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savi0rr · 4 months ago

Note

love the viktor with wife scenarios!! can u do one where they're on a date and COINCIDENTALLY (or not) jayce and mel found them!

prollt viktor saying "I genuinely dont know why my brain stops whenever I'm looking st you. Maybe I'm going crazy"

silly arguments and all

jayce finally realizes that viktor indeed has a wife

Sneaky Wife .ᐟ

Viktor x Fem! Wife! Reader

In which, planning dates can be a little difficult, having to sneak around and all. But in the end, it’s all worth it…kinda.

a/n: thank you, queen, for requesting I was starting to run out of ideas

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

“Are you ready?” Viktor asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper, as he tilted his head to the side, his expression serious yet curious. He slowly rose from the bed, gripping his cane tightly, the faint creak of floorboards accompanying his movement. You nodded enthusiastically, wanting to convey your eagerness as you applied the final touches to your outfit at the vanity. “Yes!” you replied cheerfully, your excitement evident as you stood up to face him. With a playful smile, you twirled slowly, letting the fabric of your attire flow around you before your eyes landed back on him.

Viktor remained silent for a moment, his gaze roving over your carefully chosen ensemble, taking in every detail from the subtle embellishments to the way the colors complemented you. He finally nodded, his voice a gentle murmur as he said, “Looks good,” though his eyes flickered to the side, betraying a hint of something unspoken.

With a playful smirk, you walked over to him, your confidence shining through. “You don’t look too bad yourself,” you teased, winking at him. However, the playful banter was met with an intense glare from Viktor. He huffed in response, his tone light but firm as he said, “Don’t push it,” before taking a step out of the room, the doorframe silhouetting his figure.

You giggled at his reaction, a lightness filling the air as you quickly followed after him. “Wait up!” you called out, your laughter ringing as you hurried to catch up. Viktor rolled his eyes at your antics, a suppressed smile threatening to escape despite his attempts at maintaining a façade of annoyance.

Meanwhile, in a different part of Piltover, Jayce had enlisted Mel to help him pick up some parts for a groundbreaking new project he was working on. However, these components were decidedly illegal in the city, necessitating a late-night excursion to retrieve them. The two of them walked cautiously down the quiet, dimly lit street, their eyes darting over their shoulders intermittently, ensuring they weren’t being followed.

Abruptly, Jayce halted, coming to a stop right in front of Mel, forcing her to pause as well. “Jayce?” she asked, an eyebrow arched in question, curiosity and concern mingling in her voice. The atmosphere grew thick with anticipation as a sense of urgency settled between them, both aware of the risks that loomed ahead.

“Shh!” Jayce hissed urgently as he quickly maneuvered Mel away from the open street, guiding her behind the rough stone wall of an old building that stood in shadow. The air was thick with tension as he peered around the corner, prying his eyes from the dark to glimpse you and Viktor stepping onto the pavement ahead. A sly smile crept across Jayce's face; he raised an eyebrow, tilting his head in curiosity before letting out a knowing smirk. “That’s definitely his wife,” he muttered under his breath, a glint of mischief flashing in his eyes.

His hands moved swiftly, and without a moment's hesitation, he shoved the heavy box filled with intricate, expensive parts into a nearby trash can, the metallic clang echoing slightly in the stillness of the night. Mel’s eyes widened in disbelief, her face shifting from confusion to incredulity. “You just spent a fortune on those parts, and you’re dumping them?!” she exclaimed, her voice low but fierce. She peered over his shoulder, her expression transforming into one of utter disbelief. “Seriously?” she added dryly, disbelief dripping from her words.

Jayce shrugged nonchalantly, a flicker of nonchalance in his demeanor despite the seriousness of the moment. “I highly doubt anyone will see these,” he replied, casting a glance back at the box, half-buried in the refuse. He was trying to appear dismissive, but Mel's worry hung in the air like a thick fog. Mel sighed, exasperation etched on her features as she shook her head, her frustration palpable. “You’re lucky I’m invested in this,” she muttered, her voice laced with a mix of annoyance and affection.

Jayce flashed her a quick, reassuring smile before darting after you and Viktor, a flicker of determination evident in his stride.

Meanwhile, you walked alongside Viktor, who moved carefully, his crutch tapping rhythmically against the concrete sidewalk with every determined step he took. Small huffs escaped his lips, a testament to the effort he was exerting. Concern gnawed at you as you glanced over, an eyebrow raised in genuine worry. “Viktor, love, what did I say about pushing yourself?” you gently admonished, coming to a halt to face him head-on.

Viktor paused, his brow furrowing deeply as he looked up at you, a familiar defiance stirring in his eyes. “I’m fine,” he muttered, though the weariness in his voice betrayed him. He straightened slightly, trying to project confidence, but you could see the tension in his posture, the subtle signs that he was indeed straining against his limits. The night felt heavy with unspoken concerns, but you knew better than to push him too hard—he’d always had a stubborn streak.

“When did you develop an attitude?” you teased playfully, tilting your head to the side with a sly smirk dancing on your lips. Viktor's cheeks flushed a faint shade of pale red, indicating his slight embarrassment. “I do not have an attitude,” he grumbled defensively, shifting his weight against his crutch for support. He hesitated for a moment, avoiding your gaze, then looked back up at you, his expression softening as he added, “I’ll... slow down.” The admission seemed to hang in the air, suggesting he preferred to concede rather than endure a lengthy lecture from you, which he knew all too well could stretch on for twenty minutes.

Just then, Jayce and Mel peeked around the corner, their curiosity piqued by the playful exchange. Jayce raised an eyebrow, a confused frown creasing his forehead as he grumbled to himself, clearly struggling to decipher the conversation between you and Viktor. Mel, ever the pragmatist, rolled her eyes at Jayce's low mumble before quickly covering his mouth with her hand. “Be quiet,” she muttered under her breath, her tone a mixture of exasperation and amusement, before her gaze shifted back to you and Viktor, a look of mild concern on her face, wondering how the two of you would continue.

You and Viktor had made it to a small grassy area near a serene little water body. The two of you settled onto a wooden bench, and Viktor let out a small sigh of relief, feeling his body relax. You giggled and raised an eyebrow. “Feeling better?” you asked, tilting your head to the side. Viktor nodded and placed his crutch beside the bench. “I told you so,” you said teasingly, leaning in closer to his ear.

Viktor tensed up and shot you a glare. “Don’t even start,” he muttered, a frown creeping onto his face. You giggled again, leaning in even closer. “Don’t start what, dear?” you asked, your hand slowly inching toward his. As your fingers brushed against him, he shivered. Viktor gulped. “You’re… making it quite hard to think straight,” he admitted, feeling his heart start to beat faster than usual. You fluttered your lashes at him, giving him an innocent look. Viktor clicked his tongue in response.

As the night draped its dark cloak over the forest, a tense atmosphere enveloped the scene. From their concealed vantage point behind the twisted trunks and thick underbrush, Jayce and Mel peered intently at you and Viktor. Their hearts raced with a mix of curiosity and dread, torn between the urge to remain hidden and the inexplicable desire to unearth the secrets unfolding before them. They were acutely aware that they were trespassing into a realm of mysteries that were never intended for their eyes.

Jayce, driven by an urgent impulse, shifted slightly closer, doing his best to remain concealed amidst the foliage. Yet, with a fateful crack, his foot stumbled upon a weathered branch, shattering the silence that enveloped the woods like a heavy fog. The sharp sound pierced the air, causing you and Viktor to instinctively turn your heads toward the disturbance. “Maybe it was just an animal?” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, glancing sideways at Viktor for reassurance. His silence spoke volumes; his focus was riveted on the shadowy treeline ahead, his expression a mixture of alarm and intrigue.

As if responding to your tension, the thick clouds overhead began to part, bathing the forest in a soft, ethereal glow from the moon. This pale light created dancing shadows among the trees, casting an enchanting yet eerie aura. Viktor’s eyes widened in realization as he caught sight of indistinct shapes lurking within the misty darkness. Confusion painted your features; you leaned back slightly, your heart pounding. “Oh gosh,” you breathed incredulously, the realization dawning upon you. In that moment, Viktor’s grip on your hand tightened instinctively, a silent promise of protection as both apprehension and curiosity swirled in the air around you.

Jayce and Mel exchanged wary glances, a shared understanding passing between them as they realized they had been caught in the act. Jayce let out a long, heavy sigh, the weight of their situation pressing down on him, and he slowly stepped into the dim light, the shadows relinquishing their hold. Mel followed suit, her own resigned sigh escaping her lips, a testament to the gravity of the moment.

“Viktor…” Jayce began, his voice barely above a whisper, laced with an undercurrent of nervousness that betrayed his calm exterior. Viktor’s brow knitted together in confusion, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the unexpected presence of his friends. “What on earth are you doing here?” he asked, a mix of irritation and concern evident in his voice.

Jayce and Mel exchanged another glance, each hesitant to completely articulate the truth lingering in the air. Mel stepped closer to Viktor, a determined yet uncertain look in her eyes. “Well, Viktor,” she started, her voice faltering slightly as she struggled to find the right words. “It’s hard to explain,” she continued, glancing away momentarily, her fingers nervously fidgeting with the hem of her shirt.

“It was my idea,” Jayce interjected, his voice firm yet gentle as he placed a reassuring hand on Mel’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he added, his eyes drifting down to their interlocked hands in a moment of vulnerability. As he glanced from their fingers to Viktor’s face, something clicked in his mind—the unmistakable sight of Viktor’s own wedding ring. The realization hit him like a wave, and suddenly, the gravity of their situation became all too clear.

“I hope you can forgive me,” Jayce said quietly, breaking eye contact as he looked away, unable to fully meet Viktor’s gaze. The tension hung thick in the air, a palpable mixture of fear, regret, and the lingering hope for understanding..

Viktor remained still for a moment, the air heavy with unspoken words, before he slowly pushed himself to stand. With deliberate movements, he grasped his crutch, its polished wood glinting softly in the fading light, and tucked it firmly under his arm. You felt a sense of urgency bubbling inside you, compelling you to follow his lead. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Jayce,” Viktor murmured, his voice low and almost reflective, before beginning to make his way down the path. You quickened your pace, eager to keep up with him.

As you both faded into the growing shadows, Jayce stood anchored in place, eyes locked on your retreating figures, his expression a mix of curiosity and contemplation. “Did you see that?” Mel broke the silence, her arms crossing tightly over her chest, a hint of disbelief in her tone. Jayce stared after you and Viktor for a moment longer, then nodded slowly, the gears in his mind clearly turning. “Matching rings,” he finally said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, feeling the rough stubble there. “I didn’t know Viktor was that kind of guy.” His words hung in the air, laden with surprise and perhaps a touch of admiration, as they both processed the moment they had just witnessed.

#x you #oneshot #x reader #fluff #arcane #arcane viktor x reader #viktor x reader #viktor arcane #arcane viktor #reader insert #arcane x reader #arcane x you #viktor x you

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urfavleo777 · 1 year ago

Text

warnings: age gap, tattoo artist! colby x reader, alcohol

"Angel's wings!" your best friend exclaims, speaking completely seriously. Your other friend approves, clapping her hands eagerly. "Get them tattooed!"

You almost choke on your drink when you hear how seriously Katrina gives you a new idea for your first tattoo. If someone told you that friendship between three people doesn't exist, you would laugh at them. The three of you are living proof that it's not the number of people in the group that matters, but the love that exists between you. Each of you is different, but that is the most beautiful thing. There is nothing worse than boredom and monotony in friendship.

"Come on, you'll be eighteen in an hour. Do something that will make you happy, not your parents." Sophia, usually the voice of reason, tries to convince you.

You don't know if it's the alcohol you just drank, but in a split second you undergo an internal transformation. You'll be of age in an hour. No one will be able to lecture you. Even your parents who, instead of spending this birthday time with their daughter, decided to go to the mountains. At first you reacted with sadness, but over time you were glad that the situation had turned out this way because you could invite your two favorite girls over for the night.

Katrina and Sophia look at you with impatient eyes, encouraging you to make a quick decision. You take a deep breath, tilting your head back. As pathetic as it sounds, you try your hardest to get advice from the ceiling.

You look back at your waiting friends. They send drunken glances your way, which only reinforces the fact that you must probably look like one of them at this point. Sophia and Katarina's eyes widen. Something unexpected is about to happen; something that will change the course of history forever.

Katarina clenches her fists like a true boxing legend, preparing for the worst possible scenario. With each subsequent inhalation, you feel even more excitement and arousal wash over you. You open your mouth to announce the official verdict.

"If not now, never, right?"

After saying these words, you're crushed under the bodies of these two freaks. And, you swear to yourself that if your parents had been home, after all those squeals of happiness, you would have ended up under a bridge.

"The best decision you've ever made, Y/n! I'm so proud," Sophia squeals excitedly, and Katrina joins in. You realize that you still hold the glass in your hand. You hiss, knowing that you'll definitely need to change the sheets of your bed after tonight. "Don't worry about it! Let's go to the tattoo artist!"

"Now?" you keep mumbling under their bodies.

Katrina and Sophia step away from you, exchanging meaningful glances with each other. You are finally able to catch your breath, but you don't really understand what they're trying to tell you.

"Yes. Now." Sophia grins. "Katrina, are you thinking about the same person as me?"

The friend nods her head in response, also with a big grin on her face.

"Oh, yeah! The handsomest, hottest and most expensive tattoo artist in town," she starts counting and you wonder why you've never heard of him before. "Y/n, we guarantee you the best fucking fun."

"Let's fucking do this!" They both squeal, grabbing your hands and pulling you out of the bed.

***

"You guys didn't even give me a chance to change clothes!"

You are wearing a black body suit and really low rise jeans so people on the street can see a bit of skin, which makes you feel a little uncomfortable.

"You look great." Sophia assures you and Katrina nods to her. Well, they're wearing perfectly balanced sweaters compared to you. They decided to make you the main star without outshining you with clothes. You feel like standing out of the crowd, which you don't like very much.

"Do you think this tattoo artist will accept us without prior consultation?" you ask, genuinely curious. "Maybe we should call him? We'd better get back home..."

"Relax, Y/n," you turn into a street you've probably never been to. Katrina tries to convince you, but with each step you take, you become less and less sure. Even though your parents have well-paid jobs, they usually don't let you hang around the rich districts. They would be disappointed if they knew that while they were away their daughter was getting a tattoo, not really knowing where.

"You said he was an expensive tattoo artist. I don't think I want to spend money this way." You continue, feeling the alcohol drain from you. You regain consciousness and regret saying yes to your friends. "Maybe we should really turn back?"

"Y/n," you stop in front of a building emanating LED light. The girls move closer to you and one of them puts a hand on your shoulder. Sophia, the fucking voice of reason, says:

"He is my brother's friend. They have been friends since childhood. He practiced on my brother, making the first patterns. He would never take money from me or my friends. We are always out of line. Trust me, you're in good hands."

"He was the one who gave me that big tattoo you liked so much," finishes Katrina.

You sigh, trying to convince yourself first and foremost. Sophia pulls out her phone and brings it closer to your face.

The first thing that catches your eye are the huge white numbers on the screen. What's more, they don't seem blurry at all. You must be really sober. You take a deep breath, recalling the quote of your favorite teacher in your head.

12:00. Carpe diem.

"It's time to go fucking crazy, Y/n."

***

"Sophia? What's for today?" It’s a male voice. Raspy, yet soft. The sound of it makes you whip your head over to your friends, but you're trying to stay calm. He lets out a heavy sigh before humming to himself in thought. Only after a while he notices that Sophia is not alone. "And who is this?"

"Hello, Colby. Meet Y/n, your new client."

And the way he shakes your hand is firm but gentle, not as hard as you think it'd be given the size of his biceps probably are larger than your head. But then he softly grips your elbow and guides you into the chair with a hand on your back. "Don't worry, I don't bite."

"Well, I thought I would have to convince you.. longer."

You flush a little under his gaze because he's noticed how you're shaking like a leaf next to him. And the way he smiles indicates he might enjoy biting you anyways... and maybe you'd let him.

"I was just about to close, but you know perfectly well that I will always make an exception for you, Sophia." Your friend smiles at his words.

"So, what are we doing tonight?" he focuses all his attention on you. You swallow, not really knowing what to answer. Katrina decides to save your ass from total embarrassment.

"Angel's wings."

He looks like he's about to roll his eyes.

"Seriously, I can't count how many girls asked me for the exact same pattern. Try something more creative."

"I'd like to stick with the wings, please. In a place invisible to the eye."

"Getting a tattoo so you don't show it to anyone? How old are you anyway?"

"Eighteen." He doesn't look convinced. With one movement of your hand, you pull your ID from your back pocket. Colby, as you can guess, surprised by the concrete, grabs the ID in his hand and looks at it carefully.

"She's so young." When he talks about you in the third person, something happens to you. "Are you sure you want those fucking wings?"

"Come on, Colby. You did this to my brother many times." Sophia interjects. "Don't ruin her birthday."

"Ah, yes. Happy birthday or something." You can tell he’s in a good mood based on the playful amusement in his voice.

"Thanks," you hang your head.

"We have to do something about her shyness." he turns to your friends.

"Maybe wings between her tits? I bet no girl has ever asked for this," suggests Katrina. You almost choke on your saliva. You want to get up from that chair and run out.

"That sounds perfect." His voice is sweet with a touch of flirtiness, and you swear you can hear the smile in it. "What do you think, Y/n?"

"There's no way I'm going to show you my tits." You take courage. Colby laughs loudly. He clearly takes pleasure in your attitude and shakes his head, leaning in to watch you.

"It's your choice." You bite at your lip instead of answering him.

"Come on, Y/n. We won't look either." Katrina says and Sophia nods.

You've already succumbed to them once in a while. Nothing will stop you from doing it again.

The girls send you their last kisses. After a while, it's just you and your tattoo artist left in the room.

***

You're honestly glad when the uncomfortable silence is drowned out by the song "Ultraviolence" by Lana Del Rey. You asked to simply turn on the radio, but you were surprised when Colby asked you for the title. What was even weirder was when he used the fucking vinyl of one of your favorite albums instead of Spotify.

He hums to himself. "Those are nice."

You got rid of your bra. No one has ever complimented your boobs, but you smile slightly, burying your face in your hands.

He gives you a little wink before stenciling what you had in mind, his fingertips tracing the lines of the ink that leaves goosebumps across your skin.

There's a lingering feeling as he pulls his hand back. You think he's toying with you. Frightful little thing, you are and here he is wanting to play with his pretty little client. Next thing you know, his hand is around your throat.

You tense and realize that he has moved some of your hair to the other side to give more access to the space between your tits. It definitely could have been done easier and better, but the twinkle in his eyes said he did it on purpose. Oh yes, he was definitely having fun with you. The way his hand barely grazed your throat and the side of your neck before he would gently scratch your arm with his blunt nails and pull away.

He let's out a huff of quiet laughter and then gets his tools ready. "So, y/n, you have a safeword?"

And you're brought out of your thoughts about his large hands because... "Huh?"

"A safeword. It's big."

W..what's big? You can't stop your eyes from flitting down to his thighs and what may lie between them. He laughs and shifts so your eyes are instantly back up and staring at his eyes that glimmer in amusement.

"The tattoo, I mean. It's a big piece. Need to know if it'll be too much, yeah?"

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artsninspo · 2 months ago

Text

004 | Richmond Inc.

「 ✦ full library & archive ✦ 」

「 ✦ aaron pierre & characters library ✦ 」

⇚ 003

♠ authors note: the first part of this chapter was meant to be at the end of 003, I hope it doest interrupt your reading flow.

♠ summary: Mr. Richmond and Lorence have their meeting. This ones messy 🌪️.

♠ pairing: Terry Richmond (Aaron Pierre - Rebel Ridge) X Lorence Cole (Black Fem OC)

♠ word-count: ~2.2K

⌖ - St. Moritz, Switzerland

I send Joel a text and meet him on the enclosed rooftop. The view is one of one.

“You really know how to get under the boss's skin kid” he sighs, swirling around whisky in his glass.

“What I do”

“I had orders to inform you of our discussion. Now Rich thinks I didn’t speak to you”

“Sorry, I was cornered in an elevator”

“Well, face him sooner than later. Rip off the bandaid” Joel sighs.

“How was today? How many calls?” I ask.

“Thirty inquiries,” he smiles. “Even if the boss only chooses fifteen new contracts, that's a nice check for our team. I’m telling you you’re a natural.” Joel says but he’s always had faith in me.

“Thanks, I’m sorry I got you in trouble”

“I know, you know I love you kid don’t worry about it” he sighs getting up.

“Get some sleep” he says standing with a hand outreached for me. We make our back to the rooms and he walks me to mine. I send my loved ones goodnight messages and drift away.

…

Unfortunately I rise early without being well rested. The clock reads its five thirty in the morning. My internal alarm is so well set that there’s no resistance even abroad. Discipline keeps me going through the motions instead of motivation because there's a huge lack of that. My nerves skyrocket and I decide to stick to my routine. I reconsider using the gym today and have the equipment I need brought to me in my room. I’ll buy all the time in the world not to bump into him before nine. For the first time in my adult life meditation doesn’t bring me clarity. It’s unsettling and I wonder how Mr. Richmond rattles me so deeply. From our first meeting there was some friction. I’d spent a few weeks hearing Joel sing his praises while my colleagues of the fairer sex ‘oohed’ and ‘awed’ about how handsome he was. When he walked onto our floor a hush cut across the cubicles. All I could see then was his complexion, a side profile of facial hair and curls. The minute he was in his office a frenzy started all around me. Everyone was preparing presentations and reports just-in-case. Then there was the constant flow of colleagues into the ladies room to spruce themselves up. The lipstick tubes were being twisted, powder patted one, lashes curled, blowouts scheduled during lunch the whole nine yards.

That first time in Mr. Richmonds office was the only occasion I wasn’t rattled with nerves but it didn't last long. It was the Boss, his barber, Joel and myself. He glared at Joel before looking at me with a dissatisfied expression and outreaching his hand. There wasn’t a welcome or any fanfare, just a hello. His grip was firm and his hands far larger than mine radiating heat without being clammy. I sat there waiting my turn to speak as Joel presented my findings. I watched as Richmond was transformed from scruffy operative to the clean cut CEO right before my eyes. Still I kept my composure and presented my findings. Mr. Richmonds disposition then turned antagonistic as he probed and probed and probed trying to find fault with my research concepts. When there were none to be found he didn't smile and end the angry boss charade like I'd hoped. He gave a curt nod and told me it was good work in a flat tone.

Since then, I’ve given him a wide breadth at every opportunity. I’ve passed up on several opportunities to be in his presence and rub shoulders with him. It’s been almost three years and I don't understand why things have to change now. I’ve enjoyed maintaining a professional distance and avoiding his tirades. Increased proximity will surely erode all of the defences I had set in place and that's not what I need. I quit my morning meditations prematurely and decide on a walk outdoors hoping the movement will help clear my head, hoping the cold will bring some clarity but it doesn't. I return inside and skip breakfast opting for a hot steamy shower. The bathroom gets as cloudy as my thoughts. I turn on the dehumidifying fan and wipe the mirror. The eyes staring back at me are swimming with uneasiness, a deer in the headlights. Not liking my reflection I get my outfit ready for the day. I do my body care routine before my make-up and then slip into my outfit before letting down my hair.

Business, bombshell, barbie; is what it’s giving today. It's a ruse, a fake it till you make it, moment. Maybe if I present like the admins he won't see me as a contender for the director position. Fastening my watch on my wrist I see I have thirty minutes to spare. I make my way to his office for the interim. I walk over to the elevator and get in, hitting the button up one floor. One of my colleagues walks in with red eyes as I exit.

“Good luck” he swallows letting me know Richmond is on a warpath. I send him a sympathetic look making my way to where his secretary is stationed.

“Gordon” I greet and she smiles.

“I’ve told you a million times, call me Cassandra,” she smiles.

“Cassandra,” I amend.

“Lorence,” she smiles. “I hear I’ll be seeing a lot more of you - I’m excited there’s wayyy too much testosterone and serious characters among the executives” she whispers in a dark denim tailored canadian tuxedo.

“Where’d you hear that?” I ask and she rolls her eyes.

“I know everything” she winks, a stiletto nail on full display as she taps her temple with her pointer finger. It’s a cloak and dagger maneuver - Cassandra’s sharper than she looks and too many employees have fallen into her trap. She's Richmond Inc. Chris Hansen. Obviously there's an immense amount of trust between her and the boss.

“What’s it like working closely with Richmond?” I ask and she rolls her eyes.

“He’s a total asshole sometimes. But the man knows how to apologize well when the asshole can't be confined in that gargantuan frame” she says, openly mocking the boss. I snicker a little. “But usually he’s normal, fair, attentive, considerate,” she says. Cassandra’s the only person I’ve ever spoken to that has such a glowing review. I can't help but scoff.

“What’s that for? Has he yelled at you?” she asks, seeming genuinely upset at the prospect.

“No, I maintain my distance.” I tell her.

“Oh I know” she nods.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask.

“Terry’s noticed” she says using his first name which is a rarity in this place. I swallow hard, not excited by the revelation.

“Yay!” I remark unenthused.

Cassandra snickers. “Don’t be like that, he's good at everything he sets his mind to. I’m sure it’ll take him no time to learn the best way to work with you-” before she can say more his door opens and we look like a bunch of guilts gossips huddled close to each other with nothing more to say in his presence.

“Gordon, how do I look-” Richmonds baritone crescendos as he looks up from his watch. Cassandra and I straighten, and in an instant all the casual and playful energy is sucked out of the open space. Richmond straightens next before checking his watch.

A silent beat passes between the three of us.

“She’s early,” Cassandra quips. He swallows, sending her a glare but she doesn't cower plopping down into her seat seemingly defeated as she gets back to work.

“Cole” he steps back holding a hand out to his office.

“Sir” I responded before leading the way. His cologne is an intoxicating mix of clean and masculine, while being a little dark. The room is large with an open concept, there are several seating arrangement options. To my surprise he motions to a sofa instead of the chair at his desk. I take my seat and he takes his, facing me, a coffee table between us. I cross my legs to the side, a habit from wearing skirts. I don’t dare look down into his sprawled legs and oversized thighs sitting in a dominant power pose. His words cross my mind again and I look him over. He looks fine, as usual. I wonder what that was about and look towards the door again. He clears his throat and I feel regret for how it probably looks as I look towards the door.

“Good morning” I greet him, trying to add some levity to the atmosphere.

“Morning” he responds, straightening slightly in his seat. “Well?” He asks.

“Well, what Sir?” I ask respectfully.

“You’ve spoken with Jameson about what’s on the table regarding your employment here. I’m here to answer any questions you may have. I’m open to discussion” he says with body language that reads anything but ‘open to discussion’.

“I was under the impression I had some time to decide,” I respond.

“Decide?” He asks like it’s absurd, like his offer is so good I shouldn’t refuse.

“My day has just started and I haven’t had time to read anything over” I add and he takes out his tablet confirming my words as truth. It only confirms he's a control freak, to be tracking email opens.

“Well then let’s do it now” he says tapping the screen and I hear the printer begin printing.

“Shouldn’t this be done in the presence of HR?” I ask and his eyes light.

“HR?” he repeats in question.

“In case I have HR specific questions…” I explain and he tosses his tablet onto the coffee table making a crash. I sit back and his nostrils flare.

“Such as…” he responds. At a loss for words I shrug feeling like a mediator should be present already. “What’s your problem with me?” He asks.

“Your temper” I blurt out before my brain can stop me. My cantor takes him by surprise too. “I’m also insulted that instead of self-regulating you increase my therapy stipend” I add, since I’m already halfway to hell I might as well continue right?

“Self-regulating” he mutters and I’ve lit a fuse. He looks at me about going nuclear. “Get out!” he demands, his voice reverberating through the glass office. I swallow while maintaining my composure.

“No! I’m not a dog, I won't be spoken to that way!” I stand my ground. It’s a surprise to me too. The expression in Richmonds eyes and the hard set of his jaw confirms he’s surprised and incensed.

“You’ve asked me to self-regulate but unless you get out of my face I'm going to continue to speak to you however I choose.” he says with closed eyes.

“Finally those big ears listen” I quip going low. His eyes shoot open in shock as I get up and head to the door.

“Rescind last night’s email to Mrs. Cole” he shouts standing once I’m out of the office. “Now!” He snaps at Cassandra from behind me. I turn to face him. “You’ve overestimated your importance and outplayed your hand” he snaps and somehow his restraint feels more seething than his tirades.

“Richmond” Cassandra interjects.

“Do IT!” he shouts, blowing my eardrums. Both Cassandra and I wince.

“Do it your damn self!” I snap snatching the cords from Cassandra's docking station.

“You’re suspended.” Richmond swallows, fighting for control.

“I’ll do you one better; I QUIT” I snap giving him a taste of his own medicine slamming my phone and laptop down on the marble desk top. I hope they’re broken. I take my work pass from my hip and add it to the pile with careless abandon.

“Lorence” Cassandra says with a soft tone.

“I’ll be out in the next hour, don't send me an off-boarding survey. I quit because the Boss is an asshole!” I add having reached my boiling point after three years of being subject to his tyranny.

“I’ll call housekeeping to help you pack and find alternative accommodations” Cassandra relents picking up her phone.

“Thank you” I nod, swallowing hard. I cast a hateful look over my shoulder at Richmond before heading into the elevator. I swear I see the asshole smirking as the elevator doors shut. I manage to keep it together through packing up my stuff and the entire ride to the airport's hotel but once I'm in my new accommodations I bawl.

Hours later I sit in first class on my flight home and see the email is still there in my personal inbox. I left all my work items in the hotel with Cassandra in spite of her protest. Nagging guilt, curiosity and the prospect of regret makes me open the file. I put in my password fully expecting the file to go blank but it doesn’t. I swallow seeing one million dollars listed under salary along with a list of perks that would make anyone envious. Everything would be the best of the very best and a road to early retirement no doubt. I sigh, closing the document and calling for some champagne. When my flight lands I head to my parents home instead of my own to lick my wounds and recover.

game reveal: those of you who chose 2 and 5 were very much accurate. thankfully, there was no 1. No 4 either, unless you've found a spot for it. If you don't know what I'm taking about check out my page between chapters to play the games I post with us: Richmond Inc. Game & Poll

authors note: thanks to all who played and everyone who's been reading and liking, voting & commenting. What did you think about this chapter? Did you expect it to go the way it did? Are we proud of Lorence?

005 ⇛

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bangaveragewhitewine · 1 year ago

Text

Hearts are wild creatures

Dad!Steve Harrington x Mom!Reader

Halloween, 1999

A simple worn-before couple’s costume and drinks with friends. Kissing like teenagers and hushed voices. You and Steve, a night to make up for lost time before Halloween-morning with your two little girls.

Takes place two years after soft slow, morning glow

Word count: 6.4k

Contents: Parent!Steve & Reader. Explicit (18+) - oral (f!receiving), p-in-v sex (reader is on birth control, but wrap it up, friends!). Breeding kink. Parental domesticity - Steve & Reader have two kids, mention of a difficult pregnancy, sickeningly sweet domestic fluff.

Author’s note: This started as soft Halloween-flavoured domesticity and then I imagined Steve dressed as Johnny Castle… we couldn’t not go there.

Thank you @specialagentmonkey for proofreading and being wonderful. And for watching ST from the start with me! And thank YOU, dear reader, for being here. I hope you enjoy it!

Tucked away in the Chicago suburbs, your little house matches its companions in the cosy cul de sac; the residents of Elm Crescent had transformed their homes and gardens into a Halloween Wonderland as exciting for the adults as it was for the kids. You knew you had made the right choice buying your first home here.

The garden has been prepared for a night of costumed trick-or-treaters, the path flanked by two homemade sheet-ghosts and leaves raked in vain leaving the green lawn clear for those that fell since yesterday afternoon. Four carved pumpkins guard the house from their spot on the front steps, arranged from largest to littlest - one for each of you.

Inside, tissue-paper ghosties with wobbly marker-drawn smiles made by tiny hands float on lengths of thread, seasonal art projects take pride of place in the kitchen, and paper bats guard the stairs from their hanging place on the spindles. Nothing too scary to frighten a four and nearly-two-year-old, all brightly childish orange and purple and green, smiling instead of scaring.

Halloween fell perfectly in ‘99 - a Sunday night for tricks and treats meant that you and Steve could make grown-up plans on Saturday. A simple worn-before couple’s costume, a competent and willing babysitter, and drinks with friends in a too-loud bar that you all left early to get pizza and a cab home. It was later than you had stayed up or out in months, maybe years, and you both felt almost giddy with excitement. Far from the late and boozy Halloween nights of your early years as a couple, it was exactly the night you and Steve had wanted.

Back home, your Johnny and Baby costumes were barely folded before you crawled into bed together and kissed like off-the-leash teenagers, keeping your voices and giggles low while your babies slumbered peacefully down the hall.

After paying the babysitter from across the street, making sure she got home safe, neither you nor Steve could resist a peek at the two sleeping girls when you got home, both sentimental (and a little broody again) as you held each other gazing at their little dreaming faces. Beth with her bunny-teddy pillowing her cheek (reminding you to wash it soon with lavender detergent and steaming hot water) and Ava, sweet little Ava, starfishing in her crib. Your tiny girl takes up so much space in your hearts, pulls attention in every room she enters with her big brown eyes and honey-blonde hair; she is your little cherub.

You had missed them on your night out, tried not to count the minutes since you had left or until you got home to them. Steve had felt the same, but you knew they were safe and (hopefully) sleeping. So, you tried and succeeded in letting yourselves be distracted by your brilliant little group of friends, strong drinks and each other - all of which came easily, with warm cheeks and loud laughter, stolen kisses while your friends pretended to take offence that you loved each other more than them.

Now, at home in your cosy little bedroom, Steve’s hand skates upward, feeling the dips and curves of your body as your lips lock in a needy kiss. Smiling against your mouth, he greedily swallows the soft noise pulled from your throat. His hand finds its home, cupping your breast through soft shell-pink satin, as the other holds your hand pinned to the sunshine-coloured cotton sheet.

Two kids later and he is still utterly obsessed with you, in love with all of you - especially the bumps and marks of motherhood that came with each perfect girl. You had spent most of the night tucked to his side, pretty pink contrasting his tight black shirt and jeans. Robin had tried to sit between you at one point and you had been hauled onto the warm sturdy throne of Steve’s lap, his chin on your shoulder as he argued with his best friend over whether they should do karaoke or shots next. Except for quests to the bar for more drinks and a few trips to the bathroom, you hadn’t been without his warm touch since you left the house. He would have held your hand while you peed if he could, would have accompanied you to the bar except your friends forced you to be apart ‘for five fuckin’ minutes, dude.’

His lips skate lower, abandoning your kiss-swollen lips to nibble your jaw and seek out that spot on your neck while his thumb presses firmly against your nipple. Your brow creases in pleasure when he finds it; the quiet gasp ‘Steve’ is whispered into his hair, edging toward a whimper.

“Mmhm? M’here, baby.” Tipsy from a lower alcohol tolerance and drunk on you, Steve’s voice is hot against your neck.

Your fingers wrap over his own as he presses you into the mattress, his black Calvin Klein’s straining with need, with want. Your own underwear have been damp since his hand settled on your thigh in the cab at the start of the night.

Your fingers slide into Steve’s hair, directing him back to your lips as his thigh slots snugly into the apex of your spread legs.

“Yeah? There?” he murmurs, smiling cockily.

It had been far too long since you had time alone like this; too tired after work or parenting, one or both of you needed to dry tears and check for monsters after a bad dream just as hands began to wander beneath the covers.

Your hips roll, electrified, grinding on the firm bulk of his thigh. “Please, Stevie…”

You both know you could get off like this and if he thought that was what you really wanted - what you needed - Steve would let you. He would gladly watch you come undone, guide your hips and be whatever you need him to be. But neither had forgotten your hot whisper against his ear as Eddie carried a tray of drinks and shots back to your table earlier; the way your lips grazed Steve’s neck as you so quietly asked him to fuck you into the mattress when you got home.

You had watched his eyes blow wide and pressed a rose-pink kiss to his cheek (warm and blushing) while your friends placed bets on when Baby Harrington the Third would be coming.

Steve peels himself back, kneeling on the bed as he palms himself at the sight of you. You feel saliva pool under your tongue as you rake your eyes from his thighs, over that substantial bulge, and up his furry chest. He is nothing short of breathtaking, and Steve thinks just the same of you.

Your fingers slip over the nude lace of your underwear, biting your lip when you brush over the damp spot visible even in the low light from the bedside lamp. You don’t play long, already too worked up, and push your panties down toward your thighs with a lift of your hips.

Steve takes over, like a baton-pass, and eases your legs up against his chest with your feet against his shoulder. Your underwear is slipped off and thrown carelessly behind him, somewhere on the floor. He presses kisses to your calf, a curving path up over your ankle and the top of your foot before each leg is laid down gently on either side of his spread knees.

You prop yourself up on your elbows before pushing yourself up to sit and meet Steve for another kiss; it is smiling and sweet and a little dirty. Your fingers hook into his waistband before taking a greedy handful of his unfairly pert behind, making him laugh against your mouth.

“You going to give me what I want?” you murmur, kissing his chin. Your other hand slips down the front side, fingers wrapping around to squeeze his hard length as you look up through your lashes.

“Anything. Everything.” Steve’s eyes flutter closed and he cups your cheek in one huge hand, blindly bringing you back in for another kiss.

Your voices are just loud enough for each other to hear in the golden glow of your bedroom. You miss the days when you could be loud, but wouldn’t change it - take a day trip to the past perhaps, when you didn’t have to restrain your desire to a quick fuck after dark, or during nap time while the washer and dryer run in the background like white noise,

Maybe in a few weeks, before the craziness of the holidays, you can stow away to a hotel for a night or two and cash in on the babysitting offer from Aunties Robin and Nancy.

But tonight is perfect nonetheless. It’s perfect when you shove Steve’s briefs down his thighs and when his fingers skate over your back to undo your bra (before it joins your underwear and his on the floor). You lay back, taking Steve with you, and hook your leg over his hip and bring him as close as you can all over again.

All there is right now is you and Steve. You’re well-practised enough to be quiet.

Covetous hands palm over hips, fingers thread into hair, pulling each other close and closer still. Steve finds his home between your thighs and leans over, dipping to kiss you as his fingers press and tease, push inside you with care. His fingers stretch just right and curl up to seek out the place that makes you drool.

“Lemme have a little taste?” he asks against your mouth, smiling when a whine catches in your throat. “Yeah? Can I?”

“So greedy.” Your cheeks are warm and crease when his smile sets you off.

“I am. I can’t get enough of you.” His straight white teeth nip your lower lip, a bite he soothes with his tongue. “I think you love it…”

You gasp as his fingers curl again before he withdraws them, and watch as he licks your wetness from them.

Steve winks as his lips trail lips lower, over your chest and the softness of your tummy, your hips and the places on your thighs that jiggle a little bit. Steve presses a feathery kiss to your swollen bud before licking out his tongue to part your lips

Steve’s prone to getting sidetracked down there - not that you would ever complain about your husband who loves to go down on you - but you have been thinking of being railed by him since last Wednesday.

The begged-for ‘little taste’ quickly becomes so much more.

There’s nothing ‘little’ about Steve - not his hands or his thighs, his biceps or his manhood, or his heart. His appetite for you certainly is not little or lacking either. With his hand on your thigh, the other on the cheek of your ass, he makes your thighs tremble with a few skilful licks and the soft suck of his mouth. His nose rests and nudges against the pudge of your mound, darkened eyes fixed on you as he flicks his tongue.

He watches how your jaw drops, the crease in between your brows. You feel dizzy, anchored only by the weight of his hand spreading your thigh higher, wider for him.

The burning want in your belly flames hot and bright as Steve buries his face between your thighs. His tongue presses firm and flat, encouraged when your fingers slide into his hair to keep him ‘right there, oh!’

Silenced by your own hand, you feel that white-hot tight-winding feeling as his fingers slide home again. The sound of his wet mouth on you sounds so loud, the same volume as the throb of your heart, the blood rushing in your ears. A whimper of Steve’s name is stifled, a high choked-up noise in your throat as his scalp burns from tugging fingers.

Your orgasm takes you by surprise, amped up and tightly wound after a night of teasing and wanting, and the long groping make-out and grind in the kitchen after the babysitter left.

Steve’s solid weight keeps your hips low to the bed, even when your back arches sharply. An expert at your pleasure now, seeking it out and making you see stars every time, he keeps up the pace and pressure, with his fingers and tongue. He knows what you need, how you like it - never stale, never disappointing.

Your body attempts to curl up on itself, feeling too good. Slowly, carefully, Steve drags his mouth to kiss your shaky thigh before making his way back to lie alongside you. His damp fingers, wrap around his diamond-hard length to give some sort of relief.

Glowing and giggly, you gaze up at him and drag Steve in for a kiss. “Knew you were a greedy boy.” Your voice is quietly breathy, shaking with that post-orgasm wobble as he laughs against your mouth.

“Got carried away. Sue me.” His voice is a low murmur.

Cupping his cheek, you skate your thumb along the bone. He’s so gorgeous, gold-toned in the nighttime light. Your fingertips brush the moles on his cheek as Steve kisses you again; beneath the musk of you on his tongue, you can still taste the lingering whiskey notes from your night out.

Pulled right up against him, you feel the hard and soft of Steve’s body, the fur of his chest and thighs. He found two grey hairs on his chest earlier in the year which almost caused an existential crisis - only solved with your tweezers and a tonne of kisses and promises that you would still adore him when every hair on his body was shiny silver.

“You wanna be on your back or front?” he asks, squeezing your side.

The question makes that inferno in your tummy begin to burn hotter again. You think of how good it feels when he’s behind you, thighs slapping against the back of your own, the way he stretches you and hits that place deep inside. And yet, you need to see him tonight - you are so dreamily in love with him that not having his lips on yours might just make you expire.

“Back. Pass me that cushion?”

As you get comfy, Steve takes himself in hand again and settles himself between your legs. His non-busy hand runs through his hair - still a glorious mane into his thirties, despite a few shorter cuts over the years - and you are reminded of the pretty-boy you fell for almost a decade ago.

Steve catches you smiling and palms your leg as you settle on either side of his hips. He matches the little grin and dips forward to kiss you, nuzzling your noses together.

“What’s got you smilin’ like that, huh?” he asks, running the head of his cock through your wetness before tapping it at the top.

He watches your lashes flutter, the way you bite your lip.

“Just thinkin’ about you, handsome,” you murmur, “You always make me smile.”

He grins and kisses you again, both feeling like young loves again despite the aches and pains and the mortgage and the two kids sleeping down the hall. “I fuckin’ love you,” Steve whispers.

“I love you,” you murmur back, running your fingers into your love’s hair as the other hand grabs his wrist. “Please? Been waiting all night, Stevie…”

His lips melt the put-on pout and together you guide him inside. The stretch of him has got easier over the years, well practised at love-making and fucking like rabbits alike. He’s gentle when he needs to be, rougher when you both want it like that.

“I’ve got you, baby. Sorry for making my girl wait,” he murmurs as he slides all the way in.

Eyes fluttering closed at the stretch-and-fill, Steve starts off with a slow grind that makes your jaw drop. He murmurs quiet swears at how warm-wet you feel around him, squeezing him tight as his hips draw halfway back before going all the way in again.

“Fuck,” he whispers, and braces one hand by your head with the other splayed wide on your side. Your hips lift with him, legs propped high to open you up wider for him.

For a scant second, you want to ask if his back hurts - he pulled something at basketball drills last week and you had massaged on Tiger Balm morning and night for a few days until the twinging stopped. The hard flick of his hips makes the question vanish from your mind, his cock dragging and hitting just right.

“Oh god,” you whisper-gasp, jaw hanging open.

“I know, baby. M’sorry it’s been so long. M’a bad husband, huh? Leaving my poor wife needy and un-fucked.” His voice is hot and rough against your cheek, breath tickling your ear as he finds his rhythm. “Gonna make it up to you, yeah?”

You squeeze the back of his neck, giggling. “Make it up to me all you want.” He palms over your hip, hiking it higher before leaning over you again. “Fuck, Steve. Feels so good.”

Your eyes dip to the gold chain hanging around his neck, watching how it sways in rhythm to how he’s fucking you. You bring your hand to where it rests against his neck, guiding Steve’s mouth to yours again. His breath huffs hot against your lips, tongues sliding in a dirty kiss.

The wet click of parting lips sounds loud in Steve’s ears when you break away, moaning his name against his chin when his thrusts hit deeper, harder.

“Shhh, I know you wanna be loud, sweetheart. I know you feel good.” His voice is like lava dripping as he kisses your neck.

You pinch your lips together, the moan caught in your throat comes out as a high hum.

Steve is so hard. His pants felt too tight all night; half hard since he saw you in your little pink dress. It only got worse, harder not to ask you to meet him in the bathroom, when you sat on his lap and toyed with the back of his hair, whispered in his ear before slipping into conversation with Nancy about something totally different.

The slick-tight-hot feeling, the way you pulse around his cock, makes that tense coil of pleasure low in his gut wind tighter. His chest feels like

You can’t help but fall a little more in love with him, hypnotised by the swinging gold chain, the circles he rubs against your hip and the way his styled hair falls over his forehead.

Squeezing your thighs around him, you bring your legs up and tilt your hips higher. Steve adjusts the stance of his knees and slows his thrusts to a deep grind, the tip of him brushing your cervix. You can feel all of him pressed right up against you, inside and out.

“Oh fuck.. fuck, Steve.” Your voice is thin and strained, like a thread about to snap.

“Yeah, baby. I’ve got you,” he whispers, biting down on his own lower lip. “God, you’re so pretty. So sexy.”

The air in your bedroom feels humid and heavy, like a thunderstorm, waiting for lightning to crack and split the sky, waiting for a downpour.

Steve moves his hand from your hip, gliding over your pelvis to feel how he makes you bulge just a bit before his fingers begin circling your sticky-damp clit. Just quick enough, firm enough, mean enough.

Your back arches, quiet voice babbling with incoherence at how intense it feels. “I’mgonnacomeohgodstevestevefuck…”

“Come on baby, come for me. Let me feel it,” he pants, hitting deep and hard. He’s so close, barely holding on to himself.

You hold him tight to you as you come, fingers tugging in his hair as the other hand claws and digs into the meat at the top of his ass.

Overwhelmed, a sweet shock of release hits you like lightning and opens the floodgates.

Steve holds you just as close, anchored to each other. Whispering hot words of praise against your mouth, he gazes into your watery eyes sparkling with tears - he makes you feel that good.

“Oh baby, I’ve got you. You okay?” he asks, so tender. He leans over you, wrapping his arm beneath your lower back as the other braces his weight along his forearm. One huge hand cups your face and wipes your tears. There’s mascara smudged beneath your eyes, and you look beautiful.

There’s that smile he loves; wobbly and lovely. A giggle-sob bubbles from those sweet kiss-bitten lips. “Fuck, Steve..”

“I know, sweetheart. I know. Want me to pull out, is it too much?”

You shake your head against the duvet, your hair a mess. “No, no. Don’t... Wanna feel you.” Your voice is slurred, love drunk.

That makes him throb. He kisses you again and runs his nose along yours. “M’close,” he whispers, beginning a slow-dragging thrust inside your soaked and still-fluttering body.

You can see it, how close he is, and feel it in how his rhythm has faltered. His brows pinch, smearing wet kisses to your shoulder as he tucks his face into your neck.

“I’ve got you, Stevie. You’re so good,” you whisper, stroking the back of his neck. “Let go, baby. I’ve got you.”

A grunting groan is smothered against your shoulder as Steve stills and shudders on top of you. His hips pump slow and hard as he comes inside with your name on his lips, making you shiver too.

His weight settles, sinking you into the mattress in the best way. This is exactly what you had missed so much. As much as you fervently adore actually having sex with Steve Harrington, there is something so special about lying with him in the afterglow.

Sweat-sticky and breathless, you stroke through his hair and press your lips into his hair. The hairspray scent lingers, clinging to the scent of shampoo beneath the smoke from cigarettes bummed from his bad-influence-best-friend Eddie. There was something about the smoke-tinged kisses that made you feel extra feral for him on the way home.

“Don’t fall asleep on me,” you whisper, laughing softly when his sigh tickles your neck.

“But you’re so comfortable.”

Lifting his head, Steve smiles all pink-cheeked and dozy. “So beautiful too,” he murmurs, inching forward to kiss you.

The wet noise from below makes you both laugh like teenagers and you take your turn to hide your face.

“You take your birth control today?” he asked, easing himself up and out of you slowly, carefully. His eyes can’t look away from where he drips from you.

“Mhm. Sorry, big boy.” You grab a tissue from the bedside table, wiping yourself gently before you mess up the duvet cover. You had both agreed, after having Ava, to wait a few years before adding to your nest again - it had been Steve’s idea after your less-than-easy second pregnancy. For a man with a bit of a breeding kink and a dream of a family the size of a field hockey team, he was wonderfully considerate.

He kisses you again before standing to find his pyjama pants; he leaves out one of his sweaters and a pair of shorts for you too - sleeping naked was a dangerous game with two small kids.

Clean-faced and exhausted and happy, you curl up together in bed after a few sleepy kisses and a playful argument about who would get up with Ava in the morning. As if Steve would ever miss a chance to let you sleep and steal the morning smiles from your youngest all for himself.

“You won’t even hear me sneak. M’a ninja,” he murmurs tiredly against the back of your neck and you can feel his smile.

“If you say so, ninja boy,” you mumble back, dragging your joined hands up for one more kiss before slipping into a deep, peaceful slumber.

Sunday. Halloween. The best day of the year for your little girls - since the last best day (their Daddy’s birthday in late July).

Ever a fan of Halloween, and autumn in general, you always wanted to bring your girls up to be excited for Halloween as soon as September began. Still so little, with Play-Dough minds, they had begun to catch on to your excitement and followed soaked it up. Beth especially, four with an expansive imagination, was excited about dressing up and eating candy and watching “Hogus Pogus” with you after dinner.

Your parental body clocks ring at seven despite the late night.

You wake to Steve creeping out, blindly bumping into the dresser with a quiet ‘shit’ as Ava calls out for him. This morning his presence was required to brush fat tears from the little one’s pink cheeks and kiss the damp paths they left behind until she was smiling again.

You hear the youngest babbling as Steve carries her quietly downstairs, hoping she won’t wake you or Beth. The throb of a minor hangover and post-sex ache drags you back under the covers and into a light doze.

You have another thirty minutes and some change until Beth wakes and realises she misses you, deciding to sneak in before even letting her Dad know she was awake - she wanted to see you hear about your Halloween party with her uncle and aunties and remind you that the best day had finally arrived.

The creaky hinge on the door alerts you - a reminder to ask Steve to show you how to oil it properly this time - you peek an eye open to watch the four-year-old sneak over to stand by the bed on her Dad’s side. She would be content enough with just seeing you, comforted in the knowledge that you were home to spend the day together; her face lights up when she spies you peeking over Steve’s pillow, your hand raised in a little wave.

“Hi Mommy,” she whispers, dimples showing her delight.

“Hi Bethie,” you whisper back, beckoning her into Steve’s vacant spot next to you.

You open the covers to let your big girl in. She folds herself into you for a hug, her head against your chest.

“I missed you. I missed you sooooo much,” she says, face turned up to look at you like she is a sunflower and you’re the sun.

“I missed you too, baby.” Her little face cupped in one hand, you press kisses to her forehead and cheeks, her little nose.

You make a tent big enough for two beneath the covers, lying on your sides facing each other until your giggling makes it too warm and your tummies rumble for the special Halloween breakfast you promise. (You curse yourself a little for that last glass of wine, trying to remember what exactly you had promised until Beth reminds you about the pumpkin-shaped pancakes).

Wrapped in your soft dressing gown, you follow Beth down the stairs, hearing Ava’s happy-baby babble in the kitchen as she eats her half-banana breakfast appetizer. The decorations look a little silly and rough around the edges in the morning light, but still, your little home feels like a perfect pocket of happiness.

Beth jumps into the kitchen with an excited-but-not-very-spooky ‘BOO!’ for Steve.

When she sees him, nursing coffee and Advil with a messy bedhead and tired smile, he quickly becomes Beth’s golden light source as her beaming face turns to him.

“Woah! You scared me!” he says, clutching his heart before dipping to scoop her up.

You try not to laugh at his Dad-groan and the cracking crunch of his knees as he stands, instead shuffling in your slippers to Ava in her highchair.

Her hands bash on the tray, smushing banana with fierce excitement as you peck kisses all over her pretty cherubic face.

Beth leans her head against Steve, playing with the string of his hastily thrown-on hoodie as she tells him about the dream she had and how he has to take lots of pictures of her costume later to send to your extended family.

Spotting his bare feet on the kitchen tiles, you slip into the laundry room to find a pair of socks for him to wear. Resistant to ‘old man slippers’, you tuck them into his front pocket as you peck his lips and move him and Beth away from the counter so you can start on breakfast. You steal a sip of his coffee, wrinkling your nose at the lack of sweetness before shooing him and Beth to sit with Ava at the table.

“What was Uncle Teddy dressed as?” Beth asks, head against Steve’s chest so she looks at him upside down.

“He was a vampire. But he just wore his normal clothes and some silly teeth.” Steve rolled his eyes dramatically - he had seen vampire Eddie all the way back in high school when he was dealing instead of drinking, and again when you all used to drink and party the night away in your early twenties. Yeah you had dressed as Baby and Johnny before, but you had all boo’ed at Eddie when he showed up in the ultimate low-effort costume.

��Oh. Okay. Vampires is sca’wry though, Daddy!” Beth reminds him. “You and Mommy didn’t go as scar'wies. What about Bobin?”

You laugh quietly at the nickname Robin has had since Beth started speaking, and her simple way of humbling Steve about his own costume (and yours).

“Robin dressed up as Elton John. You know the song you like, Benny & the Jets? She dressed up as the guy who sings that song. And Can You Feel The Love Tonight. He sings that too.” Steve is a wee bit distracted, nibbling the chunk of crushed banana offered from Ava’s fist.

“Bobin was Simba?” Beth’s eyes are wide, excited. She doesn’t seem bothered about her lack of scary costume, only yours.

“No babe. Elton John, he’s a singer. She had big glasses on and a sparkly jacket. You know he sings... Um. ‘Rocketmaaan, burning up his fuel out there alone..’ you like that one. I’ll find the tape later.”

Ava squeals in delight when he sings, so Steve indulges her a little more.

As you mix up pancake batter (adding a little food colouring to make them orange like pumpkins), and take two Advil for the dull throb in your head, the soundtrack of Beth and Steve’s conversation makes you smile, interspersed with Ava’s chirpy shouts for attention, her little contributions to the conversation.

You glance back at the little tableau of Beth on Steve’s lap, his hood pulled over his messy hair (a pair of sunglasses and he would look just the same as your hungover mornings in your first apartment together). His spare hand strokes Ava’s hair, twirling the crushed baby-curls at the back of her head and tickling her chin and neck to make her giggle.

Beth joins you after a little while, standing on a chair to help mix the batter and supervise your pancake-making with little bits of commentary.

“That one looks a w’ittle bit squished, Mommy. Daddy can have that one.”

“Thanks, Beth.” Steve’s voice is muffled behind his second cup of coffee.

“Welcome Daddy! Mommy, can I has that nice stuff on?”

“On what, sweets?”

“My pancakes.” You can hear her eye roll, the implied ‘duh, mom’ (thanks Auntie Max).

“The nice stuff? Syrup?”

“Yeah! Sir-yup.”

“Yeah okay. A little bit.” You flip another pancake, turning the chocolate chip face down onto the heated pan. “Do you want bacon on the same plate or on the side?”

“Um. Can I dip it?”

“In the syrup?”

“Yeah, in that nice stuff.”

“Yeah, you can try dipping it. Who taught you that?”

“Teddy.”

You smirk, “Steve, did you hear that? Betty’s taking after her Uncle’s eating habits.”

“Which one?”

“Ed. She’s gonna dip her bacon in syrup.”

“That’s my girl.”

Beth giggles and turns carefully on the chair to look at him. “No Daddy, you does it all over! You got to dip-dip.”

“Can you show me how?” Steve asks, he smiles over at her, looking so handsome with the baby standing in his lap now.

“Magic word?”

You snort-laugh, tucking your chin to your chest as your shoulders shake; you just about slide the pancake onto a plate without incident. Beth has one hand on her hip, a mini-Steve for sure, giving as good as she gets.

“Are you practising your magic for later?”

“Nooo Daddy. You has to say p’weeeeeeze-uhhh.”

“Okay-uhhhh. Please, pretty princess Bethany, can you show me how to dip my bacon in syrup?”

Bethany considers it and looks at you with a cheeky smile. “Yep! I show you, Daddy!”

You wink at her before helping her pour more batter onto the hot buttered pan, praising her careful steady hand.

“Beth, can you grab a bib for Ava please?” You’re almost done and know you’ll get it served up quicker if your helper has a special task.

“Yes! What colour?” her hot cocoa eyes shine with delight to help as you help her down.

“Surprise me. We have a Halloweeny one for later, so any one you like for breakfast time okay? Dealer’s choice.” You dot a kiss to her head before watching her scurry to check what colour her sister's sleep-suit is.

“There’s a laundry basket in the living room, babe. The bibs are on top. Do you need help?” Steve asks her, lifting Ava back into her chair before going to get forks and plates and glasses of juice for the table.

“No tank you.”

You lean back against Steve’s warm chest and tilt your head for a kiss. “Hi. I missed you.”

“Missed you more,” he murmurs, squeezing the tender spots on your hips as he kisses you slowly and sweetly. A proper kiss for the morning, tasting of coffee and shared banana and sneaked chocolate chips.

Your fingers brush his jaw, feeling stubble beneath soft fingertips. He won’t shave today, you hope he’ll string it out a couple of days into the work week.

After another hip-squeeze, he picks out cutlery and you notice how he squints into the drawer.

“Glasses.”

“Getting them next, chef.”

“No, your glasses Stevie. You’ll get a headache.”

“I have a headache. I’m blaming Rob for it.”

“It’ll get worse if you don’t put your glasses on, babe.”

You watch him mimicking your correctness with a scrunched nose as he picks out forks and knives. He knows you’re right but he doesn’t have to like it.

Steve gathers everything for breakfast, including Beth’s syrup.

“I’ll get them in a sec,” he murmurs behind you, waiting for Beth to return with a bib first.

You smile to yourself and start plating up.

“Beth, how are we doing on the bib?”

When he looks into the living room, Steve sees Beth with every clean bib around her as she decides.

“I can’t find one to match!” Beth’s face is a scowl.

“Babe, it doesn’t need to match. Just pick. Please.” Steve tries to be patient. Ava is getting impatient without food or distractions in the kitchen and he hears you chatter to her to try and help. He’s usually good at the diffuse and distract technique, a pro after quasi-parenting more than half a dozen teenagers.

“Can we do a-a spooky one?”

“Um. Sure. This one is kinda autumny?” He holds up the orange and yellow floral one, tiny flowers and green leaves.

“But Ava’s jammies is pink Daddy! It doesn’t go! It has to be spooky and match!” Beth’s voice turns whiney, a pout on her face.

Steve pops his head back into the kitchen where Ava is entirely unimpressed with being ignored as you bring over the plates. “Beth would really like it if Ava could have a Halloween bib now, and if it matched her pjs too…”

You watch him suppressing an eye-roll, knowing it would just hurt his head. He looks exactly like Beth.

“Um, check the laundry room? I left a couple out.” You peek around Steve and see Beth with all of the bibs around her. “Sorry, I should’ve just told her to check in there.”

“No, it’s fine. Beth, pick those up please and come wash your hands.”

Steve smooches Ava’s cheek as he passes and palms your side with a squeeze. He picks up a purple bib with bats and a white one with ghosts - he is hopeful that one will suit Beth’s specifications and taste. He has this Dad thing down to a fine art.

The bigger girl has clean and almost dry hands, pyjama sleeves rolled up her arms by your gentle mom-touch. Her face splits into a grin when Steve presents the choices.

“Yes! The pur-pellll!” she squeaks, bouncing on her feet.

He dips to pick her up, barely suppressing the dad-groan - but it’s quieter than last time. “My little fashionista, huh? Everything’s gotta match?” He pecks her nose, making it scrunch like a bunny’s.

When Ava’s got her bib on, distracted by cut-up pumpkin-shaped pancakes and berries (with one slice of bacon), Beth sits in her seat at the table in awe of the jack-o-lantern faces you have created.

“Spooky enough, babe?” You sip maple-sweetened coffee and smile at her little happy face.

Her hair is spilling over from her messy bedtime ponytail, which comes more loose as she nods furiously. “So cool! Tank you Mommy!”

“Super cool,” Steve agrees, winking at you across the table. “Thanks, baby.”

You’re just as sexy to him now, as you were last night with your messy hair and the well-loved teddy-print dressing gown. He notices his glasses case by his coffee and you wink back at him over the top of your mug.

With his world more in focus, Steve watches you smile at Ava as she shows you her chunk of pancake. You kiss her cheek, nuzzle into her milk-and-honey scented neck telling her you love her.

You feel like the littlest one hasn’t had your full attention this morning and you have missed her, feeling mom-guilt to the hilt. Steve will take on dish-duty once the plates are empty and bellies are full, giving you time with your girls.

There are a few last-minute decorations and chores you want to make time for in between kid-friendly movies, dressing the girls in their costumes - Beth as a tiny cute witch and Ava as a cosy pumpkin. The girls are your number one priority today, making core memories for them and taking one hundred and one photos for the albums. Ava is still too little to really soak it in but she takes enough notice to nourish her little mind.

You and Steve will fill out the candy for trick-or-treaters, and hold little hands when the girls go door to door in your own cul de sac. When they’re tucked up in bed, you will pick through the candy leftovers and curl up to watch one scary film followed by a non-scary one as a balm before you sleep.

For now, you sit back and share a loving smile with Steve, your socked feet brushing beneath the breakfast table.

What a treat.

Thank you for reading! Likes, reblogs and comments are absolutely adored and cherished ❤️

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x female reader #dad!steve harrington #dad!steve harrington x mom!reader #stranger things #stranger things fic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x fem #platonic stobin #platonic steddie #steve harrington fluff #bangaveragefics

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hyewka · 1 year ago

Note

Omg for your game beomgyu + hybrid ! Except he’s a bear hybrid since I don’t actually see it often despite him being a bear and though I love puppy hybrid gyu I want to see some bear gyu appreciation 😭🤭🤔

⭑ warnings; hybrid!au, switch!beomgyu, wolf!reader, mean femdom, dubcon, fwb, predator x prey, creampie, use of whore and bitch in demeaning ways, not proofread

⭑ send in a small prompt with the format of (member) + (nsfw prompt) and ill write you a small drabble!

you don't exactly know what the dumb cub's obsession with you comes from. you've never looked at him different than any other predator, and yet he has this weird big crush on you. does he know what's good for him or do all preys really just lack critical thinking?

"you're pretty," he babbles in answer of your question as you purposefully clamp down on his itty bitty thing. all it really has is girth. as expected of a bear.

"no duh. but i'm not the prettiest wolf out there so again, why do you like me so much?"

your eyes shoot open when beomgyu unexpectantly starts bucking his hips into your cunt, without permission. who the hell does he think he is?! you're about to curse him out, but as you lose your composure the faster he humps into your heat, he starts talking again.

"but y-you're the prettiest to me."

it's embarrassing how much those words have an effect on you. the heat that rushes up your cheeks is embarrassing, all of it is embarrassing, you're the one who's supposed to have him blushing and yet the dumb cub is the one having you so flustered. you manage to recover, quickly collecting yourself. you huff, taking it upon yourself to hold his wrists together over his head then using your right hand to trail under his shirt, pinching his nipples. that ought to teach him.

"ow! fuck! that hurt!" he shrieks, tears shooting to water his eyes.

"ill do it again if you act out little grizzly, sit there pliant or ill rip your little teddy ears off." he looks angry, frowning at you with his bottom lip stuck out like the baby he is, but really who is he to act like this? you're the one riding him and exerting all the effort while he sits against a tree. he should be grateful that you aren't a bigger bitch.

he looks like he wants to say something, but he keeps it in as his frown transforms to ecstasy, mouth agape as his brows knit together and god, his facial expression really has you horny, hoping you could at least cum from this too.

then he rips it away from you. again.

"gonna cum, keep going you're sooogood at this--h-ha fuckkk"

you blink dumbfounded, does he really think you'll let his dirty litter in your belly? god what a dumbass.

almost immediately you stop and his glossy eyes fly open, he really looks like the most precious thing as he tries and fails to hump you. "no--no fuck!"

you tsk, letting go of his wrists and getting off his dick, dusting off your top. "hoped you'd last a little longer," you murmur pulling your panties up, indifferent to the fact that you just ruined an orgasm for him and he's squirming to try and get his high back with his hand. you could tell he's failing.

it's almost like a power trip leaving the bear on his ass, ruined to shreds against the tree, hiccuping and panting, legs still spread like a whore-- you're satisfied with your work if anything. so you didn't expect to be hurled with your back against the tree, everything going so fast and seemingly out of nowhere, the light switch terrifying with how dangerously close beomgyus face is to yours, with your wrists pinned.

"god you're such a bitch," he growls lowly, and you shiver, for the first time seeing his canines in a more predatory light. "want me to treat you like one? throw you around and give it to you rough like all the asshole predators?"

you don't let your weakness show, trying to bury down your fear. "let me go if you know what's good for you beomgyu." you warn trying to stare him down with the same intense look. it's not as effective as it usually is because he doesn't stop, tightening his hold.

"want me to use you as a body rag? thats what you want right? will that get you to treat me better than a fucking second class citizen? fuck your pussy and breed you with my cubs?"

with every word, it's like venom, your nose flaring, you're pissed. but yet the last bit stirs something deep in you, it's all confusing. why're you into this? you like toys you can control, not someone so unpredictable. who is he to think he could speak to you like that anyway? just because you haven't killed him the first chance you got and kept him around your circle he's acting out like he's better than you, like you've wronged him. you sneer at him.

"i could brush my knee against your dick and you'd buckle to your knees gyu, that's how weak you are. you wouldn't know a thing about fucking me like a bitch." you whisper, keeping the demeaning smile on your face, trying to ignore the feeling of his nails digging into your skin further and further, no doubt bruising.

you expect it, him attaching himself to you again. no matter how much you get a little mean, his lips still crash onto yours, rough and greedy and grossly passionate, like he's trying to convince you of something. it's different this time, he's not holding back, slipping his hand down your pants not wasting any time to rub at your clit, not waiting for any instructions and your body is reacting.

"so wet." he sighs into the feeling of your pussy, squeezing in a second, then a third. "what a whore."

he's fast, he's experienced with his fingers, he knows exactly what you like and it's all your fault for instructing him this entire time. he always had a glint to his eyes, like he'd snap and take you himself. and you guess today was his last straw.

"fuck, beomgyu, i-i'm gonna cum.." it's humiliating, but your pussy clenches around his slender fingers, and you could hear him whimpering, like this gets him off too. even when he's the one in control, he's still as desperate.

suddenly, like your warning is the call he's been waiting for, he turns you back to have your body against the tree, and you know he wants to go along his promise to breed you. suddenly you feel the emptiness of his fingers, and you're about to complain before he takes both your wrists in his hand, having them behind your back, his dick proding your entrance. "ready bitch?"

"beomgyu i swear if you cum inside of me-"

he doesn't listen, of course he doesn't. your tits bounce with each and every thrust and you just hope to the gods that nobody finds you like this. he's totally gone savage, trying to drill his cock deep into your pussy, whispering all sorts of filthy words. if everything before wasn't a big whiplash this was it.

even when you orgasm around his dick, he isn't satisfied. "beomgyu-fuck! stop please it h-hurts-"

"im not stopping until i have your tummy filled. ill make you have my babies." he says with so much conviction, his breath staggering.

"for the last time we can't breed dumb cub!" is what you wish you could say but all you're capable of with the mush state of your mind is intelligible moans. he's as fast and ruthless, playing with your tits when he can, not missing a second to kiss all over your neck.

you've lost to beomgyu of all people, how humiliating.

note; I haven't read over this but hopefully it's okay, crossing my fingers 😭

#✶ ━━ rana ; answered #txt smut #beomgyu smut #txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #hybrid smut #🌷. rana thoughts

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rebelliousstories · 3 months ago

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‘Twas the Night Before…

25 Days of Ficmas

Relationship: Poly!Lost Boys x Reader

Fandom: The Lost Boys

Request: No

Warnings: Fluff, Mentions of Neglect, Mentions of Weed

Word Count: 1,613

Main Masterlist: Here

Lost Boys Masterlist: Here

Summary: Christmas Eve is finally here, and Laddie is being introduced to a Christmas classic whether the boys like it or not.

Consider Donating: Here

The very firsts of being a vampire stick with you always. Maybe not when you are mortal, but when you are a vampire, you remember a lot of firsts. First kill, first transformation, first hunt. Or maybe you remember your first holidays as a vampire, like your birthday, a new year that comes and goes. This time, it was a first Christmas.

She had only joined the pack about a decade ago in the late 60’s, but that was just the beginning for them. There was a special little spot for her that they never knew was missing, and could never be without again. Which is why, when she found a sickly boy that had been left at the pier in Santa Carla, none of the boys could tell her no.

Getting the boy to take a bit of wine to get healthy again was the easy part. The physical pain was nothing like the mental for the young boy, whom they had come to know as Laddie. As Christmas drew near, she made sure to give him a great one. Taking him to the markets with Dwayne, flying around to see lights with Paul; she just wanted him to have a better Christmas than he was probably used to.

A chilly night on the pier had greeted them when they climbed off their bikes that night. Unwrapping her arms from around Marko’s torso, she pressed a kiss to his cheek as she dismounted. Laddie immediately went off of Dwayne’s bike and grabbed her hand.

“Can we go look at the vendors please?” Laddie was so excited as they waited for the rest of the boys to dismount.

“Of course. Give me one second okay?” She passed the boy back to Dwayne who happily tucked him into his side as he leaned against the railing. Turning back to David, who was right next to Dwayne, her hands spread out around his stomach before wrapping around the back of him as she pressed front against front.

“Yes, kitten?” The bleach blonde drawled, drawing out a cigarette for himself.

“Gonna take Laddie around. We’ll be back in a couple hours, okay? Sunrise is seven tomorrow.” Standing on her tiptoes, she pressed a kiss to his plush lips as he raised a hand to the back of her head to keep her close.

After a moment, David finally released the woman. “Two hours, then you come back.”

Smiling, she pulled away, giving him another kiss to the tip of his nose. With a smile, she held her hand out for Laddie to take while she threw another kiss to the rest of her boys. Taking the young boy around the vendors that were preparing for their final rush of sales before Christmas tomorrow, she happily stopped at every one that caught his eyes.

They spent the majority of the evening like that. Just walking around and enjoying each other’s company. Still having some money from where she swiped some guys wallet, she was intent on getting at least a little something for Laddie. Almost as if there was a cue for it, their next stall had a bunch of books.

Ranging from novels, to short stories and even children’s picture books. Which is when she saw it. “A Visit from St. Nicholas” by Clement Clarke Moore; it was a classic that she remembered from her own childhood. Snagging it, she paid the dollar for the busted up copy, and kept it tucked underneath her arm.

“Have you ever heard this story, Laddie?” Showing him the book as they began to walk back to where the bikes were, the boy took it in his other hand as they paused briefly. When he got his other hand on it, Laddie turned it around, and tried to read it, but unfortunately could not. He shook his head, which made her smile softly.

“You’ll love it,” she said, taking his hand again as they continued walking. “I used to have this read to me when I was your age. I haven’t been able to n a long time. This’ll bee a treat.”

Once they came upon the bikes, she saw the boys waiting for them almost as if they had not moved yet. But the mussed hair, and shaggy clothes showed that they had at least probably gotten into a fight with the surf nazis.

Marko came up to her as Laddie ran to Dwayne again. “Whatcha got there, bela?”

Giving her a kiss, he took the book from her hand as he read the cover. All he did was arch an eyebrow as he returned it. Paul was next, but he did not care about getting the book. All he wanted was another kiss.

“Boys, let the kitten up. Let’s go for a ride.” David stated, stubbing out his current cigarette. Holding a hand out for their girlfriend, she tucked the book into the storage that was underneath the seat on his bike, before finally hoping on.

Taking off down the beach, it was the same old, same old. Whooping and hollering. Screaming and laughing. The boys constantly going faster and fast as they dug into the sand below. Each time they did this, she felt alive once more. Like she could feel her heart beating again, and her own blood rushing through her veins.

Climbing down into the cave, the book was back in her hands as she let David guide her down into their domain. Everyone went to their normal spots; Marko to his pigeons, Paul to roll some weed, Dwayne and Laddie to their cove, and David to his chair. Leaving her to sit down with her book at the edge of the fountain.

“Hey, Laddie,” she called, waving the book. In an instant, the boy rushed over which greatly confused everyone in the cave. He tucked into her side as she raised her arm and showed him the cover once more.

“Whatcha got there, princess?” Dwayne was curious as to why the young boy was not with him anymore.

“‘A Visit from St. Nicholas’, or more commonly referred to as ‘The Night before Christmas’. I used to read it every Christmas Eve with my family, so I thought I’d continue the tradition with Laddie. Wanna join?” A little bit slower, but with the same enthusiasm, Dwayne snuggled into the other side of his girlfriend.

“Alright,” she began, “‘A Visit from St. Nicholas’ by Clement Clarke Moore. ‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.”

“Is that ‘The Night before Christmas?’” Marko pipped up, coming back into the cave when he heard her speak.

All she did was pat her legs for him to come rest at, as her sides were taken. As Marko settled in, she started again. “The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, in hopes that St. Nicholas would soon be there. The children were nestled all snug in their beds; while visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads.”

“The hell is a sugar plum?” This time, Paul joined the party.

“It’s a confection from the Victorian era. Come here.” Now, the spot in front of Laddie was taken by the second blonde vampire. Looking over at David, who quickly looked away, she smiled over at him.

“Wanna come join us, sweetie?” David shook his head.

“I don’t do festive.” Rolling her eyes, she felt Dwayne’s lips press to her cheek.

“Don’t mind him. Continue?” He asked so sweetly.

“And mama in her ‘kerchief, and I in my cap, had just settled our brains for a long winter’s nap.” She continued the poem.

While she read, occasionally her eyes would cut over to David. And each time she did, he would hide it by turning away faster than lightning. But she just continued reading. The rest of her pack was enjoying the story and that was all that mattered. Reaching the end, she noticed Laddie’s eyes growing heavier and heavier.

“But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight- ‘Happy Christmas to all, and to all a goodnight.’” As soon as the last word was uttered, gently, she shut the book as she scooped Laddie up to go into their nest.

Giving all of her boys a kiss goodnight, even David, she happily tucked herself in to go to sleep with the young man. His head was resting on her chest as he slept, making her cherish this moment. For a while, she could hear the rest of the cave mess about and do whatever it was that they wanted to. In the meantime, she just picked up another book she had on her side of the bed, and read some more while Laddie slept.

Each one of her boys came to say goodnight one final time, giving her another kiss as they quietly uttered their departures. David was the last one to come around, but he looked rather nervous standing at the edge of the bed in the nest. However, she did not say anything for fear of scaring him off.

Wordlessly, he took off his boots and laid down right next to her. In his hands was the book she had read earlier. Not able to look her in the eye, David just handed it to her as she dropped her other book.

“Will you read it to me? Please, kitten,” and when he asked so sweetly and softly, there was no way she could deny him. Allowing him to get comfortable, she opened the book to the first page for the second time that night.

“‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house…”

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aethertetsuya · 2 years ago

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DP x DC ❤️‍🩹

Let me put you out of you misery.

Here's the thing. Danny was already half dead for his entire existence. He was born at deaths door from the DNA of Bruce Wayne and Talia al Ghul. His only saving grace was being dipped in the newly found pure Lazarus pit beneath St Peter's Basilica. However, it dried up immediately after he was dipped in it, making the witnesses believe he absorbed all of it into his body.

In the ironic twist of fate, Danny finds himself running TO the Fentons for protection from the GIW and Batman.

Growing up, he was found to be ordinary. Aside from his high intelligence and fast reflexes, he was found weak by League standards. So he found him once again at death's door.

On his last and rigged mission, he was expected to die, and everyone was sure he would. But he survived barely. But he also lost all his memories and was found by the Fentons.

Fast forward a few years, the portal accident awakens his dormant ghost half, and memories infront of his parents. The convention they planned on going was canceled at the last minute. They arrived home to walked in the lab filled with Danny's scream and the Portal openning on top of him. Moments later he was spat out the portal. White hair, gloves, and boots, and a Black Hazmat Suit. No one can speak about what just happened.

While checking up on Danny, he transformed back into a human. The Fentons were simply just glad that their boy is okay. Heartbeat. That means he's alive.

Fast forward again to a few months after Danny, witht he backing of his parents, cement himself as a protector of the town.

Damian finds out about his supposedly dead older brother being alive and wants to take him out because ... there can only be one blood son. He thinks.

The manipulative gremlin sides with the GIW and gets Bruce (only) to believe their shit.

Danny finds himself at the end of an ecto weapon barrel with Bruce at the other end, and Damian tells Bruce to pull the trigger.

In his moment of hesitation he was shot by the Fenton. "Get away from our Baby Boy you furry"

#dp x dc #dc x dp #danny phantom #danny fenton #batman #bruce wayne #jack fenton #maddie fenton #Good Fenton Parents #damian wayne #misguided Bruce and Damian Wayne

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kiiwiigii · 2 years ago

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Abandoned

Demetri x Fem!Reader

Summary: Going to Italy over spring break was not what you had in mind, but Bella said she needed you. Until she didn't anymore, leaving you in the hands of a handsome vampire, who happens to be your mate.

Warnings:

Angst

Bella and the Cullens suck. (Ha ha. I'm so funny.)

Word Count: 1500+

Requested?: Yes!

heya thanks for answering my earlier ask about requests! Could I please request a demetri x reader angsty with fluff where they meet in new moon as reader tags along with bella to help and demtri is drawn to her cause theyre mates and volturi agree to let bella go and be turned later if the reader stays and reader is hurt that edward, bella and even alice agree to it so quickly so she feels abandoned and demetri works to earn her trust and comforts her about it at a later date? (If its too much or you end up tweaking it thats okay!!) <3

A/N: What kind of Volturi fic writer would I didn't do this trope? And for once it's not Alec-centric. I love it! Also, this is gonna be a two-parter.

I hated flying with a burning passion. But Bella insisted that I go with her for emotional support. I almost snapped at her to take Jacob instead. Emotional support animals were free after all. She just needed the paperwork.

Unfortunately, I don't think a big-ass werewolf-slash-shapeshifter would go over well if they were to accidentally transform. Bella was lucky that I even had a passport. In the end, it was Alice who convinced me, definitely playing the loyalty card pretty heavily. If only I had known that loyalty was not extended to me.

Italy was beautiful, but between the sweet relief of landing, Alice stealing a car, and getting caught up in the whirlwind that was the St. Marcus festival, I had barely any time to take it all in. The city was awash with hundreds of people, their red cloaks swirling about as they danced and celebrated.

Bella was diving out the car, screaming Edward's name. I dove into the crowds to follow her, making my way through the throngs of red cloaks to find her. It didn't take long before I was hopelessly lost. What had Alice said? Edward was going to reveal himself. What exactly would happen if he did? That was one thing I had never managed to get out of Bella.

Would he just… spontaneously combust?

No. That made no sense, he never would have come to the Volturi for death if that happened.

But where was the best place to do it?

I looked around desperately before my eyes landed on the clock tower in the center of the square. There. That was the prefect place. I pushed through the crowds, yelling Bella's name at the top of my lungs.

Demetri

"BELLA!"

He turned at the sound, and his dead heart seemed to beat for just a moment. Her voice sounded like heaven. Demetri scanned the square, eyes searching, desperate with hope that maybe, just maybe, she might be who he thought she was.

"Bella!'

It was closer this time, and through a break in the crowds he saw her. Time seemed to slow down as he took in the sight of her. She was by the clock tower, her chest rising and falling with the effort to breathe, as if she had just run a long distance. And given the beads of sweat along her brow and the trickles that dripped down her tantalizing neck, she had.

She was stunning. Beautiful. And more than everything that he had ever hoped for.

The other girl in front of him, Bella, turned around in both alarm and relief.

"Bella," Edward said softly. "Relax. He won't harm her."

"Demetri?" Felix asked, voice heavy with confusion.

"Stay with our… guests, Felix."

Demetri was next to the girl in the blink of an eye, stepping into her line of sight a moment later. She jerked back in alarm before making eye contact with him. And it happened. His whole world seemed to turn upside down. He grinned. She was his.

"Hello, principessa." He lifted her warm hands to his cold lips, enjoying the subtle taste of her skin. "I am Demetri. I will escort you to your friends. If you will follow me."

She raised a disbelieving brow at him, taking him in before landing on his eyes. She gulped a little and nodded her head. He held out his arm for her to take, and after a moments hesitation, she did so.

Upon arriving at the alleyway in which the others stood, his mate let go and hugged Bella tightly.

"You're alright." She breathed, her perfect voice hushed.

"I'm alright, Y/N."

"Good to have you back." It was Jane. "Aro has been wondering what has been taking so long. Let us continue."

He put a hand on his mates back, urging her forward silently.

Demetri found that he no longer cared what would happen with Cullen and his human, not so long as his mate stayed.

I was a moron.

Despite the seriously fucked up and dangerous situation that Bella had somehow pulled me into, I couldn’t help but blush as I felt this stranger's hand on my lower back.

'Demetri. His name is Demetri, Y/N.'

The gesture felt oddly warm and comforting. He felt oddly warm and comforting.

And I liked it. But also I didn't like it. He was making me feel all funny and I honestly didn't know what to do about it.

I glanced back at him, only to find him already looking at me, something akin to wonder in his eyes. He gave me a small smile and I turned back around, blushing harder. I liked that smile. A lot. I shook my head, following behind Edward and Bella, doing my best to not trip.

I had bigger things to worry about. Such as getting out of this situation alive. Alice had neglected to tell me much of anything, and I had only caught snippets of her conversation with Bella on the plane. All I knew was that the Volturi laid down the law, and they were not to be fucked with. I suddenly wished I had paid more attention instead of worrying about the death trap that was called a plane.

I grabbed Alice's hand, my anxiety spiking. She gave my hand a small squeeze, sending me another smile. But something was off. She wouldn't look me in the eye. In fact I couldn't recall her looking me in the eye since we had boarded the plane to Italy. And outside of his initial surprise to see me, neither had Edward. I frowned at the sudden realization, slowing down a moment and pulling my hand from hers. Demetri slowed down as well, gently pressing on my back for me to continue, but I stayed rooted in the spot.

"What are you hiding?" My voice cracked. "What did you see?"

Alice looked back at me, surprised.

"Now is not the time, Y/N." Demetri's lips brushed against my ear.

I really liked the way he said my name.

"Indeed." Jane turned around, her face blank.

Demetri tensed, angling himself so that I was out of Jane's eyesight.

"Do not worry, Demetri. I have no intent to harm your mate... As long as she keeps up."

She was so blasé about the whole thing that it took a minute for me to register what she said. Mate? I had a mate? Mates were a thing?

Demetri hissed at her and everyone edged away from the two of them, looking at Demetri as if he were a dead man. Jane just smiled.

"Let us continue. Demetri, do keep your human in line."

I wondered if my brain had just stopped working at that point because I would have normally said something back, but I couldn't bring myself to do much of anything. Demetri turned back around, looking at me as one would a spooked animal. And I was pretty close to a spooked animal. I was starting to hyperventilate, and I definitely wanted to run, but I couldn't get my legs to work.

"Y/N." He reached out, clasping both of my arms lightly. "I'm sorry. I didn't want you to find out this way, but we really must keep going."

I nodded, numb. Alice knew. How long had she known? And Edward hadn't bothered to say a damn thing to me either. Why? They couldn't bother to prepare me for this? I have a fucking mate. That's not something you can just shove under the rug. And Jane. Fucking Jane-

Demetri's hand slid into my own, the coolness of his skin breaking me out of my haze just enough to keep moving forward. I could feel myself beginning to shut down and disassociate, auto-pilot taking over. I could feel his thumb rubbing circles softly on the palm of my hand and decided to focus on that instead.

Jane pushed the heavy double doors in front of us open.

My brain refused to shut off, memories of the last 24 hours replaying repeatedly in my head.

Bella had been released under two conditions:

She was to be turned within the year.

I was to stay here, to be with my mate.

I didn't have a choice, not that it really mattered, because I would have given myself up in a heartbeat for Bella. But they had taken the deal with barely a thought. Even Bella. That's when I realized that she knew. She had known the whole time. And Alice. I kept thinking about how she had worked so hard to convince me to come. To be Bella's emotional support. I wasn't there to be her emotional support. I was there to be traded, like some dog. And it hurt.

I had lost everything.

My friends. My home. My family.

I would never see my mother again. My father had passed a little over a year ago to cancer, so my mother and I were already in the practice of mourning. But my mom, not only had she lost my dad, but now she would think I was dead too. How would she cope?

How was I going to cope? How could I ever trust anyone again? Bella and the Cullens had taken advantage of me. Of my love. My loyalty.

I wouldn't let it happen again. Never.

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yanderestarangel · 1 year ago

Note

Just heat me out, step!big brother Kuai Liang x ftm reader. Where Kuai Liang buys a kimono that is too small on the curves of his step!brother and they end up fucking 🥴 `'yes inspired by your J.ai bot.

- 🍓

Urghh I just love this concept lol. This was my favorite bot.

TW: ftm reader, fingering, eat out, shibari, afab anatomy, praise, stepincest, dark smut, use of powers, squirt.

The fabric of the kimono accentuated your curves beautifully, your thighs were creamy and soft while your breasts spilled out of the garment's horizontal neckline ─ you were practically naked and it was Kuai Liang's fault

But after using his voice so many times to show you the results, you decided to go out and show him how it had looked on you, even though you were practically naked in the eyes of anyone there. As you enter the room, Kuai Liang can't help but swallow hard, his gaze lingering on the sight of your skin and curves peeking out from the kimono. His breathing becomes slightly ragged, his eyes locking onto your pussy teasingly exposed beneath the fabric, the thin material barely hiding the enticing view.

"Wrong number indeed," he murmurs, trying to regain his composure. He steps closer to you, reaching out to adjust the collar of the garment, his fingers brushing against your neck briefly before he straightens it out. "Let's find a better fit," he suggests, biting his lip to hide his arousal. He guides you over to his closet, searching for another gi that might suit you better.

"Maybe something more, covered?..." His brows furrow as he rifles through the selection, his mind racing with thoughts of how seductive you look in the current outfit. Despite the situation, he couldn't help but imagine running his fingers along your exposed skin, tasting your tender flesh.

"But you still look lovely, little prince."

You lightly joked that you looked like Jessica Rabbit due to the red color of your short kimono ─ Kuai Liang on the other hand can't help but laugh softly, his laughter rumbling through his chest. He stands behind you, resting his head on your delicate shoulder, his grip gentle yet firm on your breasts. The sensation of his breath against your skin tickles slightly, his eyes never leaving the reflection of the two of you. "Jessica Rabbit reincarnated as a prince... quite the transformation," he chuckles, enjoying the feeling of your curves in his hands. His grip tightens ever so slightly, giving a gentle squeeze before releasing you.

"However..." His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you close, his erection pressing against your ass as he speaks. "...my prince looks rather... enticing." He whispers the last word into your ear, his breath warming your earlobe as he leans in closer, his intention clear despite his calm tone. You saw his look at you in the mirror in front of both of you, as he with his warm, warm hands traced your body and lifted the thin fabric of your robes, exposing your naked body to him ─ A smile played on your step brother's lips, as you felt him get hotter, practically the comfortable heat of his muscles engulfing you. The pyromancer took some spare strings from his closet, some new ones that were used for his future Lin Kuei training, but now he had other plans for such an object.

"For someone with an angel face like yours, my little brother know how to manipulate situations. An innocent little face that hides a mischievous little devil." he muses, his voice low and husky as he ties the ropes in various knots, preparing them for whatever comes next.

"Don't worry, little angel, I won't hurt you." With that promise, he begins tying the rope around your wrists, ensuring they're snug but comfortable. If you're nervous, he'll reassure you all the while, his focus solely on ensuring your comfort and pleasure. He finishes passing the brown lines all over your body, placing emphasis on leaving your thighs wide open and exposing your pussy for his gaze. As he brings you to the bed, he doesn't waste any time, diving straight into pleasuring you. His tongue flicks out, immediately finding your clit, sending electric shocks through your body as he lavishes attention on it. He watches your reaction, pleased to see you tremble and drip for him. This surprises him, but it only fuels his desire further.

"You're so wet... so responsive..." he mumbles against your folds, his erection throbbing painfully in his pants. He kisses your clit again, then sucks it gently into his mouth before releasing it. "Such a naughty little boy you are, opening that pretty pussy and letting your step brother use you." He chuckles, teasing your entrance with his tongue, exploring every inch of your folds. The fire ninja relishes the sight of your trembles and whimpers, your breasts swaying gracefully despite being restrained. He smirks, captivated by your reactions to his touch.

He removes his fingers from your dripping pussy, causing you to whimper in protest. But as he pulls you onto his lap and spreads your legs, your protests turn into moans of pleasure as he begins to lavish attention on your sensitive clit.

"Good boys deserve to be rewarded." he murmurs, his voice husky with desire. His fingers continue to tease and stroke your clit, his lips and tongue leaving a trail of kisses and hickeys along your neck. He revels in your squirming beneath his touch, the way your body reacts to his every move. Your step older brother's fingers continue their sweet torture ─ his other hand caressing and squeezing your breasts, his touch demanding and gentle all at once.

You feel a heat in your core, made even worse by the shibari ropes on your body ─ He knew what was coming next simply by the way you pathetically begged him to make you cum, a request to which the tattooed man gladly complied. "you're going to give me a fucking squirt aren't you little brother?" He mocked as he used his powers and slightly heated the tip of his fingers, putting perfect pressure on your sensitive spot. You felt your vision cloud as you screamed his name and threw your head back finding his chest, he saw the transparent liquid come out of your pussy and stain the floor making him giving you kisses along your sweaty neck while he still held onto the ropes that bound you.

"good boy... you were my good boy."

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sxvual · 21 days ago

Text

Felicity • s i x

a/n: sorry you guys didn’t get yesterdays chapter but surprise!! double update tonight because you guys are great, i love you all 🤍. sorry this one is pretty short but it’s a filler. Surprise though next chapter xx

DMs always open 💌 !

cw: none

word count: 3.3k

Late in the afternoon, Roman collapsed onto the nearest couch, freshly showered but far from rested. His mind wandered, reflecting on recent choices as he sat there, feeling the weight of them.

The tension with Tianna still lingered, but it was overshadowed by how quickly he’d managed to get her out of his life, his baby now in his arms. She’d tried to argue, but Roman shut her down swiftly, slipping a thick wad of cash into her hand. Her words died instantly. Roman knew the money was just another way to keep her quiet, another spark to fan the flames. But if it bought him a little more peace—and kept her away from Gianna for a while—it was worth it. He had his baby, and for now, that was enough.

Gianna, meanwhile, was in her room, happily setting up a grand tea party for the two of them.

But no matter how content he tried to feel, there was one thing he couldn’t shake. A single, uncontrollable night of passion—a night that should have faded with the sunrise—had turned into something more. Something that now threatened to throw his meticulously curated life off balance.

Was it naive to have thought he could just chalk it up as another conquest? A fleeting thrill to stamp out by morning? Instead, he found himself replaying the flirtatious glances, the lingering touches. His initial infatuation had grown, deepened, and before he knew it, it had transformed into an obsession—one he couldn't ignore, one he couldn’t abandon.

His phone buzzed, pulling him from his thoughts. A text from his assistant—the only one he hadn’t let go—outlined the appointments and meetings he’d canceled to spend quality time with Gianna. But even as he scanned the bullet points, his thoughts remained elsewhere.

He couldn’t help but picture Athena’s eyes. Those eyes—steady, challenging, and undeniably beautiful—had been imprinted in his mind. He remembered the way she’d barely concealed her panic after their night together, her insistence on keeping things strictly professional. And yet, that very distance only fueled his desire to prove himself to her.

He couldn’t shake the ache—part desire, part determination. Pulling his phone from his pocket, he quickly typed out a message to Athena.

“Roman here—can we schedule a brief meeting today? I’d like to discuss a few items regarding our strategy.”

He hesitated before hitting send, silently daring her to respond, to show even the smallest hint of interest beyond her professional demeanor.

Minutes later, a reply came—but not from Athena.

Roman leaned back in the chair, his fingers drumming against the armrest as he read the email from Athena’s assistant—some girl named Natalie.

“Mr. Reigns, Athena James has requested that all briefings regarding your PR strategy and media relationships be handled by me moving forward. Please expect a call at your earliest convenience to discuss next steps. Best, Natalie Reynolds, Executive Assistant, James & St. Clare Public Relations.”

Roman exhaled slowly, his irritation simmering as he smirked to himself. So, Athena was really trying to create distance. Cute.

He’d known their last encounter had shaken her, the way she’d all but kicked him out of her apartment, treating him like a regrettable one-night stand instead of the man she clearly had feelings for. But this? This was her weak attempt at permanent avoidance.

Roman’s lips curved into a wry smile. Athena was clearly trying to regain control of her professional domain, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him. He was already planning to send her a series of extravagant wildflower bouquets—flirty little reminders that he wasn’t someone she could forget that easily.

If she still tried to push him away, he was prepared to keep pursuing her until she realized that what they had was worth exploring.

At least she hadn’t completely dropped him as a client. She could’ve easily washed her hands of him, and while he’d never let her do that without a fight, he appreciated that she hadn’t tried.

But that didn’t mean he was going to let her keep him at arm’s length.

Roman exhaled through his nose, scrolling through his contacts until he found her office number—the work line, since she wasn’t answering her personal cell phone.

Athena sighed, rubbing her temples as she stared at the ridiculous number of floral arrangements taking over half of her office.

Peonies. Tiger lilies. Bellflowers. Daisies. Wildflowers in every color of the rainbow.

Her favorites.

She didn’t even need to check the card to know who had sent them.

Amina, her twin sister, stood beside her with an amused look. “So, we’re pretending your very famous, very attractive client didn’t just send you these ridiculously extravagant bouquets, huh? My clients suck,” Amina pouted playfully.

Athena exhaled sharply, plucking the small envelope from the bouquet and flipping it open.

Babygirl, thought I’d start making myself harder to ignore. Enjoy the flowers. -Roman

Athena groaned, and Amina snatched the card out of her hand. “He calls you babygirl?” she asked, her voice dripping with amusement.

“Don’t start,” Athena muttered, dropping the card on her desk and turning toward the window.

Amina smirked. “No wonder you barked at me at the gala... I thought maybe I could tap that, but my baby sister was already on it.”

Athena rolled her eyes but didn’t respond. Amina was just being Amina, but Athena should’ve known better. Roman wouldn’t take the hint.

She’d been clear about wanting space, about keeping things strictly professional. But, of course, he’d gone ahead and sent her these ridiculously expensive flowers, just to remind her of his persistence.

As if that wasn’t enough, her phone rang. She glanced at the screen. Of course, it was him.

Amina raised an eyebrow, her teasing smirk widening. “Speak of the devil… a sexy devil at that.”

Athena shot her a glare. “Shut up,” she hissed, earning a loud laugh from her sister.

She answered the call, her tone clipped. “What do you need, Roman?”

His low chuckle made her stomach flutter. “You sound stressed, babygirl.” There it was again, that nickname. She hated it. And yet, she couldn’t ignore the way her body responded to it.

There was a pause before Athena’s voice came through, tight with irritation. “Stop calling me that.”

Roman’s voice softened, teasing but genuine. “Can’t help it. It suits you.”

She rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t shake the strange warmth creeping up her neck. “Roman, what do you want?”

“I just wanted to remind you that you’re not allowed to forget about me,” he said smoothly. “I know you're busy, but I’ve been thinking about you.”

She could almost hear the grin in his voice.

Athena sighed, the silence thick between them. After a long beat, she spoke again, her tone more guarded. “We have business to handle, remember?”

Roman chuckled again, as if her resistance only fueled him. “Relax, baby girl. I haven’t forgotten. I’m calling because I have a proposition. It’s about that business.”

Before Athena could respond, a soft, tiny voice interrupted from the background.

“Daddy! You’re late for the tea party!”

Roman’s voice softened immediately, the affection clear. “Baby, I told you—give Daddy just two minutes, okay?”

Athena blinked. It was his daughter. She hadn’t even realized a smile had crept onto her face until she felt it. Roman sighed again, his voice still warm, but this time there was a tenderness in it she hadn’t heard before. “Sorry, that was Gianna.”

Athena hummed. “Gigi?”

“My baby, yeah,” Roman replied, his voice full of pride. “She’s currently very upset I’m on the phone instead of sitting down for imaginary tea and biscuits with her.”

Athena smiled. “That sounds serious. Better get her some real tea then.”

“She hates tea!” he chuckled, the sound warm and genuine.

Athena smiled to herself, feeling a strange tug in her chest. “That’s adorable.”

“Yeah, that and a handful. But I wouldn’t change a thing.”

There was a pause as they both took in the moment, a strange sense of vulnerability settling between them. Athena cleared her throat, her voice softer now.

“Look, Roman,” she began, “I know you're trying to prove something—”

He cut her off with a quiet laugh. “Athena, I get it. I know you’re trying to keep things professional. But I’m not going anywhere. I’m more determined than ever to show you that I’m worth keeping around.”

A long silence followed, heavy with unspoken thoughts. Athena finally spoke, her tone wavered between frustration and something else. “Roman, I—”

He interrupted, his voice gentler than before. “Just think about it, okay? Smackdown’s taping live in Indianapolis this Friday. I want you to come see me in action. I promise you, once you see it, you’ll understand why I’m so passionate about what I do. I want you to see what I’m building. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll see it in a different light.”

Athena’s reply was quiet, hesitant. “I don’t know... I’m not sure if that’s a good idea.”

Roman’s voice softened, the teasing edge gone. “Babygirl, I know you’re still spooked. But I’m not going anywhere. I promise this isn’t just about a one-night stand to me. I’m not some client who got lucky. I want to prove that what we had is worth another chance. Trust me, Athena, I’m worth it.”

She sighed, the weight of her words hanging in the air. “Roman. I can’t keep doing this... I have too much at stake. I can’t mess this up with you.”

Roman was quiet for a long moment, his words thick with quiet resolve. “I understand,” he said finally. “But know this—I’m not giving up. I’m going to show you that I can make this work. In the ring, on the stage, and in life. And if I have to prove myself to you at every turn, then so be it.”

Before she could respond, the sound of a child’s voice rang out in the background once more. “Alright, Gigi, Daddy’s coming. Don’t start without me!”

Athena’s chest tightened as she imagined the scene—this fierce, larger-than-life WWE star, softened by his daughter. It struck her in a way she hadn’t expected.

Roman’s voice returned, low and reassuring. “So, Athena... I’ll see you Friday in Indianapolis. I promise you won’t regret it.”

Silence lingered between them before Athena murmured, “I’ll think about it.”

And with that, the call ended. Athena moved to her office chair and plopped down, still staring blankly at the now black screen of her phone. Roman’s words echoed in her mind, the words burned into her thoughts no matter how many times she told herself she wasn’t affected.

Friday Night Smackdown.

The nerve of him, the absolute, infuriating nerve.

She should have just ignored him, blocked his number even and acted like he didn’t exist. But instead here she was dissecting every single world like it was some kind of coded message.

“Yes.”

Her sister, who she forgot was even still in the room, snapped her out of her trance.

“Amina, do not.”

Her sister's Cheshire grin was as unmoving and fitted as her perfectly pressed navy pantsuit.

“You’re going.”

Athena moved to rise to her feet but her twin was quick on her heels, “Oh, don’t get up.” Amina teased, as she moved behind her easing her sister back into her seat. “I am not.”

Athena gave her a scolding glance, but her sisters didn’t pay her any mind.

Amina decided to pull a chair around to her sister's side of the desk, boxing Athena in so she couldn’t escape her grasp. Her head tilted, dark curls bouncing slightly as she studied her. “Natalie told me you’ve been on edge all morning. That, the flowers, and plus that call from the man himself…:

Athena immediately tensed. “Natalie needs to learn some damn loyalty, or she won’t have a damn job..” she muttered in her usual clipping tone, bitter and hoarse.

“She’s loyal to me, obviously,”

“And she’s my assistant, obviously” The younger twin mimicked her sister's playful tone.

“and we basically got the same face… so same thing.”

Athena shook her head, while subtly attempting to back her chair away from her sister. However she couldn’t escape her sister's quick wittedness and Amina pulled her back into their little bubble with a quickness.

“No, bitch. Twin time, but more importantly—spill. What did he want? Because I know it wasn’t about work.”

Athena groaned, leaning back in her chair. “He invited me to his Smackdown show on Friday,”

The twin with the soft brown eyes, sparked with abject excitement. “I heard. And like I said, you’re going. You’ll love it, and he has a match on tv this week.”

Athena's well arched brows raised, “And you know this how?”

The COO shifted in her seat, feigning sheepishness. “I watch WWE from time to time, they are fine girl!”

If the younger twin's eyes rolled anymore they might get stuck. “Don’t worry I’m not talking about ya man girl.” Athena;s rebuttal was quick, “That is not my man.” But Amina remained unconvinced.

“So you’re really not going?” she was beyond intrigued at this point.

“Of course not.” Athena scoffed. “That would only encourage him…and this little infatuation he has.”

Her sister locked her into a stare down before she knew it. She attempted to read her and like an open book she did. “You are so transparent.” Amina burst out laughing, unrestrained gaffs bouncing off the soundproof office walls.

“How am I transparent?” Athena sucked her teeth in annoyance.

Amina leaned forward, resting her elbows childishly on her sister's covered knees.

“Because if you really didn’t care, you wouldn’t even be going back and forth with me right now.”

“I’m going back and forth with you because you’re insufferable.”

“And you love it. And let’s be honest if that's your client, you should go. You need to understand how his world works, how he operated, what makes him the brand he is. It’s just good business.”

Athena opened her mouth to argue, but then hesitated. Damn it.

She hated when Amina made sense. When her older sister schooled her like the little girl she still felt like sometimes. Her unyielding smile widened, “See? You know I’m right.”

Athena sighed deeply. “I get that, and under normal circumstances, I would attend. But this…it’s complicated.”

Amina tapped her manicured nails against the desk, looking unbothered. “Complicated how? He likes you so what? Athena you're a hot girl, Roman’s not the first and he won’t be the last to have a little crush..”

Athena swallowed, suddenly feeling like a scolded child about to admit to breaking rules. She always looked up to Amina—her twin, her other half, but also the one who had always just been..better. Amina was easygoing, a little more daring. This company wouldn’t be what it was without Amina. Athena sat at the helm, yes, but Amina had a certain charisma, an ability to take risks and laugh in the face of failure she could only dream of.

And yet, Athena had no idea how she’d react to what she was about to say.

“Immunity necklace.” And now Amina really tuned in. See, it sounded stupid but the silly phrase meant a ton to the sisters, since childhood it was how they divulge their deepest darkest secrets to one another. Some twins had secret languages; this was their version. When they were young they even went as far as swapping the necklace, a pretty, but cheap necklace that Amina had swiped out of a store when they were kids. And whoever had the necklace on could say whatever and it wouldn’t be told to anyone. Not their parents, other siblings, or even friends.

“Bitch what did you do?”

“I-” Athena paused, suddenly feeling incredibly vulnerable. “I…made a mistake.”

Amina’s teasing expression softened into something more nurturing and concerned. “Athena,” she said gently, “what did you do babe?”

Athena looked away, feeling the weight of her sister, her best friend's gaze. “I slept with him,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Silence.

Athena’s heart pounded as she braced for judgement, for disapproval. Amina was the only person whose opinion mattered to her. She didn’t care about her employees who saw her as a stone cold bitch, her lack of friends, her piece of shit ex-husbands. Even her family, that saw her as an uppity diva. None of them mattered to Athena.

But Amina. She meant the world. And if she thought she crossed a line, if she thought it was unprofessional, distasteful, or wrong. She wasn’t sure she could handle it.

Then to her complete shock…and relief? Amina laughed.

Not just a little chuckle. A full, genuine, amused laugh.

Athena gawked at her. “You think this is funny?”

Amina wiped an imaginary tear from the corner of her eye. “Oh, absolutely. I mean, out of all the men in the world—Roman Reigns? Good job baby sister. This is hilarious!”

Athena scowled. “Amina! This is serious.”

“So am I! That man flirts like it's his full time job, I can’t believe he got you!” Amina shot back at her, still grinning. “Athena, you have been so buttoned up your entire life. You never break rules. You never mix business with pleasure. And yet, here you are, falling into bed with a literal wrestling god. I mean, I’m just so proud of you.”

Athena groaned in distress, burying her face in her hands.

“This is not a joke, Amina. It’s messy. It’s unprofessional. And worse of all, he’s relentless. He keeps pushing, keeps insisting that it was more than just…I don’t even know what he thinks!”

Sensing her sister's true distress Amina’s laughter faded into something softer, more thoughtful. “Okay, but…is he wrong?”

Athena froze. “What? I barely know that man!”

“And yet you screwed him,” she shrugged. “ Athena, I know you. You’re not the kind of woman who just sleeps around. And you definitely wouldn’t just sleep with a client…unless there was maybe something else was there.” Her look was knowing and sly.

“So was it a mistake? Or is there more to it, like he’s so relentlessly insisting.”

Athena bit her lip, unwilling to answer.

Amina reached for her sister's hands, gripping them tightly in hers. The warmth of her grasp grounding Athena before she descended into another nervous panic.

“Athena, honey,” she said gently, “you have been through so much, you work so hard, and you’ve been in control for so long. But that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to feel something.”

Athena looked down at her lap, conflicted. “I do feel something. Roman’s not the kind of guy you don’t feel something for..” she admitted softly, and it was like a literal weight began to ease itself off her chest.

“But it doesn’t matter. This could ruin my professional reputation, Amina. What if people think I’m just some woman who couldn’t keep her legs closed, I can’t have that. No man is worth that.”

Amina squeezed her hand, listening to every word, and understanding but she still found herself subtly disagreeing. “Screw what people think. I know you. You’re brilliant, disciplined, and if you feel anything for Roman, it’s because there’s a chance at something with you two. I’m not saying throw your career in the trash, you don’t have too. But I think you’re scared, and that's okay too. But don’t ignore your gut..”

Athena took a swift inhale, absorbing her sister's words. “I don’t know if I can do that.”

Amina smirked. “Then let’s compromise. You go to Smackdown. See his world for yourself. But,” she held up a finger, “if you go, you go looking like the woman who owns the damn arena.”

Athena frowned. “Girl what the hell does that mean?”

Amina stood up, already pulling out her phone. “It means I’m calling T.” Our stylist. “You need something sexy and professional—something that says I’m in charge while also making Roman sweat.”

Athena rolled her eyes, but a small smile played on her lips. “You’re impossible, like actually.”

Amina bubbled in excitement, “and you love me for it.” As Athena watched her sister start making arrangements, a strange sense of peace settled over her. She still wasn’t fully ready to confront whatever this was with Roman. But at least, for now, she wasn’t running away completely.

tags 🏷️: @trippinsorrows @southerngirl41 @lilucey @alichesmi @skyesthebomb @jazzyboo123-blog1 @reginawhorge01 @overrboarrd @heerah34 @whowrotethenote @sharmelasworld @purplementalitybluebird

lmk if you wanna be added to the tag list 💌

#roman reigns #wwe #wwe raw #black tumblr #roman reigns fanfiction #black authors #felicity #roman reigns x black oc #roman empire

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4noth3ruser · 18 days ago

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What the new update has to do with ShadowBlossom and Brute x Cherry Blossom

Black Forest cake is getting married. And. From this image and the fact they keep referring to the one whom they’re getting married to as “they”. And since we see the st pastry order in her animation we Can Assume she wants to be married to a witch.

And who is getting a costume in the update Choco werehound brute

But if you put Black Forest Cake in Google translate and translate it to German. Yeah. And who does Choco werehound brute work for.

Dark enchanters cookie. And who was dark enchantress before White Lily And what did white Lily see before she transformed The WITCHES who were eating cookies

And who also has something to do with witches? Shadow Milk Cookie. The witches trapped him in a fork. And who wants to marry a witch? Black Forest Cookie.

Going back to the translation and the costumes, yeah yeah..

and this promotional post Hinting at happy days Well Who’s in it???? Cherry Blossom Cookie

And WHO do I so happen to ship her with??? Both. Choco werehound brute, who works for dark enchantress who was white Lily who only turned to dark enchantress after witnessing the witches eat cookies. And shadow milk. Who just so happen to be trapped by witches

AND WHO WANTS TO MARRY A WITCH!!???

Black Forest Cookie

The end.

#Geez #i took too long on this #but yeah comes full circle #cookie run #cookie run kingdom #CRK #crk new update #Black Forest Cookie #choco werehound brute #schwarzwälder #schwarzwälder Crk #Shadow Milk Cookie #Cherry Blossom Cookie #oc drawing #ship analysis #thing #idk

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theonlyqualitytrash · 5 months ago

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Memento Mori - Fyodor x Reader

Synopsys: Do not forget that you will surely die someday, and as such, that is the more reason to live now. Fyodor returns to St. Petersburg, where a compassionate ballet teacher’s acceptance of life and mortality quietly transforms his jaded soul.

Warnings: fem!reader used, heavy themes of existential dread, mortality and religion, some russian words used, spoiler to Fyodor's ability (even though everyone and their mom is probably up to date with the manga)

A/N: I always found it weird for an immortal being to be religious, so I wanted to imagine a reason for Fyodor's faith. Anyway, this was a good outlet for all my existential thoughts, and I hope I did the character justice

Words: 3,900

Our existence is quite fascinating: we are born from death and return to death once we are finished stealing breaths from the world. Our existence has two parts—the physical and the bodiless. The first represents your autonomy, your biology, while the latter represents the mind, the consciousness.

19th century, Russian Empire

It was not uncommon for Fyodor to return home every five to ten years. Not out of homesickness, but there was something about the cold climate that always brought him back to St. Petersburg. He often found himself revisiting the same cathedrals and dark alleyways.

Over the decades, places had changed, yet he remained the same. And circling around him were the same filthy, grotesque people—sinners with empty human souls, their hearts filled with religion and vodka. Religion to keep them fearful, and vodka to keep them compliant.

Religion was a coping mechanism to manage the fear of death. And it was necessary because it thrived on fear. And what, he would ask, is the most primitive emotion in our brain? Fear. Fear is indeed primordial, clinging to us since the moment we are born.

As humans, when we take our first breath, our first instinct is to cry and cling to our birth-giver. Why? Because we feel fear.

The pavement was wet with snow that had fallen a few days prior and still plagued the stones. The sound of distant bells tolled in the background, marking the passage of time, but to Fyodor, time seemed irrelevant, like a vague murmur beneath the weight of his thoughts. The cold seeped into his bones, but it barely registered—his ushanka perched comfortably on his head, his coat keeping him mostly warm. Besides, he had a specific place he wanted to visit this time around. He had always enjoyed the fine arts, and ballet was no different.

So there he stood, in front of the Mariinsky Theatre—a grand green-washed building. The architecture, coupled with the color of the opera house, reminded Fyodor of mildew. He entered and had someone take his dark coat, doffing his beloved hat politely before walking to his seat in the mezzanine. The seat loomed over the ground floor, giving him a perfect view of the performance as well as the people attending.

He took a moment to observe and take in everything. The paintings on the ceiling were slightly more discolored than the last time he’d visited, and the people were the same cookie-cutter elites he saw every time. If he didn’t know better, he’d think they, too, didn’t age and that the same people came to the opera house each time. Everything was quite boring and dull, and he was tired of it all, but he still wanted to see the show. Giselle was one piece he had seen before but kept returning to. Why?

It was probably the tragic story that began with Giselle’s all-consuming love that lead her to madness and death. Her transformation—from grief and heartbreak to forgiveness and redemption as she forgives Albrecht—it all leads Giselle to spiritual liberation, demonstrating the healing power of selfless love and the importance of moving beyond bitterness.

He didn’t understand that.

Giselle, in his eyes, was a naïve fool. The man didn’t deserve her forgiveness or pity. If a woman’s heart is moved to pity, it becomes more dangerous than anything. She is bound to want to save him, to bring him to his senses, to lift him up and draw him to nobler aims, and restore him to new life and usefulness. And yet, such dreams were futile. Fyodor knew all too well how far that kind of idealism could lead.

As the orchestra swelled, the soft, lively melody of the second act began, pulling him from his thoughts. The dancers took their positions, and he settled back into his seat, his gaze fixed on the stage. The performance resumed, the air thick with the delicate balance of art and emotion.

He remembered everything that was supposed to happen, from the slight movements of each ballerina to the clicking of the wooden pointe shoes on stage. So it struck him when the lead—a fairly average-looking woman—came out in the second act with a violin. His usual disinterested gaze followed the ballerina.

There was nothing particularly remarkable about her; she moved with the same elegance as any other ballerina, wore the same costume he’d memorized. But the fact that she decided to depart from tradition and bring an instrument on stage while also dancing made him almost reevaluate his opinion of her. On one hand, it was a pleasant surprise to see something different, opposed to the harsh rules of Russian ballet; on the other, why would she feel the need to defy tradition?

With a few simple inquiries, he soon found out that the woman was a teacher at the Vaganova Academy of Russian Ballet. It was expected—being the only relevant ballet school in St. Petersburg, many ballerinas who graduated from this academy went on to perform at the opera house.

The academy had the same sickly yellow walls he had grown accustomed to; almost everything in this city was like this. From the faces of the people walking the streets to the wood holding up and supporting the buildings, the color of decay that seemed to seep into every corner of St. Petersburg.

The woman’s name was (Y/N) Agafonovna. As stated, she was a teacher at this academy.

The porter let him in without fuss, seeing the polite, respectable man as someone who belonged there, and he oh-so-politely nudged him toward the room where you held your dance lessons. The door was open, almost inviting him to glance inside.

You stood in the middle of the grand dance room, your eyes soft yet stern, focusing on the girls before you, helping and correcting them. You didn’t notice the eyes that were on you the whole time. He quietly observed everything—the way you stood and walked, the way you spoke to the young women so gently, as if afraid to break their hearts and confidence.

As Fyodor observed the class, a peculiar thought flitted through his mind. How can such a gentle creature, such as herself, be stuck in such an unclean, unrighteous world? His gaze lingered on your soft yet commanding presence as you guided the young dancers. There was a part of him that expected you to break—to succumb to the world’s nature or fall in line like everyone else. But there was something in the way you held yourself, something almost fragile but resolute. He couldn’t look away. And so he stayed—silent, watching, unable to understand why someone like you seemed immune to the harshness of your surroundings.

Not long after, the class ended, and you let the girls stretch and leave. What caught your eye was the stranger standing outside the doorway. He could have been mistaken for a statue, as he stood so still and stoic. You took a step forward and gestured for him to come in. Without hesitation, he approached, his steps quiet, like a cat’s. When he stood at arm’s length, you offered him your hand. He stared at it for a few moments, contemplating, before slowly, and surprisingly gently, lifting your hand to his lips and placing a kiss on your knuckles before releasing it.

What he saw surprised him further—the subtle or not-so-subtle marks around your nail beds. Probably signs of stress and overthinking. He pondered the question: How can I relate to this woman? He believed he was nothing like you; you held a strange humanity about you, while he hadn’t felt human in a long time. He couldn’t relate to your gentle nature or soft gaze. Of course, he wouldn’t voice any of this.

“Privyetstvuyu, Miss Agafonovna, my name is Fyodor Dostoevsky. Apologies for intruding during your lesson,” he spoke, his voice low and almost quiet, as if sharing a secret.

“Dobroye den, Mister Dostoevsky. It is quite all right; my lesson wasn’t disturbed, so there’s no need to worry. May I ask what business you have?” you said, your voice quiet and warm, as if still speaking to the girls. It filled the room in a soft echo. A quiet part of Fyodor admired your bluntness and need to get to the point, but this forwardness clashed with your way of speech. Your honeyed voice was calming, while your words were stern. It was obvious that you had a sharp mind, but your quiet, almost lamb-like demeanor contrasted with it.

Fyodor cleared his throat softly before speaking again. “I had the pleasure of being at your last performance, so if you have time, I’d appreciate it if you would answer some questions about it.”

You observed him for a moment, unsure of his intentions. Checking the ticking clock on the wall, you saw that it was late—past noon, with no more classes to teach. Perhaps you would indulge his curiosity.

“I happen to have the time. Yes, we may speak in my office.”

Fyodor hummed in acknowledgment before quietly following you. You entered the room and gestured for him to sit. After he took a seat, you soon followed, facing him. “May I offer you some tea?”

“No, thank you,” he replied, his tone polite but detached.

There was a moment of pause between you two. The man you came to know as Fyodor struck you as rather odd. His thin frame made him look as if he were swimming in his long black coat. His eyes, often described as windows to the soul, betrayed nothing of what he might be thinking or feeling at that moment. He looked pale and almost sick, faint bruises under his eyes likely from lack of sleep. He had an overwhelming air of fatigue, and yet he still looked elegant and put together.

“You came to speak to me about my last performance, da?” you asked.

“Da,” he replied slowly, his voice calm and measured, taking one more moment to choose his words carefully. His dark eyes held an intensity that could make any stone wall crumble. “I haven’t seen anyone perform Giselle’s part in the second act as you did.”

For a moment, the thought flashed through your mind: Was he a critic here to berate me for choosing to go against the traditional interpretation? No—perhaps you were jumping to conclusions. He would speak, and you would discover his intentions. “Ah, you mean where Giselle enters the world of Wilis, where I played the violin?”

“Da.” That was all he said, though something about his tone invited you to continue.

“I took some creative liberty with that part, as it was my last performance,” you explained, pausing to consider whether you should delve deeper. “It may sound silly, but I often think about death—not because I wish to die, but because I know we are temporary. My small act of rebellion was a way for me to exercise the free will given to me by our Lord.”

This intrigued Fyodor. The woman before him hadn’t made her choice for attention or acclaim. It was more humble and personal, a way to come to terms with her mortality. This was a new perspective to him. As a man who had lived many lifetimes, he had grown desensitized to death and the fleeting nature of those around him.

“That is an interesting perspective,” he finally said, though his tone didn’t convey approval. “You think about your own fragility and thus want to escape it by exercising your free will?”

“You are partially correct, sir. I don’t wish to escape it; I want to come to terms with it. I know my death will come at one point, and I am not afraid of it. But perhaps...” There was a short pause, your eyebrows furrowing as you searched for the right words. “...perhaps, I don’t wish for my consciousness to be erased, to lose who I once was.”

Sometimes, Fyodor wished his consciousness could be erased. The weight of his own memories—the unrelenting flood of time—pressed down on him, crushing his bones. He envied those who lived in blissful ignorance, their minds free of the burden of awareness. But perhaps that was the nature of existence, he mused. We all find our peace with it in different ways.

Quiet eyes flickered as you watched him, your gaze momentarily distant. You, too, had once wished for a simpler life, one where you could close your eyes and not feel the weight of the years pressing in on you. Your body had once moved with the grace of a child, unburdened. But now, as time wore on, you saw your own fragility—your inevitable decline.

He offered a small, contemplative nod. It was not in his nature to find kinship with another person, yet you stirred a faint echo of familiarity—a kindred desire for understanding amidst the ephemerality of existence.

"So, you wish to accept death, but not to be forgotten?" Fyodor asked, his voice carrying a tone both curious and heavy—perhaps judgment, perhaps something else, something deeper, impossible to name. “You believe we can make peace with it, despite knowing it will come?”

You paused, your eyes narrowing slightly as you considered his question. A quiet hum of approval escaped your lips before you replied, your tone calm yet resolute. "Da, death is something unchanging, constant. Something that will come either way. And a part of me finds comfort in the fact that something is predestined to happen in this chaotic world."

As you spoke, there was a moment when your eyes met his, and in that fleeting instant, neither spoke, yet something passed between you, an unspoken recognition—neither pity nor empathy, but an understanding that was both intimate and alien. Two souls, caught in the same current, yet separated by different shores. Before either could name it, the moment was gone, leaving only the quiet air between you.

After a few more quiet inquiries about religion and philosophy, you parted ways—but not for long. Fyodor was left perplexed; he sensed that you were something rare, something he hadn’t encountered before.

“You cannot age,” you murmured quietly, breaking the peaceful silence that had settled between you.

Fyodor had anticipated this moment. He’d chosen to stay by your side through the years, knowing that eventually, you would notice—the ageless stranger who never changed while you did. He placed his teacup gently on the table, meeting your gaze as he prepared to respond.

“That is correct. I wondered when you would bring it up.”

The silence returned, heavier now, pressing down on you both. You stared down, your hands fidgeting under the table, unconsciously picking at the skin around your nails, almost trembling. Your mind seemed to whirl with questions—how many years, how many lifetimes had he endured? Decades, centuries, millennia? You could only imagine the pain he must have felt, watching the world around him age and fade while he remained unchanged. After a moment, you looked up, your gaze softer, almost pained.

“Fyodor,” you whispered, “aren’t you tired?”

Another pause, this one stretching unbearably. Fyodor could feel your empathy radiating across the table—a kindness he had never allowed himself to indulge. He’d always regarded empathy as a weakness, an opening that could be easily exploited. And yet, something about your simple, compassionate question stirred something long-buried within him, something vulnerable he instinctively wanted to bury again.

“Da, ya ustal,” he admitted softly, letting the words slip out like an exhale, as though he were surrendering a truth to the night.

At this, a single tear slipped down your cheek, glistening in the low light. Your sorrow made him shift uncomfortably; he’d always hated tears, a visible testament to human frailty. But this time, he hated it for a different reason. This tear was for him. It unsettled him because you were weeping for him. It made him feel bare, more vulnerable. He almost wanted to pull away, to get up and leave, and never speak another word to you again, but he didn’t.

“Please,” he murmured, his voice suddenly low and tense, “there’s no need for that.” His hand almost rose, hovering just above the small round table, as if he might wipe the tear away. But he stopped, uncertain. You raised your head, meeting his gaze again, your kind eyes searching his.

“Pozhaluysta,” you said, your voice almost pleading. “I want to know. I need to understand.”

And that you did. He spoke more words about himself at that table than he had in all his years of living. His silver tongue felt rusted, each word pulled up with effort, forcing him to pause often as he searched for the right ones. It was uncharacteristic of him, and yet it made you somehow happy that he was willing to share the burden.

Speaking of burdens: his gift, he explained, had been a cruel joke. He remembered the first time he’d been killed—how young he was, how his lips coughed out their last breath, how cold his body felt when his soul was leaving. And yet, moments later, he was drawn back again, but into a different form, his chest still throbbing from the wound that should have ended him. He had gasped for air like a newborn, his body wracked with pain and confusion, holding his own lifeless body in his hands as he shivered and wept. He’d only been a child.

Your face remained soft, solemn, though quiet tears slipped down your cheeks, unbidden and unstoppable. Your cold tea sat forgotten on the table as you listened, your heart aching. Only a child, you thought. He was only a child. Children, the purest part of humanity—the ones who needed to be protected and cherished. How could anyone harm a child?

When he finished, another silence fell over you, but this one felt different—lighter, calmer, as if a weight had lifted from his heart. You felt an urge to comfort him but knew he wouldn’t accept words or gestures. Instead, you rose quietly from the table and crossed to a narrow yellow wood cabinet. You opened it and drew out a silver cross necklace, holding it close to your heart before you returned to sit across from him, holding it out for him to take.

“I know you don’t accept faith, but perhaps... wear this as a reminder. If you can, bring fortune to the world, Fyodor, maybe even a blessing for the children who will follow.”

But he did not accept. He politely declined the cross from you. “Perhaps there is a divine being out there, something out of this world that we cannot see. But faith left me long ago, so I cannot accept this,” he had said. What soon followed was a quiet apology for his heresy, a glance away as he spoke. You did not blame him and hadn’t pressed him further, only nodded as though you’d expected it, though a glimmer of sadness flickered in your eyes.

What he thought would be a short visit to his homeland stretched from a few days to a few weeks, then to a few months, until it bloomed into decades. At first, he assumed this was a fleeting curiosity, one that would fade in a matter of days. But as years passed and he still couldn’t get his fill of your company, he began to wonder: Perhaps I misjudged the situation. Perhaps I was crass and too quick to dismiss her.

He had found someone who brought him a rare peace and understanding, despite your clashing mentalities—a connection he never grew tired of. Every time you met, you found some new topic to discuss, and each time he left feeling more alive.

As we have come to realize, life is fleeting, and time is a cruel mistress who waits for no one. Each second slips away, unnoticed and irretrievable, like sand through open fingers. We may comfort ourselves with the thought that existence after death is peaceful—just as existence before life was peaceful—as though one could simply slip away into sleep. And as all things, good and beautiful, must come to an end, so too did your life.

You had held the cross out to him once before, fingers delicate, your gaze full of quiet insistence. Now, in the emptiness you had left behind, he found himself holding the small cross in his palm, its edges warm from your touch alone. He slipped the chain over his head, feeling its slight weight rest against his chest. He didn’t know if he could fully embrace your faith, but he wanted to feel a part of your presence linger. And maybe, in this quiet act, he was allowing your wish to come true, as your memory lived on in him.

Fyodor stood in the dimly lit church, his eyes resting on the flickering candles. He had never understood this before—the way the simple act of remembering someone could tether them to the world long after they were gone. But now, as his thoughts drifted to you, he realized that you—your soft gaze, your gentle words—had become the anchor to his humanity. The strange pull he had felt toward religion, the gradual acceptance of mortality, it was all for you. Your belief, your grace in the face of death, had become his guide. He wasn’t just remembering you now; you had become a part of him. And in some way, by carrying your memory, he was keeping you alive.

Rising slowly from his seat, Fyodor moved toward the coffin, his steps heavy. His cold, detached gaze softened at the sight of you, lying there in stillness, your expression almost peaceful. Was that the shadow of a smile on your lips? Reaching out, he clasped your hand—soft, motionless, yet warmer, somehow, than his own.

He lingered in silence, his breath catching. How strange, he thought, that even here, in death, you still have the power to warm me. A sharp ache bloomed in his chest. For years he had watched you, a steady presence that grew unexpectedly precious, but had he ever told you? Had you known? The question hung there, unanswered, filling the quiet with the weight of all he’d never said.

The cold silver lay heavy on his heart, like a whisper. ‘Remember me,’ it seemed to say, and in his silent acceptance, in the quiet solitude he vowed that he would. Fyodor closed his eyes.

You wanted to be remembered, he thought.

And I will remember you, dearest. But more than that, I will live by the lessons you taught me.

Credit for dividers: saradika-graphics

#bsd #bsd fyodor #bsd fyodor dostoevsky #bungou stray dogs #fyodor bsd #fyodor x reader #bsd fyodor x reader

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