“I know I was a brat. I just don’t like being told what to do.” He whispers in you ear as he pulls you closer.
“It’s fine, I Guess i was being too protective that I forgot you were wild.” You chuckle a bit. Heeseung smiles and kisses your cheek. “But is Riki okay?” You ask kind of concerned, “I said he is fine.” He says kind of cold. “Okay okay, calm down I was just asking. He’s still my pet after all.” You roll your eyes.
“Wait. You actually adopted him?” He frowns a bit. “Yea? What’s wrong? Isn’t he your friend?” You ask with a raised eyebrow. Why does Heeseung seem to be jealous over his friend? I mean, aren’t they close? “That little black panther. He will try and take you away from me. He has always done that. He’s such a bitch-“. “Hey!” You cut him off. “I’ll train him okay? Also don’t say bad words. Watch your language and respect.” You place a finger on-top of his lips.
With a smirk, he grabs a hold of you wrist and kisses your palm. “Either way, he won’t ever take you away. I already claimed you.” He whispers into your hand as he stares deep into your eyes.
“What do you mean?” You ask confused. “Do you not remember, darling?” He smirks, his eyes turning dark with lust. “R-remember what?..” you seem to be getting a bit nervous. “That night. The night I made you mine.”
That night.
That night, that you wanted to not be brought up again after.
“We don’t talk about that.” You look away with a flushed face. “Why? Is it because you get wet just by thinking about it? Or because you’re embarrassed that you let a hybrid claim you from inside out?” He travels his free hand down to your waist.
“Shut up.” You say kind of mad and annoyed. “Or what? You will punish me? I’ll like to see you try.” He leans closer. “Ugh you little..” you get up and out of his embrace.
He chuckles and lays back down. “Aren’t you too hurt to get up?” He smirks, why is he acting like a jerk now. “I Can do what i want.” You snap back, even if your vision was kinda blurry.
“Alright, princess.” He says putting his arms behind his head and resting. He looks so vulnerable right now.
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You make your way to the guest room looking for Riki. You spot him laying down on the bed, his eyes close and his lips slightly parted.
You sit down next to his sleeping body. He seems to react to the movement, slowly opening his eyes and looking at you with a smile.
“Well hello there.. care to tell me what happened earlier?” Riki says with a sleepy voice.
“Shouldn’t you be the one explaining?” You say.
“What did he tell you know? That I’m stealing you from him? Don’t believe him, he always says that. He’s manipulating you.” He sits up, putting his weight on his elbows.
“No.. he didn’t tell me anything.” You look down kinda alert, who is lying? Who is actually trying to save you?
“Well just know, that I’m always listening. I’m the best option you have. Heeseung has always used his first appearances to lure people. But no one knows his real identity. I mean, yeah he looks like a cute hamster. But there’s more to that little sweet hamster everyone talks about.”
Now, you’re completely lost. Your head hurts trying to figure out who is right and who is trying to trick you.
“Alright.” You say without looking at him, getting up and leaving the guest room trying to connect the dots.
While pacing around the living room, you jumbo into a tall person, Heeseung.
He smirks and looks down at you. “What’s wrong? Who got you thinking so hard now, Hm? He places his hands on your waist as he pulls you closer.
“Nothing, just school work..” you purse your lips together and nod. “If you say so, princess.” He lets go of you.
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Riki later comes out of his room, he seems.. fine? No more bruising. “What’s going here?” He says with that deep voice.
“Talking with my owner.” Heeseung seems to squint dangerously at him, like as if he was sending a signal to Riki to stay away from you. “Your owner, huh?” Riki scoffs. “I’m pretty sure she chose me.”
Riki grabs your arm and pulls you away from Heeseung into his chest. You gasp kinda.
“The hell is your problem, Riki?” Heeseung raises his voice.
“My problem? Do you mean, your problem? Who are you to trick this beautiful human into using her.” Riki presses you harder into his chest.
“Im not tricking her. She’s mine. Let her go.” Heeseung approaches you and Riki, ready to grab you back.
“She’s not yours. She’s mine now. You may have had that connection with her and marked her, but mentally and by heart, she’s mine.” You can feel Riki’s breath and heart beat speeding up.
But what caught your attention the most was, how did he know you and Heeseung did that? “How did you..” you look up at Riki confused. “Know that Heeseung scented you inside out? Or more like breed you? He told us.” You cuts you off. This answer makes you extremely confused and embarrassed.
“Us??” You say with a low tone. “Don’t listen to him, Y/N.” Heeseung says. “Why Heeseung? You don’t want her to know how you talk about her?” Riki says in a cold tone, in like a dare me voice. “What..?” You say.
“Shut up, Riki. You don’t know anything. Now, give her back to me.” Heeseung seems to be loosing his temper again. “Riki please.. clam down.. Heeseung clam down..” you say scared. Not wanting them to fight again.
They both turn to look at you, now staring at you with concern. “It’s okay, princess” Heeseung says in a sweet tone. “Baby, look at me.” Riki demands. You look at him but then back at Heeseung. You’re completely lost.
Heeseung grabs your waist and tries pulling you back but Riki doesn’t budge you out. “Don’t call her baby. She’s mine.” Heeseung growls at Riki. Riki smirks, “I’m sure she already got used to being with me. Well, before you get here and destroyed the fun.” Riki seems to be wanting to fight. But why is he lying? Does he want Heeseung to get mad again?
“Riki what are you talking about?” You look at him with a wtf look. “What, baby? About our fun night?” Riki glares at Heeseung, he seems to be wanting Heeseung to get angrier and angrier. “What fun night?” You ask again.
Riki ignores you. But Heeseung now looks heartbroken but even angrier. “That’s it,” heeseung snaps before pulling you towards him roughly, holding you tight against him. “He’s lying isn’t he? I told you he manipulated everyone I love.” Heeseung tells you but he’s looking at Riki.
“Just admit it baby, I’m better. I Can treat you better.” Riki says.
“Im her one and only, so don’t play Riki.”
Now, who do you chose? Riki or Heeseung?
I apologize for taking to long. I have been busy with testing and that stuff. But anyways. Who are y’all choosing? Riki or Heeseung????
#enhypen#lee heesung x reader#hybrid#enhypen heeseung#enhypen fluff#enhypen smut#heeseung smut#yang jungwon#enhypen niki#nishimura riki
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𝙈𝙊𝙉𝙀𝙔, 𝙈𝙊𝙉𝙀𝙔, 𝙈𝙊𝙉𝙀𝙔
Sugar daddy! Kokonoi Hajime x reader
inspired by: "money, money, money" by ABBA
Koko is bored with nothing to do, until he saw you. you were working at the bar bonten owned and he overheard you talking about your money issues. he's got money to throw around, so what the hell, why not?
TW: SMUT, cursing, sugar daddy Koko, p in v sex, unprotected sex, teasing, daddy calling, fingering (fem receiving), praising, pet names, marijuana use, gun, mentions of murder
Koko walks around the penthouse he bought for all of the bonten executives, bored out of his goddamn mind. he grabs his keys to one of his many cars.
"the hell you going?" takeomi asks as his head leans off the couch, cigarette hanging from his lips.
"out and away from y'all." he slams the door.
the drive there was only getting on Koko's nerves even more. dumbasses not using their blinker, cutting him off, you get the jist.
he parks his car and throws the keys at the valet.
he takes out his gun and points it at him secretly, "get any scratch on my car, and that's how many bullets I put in you." he says lowly.
"yes, sir!" he nods. Koko walks in and sits at the bar and waits.
you see him sitting at the bar and you start panicking.
‘shit! that's Kokonoi Hajime. calm down y/n, don't piss him off, he already looks mad.’ the thoughts ran through your head.
“hello Mr. Kokonoi, is there anything I can get you?” you sweetly say. your whole body is on fire, scared he might kill you where you stand.
“whiskey.”
“yes sir.” you turn to make his drink.
“here you are. one whiskey.” you set his drink down and you hear your phone start to ring.
“I'm sorry, I'll be right back.” you go to the back so you at least have a little bit of privacy.
“hello?”
“y-yes, sir.”
“you know exactly who this is, y/n. don't act stupid”
“please I just need a little more time. my landlord raised my rent.”
“well?! where's my fuckin money?”
the dial tone rang through your ears. you never noticed the tears streaming down your skin till you look at the black screen of your phone. you fix your face and wipe away your salty tears. you walk back to the bar and see he's finished his drink.
“I don't give two fucks. you better have my money by the end of the week or you're as good as dead.”
“would you like another drink, Mr. Kokonoi?”
he said nothing. just stared at you, memorizing your features. he gets up from his seat and leans over the bar, inches from your face and your nose almost touching his.
“sir? may I help you.” you don't pull away, scared shitless.
“how much do I owe you?” he calmly asks.
“nothing, sir. I would never make you pay in your own establishment.” you say breathlessly.
“that's not what I asked. how much do I owe you?” emphasis on each word.
“$8, sir”
“how about $8,000?” he slides his rolled up bills to you.
“I can't possibly accept this. like I said, I won't make you pay in your own place.” your hands in a surrender position by your chest.
“come on, sweetheart. be a doll and take it.” he puts the bills in your hand. “and call me Kokonoi, I have a feeling I'll be back soon.” he backs away and leaves.
those names went straight to your core. you swallow the lump in your throat as you pack up from your shift that just ended.
Koko could not get you off of his mind, especially the phone call he overheard. he has a unknown dying need to help you, but how?
that's it. he's got money to throw around and he doesn't have anything to pay anyone. he decided to visit you again tomorrow.
Koko left at the same time as last night but Sanzu was on the couch instead.
next day
“where ya goin, Koko?” he asks as he pops a pill in his mouth.
“bar.” was all he said before walking out.
“well, damn. bye.” he waves his hand.
thank the gods you were working again tonight. he turns off his car and tossed the keys at the valet like yesterday. the valet boy nods already knowing the consequences and parks his car.
Koko say in the same spot and waited for you.
“oh hello, Mr. Kokonoi. same as yesterday?” you ask while drying a clean glass.
“no, I'm less stressed than I was yesterday. I'll get a cosmopolitan.”
“you got it, sir.”
“I told you to call me Kokonoi.” he says teasingly.
“I'm sorry, it feels weird calling my boss's name so casually.” you slide the glass to him.
he sips on his drink and rests his chin on his palm. “y/n, was it?”
“yes, sir.” you put up another glass.
“not to eavesdrop but I overheard your lil phone call.” he stirs his drink.
“i- I'm sorry, sir. I got into some trouble with money and I turned to loan sharks which was a horrible idea.” you try and defend yourself.
“mhm.”
“a-and I'm trying to pick up extra shifts a-and..”
“I have a deal for you.” he looks up at you.
“sir with all due respect, a deal is how I got into this situation.” you try and lighten up.
“that's why I'm proposing this deal, y/n. I give you all the money, gifts, and anything your heart desires.” he pauses. he leans over the bar like last time and gets inches away from you. “in return, you give me yourself. your body, your heart, your everything.”
“so…” you lightly laugh, “you'll be my sugar daddy?” you awkwardly smile.
“you could say that. so?” Koko asks.
you look at his eyes, then his lips. his eyeliner so perfectly done, his hair resembles fresh fallen snow, his bonten tattoo place strategically in the lines of his hair. you look back into his eyes to give him your answer.
“deal.” you nod. he closed that gap between you two to give you a quick kiss.
“I'll have my men come here and get you, along with your things.” he turns to leave.
you stand there wondering what the fuck just happened.
since you worked the night shift, you slept practically all day. you picked up an extra shift that started in about an hour in a half. you get up and put on your work clothes and start walking to your job.
as soon as you clock in, two big ass men came up to the bar.
“are you y/n l/n?” the one on the right asks.
“yes sir.” you say.
‘this must be the loan sharks guys.’ I sigh as I accept my fate.
“come with us.” they turn around and you see at least two guns strapped to their backs. you pack your things and follow them out.
they bring you to their car and don't say a single word to you.
when you reach their destination, they open your door for you. you're wondering as to why they would do that when your about to be killed. they lead you inside and take you to the elevator.
once you reach the floor, you follow the men. one of the guys gave 3 knocks an office door.
“come in.” was heard from behind the door.
you walk in, “oh, Mr. Kokonoi.” you let out a breath you were unknowingly holding.
“you seemed relieved to see me.” he chuckles.
“I'm not gonna lie, I thought the men were sent by the loan shark to come kill me.” you laugh to try and relieve some of the tension.
“no, my dear. quite the opposite. I do have something for you to sign, though.” he slides a piece of paper to you. “what is it .” you ask.
you can only nod as your hand trembles to grab a pen. he picks his blunt back up and puts it to his lips, inhaling the contents. he waits for you to sign your name as he blows the smoke in your face.
“just a little contract. you know, to ensure that you're mine and only mine.” his eyes grew dark.
you put the pen down and look at him. he sees your signature and smiles. Koko gestures his hand to you, signaling for you to come here. you get up from the chair and walk over to him. he grabs your wrists and pulls you down in his lap.
“I'm gonna have so much fun with you, doll. you have no idea.” he whispers in your neck. your breath hitches as his lips are attached to your neck. you tilt your head up to give him more room.
his hands roam to your ass, hands never leaving your body. the red in his eyes and his pupils are addicting to look at, especially in this light. Kokonoi brings one of his hands back to your front and down to your pants. he skillfully unbuttons your jeans with one hand and unzips them.
“aww, is my baby already wet for me?” he asks as his two middle fingers graze the bottom of your panties. you can only nod at his words, your mind still in shock that this is actually happening. he slips his fingers in with such ease that he laughs at you. you whine at him as the feeling overtakes your body.
his fingers move at such a fast pace, your mind can't keep up. next thing you know, you're cumming all over his fingers.
“such a good girl for me, for daddy, right?” his tongue wrapped around his cum covered fingers, waiting for your response. “mhm such a good girl for you, daddy.” he swears he can cum just from you calling him that.
his thumb lazily circles your clit as he watches you twist and contort above him. “you're gonna have to earn your next orgasm, mkay?” strings of “yes”’s spill from your pretty lips. “sit still and sound pretty for me. I hope you can do that.” he tease. “I can, I can. mhm.”
Kokonoi kisses down your neck, chest, and anywhere he can get his lips on all while he slowly plays with your clit. “I think you deserve a reward since you were such a good girl for me.” he goes back to you neck. “but, you have to get my cock out for me, pretty thing.” only nods came from you as you slightly pick yourself up to free his aching cock.
your eyes look down at him. “don't worry, baby. I'll help you, I know it's a lot for a small thing like you.” Koko teases your nipples through your shirt. you swallow hard and nod, setting yourself back down and letting his tip hit your hole.
his head tilts back as he feels your juices slide down his length. Kokonoi rubs your clit as you sink down onto him. he praises you the entire time until your reach his hips. your legs are trembling from him, so he picks you up and lays you on his desk. “how's that, princess?” “better.”
he slowly slides in and out until the pain turns into pleasure for you. you grip onto his pearly white hair and bring him in for a sloppy kiss, hoping to distract you from his impressive length.
your whines get higher with every push he does. Koko knows you're getting close so he speeds up his movement. he's hitting your sweet spot every fuckin time he snaps his hips into you.
“I know you're close, darling, let it all out for me.” he coos. tears prick your eyes as you ride both of your highs.
your breathing gets stable and Koko gave you some extra clothes to change into while his men get your clothes from your place.
“what's the name of that loan shark you got money from?” “uhm, (random ass name). why?” you ask.
“so I can kill him for threatening my baby.”
#Tokyo revengers#tokyo revengers x reader#kokonoi hajime x reader#kokonoi hajime#kokonoi x reader#Tokyo revengers Kokonoi#x reader#tokyo revengers smut#Tokyo revengers x reader smut#x you#smut
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Hired? Or Claimed? , With Shu Yamino
Warning !
Mentions of Blood, Killing, Drugs ; Shanti! Shu ; Strangers— Acquaintence— Lovers? ; Lowkey Possessive! Shu ; Modern set timeline ; Unestablished Relationship
A/n !
IMEJFJENWIWJDFF—
before you guys say anything, Some beautiful, lovely followers, those who is kind enough to share, ..yes, I thank you personally for that 🙏🏻 I hope you have a great day.
And I wrote this, based on fanarts I've seen, and a theory I found about Shanti and Mafia being related. Whoop. Enjoy!
Also Happy birthday My Beloved Sorcerer.
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How did you ended up here?
Oh, right, it's because you have some debts to pay, but you have no money with you.
Weeks of you trying to find a decent job kept failing for some reason, it drives you insane. You never thought the day of you doing some type of dirty job will ever come.
You, who got no choice, decided to dive into the dark side of the internet, the world maybe, trying to see if there's anything, a job you can find with big earnings.
Your eyes scanned through the screen of your phone, and laptop, to see if there's any response to your post upon is there any job out there to get big amount of money without doing much, dirty work.
Hours have passed.
You were about to give up until you see a notification coming from your phone, an anonymous message, asking you, would you like some help to pay your debts?
You opened the message, to see there is more to their message. The anonymous message also included their location to meet up, you were skeptical on going to the location or not.
It could be a fraud. But you did say that any job would be fine as long as it gave you a big money in the end, you would take the risk.
After contemplating for awhile, you finally decided to check out the place tomorrow. Also, just in case, you also bought some taser, and other self protection things.
You will never know what's gonna happen when you're on your way there, the chances of you getting in danger is there. You are literally going to visit an unknown place, of course at least you need some, self protection right?
. . .
You are starting to regret you choice on coming over to the location that was sent by the anonymous person. You are walking down the dark alleyway despite the sun is high up in the sky, you looked at your phone once again to see where you're going.
And then you stopped by a building, that is quite, clean also, welcoming? Depsite other buildings that looks not so friendly for you.
You looked around one last time, and checked your phone. It says that you have arrived at the destination, you look around the door, and the walls to see if there's anything, you can press to let the person? Or people inside.
But you didn't find any, so you ended up knocking on the door. There was no response at the first 5 minutes, you knocked again. There is also no reponse, third time is a charm, right?
You were just about to knock again and the door swung open, revealing the person standing behind it. They tilt their head slightly, scanning you from head to toe. "You, .. You're the person who needs their debt to be paid?" You blinked, and slowly nod your head.
"I was, the person in [ ... ], asking for a job— you reached out to me in my dms—" "Oh, come in, I will escort you to his room."
You followed the person, looking around the place, it's very japanese vibe, you can see some of the furnitures, walls, doors are built like a Japanese old houses. Not to mention the sweet scent scattered around the place, you noticed that the person took you to the deeper side of the building.
And then they stopped, knocking by the door. Speaking something in Japanese? Not long after you heard a voice coming from behind the door, the person turned to you—
"Inside, he is waiting for you."
He said as he took a step to the side, and slowly opening the door for you. You see a figure inside, though vaguely, since there is a curtain separating you and the person inside.
You stepped into the room, and the door closes behind you. You bit your lower lip as you look at the person behind the curtains, it didn't really let you see exactly how the male looked like. All you can see is just his silhouette, and it's also vaguely too. You can see them because of the dim lighting from his side, you then heard footsteps behind the curtain.
"I heard from my underling you needed to find a job?" His honeyed voice echoed throughout the room, tickling your eardrums with his voice. "Y, Yes, I need to pay my debts— and, I couldn't get any decent job so—" Before you can finish your sentence, you heard a low chuckle from his side.
Made you who had been fiddling with your fingers, and looking on the floor as if it was the most interesting thing in the world, finally looked up.
And then you noticed that the silhouette is standing so close to you, making you inhaled sharply upon the realization how close he is.
"I can give you a job, a simple one even, as long as you don't get caught. You are going to be fine." He said, making you sweat upon his statement, what does he mean caught? What job is he going to offer you? "I'm, I'm sorry but, what job am I working on—?"
"Delivering drugs." He casually said and then the next thing that happened, there is suddenly a gust of smoke slips through the curtains— making you instinctively stepped back, "Don't worry, for now it's just a simple delivery in town." He added.
Is he trying to convince you to deliver drugs for him right now? "Well? It's just a simple job after all," He walked away and you then heard some ruffling from his side. "About your debts, you don't need to worry, they will be paid entirely, guaranteed." He said, now you're contemplating even harder.
So in exchange of delivering drugs for him, you get your debt paid entirely. You stood there for a good minute, trying to think if you should take the risk or not. If you're caught then you'll end up behind bars, and that is something you wished that rather not happened if you actually decided to deliver drugs for this man.
"Okay, Y, you just want me to deliver drugs right? In town?" "Yes, so this means you're accepting the offer?" You bit your lips, you closed your eyes— "Yes.. I accept your offer, you will pay my debts, right?" "Yes, your debts will be paid, don't worry." You heard another low chuckle coming from his side.
"Well, then, I look forward for how you're doing," He hummed softly, you then smelled a sweet scent coming from his side. "You better don't do anything weird, reporting to the police or such, or you will get the consequences.
And I believe you wouldn't like it the slightest, well then, good luck, new recruit."
. . .
That was 6 months ago, a lot have happened in that 6 months, there was up and downs. But one thing for sure is that your boss, who's called as Shu Yamino. Kept his words, he paid your debts. Everything was paid after your 3 months of working with him, the drug package is getting bigger and bigger the longer you work for him. And the range of you sending the drugs had gone further from your first month working, it went outside the town. Even countries.
And right now, you're on your way back to meet with Shu, you just got back in town from going abroad to another country to send off some drugs, how did the drug manage to go pass the scan? Only God knows how. At least the drugs are sent away, and delivered safely.
The moment you arrive at the building you are greeted with blood trails, making you quite concerned. But then you remembered what Shu said—
"If you ever see blood in the building, anywhere. Ignore it, your job is simply delivering drugs, you don't need to get yourself involved into other things."
He said so on your first month working with him, and that got your heart skipped a beat thinking about it. That means there is some fighting also, killing? Maybe? Involved in this damn place.
Even after 6 months, you still getting goosebumps on thinking about the bloodbath happening. You took a deep breath as you continue stride forward, trying to ignore the blood trails. But you can no longer ignore them when you realized the blood trail leads to Shu's room.
Did he got hurt?
You pondered upon the thought, you slowly knocked on the door, you heard shuffling inside the room, and after awhile you heard a familiar voice coming from the other side.
"Who is it?" He asked, "It's me" You replied, he then went silent, you know that his silence meant that you can go inside. You slowly opened the door and stepped inside, the smell of iron strokes your nostrils as soon as you went inside.
You never really see how Shu looked like, only some of his underlings saw him, but most of his underlings never saw him personally. That is including you.
You took a deep breath, "The drugs have been delivered," you started off, you didn't hear anything from him for a good minute. "I see, good job. You can take a few days off, you've done well the past 2 months." He said and then you heard another soft shuffling from his side.
"... Um," You blinked, stared at his silhouette behind the curtain. "I, Know you said that I shouldn't get involved in other things other than delivering drugs—" You spat out, "But I can't help it— Are you, okay—"
He did not say anything for a good minute, making you start to regret asking how he's doing. But the next thing you knew you heard footsteps coming closer, and closer and closer.
Eventually you see his silhouette right before you, the one that separates you is just the curtain. "The blood, is the reason why you're worried, no?" He asked barely in a whisper, you hesitantly replied— "Y, Yes.."
You don't know how long this silence had been going, but then slowly you saw his hand go through the curtain, his slender fingers reached out to you from behind the curtain. Silently inviting you to go to his side, you stared at his hand, you don't know where the courage came from—
But you placed your hand on top of his, he then slowly pulled you through the curtains. And you finally can see who you're working for—
Shu Yamino, his raven hair, his piercing purple eyes staring down at you. "It is not my blood." He said, he didn't let your hand go, but you didn't even realize he' still holding your hand.
You couldn't get your eyes away from his eyes, it's so, beautiful, also, tantalizing. It made you feel like you're getting hypnotized, "Are you okay?" He chuckled softly as he dangerously leaned closer to you.
"Huh? O, oh!— I, yes- I'm, okay—" You felt embarrassed upon staring at the man oh so shamelessly, he is your boss! And you just shamelessly stared at him.
He is pretty, you can't really blame yourself upon seeing his, beauty. You looked away from him and took a step away, only to realize that his hold on your hand tightens. "Where are you going, hm?" He asked in a whisper, he then pulled you closer.
The next thing you knew, he blew out some smoke to the side, before he looked back at you. His eyes narrowed slightly, seemingly annoyed with how you stepped away from him.
"I— No where—? I, I should go back home—" You were about to pull your hand away from his hold, only for him to pull you even closer to him, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you in. "Are you scared?" He asked, his face is right beside your ear, whispering huskily at your ear.
"Why are you trying to run away from me?" He asked once more, making your whole body shiver. "I, I don't know—" You replied, you then felt his hand on your lower back, pulling you in even closer than before. Making your hips pressed against his, his other hand brushed against your hair, kissing the tip of your hair as he leaned closer to you.
"Sweet.." He whispered, you realized that his clothing is painted with red, not too much but you can smell the blood iron stroking your nostrils due to how close he is to you. "Sweet..?" You repeated—
"Your scent.." He hummed softly, the next thing you knew, his face buried at the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent.
You don't know what's happening. There is so much happening within a span of a minute, making you confused. Why does he act like this? You never really talked much to him, other than reporting. You two do have small talks before, but it's not much since he seemed to be so busy.
But from what you heard, Shu knew how his underlings looked like, despite them not knowing how he looked like. "I am curious, ..." He whispered, "how long you will last" he added, you then felt his lips brushing against your skin. Making your body shiver once more, "What, ..do you mean?" You asked shakily, trying to breathe properly.
"Not many of my underlings stayed, they either died or getting captured." He added, "But you at the other hand," he sighed. "You handled your job very well, you never underestimate the work that is given." He continued, his hand on your lower back gently moved up and down. As if he's trying to soothe you.
"... I'm sorry, You can leave now" He said, but before literally letting you go, he planted a soft kiss on your neck before stepping away from you.
"You can forget whatever happened just now,
Or..
You can stay. Your choice."
©fakesimp . 2024
A/n !
How are you feeling with the ending JWNSHHWHEHED, I don't know how to end it. But i feel content with it heheheh.
Also Shu Yamino.
How dare you be hotter. That is a crime.
#nijisanji en x reader#nijisanji en#nijisanji x reader#nijisanji#luxiem x reader#luxiem#YaminoBirthday2024#shu yamino x reader#shu yamino#➴ fakesimp writing for you#fakesimp writing
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Appointment went pretty well this morning, other than dozing off because I've been up since way too early. Debated stopping to buy potting soil on the way home but decided against it since it was already getting hot. Finally brought this week's mail in; got some prints I've been waiting for and some pleasant (and not so pleasant in one case but still good) letters. Planned to go through more things before the donation pickup next week but realized I'm not in it right kind of headspace so shredded papers instead. Now my allergies are mad at me and making me regret it.
#tomorrow morning i shall resume sorting through boxes#at least until the heat kicks in#then i shall spend the afternoon sorting through buttons and putting them in jars#there are so many buttons...#some are way older than i am#both my grandma and my great grandma sewed and did crafts so i inherited so much stuff#maybe now that I'll have a space set up soon i can start making things again#definitely need to get my partner to go through some boxes this weekend#they wanted to keep certain things to send to friends kids but they haven't decided what yet#there's officially too many boxes stacked up blocking where i need to get to so they've got to start looking#i also need to make a list of things to start researching since one of the letters i brought in changes a lot of things
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i cleaned my apartment today :) ignore the vent in the tags.
#my family is coming over the day after tomorrow and im going to have a fucking panic attack#i dont know when theyre leaving#i dont want them here#i was told that they were going to visit two weeks ago and i thought they booked acomadation but no they decided that FOUR EXTRA PEOPLE can#fit in my TWO BEDROOM APARTMENT#I THINK MY APARTMENTS SMALL#im going to have like the biggest meltdown#i know theyre staying until at least saturday#BUT I ALSO WORK#i dont want to give them spare keys i dont want them to stay in my place#i dont want them here!#and to top it all off theyre probably going to show up TO MY WORK#WHERE I AM OUT AS TRANS TO MY COLLEGUES#AND THEY ARE GOING TO DEADNAME ME THE ENTIRE TIME#i will only get a break AT WORK#im going to have a fucking panic attack#i am currently writing a letter to come out to them but i cant deal with them
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hiii 😭 I REALLY LOVE UR GOJO X YN SO MUCHHH 😔😔 I was also wondering like maybe what if y/n has a wound, like any where 🥲 it could be either on her back, arms, legs but she doesn't wanna tell gojo abt it and she hides it, then he will find out about it either she winces when gojo hugs her, starts wearing long sleeved clothes or her shirt lifts up while sleeping 🤧 TYSMM❤❤
strain — gojo satoru x f!reader
a/n: I am honored that you like my works, love! hope you enjoy this as well 🫶💕🫶 also happy birthday to the man, the myth, the legend: gojo satoru!! (it’s still his birthday in my country so hush I am not late)
you are more than a capable sorcerer. in fact, you are one of the strongest in the field.
however, like anyone else, there are some moments where things get a little out of hand, and you come back bearing a rather long slash on your left arm.
but since it’s pretty late, you decided you will bother shoko about it in the morning. that is how you’re finally in your home, with satoru nowhere to be found.
you frown lightly at the fact that he is still out there fighting curses, but a part of you feels relieved that you don’t have to explain your situation right now.
the night should pass by smoothly, and you will go to shoko tomorrow: a fool-proof plan!
so you do what you can to sanitize the wound, and cover it until you can get it treated properly. you also take the chance to indulge in your favorite snack as a good job treat.
after finishing your food and tidying up for the day, you’re finally in bed, all-cozied up and avoiding anything touching your wound as much as possible.
a deep breathe in, a deep breathe out, and you slowly drift to sleep.
not much time passes before satoru’s familiar footsteps echo throughout the house.
your husband has an abundance of energy.
but it seemed like today’s missions have drained him a bit more than normal, so he skips eating anything and heads straight to your shared bedroom.
his heart softens, and his muscles relax upon the sight of you tucked in bed. he walks to press a small kiss on your forehead, quickly changing into his pajamas and settling right by your side.
he stretches a bit and turns to spoon you as per usual, eyes closing in contentment.
but you wince, even if adeptly, and it sends alarms ringing through his head.
he jerks up, and his hand is instantly placed on your arm again, softly. there is an ever so faint change in your expression as your eyebrows furrow, and he has never pulled his hand away so fast.
he keeps debating in his head whether to wake you up or not, but he swiftly settles for the former.
he needs to know what happened. so he, regrettably, nudges your sleepy form, “y/n?”
you groan, but, nonetheless, you reply, “…what?”
while satoru often likes to base theatrics around his every move and phrase, but he also knows when to get straight to the point, “did you get hurt on today’s mission?”
you’re no longer half-asleep, and you quickly sit up, eyeing your husband. knowing there is no escape nor denial, you fidget with your fingers and nod slowly.
then you hurriedly utter, “but I was going to see shoko first thing in the morning; I promise!”
he nods slowly, holding your hands in his own. you’re left to look him in the eyes. satoru’s eyes being exposed makes him feel so vulnerable, or at least that’s how he is with you.
you can see every wrinkle, and every crease; you can see what he is thinking about in real time. he has long given up hiding anything from you, and, besides, it feels fresh to just let go.
but right now, as you look into his eyes, you see them swarming with confliction, pain, and worry.
he doesn’t scold you about not going right now because he knows that you will tell him that you either thought it wasn’t a big deal or that you didn’t want to bother shoko with it.
instead, he settles on a hushed whisper of “can I see it?”
you throw him a confused look, “why? I am getting it treated tomorrow anyway,” then you smile, “it’s not going to permanent if that’s what you’re worried about.”
he shakes his head, “it’s not that; I just—“ he takes a deep breath then looks at you pleadingly, “just let me see it.”
perhaps it’s to silence his thoughts and to show him that you’re truly okay, as okay as you can be.
you’re still alive, and that’s what matters, he thinks. nevertheless, he feels the need to see just how serious is the wound anyway.
reluctantly, you slowly take off your jacket to reveal the poorly bandaged gash on your arm.
he looks up at you, asking for permission because even if he needs to see it for his own selfish reasons, he has to put you above anything and everything else.
you nod, giving the free reign to slowly take off the bandages. you can barely hold back any pained noises, but you can’t help the wincing of your body.
satoru’s frown deepens, and with every move, your husband’s heart aches. it goes like that until the wound is finally unveiled.
you feel satoru observing the cut so intently that you look away. satoru curses everything that he can think of, and never has we wanted the ability to heal others more than right now.
he straightens his back, “that’s a deep cut, y’know.”
“I know…”
“you also realize that the wound could’ve hit your chest and inevitably heart, right?”
you huff, “listen, if you’re going to give me a lecture or keep making me feel bad about it then I will have you know—“
“you could’ve died.”
you notice the strain in his voice, so you turn to finally look eyes with him. he looks pained, so hurt, maybe even terrified at the fact that there was a chance that he could’ve lost you.
your expression immediately becomes that of sympathy, “but I didn’t, and dwelling on the fact that I might’ve died will only bother you for no reason,” you hold his hand, “I am here and alive, aren’t I?”
your husband sighs, resting his head on your right shoulder, “you’re hurting my poor little heart whenever you put yourself in danger like that.”
a giggle escapes your lips, and your hands naturally find their way in his hair, fingers gently carding through, “whatever shall we do.”
“if things went my way then you would just stay home looking all pretty like you always do,” he states, and you roll your eyes.
“well, they’re going my way tonight, so—“ the clock strikes twelve, “happy birthday, silly boy.”
his eyes widen and he pulls away to look you in the face. he blinks dumbly then looks at what’s in your hands: a cupcake with a candle.
a wide grin of unbridled joy appears on your husband’s face. his eyes shimmer in the moonlight as he laughs, “I really didn’t expect it this time!”
“you outdid yourself, pretty girl,” he hums, hand caressing your cheek.
“I still have a lot more things for you,” you beam with pride. satoru can’t contain himself anymore, and he pulls you into a loving embrace.
“I love you so much,” he murmurs beside your ear, pressing a light kiss to the side of your neck.
you pat his back, “I love you too, ‘toru,” you laugh, “but you’re pressing on my wound, and I think I am just going to cry and not because of overwhelming love.”
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Simon having sex with reader on the Thanksgiving dinner table? Maybe he comes home from work really late to a table full of food and reader looking pretty as ever, and he decides to show his gratitude.🥴😏
Welcome Home
Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader (no y/n)
Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 2,009
Warnings: oral (F receiving), table sex, dirty talk, praise, use of "good girl", tongue clicks from Simon
Note: Everyone say "Thank you @sillylittlereader " for fueling my feral Scribs-brained behavior (Also everyone say "thank you anon" bc that addition made me literally lol). Gonna combine these two cause I caaaaaan. Happy Wanksgiving all! Hopefully yall enjoy my first attempt at full smut after many, many moons.
As soon as Simon opens the front door and steps inside, he knows he's in for a good evening.
The smell of food hits him immediately, the house warmer than usual from where you'd been cooking. He discards his boots and follows the scent into the kitchen, where he finds you milling about and putting another dish onto the counter. It joins several others, and he's quick to notice at least a couple of his favorites.
"Now what's all this?" He says with a grin. You look back at him with a matching look.
"Dinner," you say simply. "I know doing day work and training on-base isn't your favorite, so I figured I'd make a nice, big meal for you. Everything's on the counter, table's cleaned off, so all you have to do is make your plate and eat."
A warm feeling constricts Simon's chest, and he finds himself unable to resist striding towards you and pulling you in for a kiss.
And another.
And another.
As he parts from you, hands on your hips as you look at him with a lidded gaze, he realizes there's one thing he wants before he enjoys the work you've put into welcoming him home.
"I know it's technically bad form, love," he rumbles, guiding you by the hips back towards the table, "but maybe you could let me have dessert first, yeah?"
"Oh, I suppose I can allow it. Just this once," you reply with a sly grin that he matches.
With that, he hefts you up onto the table and takes a seat between your legs.
He wastes little time lifting your shirt just enough to press a few hot, open-mouthed kisses to your stomach. From there, he helps you quickly divest yourself of your pants and underwear, grabbing both and helping you lift yourself from the table just long enough for him to pull both off in one fluid motion.
When the garments land on the floor, Simon hooks his arms beneath your legs, pulls you closer to him, and buries his face in you.
If there is one thing Simon does well when he's not in the field, it's eating. He devours you like a man starved, like he'll never get another chance to taste you. He dips his tongue into you before sliding it up to your clit, kissing and sucking and lapping at you in a practiced manner he knows works. As much as he knows he should give you a few of his fingers to help stretch you open for what is to come, he can't help but forgo the courtesy, too invested in tasting your slick to waste any.
"Taste so fucking good, baby," he moans, "can't get enough of this cunt. Never get enough of you."
He's telling the truth. He could spend hours with his head buried between your thighs. In fact, he has before. He wonders if you'll be so kind as to let him do it again tomorrow morning; have him wake you with his tongue and continue like that until you start pushing him away.
But that's a thought for later. For now, he's got much more important matters to attend to.
He feels your hand grab his hair, a low groan tearing from his lungs as you pull him deeper into you. The hands on your skin tighten their grip, his brows knit together in concentration.
"That's it love," he says, voice muffled by your cunt, "take what you want from me."
Your hips buck against him and he follows, cock hard and twitching in his pants as you moan for him. He knows you're close by the way your thighs shake in his grasp, and he's determined to all but drag you over the edge.
Your breathing gets shallower, interspersed with staccato moans and whines. You breathe his name into the air, and Simon growls against your heat.
"That's it love," he encourages again, "be good and cum for me, yeah?"
With that, he returns to his task at hand, laser-focused on getting what he wants.
And what he wants is for you to smother him. What he wants is for you to envelop him, make it so nothing else so much as touches any of his senses.
He wants - no, needs - to make you feel good. To help you fall from the precipice and lose yourself to what he's giving you.
And fall you do.
With a sharp cry of his name, he feels your sex clench and twitch against his mouth as you come undone beneath him. He helps you through it, moaning soft, affirmative "mhm"s as you ride your orgasm to its end.
When you slump against him, muscles finally relaxing, he gives you one last lick with the flat of his tongue before moving to kiss your thighs.
"Good girl," he says softly, "so, so good for me."
He begins a slow ascent, nudging his nose against the hem of your shirt and pushing it upwards so he can mouth at the skin just beneath it.
After pressing a few more kisses to your abdomen and stomach, he stands, removing his shirt and using it to somewhat dry his face before discarding it.
"Look so fuckin' pretty when you cum," he says as he leans in to kiss you properly. "Never gonna get tired of watchin' you."
Simon's hips rut against you as his tongue dips into your mouth, a light hum leaving him as he hears you whine softly.
"I know, baby," he murmurs apologetically against your lips, "I know you're still sensitive. Jus' can't help it, yeah? Wanna make sure you're nice and wet before I take you."
It's an excuse, and both of you know it. Simon knows you're plenty ready for him, especially after one orgasm, but he's allowing himself to be selfish. To give himself a taste of you before he devours you again in another way. In the depths of his brain, he wonders if some of your slick will coat his belt. Wonders if it will dry there, where he will carry it with him the next time he wears it to base. An invisible mark of ownership.
He could keep going, keep grinding against you until he comes undone without ever even removing his own pants.
But that simply will not do. Not for Simon. And after you whine again against his mouth, the overstimulation on your clit no doubt bordering on painful, he gives you mercy.
At least, that's what he tells himself as he unbuckles his belt and undoes his pants, pushing them just far down enough with his briefs to release his cock from its confines.
"See what you do to me, love?" he says lowly as he slides gently against your heat, coating himself in a mix of your spend and his precum.
Then, deciding he's had enough teasing for one afternoon, Simon begins the slow push into you.
He's not a small man, and he knows it. Saying so doesn't come from a place of inflated ego, but rather from real, practical experience, both with you and past lovers. He guides himself into you as gently as he's able, not wanting the pressure he knows you must feel to turn into pain.
But then, as his hips are about halfway to you, he notices something.
You've closed your eyes.
And, again, that simply will not do.
"Hey. Hey," he says gruffly before he clicks his tongue twice at you, "eyes open, love. Want you to look at me while I stuff you full."
You give him a bleary look, eyelids just barely obeying his command as he continues to push deeper into you.
The pair of you erupt in joint moans when the front of his thighs meet your body. Simon leans forward to rest his forehead against yours as he catches his breath.
"Fuck, love, you feel so fucking good," he breathes into the space between you.
"So do you," you answer in an equally breathless tone.
Simon surges forward to kiss you, keeping his lips on yours as he begins to roll his hips. Your arms wrap around his neck, bringing him impossibly closer to you.
As much as he wants to draw this out, as much as he wants to start slowly and build up until you're both tense and begging for release, he simply can't find it in himself to wait any longer. His hips seem to move of their own accord, snapping into you and punching moans from your lungs.
When he pulls back for a moment to stand and watch your body, he notices that your eyes are once again closed as you're lost to the pleasure he's giving you.
"Show me those pretty eyes, love," he says softly. When you only whine in response, he reluctantly stills his thrusts.
"Hey, eyes on me," he says more harshly, once again clicking his tongue at you. "You open those eyes and look at me."
You slowly obey, and he feels you clench around him when he clicks his tongue. When he's satisfied that you're watching, he begins his thrusts again.
"There she is," he says breathlessly with a grin. "There's my girl."
He holds your gaze as he continues, fucking into you at an increasing pace. He is enraptured by you. By your voice, by your body, by your gaze. He chases his high, but quickly realizes there's something important that he's forgotten.
"Reach down and touch yourself for me, love," he commands. "Want you to give me one more before I fill you."
To your credit, you do as he asks, reaching a hand down to rub at your clit as he continues to thrust into you. The action catapults Simon impossibly closer to his peak, though by some grace he manages to hold himself together as you chase another orgasm.
It doesn't take as long as Simon assumes it will for you to come again. Or perhaps it does. Time has long since become an abstract concept to Simon, just as it always does when he's inside of you like this. Nevertheless, he feels your walls flutter around him as you sigh his name.
"Good girl," he croons to you as you come, "good girl."
Once you come down, he throws his self-restraint to the wind and surges towards his own orgasm in earnest.
"Gonna cum, love," he says, leaning in to touch his forehead to yours again. "Gonna fill you up, make you mine."
You don't respond in words, but he feels a hand grab the back of his head as you pull his lips to yours.
A groan rips through his body as Simon comes, stilling inside of you as his cock twitches. He moans out some approximation of your name against your lips as he loses himself.
An indeterminate amount of time later, when the two of you part and begin to catch your breath, you lock eyes.
And you both laugh.
A light, beautiful sound.
"Well, can't say I was expecting that," you say.
"Had to thank you somehow, love," he quips.
He helps you to sit up, tucking himself back into his pants as he leaves his shirt on the floor and his belt unbuckled. He aids you in putting your pants and underwear back on, softly promising to help you shower after you both eat.
"After all," he says as he kisses you, "it'd be a tragedy to let all this food get any colder than it is already."
You laugh softly at him.
"And whose fault would that be, Mr. Riley?"
"Yours," he says with a teasing nip to your shoulder, "not my fault you looked good enough to eat."
The soft, good-natured groan you give him as you lightly shove him from you warms his heart. On the field, he prides himself on being cold, calculated, and for leaving little room for anything else. But here, in his home, with you by his side, he feels like the battlefield is a thousand years away.
#simon ghost riley#simon riley x reader#simon riley x you#simon ghost x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley smut#ghost x reader#ghost scribbles
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Can you please do a Theo not fix where the reader is his best friend who he has been in love with his entire life and they are always snuggling and she is always on his lap but then she sees him with some other girl talking being flirty and gets jealous and avoids him and agrees to go on a date with someone else in front of him and he loses it and tells her he is in love with her and it ends in smut?
can I just say I love this ideaaa AAAHH!!
Something
pairing: theo nott x reader
content: read the askk<33 18+ smut
a/n: loved writing thiss
to other people the friendship of you and theo was not what usually friends were, you had no walls up against each other, being completely transparent to each other.
it was kind of a known fact you both harbored some feelings for each other, even though it had never been said however most people keep their distance from both of you.
you were both overly touchy with each other, him always touching you in some way, whether it be a hand on your thigh in class or making you sit on his lap in the common room just so he could bury his face in the crook of your neck, all of this was completely normal to you.
it was after lunch on a friday, all the students were completely free from classes and you decided to utilize this time to finish you assignments so you could enjoy the hogsmeade trip tomorrow.
however reaching the library, you heard theo's laugh, the sound you could recognize anywhere and as soon as you started to walk towards it, you stopped in your won footsteps, since his laugh wasn't the only one, there was one more accompanying him.
he was laughing with another girl.
he was touching her knee and she had her hand on his arm, they were practically lying on each other. The urge you had to finish your schoolwork died, and soon tears began to roll down your cheeks, how could he betray you like this.
theo heard your familiar footsteps and started to follow you, calling your name but you gave no response which was very weird, since you were always cheery to have him around.
this behaviour continued well into the next day, he was ready to go to hogsmeade with you but it seemed like you had other plans, since at breakfast when a boy from ravenclaw had asked you out on a date you had said yes, that too in front of him.
he was confused to say the least, and was looking for an answer, his hand found your forearm when you once again tried to escape.
"so you're really going on a date with him?" he asked in pure shock, not being able to recover from the fact that you had said yes.
"do you have a problem with me going?" you had asked in a snarky voice, still thinking he was behaving irrationally.
"of course, i thought we had something" his tone and face all reflected sadness and pure betrayal, "I had thought that too, until I saw you flirt with that girl in the library yesterday" you had retorted.
"I was trying to get her to do my homework for me, so I could spend more time with you" he said in a gentle voice.
"why do you even care theo that I'm going on a date it's not like we're dating" you longed for an answer, to have some official word for whatever your relationship was.
"because i love you", he said in a slightly raised voice, "it's so obvious i do, everyone knows it and you should too, i love you y/n"
he leaned down, capturing your lips in a heated kiss, like you wished he would, pushing you back on the wall near you which secluded you from everyone.
his kisses started trailing downwards, he was sucking on your neck while his hands were all over your body, he soon went down on his knees, staring up at you, "let me show you how much you mean to me."
please was the only word leaving your mouth, which was soon replaced with moans as soon as his tongue touched you, swirling around, he was practically devouring you, urging you to come undone on his face.
"let it go baby, come on my face" and so you did chanting his name as if it was only thing you knew in this world.
"theo, please for merlin's sake fuck me" and he couldn't deny your pretty face unbuttoning your shirt, but still not letting it fall he started leaving marks all over there as well.
you had unbuckled his belt and soon got his cock out, it was red at the tip leaking some precum and you couldn't help but move your hands up and down on it.
he had soon took both your hands and pinned them above your head, urging you to jump and as soon as you did, he had his dick inside of you.
he was thrusting so hard and so fast that you could see stars already, moaning his name while he was still kissing your neck, it was all you could have imagined.
"theo, I'm gonna come" you had managed to say between gaspy breaths, and he had urged you to do so, since he was on the verge itself.
he had finished inside you filling you up to the brim, and you felt content with him.
"so, I hope you're gonna cancel the date" he said and you only laughed in response.
#slytherin#draco malfoy#harry potter#theo nott#enzo berkshire#theo nott fic#theo nott x reader#theo nott x y/n#theo nott x you#theodore nott#theo nott smut#theo nott imagine#theodore nott x reader#theodore nott fic#theodore nott smut#theodore nott imagine#theodore nott scenarios#theodore nott x y/n#theodore nott x you#chitasmut
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ᡣ𐭩 IN PAPER RINGS AND PICTURE FRAMES!
FEATURING: dazai osamu
SUMMARY: dazai has never been a true believer of murphy’s law, not until today at least. he swears the world is out to get him, all he wanted was to give you a nice valentine’s day... and maybe something a little extra special. (wordcount: 6.7k; sfw; very brief mentions of dazai's attempts, fem!reader)
AUTHOR'S NOTES: valentine's day fic for my sweetest boy
“What do you mean I can’t have the day off?” Dazai cries out, staring down at his phone in abject horror. A pillow is flung at his head and Dazai sputters out an apology to you before lifting his phone back to his ear, making a point to lower his voice as he says, “Kunikida-kun, it’s Valentine’s Day. Not even you can be this heartless.”
“Dazai!” Kunikida says, voice stern and sharp, and Dazai knows that the man is serious because he’s not spitting out insults about Dazai’s laziness and lack of drive to do anything but lounge around and avoid work. “Trust me. It brings me no joy to make you come in today—not for your sake, but for her’s. But we have to finish up the final preparations for Tanizaki and Atsushi’s upcoming mission before they leave for Kyoto tomorrow morning. Get to the office now.”
“Kunikida-kun,” Dazai complains, feeling a bit more panicked, “but I-”
“Maybe if you had actually done your work the past few days, I could’ve covered for you,” Kunikida spits out angrily. “But we have double the workload to finish by tonight because you’ve been slacking off the past week. Anyway, you shouldn’t be calling the day of asking for a day off. Be to the office asap.”
Kunikida doesn’t even wait for Dazai’s response, hanging up the phone and leaving Dazai standing in your apartment staring at his phone with parted lips and wide eyes, unable to comprehend what just happened. A noise escapes his lips, something caught between a scoff and a whimper, and Dazai thinks he might cry. He feels like a wounded puppy as he turns his attention over to where you’re still curled up in bed, eyes barely cracked open as you watch him with furrowed brows.
“Bella…” he pouts, making his way over to you so he can sit next to you on the bed. “They’re making me go into the office.”
You only roll toward him, eyes heavy with sleep, barely able to hold them open, and Dazai’s chest feels tight and warm with a lovely feeling that he’s only ever experienced with you. He reaches out to cup your cheek, fingertips grazing your skin—your lashes flutter as your eyes droop back shut, and Dazai doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the feeling of someone seeking out his touch, trusting his hands as if they aren’t rotted and blood-stained.
“Then go,” you say with a yawn, leaning into his touch and pulling the dark comforter back up around your shoulders from where it had slipped down your body.
Dazai pushes his lip out even more. “It’s Valentine’s Day. I wanted to spend the day with you. You took off today too.”
“It’s okay,” you tell him and Dazai wants to tell you that it is decidedly not okay but he can’t tell you that because you’ll ask why and he can’t tell you without ruining everything. “I’m tired anyway. Someone decided to keep me up half the night.”
Dazai can hardly even muster the vulgar smile and dirty joke that should have come to him with ease, and evidently, that’s proof enough to you that something must be seriously wrong because you crack your eyes back open and peer up at him, concern slowly eclipsing the tiredness. Another thing he’ll never be used to: having someone genuinely worry over him even over the smallest things.
“What’s wrong?” you ask him softly, yawning again as you reach up to run your fingers through his hair. The comforter slides down from around your shoulders again, revealing the smooth skin of your bare shoulders and collarbone, and Dazai wishes for nothing more than to slip beneath the sheets with you, wrap his arms around you and bury his face into your chest.
Instead, he lets himself lean into your touch for a moment, eyes falling shut as he basks in the feeling of your fingers carding through his dark locks, nails gently scraping his scalp. He thinks he could stay in this moment forever, but alas, the serenity is utterly shattered when his phone starts buzzing again.
Dazai lets out a heavy exhale, dark eyes dragging from you to where his phone is laying on the bed next to him, seeing Atsushi’s name flash on the screen—surely having been told by Kunikida to follow up and make sure that Dazai is actually going to show up at the office.
“I just wanted to spend the day with you,” he says, a bit of a white lie, but he can’t tell you the real reason why he’s so disappointed. “He’s had it out for me ever since we got together. He’s jealous. This is his way of getting one over me.”
You smile lightly at him, pulling his face down a bit so that you can press your lips against his. Dazai sighs into your mouth, eyes sliding shut again as he kisses you, hand coming up again to cup your cheek as his lips move against yours. The kiss is slow and intimate, but far too short for his liking. You pull your lips away from his and Dazai gives you a wounded look when he tries to chase your lips only for you to dodge with a giggle.
“Go, Osamu,” you tell him and Dazai lets out a groan, letting his head drop to your chest. You toy with his hair and Dazai wants to tell you that doing that is only going to make him want to stay even more but he also doesn’t want you to stop so he decides against it. “The faster you get there and get your work done, the quicker you can come home.”
Home. Another word he might never get used to, his chest feels warm and fluttery as he tilts his head to the side so he can peer up at you. “Or I can just not go in at all and deal with Kunikida’s righteous fury tomorrow.”
“No,” you say firmly, tugging at his ear and making him yelp. “Go, Osamu. Don’t be ridiculous. Let me sleep.”
Dazai sighs, rising to his feet and letting you curl back beneath the covers. He wants to tell you that it’s not that simple and that he has a whole plan and he needs to follow it strictly otherwise he’s scared that everything will go wrong, but there’s no way of explaining that to you without having to tell you why which would ruin everything. Lamenting to himself, he shrugs his coat onto his shoulders and leans down to press his lips between your brows as you start to doze off again, brushing your hair behind your ear and letting his eyes linger on your face, skin glowing gently beneath the early morning sun.
It takes all of his willpower to step away from you and make his way out of your apartment, the ring in his pocket weighing more heavily with every step he takes.
•••
Dazai is really trying his best not to let his frustration spoil the night. The sun has already long set. What should have been a short day at the office finishing up paperwork ended up with him working overtime because of an emergency mission on the far side of the city concerning an ability user who could mimic appearances. Everybody else is still at the office trying to finish up preparations for Tanizaki and Atsushi’s upcoming mission in Kyoto but the President had taken one look at Dazai’s abysmal expression and told him to go home and be with you.
And Dazai should appreciate that, honestly, otherwise he’d be stuck at the office until god knows when, leaving you at home alone all day and all night on the one day he was planning to spend the whole day with you, but he’s so bitter that he can’t even summon the appreciation he should feel. You’re taking it in stride, of course, telling him that it’s okay and you’re not mad even though Dazai insists that you definitely should be. He called you while on the train with Kunikida, curled up in a seat pouting as he shot his partner dirty looks and mourned his shitty luck because of course this would happen on the day he was planning to make the biggest decision of his life, and yours.
Not that he could tell you that part, obviously.
Kunikida had been rightfully guilty, apologizing to Dazai for the day taking as long as it did and continuously shooting him ashamed looks, but Dazai couldn’t even bask in the knowledge that Kunikida is actually apologizing to him for making him work because he’s so frustrated about how the day has gone compared to what he had planned.
It’s still salvageable, he reminds himself, glancing down at his phone. The reservations he placed for the restaurant aren’t for another hour and a half. He has plenty of time to walk back to your apartment and change so he can take you out for the night, and the thought of taking you out for the night makes all of the frustration he’s feeling absolutely disappear, entirely overshadowed by the giddiness tingling through his limbs and the nerves that tighten his chest.
Tonight.
He twists his hands in front of his body, eyes catching on a convenience store at the corner of the block, a wide range of chocolates and flowers on display at the main window. With only a moment’s hesitation, he speeds up his pace, flinging open the door to the convenience store and beelining right to the dwindling Valentine’s Day display, weathered down by other frantic partners who were late to get their beloved gifts.
He lets out a relieved puff of air when he sees that your favorite flowers and chocolates are still available, although he’s a bit irate because the flowers aren’t as healthy as they should be, but he supposes it’s his own fault. Of course they're not going to be in perfect shape after being on display all day—if he wanted perfect flowers, he should’ve bought and brought them to you first thing in the morning.
Which he could have done if it weren’t for Kunikida, he thinks bitterly, deciding to place all of the blame on his coworker instead.
He drops the flowers and chocolates at the cash register, where an older man is working, and Dazai pulls out his wallet, flipping through to grab a few yen and place them on the counter.
The older man lets out a bit of a chuckle as he scans the chocolates and the flowers. “You’re a bit late, aren’t you, boy?” he notes. “Can’t have a happy lady at home, I know mine is angry as a bull. Hope you have more than this to appease the girl.”
Dazai winces and then mutters, “She’s not angry, I got pulled into work. She understands.”
It sounds pathetic even to his own ears. The man finds it amusing, evidently, from how he has to smother another laugh as he gets Dazai his change.
“Mine said she was fine with it too,” he says, “but I know I’m coming home to the cold shoulder. They never say what they mean, son.”
Dazai’s mood falters again, the giddiness and nerves slipping away into something colder because he’s feared since he left this morning that you would be bitter over him having to go into work today. And he knows deep down that you’re not like that, that if you say it’s fine, it really is fine most of the time, but a part of him can’t help but wonder if you’re only saying it because you don’t want to stress him out even more, because he’d made it abundantly clear this morning that he wasn’t happy.
“There you go,” the older man passes over his change and the flowers and chocolates. “Good luck.”
Dazai can barely even bring himself to give the man a proper thank you, making his way back out of the convenience stores with the flowers and chocolates in hand. His eyes flicker down to his phone again, catching the time before he continues down the street—the pit stop had only taken a few minutes, but Dazai is doubly anxious to get back home to you now. Not just because he’s worried that you’re not quite as okay with it as you’ve made yourself out to be, but also because he misses you and just wants to get back home to you, this day has been too long and it’s been especially hellish and jarring because he woke up this morning thinking he’d get to spend the entire day with you.
He’s ready to get home to you. He’s ready to take you out to dinner. He’s ready to take you down to the gardens and he’s ready to-
God, he’s ready to propose. After all of these damn years, he’s finally ready and he will not let a shitty day at work ruin that for him. He still has the whole night, and that’s what’s important because…
He stares at his hand, where a droplet of water had splashed against his skin. A dreadful feeling arises, dark and slithering as it spreads through him. He turns his gaze up to the dark sky—dark because the sun has set, yes, but he realizes now, with a pit in his gut, that it’s also because storm clouds seem to be gathering above the city. He hadn’t even noticed them in his pitiful spiral, nor had he noticed the way the wind had picked up.
He hardly has time to react before the rain comes down. Hard. Torrential. He stands on the sidewalk, too riddled with shock and disbelief to even move for cover. He stares ahead, wondering just how much more terrible this day can get. He’s never been a believer of Murphy’s Law or any of those other dubious, paranoia-induced “laws of nature,” but he’s severely starting to question his standing on it because of all days, of course it’s today where it seems that the entire universe must be against him.
He stares at the drenched flowers he had just bought you, crumpled and ruined from the force of the rain—he can’t even bring himself to feel frustrated, if anything he’s starting to feel a bit numb with exhaustion, half-certain that there’s a god up there sabotaging him. He tosses the flowers in a nearby garbage can along with the soggy box of chocolates in his other hand, and almost robotically, he makes his way to stand under an overhang, pulling out his phone to call you.
You pick up after the first ring, you always do.
“Osamu?”
“Can you pick me up?” Dazai asks, voice hoarse and empty.
“... Of course. Where are you?”
•••
The car ride has been damningly silent and Dazai feels bad because you’ve tried to make conversation with him but he can’t bring himself to speak. You’ve given up by now though, resorting to just focusing on the road, occasionally sparing him concerned glances. His head is starting to hurt and he fears that if he says something his voice might crack, so instead he just leans his head against the passenger seat window, letting the cool glass spread through his brain and ease the pain as you intertwine your fingers with his.
“We’re never going to make the reservation,” Dazai finally decides to speak up, voice sounding cold and distant even to his own ears. He nearly flinches—he would’ve preferred it to crack than sound so frigid and aloof.
The rain pouring down is torrential, lightning webbing across the dark sky and wind howling outside. Already, there’s been road closures, the twenty minute drive from the Agency to your apartment has taken twice as long as it usually takes and you’re still stuck in bumper to bumper traffic trying to take the long way around to the complex. The reservation is set for forty minutes from now, and it’ll take nearly as long to get to your apartment at this rate, and then Dazai still has to dry off and change from work, and then you have to drive to the restaurant which would've taken another twenty minutes without traffic.
Not that it matters anyway, the storm has already destroyed his plans for after dinner, which was the whole point of the dinner anyway, but still, he would have at least liked to bring you to a nice dinner for Valentine’s Day.
He wonders if this is all meant to be a sign, and the thought makes his chest ache because of course when he finally thinks he’s ready to take the next step in his relationship with you—one that he knows you’ve been waiting patiently for four years now but his own hangups about himself have stopped him from ever doing anything about it—this happens. And you’ve never pressured him about it, you’ve never even brought it up to him because you know the topic makes him uncomfortable, but he’s seen the way you look at all of the happily married couples who come into the cafe when you meet him there for his lunch break and he’s seen the way you sometimes glance down at your own empty finger and Dazai thinks he’s ready.
Against all odds, he thinks he’s ready—he bought you a ring, he planned out the whole proposal. Anxiety has been eating him alive all week as the days led up to this and now that the day is here, everything just goes wrong. He was going to bring you to the aquarium, because he knows you love to watch the dolphins and the penguins but that was ruined because of work. He was going to take you out to dinner at Le Normandie in Naka, because he’d seen you looking at the menu all longingly a few weeks ago, but that was ruined because of the road closures and traffic. And then he was going to bring you down into Yamashita Park, over to the flower gardens where there was supposed to be a band playing, because they always do on Valentine’s Day, and he wrote up everything, a long and flowery speech about how you’ve shown him what it’s like to really live, what it’s like to be human, but that was ruined by the storm.
All the preparations he made, all of the plans he had, all of it gone to ruin. Just like that.
And now he’s doubting how ready he actually is.
He really does wonder if this is a sign, a warning, even—higher powers telling him not to condemn you to a life with him because what sort of sane person would want a future with someone who’s spent most of his life trying to kill himself? Dazai has more issues than he’s worth and he’s still half-convinced that you don’t know what you’re getting into even though you’ve been with him for four years and have seen some of his most egregious lows. You’ve had to cut him down from the noose, fight him for the blade he held against his skin, and Dazai doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to fully free himself of the dark thoughts tearing apart his brain.
And you deserve better than a future with someone who’s fickle about living and unable to effectively combat the dark thoughts that plague his mind. This is the world’s attempt at reminding him of that before he makes a mistake.
You draw him from his spiraling thoughts as you squeeze his hand gently, lifting his hand to press your lips against his knuckles and Dazai feels even worse because why are you comforting him when he’s the one who ruined your Valentine’s Day.
“Let’s order takeout then,” you say easily, giving him a warm smile that should have made him feel more at ease but instead it only makes him feel worse because you shouldn’t have to settle for takeout on Valentine’s Day, especially when he planned such a nice day out. “I’m craving pizza. We can curl up on the couch and watch a movie instead.”
Dazai is unconvinced.
“Don’t give me that look,” you complain, but you’re still smiling and Dazai is finding it hard to keep up his sullen attitude with you looking at him like that. “There’s a new horror movie I wanted to watch, it’s available for streaming now.”
“This wasn’t how the day was supposed to go,” Dazai murmurs, finally intertwining his fingers with yours, rubbing a circle with his thumb over the back of your hand.
“Let’s make the most of it anyway,” you tell him, giving him another radiant smile, and Dazai feels a bit like a fool—he’s never listened to the warnings from higher powers before, so why the hell should he now? When you give him another reassuring squeeze as you rest your joined hands back down on the console, turning your attention back onto the road, his chests lighten and the creeping doubts start to trickle away.
He thinks that maybe, just maybe, it’ll all work out anyway.
•••
It takes less than an hour for his slim hopes to be crushed yet again.
Dazai stares at the food in front of him, too numb to even think to go chase after the delivery driver and tell him that he got the order wrong. You’re standing somewhere to the side, looking even more concerned—not because of the food, because of him, and Dazai knows that he should reassure you and tell you that everything is fine but he can’t even muster the strength to speak the words.
“It’s okay,” you tell him, reaching out to grab his hand. He doesn’t even intertwine his fingers with yours, but you’re undeterred, clutching his hand tightly, and he knows he’s being unfair to you but he just doesn’t even know what else to do. “Osamu, it’s fine, really. It’s just some food.”
“You don’t even eat any of this food,” Dazai says, voice tight and more than a bit frustrated. He’s not sure how much more of this he can take, the morning had started off so nice waking up to you fast asleep on his chest and every passing second since then has just gone further and further downhill. “Not one thing has gone right today, and they can’t even get one order done correctly. It’s not fine, I-”
Dazai’s eyes flutter shut when you reach up to cup his cheeks between your hands, squishing his face gently before leaning in to press your lips against his. He sighs against your lips, the frustration slowly starting to dissipate as you rest your forehead against his, stealing one, two, three more kisses before finally pulling back a bit to speak.
“It’s okay,” you reassure him again, and Dazai thinks he should be the one reassuring you because it’s your Valentine’s Day that has been utterly ruined but he only relaxes into your touch, soaking up all of the comfort you offer him. “I have pizza bagels in the freezer, we can throw them in the oven. Honestly, I’ve been tempted to make them all day, anyway, but I wanted to wait for you. It’s not a big deal.”
“... Yeah?” Dazai asks quietly, and you give him that soft, soothing smile that always puts his nerves at ease. He lets out another puff of air, nodding. “Okay, I’ll put them in.”
He steals another kiss from you, and then another, and the tension in his shoulders finally begins to melt when he feels you giggling against his lips, shooing him away to go put the pizza bagels in the oven.
Just as the thought crosses his mind, that maybe the night is still salvageable, he reaches for the door to your freezer and as his fingers curl around the handle, the power goes out. Thunder shakes your apartment complex, lightning webs the sky outside, and the wind outside becomes even more treacherous. And with it, the ability to use the oven to make the pizza rolls you want disappears.
You don’t say anything. Neither does he. Dazai thinks it should be comical at this point but he can find no humor in it, his throat tight and clogged with a million unwelcome emotions. He swears there must be someone up in the heavens laughing at him, finding entertainment in his misfortune and misery, and maybe he deserves it for all of the sins he’s committed in the past but he wishes that they wouldn’t drag you into this.
He casts a miserable look in your direction, unsure if you even notice because you’re already at work trying to fumble to light a few candles, and Dazai is so tired that he thinks he might die. All he had wanted was to take you on a nice day out, ending the night with dinner and a stroll through the gardens at Yamashita before finally gathering the nerve to get down on one knee in front of you, showing you the ring he’d been so nervous buying and-
And then he pauses.
Where is the ring?
The thought dawns on him so damningly that he feels physically ill, realizing that he hadn’t felt the familiar weight in his pocket earlier when walking home from the Agency, nor had he noticed it when he slipped his jacket off and laid it on one of the kitchen chairs. He rushes over to where he had left his jacket, panic spreading through him so intensely that he can hardly think straight, ignoring how you call his name, worried.
His chest tightens, blood running cold as he fumbles through the pockets of his jacket trying to figure out which one he left it in only to realize that it’s not snugged safely in any of them. Dazai thinks he might throw up, wondering if it had fallen out when he took his jacket off at the office, or if it had fallen out while he was walking to work, or when he stopped at the convenience store and pulled out his wallet, or when he was walking home. If it was the latter three, the ring is gone and he’ll probably never see it again, and he probably should take that as a sign from god to not condemn you to a life with him.
“Osamu?” you ask, voice soft and cautious as you make your way over to him, obviously sensing his distress.
Dazai wants to cry. Or maybe he wants to laugh. He can’t tell. He leans his elbows onto the counter, hiding his face in his hands, and then he decides to laugh, or maybe he’s crying, he’s not sure honestly, but his shoulders are shaking and you’re wrapping your arms around his waist. Dazai wants to melt into you and he wants to tell you just how abysmally terrible this day has been but he can’t without telling you what he had planned and that only makes him more miserable.
You coax his face out from where it’s hiding against his hands as you stroke his hair, pressing your lips to his shoulder, and then his temple, and as soon as he turns his face to you, you’re cupping his cheeks in your hands, thumbs wiping away the wetness streaming down his cheeks, and he realizes distantly that he must’ve been crying. God, when was the last time he cried before this? He doesn’t even remember.
“What’s wrong?” you ask him, keeping your voice soft as if to not startle him.
He doesn’t want to answer, so he doesn’t. Instead, he wraps his arms around your waist and buries his face into the crook of your neck, hiding himself from view again. As always, you take it in stride, wrapping your arms around him, one hand coming up to cup the back of his head and hold him close, lips pressing against the top of his hair. And Dazai is still so frustrated—he’s so frustrated and upset with himself and upset with the world, but as soon as he’s wrapped tight in your arms, it becomes increasingly hard to remain focused on all of the negative thoughts.
“I’m so tired,” is all he can say, voice hoarse and cracking, blunt nails digging crescents into your back as he clings to you desperately.
Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. He’s so tired. He just wanted this to be a nice day, and he wanted to finally push himself into giving himself to you entirely, because it’s what he wants. It’s what he wanted. He wanted to be yours and he wanted you to be his. Officially. But if the world really is trying to warn him against it, he’s thinking that maybe he should heed its warnings for once—for your sake, because he’s sure that anyone tied to him must be cursed.
“Let’s go lay down,” you tell him softly, carding your fingers through his hair gently. The motion is so soothing that it nearly makes his eyes droop shut, exhaustion seeping deep through his bones. “Os-”
There’s a harsh knock at your door.
Dazai’s eyes slide shut again, frustration coming back tenfold because he can’t even have a single moment with you without it going horribly wrong. You sigh as you break yourself free from him and Dazai longs to be back in your arms instantly, the weight of the day bearing down on him twice as heavily without you there to share the burden with him.
“I’ll go get the door,” you tell him, leaning up on your toes to press your lips to the corner of his. “Go lay down, I’ll join you in a second.”
“No,” Dazai says, capturing your lips in a real kiss briefly before tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “I’ll get the door. You go change into your pajamas.”
“You sure?” you ask him, concern clear in your eyes as you look up at him.
Dazai only nods, pressing his lips to your forehead before ushering you off into the bedroom. You cast him one more worried look but Dazai shoos you away pointedly before making his way over to the door, frowning a bit because who the hell is showing up at your door this late? He thinks that if it’s the restaurant that sent the wrong food, then Dazai might just slam the door in the delivery man's face because the damage has already been done and Dazai is feeling petty.
But no. It’s not the delivery man standing outside your apartment with the right food this time. Rather, it’s an anxious looking Atsushi and a stressed Kunikida. Dazai’s eye twitches a bit—as if his day hadn’t been ruined enough with work, he swears to god that if they're about to bring even more to him on top of dragging him away from you all day, someone might die.
“Dazai-san,” Atsushi sounds absurdly relieved at the sight of the man but Dazai’s expression doesn’t budge, waiting for them to explain why they were interrupting his night with you. “We were just leaving work and-I wish I’d seen it sooner, I’m sorry-I would’ve come sooner but-I mean we tried to call and text but-”
Dazai has no idea what Atsushi is talking about, so he drags his eyes from the anxious boy up to Kunikida, waiting for a proper explanation. Kunikida’s lips twist when Dazai looks at him and Dazai thinks the man has no right to look at him that way after being the root cause of how awful his day.
Suddenly, Dazai catches sight of the familiar velvet box sitting in Kunikida’s hand, and he’s not sure what amalgamation of emotions rocks his body—fear, relief, apprehension—but he doesn’t like it, reaching out to snatch the box from Kunikida and cradle it to his chest, watching the two of them uneasily.
“You moron,” Kunikida snaps, careful to keep his voice low, but not low enough because horror shoots through Dazai when Kunikida continues with, “why didn’t you say you were-”
“Lower your voice,” Dazai says, panicking, casting a glance back toward where you’re still getting changed in the bedroom.
“Why didn’t you say you were proposing?” Kunikida finishes in a whisper, voice still a sharp hiss. “If you’d mentioned that I would’ve-”
Dazai feels flustered, and he does not want to answer and admit that he hadn’t thought it would make a difference. Luckily—or maybe unluckily, he concedes—he doesn’t have to answer because he hears you making your way out of the bedroom.
“Osamu?” you call curiously, “Is that Kunikida-kun and Atsushi-kun?”
Dazai’s eyes widen when he realizes that he has nowhere to hide the ring as you come around the corner from the hall. He promptly slams the door in both of his coworkers’ faces without even the sparest thank you, ignoring their surprised yelps as panic begins to spread through him, doing his best to hide his hands behind his back when he turns around to face you.
And then-
Then he hesitates.
The excuse on his lips about last minute mission briefing or Dazai having to sign off on a time-sensitive report dies when his eyes fall upon where you’re standing, dressed in your fuzzy pajamas with your arms wrapped around your waist and a confused expression painted on your face. The only lighting in the room is the few dim candles that you set up once the power went out, and the soft ambience casts an ethereal glow over your face. He thinks, not for the first time, that you might be heavenly, an angel sent to guide him on the path of good because how could he ever allow himself to fall back into his old, tainted habits without tarnishing you as well, and tarnishing you is simply unacceptable.
All of the doubts that have risen throughout the day wash away as he looks at you, and he wonders, briefly, how he could’ve ever had any doubts? Dazai, for all of his insecurity and fears of commitment, wants to spend the rest of his life with you. He does. He knows it so thoroughly that he can feel it in his bones; he doesn’t want anyone else, he doesn’t want to be alone, he wants you. He wants to wake up to you every morning and fall asleep with you every night, he wants to lounge around on the weekends because you’re both too lazy to get out of bed and do something productive, he wants to be there for your lows when you’re so overwhelmed with work that you can hardly think straight much less properly take care of yourself and god, against all odds, he wants you there for his too, when he feels like he’s being consumed by his own thoughts, spiraling down a dark and never-ending train that might not be as dark and never-ending with you there as a light to guide him out of it.
“Marry me,” he says, breathless, voice laced with desperation.
You stare at him, eyes wide. He stares back, frozen, unsure of what to do because this was not how this was supposed to happen. It was supposed to be extravagant, romantic, like you deserve, not some half-assed spur of the moment proposal. The words hang heavily in the air between the two of you, but he forces himself to push forward, too far in deep to back out now.
He fumbles as he tries to shift the velvet box into one hand to bring it in front of him and show you. He drops it. Of course he does. Everything else has gone wrong today so why not this too? But still, he pushes forward, kneeling down to scoop up the ring box and prop himself up on one knee in front of you, throat swollen and tight as he opens up the box to show you the ring inside of it. He’s holding it backwards. Of course he is. So he fixes it promptly, swiveling it around with trembling fingers, waiting anxiously for you to respond. Or even just react.
You haven’t budged from where you’re standing a few feet away.
What if you say no? God, the thought hadn’t even crossed his head but now his heart starts to sink from his chest down to his feet because you’re not moving and you’re not saying anything and he doesn’t know if you’re just processing his words or if you’re trying to figure out the best way to reject him.
He starts to fumble out words. “This was not how this was supposed to happen,” he admits, speaking so quickly that he can barely understand himself. “It was supposed to be a nice day, we were gonna go to the aquarium to see the dolphins and penguins, dinner at Le Normandie and then go down to the gardens at the park, and there was supposed to be a band and flowers and I had a whole speech ready and it definitely was not supposed to be like this but everything that could possibly go wrong, went wrong, but I want to marry you and I don’t want to wait anymore, and I’m sorry that this is a shitty proposal, you deserve better than this. And I’m probably making it worse, I should have just waited for another day, but-”
But please say yes, he wants to say, but he can’t force the words out; he can only stare at you, expression more open and vulnerable than he thinks he’s been in his entire life. And he realizes, a bit horrified, that you could ruin him right now—he’s laid his heart out on a platter and it’ll only take one swift motion for you to crush it in hand and he thinks he’s terrified but-
All of the air is ripped from his lungs with a harsh oof. In an instant, his back is to the floor and you’re on top of him and Dazai is staring up at the ceiling with wide eyes, trying to figure out what exactly happened.
“You’re so stupid, Osamu,” you cry out and to Dazai’s horror, he realizes that you’re crying, hands propped up on his chest to brace yourself up, tears pooling in your eyes and streaming over your cheeks and dripping onto his own face. “Is this what you’ve been so upset about all day? I don’t need any of that, all I need is you.”
Oh. Dazai can’t breathe, and it’s not because you’re on top of him it’s because your words are processing and he’s realizing that-are you saying that-
“Of course, I’ll marry you, you idiot.”
He lets out a sharp exhale, a puff of air that he does not have in his lungs, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t know what he’s feeling—elation, relief, exhilaration, all of the above—but he does know that he’s never felt anything like it before and he doesn’t want it to go away. Ever. Dazai swears he sees a flash of a camera from the window, and he swears doubly that he hears Yosano let out a hoot of a cheer and Kunikida hushing her, dragging her away, but he can’t even bring himself to care.
Yeah, Dazai thinks to himself, eyes sliding shut as he rests his head back against the floor, the first genuine smile of the day tugging to the edge of his lips as you bury your face into the crook of his neck, clutching at his shirt, sniffling and hiccuping over each breath. He wraps an arm around your waist, using his free hand to slip the ring out of the box and slide it onto your finger. You cry harder. He kisses the top of your head, wondering how he could ever have any doubts or hesitations.
He could definitely spend the rest of his life like this.
#ᡣ𐭩 carina’s archives#dazai x reader#dazai x you#dazai fluff#dazai osamu x reader#dazai osamu fluff#dazai osamu x you#bsd x reader#bsd fluff#bsd x you#bungo stray dogs x you#bungo stray dogs fluff#bungo stray dogs x reader
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Billy Hargrove has been dead for little over two months when Steve opens the door to find him on the doorstep, dirty and pale and shaking. He stares at Steve with wide eyes – bluer than Steve remembers – before he collapses into a heap of dirty limbs halfway across the threshold. Steve pulls him inside, disposes of him in the couch in the living room, and naturally proceeds to freak the fuck out.
After some processing, he decides that he must be experiencing a very vivid dream – and honestly, it’s a welcome change after the usual nightmares – and since it’s merely a dream, he opens a bottle of his dad’s best whiskey, because where’s the harm, right?
An hour later finds Steve sitting on the floor with his back to an armchair, predictably drunk and watching Billy sleep. Or possibly being unconscious. It doesn’t really matter which, since it’s only a dream.
Turns out, though, that it’s not a dream – or if it is, it’s a damn weird one. Because Billy wakes up, and when he looks around the room and spots Steve there, he starts to cry, which. Is not something that Steve’s brain could ever dream up, alcohol-soaked or not. And Billy feels solid enough under Steve’s hand, when he awkwardly pats the other boy’s shaking shoulders.
The events that have taken place are eventually revealed, but make no sense to either of them. Apparently Billy woke up somewhere dark and cramped (the coffin, he doesn’t say, but Steve hears it anyway), promptly panicked, and … broke out, somehow. Dug himself out from the rain-soaked earth, and stumbled along the roads until he saw a house he recognized. Which was Steve’s house.
It’s impossible, Steve knows. Billy has been dead for months. Steve saw him die – had first row seats to the sight of him getting impaled by a monster made out of meat and bones – and coming back from the dead after all that is simply not possible. Yet here Billy is, sitting on the floor of Steve’s living room, not a mark on him.
(Literally. There are no marks, no scars. Just smooth skin where they both know he was speared through.)
They spend the rest of the night slowly making their way through Steve’s dad’s expensive whiskey.
In the morning, Billy says, voice hoarse; “I need you to drive me to California.”
Steve thinks of asking why. Thinks of Max, thinks of Billy’s parents, thinks of telling the Party or the police or at least some adult who would possibly know what to do. What he says, though, is “Okay.” The world swims, and he adds, belatedly, “Tomorrow, though. I’m too drunk to drive now.”
A snort is the last thing he hears before he falls asleep where he’s sitting.
~~~
Half the next day is spent nursing hangovers and realizing that nope, last night wasn’t a dream or an alcohol-induced hallucination. The other half is spent making preparations for the trip.
Now when Steve is sober, he revisits the idea to simply tell someone. Billy being back is a miracle, and there are people mourning him, people who has missed him –
Billy shuts that down hard and fast. “No one is mourning me here,” he says, voice gravel-rough. “If they act like they do, it’s because they’re feeling guilty. There’s nothing left for me here.” He licks his lips, and his next words are a whisper. “I never wanted to come here in the first place.”
And, like. If he really thinks about it, Steve realizes that they wouldn’t be able to keep Billy being back a secret if he stayed in Hawkins. And if they tell Max, or Billy’s family, then word would spread. The government would no doubt hear of it. There would be a high probability of Billy being taken in for tests, experimentation, whatever else.
He doesn’t deserve that, Steve thinks as he watches Billy emerge from the shower wearing borrowed clothes. Because Billy died saving them. Sacrificed himself for them, even when they’d done so little to try to save him. This? Driving Billy to California? It’s the least Steve can do for him.
~~~
They get on the road the next day. Steve has taken time off work blaming the death of an elderly aunt and a rare family gathering, and been as vague as he can get away with concerning how long he’ll be away. Early in the morning, they put their bags – Billy’s is a borrowed one, containing only Steve’s things since he has nothing of his own and understandably didn’t want to keep the clothes he had on when he was buried – in the trunk of the car, and get in.
Steve is driving. When they pass the “Leaving Hawkins” sign, Billy lets out an audible sigh and slumps down in his seat. Steve glances over at him, and Billy explains without being prompted; “I always hated this town. I can’t believe they fucking buried me here.”
His incredulousness over the fact draws a snort out of Steve.
~~~
It’s strange, how easy it is to get used to having Billy Hargrove next to him while in a confined space. Stranger yet, how well they get along considering their history. And even more strange, how different Billy seems now, when they’ve left Hawkins behind them.
Or perhaps it’s not strange at all – at least not in comparison to all the other weird stuff they’ve both seen and somehow lived through. In the great scheme of things, one young man coming back from the dead and wanting to go back home doesn’t even make the top ten list of weird shit.
Billy is surprisingly funny, and witty, and smart – and it is dazzling without the sharp edges. It takes Steve a while to recognize what is missing, and when he does, it makes him watch Billy with new eyes. Because Billy doesn’t seem to exist behind a layer of anger anymore. The tension is gone. The further they get from Hawkins, the easier Billy seems to breathe.
The change is remarkable. Makes Steve think that he probably never knew who Billy really was, before this.
He finds himself thinking that he is looking forward to getting to know the real Billy.
~~~
They take turns driving. Sometimes they talk, sometimes they sit in companionable silence, and sometimes whoever’s in the passenger seat naps while the other drives. They stop at gas stations to stock up on gas and snacks, and at diners for food. That first night, they drive straight through, but the next night they stop at a motel for some proper sleep in a bed.
They share a room, but lie in separate beds. They talk for hours in the dark before falling asleep.
“I never wanted to be buried underground,” Billy says, when they’re both on the edge of sleep. “They knew that.”
“What did you want, then?” Steve asks, never having considered an alternative.
“I wanted to get back to the ocean,” Billy says. “Have my ashes spread over the surface of the water and become one with the waves again.”
Steve doesn’t know what to say to that. That he’s sorry that even Billy’s own family didn’t respect his final wishes? That it sucks that they buried his body in the dirt of a town he hated, leaving him to rot there forever when he never even wanted to come there in the first place?
“’One with the waves’ … That sounds beautiful,” he decides on. And then, as an aside, “I’ve never even seen the ocean.”
Steve can hear the smile in Billy’s voice when he speaks next. “You’re going to love it. It’s … everything.”
~~~
They get closer – to California, and to each other – and the closer they get, the less urgency Steve feels to get to their destination. Because what will happen when they get there? Steve can’t just leave Billy there without a means to support himself. Without a home, without a car, without money – without someone to take care of him. Steve can’t help it – he worries.
And then he looks at Billy’s smiling face next to him, and feels his worries being washed away.
He still finds himself taking the scenic route more often than not. Insisting on taking detours to see the sights. Claiming he’s too tired to drive unless he takes a break.
Billy smiles as if he knows what Steve is doing, but he doesn’t make a comment. Doesn’t complain. Seems to enjoy this little bubble they’re in together, in Steve’s car with the world passing them by outside.
It’s strange. But it’s nice, too. Steve kind of doesn’t want it to end.
~~~
The last night, they stop at a motel an hour or two from their destination. They could have kept on driving, but none of them seemed to want to. So they get a room, as usual. Steve pays, as usual. There are two beds, as usual.
Yet, when it’s time to sleep, Billy forgoes his own bed and goes to stand by Steve’s. There’s a question in the air between them, unasked.
Steve answers by peeling back the comforter in invitation. His mouth is dry and his heart is beating like a drum in his chest as Billy climbs in next to him.
They don’t speak much, that night. But they kiss. And they hold each other.
“I never wanted to come to Hawkins,” Billy whispers between kisses. “And I hated it there. But I met you, so I guess it wasn’t all bad.”
The next morning, they wake up in each other’s arms.
~~~
“I’ll show you my home,” Billy says when they get back in the car after breakfast. Steve is back behind the wheel, because he wants a reason to keep his eyes on the road. If he watches Billy too much, he’ll do something stupid – like turn the car around and go back to Hawkins with Billy still in it, or perhaps decide not to go back to Hawkins at all, himself. Just, stay here with Billy, for a while longer.
It’s a fantasy that hurts, so he pushes it down. Concentrates on following Billy’s directions, and drive through a city bigger than one he’s ever been in.
(When he first spots the glittering blue between buildings, he gasps. So does Billy.)
They drive through the city, then out of it. Along a winding road with fewer and fewer buildings around, the ocean vast and terrifyingly endless to their right. Eventually Billy directs them down a gravel road that doesn’t have a sign and looks like it might lead onto private property. Steve would worry, would perhaps protest, if it wasn’t for the longing on Billy’s face.
They have to walk the last bit, Billy says. They get out of the car. It’s hours before noon, but it’s already warm. Steve’s in just a T-shirt, and for a second he his face to the sun to feel the warmth of it on his skin – before turning to Billy only to see him turned to the sun, too. Like a flower in bloom.
He looks golden, in this light.
After a short walk down a steep incline, they end up on a little beach. A tiny one, empty, with rocky outcrops on either side which makes it seem like they’re the only people on earth. The sand is fine and pale under their feet, the water lapping at the edges of it and then stretching out in front of them until it meets the horizon, far far away.
It’s beautiful. But it’s not exactly a house. And didn’t Billy say he’d show Steve his home?
“Mom used to take me here when I was a kid,” Billy says, kicking off his shoes. Steve does the same, and pulls off his socks as well. “We used to come here all the time.” Billy holds out his hand with a smile, and Steve takes it. They make their way to the water. “She’d watch me play in the water for hours, sitting on a towel, just listening to the waves and the seagulls.” The first step into the water is a shock – it’s cold, but not freezing. It almost feels alive. Steve takes a tentative step after Billy, bolstered by Billy’s widening smile. “I think taking me here was the most peaceful she ever got to be. It was for me, at least. The best times of my childhood.”
They stand there in the surf, feet in the water and holding hands, when Billy turns to Steve. His eyes are shining with unshed tears and his smile is wobbly as he places his hands on either sides of Steve’s face and leans in for the softest of kisses; their lips just barely brushing against each other.
“Thank you,” he says, and Steve’s heart skips a beat because it sounds like goodbye, “for not letting me stay buried in Indiana.”
He backs up a step. Brushes a tear from Steve’s cheek – that he hadn’t realized had fallen – and turns towards the endless sea. Takes a deep breath and starts walking.
Steve wants to reach out to stop him, wills himself to to say something, but he can’t. Somehow, he knows that this is where they were heading from the start. This is why they had to go here.
As Steve watches, Billy … dissolves. Like in a movie. One moment he is solid, and the next he’s … not. He turns to dust in front of Steve’s eyes, fine dust that glitters like gold in a sudden ray of sunlight. It – he – is spread out over the water, is carried over the clear surface by the gentle breeze.
Instead of being trapped in the ground inland, he becomes one with the waves again.
#harringrove#billy hargrove#steve harrington#sorry guys#canonical character death#got a scene stuck in my head and had to get it out#look at me keeping around the 2K mark!
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Opposites Attract
Part 1
Azriel x reader
summary: you’re messy and unorganized, love staying up late and sleeping in in the morning, so what’s going to happen when you’re forced to work with the shadowsinger, the most disciplined person you’ve ever met?
warnings: none!
a/n: this is the most I’ve written in a while but I’m liking how this is turning out. I feel like this could’ve been one part but I don’t really wanna write a 10k word fic so I’ve decided this is gonna be a series. hope you enjoy <3
~●○°●○°●○~
Azriel, by your viewpoint, had always only been the Spymaster, the epitome of propriety, with an excellent work ethic and an affinity for discipline. For that reason, you felt like you’d never get along with him.
You were messy, unorganized and a little clumsy on occasion. This always led to some interesting stories later on and a lot of teasing from the rest of your family. You pretended to be annoyed at them, rolling your eyes at their snide comments and making fun of their flaws in return, but secretly you loved when they let loose.
Azriel, however, never joined in on this teasing, despite the two of you having known each other for well over a decade. You assumed that it was your lack of discipline that irked him and so he chose to stay away but the High Lord didn't consider this before meddling.
it was a Sunday morning when, in your half-dazed state, you made your way to the kitchen for a cup of coffee.
"Y/n," Rhysand called from behind you.
You groaned in response, not bothering to turn around to face him. It was way too early to be seeing people.
He stayed quiet for a couple of seconds, no doubt waiting for a more proper acknowledgement of the High Lord of the Night Court. When he realized he wasn’t going to get it, he huffed and proceeded with what he needed to say.
"I need some reports filed quickly so from tomorrow you're gonna be working with Azriel to get them to me by the end of the month," Rhysand stated.
Your eyes widened, now feeling more awake than the strongest coffee had made you in the morning. You whipped your head around to face the smirking High Lord, knowing fully well this wasn't an urgent task but a way for Rhysand and Feyre to intervene in your love life. The inner circle loved to joke that because you and Azriel were opposites of each other, you’d get along great. It was all fun and games until Feyre got obsessed with the idea of actually giving you and Azriel a try regardless of whether you and Azriel wanted to or not.
“Can’t someone else do it?” You asked. “Why does it have to be me?”
“Because everyone else is busy doing their work. Besides, Azriel will be a good influence on you. Maybe he can teach you some discipline.” That smirk was still on his face and you’ve never wished more for Feyre’s abilities to make animals out of water. You’d love to leave a bear on Rhysand right about now, but unfortunately, he was your High Lord and his wish is your command, so you settled for the next best thing.
“Your shirt is covered in lint,” you side-eyed and walked out with your coffee cup in hand, leaving a gaping Rhysand swatting at his clothes.
At least you still had the day to prepare yourself for tomorrow.
After training, you were in your room having just come out of the shower. Someone knocked on your door and you had a feeling you knew who it was but strongly hoped against it. You made your way to the door and right before you could open it, your foot caught in a shirt on the ground and you fell with a loud thud.
Grimacing, you stood up, rubbing your elbow where it hit the floor. Opening the door, you saw Azriel standing on the other side with a smirk, no doubt because of your fall. Gods you couldn’t even open the door without being clumsy. Meanwhile, Azriel stood his back straight, shoulders pulled back, wings neatly folded and hands behind his back. He looked like the definition of grace.
You truly were opposites.
“Y/n,” he nodded in greeting, ignoring the knowledge of your fall to save you from further embarrassment.
You smiled slightly in return.
“I’ve been informed that we’re working on the reports together till the end of the month,” he stated.
“That’s correct,” you confirmed.
He nodded. “Meet me in my study tomorrow morning at 8,” Azriel said and walked away.
You stood startled for a second before calling after him, “Eight in the morning? Are you serious?”
Azriel turned around with a confused expression. “Yes.”
“Who starts work at 8 in the morning?” You questioned in disbelief.
“I normally start work at 6 but for you, I’m starting late. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He gave a final nod of farewell before turning around and walking away.
You gaped, internally cursing Rhysand for putting you in this situation. For a person like you who preferred to spend nights awake reading, eight in the morning was like the middle of the night. You didn’t know how you’d survive like this until the month's end. Groaning, you shut the door and slumped face-first into bed.
Cauldron have mercy.
~●○°●○°●○~
The next morning came around sooner than you were ready for. You’d set an alarm for 6 so you’d have ample time to wake up, enjoy your morning coffee, take a shower, and be ready for a day of torture. However, when 6 A.M. rolled around, getting trampled by a horse in your sleep sounded better than waking up, so you snoozed your alarm and fell back asleep.
When Mor burst into your room, you woke with a start.
“Good morning, princess!” she yelled, walking in wearing her night clothes still but looking as if she was ready for a night out at Rita’s.
“What time is it?” you gasped, frantically reaching for the clock at your bedside.
Mor jumped onto your bed. “What's up?”
8:02 A.M.
“Fuck!” you screamed, jumping out of bed and running to the bathroom. “I'm late!”
You shut the bathroom door, rushing about your morning routine, brushing your teeth, then hair, and slapping on some moisturizer.
“Relax! He lives in the same house!” Mor shouted from your bedroom.
You rushed out of the bathroom, reaching for the pair of shorts on the floor. “Yes, but we live in very different worlds,” you replied, slipping on the shorts and looking around for a shirt.
Mor lay on your bed, head propped up on one arm, and looked at you with an amused expression.
You threw on a random shirt you found in the closet and started to tie your hair into a messy bun. Mor took in your look and frowned. “Are we sure that top works with those shorts?” she asked.
You looked at her incredulously. “I don’t care about that right now!” you exclaimed. “Where are my shoes?” you went on your knees to look under the bed and pulled out a pair of white shoes you’d kicked under there last night. You glanced at the clock while putting on shoes and cursed under your breath.
“Girl, you know he’s not going to eat you alive if you’re 20 minutes late right?” Mor asked.
“No, but with the amount of lecturing I'm about to get, he might as well,” you sighed, getting off the bed and finally heading out the door.
“Good luck!” Mor called behind you as you headed to the door.
“Thanks,” you replied and rushed outside.
~●○°●○°●○~
Azriel’s study door was ajar so you peeked your head in to make sure he was there.
Azriel was sitting in his chair, head down, looking over some paperwork when you walked in.
“Good morning,” you greeted, going to sit in the chair opposite his. “I’m sorry I’m late.”
Azriel looked at the clock then at you, and said, “You’re earlier than any of us expected, actually.”
You were taken aback slightly by the statement. “Us?” you asked.
“Rhysand, Cassian and I,” he replied. “In fact, you just cost me quite a bit by being only twenty minutes late.”
Now you were straight-up offended. “You three bet that I’d slack off?”
You felt rage towards Cassian and Rhysand for thinking so little of you, but you decided to deal with them later. For now, you were stuck with Azriel for a good eight hours, and those were not going to be easy if you were upset with him the whole time. So, you shook his words off and put on a smile.
“So what are we doing?” you asked.
#azriel fanfic#azriel x reader#acotar#acotar fanfiction#acotar fluff#azriel x female!reader#azriel x you#azriel imagine#azriel shadowsinger#azriel shadowsinger x reader
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know me the way you know your childhood scars, like breathing; i wasn't running but if i was i'm glad it was to you.
tz11 x reader: a small town, a fresh start, a shared heart.
(warnings: blasphemous filth, unprotected penetrative sex (m on f), hair pulling, thigh-riding (this is newish), dirty talk (if you're new, welcome!), mentions of previous relationship being awful, i know i'm forgetting stuff but all my typical things. (please be warned, don’t read if you’re not 100% sure.)
(a/n: my favorites - i think jd6 getting traded was exactly what i needed in order to write a tz11 character who is actually a nice guy. i call that the best-friend-getting-a-new-best-friend-who-is-named-cam-york effect. anyways, this is long as hell (14k, anyone?), because i have recently been absolutely so over law school guys. i just want a guy who likes to get his hands dirty and actually has friends. too much to ask? okay. obviously, i got so insanely carried away here, as you will be able to tell. we've got about a million side characters, some of which you will recognize, some of which you will not, because i made them up (tell me why i'm so into the matt/bridget dynamic. could write about just them. maybe i will). you guys know that there will be plot holes and dialogue issues and the likes, but you love me anyways, and i love you for that. tz11 should enjoy this, because i know he will inevitably be back in my bad graces soon enough. next up is someone new (!) because i miss when people used to write about tyson jost left and right. hm, what else? tell me what you think, what you'd like to see. my one year anniversary since my first post is feb. 2 (i actually can't believe how fast it went by, and i'm so grateful for you for sticking with me). so, so much love to you and your snakes. go canucks. until next time.
this was probably a terrible idea, you thought, with your suitcases beside you, your head in your hands at the foot of the bed that would be yours for the foreseeable future. one bed of several at a local inn - local to this town, at least, not local to you.
no, you thought, jittery with unknowing and chance and uncertainty, none of this was familiar to you. not this town in the middle of nowhere, hundreds and hundreds of miles from your hometown, your university. not any of the few people you had interacted with, not the uber driver, the inn keeper, the housekeeping staff.
not one part of this place, this experience, not one part was familiar. but that's what you'd wanted, wasn't it? that was the whole point?
you'd wanted to find yourself, wanted to prove that you could take care of yourself, exist on your own, thrive outside of the bubble that was university.
you wanted a fresh start, away from ex-boyfriend and ex-best friend, their betrayal still fresh, a wound scabbing over on your heart. you wanted to breathe deeply and not worry about who was watching you exhale - a place where nobody knew you, where nobody could whisper about the girl whose boyfriend was cheating on her with her best friend. for three years. she's so stupid, how could she not have noticed?
well, here, you decided, that's what you would get. a humble job as a diner waitress lined up to start tomorrow, a booked room with no check-out date, not a laugh you'd recognize for miles and miles.
this is what you'd wanted, you told yourself, now, loneliness settling in your mouth the way the powder on sour candy does. this is what you have.
completely exhausted from travel and emotional havoc, you passed out that night amidst dreams of fresh starts and trees too tall to see you behind them.
such a lovely image did not last nearly an hour into the next morning, the first day of your new job, just a block or so from the inn you were staying at.
this was part of the reason you had chosen this place for your self-discovery journey, after all - the urgent hiring, competitive wage, amazingly low price for room and board.
you had worked in your university's coffee shop for a year or two to help pay your tuition, so, honestly, how different could it be?
very different, you realized, almost immediately. they were hiring urgently for a reason, which meant there was practically nobody there to train you. one of the line cooks, of all people, just threw you an apron and a name tag to wear over your uniform-compliant black skirt and shirt, mumbled something about a welcome, enunciated something louder about table three needing service.
and so your self-proclaimed new life began completely unceremoniously, with a name-tag that misspelled your name, the smell of waffles and western omelets permeating the air like some grandmother's perfume in an old living room.
at the very least, the business made the time pass quickly, as you paced from table to table, only pausing briefly to introduce yourself to the line, the host, the several curious patrons who asked about you.
"new girl," some impossibly old man husked, "they not have hot coffee where you're from?" he grimaced as he took another sip. "cold as a winter's -"
"okay, that's enough," his companion said, a woman, probably in her mid-twenties, with blonde hair chopped short. she gave you a sympathetic look, like you two were sharing some inside joke. you liked her immediately. "he's had about twelve cups already. don't mind him."
you felt your mouth tick up in a smile for what might have been the first time this morning as you introduced yourself to her, and her father, who you learned everyone affectionately called "old man peters." you learned that the young woman's name was bridget, and she insisted on giving you her number, in case you had any questions, or wanted to get together, or needed anything at all.
your day was already looking up, you thought, as you lifted your sulking ponytail from you back, loose strands curling at the nape of your neck, around your ears. bridget and old man peters bid you goodbye, and then the young host, a boy who stuttered so much over his name that you still didn't quite know what it was, sheepishly alerted you that he had seated a group at the booth in your section.
your flipped to a new page in your notepad as you walked back to the booth, your gaze quickly being tugged up by a drawl-ish voice blurting out "dibs! i call dibs!"
such as exclamation was followed by several groans and one "not fair, you're the only one facing the door."
your brow was slightly scrunched in confusion when you stood at the head of the group's table, four pairs of eyes faced to you in a way that made you feel like a politician about to give a speech.
you cleared your throat, not quite looking anyone in the face. "good morning," you said, "can i get you guys started with some drinks?"
you looked up from your notepad, clicking your pen against the surface of it, taking in the table of - well, you weren't really sure. construction workers, maybe? craftsmen? the four of them had on heavy canvas-like jackets, worn and worked in, highlighter-bright shirts underneath, callused hands that your observant eyes took note of immediately. they were young, too, probably about your age, which made you blush, only a little. these were not the kind of guys you had met in college, the kind who you would have taken a class on freud with, the kind who thought everything with a woman's hand around it was a phallic symbol.
"just coffee," one of them said, short. he tacked on a please when one of his friends smacked him lightly on the back of the head.
you motioned with your pen around the whole table. "for everyone?" you asked, but the question stumbled out of your mouth when your eyes caught on the last of the four, the one on the bench on the right, closest to you.
that sharp face, high cheekbones and cut jaw, should have been so serious, you thought, like some kind of statue, the kind your art history friends would have fawned over in a museum you didn't really want to go to. he should have been so serious, angular like that, but he was anything but. mirth danced in his eyes, so bright they almost sparkled. his full mouth was fixed in a sort of perpetual smirk, so ready to laugh that he was already halfway there. he had the lines around his eyes that told you his full smile would tear you in two.
you were probably staring at him, you realized, flushing deeper as his smirk broke free into something wider, all over his face.
"see, guys," he spoke, that goofy drawl you had noticed on your way over, nothing like the pretentious academics who spoke in circles. he leaned back in the booth. "doesn't matter that i called dibs. she likes me best anyways."
your face scrunched up in some combination of disbelief and hidden delight. "wait," you began, "when i was walking over here, when you said something about dibs," you fixed him with what you hoped was a glare, "you were calling dibs on me?"
he shrugged off his jacket, drawing attention to his wide shoulders, arms thick even through his bright long sleeve. you snapped your gaze back to his eyes, which shimmered, telling you that you'd been caught. "what's the big deal?"
you scoffed, blew a stray curl from your eye line. "you don't call dibs on people," you said.
"yeah, trevor," one of his friends teased, "what's wrong with you?"
"where to begin?" one of the others said, almost lost in thought.
"c'mon, sugar," trevor said, tilting his head, "'s a compliment, yeah?" his gaze rolled down your frame, almost gelatinous, meeting your eyes again reluctantly. "only 'cause you're so pretty, hm?"
you rolled your eyes, fixed your gaze on the one across from him, the one who looked the least engaged. "but, trevor," you whined, stretching out his name like salt-water taffy, "what if i wanted-" you paused, looked down at the blonde just below you.
"matt," he said, practically bored. you nodded your thanks.
"what if i wanted matt?"
his posture grew even more relaxed as he shifted his knees wider under the table. "oh, what if, sugar?" he mused, his eyes so expressive, never off of you for a moment.
"she's gonna spit in your coffee," matt said.
"how about we cut out the middle man and she just spits in my mouth?" he chirped, smirk so telling it made you flush pink.
you mumbled something about decorum before walking away in a flurry of annoyance and excitement. you couldn't really tell the difference, you realized, as you gave the poor host a pot of coffee and asked him kindly to drop it off at the back booth.
you were not something to be called dibs on, that was for sure, and you were here to find yourself, not anyone else, certainly not some guy. even if some guy had soft-looking hair and a witty mouth. even then.
you took a stabilizing breath and got back to work, noting that the back booth only got coffee, only stayed for about twenty minutes before making to leave, heavy jackets loud as they shrugged them back on.
three of the guys called out their thanks and headed out, leaving only a standing trevor there when you approached to settle their bill. thumbing through his wallet, he grinned down at you when you finally stood in front of him again.
he was taller than you thought, you realized, as he now stood at full height. you had to crane your neck slightly to look him fully in the face.
"thought you'd be shorter," you said, honestly, hoping to knock him down a peg, however mean that might have been. but of course he only smirked.
"get that a lot," he drawled, selecting a bill, putting his wallet back in his pocket with hands you had to force yourself not to stare at. "been told 've got the personality of a short guy in the body of a tall one."
you shook your head. of course someone had told him that.
you couldn't really ruminate on that, though, as he stuck the twenty in the front pocket of your apron, as well as something with a slight weight to it, urging an angry pink to the tops of your ears, the feeling of his wide hand warm, so close to you.
you peered up at him, sucked on your teeth as he pulled out his hand slowly, that ever-present smirk almost faltering at your gaze.
"thanks for the service, sugar," he said, and you probably imagined the way the end of his words sounded strained. "see you around, yeah?"
you didn't break eye contact, only let yourself smile back at him before turning and getting back to work, letting the push and pull of waitressing lull you into a rhythm during which it was practically impossible to think too heavily about bright eyes and broad shoulders.
by the end of your shift, you had been officially tired out. you were sure your hair reeked of coffee, and your ankles ached from standing all day.
going to empty your apron, however, right before you left, your hand settled on the bill from earlier, but also several wrapped butterscotch candies. your face contorted as you stared at them, wondering why trevor had put them there.
exhaustion won over curiosity though, as you thanked everyone for your first day and walked the short block back to the inn.
this won't be that bad, you were thinking to yourself as you walked up the stairs. you already had the phone number of a maybe-friend, after all, and as far as jobs went, this one could be a lot worse. good money, good way to meet new people, maybe even something pretty to look at -
as if summoned by your thoughts, when you turned out of the staircase to your hallway, there trevor was, standing on a ladder, looking into the ceiling, some box of tools on the floor.
you narrowed your eyes, bag suddenly feeling heavy on your shoulder. the presence of a new figure drew his gaze to you, and you had to scold your heart, the way it beat like a teenager at the way he looked at you, then. you didn't know him, after all, and you weren't here for anything romantic.
"you followin' me, sugar?" he asked, stepped down from the ladder, making his way over to you. his voice was slow and tired, from whatever he had done that day. you were shocked at the fact that you wanted to know what that was. his gaze shone as he gently took your bag from your shoulder and slugged it onto his own, fell into step beside you. you let him. "tell me you're following me."
you rolled your eyes, but the small smile on your face wasn't going anywhere. "this is where i'm staying," you explained, "so, if anything, you're following me."
you stopped in front of your door, leaned back against it, suddenly in no rush to lock yourself behind it, alone. not when he was on this side of the door, looking like this.
almost weary with hard work, but not weary enough to sour him, just enough to make his movements and expressions slightly slower, lazier, more indulgent, like they were drenched in chocolate ganache. not when he was here, looking at you like this, like you were the most interesting thing he'd ever seen.
after years at some preppy, pretentious university, at which ingenuity was the most valuable currency, one you felt you lacked so disgustingly, was it really too surprising that you softened under his gaze? that you wanted to stay in it, just a little bit longer?
"sugar?" he asked, head tilted, and you realized he had been talking.
"sorry, what?" you asked, your voice soft like sponge cake, willing your eyes to focus, your mind to focus harder.
he didn't tease you too badly, though, only let his smile grow sharper with a smirk. "i said that 'm sorry if i hurt your feelings with the dibs stuff," he said, and you were almost confused at his apology. you weren't even upset, and when was the last time someone had apologized to you so quickly after doing something?
your memory cut hazily to your ex, somehow trying to convince you it had been your fault that he cheated on you, that it was something you were lacking that had inevitably led him to do that. you practically shivered, then internally scolded yourself for comparing trevor, whom you had met today, you reminded yourself, to your ex-boyfriend.
"'s fine," you said, waving him off, your back softening further into the door. "didn't really hurt my feelings."
his eyes flashed. "didn't really or didn't, sugar?" he asked, searching your face.
you swallowed, acutely aware of his attention, how it slid down your nose, your cheeks, your jaw, slow and thick as sludge. "didn't."
he gave a nod. "'m sorry anyway," he said, and it came out low. "if you really want to go for matt, i won't stop you."
and part of you wanted to blurt out i don't want matt!
but it was your first day in this place, and honestly, you were still kind of hung up on his apology, and the way it sounded from his chapped lips, and you knew to correct him would be exactly what he wanted.
so you just said "thank you," and were shocked at how gentle it sounded.
"jesus christ, distracted, are we, trev?" the voice of the young inn-keeper called from the end of the hallway. he seemed awfully chipper as he approached, hands in his pockets. "i came up to check on your progress," he said, "or lack thereof, i guess." he looked between the two of you. "now i see who's stolen your attention."
"i'm on my legally-required fifteen minute break," trevor said, half-smiling, turning back to you. "sugar, you know my brother, griff?"
you nodded, suddenly clocking the subtle ways their appearances drew from each other. trevor was taller, griff had a wider face, bigger features. but they had the same eyes, same strong nose, mirroring grins. "he owns my room," you said, dumbly, tiredly.
griff only smiled. "she's had a long day, trev, leave her be."
trevor searched your face again, seemed to find all the proof he needed - your heavy eyelids, drooping shoulders. he gently handed your bag back to you. "i'll see you tomorrow, sugar," he said, as soft as you'd heard him. so soft it startled you. "sweet dreams."
"goodnight," you said to both of them, shutting the door behind you. sleep came easily that night, again, with dreams less so of hiding behind trees and more so of rough hands and laughing eyes.
you were surprised, pleasantly so, at how quickly you fell into a routine in your new home. surprised at how quickly you let yourself call this place that.
maybe it was the way that bridget wasn't just being polite when she had given you her phone number, as she had quickly set up dates to show you all her favorite hiking spots around. your weekly hikes with her became a highlight as she told you more about the town, about her young daughter, about book club, about anything and everything. she was so kind with you that you found yourself so comfortable confiding in her. it felt so easy calling her a friend.
maybe it was the way the town seemed to accept you as one of their own so quickly and genuinely. the line cooks flirted with you in the way only line cooks do (in ways that would not be acceptable outside of a kitchen). they made you food to take home, kept you from starving. the host, harry, began to trust you enough that he asked for your help on homework. the regulars began to recognize you, know your name, ask how you were doing. griff checked in on you, asked if anything was wrong with the room, said you should feel free to use his kitchen anytime (as your room was the simplest kind, and didn't have any cooking appliances). you began to know the names of the streets, the stores, the store owners. your fresh start was starting to feel like just that - a start.
or maybe it was that same group of guys who came in every morning, at the same time, who ordered only coffee and then left in a flush of waves and heavy jackets and called-out salutations. you learned that the one with the curly hair, alex, was the quietest, probably the smartest. his closest friend, cole, was the shorter one, who had the loudest laugh. and matt was warming up to you, you thought. the more you made fun of trevor, the more he seemed to like you.
it was that same group, every day, who came in loudly and left louder, who had paint and dirt smudged on their shirts, their hands. who drank coffee like it was water. who laughed like it was easy as breathing, and maybe that was how it was supposed to be.
and, of course, there was trevor, who, the more you got to know him, the more trouble he became. every day, his "good morning, sugar," would reverberate through your chest, and you would drop a pot of coffee at their table, ask how they were doing, listen for their answers.
some comments about how old man peters' roof is caving in, and he should have told them about it probably a year ago, or about how the police chief's plumbing is fucked, or about how they were going over to fix bridget's sink that day. and, if it was the last one, matt would flush, which would make your eyes widen, would make you pepper him with questions about his crush.
and then, at some point during their morning break, trevor would ask something about you, about how you were, about the way you were wearing your hair, the shoes you were wearing, the book you had been reading the week before. and then, as he left, without fail, he would slip a bill and several butterscotch candies into your apron pocket, each time his hand growing heavier, more significant as it settled so close to you.
it didn't particularly help your small crush that you saw him everywhere. he was always fixing something - in the diner, at the inn, in the park downtown. you couldn't escape him and his deft hands, his working mind, his strong frame and easy laugh and addictive smile.
he was everywhere, so of course he would be here, at the grocery store, after your shift one day. you were roaming the isles, looking for a specific kind of vinegar, your basket hoisted up onto your hip, when a low whistle made you turn. you were met with that lazy smirk, your favorite one of his, the nighttime one, the tired one. he approached you, his work boots heavy on the ground.
"you followin' me, trevor?" you asked, repeating what become something of an inside joke between the two of you.
"maybe," he said, looking down at you, shimmering eyes framed by long lashes. "do you want me to be following you, sugar?"
you hummed, noncommittal, some harmony between the fluorescent lights above, the whir of the fridges the next isle over. you turned back to the shelving, resumed your survey of the contents. "your brother offered his kitchen for me to use while he's out tonight," you said, not looking at him.
"did he?" trevor mused, an almost undetectable bite in his tone.
you nodded, eyes alight with excitement. "been eating pancakes and chicken noodle soup for weeks now," you said, referring to what the line cooks sent you home with. "swear my mouth's watering just thinking about something different." you ran a thumb along your bottom lip, as if checking for spit.
if you had been looking at trevor, you would have see his shallow swallow, the way his eyes tracked your movement, how his gaze hung from your mouth like lacy ribbon. he cleared his throat.
you finally located the vinegar you wanted, on the very top shelf. pushing yourself up on your tiptoes, you reached the tips of your fingers for the bottle, only just out of reach.
trevor only chuckled as he grabbed the bottle easily, took the basket from your hip and into his own hand, dropping the vinegar into it.
"i can carry that, you know," you said, suddenly wishing you had something to do with your hands.
"i know," he said, smug.
you rolled your eyes, huffed a thank you, anyways.
"so, what're you making?" he asked as you led him from aisle to aisle, loading your basket with ingredients.
you explained to him how, in college, this one salad had been your absolute favorite to make when you needed something that made you feel good. something about the combination of arugula, kale, chickpeas, sweet potato, whatever other vegetables you had on hand, sometimes chicken, if you were feeling fancy, something about the simple dressing of oil and vinegar - it was perfect. no meal left you feeling as good as this one did.
and it was how you had made it entirely on your own, too - it wasn't some fancy steak dinner your ex had buttered you up with after a fight, it wasn't boxed brownies shared with your old best friend the night before you found out - no, this was all you.
when you looked back at trevor, there was something molten in his gaze. "sounds amazing," he said, low, like he didn't want anyone else to hear.
you tilted your head, let your smile slant across you face, scrunched up your nose, teasing. "would you want to join me for dinner, trevor?"
his face split into a grin. "i would," he said, "i would want to, please."
and so you found yourself fumbling around someone else's kitchen with an audience, washing kale and peeling sweet potatoes with fingers that twitched towards the figure across the counter, practically irritated that they weren't touching him.
you scolded your hands to behave, which became easier as the night went on, as conversation flowed like cranberry juice, the flavor of it lingering in your mouth just the same.
he might ask you about how the diner was going, to which you would look around as if to make sure no one was there. his eyes would flash. you would miss this.
"harry's been making some real progress in precalc," you would say from behind your hand, speaking of the host, whom you had come to view very fondly. "and you didn't hear it from me, but i think he's going to ask his friend jason to the school dance next weekend."
you would be flushed with excitement and pride, and trevor wouldn't be able to get much beyond that, honestly, the way it lit you up from the inside out.
but then he would clear his throat, and lean forward on his hands, and tell you that if harry needed help asking jason to the dance, he knew exactly the best crew for the job.
"don't tell me you're talking about your rag-tag group of misfits," you would say, cocking a brow as you dressed the kale and arugula.
and he would feign offense, place a broad hand over his heart. "i'll have you know that this group of misfits went 16/16 in high school dance invitations," he would say. "all four of us, all four years."
you might roll your eyes. "real band of heartbreakers, were you?" you would say.
and laughter would shine behind his eyes like christmas tree lights behind store windows, and he would stretch his arms above his head, lazily, comfortably. "'course not," he would say, his voice the sort of raspy that comes with stretching, "only alex."
and this would pull a real laugh from you, as you tossed everything together, the kind of laugh that rung in his ears, that made him pleasantly dizzy.
as the night passed on, time moving altogether too fast and the kind of slow that oozes, you would learn about how he grew up in this town, how he went to trade school, how he had had the same friends his entire life. you would ask questions about if he ever felt the desire to leave (not really), how he got into manual labor (he never really felt like he was that good at anything else), what his family was like (close, but not overbearingly so).
and, in turn, between bites and sips and laughs, you would tell him about how you grew up (humbly), what school was like (hard, but rewarding), how you ended up here (cheap housing, good job, close community). and maybe you would actually tell him about the ultimate betrayal you had faced before you left, why that made you want to be somewhere, anywhere else, somewhere where you had no choice but to make a life entirely for yourself.
at the mention of your ex his jaw might clench, his mouth twitching ever so slightly. he would mutter something about nonsense, and you would smile.
he would ask questions about your family (just your dad and you), your favorite parts of your life here (hikes with bridget, homework sessions with harry, bickering with old man peters).
and he would pout, at that, his bottom lip looking so positively delicious it stole your breath. "'m not your favorite, sugar?" he would plead, joking.
maybe you would really look in his eyes, then, find something hot, tilt your head. "you wanna be?" you would ask, breathier than you intended.
and he would smirk, somehow flipping the dynamic on its head entirely with only a single expression. "you know i do, sugar," he would tell you, low and so loaded you would blush.
it might scare you how easily you let him in, how quickly you were warming up to him. his pretty face might scare you, because pretty faces had hurt you before. there had been no one prettier than your old best friend, after all, and look how that turned out.
so, when the night grew viscous, and the meal was long over, the dishes done, a portion for griff packed up in tubberware on the counter, when he walked you upstairs to your room, both of your steps slow, reluctant, when his gaze lingered on your lips and the smell of him grew distracting, the height of him all-consuming, even then, even though you wanted to, you didn't kiss him. you only bid him a gentle goodnight.
"thank you for tonight," he would say, instead, looping his arms around your neck, hugging you close to his chest. this was so much worse, you thought, as you breathed him in, wrapped your own arms around him and squeezed. the way he held you like he was afraid what would happen if he let go. his hair so messy and his tone so genuine it almost hurt. "sweet dreams, sugar," he said into your hair before pulling away.
even though, that night, you might have dreamed about how his rough hands might feel as they held your soft cheek, how his chapped lips might slot against your glossed mouth. even if you woke up, that next morning, practically sweating. not the sweetest of dreams.
today was your day off. you had plans later with bridget, but you decided to book a haircut and blowout at the salon downtown, since you had the whole morning to yourself. the salon was one place you hadn't been in, yet, and you hadn't had a haircut in months, so you figured now was a good a time as any.
the bell above the door rang when you stepped inside, but no one seemed to notice over the shrill thrum of hair dryers, sinks, and the steady stream of gossip that you appeared to have walked in on.
"she told me her trevor went on a date, julia," one of the stylists said seriously, her eyes expressive as she sectioned her client's head of long curls. "won't stop rambling on and on about her, she says."
your heart jumped in your chest at trevor's name, sunk accordingly. he had been on a date? you weren't sure why you had assumed you were the only girl in his life at the moment, but it stung, nonetheless. you pulled at a thread on your long sleeve, eyes down.
you can't be upset, you told yourself, don't you dare be disappointed-
"oh, honey, how long you been waiting?" one of the stylists called out, making her way over to you and the front desk. "swear you have to throw somethin' at one of us when you come in or we'll never stop talking." she had such an easy way of speaking, a comfortable posture, a genuine face.
"sorry," you said, looking around, still recovering from what you'd overhead.
she just waved you off with a smile. "it's us motormouths who should be apologizing," she said before introducing herself as ginger. "now, what name is your appointment under?"
you told ginger your name, and as soon as you did, her eyes sailed up to meet yours again, wide and bright. she snapped her fingers, getting the room's attention. "you're the doll who stole our baby trevor's heart!"
you blushed furiously, felt the words in your mouth twist and tangle like a toddler's hair. "me? no, that can't be right," you said. there's no way last night counted as a date, you thought. there's no way he's talking about me.
the other stylist just squealed as you were led to a chair. "of course it's you! look at her, julia," she said to the woman in her chair, practically elated, "what a treasure!"
your blush wasn't going anywhere any time soon.
"that boy's been talkin' to 's mama 'bout you, honey," julia said from her chair, her expression knowing. "he's just about smitten, she says."
"and a mother always knows," ginger said, emphasizing her words with hairbrush gestures.
so you spent your appointment getting a couple inches off, hearing about the trouble trevor used to get in when he was younger (apparently alex used to be the biggest troublemaker, though), hearing about how trevor just went around fixing whatever anyone needed fixing.
"swear that sweet boy wouldn't charge a dime if this town'd let him," ginger said as she worked long layers into your hair, "we have to sneak payment into his pockets, and even then he tries to give it back!"
your cheeks burned, your heart heavy with affection as she blew out your hair, leaving it soft and smooth. you paid, said goodbye for about ten minutes, found out just how hard it was to escape salon conversation.
"now go show off for our baby, honey!" someone called out the door after you, making you laugh. you guessed that all the stereotypes about small town hair salons were true.
you went on your weekly hike with bridget, who gave you that understated grin when she saw you. "looking good," she said, bumping her shoulder into yours. "trev doesn't stand a chance."
you rolled your eyes. "didn't get my hair cut for him."
she laughed. "i know," she responded, "but all anyone can talk about this morning is your date last night."
you couldn't help but scoff good-naturedly. "i can't believe people already know about this," you said, "it was literally last night, and it wasn't even a date."
she waved you off. "nobody cares about the logistics. even my girl was moping to me about it. she's got a little crush on her skating instructor."
"trevor teaches your daughter how to skate?" you asked, having never heard of this.
she nodded. "he's the highlight of her week," she said, her eyes soft, picturing her daughter's unabashed smile.
"get in line," you mumbled, covering your face with your hands.
why was everyone so intent on revealing adorable information about trevor to you today? didn't they know he already took up enough of your daily headspace?
"can't somebody tell me he hates animals, or something? or that he's really pretentious about art? or that he has, like, some weird fetish?"
bridget laughed. "sorry, babe," she said, "he's the town's sweetheart."
you were still reeling with all of this information when you got back to the inn, your face rosy from the outside chill, your body pleasantly awake from your walk.
you began up the stairs, humming to yourself, ready to collapse onto your bed, maybe catch up on some reading.
"you followin' me, sugar?"
you looked up, immediately, feeling your pulse in your neck, in your teeth.
there he was, of course, there he was, painting the railing in the stairwell, the sharp smell of paint faint in the air.
all dirtied up from the day, that slouch that only appeared in the late afternoon, that crinkly smile, all of it made him almost too good to be real.
"maybe," you said, like second nature now, after all those times before, his face forcing a tiny smile from your mouth.
you stood just in front of him now, held your breath as he reached up, twirled a strand of your hair around a finger. he let out a low whistle you felt in your stomach.
"lookin' awful pretty tonight," he said, not much more than a whisper as he thumbed the soft ends of your freshly-cut hair.
his words settled like thick caramel on your tongue. "thank you," you mustered, your mind spinning with all of the wonderful things you had heard about him, today.
he bent down to one knee in front of you as you collected your thoughts. "um, what are you doing?" you said, strained, dumb.
he looked up at you through those girlish lashes, smirk heavy on his perfect face. he tugged your foot closer to him. "shoe's untied," he said, gesturing to your sneaker. "may i?"
you blinked at him before nodding, because what alternate universe was this? you tried to imagine any other man you'd known willingly getting on the floor for you, just to tie your shoe. you couldn't.
he tightened your laces with nimble hands.
you cleared your throat. "heard something funny today from the ladies at the salon," you told him, trying to focus on something other than his proximity.
he hummed. "nothin' good, i'll bet," he mused, "ginger loves a good story."
"it was a good story," you said, reveled in the way his expression softened, giving you the courage to press on. he began to tie a double knot. "'bout how you're tellin' your mom we went on a date."
he pulled the bow tight, looked up a you for a second, a guilty, childish grin on his face, caught red-handed. you extended a hand to him, helped him back to his feet.
"oh, yeah," he said smugly, folding his arms across his chest, leaning back against the wall, easy, comfortable. "like how you asked me to dinner, and then cooked for me, and how it 100% was a date-"
you laughed, shook your head. "it was not!" you said, "i never said it was a date!"
he ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek. "call it wishful thinking, then, sugar."
and you couldn't focus too much on what he meant by that, so you just shook your head again. "you're too much," you said, wanting it to come out teasing, but instead there was a breathy sort of desperation behind it.
"yeah?" he asked, that smirk present as ever. you had grown so close to him without realizing it, now just a step away. him leaning back against the wall, you right in front of him, looking up at him.
you nodded, swallowed, your blood hot, your skin prickly, alive.
his eyes fixed you in place, teasing. "too much for you, sugar? can't take it?"
you bit your lip to stop any sound from escaping you, because everything seemed entirely too loud, then. you could hear your heartbeat, you swore you could hear his, the radiator could have been screaming at you. you didn't dare think about just how much you wanted to take.
to stop yourself from doing something much more serious, you simply reached your hand forward, swiped at a spot of paint on his face with your thumb.
your touch against his brow bone felt like an exhale, like melting wax. you could feel his warm breath on your hand as you pulled it back, but then he was looking at you, like that, like you were so, so special, like he would have doused his face in paint just to have your hands wipe it all away, and were you imagining the way his gaze grew fiery?
"trev! old man peters says his sink's still leaking!"
griff's voice rattled down the stairwell, smothering the flames in your eyes, if only just. just enough to break the spell, to pull away, to tell him you'd see him tomorrow for his coffee break, for his hungry gaze to follow you up the stairs until you were out of sight.
and so the routine continued, more butterscotch candies slipped into aprons, more pestering his friends, more slyly asking bridget what she thought about matt (she was deflecting, you'd observed, delighted). more helping with homework and reading in bed and cooking and snapping at old man peters to stop leaving his watch behind.
more stolen touches and longing glances and sideways smiles, backwards hats and work gloves stuffed in pockets, damp hair sticking to your neck, the hem of your skirt brushing against your thigh. more flame and softness and sweetness drenching your frame as he said hello, and goodbye, and sweet dreams, and anything else. that coil inside of you twisted tighter and tighter as you wondered what exactly was holding you back, what exactly you were waiting for.
one day, after work, there was a knock at your door. you'd be lying if you said you weren't a little bit disappointed when you opened it.
"you coming?" griff said, "town hall meeting starts in 5."
you scrunched up your nose. "town hall? what, is it required?"
he smiled, kind. "no, but they're usually a good time," he said, "and trevor's going to be there."
you had your jacket in your hand already. "he's not the reason i'm coming," you said, following him out the door and down the street.
"i won't tell anyone," was all griff replied, his smile understanding and gentle.
you had never been to a town hall meeting before. you'd guessed that the closest thing you could imagine was a student government meeting, which you'd been a part of in college.
this seemed much more laid back, though, taking place in the middle school gymnasium. it looked like almost everyone from town was here. you noticed old man peters, sitting with bridget, her daughter buzzing around from person to person. the salon ladies were talking to pretty much everybody. there was harry, sitting next to his mom. you approached bridget as griff went up to talk to the fire chief, one of his close friends.
soon enough, the meeting began, the first issue on the docket being the prospect of a stoplight on the intersection of drysdale avenue and york street.
bridget yawned, "same issue every meeting," she whispered to you. "always divided down the middle." this time was no different, you observed, the parents in the crowd seemed completely for the stoplight, the older crowd significantly against.
"next issue, a write in from the community, quote," the representative began, reading from notecards, "should the implementation of the 'dibs' rule be observed seriously, unquote." he cleared his throat, looked up to the crowd. "thoughts?"
you stifled an embarrassed laugh, held your face in your hands as bridget rubbed soothing circles in your back. "is this actually a real-life discussion topic?" you asked, incredulous.
"just let them have their fun," she whispered in a way that made her smile evident.
"i think 'dibs' is outdated and juvenile," a woman said, "sets a bad example for the kids."
the man up front was taking notes.
"i think it's cute," bridget piped up from her chair.
"me, too!" her daughter giggled, jumping into her lap.
"alright, i've got two for cute, one for bad influence," the man said, "anyone else?"
"i think it's lame," a very matt-like voice said, gruff, short.
"one for lame," the scribe said aloud.
"well, i think you're lame," that goofy drawl called out, making you pull your head up, look around until you spotted him, near the front. he was swatting matt on the back of the head. "and i learned it from alex, so take it up with him."
his curly-haired friend hid a smirk. "it's a high school move," he explained to the crowd, before turning to face trevor. "we haven't done it in years."
"until now," trevor amended, "but you guys understand. you've seen her. you've talked to her."
ginger put her hand over her heart as if swooning.
someone coughed. your face was burning up. bridget nudged you gently.
"she's here, trev," griff said, to which the fire chief let out a hearty laugh.
"really?" he turned to face the crowd, his voice excited, hopeful, searching. "where are you, sugar?"
you raised your hand, of all things, immediately wanted to smack yourself. "hey," you said, mousy.
"hey," he parroted, mocking, but of course not maliciously. his smile broke you apart.
and then you were having a conversation with several rows of people in chairs between you, on a gymnasium floor.
"you're the only one with the dibs curse on you," he said, "so what's your take on it? should we abolish the practice for good? is it outdated?"
you swallowed, were looking only at him as the scribe sat at the front, pen at the ready. "well," you began, "it works, from what i can tell." his smile put you together again. "so it can't be that outdated."
his eyes shone, only for you. "you heard her," he said, "case closed."
"are we actually still talking about this?" old man peters asked, to bridget, but much too loudly.
the rest of the meeting passed, absolutely delivering on laughs and nonsense, as promised.
"last thing before we go," the man said, "does everyone have a ride to the away game tomorrow?"
you leaned over to bridget. "what's that?"
"the rec hockey team is away this weekend," she whispered.
"rec hockey?" you said, confused, "like kids?"
she shook her head. "like kids, yes, but not kids."
"sugar, do you have a ride?" trevor's voice rang clear against the mumbled chatter of the room.
you looked up, met his eyes again. "uh, i don't think i'm going?" you said.
there was a collective gasp, followed by silence. your eyes widened. "babe," bridget whisper-screamed at you. "everyone goes."
you cleared your throat, realizing your grave error. "well, then i don't have a ride."
"you can ride with me, honey," ginger said, sweetly, with a warning in her eye.
"trevor has to go super early since he's playing," bridget whispered from next to you. you nodded, signaling that you had heard her.
"thank you!" you called out.
rides were sorted, the meeting ended, everyone saying their goodbyes, folding chairs scraping against the waxy floor. trevor and his friends caught up with you and bridget on your way out.
trevor slung a heavy arm around your shoulders that you couldn't help but lean into. he smelled like sawdust and something citrusy. "i didn't know you played hockey," you said, looking up at him curiously, not letting yourself ruminate on how good he felt slotted against your side.
he shrugged.
bridget scoffed. "he's good, too," she said, "i hate to pump his tires, but only the best teacher for my baby girl." she pressed a kiss to the cheek of her smiley daughter, whom she had hoisted up onto her hip. "all of them play," she said, a vague gesture to the group. "lit it up in high school."
"not all of them are as good, though," trevor said, which caused some annoyed groans.
"what about heartbreaker alex, over here?" you teased.
"heartbreaker alex has grown up since junior year," alex said, soft spoken. "and it's not my fault my hair looks like this."
the shortest friend of the group, cole, the one with the loudest laugh, whom you had come to rely upon for book recommendations, put a hand in line with his brow bone, as if blocking out the sun to search for something.
"what are you doing?" alex asked.
"oh, me?" cole said, "just looking for all the girls you must be getting, since you've still got all that hair."
alex rolled his eyes, the group laughed.
"what about you, matt?" you asked as trevor held open the door, all of you stepping out into the night air. "i've heard the team's got a perfect record for dance invites. any high school stories?"
matt didn't say anything for a second, but bridget laughed. "you're really telling people that, trev, as if i didn't ask him freshman year?" she nodded towards matt, who was actually blushing, you thought, but the dark made it hard to tell. "was a tough sell, eh? he was so quiet when i asked i thought he pretending that i wasn't there."
"oh, we remember," cole said, tone alight with understanding. "funny how we grow up, but so much stays the sa-" he blew out a breath when matt elbowed him in the gut.
you smiled to yourself. "i'll see all of you tomorrow, for the game, then?" you said, the inn now steps away.
goodbyes rang out, and you made to remove yourself from trevor's embrace, but he only spun you back into his chest, pulling you close, his arms now wrapped around your back, your nose against his breastbone. you breathed in, melted into him, squeezed him back.
"did you mean it?" he said, soft, so only you would hear him.
you mumbled your confusion into his chest.
"when you said it was working? did you mean it?"
your heart jumped, his words so vulnerable you couldn't look at him. "i meant it," you whispered into his bright shirt. "you're working on me, trevor." you felt his lips brush against your hair, featherlight, before he let you go.
"sweet dreams, sugar," he said, and you walked back to your room with wobbly legs and an overactive heart.
the following day, ginger graciously gave you a ride to the next town over. she, of course, chatted you up the entire time, which you welcomed.
"i know i must be super late to the party here," you said, carefully, picking at your nails, "but what's the story behind bridget and matt?"
ginger tsked. "we're a bad influence on you, honey," she said, taking a right. "you're gonna be a big mouth like me in no time."
you laughed. "it's only 'cause matt's so obvious about it," you told her, "they've known each other forever, and i learned yesterday that she asked him to their freshman dance." you trailed off, hoping that ginger would take your cue.
she nodded, smiled fondly. "our bridget was always such a spitfire," she said, "always going for what she wanted. smart as a whip, too, but you know that."
you nodded. you did.
"and she could have had anyone, but she wanted our matthew, and he wasn't a sight for sore eyes then, like he is now."
is matt good-looking? you'd thought to yourself. you surely hadn't noticed. perhaps you were distracted. perhaps your gaze always wandered.
"but bridget marched right up, asked him to the dance, and the poor boy was so stunned it took him a full minute to say yes." she shook her head, lost in the memory.
"did they ever date, like for real?" you asked, enraptured.
she frowned. "no, i don't think so, at least. bridget was always bouncing around flings, trying out guys for a few weeks, then cuttin' 'em loose." her smile grew wistful. "then she had her darling girl, middle of senior year. dad booked it, never looked back. don't think she's been with anyone since."
you frowned, too, hating the thought of someone abandoning your friend, as lovely and wonderful as she was. what a privilege it would be to be a part of her family.
"and matt?" you asked, as the car pulled into the parking lot. you ran your palms up and down your jeans.
ginger whistled. "that boy's been starry-eyed over her since grade five," she said, "but me and the girls aren't surprised he thinks he doesn't have a shot. his self-esteem's never been the highest, not like the rest of 'em."
"not like cole, who swears he could land a plane, if it came around to it?" you said, grinning.
ginger laughed. "exactly. and not like alex, who was never without a girlfriend, and not like your trevor, who's never needed anyone to tell him how great he is."
you sucked on your teeth. "but we do, anyways," you reminded her.
"that we do, honey," she finished, putting the car in park. "let's go cheer on those knuckleheads, shall we?"
the rink was colder than you thought it would be. the walls were practically made of aluminum foil. you wrapped your arms around yourself, blew out a foggy breath, followed ginger to the away section, absolutely packed with everyone you recognized.
as you settled into the stands, your eyes immediately searched for trevor.
"he's number 11," bridget said, coming to stand next to you.
you rolled your eyes. "and what number is matt?"
she shoved you, playfully, but when spoke, it was bashful. "12," she said. "cole's 22 and alex is 39. police chief is 8, fireman spence is the goalie, and griff is the ref."
you furrowed your brow. "isn't that a conflict of interest?" you asked.
she huffed in a laugh. "if anything, it's a disadvantage for us."
the game started, and you realized very early on that maybe trevor hadn't been lying when he said not all of them are as good. he practically flew around the ice, graceful, mesmerizing. and it was obvious that he wasn't looking to show off, either, that he was just playing to have fun, and if he really wanted to, he could run the scoresheet up into oblivion.
you could feel bridget smile beside you. "yeah," she sighed. "it's pretty crazy."
"he could play professionally," you breathed.
she shrugged. "he's happy," she said simply.
cole scored twice, the other team clawed their way back in. griff threw alex in the box for boarding, which old man peters, even with his granddaughter in his lap, would not let go, keeping a one-man ref, you suck! chant going long after the power play was over.
"does he know it's griff?" you asked bridget.
"of course he does," she said. "he'll buy him a beer after this."
such was small town life, you supposed.
in the end, fireman spence made some crucial saves, keeping it tied late into the third. with about a minute left, trevor made an unreal, practically magical pass to matt, who finished it off in a one-timer that sunk into the back of the net.
the crowd erupted. you and bridget jumped up and down, holding each other as the goal horn sounded.
the team went through the line in celebration, then skating by the away section before the next face off.
trevor blew you a kiss. you shook your head at him, but couldn't wipe the smile off of your face.
the game ended in a win, and the town migrated over to the local bar. you busied yourself with harry's mom, telling her that no, she had nothing to worry about, yes, harry was quiet, but he was kind as anything, and that was most important.
everyone cheered when the team walked in. you clapped along with them, feeling a smile tug at your lips as soon as your eyes locked on trevor.
his eyes found yours immediately, that lazy grin following as he squeezed past people to get to you.
you met him halfway, a hazy neon light over your heads, making color dance in his eyes like starlight. his long hair was damp, curly at the ends in a way that made you want to reach up and tug at them.
"speechless, eh, sug?" he teased, shrugging one shoulder with exaggerated arrogance. "i know, my play tends to evoke that reaction from people. i-"
you scrunched your mouth to the side, smacked him lightly in the chest. "god forbid i try to think of something nice to say to you," you said, smiling. you made to pull you hand back, but his warm, wide palm came up to cover it, holding it against his chest.
you exhaled, looked up at him, unsure.
"what was your favorite part?" he asked, those shining eyes careful. "did you like cole's between-the-legs? or maybe my last assist?" he winked. "always a crowd favorite."
suddenly confidence welled up inside of you, a vault. but we tell him anyways, you had said. that we do.
tell him, the overhead lights whispered.
"when you blew me a kiss," you said, reaching your free hand up to cup his jaw, textured under your touch from his five-o'clock-shadow. "that was my favorite part."
flame crept into his gaze abruptly, suddenly, shockingly. he settled his other hand on your hip, pulled you closer to him, his grip making your breath catch. "was it?" there was a roughness to his voice that felt tangible.
you nodded slowly, speaking to his mouth. you weren't scared. you weren't running. you weren't stalling. your skin was humming, your blood felt hot. he was so perfect against you, his hand over yours somehow the most intimate touch you could remember.
he ducked his head to yours, just a breath away, so you could see the gold in his eyes. "let me do you one better," he rasped, waiting for your single nod before finally crushing his mouth to yours in a kiss that felt like early sunrises, slow and meaningful and only the beginning.
you pushed up onto your tiptoes, looped both of your arms around his neck, tugging him closer, closer, as he kept one hand on your hip, the other grasping the back of your neck, keeping you from collapsing into him.
kissing your ex had felt almost robotic, scientific, stiff in an endearing way at best, stiff in an awkward way in reality.
there was nothing stiff about this, nothing scientific about him. this was all feeling, all malleable, all calloused hands and chapped lips. he kissed like someone who had to work for it, like someone who didn't have to prove anything to you but wanted to, anyways.
just that was enough for you to sigh against him, the fact that there were other people around the only thing stifling your soft moan.
he smiled into your mouth, like a low-spoken secret between the two of you. "taste like butterscotch," he mumbled against your lips, pulling away only just enough to make sure his words didn't disappear unheard down your throat, almost drowsily. "you like those candies i give you, sugar?"
your chest rose and fell against his. the low music in the background roared in your ears, the neon light making him look like some stained glass thing worth kneeling for. "like 'em because you leave 'em for me," you said, your fingertips tracing the top of his spine.
his eyes shimmered. "can i tell you something?"
you nodded.
he hummed, gave a guilty sort of smile. "gave 'em to you because i didn't like the taste of 'em," he started, smirk growing wider. "and i wanted to convince myself to hold off on kissin' you. not to rush you, you know."
you understood, and your swollen lips quirked at the story, but your eyes flashed with something like hurt. "you don't like the way i taste, trevor?" even if it was his own doing, you suddenly wanted to brush your teeth.
"that's the thing." he ran a steady thumb along your hairline. "think my plan backfired, 'cause butterscotch's my new favorite flavor." his thumb reached your chin, tilting it up to his mouth again. "can't get enough of it," he murmured, a man possessed, barely audible as he kissed you again, this time with a softness that cut like a dagger.
you swore your head was still spinning the next day. what was supposed to be just another shift at the diner quickly turned into a flurry of questions, of neighbors looking for a side of gossip with their french toast, of line cooks swearing there was something different about you.
it was hard to answer anyone, to do anything, honestly, when it felt like you were floating, like your head was far, far away, up in the clouds.
harry gave you a fist bump when he saw you. old man peters told you in a stern tone that public bars were no place for fornication, to which an ecstatic bridget patted his shoulder and reminded him that it was only a (sort of) innocent kiss.
she pulled all the details out of you, lit up as you flushed and stumbled over your memories.
the police chief made some joke about that boy being a bad influence when you accidentally brought him whole milk instead of soy milk for his coffee.
ginger and the girls were like some insatiable beast that only let you be when you reminded them that if they kept you much longer, the diner would go hungry.
of course, your heart instinctively fluttered when that tell-tale gust of loud laughter burst through the door, along with the drag of heavy work boots, the shuffling of canvas outerwear, the shoving of gloves into back pockets.
you made your way to the table with their regular pot of coffee, met trevor's dancing gaze almost sheepishly.
"morning, guys," you said, smiling at all of them.
they chimed their chorus of good mornings, pouring their coffee into mugs themselves, as they always insisted on.
"so, what's new?" cole asked, his head resting on his fists. "probably nothing, right?"
alex and matt hid their laughs.
you rolled your eyes, smiled nonetheless. trevor had a hat on, today, making his hair curl out from the bottom of the brim. you tucked a curling lock behind his ear, ran your nails soothingly along the hair at the nape of his neck.
anyone watching would have seen the way his gaze melted like milk chocolate, how his shoulders softened, his posture relaxing completely into your small touch.
he looked up at you, eyes so soaked in affection it spilled down his face like mascara-stained tears. "i missed you," he said.
his friends groaned, as if they'd heard this a million times. suddenly, with a blush, you had a guess as to what his morning had been like. perhaps he had been just as distracted as you.
"i missed you, too," you said, because it was the truth.
"he almost dropped a crate on my foot this morning," matt said, bitterly.
you put a hand over your heart. "how tragic." you looked up, making eye contact with your friend across the diner. "hey, bridge! matt almost hurt his foot this morning. has science found a cure for that, yet?"
she huffed a laugh as she approached, shook her head at matt when she stood in front of the table. she held the back of her hand to his forehead, as if checking for a fever. "are you sure you're okay, sweet boy? this sounds serious," she joked.
matt had paled. trevor pulled you into his lap and you hid your laugh in his collarbone.
"'m fine," matt bit out, to which bridget smiled.
"thank god, that was close," she said. her gaze wandered, landed on something out the window. she squinted. "did somebody dig up some of the flowers outside?" she asked.
"dig?" alex mused, "maybe rip is a better word, eh, trev?"
"right. almost forgot." trevor held you in his lap with one hand, reached the other to the side. suddenly several flowers were being held in front of you, thin, spidery roots still intact. "sugar, will you go to the valentine's day skate with me?"
you smiled, wide and toothy, touched one hand to his face as the other grasped the humble, earthy bouquet. "of course i will, handsome," you said, "what's the valentine's day skate?"
"pta event, tomorrow," bridget said, looking on with interest. "whole town shows up."
"this town shows up for everything," you replied.
she smiled fondly. "heart-shaped balloons and fruit punch and ice skates. what's not to love?"
you turned your neck to look back up at trevor. "'m honored to have been on the receiving end of one of your famous invitations," you teased, "even if it's not for a dance." his delight rumbled into your shoulders, the back of your thighs, firm and warm.
cole yawned, stretched. "duty calls, fellas," he said, making to get up.
you reluctantly pushed up from trevor's lap, quickly pouring his untouched mug into a to-go cup. the team filed out with their typical string of thank yous and goodbyes, matt's extra glance at bridget met with a returning smile.
then it was you and trevor, as the morning break always ended, like clockwork, like a bedtime story that was comforting in its predictability. he tucked a bill in your apron, several candies, the weight of them alone making you smile.
"did i tell you how pretty you look today?" he told you.
"no," you mused, your hands clasped behind your back, shifting on your feet.
he hummed. "so pretty, sugar, never been so nervous to ask someone out," he admitted, that smug smile lazy across his face.
you tilted your head. "don't be nervous," you told him. "you're the easiest yes i've ever had."
at your words he ducked his wide shoulders down to you, flipped his hat backwards on his head so as not to impede you in any way, kissed you with a rough palm on your soft face, your hands still behind your back as you met him up on your toes.
a different kiss, one so lovely, still, soft and beautiful, drenched in daylight.
would your head ever stop spinning, when it came to him? would you ever come down from the clouds, again? even if you did, would there not be cumulus tufts in your hair, wisps of cirrus in your lashes?
he was proving it difficult, especially that next day, the fourteenth of february.
you had the morning to yourself, existing slowly and methodically, reading and running errands, finally starting to get ready for your date in the late afternoon.
before you knew it, there was a knock at your door, just as you had swung your jacket on. you swung it open to find him leaning against the doorframe, the picture of ease, shoulders drooping the way they always did after a working morning.
"ready to go?" you asked, making to close the door behind you before pressing up on your toes to kiss him on the cheek. he caught your face in a hand before you could, though, steering your lips towards his mouth instead. you laughed against his lips. "greedy," you taunted, pulling away, letting yourself lean into his warm side.
"got no idea, sugar," he admitted, voice twinged with a day of speaking. you walked together to the high school ice skating rink, only a few minutes away, the brisk february air biting at your nose, your ears. you caught up on the morning, what book you had finished, how annoying ginger's husband was being about the state of his rain gutters.
when you entered the rink, finally, pushing forward the old doors, you couldn't help but smile, and trevor couldn't help but watch you.
everyone was here, of course they were. balloons hung from the top of the glass, streamers decorating every archway and spare inch. a massive table of themed refreshments was just next to the bleachers.
it looked like something out a ninety's film, mixed with the unique small town charm and wintery love you had come to know so personally.
you and trevor quickly got your skates on, all lingering touches and knowing smiles, and headed for the ice.
you were shaky at first, but his hands were so tight on yours, you knew there wasn't a chance he would let you fall. he spun you around the rink easily, twirling you like a ballroom dance floor, ever the show-off, anything to make you laugh.
"hey, harry!" you called out, at one point, noticing your host-friend helping a taller, skinner kid his age onto the ice. he waved, his eyes glittery in a way you recognized. is that jason? you mouthed. harry nodded, smiled shyly. you gave him an impressed thumbs up, trevor whistled.
you asked trevor how he got into hockey, watched how his mind waltzed behind his eyes when he talked about outdoor rinks with his friends in elementary school, how even piled-on scarves and hats and puffer jackets didn't stop that flying feeling.
significance would gather in your stomach, butterflies morphing into something much more serious, the kind of flame you'd find in a living room fireplace, in the hearts of teenage lovers.
you skated by cole, scooping up the snow he had made with quick starts and stops, and alex, whose neck was becoming the new home of said snow.
alex grunted, immediately breaking into stride to catch a fleeing cole, whose bright and clear laugh echoed under the roof like church bells.
the fire and police departments had started a relay race, ginger and her girls had formed a circle close to the hot chocolate.
old man peters held his sleeping granddaughter in his lap, bouncing his knee gently, both of their smiles blissful.
trevor's hand found your far hip, pulling you into his warm side. you sighed, looked up at him as you let your fingers trace along his jaw.
"touchy today, sugar, hm?" he said into your hair, a rumble to his tone that told you he liked it.
you hummed, nodded. "you just look so..." you trailed off, in thought, thinking about what, exactly, you meant to say. he looked what? practically edible? like an ocean you wanted to drown in?
how could you tell him you'd been avoiding looking at his hands, for fear you'd blurt something out about wanting them around your neck?
you just swallowed, cleared your throat. his smirk was a flash of teeth.
"you feelin' okay?" he cooed. "should i take you home?"
you found yourself nodding, even though you hadn't been at the rink for long.
"yeah?" he mocked, taunting, his hand on your hip suddenly firm, burning.
bridget's laugh cut through the sizzling air like a stream of cold hose water. you both turned to look at where she now sat, having obviously fallen onto the ice. she peered up at matt through her blonde bangs. "some teacher you are," she laughed, "i knew trev was the right choice for my girl's lessons."
matt shook his head, a barely-there smile on his thin lips. he offered her a hand, steadily helped her to her feet, an almost undetectable shake in his breathing as bridget grabbed onto his forearm for extra stability. "alright, smart ass," he mused, "no help for you, then."
he made to drop her hands, to leave her on her own, but she latched onto him tighter. "yeah right," she said, "you're not going anywhere, sweet boy."
cole's laugh sparkled at matt's flush.
you and trevor were already on the way out, bidding your short goodbyes, half-assed excuses about not feeling well given and taken with knowing eye-rolls.
he walked you back to the inn, up the stairs, his hands on you ever-so-distracting, his voice a careless rasp, your heart beating heavy in your chest.
you finally made it to your closed door, your back against it as he looked down at you with that heated gaze, his frame boxing you in.
"well, get some rest, sugar," he said, slowly, smiling. "since you're not feeling well." he twirled a strand of your hair around a finger.
you sputtered. "what? trevor-"
his eyes widened in mock-surprise. "oh, is there something you want?" he asked.
you clutched at his shirt with your fist, pulled. "please."
"please, what, sugar?" he asked, so smug you wanted to punch him. "gotta tell me what you want, hm?"
"you," you whined, but that wasn't enough.
"oh, is that it?" he drawled, ducking his head down to you, so close, but not close enough, not even a little.
you worked your jaw, so frustrated. "just," you tried, "just please, touch me, trevor, i just wanna feel you."
he smiled, held the side of your face in his palm. "am touchin' you, sugar," he said, "tellin' me this isn't enough?"
you ran your tongue along the inside of your cheek, groaned at his feigned confusion. "shut up," you breathed, his mouth an inch from yours.
"make me," he bit back, and then you were kissing him. you swore your lips would be charred, later, as if in proof. you reached a hand behind you, twisted open your door, while the other rooted in his hair, tugged him inside your room as he moaned against your lips.
one of his hands grasped the back of your neck, the other a bruising grip in your side, walking you backwards until the backs of your knees felt the blunt edge of the bed.
you barely registered as he reached under you, flipped you onto his lap, your legs straddling his hips as he sat down on the comforter, far too caught up in this kiss, somehow still so different from ones you has shared before. so charged you felt the air might combust at any second, that, despite his relentless repairs, there was no way this inn could withstand the way he was kissing you, now. surely, the roof would cave in under the weight of your want, water would sear straight through the pressurized pipes.
he smiled against your mouth when you started to rock your hips back and forth across his lap, just so desperate for something, anything.
your exhales came out short, little pants as you reveled in the little friction you were getting against his firm thigh, covered in his heavy work pants, nothing close to what you really wanted, but something, at least.
mercifully, he moved your clothes aside, rocked you more forcefully, making the sensation practically blissful. you dropped your heavy head to his neck, moaned into it.
"oh, sugar," he cooed, and you squeezed your eyes shut. "so greedy for it, hm?"
you nodded into his neck, the tough texture combined with the heavy weight of his thigh catching you in just the right spot, urging a whimper from your throat.
"makin' a mess of me, yeah? could cum just from my thigh?" he said, almost like he felt sorry for you, but you could hear the smile in his voice. you bit down gently on the space between his neck and shoulder, your small retaliation, smiled at his groan.
you slowed your rhythm, picked your head up, let your chest rise and fall as you looked at him in the face, searched his eyes.
his face was slightly flushed, his eyes only just a bit glassy, but he looked at you like you were a wonder, like some divine power had made her way into his lap.
you pressed a feather-light kiss to the corner of his mouth, loved the way you could feel his smile crinkle and widen under your lips.
"please, trevor," you whispered, your touch so soft around his neck. "please just give me what i want."
you shifted on his lap until you felt him, hard and hot and heavy underneath you. his voice came out with a strain. "anything, sugar," he told you, "just tell me."
you lifted your hips up, could feel how wet you were, could tell you had probably left a trace of yourself on his pants. "wanna cum on your cock, trevor," you breathed, couldn't help your sly grin when he immediately began to tug his clothes aside. "please, please let me. i know i'm so greedy-"
he was nodding like he understood as he angled your hips up higher, shifted you so that you sat right above him as he pumped himself up and down, once, twice, so obviously ready for you. "you are, sugar," he said, so eager it almost sounded like a whine, "but i'll give you anything you want, swear it." his hands found your hips. "just promise you'll only be greedy for me, hm?"
you sank down onto him with a nodded promise, bit your lip at the slow, scorching pressure, the pleasant stretch that pulled at your middle, that you felt in your toes. you blinked, trying to get used to the sensation, trying to muffle the groan in your mouth.
"fuck," he moaned, his fingers clutching at the flesh of your hips like you might float away if he let go, "all the way, sugar, 'atta girl." you huffed a short breath when he was all the way in.
words felt far away, suspended in bubbles that whirled around your head.
"speechless, eh?" he teased, and you had a sense of deja vu. "don't worry, sugar. common re-"
and you could have growled at him for alluding to the fact that other girls had felt this, that there were other people in the world who knew what this felt like, so you fitted a delicate hand over his mouth and rolled your hips up and back on him until he was the speechless one, moans falling from his mouth, his brow pinched in pleasure.
"don't worry," you breathed, your mouth an inch from his ear. "common reaction."
you began to move your hips up and down faster as the stretch gave way to something dizzyingly good, as he began to thrust back up into you. so hard and fast, but he held you like something precious. his rhythm built until your mouth fell open, until sweat shone on the high points of his face, until time melted away, until you were reminded of what you'd mistaken him for when you'd first seen him, all that time ago - some ancient sculpture. a work of art.
he cursed as your clit caught on his pubic bone, the friction so overwhelming, and you clenched down on him. "give it to me, sugar," he said, but the strain in his voice made it sound like a plea. "fuck, let me hear you, yeah?" his tone grew gentle. "been wantin' to hear you for so long."
you tightened around him further at his small admission, let your nails rake down his neck, probably a little too hard. he grunted, thrusted harder, shifted you closer to him.
you moaned his name at the new angle, one you felt in the tips of your ears, your hairline, your tongue.
you were so close, so impossibly almost there. "please make me cum," you whined, "please, need you so bad." your exhale was practically pained as you ran your fingers over the red marks on his neck your nails had left. "don't i deserve it, baby?"
he grunted, and it was different. you felt his stomach and thighs clench, his hips sputter as his head spun with the fact that you'd gone right to begging him, skipped the asking part. he pressed his hand to your lower stomach, let his thumb catch against your clit, sending you over the edge in moments. "'course you deserve it, sugar," he rasped, gravelly, in your ear as you rode out your high, his thrusts growing wild. "been so good."
you clenched down on him, forcing his own orgasm, fast and all-consuming, the smell of him everywhere, mixed with your perfume. your exhales were warm and heavy, transparent clouds that settled on the floor of your room, making it every bit the dreamland it had become in your mind.
he held you so close to him as he pulled you to his chest, leaned you both back on your bed. you stared up at the ceiling.
about time, one of the tiles whispered, holding a crisp fiver.
couldn't have waited another week? the losing tile muttered bitterly.
you smiled as his rough hand found your face, tilted it towards him. he was smiling. your stomach fluttered as you felt your own mouth pull wider.
"what?" he asked, his voice rough, drowsy with use.
you shook your head. "nothing," you said, "just you." your eyes crinkled under the weight of your happiness. "i'm callin' dibs on you."
his eyes lit up as he pulled you in for another kiss, slow and overflowing with meaning. he hummed. "butterscotch," he whispered against your mouth. "my favorite."
fin.
#hockey#hockey smut#nhl#nhl smut#smut#trevor zegras smut#jack hughes x reader#jack hughes#jack hughes smut#quinn hughes#trevor zegras x reader#trevor zegras imagine#trevor zegras#anaheim ducks#jamie drysdale imagine#jamie drysdale#jamie drysdale x reader#jamie drysdale smut#trevor zegras fluff#alex turcotte#matt boldy#cole caufield smut#cole caufield
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You do NSFW too right? If so could you do Tom going down on reader?
% “너와 천천히 오래 걷고 싶어 until the end of time.”
# synopsis ; redemption era?? resurrection era? idk🧍🏻♀️
# pairing ; tom kaulitz x reader
# word count ; 614
# warnings ; nsfw (mdni), recreational drug use, he’s pussywhipped, tom is a, what does ice spice call them? a munch.
a/n ; YALL….. i completely scrapped the fic i was working on like i hate to admit it but i couldn’t do it i scrapped it 😭 but at least i found out something important from it, that i am entirely incapable of having any plot, like i can do a blurb at BEST, but god forbid i put even a minor storyline in. i might go back to it one day when i’m that deep and far into the trenches but the a/n for that fic literally looks like this so…;
he can tie cherry stems with his tongue alone. no hands. gn.
kind of relates but kind of doesn’t anyway one of his favorite things to do while eating you out is fingering you (MY GODDDDD)
his calloused hands from guitar-playing are brushing up EVERY corner inside you, curling and making “come-hither” motions to reach that spot that has you squeezing your legs around his hands and yet he does NOT care, continuing up from your cunt to leave the most sweetest and innocent kisses and marks on your neck like he wasn’t hovering over you and abusing your g-spot till you squirted into his hand
on that topic, he LOVES squirters like he likes creamers too (he doesn’t discriminate), but he’s so into it like, god forbid he gets you to squirt (in which he always does) because he’ll happily come up soaked in your juices like a puppy
i’ve never mentioned this anywhere else but he’s 50/50 in bed with his attitude (that sounds so vague i’m sorry) and i mean that he is generally serious like he’ll fuck your brains out while sternly whispering in your ears about how much of a dirty slut you are HOWEVER, on the flip side of things he acts like he’s sooo damn funny 😐 like he’ll jokingly nip at you while going down on you (obviously lightly he doesn’t want to hurt you) and laugh when you look at him like 😧
he gets so weak if you sit on his face. his hands are wandering everywhere, spots on your hips where there are guaranteed to be bruises by tomorrow by how hard he’s holding you down onto him and his other hand going up to rub and hold your body while he groans into you because everytime his voice vibrates on you it makes you shiver🧎🏻♀️listen, tom has fuckboy experience he can keep going for ROUNDS before he decides to cum once but when you’re on top of him squeezing your thigh around his head, HE’S A GONER.
whether or not you smoke, you hypothetically do for this; tom’s such a slut for the way you taste the main reason why you ever get overstimulated when he eats you out is because you taste so good to him, so when you two smoked a blend that had flowers in it for calming effect, it doubled for an aphrodisiac and you had to pry him from your pussy.
about an hour ago, you and tom smoked blunts with a new blend you found from your dealer that only piqued your interest because she explained to you it also worked as an aphrodisiac. truth be told, that was the only thing you actually registered come out of her mouth cause you zoned out when she started talking, but knowing you and tom fucked like bunnies, you told her to take all your money and you were on your way. so now here you were, on your back with your legs over tom’s shoulders god near choking him to death (not that he was complaining), gasping moans into the air while your hand made its way to tom’s head, making weak efforts to push him away. “to- mm..! i can’t take it!” starting to writhe your hips, accidentally bucking further into tom’s mouth. he was pushing you and he knew it, pushing you towards your 4th orgasm and counting and he had no intention of stopping any time soon, especially not when whatever in that blunt was making you suddenly taste so much sweeter. not when whatever was in that blunt was making the music sensually slow down, or making your moans so honey smooth.
a/n ; last blurb’s dialogue was definitely… 😟 but all i know is that i’m leaving the longer fics to people like @arquiiva and omg i think i’m back? and i also watched astv so i’m adding that to the topic list in guidelines but yeah i’ll try not to leave out of no where again
© ALL RIGHTS BELONG TO VICKYZANGELS. do not steal, repost, plagiarize, or use my work for anything.
taglist ; @cup1d-lix @imabitchh @arquiiva @verelace @iovemoonyy @everseve
#tom kaulitz x reader#tokio hotel#tom kaulitz smut#tokio hotel smut#tokio hotel x reader#tokio hotel fanfic#tom kaulitz fanfic#tom kaulitz
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Microsoft put their tax-evasion in writing and now they owe $29 billion
I'm coming to Minneapolis! Oct 15: Presenting The Internet Con at Moon Palace Books. Oct 16: Keynoting the 26th ACM Conference On Computer-Supported Cooperative Work and Social Computing.
If there's one thing I took away from Propublica's explosive IRS Files, it's that "tax avoidance" (which is legal) isn't a separate phenomenon from "tax evasion" (which is not), but rather a thinly veiled euphemism for it:
https://www.propublica.org/series/the-secret-irs-files
That realization sits behind my series of noir novels about the two-fisted forensic accountant Martin Hench, which started with last April's Red Team Blues and continues with The Bezzle, this coming February:
https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865847/red-team-blues
A typical noir hero is an unlicensed cop, who goes places the cops can't go and asks questions the cops can't ask. The noir part comes in at the end, when the hero is forced to admit that he's being going places the cops didn't want to go and asking questions the cops didn't want to ask. Marty Hench is a noir hero, but he's not an unlicensed cop, he's an unlicensed IRS inspector, and like other noir heroes, his capers are forever resulting in his realization that the questions and places the IRS won't investigate are down to their choice not to investigate, not an inability to investigate.
The IRS Files are a testimony to this proposition: that Leona Hemsley wasn't wrong when she said, "Taxes are for the little people." Helmsley's crime wasn't believing that proposition – it was stating it aloud, repeatedly, to the press. The tax-avoidance strategies revealed in the IRS Files are obviously tax evasion, and the IRS simply let it slide, focusing their auditing firepower on working people who couldn't afford to defend themselves, looking for things like minor compliance errors committed by people receiving public benefits.
Or at least, that's how it used to be. But the Biden administration poured billions into the IRS, greenlighting 30,000 new employees whose mission would be to investigate the kinds of 0.1%ers and giant multinational corporations who'd Helmsleyed their way into tax-free fortunes. The fact that these elite monsters paid no tax was hardly a secret, and the impunity with which they functioned was a constant, corrosive force that delegitimized American society as a place where the rules only applied to everyday people and not the rich and powerful who preyed on them.
The poster-child for the IRS's new anti-impunity campaign is Microsoft, who, decades ago, "sold its IP to to an 85-person factory it owned in a small Puerto Rican city," brokered a deal with the corporate friendly Puerto Rican government to pay almost no taxes, and channeled all its profits through the tiny facility:
https://www.propublica.org/article/the-irs-decided-to-get-tough-against-microsoft-microsoft-got-tougher
That was in 2005. Now, the IRS has come after Microsoft for all the taxes it evaded through the gambit, demanding that the company pay it $29 billion. What's more, the courts are taking the IRS's side in this case, consistently ruling against Microsoft as it seeks to keep its ill-gotten billions:
https://www.propublica.org/article/irs-microsoft-audit-back-taxes-puerto-rico-billions
Now, no one expects that Microsoft is going to write a check to the IRS tomorrow. The company's made it clear that they intend to tie this up in the courts for a decade if they can, claiming, for example, that Trump's amnesty for corporate tax-cheats means the company doesn't have to give up a dime.
This gambit has worked for Microsoft before. After seven years in antitrust hell in the 1990s, the company was eventually convicted of violating the Sherman Act, America's bedrock competition law. But they kept the case in court until 2001, running out the clock until GW Bush was elected and let them go free. Bush had a very selective version of being "tough on crime."
But for all that Microsoft escaped being broken up, the seven years of depositions, investigations, subpoenas and negative publicity took a toll on the company. Bill Gates was personally humiliated when he became the star of the first viral video, as grainy VHS tapes of his disastrous and belligerent deposition spread far and wide:
https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/12/whats-a-murder/#miros-tilde-1
If you really want to know who Bill Gates is beneath that sweater-vested savior persona, check out the antitrust deposition – it's still a banger, 25 years on:
https://arstechnica.com/tech-policy/2020/09/revisiting-the-spectacular-failure-that-was-the-bill-gates-deposition/
In cases like these, the process is the punishment: Microsoft's dirty laundry was aired far and wide, its swaggering founder was brought low, and the company's conduct changed for years afterwards. Gates once told Kara Swisher that Microsoft missed its chance to buy Android because they were "distracted by the antitrust trial." But the Android acquisition came four years after the antitrust case ended. What Gates meant was that four years after he wriggled off the DoJ's hook, he was still so wounded and gunshy that he lacked the nerve to risk the regulatory scrutiny that such an anticompetitive merger would entail.
What's more, other companies got the message too. Large companies watched what happened to Microsoft and traded their reckless disregard for antitrust law for a timid respect. The effect eventually wore off, but the Microsoft antitrust case created a brief window where real competition was possible without the constant threat of being crushed by lawless monopolists. Sometimes you have to execute an admiral to encourage the others.
A decade in IRS hell will be even more painful for Microsoft than the antitrust years were. For one thing, the Puerto Rico scam was mainly a product of ex-CEO Steve Ballmer, a man possessed of so little executive function that it's a supreme irony that he was ever a corporate executive. Ballmer is a refreshingly plain-spoken corporate criminal who is so florid in his blatant admissions of guilt and shouted torrents of self-incriminating abuse that the exhibits in the Microsoft-IRS cases to come are sure to be viral sensations beyond even the Gates deposition's high-water mark.
It's not just Ballmer, either. In theory, corporate crime should be hard to prosecute because it's so hard to prove criminal intent. But tech executives can't help telling on themselves, and are very prone indeed to putting all their nefarious plans in writing (think of the FTC conspirators who hung out in a group-chat called "Wirefraud"):
https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/03/big-tech-cant-stop-telling-on-itself/
Ballmer's colleagues at Microsoft were far from circumspect on the illegitimacy of the Puerto Rico gambit. One Microsoft executive gloated – in writing – that it was a "pure tax play." That is, it was untainted by any legitimate corporate purpose other than to create a nonsensical gambit that effectively relocated Microsoft's corporate headquarters to a tiny CD-pressing plant in the Caribbean.
But if other Microsoft execs were calling this a "pure tax play," one can only imagine what Ballmer called it. Ballmer, after all, is a serial tax-cheat, the star of multiple editions of the IRS Files. For example, there's the wheeze whereby he has turned his NBA team into a bottomless sinkhole for the taxes on his vast fortune:
https://pluralistic.net/2021/07/08/tuyul-apps/#economic-substance-doctrine
Or his "tax-loss harvesting" – a ploy whereby rich people do a "wash trade," buying and selling the same asset at the same time, not so much circumventing the IRS rules against this as violating those rules while expecting the IRS to turn a blind eye:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/24/tax-loss-harvesting/#mego
Ballmer needs all those scams. After all, he was one of the pandemic's most successful profiteers. He was one of eight billionaires who added at least a billion more to his net worth during lockdown:
https://inequality.org/great-divide/billionaire-bonanza-2020/
Like all forms of rot, corruption spreads. Microsoft turned Washington State into a corporate tax-haven and starved the state of funds, paving the way for other tax-cheats like Amazon to establish themselves in the area. But the same anti-corruption movement that revitalized the IRS has also taken root in Washington, where reformers instituted a new capital gains tax aimed at the ultra-wealthy that has funded a renaissance in infrastructure and social spending:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/03/when-the-tide-goes-out/#passive-income
If the IRS does manage to drag Microsoft through the courts for the next decade, it's going to do more than air the company's dirty laundry. It'll expose more of Ballmer's habitual sleaze, and the ways that Microsoft dragged a whole state into a pit of austerity. And even more importantly, it'll expose the Puertopia conspiracy, a neocolonial project that transformed Puerto Rico into an onshore-offshore tax-haven that saw the island strip-mined and then placed under corporate management:
https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/27/boricua/#que-viva-albizu
If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:
https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/13/pour-encoragez-les-autres/#micros-tilde-one
My next novel is The Lost Cause, a hopeful novel of the climate emergency. Amazon won't sell the audiobook, so I made my own and I'm pre-selling it on Kickstarter!
#pluralistic#irs#puerto rico#puertopia#microsoft#micros~1#tax avoidance#tax evasion#pure tax play#big tech can't stop telling on itself#corporate crime#rough ride#the procedure is the punishment#steve ballmer#pour encouragez les autres
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The Devil Is a Gentleman
Title: The Devil Is a Gentleman
Fandom: Hunter x Hunter
Summary: You wake up in the middle of the night with a headache.
Word count: 800+
Characters: Chrollo Lucilfer x Reader
Notes: Yandere Chrollo, captive Reader, my head is murdering me so I wanted some soft Chrollo stuff.
You shift under the covers and for a moment it seems that maybe this state of half sleep, half consciousness is here to stay. Just for a bit, until you slide all the way back into a dream, where the dull throb in your skull doesn't matter. No such luck; angry blurred dots start swarming behind your eyelids and the longer you lie there, the more evident it becomes that sleep isn't coming.
3 AM.
The red numbers from the alarm clock glow way too intensely in the dark. It's quiet. Chrollo's breath tickles your shoulder. No matter the position, he somehow manages to do this every single time - wrap himself around you like it's no tomorrow, with tangled legs and chest pressed to your back. Sometimes it's annoying, sometimes sickly comforting, but not now. There's a faint feeling of nausea in your throat, the whole world is spinning and swaying from side to side even though you're lying still.
Sharing a bed is a recent development. Previously the floor was your choice, but two weeks ago Chrollo simply carried your sleeping body to the mattress. You woke up trapped between him and soft pillows, then the pattern repeated two times, four, six, until it became clear that this arrangement was going to stick.
Carefully, inch by inch, you wiggle out of his embrace. An awful taste coats your tongue, clings to the palate - not something you expected upon waking, but not unusual either.
The kitchen light is bright and unpleasant. It stabs right through your eyes without remorse, making you promptly settle for a dimmer one above the stove. One cabinet after another, the fridge - no pills. Of course, why would Chrollo keep anything like that lying around? You probably have to wake him up for medicine, but it's honestly the least tempting scenario. You don't want to talk to Chrollo, don't want to ask him for help, don't want him to see you in pain or sick.
So you brew a cup of coffee and hope that the nausea plaguing your throat will eventually subside. What you should know by now, however, is that Chrollo doesn't need more than you breathing wrong in order to wake up.
"Dear?"
His voice has a slight raspy edge to it.
You glance over your shoulder and see his figure standing at the door frame. The light from the hallway throws a shadow cutout across the floor, and it's the only time beside after shower you ever see him all mussed hair, loose pants and, of course, no shirt. You suspect its absence has some relation to the attempts at wooing you which range from subtle to not so subtle these days.
You make a non-committal sound.
"It's 3 AM," Chrollo says and steps into the kitchen. "What are you doing up?"
His fingers brush a strand of hair away from your neck, linger there, feather-light and warm. You take a small sip of coffee.
The pulsing in your skull feels like someone decided to tap a small hammer against your brain. Well, he's up, so might as well do something.
"Headache," you say and press your forehead to the cool marble of the counter. It feels nice for a short moment.
Chrollo doesn't respond. He does place a hand on your nape though, thumb drawing circles, massaging the tension there. It's so peculiar. His tenderness leaves marks wherever it goes - light trails on your skin, hands on your forearms - a constant reminder that in this current reality he's everywhere and everything.
'Stop,' you want to say, but instead a quiet "mm" comes out. Maybe you're too tired to muster up any spite. He takes the cup out of your hand and sets it aside with a quiet clink.
"How bad?"
"Bad. Don't get too close," you warn. "I feel like throwing up."
He does anyway, and wraps an arm around your waist. Chrollo knows very well that you'd rather jump into boiling oil than lean on him out of your own volition, maybe that's why he uses every given opportunity to hold you.
"You should have woken me up," his words are muffled, lips pressed against your temple. Chrollo smells of shampoo, sheets and himself. "I'll get you something from the pharmacy later, but for now you should try and sleep, dear."
Then you're up in the air, carried out of the kitchen.
"What are you doing?" you frown, fingers gripping the muscles of his arm.
He hums something akin to a simple melody, the devil. "Taking you back to bed, where you can keep being miserable with more comfort."
This time you don't protest; the pillow has cooled down, and as soon as you lower your head on top of it, it feels like bliss. The bathroom door opens and closes, followed by quiet splashes of water. There's a pause before the mattress dips on your right.
Cold cloth covers your forehead.
"You should have woken me up," he repeats. "Next time do it, dear."
"Mm," is all you manage, when the bedside lamp clicks off, and then there're covers lifting, fingers rubbing your temples and a low hum somewhere above you.
#shalott fanfiction#yandere#hunter x hunter#chrollo lucilfer#chrollo lucifer x reader#hunter x hunter fanfic#yandere chrollo#yandere chrollo lucilfer
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