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illdowhatiwantthanks · 6 months ago

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The Dogs

Jennifer Jareau x fem!reader Warnings: violent crime (I mean it is Criminal Minds...), nudity (but nothing graphic/sexual), trauma, nightmares, hurt/comfort, established relationship (let me know if I've missed anything) Word count: 1.5k

Summary: Takes place after the Tobias Henkel incident (02.14 & 02.15). JJ comes home from this case deeply traumatized and super guilty about Reid, but she's not used to showing emotion or needing comfort. Reader is there to show her that it's okay to be weak.

“JJ.”

She jumped when you said her name, shivering under the shower stream. She’d been in there for over an hour, silent, unmoving. You’d poked your head in to check on her a few times, but she’d said she wanted to be alone. You were worried about her. You’d been worried about her since that call the night Spencer went missing. The way her voice had shaken, you could tell she wasn’t okay, but you could also tell that she wasn’t ready to talk about it.

Spencer was safe now, doped up on Dilaudid, but coming off of it safely at the hospital. JJ would still be there if Hotch hadn’t made them all go home to sleep.

It was late, but JJ wasn’t sleeping. At first, she’d had the water so hot you were afraid she’d burn herself, but now she’d been in there so long that the hot water was out, and you could see her body shaking under the cool stream, her eyes glazed as she stared at nothing.

She didn’t talk to you as you stepped into the bathroom, didn’t even look at you. You couldn’t tell if her face was streaked red from how hot she’d had the shower or from crying, but either way it was clear that JJ was not okay.

You turned off the water and she shook violently, whether from cold or trauma it was hard to tell. You tried to meet her eyes but she wouldn’t look at you. It was like she was numb, like she’d gone into some kind of coma. You didn’t know what to do to help her, so you just tried to keep her body safe and comfortable.

“You’re freezing, honey,” you whispered, carefully draping a towel around her shoulders and wicking the moisture away from her body. She let you dry her off, still and silent, like a mannequin. So unlike JJ, who usually liked to be the one in control–of her body and yours.

You gently cupped her face, worry covering yours, then took her hands. “Come here.”

You led her to the bedroom and pulled pajamas onto her. Underwear. Sweatpants, sweatshirt. She sat obediently on the edge of the bed as you combed her hair, tugging her knees to her chest. Lastly, you got her a glass of water and made her drink some of it. JJ didn’t speak once the entire time. She didn’t look at you. She didn’t touch you. Honestly? You were terrified. She wasn’t okay. She didn’t have to be okay, of course. But you wanted her to be able to show it. But maybe this was how JJ showed she wasn’t okay. Maybe it was different from your way.

When she lay down in bed, you carefully draped the covers over her, gingerly climbing in. You watched her for anything–any sign of life, any sign of anything other than being nearly catatonic, but she just lay there, wet hair splayed around her, eyes glazed and distant.

You hesitantly wrapped an arm around JJ’s waist, pulling her gently into you. You kissed her shoulder, using your other hand to run slow fingers through her hair. It felt odd, almost uncomfortable, to hold JJ when she wasn’t also inching herself back to get as close to you as possible. When she wasn’t lacing her fingers with yours, resting her arm on yours. But you held her nonetheless. Whatever JJ needed from you, however she needed you, you would be there.

“I love you, Jayje,” you whispered. “I’m right here.”

She said nothing, and you turned off the light, wrapping your body around JJ’s and trying your best to translate all the love and care and devotion you held for her through the fabric of your skin. Soon, you fell into a fitful sleep, JJ bundled tightly in your arms. You’d never let her go again, not when she was like this.

You woke up sometime in the night to JJ turned away from you, sobbing so hard she was shaking and coughing. She was curled on her side in the fetal position, and she looked for all the world like a bedraggled puppy. Your heart shattered. She always tried so hard to be strong. For you. For all the other people on her team that she assumed had it “worse” than she did. And she was strong. She was so strong. But even the strongest people have to let themselves be weak sometimes.

You felt like you might cry yourself, watching her fall apart. “Oh, honey,” you breathed, nearly jumping over her so you could look in her eyes, so you could wrap her up and pull her tear-stained face to your chest.

“Shh,” you cooed, pressing your face against the top of her head as you held her. “It’s okay, baby. I’ve got you. You’re okay.”

“It’s my fault,” she gasped between sighs. “He almost died!”

“JJ, baby, that was not your fault. It could’ve been anyone. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I left him alone,” she cried, shuddering.

“Honey, shh,” you continued, rocking her. “It’s not your fault. Spencer’s safe. You’re safe.”

But she couldn’t stop crying. You’d never seen her cry so hard, so hard you thought she might throw up. You kept shushing her, holding her against you like a baby, rocking her and soothing her. It broke your heart to see her like this. You would do anything, anything, to take away this guilt she was feeling, this trauma that seemed to be swallowing her whole. And, somehow, at the same time, you were also so deeply honored that Jennifer Jareau felt safe enough around you to let herself fall apart. You just wished she didn’t have to.

When her sobs quieted to small, shaky shudders, you brushed her hair out of her face, wiping away her tears. She had huge circles under her eyes, and she could barely keep them open.

“Jayje, honey, go to sleep. It’s okay, I’m right here.”

“I can’t,” she admitted, barely above a whisper.

You furrowed your eyebrows. “How come?”

“The dogs,” she answered, shivering, tears glistening in her eyes again.

Of course. She’d seen a woman ripped to death by starving dogs and then had to shoot the dogs to protect herself. Who wouldn’t have nightmares after that?

You cupped her face, placing soft kisses on her forehead, her eyelids, on her mouth, wet with tears.

“Just try, honey, please,” you begged. “You have to sleep.”

Another tear dripped down her face.

“I’ll stay up, okay? I’ll be right here if you get scared.”

“I don’t want you to have to do that.”

“JJ,” you breathed, rubbing your thumbs along her eyebrows as she struggled to keep her eyes open. “It’s okay. I love you. Let me take care of you, alright?”

JJ seemed to have used up all the fight in her. She buried her face in your chest, exhaling deeply, and let her eyes stay closed. You kissed the side of her head and cradled her there and as you watched her fall asleep–tear-stained face half-covered by your sweatshirt, fists gripping onto handfuls of it, the little huffs of breath that you knew meant she had fallen asleep–you knew there was not a thing in the world you wouldn’t do to protect this woman.

You were just about to drift off when JJ jerked awake, gasping and flailing.

“Hey, hey,” you said, pulling her close. “It’s okay. You’re okay, you’re safe. I’m right here.”

She looked around with frightened eyes then, as her heartbeat and breathing slowed again, twined her legs with yours. She wrapped both her arms around your abdomen, squeezing you tight, as if she was afraid she’d drift away in the night, as if she wanted to be tethered to you.

You held her so tight that night, so close. Usually JJ was the protector, JJ was the strong one, but tonight it was you, and you were glad to do it. You knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that you’d fight off a thousand rabid dogs to keep her safe. That you would enter into the dark recesses of her mind to fight off all the dark things that lodged there. That you would shield her very body with your own.

Something changed that night, between you and JJ. But it wasn’t a bad change. It was like the ringing of a bell, the finding of an equilibrium. It was you knowing that you could be strong, and JJ knowing that she could be weak. It was the somersaulted back-and-forth of a relationship going still and peaceful in the knowledge that you were each other’s lifeline, each other’s outstretched hand, each other’s port of calm in a whole world of storm. It was love that let itself be seen. You couldn’t go back. And you didn’t want to.

#jennifer jareau #jennifer jareau x reader #jennifer jareau x fem!reader #jennifer jareau fluff #jennifer jareau fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #hurt/comfort

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alfredosauce50 · 2 months ago

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Night at the Museum

[America x reader]

Rating: M Word count: 5, 887 Synopsis: You and Alfred decide to visit New York’s Museum of Natural History for old time’s sake. In a stroke of bad luck, you two get locked in overnight, unaware and unprepared for the dangers lurking within. It’s where history comes alive, and he ends up in a dangerous game of cat and mouse with a bloodthirsty warlord. The whole time, he’s also wrestling with his feelings for you, and he doesn’t know which is harder. Solipsism: knowledge of anything outside one’s own mind is unsure; the external world and other minds cannot be known and might not exist outside the mind.

“The more you know about the past, the better prepared you are for the future.” — Theodore Roosevelt

“Man, we haven’t been here since we were little kids,” Alfred took it all in as he made it inside, to where he was greeted by the skeleton of Tyrannosaurus rex in an awe-inspiring pose. With its head bowed toward the entrance, he and other patrons were greeted by a set of razor-sharp teeth grinning down with a hunger for the ages. “I wonder if anything’s changed. Probably a lot.”

“A bunch of stuff, actually. But it looks like they did a huge revamp on all the wax figures,” You lifted your gaze from a brochure you collected from the front. The museum of natural history wasn’t half as impressive as the Smithsonian, but it had a special place in both of your hearts. “They’re meant to be super realistic now. You know, the whole ‘history comes alive’ pizazz.”

“Huh. Then what would be the difference between here and Madame Tussaud’s?” He glanced at you.

“The people here are worth remembering.”

“Good point.”

As local New Yorkers, it was tradition to come back every once in a while. Yellow cabs, subway crazies, and the best pizza in the world — there was no other city quite like the Big Apple, and you two decided to swing by during your semester break to reconnect with your roots. Needless to say, it was nice to get away from the upbeat chaos of life on campus.

“You think you’re gonna go to Arthur’s Christmas party?” He asked you, peering around the room of American history. There was a shining stagecoach pulled by four black horses, mannequins in confederate and union uniforms with their guns trained at each other, a giant moose, and eagles watching over everything else.

“Well, we kinda have to. Can you imagine how upset he’d be if we didn’t? He’d probably be heartbroken.”

“Yeah, but I get crazy diarrhea every time.” He scoffed, eyes wide as he recalled blowing up the toilet last year.

”You don’t have to remind me.” You shuddered.

“I know, I was just saying. I was thinking we could go somewhere fun,” Alfred gave you an expectant look as he tried to sell you on it. “We could go skating, or just watch a movie back at my place. What do you say?”

“Hm, I don’t know. I’m really craving his scones.”

“Seriously?”

”But not as much as our time together,” You smiled, watching him light up. Taking his hand, you pulled him along and said this with a laugh. “I’d rather go to the dumpster with you than the Met. You’re my best friend.”

“Yeah.” He softened his gaze. You said that, but the way you held his hand said otherwise. Or was it because you two were that close? Either way, he was starting to go down the pipeline he swore that he wouldn’t.

”Are you okay?” You asked.

”Yeah, I’m fine.” He adjusted his glasses.

“Wanna kiss it better?” You swung his arm playfully.

Alfred glared at you as the only diversion from the fact that he was blushing. It was so like you to say things like that. You were attractive, and you knew it. With your sense of humor, it made for a dangerous game. But he’d been playing it for a while. He covered your entire face with his hand, then pushed you down to a nearby bench in one clean movement.

”Hey!”

“Hey yourself.” Alfred walked off with his hands in his pockets, as cool as a cucumber.

This might’ve been all fun and games with you, but you weren’t the loneliest animal on the planet here. Not that it made his feelings for you any less real. He liked you, and not because you were an idea in his head.

You were real, every strange thought and neuron of your imagination. You could be as sharp as a tack when you wanted to be. He loved your mind and the way it worked, or at least when you weren’t tantalizing him.

“Remember when we were little we used to take baths together?” You sprung up out of the blue.

”Barely.” Alfred exhaled, wildly unprepared for what just came out of your mouth. But before he reacted any further, he reminded himself just who he was talking to. “That’s probably why we did it in the first place. Why?”

You were sleeping over that time, as you always did every Friday after your philosophy class. Your things were strewn all over his bedroom, like a half-eaten cup noodle, some snacks, and the clothes you brought over.

While he browsed the rest of the displays in the room, he let himself get immersed in that particular memory.

That was when you caught up with him again, even having the nerve to smile up at him with ‘hehe’ written all over your face. He glowered down at you, but really, he was just happy that you were by his side again.

You had a thirty second rebound before doing or saying the next pain in the ass thing, but he forgave you even faster than that. And it had been that way since horseshoe crabs were the only thing roaming the Earth.

”You think we could fit in the bathtub?”

“If you’re asking if I wanna take a bath with you, it’s an immediate no. We’re way too old for that.”

“You don’t have to be such a prude,” You mumbled, rolling your head away. “I was just wondering.”

“I’m not a prude.” He grumbled.

“And it’s not like I haven’t seen your dick before.”

“Yeah, when I was little!”

“Can’t imagine it’s grown much since then.”

He glared at the ceiling, not wanting to give you the satisfaction of seeing how embarrassed he was.

As much as he’d like to pull his pants down to prove you wrong, he didn’t. Someone had to uphold a sense of decency around here, even if that person had to be him, the worst possible example of it, if he was one at all.

“If you’re done, I’m gonna go to sleep,” He sat up and twisted around to fluff up his pillow. You were starting to drift off by then, but he didn’t let you off so easily. “Don’t let me catch you peeking or I’ll molest you.”

“I wasn’t planning on it, geez.”

And to think he used to be such a cute kid, kicking his ball over your fence just so he could come over to play. You both grew up since then, and with that, came his awful sense of humor among other things.

But if you asked him, he learned from the best.

“You know the nicest people make the best Nazis?” You asked, walking by a glass display of three wax figures. Sakagawea, a young Shoshone woman who guided Lewis and Clarke on their expedition to the Pacific.

“Do they?” He narrowed his eyes in interest.

“Nice people look the other way and just wanna get along with everybody else.” You said, towing him along. “Have the whole country doing that, plus a heap of propaganda, you could get away with anything.”

“Well, if I was a German, I wouldn’t buy into it.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Alfred frowned, genuinely offended. “I’m not a freakin’ racist.”

”Being scorned is your kryptonite,” You pointed out, getting him to roll his eyes. So he didn’t like to deviate from standards, and being a raving right-wing was one at the time. “And trust me when I say you would be.”

”That’s why the second amendment exists,” He smiled sagely with a hint of mischief. “If the government was to push some crazy agenda into us, the rednecks wouldn’t have it. We shape society to what we want.”

”What if the society you want isn’t the society someone else wants?” You asked, stopping in front of an exhibit of a male Algonquin warrior. “We all worship something. What’s normal to you might be crazy for someone else.”

”I guess you’re right,” He agreed, gazing upon the person who lived — and believed — in things drastically different than did. His brows came together as he marveled at the man who stood over him, a chief’s son who had been dead for well over a thousand years.

Allen was his name. He had striking scarlet eyes, dark maroon hair, tawny brown skin, and a toned body from a life of hunting and gathering. As he stared out into the middle distance, there was something uncanny about him, like he could come alive at any second, but didn’t.

“What do you think this guy worshipped?” Alfred murmured faintly, strangely captivated by him.

It was humbling to be in the presence of all of these historical figures, but intimidating to imagine them as people who existed. He was a history nut, and one thing he understood was how astonishingly cruel and violent the past could be. From the swashbuckling tales of the Wild West to the burning sands of Ancient Egypt, everything was best enjoyed from the comforts of his modern American home. Or in this case, a museum.

Where all of the exhibits were mere imitations of the long dead and gone, it would take no less than a miracle for any of them to come back to life. Little did he know, a miracle was exactly what he’d be in for tonight.

You two poked around some more, eventually ending up in the Northern European section of the museum. Nothing really stood out to him besides the Vikings, who also caught the attention of the general public.

“This man was the greatest viking to have ever lived. Mathias Densen, the king of Danes,” A guide showed off a wax exhibit to a crowd of tourists. You and Alfred were among them, having taken the liberty to tune in.

Some took pictures, others whispered amongst themselves at the impressive lookalike made to imitate a legend out of the sagas. He had blonde hair swept up in the front in an unruly mane, and the bluest eyes you’ve ever seen. With his arm raised and axe in hand, he was frozen in time, suspended in a pose so natural, it looked like he’d bring it down at any given moment.

“He was the most feared warrior in all of Scandinavia. When he threw an axe at his enemy, he never missed. But all blood and gore aside, he will go down in history as one of the best leaders and explorers of all time.”

”Wouldn’t wanna get him angry, huh?” Alfred gave you a side-eye, returning his gaze to the information plate. That was when he saw a portrait of a woman who was supposedly the only one who could go toe-to-toe with his ruthlessness. “You know, she kinda looks like you.”

”Really?” You leaned over. “I don’t see it.”

”No way. You guys are like twins!” He exclaimed.

“Maybe just the eyes.”

“Maybe she’s your long-lost ancestor or something.”

After another hour of walking around and talking, you and Alfred left to get to the exit. It was approaching closing time, and you two were among the last to leave. A security guard stood near the revolving doors, bidding farewell to guests. But before he could acknowledge you two, Alfred stopped and patted around his shirt.

“Shit, I left my glasses.” He winced.

Neither of you two thought it would’ve been problem to go back and retrieve them at the time. Who would’ve thought they’d made the security so much tighter that it would end up the biggest mistake of your lives?

After sweeping room after room, he eventually found them on the ground next to a bench. Sliding them onto his nose, he picked up a brisk jog as he made his way back downstairs. But by then, it was too late.

“Now let’s get out before we get locked in.”

”Don’t jinx us.”

”Not gonna happen.”

And he said that so confidently too. Because when he pushed at the revolving door, it didn’t budge.

”What’s wrong?” You asked from behind.

“Nothing, just give me a sec…” He rattled it a few more times, but to no avail. Then, he let out a heavy breath as he admitted the one thing he thought could never happen. “… Okay, I think we’re locked in.”

“You’re joking.” You blurted.

You brushed past him to give the door a strong shake, needing that same taste of defeat before believing it yourself. Sure enough, it was locked shut, and would likely stay locked all the way up til morning.

“Oh my God, we are. What are we gonna do?”

”Call the cops.” He suggested, pulling out his phone to dial 9-11. After a few tries, to which he stared at you tensely with it pressed up to his ear, he found that the call kept failing. “Annnnd the cops aren’t picking up.”

“Well, keep trying! Call Arthur or something.”

For the next thirty minutes, you both paced around while trying to reach local government services, then friends or loved ones. It slowly became apparent that you two weren’t getting out anytime soon.

You weren’t the type to express it, let alone say it, but you were getting scared and uncomfortable.

So was he, but like hell he’d let it show. Not because he didn’t have the balls to admit it, but it was the last thing you needed right now. You weren’t looking at him, and he knew in an instant that you were on the verge.

“We’re not gonna make it out, are we?”

Alfred was crushed with so much guilt, he couldn’t even react when the lights dimmed, plunging the museum into a pitch-black darkness. His eyes stayed wide with remorse, even when he couldn’t see you anymore.

In that moment, he came over and hugged you as tight as he could, lips pursed in a deep frown. It wasn’t every day that he could hold you like this, but he set aside every shard of his shattered ego to do it.

Even if he had to do it in the dark.

There couldn’t be a better metaphor for his feelings. Alfred had always been too afraid to tell you how he felt, and if he did, he’d do it in a way that was hidden from plain sight. This was one of those times.

It was one thing to admit he was scared. It was another to say he was sorry. But telling you how much you truly meant to him was damn near impossible. So instead of doing any of the above, he let you sleep on him.

He had his back on a cold hard bench while you drifted away. There was no way he was getting any sleep tonight, but this was just his karma. So he stayed like that for the next few hours, to which you began to stir.

“You good?” He asked in a soft murmur.

”Yeah,” You rubbed your eyes. “Just a little thirsty.”

”I’m pretty sure there’s a fountain outside.” He helped you up, putting on his glasses. “I’ll come with you.”

”No, it’s fine.” You sighed, getting up to leave the room.

”Hey,” Alfred softened his gaze, getting you to slow to a stop. He was so exhausted, all of his walls were coming down. And he couldn’t stand to bottle it up inside him any longer. “I’m sorry, okay? This was all my fault.”

”It’s okay. We can’t all be born perfect.” You cracked a smile, walking off. But the happy note only lasted so long once you got to the hallway outside. It was so dark, you could barely see the ground beneath you.

With nothing but the wall lamps to illuminate the empty halls, the institution turned into nothing but a graveyard: a dim labyrinth of the long dead and gone. And like all graveyards, there were ghosts.

The black outline of wax figures lined your peripherals, and you gazed at them nervously as you made your way to the fountain. After a few satisfying gulps, you began making your way back to the room. That was when you heard the echo of footsteps in the distance, too far away to have made sense at the time. Someone was at the end of the hall, and it couldn’t have been Alfred.

“Hello?” You called out to the source.

The shadow of a man appeared around the corner, the details of his wild, upswept hair showing up on the wall. When he revealed himself, he was covered head to toe in thick fur pelts and armor. Your eyes went wide ever so slowly, heart racing as you were struck with this realization. He was a spitting image of the viking you’d seen on display, but he wasn’t just an inanimate statue made of colored wax and glue. He was moving.

Breathing.

He was alive.

Alfred waited patiently for you to come back, though he regretted letting you go out by yourself. It wasn’t like there was anything out there, but you must’ve been afraid under that bravado you showed him. If only he knew how wrong he’d been. As he sat on the bench, the museum slowly came to life. All of its waxy inhabitants, people gone for centuries, returned from the dead.

And the lights came back on, one by one.

The Viking’s chest heaved for the air that hadn’t filled his lungs in eons. And with eyes as blue as the oceans he sailed across, he stared at you like he had just seen a ghost. They had a light in them they never had before, a consciousness, a soul, and you stared right back. But the way he looked at you was like nothing you’d expect. There wasn’t a trace of hostility in his gaze, but something deeply emotional and coherent.

Not that any of that mattered to you.

You split, running from him as fast as you could and with more adrenaline than what you thought was humanly possible. But then again, what you witnessed was a testament to the impossible. The dead walked, and you were trapped in here with hundreds of them. Whipping your head over your shoulder, you let out a frightened cry when you saw him chasing you.

Your screams echoed down the hall, and Alfred felt his blood go cold hearing them. But he forced himself to stand, and without a shred of hesitation, he ran outside to look for you. When you weren’t by the fountain, his heart sank to the pit of his stomach. And his face, now whiter than a sheet of paper. Where did you go?

“(F/N)!” He yelled, sprinting down the hall.

But more importantly, what was it that made you scream? Whatever it was, he knew he’d never forgive himself if something happened to you. The lights were now on, and he swore he could hear the tapping of what sounded like hundreds of footsteps. There was something around the corner, or someone, he just never would’ve anticipated it beyond his wildest imagination.

“Where are you?” Once be got around the turn, what he saw put a stopper to his thoughts, derailing them with the most fantastical thing he had ever seen. His eyes flew open, and his mouth went agape so he could let out a shaky breath. “What the hell is going on?”

Swathes of people dressed in cultural adornments and even objects were out and about, talking to each other in languages he couldn’t even begin to decipher. Inuits, African tribesmen, and Edwardian socialites walked along the halls like time had just shattered upon itself. Marble sculptures, copper statues, and other pieces of art were moving about like they weren’t made of some kind of rock. There was even a Terracotta soldier, who was accompanied by a Chinese dragon made entirely out of green jade. Elephants, rhinos, and giraffes passed by in a strangely calm fashion like this wasn’t their first rodeo in the museum. Everyone did, except for him.

“No way.” He whispered, glancing left to right as he picked up a jog. If he wasn’t wrong, everything in the museum had come to life. Was he dreaming? He had to be. In his dazed stupor, he ran into a medieval knight. There was a loud clank, and he would’ve winced from how much it hurt if it weren’t for being spoken to.

“Excuse me. Watch where you’re going!”

“Sorry!” He blurted. “I’m so sorry.”

”That’s alright! But you look a bit pale there, kid. What seems to be the problem?” The knight questioned, still wearing his helmet and hiding his face. Aside from his silver armor, he wore pure white garments with a blood red cross — the signature outfit of a crusader knight.

“Oh, um, where do I start?” Alfred panted, speaking in a frazzled manner. Funnily enough, this was the straightest he’d been thinking now that someone was talking to him. “Oh, I know! How the hell is everyone and everything in this museum alive right now?”

“I’d normally have a better answer, but I’ve never read anything like this in the Bible,” The other scratched their head through their helmet inquisitively. “Maybe I missed a chapter. But honestly, I’m just as lost as you are.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“The Bible. The word of God. Haven’t you heard of it?”

”I know what the Bible is!” Alfred raised his voice into a frustrated hiss, but he instantly felt bad for it. “Sorry. I’m talking to a monk, here. I should be more respectful. But never mind that. I’m looking for my friend. I’m worried something happened to her.”

”I could help you look for her!”

“That would be great, thank you.”

”I’m Gilbert. Proud Templar Knight and brother from the Temple of Solomon.” They took off their helmet and held it against their hip, revealing a head of white hair and ruby-red eyes. Then, they outstretched a gloved hand for him with a toothy grin. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too. I’m Alfred, uh, son of Arthur, and student hailing from New York,” Alfred improvised awkwardly, giving it a slow, disoriented shake. “Wow. I can’t believe I’m talking to a Crusader knight right now.”

“So where did you last see your friend?” Gilbert asked.

Mathias carried you all the way to the other side of the museum, and you thrashed the whole time, begging him to let you go. When he finally put you down, he kept a firm grip on your hand. You were greeted by other Vikings, and just when you thought you’d be sacrificed like a goat, they broke out in wide smiles.

Besides them speaking in old Norse to you, which you had no way of comprehending, they were more than pleasant to you, even offering you some plastic food, which you politely declined. From the way they acted around you, it was like being with an old friend.

It became clear that they had no intention of harming you, but why they brought you here was still a mystery.

”I’m sorry, but I don’t understand what you guys are saying,” You interrupted meekly, darting your nervous eyes between them. They stared at you with blank faces before exchanging confused looks with each other. “Could you please let me go? I don’t want any trouble.”

“Where did you run off to? I haven’t seen you all week. I was worried something happened to you,” Mathias spun you to him, hugging you tightly before putting his hands all over you. “You’re speaking in tongues and acting very strange! We need to get you a doctor.”

”I didn’t understand that either.” You sighed.

”It’s worse than I thought. Somebody get Olaf,” The Dane ordered, summoning another Viking to come over. They took your arm and led you off, much to your dismay. “Look after her for me, friend. In the meantime, I have a man to hunt. He’s the one responsible for this.”

”Hey, wait! Where are you taking me?” You exclaimed, glancing back at Mathias as he left. In that precise moment, your best friend’s words replayed in your mind like a tape. You looked just like his wife, and so much that it had the actual guy fooled. “Oh no. Alfred!”

It didn’t take a linguist to know that he was in trouble, but there was nothing you could do. Your companions kept you inside their make-shift hut, treating you as one of their own. They laid you down and spoke to you very slowly, so they must’ve thought you had a concussion. Either way, they weren’t letting you out of their sight.

You just hoped Alfred brushed up on his history, because he’d be needing it tonight.

”Where the hell could she be?” Alfred walked with his newest companion. “We checked everywhere!”

”Actually, we still haven’t checked Northern Europe.” Gilbert corrected, getting the blonde to turn in the direction of said location. But he launched a hand out and grabbed him, pulling him back. “Don’t. It’s suicide.”

”Why?” He frowned.

”It’s occupied by Norse Pagans.” The albino warned, pulling him close for a tantalizing whisper. He glanced around before he continued, almost as if speaking of them would summon them like the devil himself.

”Norse Pagans? You mean Vikings?”

“They came here last week, and it’s been Hell ever since.” Gilbert took his collar as he whispered in a panicked hush. “We sent a missionary up there once, and he came back to us completely dismembered!”

“Oh, fuck.” Alfred dug his hands through his hair, now a nervous wreck as he envisioned the thought. But what made his stomach really churn was the unshakeable thought that it was probably where you were.

For that, he was surprised he hadn’t vomited already. And he almost did when Gilbert went off on a passionate spiel of the Scandinavian heathens and everything they’d done. That was when one appeared at the end of the hall, and it wasn’t just any Scandinavian heathen.

”I mean, he’s okay now, but it was really disturbing.” The other made a face of unease as he recalled the sight. It wasn’t something a person was meant to see in their lifetime, but at least he was in a more dubious position now. “I don’t think they care for God.”

“Dude.”

”What?”

”That’s the Viking I saw earlier today.” Alfred whispered, locking eyes with Mathias who stood no more than three hundred feet away from him. In the next three seconds, the Dane broke into a sprint, charging at him at a terrifying speed like a mad bull. He let out a wheeze, likely the sound of his soul escaping his body. “Aaaand he’s running at us. Well, this has been a good life.”

”God hasn’t forsaken us yet!” Gilbert unsheathed a gleaming longsword, swinging it in impressive circles.

Mathias launched an axe at him, and it spun through the air so fast, it passed as nothing but a white flash.

It cut Gilbert’s head clean off, getting it to land on the ground with a thump. There was no blood or flesh, just a cross-section of wax where he was decapitated. While he had his face planted on the floor, he said this in a muffled voice. “So that’s what that feels like.”

But Alfred had already fled by then.

He never stuck around to see his friend lose his dignity, much less his own. He whimpered a little as he pumped his legs as fast as he could. He was running on so much adrenaline, his bloodstream may as well have been battery acid. But not everybody could outrun a Viking, and he would’ve eaten it if it weren’t for the arm that shot out from the side, pulling him into a room.

When he turned to the stranger who’d saved him, he recognized him to be the native Algonquin warrior he’d seen earlier that day. Only this time, he was perfectly canny and had an unrivaled sharpness that would end up ensuring his survival. While Mathias ran by outside with his pelts and armor clinking away, Allen put a finger up to his mouth to get him to stay deathly still.

But above all else, quiet.

There they crouched, hidden from plain sight like the watchful forces of nature. In the most tense ten seconds of their lives, they stared at each other, cerulean and scarlet eyes as wide as they could get them. For a moment, Alfred forgot he was being chased, deeply enchanted by the person in front of him. He was quite literally gazing back into history, a thousand years into the past to be precise. But once the coast was clear, he went back to hyperventilating. He was still in shock from everything that just happened, and the first thing he let out was an excited, albeit exasperated gasp.

“Oh my God. You just saved my life. Thank you!”

”Don’t mention it.” Allen took his bow off so he could arm himself with it. Then, he peered outside the door, making sure there weren’t any Vikings in the area. Turning back to the blonde, he pulled an arrow from his quiver without breaking eye contact. “I’ve been tracking that guy for days, and this is the craziest I’ve ever seen him. You have any idea why he would be after you?”

“How should I know? I don’t know the guy personally!” Alfred exclaimed, following him out into the hall.

“You must’ve done something to piss him off.”

”But I didn’t do anything!”

“Then he wouldn’t waste his time chasing you when he’d rather search for his girlfriend.” Allen remarked. “One of my pals can speak his language, and he says he’s been looking for her ever since he got here.”

“Fuck, that’s it. Why didn’t I think of it before?��

They ran to the elevator, to which he pressed the button for the basement. It had always been on the tip of his tongue, but the whirlwind of a night left his head more scrambled than he thought. And now that he had it all pieced together, he came up with a plan to save you.

“I came here with my friend, and she looks exactly like his wife. He must’ve seen us together. But it’s okay, I have an idea. They must have extra wax figures in storage, right? If she’s as important as they say, they must have her tucked away down here somewhere.”

“Okay, so we do a trade-off.”

”Exactly.”

”Smart.” Allen pursed his lips, thoroughly impressed.

The doors slid open and thus, they began their search, sweeping the entire basement for the reason why the museum had turned into a war zone. After an hour or so, Alfred heard someone banging away and calling for help from inside a tall wooden crate. A woman, and she sounded just like you. He and Allen walked up to it, then cracked it open like a treasure chest. Lo and behold, it was your doppelgänger, but dressed in the height of fashion from what was a thousand years ago.

“I think we found our girl.” He murmured in awe.

The three of you got back to the elevator. It was a given that the you from the Viking age was a little hesitant to get into such a tight box, but Allen had a way with body language. He made a few gestures to let you know where he was taking you. What more was that these two men had just broken you out of an even tighter box, so you had no reason not to trust them.

“You know, I meant to ask, but doesn’t it bother you that there is a living, breathing, homicidal axe-wielding maniac running around the museum every night?” Alfred asked, feeling strangely calm now that he sensed that the night’s excitement was coming to an end.

“We’re not alive the way you’re alive,” Allen told him. That was right. As magical as it was to have the museum come to life, it wasn’t real. History had done its course. He spoke with power and humility as he confronted that fact, and for that, he seemed to be at peace. “We’ve had our shot. But you still have yours.”

“I have the craziest chills right now.”

”But also because we’re made of wax.”

“Okay, that makes more sense.” Alfred laughed a little, turning to him. ”So how come you speak English?”

”I’ve been on display here for years,” Allen grinned, walking out now that the elevator doors opened. They returned to the bustling halls of the Museum of Natural History, where history had really come to life that night. “New York is my home. Always has been.”

”Explains the accent.”

It didn’t take long to track down Mathias again, and when he finally laid eyes on the one he’d been searching for, he turned into an entirely different person. His anger, terror, and everything that made him a legend, had all but melted into a deep emotional coherence.

He was nothing but a man now. A man with his own joys and sorrows like everybody else.

He dropped his ax and ran up to his long-lost love, picking her up and embracing her after what felt like an eternity. He finally found her again after a thousand years, and the scene was quite profound to behold.

But if you asked Alfred, it wasn’t as touching as his reunion with you. He found you in the hall of Northern Europe, holed up in a tent and rubbing your eyes. They were red from crying, and the way you looked at him was something he’d burn in his mind forever. And the way you hugged him, a feeling he’d never get tired of.

”I knew you’d come.” You squeezed him.

“Of course I came,” He squeezed you back, burying his face into the crooked of your neck. “But maybe it’s time that I switch out my glasses for some contact lenses. Don’t wanna keep losing them like I did tonight.”

“No way!” You gushed. “I like the way you look now.”

”Yeah?” He smiled rosily. From that outburst alone, he knew you’d forgiven him for everything that happened. But from the sound of things, you had a much easier time than he did. On the way home, he enthused you on the people he met and his close brushes with death.

“You ever hear of a term called solipsism?” You asked.

“Doesn’t ring a bell.” He shook his head.

“It’s the concept that everything around you doesn’t exist and is made up by your own mind,” You explained, stopping him in the middle of the street. It was dawn by then, and the rising sun cast a golden glow over your tender smile. “But if everything around me is just my imagination, you’re the best thing I’ve come up with.”

His eyes went wide, shocked by how sweet you just were. Just like that, everything he ever pined away for didn’t matter anymore. He was worth more to you than an adventure of a lifetime because he was that adventure. But at the same time, Alfred fell even harder for you, and it showed in the way his gaze softened.

”Right back at you, sport.”

#Ghost of Jealousy Reprised??? Ain’t no way #request #alfredosauce50 #update #hetalia fanfiction #hetalia #hetalia x reader #hetalia fanfic #axis powers hetalia #aph america #americaxreader #america x reader #hws america #fantasy #supernatural #night at the museum #crossover

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taskmastercaps · 4 months ago

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[ID: Two screencaps from Taskmaster. Steve Pemberton is wearing the white fabric skin of a mannequin over his entire head and body. A crudely drawn face with rosy cheeks and long eyelashes is drawn over his own face. He's also wearing a striped scarf, floral shirt, brown wig and glasses. He says, "I don't know if you can tell from my expression, but I feel quite lonely." End ID.]

#taskmaster #steve pemberton #17 #17x08

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alienpossession · 1 year ago

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You still startled and watched with slight fear and excitement as the water-like substances from the shower coalesced into one huge lump that started to appear to resemble a human skin. But rather than calling 911 or getting yourself out from the shower, you just froze there while occasionally touching it and feeling it firmed up time to time. Not long after, a perfect copy of yourself appeared right in front of you, the water that once merged with its body and helped it to reach the needed mass and height now just cascaded down through the body as if it wasn't a body of water mere minutes ago. As you finally whispered

"What the actual fuck?"

It mimicked you with the perfect expression and tonality which sent you to your slumber as your heart taken by surprise by its mimicry.

When you wake up, you still slumped in the same shower with no sense of clarity for how long you've passed out. But, your eyes quickly noticed the wet footsteps. You follow it to see that it leads straight to the front door of your apartment with no detour whatsoever. Wherever that creature is going, roaming around LA almost butt-naked and still drenched from the shower, you can only hope that it's not doing any criminal or dangerous activity whatsoever that can harm you or your friend

---

The alien watched over the crowd minding their own business around the beach. The shades hide his observant eyes as he scanned the beach for new cover

He locked his sight to a guy with almost the same build as his current build. The dryness of the area, how he's surrounded by sand and noting the fact that the water nearby is clearly filled with lots of iodium is not necessarily giving him much option to get bigger. Getting smaller is also not an option as it means he needs to sacrifice his build, so he watched this guy attentively from afar, learning all his moves and his mannerism and spotting all the details on his look.

As he watched the target and several of his guy friend's leave, he then morphed himself to resemble the guy from head to toe, except for the glasses that remained the same, before strutting to the workout area himself. He changed his clothes as he copied a clothing he watched over worn by mannequin in front of a clothing store and as he entered the premise, copied exactly all the workout the guy did.

Having contact with the workout equipment helped him to connect with the traces of the guy's imprint left behind. He managed to absorb all the info, like where the groups headed next, the workout routine, the plan the group have for the night and most importantly, all the member of the group's name including his current name

"Ryan," he mumbled to himself, as he then flexed his muscle just exactly how the real Ryan did and groaned loudly

#alien shapeshift #identity theft

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potatoplace · 1 month ago

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Pretty In Pink

Mor x Reader

kinktober day 11 (late...) | public play, lingerie, mirrors

kinktober '24 masterlist | ACOTAR x reader masterlist

Story Summary: You've been struggling with your confidence after your most recent breakup. Luckily, your best friend Mor is an expert in confidence. She has a foolproof plan to get you your confidence back: lingerie shopping.

Warnings: smut, really just like fingering, public play

Words: ~2.2k

Author's Note: I'm so sorry this one was late! But it's here now, just some nice Mor boosting your confidence and also wanting to get in your pants. And she definitely does. I hope you guys like it!

18+ only pls

❣️🤍❣️🤍❣️

You were sitting on your couch in sweatpants and a hoodie when your front door swung open, revealing your best friend Mor, arms laden with two grocery bags. She was clad in a red knit dress, her signature color also on her lips.

Mor never did miss an opportunity to look nice.

You, on the other hand, hadn’t felt like dressing up in weeks.

Okay, two months.

But that was because your shitty ex’s parting words to you were along the lines of “You’re just not hot enough for me to keep dating.”

Mor had had plenty to say about that, especially with the fact that she considered you far out of his league.

That’s in the past though. The only part of it still clinging to you is your confidence- or lack thereof.

“I got our usual- two bottles of champagne, a bottle of orange juice, croissants, and chocolate covered strawberries,” Mor said excitedly, placing the bags on the kitchen counters after shutting the door behind her with her foot.

“That’s lovely, Mor, thank you,” you said as you stood from the couch and met her in the kitchen. “Is there anything specific you had in mind for today? I couldn’t think of anything to do besides watch a movie.”

Mor nodded her head, blonde curls bouncing as she did. “I have an idea that I think you will think you’ll hate, but you will have a fantastic time instead.” She paused, her chocolate eyes meeting yours, their warmth spreading into you. “I want to take you lingerie shopping.”

“Oh, Mor, I don’t think-”

She cut you off, “I think you need to feel sexy again on your own to fully recover from this breakup. I know, I know, you said that you’re over it, but I can tell that you’re still stuck in your head! I just want to remind you that you are sexy and beautiful and that dickhead never deserved you,” Mor explained passionately, not letting you interrupt her, as many times as you wanted to.

But she did have a point. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, just to try stuff on for fun?

“As long as it’s not in a mall, I suppose that would be fine. But if I hate it we’re coming back, drinking our mimosas, and watching some sappy romcom. Deal?”

Mor grinned brightly at you. “Deal. And just so you know, we’re probably coming back and doing that anyways.”

You rolled your eyes playfully at her before turning in the direction of your room. “I’ll just change and then we can go.”

“Sounds good, cupcake. I’ll put away the goods while you do.”

❣️🤍❣️🤍❣️

Fifteen minutes later, the two of you were inside Mor’s sleek town car, and another fifteen minutes after that you had pulled up in front of a charming looking brick building, display windows filled with mannequins dressed in laces and sheer fabrics, the name Renata’s printed across the glass front door.

Mor pulled you inside, a cheery bell ringing as you passed through the door.

“Ah, Mor, it’s lovely to see you!” A beautiful redhead exclaimed as she walked towards the two of you from the back of the store. “And you brought a friend! It’s nice to meet you, my name is Renata,” she said as she grabbed your hands firmly in hers for a moment before letting them go.

“I’m Y/N, it’s nice to meet you as well. Your shop is beautiful,” you said, and you were being honest. The walls were done in a light wooden color, with swaths of fabric in varying shades of pink adding some coziness to the space, along with the many couches settled around the store. There were also three large dressing rooms on the back wall of the store.

And the racks upon racks of gorgeous lingerie, each piece more beautiful than the last.

“Were the two of you looking for anything specific today?”

Mor shook her head, answering for you. “No, we’re just looking for something for Y/N here to get her feeling sexy again.”

You blushed lightly at her words, not wanting everyone to know that she’s having confidence issues…

“Oh, I understand that! Take your time, and if you need any different sizes or colors or anything else, just come and ask me,” Renata said warmly before departing for the desk at the back of the store.

You looked around nervously, unsure of where to start.

And Mor could tell, thankfully. She led you by the hand to the nearest rack, holding so many beautiful pieces of lingerie.

“What do you normally like to buy?” Mor asked as she started pulling out the pieces that interested her, looking at them on their own before putting them back on the rack.

“Oh, um… It’s been a while since I’ve bought any for myself, Trent was the one who bought them for me most of the time,” you confessed.

“Did you like the ones that he bought you?”

Your face scrunched at the images that came to mind- a bright, bright red, highly uncomfortable bra and panty set, the bras underwire nearly cutting into your skin on the first wear and the lace of both pieces irritating your skin. “Not particularly, no.”

“Alright, so we’ll go the exact opposite of those. Was it just a bra and panties?” Mor asked, hitting the nail on the head. You nodded. “So we’ll look at baby dolls, teddies, and chemises. Any colors that you want?”

“Not red.”

Mor gasped, hand to her heart. “So rude to my favorite color! That’s fine, more for me,” Mor said with devilish smirk thrown your way as she continue rifling through the racks. “Go on, look at some cupcake!”

You sighed but did as she asked, hands gently flitting between soft laces and sheer fabrics, lingering on a baby pink chemise. You pulled it off of the rack it rested on, your free hand running over the sheer fabric and lace covering the bust- soft and not at all irritating on your skin, and the cut of it was lovely. It looked like it would cover half of your breasts, just above the nipple, leave a tantalizing amount of skin on display with the thin lace straps to frame the area. And the skirt of the dress was flowy, you would bet money on it flaring out when you spin around.

This one you were definitely trying on.

After finding the first piece you wanted to try on, picking them out was easier. You just chose the ones that caught your eye.

Once you had a decent selection, you wandered over to the dressing rooms to find Mor, also standing with an armful of clothes.

“You found so many! That perfect, now you have so many to try on! Now, get in there and start trying them on!” Mor said, pushing you into one of the roomy dressing rooms and dumping the clothes in her arms on the table inside.

“These are all for me?” You asked her, slightly concerned.

“Mhm! You don’t have to try on the ones I picked out for you, but I thought you might like them. I’ll wait outside, and you can show me the ones that you like.” And with that, Mor left the dressing room, closing the door softly behind her.

You sighed softly before moving over to the table, placing your own findings onto it.

Five pieces in and you didn’t like a single one.

You were starting to lose hope.

You grabbed the pink chemise that you had picked out first, figuring that if you liked any of them, it would be that one. You stripped out of the dark blue teddy that Mor had picked out for you, returning it to its hanger before slipping the chemise over your head, taking a moment to adjust the way your chest sat in the fabric.

And it was perfect.

It was soft and girly, but still sexy with how much skin it showed up top. Your nipples were just barely covered by the fabric, and still slightly visible through the light pink lace with how sheer the pink fabric underneath was. It came to just about your mid thigh, and when you spun around, it flared out at the bottom in the way that you’d hoped.

“Mor?” You asked as you peeked out from the doorway, doing your best to keep your modesty in the store.

“Yes, Y/N?” The blonde asked from her spot on a pink couch in front of the dressing rooms, flicking through a magazine.

“Come in here, I need you to judge this one for me.” Mor’s head turned upwards, her eyes catching on your head poking out of the door. She shook her head and smiled, then dropped the magazine back on the side table and walked towards you.

You retreated back into the dressing room, slightly nervous at what she would say. She was your friend, yes, but she was also incredibly beautiful.

Mor shut the door behind her quietly before she turned to face you. Her eyes widened as she took you in, her cheeks pinking slightly.

You squirmed under her intense gaze. “What?” You asked nervously.

“Just- you are so, so beautiful and sexy.” With heated cheeks you looked away from her. “And I mean it. Like, looking at you right now, I want to devour you. Even though we’re in public and even though you’re my best friend. You look fantastic in this, cupcake,” Mor said softly, closing the distance between the two of you.

Your cheeks were flaming now, both from the compliments and the meaning of her words. “Thank you, Mor,” you whispered breathily into the space between you- less than a foot now, and Mor’s hands now on your waist.

“You’re welcome,” Mor said with a smile, her brown eyes molten chocolate as they met yours.

And then your mouths met, the distance closed in half a thought from the both of you. Your arms wrapped around her neck as hers wrapped around your waist, the both of you pulling each other as close as you could.

When you broke away, the both of you were breathless, excited at the now blurred lines of friendship between you.

“Devour me,” you breathed.

And Mor didn’t disappoint.

She turned you in her arms so that you were facing the mirror, her chest pressed tightly to your back. One of her hands snaked up to pull one side of the dress down to expose your chest, the other moving down to slip underneath your panties that you’d left on. It dipped down into your folds, Mor sighing contentedly after finding you already wet for her.

“If I’d known you liked me so much, I would’ve made a move on you so much earlier,” Mor whispered into your ear, her red lips hovering teasingly over your neck.

“If I’d known you liked me so much, I would’ve made a move on your earlier,” you replied softly, breath catching when her fingers slipped over your clit.

“Fair enough. We should both be honest about how hot we find each other. Like, you right now? The sexiest woman I’ve ever seen. Look at yourself,” Mor commanded, nudging your head to look at the mirror from where it had lolled against her shoulder. You did, and found that she was right.

You looked amazing right now, your skin flushed and glowing from Mor’s attentions, the chemise accentuating your chest- and just the sight of your breast in Mor’s hand, her thumb rolling over your nipple was enough to have you believing her words in that moment.

And Mor behind you, looking as gorgeous as ever, the desire in her expression only enhancing her beauty.

Her fingers were slipping over your clit quickly, doing their best to bring you to the brink quickly, lest the two of you get caught.

But that thought only made it more exciting, the danger of being found with your best friend’s hand down your panties, of a single moan giving your activities away to the store owner outside.

“Fuck, Mor, I’m-”

“Shh, I know, cupcake, just stay quiet, okay? Here’s my thumb just in case,” Mor said quietly, moving her hand from your breast to pop her thumb into your mouth. “Look me in the eyes when you cum, love,” Mor commanded.

So you did, your eyes meeting hers as you fell over the edge, mostly silent cries being fully muffled by her thumb. You shook lightly in her hold, leaning back against her for support as you came down, sucking lightly on her thumb as her fingers slowed.

“Feeling good, little cupcake?” Mor asked, a satisfied smile on her face as she kept her eyes locked on your in the mirror.

“Mhm… I could use a nap now though,” you giggled. “Thank you, Mor. You were right. I did like it.”

Mor smirked at you. “I told you that you would. Of course, I am a great helper at making things fun.”

You smiled at her. “Yes you are… Now, I should change back into my clothes. But I’m definitely getting this,” you said, running your hands up and down the chemise.

“I’ll go wait outside, so we don’t arouse suspicion,” Mor said with a wink, leaving the dressing room after pressing one last kiss to your lips.

You returned to your pile of clothes, stripping the chemise off of yourself.

Just what had the two of you started? You thought to yourself with a slight smile.

General Taglist: @daughterofthemoons-stuff @lilah-asteria

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cutestdomi · 6 months ago

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‘truest lyrics heard’

— theo nott x fem! reader

( arranged marriage x enemies to lovers)

⚠️ • warnings ; this fanfic WILL be a slowburn, but there’ll be tension / smut too (if lucky).

“you need to be married to theodore nott of the nott family, you understand what you must do, right [name]?” my father’s words echo throughout my mind as if it seemed to be an empty place, but it was in that moment. atleast to me it seemed.

“w-what? father, you know i despise nott. right?” i stuttered, stumbling on the right words to say as i couldn’t believe what i was hearing.

“oh my goodness, can’t you stop being selfish and finally be useful? just do this for us, for our family, for your family.” my father sternly said, his tone solemn and i knew his words were final.

i sighed, nodding my head, allowing myself to be controlled without a peep of opinion coming out of my mouth, i knew i couldn’t win this fight against my father.

“finally, anyways they’ll be coming by next week, go out and buy yourself gowns, i’ll ask the maids to come and bring you the necessities need to pretty yourself up.” my mother said, cutting between the tension in the air as she slightly smiled, trying her best to reassure me after the conversation.

“okay thank you mother, ill go out and buy my gowns, now if you’ll excuse me.” i said, smiling back as i walked past her and out our home, not looking as i made my way to the shops, the cold air flowing throughout my walk to the shops.

my purse in the clutch of my tense hands, the only thing on my mind was the song i was listening to, ‘i wanna be yours’ by arctic monkeys, god how much is love that band, and how true the lyrics were. i hummed along to the beat, smiling unknowingly.

the only thing in my life was music, and how peaceful it was. “merlins, couldn’t pansy have married that bastard.” i mumbled, sighing heavily as i rolled my eyes at the thought of my fiancé aka my enemy.

once i reached the sign signaling i was at my destination, i immediately turned my head looking for the dress boutiques. a crowd surrounding me, not the best time to go shopping, but it’s whatever.

i finally found a boutique that had caught my eye, making my way to the store, maneuvering through the crowd swiftly. my eyes lit up as i made it passed the door, the gowns of all styles and lengths shown brightly, which painted a grin on my face.

i excitedly made my way to this mannequin, a beautiful white, pearly beautiful gown. the details on it were immaculate, the dress was beautifully decorated with pearls as lace was draped along the dress, it seemed like something that an angel would wear, and i decided to get it since the bow really spoke to me as it was placed along the waist, tying the long pieces of laces draped on the dress.

i sighed, looking at the other gowns, finding others i enjoyed and would absolutely look beautiful on me and my body, i also decided to buy some heels for each dress, a girl could never have enough heels, right? but anyways, as i headed into the direction for the checkout, i spotted him through the glass window.

deciding not to make a scene, i continued making my way to the counter, the huge pile of gowns and heels on the counter as they were placed in huge boxes delicately and said to arrive to my house tomorrow, in which i smiled at and paid before hesitantly making my way out the door.

i began to walk out, heading to ‘Honeydukes’ since in that moment i had felt a craving for sweets. making my way swiftly and with consciousness i had almost made it there, until i heard his voice. i had unconsciously turned my head, interlocking eyes with him, his smile turned up as his steps made their way towards me.

“and what may you be doing here, [name]?” he questioned, a glint of light in his eyes as he smirked right at me.

i rolled my eyes, sighing heavily, “shopping obviously, why do you think im at the shops, idiot?” i remarked, trying to find a way out of this situation, i was not in the mood for his blabbering at the moment.

“awh, poor principessa, mm why dont i be a good fiancé and help you, no?” he asked with a smirk, though it sounded more like a demand than a question.

i cringed at the word fiancé, merlins why’d i have to be so unlucky to have to get him as my fiancé and soon to be husband? i meekily shaked my head, finally deciding to answer him.

“awh, nott!! you just can’t seem to get enough of me can’t you?” i stated in a ever so playful and gentle tone, smiling brightly but it was just a facade, he knew it was too.

he sighed heavily and rolled his eyes, the sassiness in his actions shone heavily as he walked away, waving a slight bye before pulling out a cigarette and leaving me behind to wonder.

‘who the fuck does that guy think he is? oh my god he’s gonna be the death of me one day i swear..’ i thought, also thinking about how we’d have to get married and live together, and be a couple before all of that. life is gonna be miserable.

i heavily sighed, marching into the candy shop as i walked to the candy frogs aisle, the bad energy releasing and all i felt in that moment was joy and gratitude for the makers of these chocolate-y frogs.

i couldnt wait to indulge in them once i got to my mansion, making sure i grab more than just a few since you can never go wrong with these frogs, especially chocolate ones!

after paying, i made my way home, stopping by the boutique to make sure they had readied my packages full of gowns and have made sure to deliver them by tomorrow since i’d need them to try on before the meeting with theodore’s family.

i walked the path, making sure to keep my eye on the road and the path ahead, finally reaching the gate to my house, and that’s when my song had played again.

lost in the moment, all i could recall was that song and the lyrics, ‘i just wanna be yours’. except, who’s would i be? i laughed at myself and made my way inside stopping by to my older sister’s room, pansy, and ranting about theodore as always.

“what if i run away, god i dont want to deal with that horrible example of a man.” i remarked, almost going to tears infront of my sister at the thought of being married off to the devils spawn.

“hmm, are you sure you don’t like him? i mean, maybe hes the reason you say the lyrics to ‘i wanna be yours’ are so relatable!” she exclaimed, seeming excited at the thought of her younger sister having a crush, finally one pansy could help with.

“w-what. no you’re dumb, im leaving.” i said, marching out of her room and slamming the door, merlins all my family have gone crazy..

right?

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the-witch-of-one-piece · 2 years ago

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Teaching Them Spanish Part 2 18+ Ft: Chifuyu, Kisaki, Mitsuya and Sanzu MINORS DNI WC: 800+ TW: cursing in spanish, slight degrading, hair pulling and sexual tension(with Sanzu)part 1 A/N: Hello babes! Part 2 of teaching them spanish !! Please understand there are different dialects and meanings for some of the words used. This is what I grew up knowing and learning as a kid! For example, since I'm Mexican concha means shell in Spanish for me and I have a friend who is from Argentina concha means p**** in Spanish to her. Enjoys babes!

Chifuyu

He caught on pretty quickly to how to pronounce the words, even phrases. When he’s in the shop and when he has a bit of downtime, he has a booklet of phrases that he would repeat to himself, and make sure he said it correctly. You are helping stock some supplies and when you hear him scolding Peke. “No peke J! Uno, dos, tres. Ahhh Merida.” Chifuyu began picking up the items that fell off the counter.

“You okay???” You asked about walking to the front. Peke J saw you walking up, and he began making his way towards you, purring as he wanted to be pet by you. “Was your daddy trying to discipline you by counting in Spanish?” you chuckled Peke responded in a meow “ mi precious” you spoke in a cute tone which he liked.

Chifuyu squinted his eyes “I’m trying to get him used to understanding it. He only seems to like it when you speak to him in spanish. And when I say it he does the opposite. ” Looking at Peke J who was now cuddling in your arms.

“Well you should try on a softer tone like I do and not sound so gruff ” Kissing the top of Peke’s head. “Huh, mi bebe.”

‘Little shit.’ Chifuyu said to himself as he was looking at his biggest competition who had your attention at this moment.

Kisaki

He would memorize everything fast and in a matter of months he would be fluent. He noticed when he spoke to you in Spanish you would literally gawk at him like your star struck. He wouldn’t deny he liked that attention you gave him but when it came down to actually working it was a bit more bothersome. “Did you understand all the directions??” He asked as he was signing some paperwork. “_______…..” he looked up to see you almost in a trance.

Snapping out of it. “Sorry, what did you say?” Looking at the blond hair man.

Taking his glasses off he pinched the bride of his letting out a sigh. “Necesito que prestes atención. Esto es importante ( I need you to pay attention. This is important.)” you nodded at his response literally you went a bit tone-deaf hearing him speak again. “Do you understand?”

“Kisaki can I just say.” You were trying to speak but him knowing you so well he cut it short.

“afuera (out)” he pointed to the door.

You huffed while walking out “You expect me to pay attention when you speak Spanish to me and you know how I get when you speak it to me.” You walked out still ranting.

Mitsuya

You were his model as he was getting rough estimates for a current design. The ball of pins was right next to him as he was making adjustments “Por favor da la vuelta (please turn around)” turning around at his sweet command. “Gracias” he was folding the access fabric and then pinning it.

“De nada (you're welcome)” you made sure you didn’t move because there would be times when you move you got poked.

The first time he heard you speak Spanish he thought it sounded so elegant. They way you had a form of grace in your tone the way the words sound more as he would call it 'enchanting'. But then there was also that side that sounded way worse just by the tone when you spoke and how you were saying things they were either bad words or bad phrases. Hearing you hum as he was finishing the last pin, you always did a cute hum when you were his mannequin. Turning around once more. “Ay, qué lindo eres (Oh, you're so cute.).” he smiled

“Stop saying things like that babe.” he was making you blush. “I only speak the truth.” Getting up kissing the tip of your nose.

Sanzu

His hands were very grabby with you feeling him squeeze your ass . Another hand on the back of your head fist full of your hair. His tongue dancing against yours. You were feeling flustered any moment he was with you. Giving into him as always when he entered your home. You couldn’t reject him, not even a bit. He was your addiction and you loved it. With his hand he yanked your head back “Tienes una cara muy bonita (you have such a pretty face).” he spoke to you feeling his other hand gripping your chin as you could see his eyes dilated. Shoving his lips against yours feeling his teeth dragging on your bottom lip as he pulled away. Biting your lower lip you look at him as he sends chills down your spine. “te necesito ( i need you)” looking into the eyes of your chaotic lover.

Letting out a devilish laugh that matches a smile. “You need me sucia(hoe)?”. You nodded at him. “Well, then I have to give you what you want…. Let’s sin up the fucken place then. What does a sucia like you want first?”

“Anything papí.” The moment you said this to him his lips latched onto your lips once more his hands began to travel up your shirt.

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jamneuromain · 1 year ago

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Wild Child Chapter. 3

Series Summary:

As the granddaughter of the sole Duke in your country, you know that you were going to marry some douche prince, because it is the only way to solidify the grasp the future king has on the Upper House. On the flight home, you come up with a brilliant plan to defy your upcoming matrimony.

Bringing a random man to your grandfather's place, and say you have a boyfriend already.

"Is there anything else I should know about? Before I meet your family?" Ari cocks his head to the side, watching you adjusting your cerulean Valentino dress when you wave your hand dismissively.

"Just say we're in love and help me get out of marrying this D-bag."

Ari Levinson x You

#i didn't know he is my fiance-douchebag-prince

#when i did, it was too late

Ari had to excuse himself to take a phone call after your brief conversation, after he instructed Lana to do as she was told.

When you were sure that he had stepped out to take his call, you stopped Lana from introducing the different shapes and makes of your wedding dress, and smiled sweetly, “My phone battery died. Do you mind if I make an urgent call first?”

Lana nodded and took you to the tiny office in the corner, showing you a landline.

You had to thank this guy, Guy Thomas later.

Or you wouldn’t even go near a phone within three feet.

Telling Lana that you wanted a design with a bit of fluffiness with the flare, you sent her to find something similar in the shop while you made this call in private.

The call was picked up on the other side.

“Caroline Hastings’ office, how may I help you?” A receptionist spoke.

“Patch me over to Caroline.” Your fingers clenched on the edge of the table, before they relaxed, careful not to scratch a trail onto the surface, “Tell her it’s Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Y/N! I didn’t know you were back!” Caroline was patched through fairly quickly, “What do you need?”

Hearing Caroline’s voice, you let out an exhale in silence, finally able to breathe properly. Your gaze zeroed on the nametag on the table “Lana Priester”, and her scattered manuscripts. On those were some most beautiful wedding dresses you had ever laid eyes on, even if they were on paper instead of mannequins. If it weren’t for your obnoxious father and his ridiculous requests, you knew, from these manuscripts only, that she would design the dress you wanted.

“Grab a pen and paper.” You instructed Caroline. “Here’s what I need.”

You were back on the couch when Ari returned, sipping on your fourth glass of champagne and discussing with Lana whether your veil could be sparkling but less heavy.

You were patiently listening to the different fabrics that Lana was introducing to you, comparing the fabric examples in your hand, and asking questions about the features of two pieces that looked similar to you.

“It might be difficult to compare with only one layer in your hand,” Lana collected the book of different fabric examples and placed one over a sheet of white, “but the visual outcome will be much more obvious if the dress is made and we’d have this one on top of four or five layers, since you’d like your dress to be fluffy. We’d be considering at least four layers underneath it – Now the other piece is a bit greyer.” She took the other example on top of the white fabric, “Some of our customers prefer the light-grey-misty look on the dress. And through contrast, it would be shinier than the whiter one I’ve shown you.”

“I think I’ll have the whiter one.” After careful consideration, you picked the first fabric, observing it under the light, “And with these changes, you can have the dress ready in four weeks, right?”

“Yes.” Lana had a gleam of determination in her eyes, “We’d also have time to do another dress fitting, right before the wedding.”

“Excellent. I’ll leave you to it.”

Lana dismissed herself, hugging the pile of fabric examples and her manuscripts back to her office, as Ari approached you.

“How did the dress design go?” He took his seat on the couch, pouring himself a glass of champagne.

“It was wonderful.” You sighed almost dreamily, “Just the way I wanted it.”

Ari grinned not-so-subtly. For that smile on your face, he would do anything in his power to make you happy. Ari understood how you were unwilling to marry him, but he also understood your frustration of not having a choice. He didn’t volunteer to be a prince either, but he appreciated your adaptation to your new role as the future queen of this country.

He was glad he could see you in a different way, other than only judging you based on what had happened on the plane. (Plus the fact that he could command the bridal shop owner to call him Mr. Thomas or Guy instead of Your Highness.) He also wanted to retract the comment he had in mind, about you being a handful for him to deal with. You might be sassy, sure. However, considering that you had accepted your fate, showing up nicely to prepare for the upcoming wedding? You were less of a trouble than he thought you would be.

“Speaking of,” Ari stretched his long legs lazily, with a charming smile for good measures, “I’ve given you my card on the plane, as I recall.” He faked his annoyance, “You never called.”

You chuckled, glancing briefly at the large clock behind him, “I would if I had a phone.”

Ari nearly choked on his spit, “What?” He scoffed at your answer, “You don’t have a phone?”

He seriously doubted that. Since everyone would be glued to their phones and messaging apps, he couldn’t help but wonder if it was an excuse that you use, trying to avoid him as much as possible.

“You already know my reluctance to this marriage.” You said this as if it was a daily part of your life, which it was, in fact. “That was a precaution of …” You nursed over your glass, “guaranteeing I wouldn’t contact any extraction team.”

“An extraction team?” Ari couldn’t figure out if he was ridiculed or shocked, “You don’t want to be married that bad?”

The high-pitched voice didn’t bother you, but you pursed your lips together, slightly regretting your decision to share, “The muscle men at the door were for surveillance, honey, not for my safety.”

Ari could not decide whether he was surprised by the fact that your phone was taken away from you, and some sort of imprisonment was ensured so that you wouldn’t run away, or the fact that when you said “extraction team”, you sounded so sincere that he couldn’t tell if you were joking.

You didn’t answer his question of whether you wanted to get married directly, but your attitude spoke for you.

You didn’t like this marriage. You didn’t want him.

On the one hand, Ari had his ego bruised like you just punched him with a boxing glove; on the other, Ari felt truly sorry for you, about his family dragging you into this royal mess that you didn’t want to be a part of. And that there was no way of getting out.

Technically, you could. If he asked to marry another girl from another noble family. But wedding invitations had been sent. Everything prepared had your name and his name on top of it. They had been planning this for over half a year now, and there was no turning back, not at this point.

If he actually did regret this deal, let aside the disappointment and punishments from the King and Queen of this country, your father would do anything in his power to sabotage Ari’s attempt at the throne’s succession, including using his influence to flare the entire Upper House against Ari.

He felt sad. And pathetic. For the fate of this whole country lied upon whether you would marry him, when he was doubtful that he could survive the Upper House without the marriage, when he read from your file that the only thing that connected you to the Upper House is your last name, while you had yet to participate any meetings in the Upper House, which consisted of only men who were old enough to have their one foot stepped into their casket and the other on a banana peel.

If you were in the Upper House, though, things would be different. He would break the marriage deal in the blink of an eye, in order to earn your support in the Upper House.

Too bad he was still a prince. Too bad he could not administer or initiate any law before he took the throne and became the King of Ballenia. Too bad he could not make changes to the status quo, not now, not with his power.

Being a man in his 30s, all Ari could mumble was, “I hope the King and Queen learn about this.”

You scoffed over the edge of your champagne glass, placing it on the coffee table with a sharp click, “And they’ll what? Let their pathetic son swoop in like I’m a damsel in distress?”

“You are a damsel in distress.” Not looking at you, he mumbled to himself, not intending to let you hear his comment.

You let out a short, amused laugh, patting him on his firm bicep, before standing up to take a closer look at the other wedding dresses in this place.

“Oh baby, I’m not a damsel in distress.” Your fingernails raked over the expensive diamonds and pearls on one of the beautiful dresses, clenching your teeth, you spoke as if a prayer. “I’m a woman in a dress. And trust me, I will have everything I want. Even if it means that I have to murder that wimp.”

Somehow, Ari didn’t feel that his head was about to go off, but rather, his dick.

You sounded like you were going to castrate him.

Okay, maybe also murdering him. He was just glad that you didn’t know he was “Ari Levinson”, or God knows what you were planning for him, or pull a knife out of nowhere.

He made the determination to keep this secret identity as long as he could.

Among the fear of his head and dick being in different places than on his body, his mind turned so quickly that he was hit with a realization, “You are laying your murder plan out in front of me? Am I still going to be alive after this conversation?”

Hearing your name being called at the door in a familiar voice, you grinned, shouting to the front door, “Over here, Caroline!”

Ari gulped. This was probably the moment that he needed to regret his reckless decisions. That he shouldn’t marry a to-be-murderer. He should have known that your families were psychos and you were equally insane as everyone else.

His body was going to be found by his guards in a few hours, laying in a pool of blood, had his throat slit……

“Relax.” You laughed, seeing Ari’s face had gone pale, “She’s my lawyer, not my partner in crime.”

Caroline hugged you and complimented you on how well you looked, but one frown from you shut her up about the upcoming wedding and started gathering files from her brown handbag.

“You are not going out of this shop until I am certain that you won’t spill a thing to anyone.” You sat down on the couch, “Caroline, NDA him.”

Ari knew too well what an NDA is.

It is a non-disclosure agreement, with the signed party swearing on almost everything that they own, that they will not leak a word to a single soul in this world.

“Really?!!” Ari assumed the paperwork was at least 20 pages, if not more. Leaning his head back, being able to see you, he scowled, “I offered you champagne and now you pay me back with this?”

“You said you didn’t care, when I told you I’d get you to sign an NDA.”

“Yeah well, I thought that was a joke!” Ari threw his hands up in frustration.

“Aww, don’t be such a baby. You know I would be hanged if our conversation gets out.” You pouted, almost sympathetically, but the smile on your face betrayed you, “Sorry, Guy, if you want the tea, it comes with the gag. But-” You dragged your voice, gesturing to Caroline to take out another file, “If you agree to sign the other file too, there’s some … perks that I can guarantee for your family business.”

Caroline picked up from where you left off, and started explaining to Ari, “If you choose to sign the second contract with Miss. Y/N, you will be her temporal boyfriend for the time being, and in return, Miss. Y/N would wear the jewellery that your business provides for the next two years over two dozen formal occasions.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Ari thought he had misheard you.

“Two years on twenty-five formal occasions.” Caroline rephrased her lines, “And that is only one of the perks of pretending to be Miss. Y/N’s boyfriend.”

“But why?” Ari looked at you, bewildered, “You were marrying … um, the prince. What do you need a fake boyfriend for?”

“You sure you want to know why?” You raised your eyebrows, “That’s gonna get you another NDA.”

He took all his comments back.

You were not a little trouble. No. No. NO!

You were a fucking huge trouble.

“And what if I don’t sign? Neither of them.” Ari challenged you, pushing you to the edge. He crossed his arms, making his biceps bulge more under that blue shirt, “What are you going to do about it, future Miss. Princess?”

You might fuck him for that slutty arm alone.

“I’d fuck you over.” You smiled, not ashamed of using dirty moves against him, not the slightest, “I’d told the royal family about how poorly you’ve done your service, and what a terrible shop owner you are.”

“What if I had connections?” Ari liked his chances, “What if I-”

“I can let you walk free if you sign the first one. I’d have something in exchange for the second one. Make your decision because my patience is short-lived.” You interrupted him. What was with this man and all his questions? You tapped your foot on the ground, bouncing it up and down, something your father forbade you to do over the years but you broke the rule whenever you can, “I like you, Mr. Thomas.” You said softly, “You seem smart. I like doing business with smart people. Now, smart people walk free when they can. Smarter people take their chances to gain more. Which one are you?”

“But I-” Ari was stalling to sign his name. It might not be as recognizable as in typing, but it was clear whether he would start with an “A” -

The corners of his eyes caught the name on the contract.

It wasn’t Ari Levinson.

The name put on the contract was “Guy Thomas”.

He introduced himself as “Guy Thomas”. Had the royal security forged a name and life experience of “Guy Thomas”, and if you presented this contract in front of him, that means you, in the limited time, did not have the time nor the patience to examine whether his fake identity was true – you must have assumed that it was solid and trustworthy, at least enough for you to bring the second contract. But the question remains – “If I sign this,” Ari signed the first NDA with ease and zero hesitation, pointing at the second one, “you have to tell me what it is for.”

“Simple.” You smirked, asking Caroline to check his signature, before replying with a devious smile, “They made me upset. I’m returning the favor.”

Vengeance towards your family and/or the royal family?

You were more than trouble; you were a fucking menace.

Ari took a sharp inhale as he lowered his head to sign his name on the second contract.

Fuck being a prince and all those rules. If this is the way you want to rebel against your family and the royal family, he’d be your knight in shiny armor, making sure that no harm comes your way.

His sane brain was preventing him from signing, as he was well aware that everyone else would know it was a joke, everyone apart from you. It would be devastating for you when you find out.

And yet, he wanted you to spend your last days before the wedding as a happy woman. You had such a horrible family that he wanted to help. He wanted to make you happy. Which reminded him that he had to call his future father-in-law, and get him on board with your plan, while you could not find out a single thing about Ari and his fake identity Guy … and demand him to return your phone and your freedom to you.

Was it pitying? Or was it that he knew you would find a fake boyfriend to piss off your family either way, and in the deepest darkest pit in the bottom of his heart, Ari wanted to be your boyfriend, and be by your side, even if it was a pretence?

Signing the name “Guy Thomas” on the line of the last page of the contract, Ari capped the black fountain pen and returned both objects to Caroline.

He gathered his thoughts as he ran a hand down his full-grown beard, his heart pumping a little faster than usual, probably because he was going undercover much deeper than he had thought he would, or because that making you happy makes him happy as well.

Or both.

The corner of his lips curled into a smile.

“I’m all yours.”

Taglist (also tagging those who might be interested: @irishhappiness @patzammit @identity2212 @lokislady82 @petalj @thezombieprostitute @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @magnificentsaladllama @xx-rennyxx @cringeycookies @autumnrose40 @hawkeyes-queen @vonalyn @theliheat

Find the Wild Child Masterlist here 👈

Questions? Comments? Requests? 👉Send them to my inbox 👂

#ari levinson x reader #ari levinson x you #ari levinson x female reader #ari levinson smut #ari levinson fluff #prince!ari levinson #royalty au #ari levinson fanfiction #ari levinson

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thatsthewrongwallcraig · 1 year ago

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Golden Cage

Summary: Money really does not buy happiness…

Pairing: Elijah Kamski x afab!Reader

Word Count: ~2.5k

Content Warnings: Emotionally Charged PWP 18+!, Elijah Playing Mind Games, Mentions Of Self-Harm, Mentions Of Alcohol, A Brief Moment Of Crying, A Clearly Toxic Relationship, Choking, Degradation/Praise, Unprotected P In V, Elijah Talking Reader Through It, Breeding Kink, No Aftercare Because…Elijah

A/N: This might just be one of the horniest things I've ever written…

Also, you know me, of course I've put together an Elijah Kamski playlist by now!

Tagging those who might be interested: @spookyorchid @blueberrypancakesworld @herprivateisland @queer-crusader

Half algorithm, half deity

Glitches in the code or gaps in a strange dream

Tell me you guessed my future and it mapped onto your fantasy

Turn me into your mannequin and I'll turn you into my puppet queen

- Ascensionism by Sleep Token

Calm, nearly silent breathing was the only minuscule sound that filled the darkness of the bedroom around you. With your eyes forcefully shut, you tried to fall asleep, had been at it for at least the past 30 minutes but your racing mind always flung back to the dull ache emitting from the palm of your right hand. The fresh memories of clasping too tightly around a delicate glass of champagne completely on purpose until it shattered into sharp smithereens circulated in your thoughts, taking lap after lap, whilst you sought to calm the still raging anger in your chest.

Although the worst part of your desperation-fueled tantrum was over, the leftover flickers of outrage still prevailed. By whatever god out there, you were so sick of it. So sick of being stuck in this mansion with the world very much at your fingertips but no way to get out. No way to leave this designer-architected hellhole to lead a normal life and just be one of millions again, no. That train left the station years ago when you had started out as a simple intern at CyberLife and Elijah Kamski, the prodigy high up above, the demi-god of modernization himself took an interest in you and you greedily grabbed the hand of opportunity not only by its pinky. Back then not even the sky seemed to be the limit but now you found yourself trapped between silken duvet covers and marble-tiled rooms.

“Would you listen to me for a moment?” Elijah’s calm tone from behind pulled you out of your thoughts.

“Uh-huh…” It rolled over your tongue in an exhausted murmur.

“Does it hurt badly?” You felt him scooting closer, his tall frame cupping your backside.

“So so…” You huffed, shrugging your tense shoulders.

“Let me see.” Elijah’s fingertips snaked along your waist down to your hips, tracing your elbow from there on upwards until his palm wrapped itself around your wrist.

In a gentle and slow movement, he pulled your hand closer to his face.

“It’ll be okay.” You tried to dismiss it.

“Eventually.”, Elijah agreed right before you felt his plush lips planting soft pecks along your knuckles, “I’m sorry it came to this in the first place.”

"Are you?" You inquired with a carefully aimed edge to your tone.

"Please, don't be like that now. Of course I'm sorry that you're hurt." Elijah groaned quietly, his thumb stroking over the back of your hand.

His slight annoyance gave you a little kick, because it was exactly what you wanted to coax out of him. A reaction, an acknowledgement of your discomfort, your seemingly endless boredom.

"Yet I also wonder why nothing I offer you ever seems to be enough…", Your senses perked up at his words because you knew what was about to happen and you really needed it to, "Haven’t I given you everything, love? Am I not spoiling you rotten?"

Every little bit of his accusations went straight to your head and you let them in, craved for Elijah to get into your mind like that because it brought you a twisted sense of comfort in the way it belittled your needs.

"You do." You agreed, the slowly building blame gradually covering the biting loneliness stinging in your chest.

"So what more do you want?" Elijah hummed against the shell of your ear, lulled you in further with his warm breath breezing along your neck.

"Your attention. You left the company but you still don't seem to be here…with me.", It trickled from your lips in an honest answer, "You're everywhere all the time but not here."

The latter sentence felt like clawing its way out of your lungs, leaving you raw and sore on the inside for letting slip how much you really needed Elijah to throw you but a morsel of his affection every now and then. With that, you sensed your facade slipping away. The anger and pretentious pride had failed to cover up the puddle of hurt you felt yourself being drenched in and for a split second you pondered whether you really crushed that dainty champagne flute to gather his attention or if that had been you, punishing yourself for still craving his attention.

Whilst trying to take a deep breath, you noticed your chest trembling and your bottom lip quivering dangerously. You were unmistakably about to lose it completely but bit down onto your tongue harshly enough to keep yourself from falling apart at the seams.

"Turn around. Can you do that for me?" He withdrew his hand from your wrist to give you enough space to shuffle around underneath the expensive duvet.

In an haphazardly executed attempt to pull back the burning tears gathering at your lower lash line, you slowly turned around to look straight into an unexpectedly calm expression on Elijah’s face.

Calm or indifferent? It crossed your mind but you banished that thought right back to where it emerged from. Instead, your eyes slowly roamed over his features, from his lips that were slightly curled up into a hardly even there smile to his striking blue eyes and eventually up to the vagrant strands of his darkish blonde hair framing and softly falling into his face.

Looking at Elijah like that damn near killed you from the inside out because it reminded you of the version of him you had fallen in love with years ago. The witty and incredibly sharp CEO that worked alongside his developers instead of secluding himself in an ivory tower of vanity. The man that had even conducted the interview for your apprenticeship himself whilst cradling a cardboard cup of coffee in his hands, the fuzzy sleeves of a blue zipper pulled up to his knuckles, his eyes sparkling at you with endless excitement.

Now, barely anything of that warmth was left. With the years it all went down the drain of multimillion dollar deals over hordes and hordes of androids. Sometimes you felt as if Elijah grew a little colder with every android that sold and a part of you had started hating them for seemingly taking him away from you, eating away at his own humanity piece by piece. You couldn't decide whether or not those thoughts and speculations had anything to them, really, yet you couldn’t stop them from crossing your mind every now and then.

"Some days I wake up wishing to be just another android so you'd tend to me, Eli." The words bubbled out of you in an unbridled gush of emotions, just like the first burning tears spilling over your lash line.

"Come on now, that's nonsense. You're irreplaceable and you know that." Elijah’s brows arched up, closely knit together in a borderline scolding expression, disdain over your utterings washing across his face.

"Do I?", You sniffled, his harsh and cold response cutting right through you, "It's getting quite hard to hold on to that, Elijah, when the only thing you get reminded about on the daily is how utterly invisible you are."

"Stop that right there. You're not invisible to me and now you're just throwing around words." Elijah's eyes narrowed down on you in growing irritation.

"Throwing around words, yeah?", His dismissal came like a ladle full of ethanol to the embers of your rage fit, actively making you spew the most hurtful things that were waiting right at the tip of your tongue, "Do you fuck them?"

"Excuse me?" For a split second it seemed as if Elijah’s jaw was about to drop.

"Do you fuck your robots?" You repeated yourself, a surge of pride for having rendered him dumbfounded for the blink of an eye tugging at your lips before the mere thought of it turned you blind with jealousy.

"No." Elijah stated bluntly, his teeth slightly clenching.

"Oh?", You mocked, pushing it further, "How come?"

"Because none of them…", He sneered, his hand darting upward for it to grab you by the throat in a firm grasp, "None of them could ever be as feisty as you are, love."

You heard your breath hitching and felt Eli's thumb brush over your pulse point as he leaned in, his lips almost touching yours.

"Because I can't feel their pulse picking up or see their pupils widening like yours right now, getting so terribly worked up and flustered over being talked to like that, hm?", You were painfully aware how the heat crept into your face with every word of his, "Because my androids don't need to be put in their place because they wouldn't get so catastrophically mouthy and bratty, now would they?"

"No, no.", He answered his own question with a sly smirk playing around his mouth whilst the clasp of his hand grew tighter until he could feel every quickened pump of your heart right underneath his skin, "They follow a script, a code, they are boring…so unlike you."

Elijah leaned in further, eventually closing down on the tiny bit of space left between your bodies, his lips eagerly pressing onto yours for the first time in days. His proximity, the bare presence of him sent your mind reeling, it soothed the boiling anger in your chest but it wasn't enough, not enough in the slightest to still your aching need for his affection.

A slightly pained mewl of yours got muffled by his tongue snaking into your mouth as your hands practically clawed onto his sides, the brutalized one, with its countless thin cuts, flaring up anew.

"Ouw, does that hurt?" He cooed into your mouth, his free hand shooting towards yours resting on his hip and pressing down harder.

"I'm afraid that's what you get for being naughty, acting up like that. Poor little attention whore." The unmistakably derogatory tone in his voice jolted right amidst your thighs, causing you to clench and throb around nothing.

" 'M sorry…" It fell from your lips in a breathless moan, your words sincere.

You truly felt sorry about being so whiny and bitchy when Elijah gave you everything you could possibly dream of.

"Oh, shut up. I don't want to hear anything from you right now. Not a single fucking thing. You got that?" You nodded and choked back a whine as Eli latched his teeth at your bottom lip, pulling and dragging your head along until he let it slip again.

"There you go, looks like you can listen after all." To reward your silence, he freed your throat from his tight grasp but only to lean himself on his elbow whilst shoving himself on top of you.

On instinct, you spread your legs for him pathetically fast, calves wrapping around his waist in an instant.

"Good girl.", Elijah hummed against your cheek, nearly coaxing a whimper out of you as his other hand slid between your bodies, slender fingers playing over your trembling stomach and eventually down to align himself with your entrance, the tip of his cock prodding against your already oozing cunt, "I'd never fuck an android and you know why? Because they'd never just get oh so hot and desperately wet like you do, love."

His breathing rendered more labored with every inch of him that spearheaded into you, stretching you out to accommodate him properly. With furrowed brows, you bit down on your bottom lip, hiding your flustered face in his shoulder to shut down every possible sound that might come out of your mouth upon feeling Elijah drilling into you.

"Wouldn't waste a thought on it when I can just be balls deep inside your perfect pussy." His hushed voice intoxicated you as he started rocking his hips into your lap at a reckless pace right away, a heavy moan threatening to erupt from your lungs.

God, you wanted to groan and whine out your hammering arousal so badly but shoved it all back down your throat as hard as you possibly could. It almost felt like a sore, dry lump forming right behind your tongue that you couldn't do anything about but to swallow it over and over again.

"Not even I could build something so magnificent as you are." Eli's hot breath stroke over your jawline and everything in you clung onto these words, although, for the blink of an eye, you found yourself wondering if that was just him getting increasingly drunk on your body with each and every hard roll of his waist, not pulling out fully before hammering into you again.

"Maybe I should just knock you up sometime soon, huh?", In a weak attempt to steady yourself, you clawed at his back, fingernails digging into his skin, "Actually creating a life, I bet you'd love that, wouldn't you?"

Instead of words, your body delivered the answer to that. To silence everything that was just on the brink of shooting out of your mouth, your body convulsing and shuddering in a quiet orgasm, you bit down on your bottom lip so hard that you were almost sure to draw blood.

"Fuck, pulling me in so desperately." In a frantic rut, the rhythm of his movements gradually faltering, Elijah pressed his lips to yours again with a nearly bruising force.

"Such a good girl, trying to be obedient and quiet for me." He noted you violating your bottom lip whilst shoving himself into your spasming cunt as far as he could one last time before his own climax took over.

You felt it spurt out of him, filling you up that extra notch and it took every last bit of self-control to not just let your head loll back into the satin-covered pillows and whine out at the sensation.

"Fucking hell…that was so overdue, I give you that." With a low groan, Elijah pulled out of you, moving his body to collapse next to yours.

Letting your abused bottom lip finally slip from between your teeth, you felt the emotional whiplash washing right over the blissful release you experienced just moments before.

"Next time just tell me, no need to squash a glass with that pretty hand of yours."

#elijah kamski #dbh elijah kamski #detroit become human #detroit: become human #detroit: bh #elijah kamski x reader #elijah kamski x fem!reader #elijah kamski smut #neil newbon

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lilis-palace · 1 year ago

Note

you said suggestions are welcome as long as they fit your niche, so if it interests you, maybe you'd consider sliding some historical food and dry goods store items into the end of your list? I'm thinking a rustic and maybe a slightly fancier checkout counter, a money box or old cash register, some brown paper wrapped packages, perhaps deco versions of some hats on wooded head mannequins?

alternately, something to make the thrift and bubble tea lot useable in historical saves, like a pharmacy counter override of the bubble tea counter and some historical clothing racks? I love your historical items and the range of classes they represent!

Ah, sorry that answering took me so long! I absolutely love this idea! You're pushing me into a new hyperfixation rabbithole. xd I always wanted to make an old pharmacy, since I discovered few irl in my city which are still operating. My mom was a pharmacist, and saved a lot of old glass bottles from throwing out by taking them home and using them for storing spices.

Also, I always wanted to make old scales, bottles, signs, cash register, etc... I quickly searched for some inspo wich are good for both regular stores & pharmacies.

#interacting with people #inspiration

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leiawritesstories · 1 year ago

Note

rowaelin fic with aelin as a model? youre such an inspiration!!💞

AWWWWWWW THANK YOU SO MUCH 🥺🥰 also HOW did i never see this??? stupid inbox 😠

i love this!! let's see.......

word count: 2.1k (whoopsies)

warnings: none!

enjoy!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The metro was late.

Aelin was already running a few minutes behind thanks to an unexpected Fleetfoot accident that had required her to change her clothes while soothing the golden retriever puppy, and she'd practically run the whole twelve blocks from her apartment to the metro stop. Of course the damn train would be late on today of all days, the one day in her calendar that she couldn't afford to miss except for death or grievous injury.

The characteristic screech of train brakes yanked her out of her thoughts, and she stepped to the edge of the platform and hurried onto the train as soon as the doors swished open. She clutched her small leather mini tote against her chest and grabbed onto a bar for stability, planting her heeled boots solidly against the floor and adjusting her stance as the train moved.

Twenty minutes later, she hurried off the train, half-sprinting through the station and barely registering her frantic pace until she was out on the street. She glanced at her smart watch and released a short breath when she saw that she still had adequate time to get to her agency before she would be considered late. Smoothly, she joined the people moving along the sidewalks, her long slender legs taking fluid, easy strides as she slid through the crowds. It was a little less than ten minutes until she reached a sleek modern high-rise, all black glass and unbroken lines, strode through the front doors, and waved at the security guard by the elevator.

"Morning, Phil!"

The middle-aged man's solid face creased into a tiny smile. "Morning, Miss Aelin." No matter how many times she told him she was just an ordinary woman, he refused to call her anything else.

To the world, after all, she was Aelin Galathynius, famed for her runway walk, magazine cover model, and face of the wildly popular brand Ennar.

"You're still early, Miss Aelin," Phil said quietly as Aelin stepped into the elevator. "Good luck."

"Thank you," she murmured, throwing the kind man a grateful smile. The elevator doors slid closed with a soft chime, and she closed her eyes and took deep, measured breaths as she traveled up to the twenty-first floor.

Ding! The sleek steel doors slid open, and she released her breath, opened her eyes, and strode out into the minimalist-modern offices of the Blackbeak Modeling Agency. The familiar ivory walls, marble, neutral-toned artwork, and black-and-white photographs blurred past as she headed for her agent's office.

She knocked twice and the door popped open. "Personal service? I thought you had interns for that, Blackbeak."

"Funny," deadpanned Manon Blackbeak, a former international supermodel and a hell of a terrifying woman. She'd been Aelin's agent since Aelin entered the professional modeling world at eighteen. "You made it just in time, Galathynius."

"What's with the call time?" Aelin inquired. She took her usual seat in the ivory wingback chair across from Manon's. "It seems like an odd time for a shoot, fitting, or casting. Is it something with Ennar?"

"It's a new opportunity." Manon reached into her desk and pulled out a portfolio, which she slid to Aelin. "They reached out to us yesterday hoping we'd be interested in setting up four contracts with their brand--short-term at first, but with the potential of extension."

Aelin opened the file and skimmed through the series of glossy photos of clothing--all on mannequins. Each piece was beautifully crafted, showcasing the designer's obvious attention to detail as well as their undeniable artistry. "These are incredible," she murmured.

Manon nodded. "The last few pages are the proposed contract."

"Hmm." Aelin flipped to the draft contract and skimmed through the now-familiar pages of legal and technical jargon. "This almost doesn't seem real. Set my own hours? My own compensation? There's a 'within our schedule parameters' stipulation, but my own pay rate?" Her perfectly shaped brows furrowed. "It seems too good to be true."

"What do you initially think?" Manon drummed her fingernails against her desk. The question seemed brusque, but that was how she operated. She didn't coddle. "Part of the reason you got called in at this time was because the designer is interested in meeting with you. He's here right now."

"What?"

"I'm not a parrot, Galathynius," Manon drawled. "You'd think you were a newbie model with that big-eyed stare on your face."

"Piss off," Aelin snorted. She rearranged her shocked expression and glanced down at the portfolio. "This Mr. --"

"Just Rowan."

"Another single-name designer, then," Aelin mused. "Bold, considering this would be the debut collection."

"Indeed. Are you interested?"

"Yes." Aelin closed the portfolio. "I am."

"Good, because you'd be meeting him anyway." Manon stood and opened her office door. "Let's go, Galathynius. We should get to the meeting room before Rowan and his people do."

"Good idea." Gracefully, Aelin collected the file and her bag, stood up, and followed her agent out of the office and down the hallways to the smaller, cozier conference room. Manon flicked on the lights as they entered, illuminating the warm-toned chestnut table and plush chairs facing the presentation screen. They were the first ones there, so Aelin dropped into a chair that faced the door and waited as Manon sent off a text to the agency head.

"They'll be here in five," the platinum-haired agent said, seating herself next to Aelin. "Sorry for the short notice."

"It's just part of the job, Blackbeak." Aelin waved off Manon's uncharacteristic apology. "And there's certainly no need to say things you don't mean."

"You're right." Manon flashed her a smirk. "In that case, bundle up, because I hear this designer is cold."

Aelin rolled her eyes. "If I can deal with Maeve Bitchface, I can deal with a single-name guy who doesn't have emotions."

"Bold of you to make that assumption before we've even met," interrupted a deep drawl. Filling the doorway stood a tall, fit man with a shock of colorless hair, piercing emerald eyes, and a thick manila file tucked under one muscular arm.

"With all due respect," Aelin deadpanned, fixing her unflinching stare on the man, "you don't work in this industry for years without developing the ability to categorize designers based on what's known about them."

"Fair enough." The man walked into the room, set the file on the conference table, and took the seat directly opposite Aelin. "I'm Rowan."

"Pleasure to meet you in the flesh. I'm Aelin Galathynius; I have a last name like all normal people." With a saccharine smile, she shook his offered hand.

Rowan cracked a tiny grin. "I'm well acquainted with your profile, Miss Galathynius."

"You sound like an FBI officer." She regarded him skeptically. "Am I sure he's a designer and not an undercover cop, Blackbeak?"

Manon snorted. "I'm pretty sure he'd have to kill you if he told you that, Galathynius."

"That's correct." Rowan leant back in his seat, humor lighting up his eyes. "So why don't we assume I'm just a designer who wants to work with you, at least for now?"

"I suppose that's safe enough, at least for now." Aelin steepled her fingers. "I've seen your sample file, Mr. Rowan, and I have to say, I'm impressed. Yours might just be one of the most aesthetically pleasing lines I've seen, and if would be a true honor to wear it."

"Just Rowan, please, and thank you." A soft hint of pink colored the edges of Rowan's cheeks. "My mother used to design clothing, and it's become my passion as much as it's her legacy."

Aelin smiled, softly. "I repeat, it's beautiful."

"Thank you." He cleared his throat and nodded at the dark-haired, stone-faced man next to him. "Since I've decided that you are the model I'd like to work with, my attorney here has brought a preliminary contract." The dark-haired man slid a handful of papers over to Aelin. "Please, have a look, and we can discuss terms."

"Thanks to my agent, I've already been able to look at a draft of the contract." She flipped it to the compensation page. "Set my own pay rate? Is this some kind of trick?"

Rowan exhaled a controlled breath. "No. It's my personal policy that every model I work with sets their own rate of pay."

"Why?" Aelin was genuinely confused--the modeling world didn't run on compassion.

"I've found that the benefits--retention, quality of work, satisfaction, and all of that--outweigh the cost, and not as many people as you may think actually set an outrageously high rate."

"Hmm." She tapped her chin. "That's a surprisingly shrewd decision, Rowan. I wouldn't have expected that in this cutthroat industry."

He shrugged. "I like to think that I'm one of the good guys."

"I'll take you up on that." She penciled a number in the open pay line--a fair bit higher than her usual rate, but not outrageous. "Could you elaborate on what, exactly, my contract includes? The actual details were vague."

"Of course." He opened the folder on the table and spread out a handful of images and sketches. "I'd like to hire you as a brand ambassador. The position would entail walking in my major shows as well as wearing and promoting my brand on your social media accounts and in public. Yes, I'm aware that you work as the brand ambassador for Ennar, and I've spoken with the legal team there. This job shouldn't conflict with your role with Ennar."

"Even though it's essentially the same position?"

"I'm not asking that you focus in my line as intensely as you do with Ennar. Also, my brand is currently only clothing, while that designer is clothing, accessories, and beauty products."

"Indeed." Aelin scribbled on her small notepad. "Well, my initial response to your offer is yes. However, I have a number of personal stipulations that I am unwilling to give up for any job."

"Go ahead." He pulled out a notepad of his own and waited for her to list her rules.

"First, I will not model undergarments."

"That won't be an issue; I have no intention of venturing into that business."

"Good. Second, I have both public and private social media profiles. My public ones are managed by my team, but I have the final say in what gets posted and when, and my brand deals are strictly limited to my public profiles. So, although I'll be wearing your line, it won't be mentioned anywhere on my private pages."

"That shouldn't be a concern, as long as you aren't using your private pages as some kind of undercover scheme where you claim credit for what you're wearing." His voice was carefully controlled, but she detected the tension beneath the control. Someone had done that to him, no doubt.

She fought the unprofessional urge to hold his hands in comfort. "Rowan, I can assure you that my job takes enough of a toll that I need to keep it off my private social media. Also, my private pages are only followed by people that I personally know, and people that know me personally know full well that I can dress, but I'm hopeless are design."

"Okay." Some of the stiffness in his posture melted. "Call me paranoid, but I have to make a living somehow."

"I understand." A reassuring smile flicked over her face. "Thirdly, I don't care what kind of emergency comes up, I don't work Sundays. Ever."

Rowan glanced to Manon. "Ever ever?"

"Never," Manon confirmed. "In the eight years that I've worked with Galathynius, she's never once strayed from that stipulation. I thought it would be a deal-breaker, and it has been at times, but she never works on Sundays. No content, no shows, nothing."

"It's a...personal day," Aelin explained. Unwilling to mention her dad's illness, therapy, or anything else so close to her heart, she left it at that.

"I can work with that." Rowan wrote something down on his notepad. "It shouldn't be frowned upon to try and maintain some normalcy in this hectic world."

"Thank you," Aelin murmured. "Finally, my last stipulation is that my assistant attends every shoot and brand event with me, as I rely on her advice in public situations."

"Of course." He nodded. "Far be it from me to push anyone I work with into a situation where they feel they've been denied the chance to consult someone they trust before making a decision."

"Wonderful. Those are all of my conditions."

He nodded thoughtfully. "All right, Miss Galathynius. Do we have an agreement?"

"Just Aelin, please, and I believe we do."

"Excellent." Standing, he reached across the table and shook her hand. "I look forward to working with you, Aelin."

"As do I."

~~~

TAGS:

@live-the-fangirl-life

@superspiritfestival

@thegreyj

@wordsafterhours

@elentiyawhitethorn

@morganofthewildfire

@backtobl4ck

@rowanaelinn

@house-of-galathynius

@tomtenadia

@julemmaes

@swankii-art-teacher

@charlizeed

@booknerdproblems

@earthtolinds

@goddess-aelin

@sweet-but-stormy

@clea-nightingale

@autumnbabylon

@darling-im-the-queen-of-hell

@llyncooljones

@silentquartz

#my writing #answered prompt #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #rowaelin #rowan x aelin #rowaelin fanfic #rowaelin fanfiction #rowaelin au #rowaelin modern au #throne of glass #throne of glass fanfic #throne of glass fanfiction

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southerngothicchic · 9 months ago

Text

You're Only Lonely

I needed to write for this man, so this is part one of what's going to be just a two parter, as of now 🙃

Baron's been driving non-stop for days.

The floor of his newest car is covered in various Moon Pie and fast food wrappers. His hand brushes an empty soda cup as he reaches for the map that had fallen off the passenger seat.

He slowly pulls off the highway, putting the car in park as he drapes the map over the steering wheel. His finger traces along the tattered paper, mentally mapping out all the little side roads that branch off the main one.

He decides on the one that seems the most promising then folds the map the best he can, before tossing it back towards the passenger seat.

In his periphery, he catches his reflection in the rearview mirror and almost doesn't recognize himself. His shorter hair, though now necessary, was going to take some getting used to. After spending so much time as one version of 'Baron,' he wonders what the newest version should be like, sound like, etc. He still has time to figure it out, as it's still quite a drive to the next town.

After putting the car in gear, it's engine roars to life as he speeds off down the worn asphalt.

He rolls into town during the hottest part of the day. Sweat forms on his brow before he quickly wipes it away with the back of his hand. He has both windows rolled down, in an effort to create better air flow, since this car didn't have working A/C.

The lack of a breeze makes the heat almost unbearable as he slowly cruises down what passes for this town's 'Main Street.'

He thinks how he'd do anything for a vanilla ice cream cone when he looks up to see a weathered sign for an ice cream shop, at the end of the street. He says a silent prayer as he parks in front of it. With a boyish smile, he hops out of the car and excitedly goes inside.

He emerges soon after, with prized vanilla cone in hand. He then decides to walk around for a little while, and see what his new home has to offer. He tries, in vain, to eat his ice cream before it melts all over his hand and the cracked sidewalk below.

It's then he notices a storefront with the words 'Antiques and More' printed on the glass. He stops and gawks at the mannequin in the window. It's wearing a tight, leopard print dress, and he's instantly infatuated.

He enters the store, and immediately goes over to where it's displayed. He's able to size it up better now that he's closer and thinks it could possibly fit him. He's too lost in admiration to notice someone walking up behind him.

"Sorry, but you can't have that in here," a voice says, pulling him out of his daydream.

"What?" Baron asks, turning slightly to see you standing there, looking slightly annoyed.

"The ice cream. It's melting all over the floor. Didn't you see the sign?" You continue, pointing to the hand written 'No Food or Drink' sign that was taped to the door.

"Oh, no I didnt," he replies, flustered. "I'm sorry, I'll... be right back."

He quickly exits the store and disposes the sticky cone in a nearby trash can. You watch his hurried actions with a bemused expression. He returns, wiping the excess ice cream on his jeans, while sporting an apologetic smile.

"Sorry, I guess I was too distracted," he laughs.

"Obviously," you reply, also with a laugh. "Though, I totally get it," you begin, taking a step closer to the window display. "This dress is my favorite one in the store."

He follows, watching with rapt attention as you glide your fingertips along it's hemline.

"From what I could tell from the label, and my thorough, yet limited research is that it's from the fifties," you inform, turning your head so your eyes meet his.

The sudden intensity of his gaze has you looking away.

"Its pretty amazing that it's still in such great shape," you continue, with a wistful smile. "Its, like, comforting to see how certain things stand the test of time, you know?"

You glance at him again and he nods. It's then you notice how his damp, white t-shirt clings to his chest and you have to look away again.

He tries to keep from grinning at the faint hint of blush on your cheeks.

"Anyway, um, I feel like I've taken up too much of your time, so I'll let you have a look around," you announce, with a polite smile, taking a step back.

"Its okay, I don't mind," he smiles, in return. "It's been too long since I've really talked to someone, so this is nice."

You allow yourself to gaze into his soft, hazel eyes and almost melt from how he's looking at you.

"Plus, there's so much stuff in here that I'll probably get overwhelmed, so you might need to show me around," he says, strolling past you before turning on his heel, to face you again, making you giggle.

"I think that's the least I can do, since you're my first and only customer I've had all day," you reply, still with a smile.

"I guess its my lucky day, then," he grins.

You spend the next hour or so guiding him around the store, showing him your favorite pieces. He seems genuinely enthralled with everything you say, a smile still present on his lips, as you ramble on about the history of certain items.

As he follows you towards the back of the store, he notices a rack of more presumably vintage dresses, off to the side.

You also notice how his eyes linger on them, which prompts you to ask, "Why were so you interested in that dress in the window? If you don't mind me asking..."

"It, uh, reminds me of someone," he answers.

You nod, and he immediately senses what you really want to know.

"I don't have a girlfriend, if that's what you're wondering," he adds, as you both reach the back corner of the store.

You try to hide your relieved smile when you turn to face him.

"Why would I be wondering about that when I don't even know your name?" You ask, gazing at him innocently.

He moves closer to you, making you step back. Your lower back presses against the rough, wooden edge of cabinet displaying old NASCAR memorabilia. His eyes never leave yours as he braces his hands on either side of you.

He leans in, his sticky sweet breath on your lips as he counters, "Why don't you tell me yours first?"

Normally, you would never let yourself be lured into a situation like this, but this guy was, quite possibly, the most gorgeous man you'd ever seen. His alluring nature is impossible to resist.

Your name tumbles from your lips, earning another smile from him.

"Its pretty, just like you," he laments, as the tip of his nose brushes yours.

Your hands grip the wood at your sides, with your nails digging into it, as you desperately want to wrap your arms around him.

He teases your waiting lips with his, as he debates whether or not he wants to tell you his real name or another made-up one.

He brings his hand up to your cheek, his thumb lightly caressing your skin, as he whispers, "I'm whoever you want me to be."

#baron lamram #baron x reader #marmalade spoilers

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ronearoundblindly · 2 years ago

Text

Threadbare (2)

Steve Rogers x Fashion Designer!Reader

Part Two: Strain Curve (see previous or series)

IMPORTANT: I forgot to mention and link that this started with an anon ask, so I should give them credit for the idea. Here's where this all started! Additionally, Richard Fisk is an actual Marvel character and the son of Kingpin. All that is straight out of the comics (and animated shows), down to the horrible color choices.

Summary: Steve shelters you from Fisk while attempting to hide the truth from Tony. He's not a great liar...but how much of this is really fake?

Warnings for fluffy fluff of the 21st-fluffery with a teeny bit of angst, 100% idiots in love! Also a quick disclaimer about me knowing exactly diddlysquat about fashion design. I binged 'Next In Fashion' and so this is the best I got lol... WC 4066

You watch Steve blush at your attempted smile. He paws at the back of his head before gathering another confession.

“Actually, I do have—I mean, yes, I wanted to see you, but uh—“ he rushes over to fetch a paper bag he must have stashed as he snuck in behind the cops “—I did have a reason to come.”

In the bag, you find three shirts, and your smile turns more genuine.

“Of course, you did. How romantic.”

You’re still awash with adrenaline; there’s no filter to keep your teasing at bay. You can barely pick up that you said anything anyway.

Steve shrugs, looking down to take back the shirts as Abby returns with a glass of water for you. “Not my best move.”

You chug the water, loudly, unable to regulate how desperately you need it. Abby gently pries Steve’s shirts from his tense arms.

“Right.” Steve rolls his shoulders out, straightening and clearly falling into Captain mode. “We need to get you somewhere safe. I just have to make a few calls and—“

“Don’t tell Stark,” you blurt, hand instinctively grabbing the wrist that holds his phone ready. “I’m sorry. That sounded like an order, just…please don’t tell Mr. Stark.” Tony can’t know that Fisk has been using you as a tailor as well. He can’t.

Alarm and curiosity flicker behind Steve’s blue eyes, but he hides it well immediately. “Ok. I’ll—” he makes no move to take his arm back “—think of something.”

“And I have three clients left…for the day.”

Abby tsks you from behind though it’s the truth. The empty glass rattles on the tabletop with your faint tremor.

Steve thinks for a prolonged, squinting moment. “After work then. I’ll pick you up.”

You run off adrenaline and butterflies the rest of the day, and yes, whatever liquids or snacks Abby and Dominica (when she returns from her errand) put into your hand along the way, but mostly it’s the fluttering anticipation of Steve that floats you through.

And then he’s back and it’s already dark outside.

“Oh shit,” you burst, politely showing Mr. Chen out while Steve waits his turn to get in the door. He says nothing, but Captain America lowers his head in disapproval at your curse. “I’m sorry. I lost track of time. Let me grab some things.”

You race up the stairs to the apartment over the shop. Your clientele and brand used to be small enough that you could keep those two sides of life separate, but slowly, your work has crept into your living space. Now you survive from a dresser, a hanging rack, and a Murphy bed that doubles as a small desk when it’s upright against the wall.

Not much of an existence, but it’s very practical.

You’re shuffling around with an overnight bag and a dump tote to grab mostly work things and two changes of clothes. One of your assistants can bring you more stuff if/when necessary, but it feels presumptive to think you’ll live out of a safe house for long.

“So…working to live or living to work?”

You jump at Steve’s deep voice from the open doorway. He looks around at the hodgepodge of work benches and mannequins lining the walls.

“It’s a fluid and evolving situation,” you admit, sweeping several binders of fabric swatches and sketch pads into the tote. You eye a work-in-progress on one of the dummies and decide against trying to take it. Too bulky.

In order not to keep Steve waiting, you hand over the tote and head to the car, texting Abby and Dominica instructions the whole drive. Steve assures you that you’ll still have wifi and freedom to communicate, so you don’t have to clear fittings and consults off the books. It simply won’t be wise to invite welcome clients into where you’re staying.

Admittedly, that’s very generous considering you could have been looking at a blackout, witness-protection level of hiding.

You’re still on your phone when Steve opens your car door, and you shuffle with your duffel, his feet at the edge of your periphery to follow. It doesn’t register that you walk down a long hall. It doesn’t register that there’s an elevator ride and another voice. It doesn’t register that you’re looking at a kind of hostel-esque apartment inside another building until you ask if there’s a space you’ll be able to spread out for work.

Steve glows with pride that he thought of that and walks you to a conference room…surrounded by glass…overlooking a 30-story high view of the city.

You’re in the Avengers Tower, formerly Stark Tower.

“Wait, he’s not supposed to know.”

Steve gets your confusion right away. “Tony doesn’t, but without filing paperwork stating the reason you need a safe house, this was the best—“

“Sheers!” the booming voice of one Tony Stark reverberates across 360 degrees of windows. “I thought it might be you.”

“Might be me for what?” you ask as innocently as possible.

“As Capsicles’ first, of course.”

Steve hangs his head while his pal claps him on the back.

“First use of his guest pass that is. Granted, I’ve been saying for years we need an in-house tailor, but no takers…” Stark fake-punches Steve’s shoulder. “Way to break the ice, buddy. I’m proud of you. What happened? You noticed you’re both workaholics and needed your girl…closer to get closer, did you? Good call.”

Steve shoots wary eyes your way, silently praying you ignore that remark or maybe checking you’re okay with the implication. The way Stark says ‘your girl’ as if he’s heard it several times before though…

“Something like that,” you shrug.

“At least he finally asked you. I kept telling him to shit or get off the pot.”

“Language,” you hiss quietly.

The men look a little shocked for a split second before slowly turning to each other, a silent conversation passed in the empty space over your head. Whatever just happened seems to have really convinced Tony because a wry smile flickers beneath his sinking, pale sunglasses. Yes, of course, Tony Stark is wearing sunglasses at night, just as, of course, Captain America is willingly deceiving Stark to be your fake boyfriend.

“Romeo,” the building’s namesake coos. “Training them young, I see.”

Steve’s jaw and neck tighten, a raging flush creeping up his pale skin, but he doesn’t argue. Stark buys the ploy, which is great, but in reality, Steve doesn’t even have your personal number.

Tony lifts his hands in surrender and starts retreating to the door. “Look, I hate to take credit—“

“No, you don’t.”

Incredulous, sagging eyebrows dip below his frames. “—but I am very, very good.” He points a finger back and forth between you and Steve. “You’re welcome.”

He tries to peek under a pile of sketches atop your work tote, and you rush to slap your hand down. Stark might see the other designs you’re working on, and just like he can’t know about Fisk, he can’t know about those.

“Fine.” Tony puts his hands up again. “I’m going.”

Steve steps to your side, apology loud in his eyes, and asks if he can make you tea or something stronger, ya know, because Tony has that effect on people.

“Yeah—“ you stare off toward the elevators where Stark remains lurking “—he’s still there,” you whisper.

Steve huffs a laugh and shifts to bridge the mere inches left between you, his hand gently landing on your upper arm and planting a kiss on your forehead like a breeze.

“Better make it look good then.”

Turns out you need tea and food.

You’d been so reliant on your assistants for nourishment that you forgot dinner. Steve sees; he has it covered. Instead of winding down after a trying day, however, you get a rush of energy, and you can’t squander the chance to make crucial adjustments. Every minute counts in the lead-up to Fashion Week.

“May I join you?” Steve asks, ready to walk away with his meal in hand should you prefer. “I won’t take up much space.” He looks down at his shoes and up the two inches above his head to the top of the doorframe. “Ok, much more space,” he corrects.

“You wanted to leave me alone?”

He bites back a smile and shakes his head, settling into the least cluttered corner.

He chats excitedly as you both eat, but after failing to pry some answers about Fisk from you,—‘are you often threatened by clients?’ and ‘can you steer him in another designer’s direction?’—Steve slips away to grab his own art supplies.

You’ve barely looked up until you get a surge of inspiration and search for your colored pencils under the pile of templates. How did they get all the way over there? Since when are red and grey so worn down? Weren’t you needing to replace both blues soon?

“Those in your way? I can move them?”

Steve stops sketching, holding a yellow pencil, the only color missing from the tin. That’s when you realize. He uses the same brand of pencils you do—tools made of quality materials but nothing overly fancy.

“No need,” you marvel. “I just mistook them for my own.”

Steve sweeps a large hand out in offering. “Mistake away.”

You can’t help it. You chew your lip to calm your grin. He’s simply a very giving man who enjoys simple things. It’s refreshing.

“Or we could trade? We seem to use the opposite colors the most.”

“Right,” Steve laughs, “I went on a tear trying for Sam’s suit in-flight. Never turned out.” Shaking his head dislodges a lock of hair, so he runs his fingers through the strategic coif.

“Hmm,” you hum absently, engrossed by his picturesque appearance, “my drawings are more like guidelines for my imagination. No need to be precise.”

“A sentiment I’ve heard many times before.” He slides the tin closer to the midway point between you. “I just want to do beauty justice, which sounds pretentious but…

“Point is—“ Steve lifts his gaze to you with a soft shrug “—use whatever you like.”

You thought your work habits were grueling, but poor Steve flits around at all hours of the day and night with workouts, training, meetings, and missions. He mostly gets to do drive-by waves of ‘hello’ as he travels the building past your glass bubble, always with a smile, always with a tinge of something else. He’s an easy man to read: you can tell when he’s fatigued (in spirit though, not body), you can tell when he’s irritated from stress, and you can tell when he wants to linger but has to go.

It’s incredibly cute. Steve Rogers is just so damn cute.

You continue with business as usual as best you can, video calling during consults and the most critical fittings. Clients aren’t exactly happy with your absence, but they don’t dare complain when the alternative is waiting another month for you to schedule in person. Besides, there are oftentimes you step away from routine appointments to focus on creating new lines.

Dominica is allowed to walk right in with any of your requested supplies since she’s delivered to Stark several times before. She stays for a few hours to touch base. She assures you that Tarik is no longer unnerved by the police car that sits at the curb outside the atélier’s front door. Apparently, Abby takes the cops coffee a couple times a day.

All in all, it’s going well.

One day, you think Steve is showing up for one of your ‘sketch sessions’—where he sits in his own chair somewhere around the huge oval table and quietly works alongside you—but not today.

“They…it’s…” Steve plants his feet on the carpet across from you and looks behind him nervously. Anytime other people are near the room, he walks right over to you to kiss your cheek, a show to keep up the appearance of actually being a couple, but it’s late enough that no one is around. “We do movie night—we’re doing movie ni—we’re watching a movie if you’d like to join?”

You’re tempted to tease him, ask ‘where’s my kiss’ or something that makes that fiery blush creep up Steve’s face, but you grin back. “Sure. I could use the break.”

Honestly, no, you should be hammering out some details for the lapels of this blazer, but ehh, you’re also tired of staring at the same damn jacket.

Of course, this means the lot of them save you and Steve seats beside each other on a couch. You two have only ever sat in chairs in front of or separated by a table, so figuring out how to curl up next to the man you are not dating is an adventure in micro-expressions. You share a look that lasts about two seconds but contains a forty-five-minute discussion of how far is okay to take this and agree that you want to keep up the charade.

Thus, Steve lifts his arm to drape across your shoulders, and you lean into his chest.

It’s a good fit, good enough that you wake up two hours later not knowing what the movie was about and starting to sweat from being so close to his very warm body.

Maybe it’s the eye convo or maybe napping directly on him tells Steve how comfortable you are with him, but either way, he changes to giving a kiss on the cheek or forehead every instance he sees you, no exceptions.

After a week of remaining on the same floor of the same skyscraper and doing nothing but working, sleeping, and movie-sleeping, you’re at your wit’s end, longingly staring out the window at the city below.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Steve asks as he enters the conference room. Forehead kiss this time. His lips feel soft and warm as they ghost over your skin.

“Stuck,” you mutter.

His hand smooths across your back. “Well, how do you normally get unstuck?”

“I go for a walk through the park.” You know you can’t go outside, but it’s difficult to wrangle every bit of bitterness at your captivity. You appreciate all Steve is doing to make it so Fisk can’t get to you, but you need fresh air.

Steve sighs like he’s mad at himself before spinning around the room. “Right.” He grabs your hand. “Come with me.”

In the elevator, Steve explains that in keeping with the eco-friendly intent of the new clean energy tower, Tony made half of the rooftop a greenhouse and the other half a garden. The walking paths are all moss-covered, but there are no benches. Just outside the elevator doors are folding chairs, and Steve grabs two.

On separate chairs with no table in sight, you two watch the sunset on the other side of the building from your work room. You take in a big breath of the chilly air and shiver, completely content to experience freedom away from climate control, but Steve rushes back into the greenhouse to retrieve a blanket from the stack beside the chairs.

“Here ya go,” he stumbles, leaning to tuck the fabric around you. “I should have brought us tea or something,” but when he makes to leave this time, you take his hand.

“You’ll miss it.” He’s probably seen the view from here a million times before, but you don’t want him to go. “Stay,” you say in a whisper.

Steve visibly softens, shoulders dropping, eyes alight. “Yeah?” He sits again and looks at the nearly cloudless sky. “Yeah.” He slouches to get comfy in the small and unsupportive chair, but he looks so at home bathed in the warm pink light. “Each time’s a bit different but—“ he turns to you, smiling “—this one’s better.”

Since the sunset sit-down, Steve makes a point to pry you away from the work area when he has time to hang out with you. The couch isn’t actually far away from the conference room, but it does mean you get to sit together, your feet in his lap while he reads a book, listening to his commentary on the author’s points or sketching aimlessly for fun.

The whole thing feels like a bizarre vacation, some alternate reality where your home life intersects with superheroes. Tony Stark may have been a sometimes-client, but he never let you attempt anything more custom than a three-piece suit.

You’re not complaining; it’s just weird that Captain America is so average when his uniform comes off. He sinks his face into his palm when he’s sleepy. His yawn is outrageously adorable for how big the man is. He absently holds your ankles steady in his lap when he shifts on the cushions. His eyelids droop, and he repeats paragraphs when he can no longer keep his place on the page.

Steve Rogers could not be more normal, and for this reason, you find him extraordinary.

He gets dressed every morning while you’re there, no sweatpants, no workout wear—or, what did Sam call it? Athleisure? That’s not a word, right?—except for when Steve is actively working out. He thinks it’s too on-the-nose to wear your designs in front of you for days on end, but that limits his options significantly, considering how much of his wardrobe sports a Tovarich label. Good jeans and a black sweater will have to do because today he’s playing model.

It seems the mannequin Dominica hauled in for you isn’t close to the right proportions for your client so Steve volunteered, rewarded immediately with a gorgeous, toothy smile that made his heart thump against his ribcage.

Steve’s chatty but can’t help it.

There was one conversation a few days ago that unlocked so many memories he thought he’d lost.

While he peeked at a few of your sketches, you asked him about clothing in the 40s, and he took your notepad to doodle a bit. Steve drew a common dress from memory to show you girls he grew up with, the pleats and cinches in their exact spots because—now that he has your full and rapt attention—he thinks it’s important.

He’s had to recall maps, battle maneuvers, building layouts, and evil plans more times than he can count; no one’s ever asked him how his mother styled her hair or which shoes she wore to work at the hospital.

They’re just shoes, but Steve sat misty-eyed describing how Ma tied her laces a very specific way, the way she taught him to, the way he still ties them to this very day. He hadn’t thought of why in so long, and ever since, little details keep flooding back.

“Buck used to never tuck in his shirts,” Steve laughs as you nudge his arms higher to check his range of motion in the shoulders. “He’d fix the front half and leave a tail out in the back.”

You chuckle at that. “Unacceptable for proper ol’ Stevie,” you muse.

“No, it was not—“ he drops his head in shame “—and I’d remind him every time.” Steve spins, prompted by the pull of your hands at his waist. His face is on fire, but he promised to help you. He just has to ’suffer’ through your touch, he supposes.

How horrible…

“Sharp dresser, were you? Not a hair out of place?”

“Yes, ma’am, or…at least for my size I was.”

You’re deep in thought, pulling the bottom hem to check how it lays at his hips, checking the lining before buttoning him up. “These might be too flashy,” you mumble. “Gosh, I hope he likes this color.”

“Why not? It’s stunning,” Steve jumps too eagerly at the chance to praise the barely purple fabric. It’s that kind of illusion hue that might look black, navy, or its true shade in different lights.

“And the buttons?” you prod.

He tilts one of the stamped, dark nickel rounds to see the embellishment. “I’d consider that a signature touch of the Tovarich brand,” he beams.

Your elation is contagious until an ear-splitting alarm sounds overhead. You’re so startled you spring backward into a rolling chair and topple to the floor.

Steve scrambles to help you right yourself while the wailing screech continues, but he knows that noise.

Emergency.

He has to go.

You’re holding your elbow, flashing him a thumbs up, and Steve feels terrible yelling to ensure you’re okay.

Agents race past the glass walls, and he really has to run so off he goes, jacket still on.

An incredibly long seventeen hours later, Steve is returning to his room only to notice you’ve fallen asleep at the conference table. He’s pleased there is no bandage on your elbow, so the fall was no worse than bruising, but he refuses to leave you there.

Slowly peeling your face and hands from your drafting paper, Steve wrestles your flopping arms and limp legs into a solid hold to carry you to your own room.

You don’t wake up, not fully, only enough to grip the shoulder strap of his shield harness as he gently lowers you onto the unmade bed. Luckily, your MO is to kick off your shoes when concentrating on work, so once you release the leather attached to him, he pulls the covers over you.

He kisses your temple. “Night, Button,” he whispers like a secret, and for now, it is.

You simply sigh and turn deeper into the pillow.

Steve purposefully finds you at breakfast to ask if you’d want to get lunch with him. Yes, it would just be in the cafeteria on the lower levels, and yes, you two have already shared many meals, but in his mind, this is the actual ask, the question of ‘will you go out with me’ instead of just ‘are you hungry at this reasonable time and may I be hungry in your vicinity.’

It’s stupid, he knows. He’s anxious for your answer anyway.

Steve has a very love/hate relationship with having you essentially trapped in the Tower. On the one hand, you’re starved for interaction and the choice of your surroundings. On the other hand, he gets you all to himself. He’s ashamed of how much he enjoys that perk. Somewhere deep inside, he hopes whatever Fisk is after is never resolved, but that’s wishful—and terribly selfish—thinking.

Just in case going on a deliberate date with him isn’t offer enough, Steve can return your client’s jacket. He hung it in his locker when changing into the tactical suit. It’s safe, but he’ll get it after his debrief. That’s a good excuse. That’ll work.

You’re happy and excited, only making him more nervous, but it’s progress. He’s done ‘round noon after the long meeting scheduled to start in, yikes, fifteen minutes, and you quickly agree. Steve floats on cloud nine, bouncing his foot until dismissed so he can rush back up to you.

He isn’t expecting to see Tony in your bubble.

“You don’t know me, Stark. How dare you!” Your face twists in fury. “Screw this,” you shout, frantic in grabbing your essentials from the table. “I don’t answer to you. I don't need this. Someone else will get my things.”

Steve doesn’t understand why you won’t meet his eye or speak to him as you barrel past. He’s too stunned to follow you to the elevator, it feels imposing to race down and corner you in the lobby, but he marches up to Tony with wide eyes.

“What the hell happened?”

Tony waves him off, cagy and dismissive, rushing off upstairs to his lab, and Steve almost asks if this is about Fisk. If it’s not and he blabs, then you’ll definitely be angry at him. If he grills Tony too much, there might be something that gives away that Steve lied about having a significant other as his guest for two weeks. If Steve admits that he doesn’t even have your number, the jig is 100% up.

But he knows you have his number, he knows he still has a jacket you’ll want back, and he knows one thing he’s incredibly good at.

So Steve waits, ready to apologize, ready to grovel, ready to yell at Tony for whatever. He is just ready and waiting.

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @deandreamernp @shelbygeek @rogersideup @eyebagsanonymous @darsynia

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