#and i will tell my landlord about it and ask if he can at least fix the bathroom silicom so maybe some of their hiding spots are gone

[tardis--dreams]

There's silverfish in this apartment so the only chance for my body to get some rest would be collapsing from exhaustion otherwise i will not sleep for a While

[dalamjisung]

A muted shade of green ✧ Spencer Reid

genre: fluff, light angst

word count: 6339

pairing: reader x spencer reid

description: Dr. Spencer Reid is simply adorable. And you actually think he might be perfect. Until, that is, he isn't.

a muted shade of green masterlist // next chapter

His apartment is a muted shade of green and you always wonder why is it that he painted it so dark. The book covered walls never fail to impress you, making you smile into the ether that was this place with its shelves and shelves of worldly stories. His taste, you think, is more towards the classics and refined tales that carry significance and importance in the world of literature. Dostoyevski, Austen, Orwell, Doyle. Though here and there, in some corners of the living room or thrown haphazardly in the kitchen counter, you see peeks of contemporary names, the ones you’re sure you sold him a long, long time ago. Murakami, Zadie Smith, George. 

You met Spencer when you first moved into D.C., about a year or so ago, and sometimes, you really think that it was just yesterday when you first saw him with his purple scarf walking inside your store.

“Excuse me.” 

You have too many books in your arms to even see who is talking to you, but you apologise nonetheless; it’s the least you can do for your first customer. “I’ll be with you in a moment, apologies for the mess, we literally just opened.” In your defence, you had been so busy unpacking all the new orders and organising things into shelves that you absolutely forgot to put the plaque with your opening hours by the door. You can hear his shoes clicking and clacking around the place, and a wave of anxiety washes through you. If he leaves with a book– luckily two– you will have made your first sell and that just might remind you that of the reason why you decided to do this in the first place.

Carefully putting the pile of Maggie Nelson’s on the counter, you finally turn to face him, tired smile from ear to ear when you see him holding two books already. “You found something you like?” You gently ask, voice calm and fingers fidgeting while you wait for an answer. “Many things, actually. I’m quite glad to see a wide variety of books here, it’s been hard finding something new to read lately.” 

His voice is pointed and it echoes in the empty store. The clock on the walls says it’s 7:58AM and you suck in a breath; it’s definitely too early for someone to be looking for books, but maybe he wants entertainment for his commute, maybe he needs a distraction for the way, or maybe he is odd like that. 

It must be cold outside. The man is wearing a purple scarf  inside what looks like a wool coat, and somehow, he fits in there, in your store. He looks like the kind of person who would be buying books as early as 8 in the morning and you’re not sure if that is adorable or unhinged. 

“Just these, thank you,” The loud thump of the pile of books he deposits by the cashier makes you gasp. “You have a great selection here, I was lucky you open early!” The twinkle in his eyes is what keeps you from telling him that that, in fact, was a big mistake. In the middle of rushing to get the keys from the landlord in time, get the deliveries, get everything sorted and organised, you had completely forgotten to put out the hours for the shop. 

“I am glad you found us here! Do you live nearby?” At this point, you’re just trying to make conversation as you bagged his items, smiling at the titles and happy to see your favourite book in the midst. “I live just across the street, actually,” He said, giving you his card. “You’ll see me a lot, I’m afraid.”

“And what should I call my most loyal customer, then?” One look down at his card and you would know, but you wanted him to tell you himself. 

“Spencer Reid.”

There is not really a sound reason as to why you walk so freely into his apartment. The first time he asked you to do this, he was going on a case and needed someone to water his plants. As it turn out, your store is quite literally across the street from his building and you don’t really mind the mindless task, so you tell him to not worry, you’ll take care of it. It had been a few months since you two met, five or so, and despite taking you some time to truly understand, you got used to the fact that Spencer created a routine for both of you, knocking on your shop’s door every Monday at precisely 8 in the morning. With time, you stopped questioning him even when you had many, many questions– was he even reading all these books? If yes, how?! Every visit, he left with three books or more, and unless he pulled all nighters every night, those were simply sitting on his desk. 

Instead, you start putting a few titles aside whenever you spot them. You start it with ‘A Gentleman From Peru’ by André Aciman, short and sweet. Next week it was ‘A Little Paris Bookshop’ by Nina George. Then ‘Cultish’ by Amanda Montell. And just like this, you two form your own little book club, his visits extending beyond their usual thirty minutes into the better part of the hour to talk about the plot, the characters, the arcs. You know there is quite a lot you don’t know about Spencer, of course there is, but you learn more and more with every little debate you two have. You learn about his morals through the character he likes, and his dreams through the plots he enjoy. You learn about his photographic memory that allows him to quote his favourite sections to you, and you learn that he is a very logical man through his hatred for the inaccuracy of investigative books. You learn and you learn and you learn and you find out that you like learning about Spencer. More than you like learning about anyone else, that is, and now, every time he walks in, you can’t help but get excited, smiling as you only imagine what you would learn that day. 

Sometimes, you did notice the absence of your favourite customer. He would disappear for weeks on end and then act like nothing happened, and you get it; he doesn’t owe you anything, you’re just the lady that sells him books, but you feel like there is something that is starting to bloom when, every time he comes back, he brings you a book. “I thought you’d like it,” Is all he says before leaving with his bag of new reads. For a moment, it’s like an exchange, but Spencer never demands anything of you; never asks for anything more than new books and recommendations. 

It’s quite rewarding finding the books you sold him scattered through the apartment. There are a couple in the kitchen, open split on the counter and you smile fondly at the clumsy way he marks his books. There is no folded page, no book marker, no random picture; just his book, cover facing up, open and splitting the spine in half enough to crease. You shake your head, smiling like he’s done this just to rile you up.

“Oh my god, don’t!”

You don’t mean to shout but it’s too late. His eyes widen in shock and he immediately freezes, mouth stuck in a little ‘o’ shape that makes you blush. “What did I do?” 

The wince in your expression is as visible as the light of day when you speak. Your hands hover in the air, unsure of what to do now, but still trying to do something. “The book, Spencer,” The words come out like a whine, and if you start stomping your feet you might as well look like a child. “The spine. The book. The– oh my god, the noise!”

The way he laughs at you is contagious, and you start laughing with him, face hidden behind your hands in embarrassment. Owning a bookshop doesn’t come for free. Your particularities when it comes to your literary treasures are enough to scare any sane person away. “You know, there are worse sounds than a book’s spine breaking,” He mused, closing the book before walking to your counter. His nimble fingers drum a soft rhythm as he waits for you to go around and charge him for the book. It’s a symphony, almost; so loud in your quiet store that, for a second, your heart is tuning in, thumping as his fingers do, beating to the song he creates. 

“You don’t have to buy it,” It’s a little ridiculous how airy your voice sounds then. Aren’t you a little too old to have a crush? “It’s okay if–“ But he doesn’t even let you finish, rattling off some facts about the writer. Most of the time, actually, he is rattling off some fact about something, and some you know, some you don’t, but you never interrupt him. You like hearing him talk. 

You miss hearing him talk. Whenever Spencer leaves, you miss him. You miss the knock on your shop’s door at 8AM. You miss the shy little chuckles. You miss the purple– the constant, always there purple. A wave of sadness hits you then, looking around the apartment with a longing expression. 

The first time he calls you over, it’s not really an invitation. A week before it happens, he doesn’t show up for your Tuesday unboxing and you have to carry all the new orders inside by yourself. It takes double the time and despite the effort it takes you, it’s the absence of his coy chuckles and snarky commentary that leaves you breathless. When you open the boxes, checking inventory to make sure there had been no issues with your order, you find the book Spencer asked you to get him. It’s one of those special books, so old and unique that you could only get your hands on it because you had contacts in the space. “Huh,” You frown at that– it isn’t like Spencer to forget something. Hell, it isn’t like Spencer to forget anything. Before you can cower away from doing it, you send him a text. You have his number saved in the system, and this feels wrong, it really does. Using his personal information that he gave to you as a client felt wrong. But for a second, it makes you stop biting your nails in anxiety. 

Your book is here. 

It’s Y/N, by the way. 

He doesn’t answer right away and you wallow in your regret for as long as you can. Your shoulders hunch forward as you line up the new arrivals in the shelves. Your frown sits on your forehead all day while you help other passing customers. Your hands brush against the book, all ready and wrapped up and sitting on top of the counter. You hate waiting; you hate waiting for someone or for something to happen as if you’re praying for a miracle. Literature has taught you many lessons in life. It has shown you countless of love stories that could’ve been resolved with a simple conversation. It has told you about people that waited and waited and waited until time passed them away. It has taught you that waiting is simply delaying the inevitable. 

But what literature has not taught you is that, sometimes, waiting truly is all you can do. 

That day, you don’t get a message back. 

You get a call instead. 

“Y/N?” The familiar voice on the other side speaks before you can and your shoulders tense up. Something is wrong. He sounds hoarser than usual, airier, too. 

“Spencer,” You say back, clearing your throat of any remnants or indicators of how nervous you are. “Spencer, are you okay? You sound rough.”

Even his laugh sounds weak and a zap of worry rushes through you. “I’m fine,” He mumbles, and you know he’s saying it out of politeness. “I just got sick. I think I have a cold, it’s nothing much, really.”

The relief that washed over you in crashing waves is almost embarrassing. Even though he is not there to witness it, your face still flushes in a dramatic red. “Oh. I see. Sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you–“

“It’s not a bother,” The way his voice interrupts you, so strong and concise, makes you chuckle. “You’re not a bother. I uh, I’m glad to hear my book arrived.”

For a moment, you both stay quiet. You, on your end of the line, are nodding like he can see you. Except he can’t. Except he is waiting, probably, for you to say something. Do something. “I can bring it to you. If you want.”

This time, there is no pause. “Yes. I mean, yes, please. I– I don’t have anything new to read and–” Spencer pauses to cough and you start moving immediately. There is no one in the store and you quickly change the sign to ‘closed’, grabbing his book and your bag before locking the door behind you. There is a pharmacy at the end of the block and you keep your cellphone balanced between your shoulder and ear while your hands make sure you have your wallet with you. “Sorry.”

“No problem at all,” You cross the street in such a hurry that you don’t notice the traffic, getting a symphony of horns calling you out as you run to the other side of the street. “Shit…”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” You tease, laughing a little and entering the pharmacy with purpose. “So just a cold, right?”

“Y/N, where are you?”

“Out,” There is no need to be vague, but you don’t want to give him a chance to protest. “I should be at yours in fifteen minutes with the book.”

“Just the book?” He asks in such a suspicious tone that you can’t hold back a laugher. 

“What else?” Thank god for automatic cashiers speeding up this entire process. You are in an out in less than five minutes and before he can even answer, you are almost at his door. Admittedly, you are speed walking, almost running, in a futile attempt to get there sooner. “Which apartment do I buzz?”

“Apartment 23.” And that is the end of the call. 

By the time you make it to his floor, panting just as you hike the last step upwards, he is already waiting for you, and you can’t say you’re terribly bothered to have a man like Spencer Reid waiting for you by the door. “Spencer,” You still admonish, a small smile playing on your lips. “You shouldn’t be out and about like this.” 

“Then who would let you in?” The mischief in his expression, much like that of a child making an innocent joke, makes you giggle, nodding in agreement. “Do you want to come inside? I promise everything is clean, I’m not a slob or anything.”

“Yeah, let me come in so I can give you your stuff.” 

“I knew it wasn’t just the book,” The coughing fit that followed has you rushing your hands, pulling things out of your bag in a desperate attempt to get him the medicine you bought. This had always been your curse, the flustering anxiety of wanting to help but being unable to take your time. Shaky hands push the book towards him, with the medication and some old receipts stuck to it. 

“Oh shit, sorry!” You squeak, grabbing the receipts and shoving it back in your bag. One of these days, you’d have to close the store early to clean this thing. “But uh, yeah, I got you some cold medicine and your book. I’m sure you know this with your big brain and all, but you need to take this before bed, cause it makes you drowsy, and this other one in the morning since it has caffeine! And you should be good in no time… hopefully!”

In life, a pause is not always a bad thing. It’s a time to think. A time to appreciate, to enjoy. It’s a time to be. A pause, however, from the man whose brain worked a thousand miles an hour, doesn’t feel like something to be thankful for. “Is… Do you not like that brand? I didn’t want to get the generic thing, I don’t know why, I–“

“Thank you.”

At first, you barely hear it. For someone whose voice is so rough and hoarse, you’re surprised he can still sound so smooth and airy. Your reaction is obvious; he can see the blush in your cheeks and the way you bite back a smile. “Y/N, thank you, I really appreciate it,” He says it again and now you think he just wants to get a rise of you. “You didn’t have to.”

“I know,” You shrug, faking humbleness while you keen at his praise. “I wanted to.”

“I know.” 

There is a dance that happens after that, one that you find yourself enjoying quite a bit. Spencer is more present than ever, and you’re getting used to having him around. It’s like you two broke the glass wall the kept you at a safe distance, and now is when you two discover each other a bit better. Like how you find out that, when Spencer’s hand lays on the cashier counter, just an inch or less away from yours, you feel the heath that it emanates. Like how your fingers curl and your palms itch at the sight of his shaggy curls falling on top of his beautiful eyes. Like how his laughter is deep when it’s true and dry when it’s forced. Like how he can read 20,000 words per minute, but he chooses to read 183 instead just so he can read you passages out loud.

You are not sure what he has learned about you, or if he even cares to learn something about you, but the thought still makes you smile. “What’s gotten you so smiley so early in the morning?” 

Ah, yes; another thing you’ve learned about Spencer Reid– he is as quiet as mouse when he wants, and as loud as an elephant when he doesn’t. “My god!” You jump, hand immediately going to your heart to try and keep it from beating our of your chest from the shock. “Spence! You scared me!”

“I’m so sorry,” He laughs, raising his hands in the air, shaking the two cups of coffee he is holding. “I come in peace.”

“And with bribery, I like your style.” 

His style doesn’t change, still haven’t. For ages, you think he buys you coffee at the nearby cafe. You don’t really know the name of the place, some cliche Cafe something something, but the one time you’ve been in there the coffee was terrible and the music too loud. It’s hard picturing your shy, smiley book-lover in there, trying to order something without raising his voice. It’s only when you see the go-to paper cups on his counter, on the fourth or fifth time you come around, that you realise Spencer has never gone to that cafe to begin with. 

The cups are still there. You make a point in spotting them every time you come over– next to the microwave, close to the paper towels. The reminder that this man has, in fact, been making you coffee most mornings validates the fluttery feeling you have whenever you think of it. It makes it somewhat logical. “I must be spending too much time with him,” You mumble to yourself, pushing your sleeves up and getting to work. You are there for a reason, and if those wilting plants die on you, you fear that you might just never be invited back. “Why does he even have plants?” 

You don’t know much about Spencer’s job. He hasn’t told you anything about it except that he travels a lot for it, but you can imagine it is something of importance– a man like Spencer was someone of importance, after all. In your mind, you can imagine him walking into an office down by the Financial District, working with big corporations as an advisor. Yes, you can absolutely see him as some sort of advisor or consultant, but something about him working in finances doesn’t sit right with you– he is yet to talk to you about crypto investments and how to better implement a payment system into the store. Shaking your head, you switch it up. Financial services, aren’t quite right, but maybe an editor, working in a publishing house. With the way he devours books and how well-rounded his personal library was, you could see him as a Publishing Director instead, reading manuscript after manuscript. 

The thought of him reading brings a smile to your face. In his living room, there is an armchair that sits next to the large window on the west wall of his apartment– he says he likes how the sunset hits and makes the pages look warm and golden, turning words into a burning fire of knowledge– and you can practically see him there, blanket over his legs, books and books pilled next to it. It’s your own little secret, how every time you come over, you grab a book, any book, and you sit there for thirty minutes, forty, fifty, an hour; until the sun has completely set and you have to get up to turn the lights on. 

Today, when you sit down, when you bring your knees up, when you drape the blanket over you, something feels incredibly right and incredibly wrong. On the pile of books next to you, right at the top, lays a copy of Gulliver’s Travels. If you remember correctly, which you usually do, last time you sat down at that spot you managed to read up to chapter five before the sun was gone. When you grab the book and you see the bookmark you gave Spencer the second time he visited the store, and you frown– usually, he’d pick up from where you left off. “How long has it been since you last came home, Spencer?” You muttered out loud, grabbing the book regardless. Because even when it breaks your heart to know something has been keeping him away from his precious nook, it fuels your heart to know he leaves your book where you can easily pick it up. To know he doesn’t mind you sitting on his armchair, to know he doesn’t mind you reading his books, to know he doesn’t mind you settling, somehow, in his house. 

A knock on his door, however, breaks you away from your precious moment of rest and relaxation. For a moment, you can’t move, frozen in place light a kid that has been caught doing something wrong. It’s only when they knock again that you move, shuffling to the door to look through the peephole. “Who is it?” You ask, voice weak and shaky. 

“I have a delivery for Spencer Reid.”

How silly you feel in that moment, hand over your heart as you take a deep breath in relief. Unlocking the door, you smile to the USPS guy. “Sorry, he isn’t home right now. I can take it for him.” All you have to do is sign it and close the door, but once you put the package on the counter and your eyes catch sight of a note scribbled on top of the box, all those butterflies inside of you slow down. And find perch. And for a second, make you miss them just like you miss him. 

The first time you think Spencer might have a girlfriend is when he comes into the store with a certain look in his face. He is practically glowing and his eyes don’t leave his phone for a second. “What has you smiling like that?” You two are close enough to ask these kind of things now, making jokes about each other as if you have been friends for ages. “Or uh, who?” Even though you started the conversation, you want to end it now. There is a sour aftertaste in your mouth when you suggest another person to be cause of his happiness, and you know, right there and then, that that is just your jealousy speaking. At this point, you’ve been harbouring a crush on Spencer for the almost two months and there’s only so much a girl can take before exploding. 

“Oh, it’s just a friend.” Somehow, this answer doesn’t settle you as much as you hoped it would. 

The second time is when he brings a woman around. She is blonde, and loud, and colourful, and you eye her carefully. They are matching costumes, and for a second, without even saying, you already feel left out. It’s stupid, being this green over someone so pink. If Spencer was purple, and if you are green, than that woman was pink– she is happy and light and exciting. Next to her, you… well, you are as muted as his green walls. “Y/N!” He calls for you with such a big smile and you just don’t have it in you to pretend to be busy anymore. 

“Hey Spencer,” It comes out quiet and a bit distant, but he doesn’t seem to notice, not with the way he is going back and forth on the ball of his heels. “And hello, ma’am. Welcome, I’m Y/N Y/L/N, the owner. Please let me know if you need any help.”

That day, you two barely talk, but that’s okay, because Penelope, as she introduced herself to you after you help her find a specific book on coding, speaks for both of you. She says that it’s lovely to finally meet you, and mentions how much she has heard about you, and you think this is a very cruel thing to do to your poor, squeezing heart. But you push through. You pretend you’re tired, you apologise for the distance, and you lie about a cough. It’s better if they stay away, you say, but Spencer doesn’t buy it. Instead, he buys Penelope her book and leaves with promises of coming back the next day with your usual coffee. 

After that, you don’t see Spencer for two weeks.

It’s a bittersweet feeling when you get the text that he is back. After almost a week and a half without seeing him, you miss Spencer. He created a space for himself in your life and in your store, and when he is gone, it’s just not the same. But just like how he did, you created a space for yourself in his apartment. Suddenly, the muted green walls aren’t claustrophobic or smothering, but comforting. They are safe. Familiar. They are Spencer. And just like you said, you miss Spencer.

“Y/N!” 

You should be happier to hear his voice, but it’s not the same. The fluttering in your stomach is still there, like a slow buzz trying to come alive, but it’s not the same. Not when the note on the box, flashing like neon signs behind your close lids, has been tormenting you and your poor heart ever since you made the mistake of opening the door. “Y/N? Are you here? The door says open…” At one point or another, you have to come out of hiding and face him. Delaying the moment, though, is the best defence plan you’re able to come up with– if you look into Spencer’s eyes, if you see that pretty smile he has every time he comes back from a work trip… you’re fucked. 

“Y/N, I need you to tell me if you’re here!” It’s not the same. 

His voice. It’s not the same.

Usually mellow and undulating, Spencer sounds stiff, like he’s holding something back. Something new. Something… heavy. There is an edge to him right now, so sharp and cutting that it has you stepping out from behind the Science shelf in pure curiosity. And just like people say, curiosity killed the cat. In this case, however, it almost kills you. 

When you turn the corner to find him by the door, the first thing you see is a man. He is tall and handsome and oddly serious. The way his brows are pulled together make you falter, steps slowing down and mouth opening to ask if he needs help.

That’s when you see it. 

More like you catch a quick glimpse of it, the shinning spark of metal to your side, and you do a double take. You have to do a double take. It’s like your brain doesn’t believe what you’re seeing, and you move your head so fast you feel your neck tensing up in that way that makes your eyes water. “WHAT THE FU– OH MY GOD!” There is no way to throw yourself against a wall graciously, arms over your head and fear written all over face. You land in an awkward angle and your shoulder takes the brunt of the shock, making you gasp in pain while your legs give our under you. 

Of all the ways you’ve imagined Spencer, him holding a gun up to your head was never one of them. “Y/N!”

“Oh my god!” You think you might pass out– you’re breathing too fast and your chest is squeezing, squeezing, squeezing to the point of physical pain. There is a ringing in your ears, muffling the entire conversation between Spencer and the other man and even though you try, you can’t look up; you’re frozen in a state of distress. For the first time since you met him, you’re scared of Spencer Reid. “I– I– Oh my god, I c-can’t– I can’t b-breathe, I can’t–“

“Y/N, look at me! Look at me, you’re okay, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry,” The moment his hand touches your shoulder, you’re shrinking away. 

“Who are you?!” You manage to gasp enough air into your lungs to scream at him. One shake hand moves to the back of your neck, pressing down on the sore nape as you finally move to look at him, crying and all. “Spencer, who are you? Who is he? What is happening? Why do you have a gun in my bookshop, why–“

“Ma’am, I need you to take deep breaths,” The other man quickly holsters his gun and you actually think you might be going insane when flashes you a badge. “I’m SSA Derek Morgan, I work with Spencer. We are with the FBI.”

Federal Bureau of Investigation. Spencer is a fed. And he never told you. 

“The FBI…?” You whisper, eyes going wide and breath hiccuped in your throat. “S-Spencer, you work for the FBI?” Nothing about this makes sense to you. The gun, forgotten in his left hand and now pointing down and away from you, is all you can look at. The gun that looked heavy and cold. The gun that those hands hold– the same hands you’ve wished and, admittedly, dreamed of holding yours instead. The gun, the gun, the gun.

The gun. You’ve never seen a gun before, not this close. In museums, of course, and in movies and shows, but never in real life. You don’t have interest in it either, having voted, without fail, for anti-gun laws and representatives. Anything and everything about this, about seeing him with that deadly weapon, feels wrong, and you really think you might be sick soon.

“Kid, put it away, you’re freaking her out.” 

Then is when you catch sight of the Spencer you know. It’s the clumsy actions, looking almost freaked out himself– his hands fumble with the holster and it takes him a couple of tries to fit the gun properly. That’s when you know for sure– you are going to be sick. “Trash,” You mumble, trying to get up but falling again and again. “Trash, pass me the–“ But there is no time and you throw up right there and then, between the cashier and the nonfiction section. 

“What just happened?” 

“Morgan, get her some water– there, over the counter,” The rapid successions of words make you feel a bit better, a cadence of tone and rhythm that has your hands finally stabilising. “Y/N, you’re in shock. Adrenaline kicked in and left, and you pressured crashed, which is what made you nauseous. You need water, and to come sit by the counter.”

It’s funny, how in any other circumstance, you’d be ashamed and embarrassed to have gotten ill in front of him. As far as you know, Spencer is a germaphobe and this surely counts as germs. But as he grabs your hands, gentler than you’ve ever seen him grab any book in your store, and brings you to your chair behind the counter, you wonder if he forgot or simply doesn’t care. Both options don’t make sense. “Spence, what is going on?” Your voice comes out winey and rough, and there is no way to hold back the pained wince when you feel the sting spreading through your throat. Sip by sip, you try your best to drink the water and soothe yourself, but nothing seems to help. 

Nothing until you hear him next to you, small and quiet and, dare you say, meek. “I’m sorry.”

As much as you’d like to tell him he has nothing to be sorry for, he does. “I see…”

“It was just… it was new, having someone not know I’m FBI,” His thumbs play with each other and you’ve known him long enough to recognise that Spencer is nervous. “And we started getting closer and I just didn’t find an opportunity to tell you.”

“There were plenty,” You clarify, feeling a bit of a bitch for the bite in your voice making him gulp. “But it’s okay. I’m not… I’m not anything of yours, I guess, so it’s okay. You don’t owe me anything.”

“Don’t say that. You’re my friend.” That hurt.

“Do you point a gun at all your friends or am I just special, Spence?” It is supposed to be a joke, but the memory makes your bottom lip start wobbling again and you feel stupid. You feel so, so incredibly stupid right now that you can’t even begin to explain why. “Sorry, I’m just– I’m not okay.”

“I know, and we’re sorry,” There is such raw honesty in his words and he manages to make you smile a little. Your hand is still shaking, but you stretch it out towards him regardless. It’s a conscious decision to hold onto his wrist, covered by his jacket, than to reach out for his palm, and from the way he looks at you, you know he recognises the effort. “But you need to come with us.”

“Why?” You cry out, a single tear coming out of the corner of your eye. At this point, the shock is going away and you’re more overwhelmed than anything else. You’re scared and confused and overwhelmed and it’s his pulse, beating again and again, that brings you back to Earth. “Why do I need to go with you? What is going on?”

“Y/N, when you were housesitting for me, you received a package, right?”

In the midst of everything, the memory of that day, that box, that note, all fade. Frowning, you shrugged. “The delivery man knocked and said he had a package for you… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude, I–“

“No, no, no, you didn’t, you didn’t. Please.”

“Ma’am, when you signed for the package, did you use your name?” The man, Morgan, ask, and all you do is nod. Of course you signed with your name. “Kid, we need to take her to the office now.”

“I am not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on!”

Finally, some energy in you. Some strength. Your voice echoes in the empty shop, and the chair tips back when you stand up on stiff legs. Looking at Spencer is hard, when you feel the burning of your rage inside, but you still do; you still meet those pretty brown eyes, you still stare him down until you practically force the answers off of him. “The package… did you see who it was from?” 

“Spencer, are you insinuating you’ve pointed a gun at me because I read a message your girlfriend wrote on the package she sent you?! Because I didn’t mean to– I didn’t! It just… It was there, right at the top and I–“

“She is not my girlfriend,” He immediately cut you off, hands waving in front of him in a visual demonstration of desperate denial. “Not at all! I don’t have a girlfriend! I was–“

“We can deal with this later,” Morgan is quick to interrupt, sighing as he looked at you. “Y/N, we re really sorry to disrupt you like this, but this is for your own protection. Please lock the store and let’s go.”

It takes time for you to gather everything you need. You are not a disorganised person by any means, but suddenly, you can’t remember where you put what. Your bag is thrown under the cashier, and your keys are, for some reason, in the Fiction shelf. Your glasses are in your head the entire time, and Morgan has to point that out to you. The more you look, the more flustered you get, yet somehow, you make it to the car. Morgan is driving and Spencer is on the passenger seat, and the way they keep talking to each other using words that make no sense to you make you want to scream. “Spencer.”

The heaviness of his name, said with such emotion,, lingered in the air. His eyes meet yours through the rearview mirror, and he nods. “Yeah?"

“Spencer,” You whisper again, eyes wide in shock as reality starts to dawn. “Spencer, if she’s not your girlfriend, then who the fuck is Cat Adams?”

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

AAAAAhhhhh I'm trying something new >.< I've been a massive criminal minds fan for a long, long time and Dr. Spencer Reid has my heart <3

Please let me know what you think, this is my first Spencer fic and I'd love if it got to turn into a series!

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

Jealousy

Three times Jason gets jealous during dates and one time you do (Pre-established relationship) ~1.6k words

You're perfect. Funny. Smart. Gorgeous. Jason's life has never been better since he's asked you to be his partner. (Okay, hush, you asked him, but he was getting there, he swears, he had this twelve step plan and everything. Tim was going to jump off a ledge while throwing rose petals. Rose petals!)

He can't find a single problem with how your relationship is going. Well, expect, how everyone else seems to want your attention you too.

The little Café you wanted to try is nice, really. The guy behind the counter that's been staring at you since you both got here? Not so nice. It's annoying, how the guys gaze seems to linger on your legs, your smile, the way you brush your hair back. It's a struggle to focus on your words– but not a struggle to watch the way your lips move when you talk.

The worker takes a step out from behind the counter.

Oh hell no.

Jason's on his feet and pulling out the chair next to you in an instant, between one word your pretty voice is saying and the next, he's sitting by your side with an arm draped around your shoulder.

He loses his train of thought when you smile, pleased, and raise an eyebrow.

"What's this for, Jason?"

"Wanted to hear you better." He says, or he thinks he says that. He's too busy watching the creep slink back behind the counter, satisfaction growing in his chest.

You laugh. (He thinks angels might descend from the sky when you do.) And go back to telling your story. It's much easier to listen this time. That's what he tells himself, at least until your thigh presses against his.

Gotham Zoo is actually really nice for, you know, Gotham. Bruce poured money into it before, but ever since Damian found out about it, he's practically ensured the place will run ethically and comfortably for the next 100 years. Which Jason thought was cool, but it's even cooler that he gets to watch his partner coo over the new petting zoo.

"Aw, Jason, look at the lambs! They're so soft. I wanna take one home." You sound giddy, eyes bright and smile wide. He can't quite pull his focus away from you to see which creature you're referring to.

"They're pretty cute." He responds instead. Not cuter than you, though.

"Could you imagine one for the apartment? They'd sleep in bed with us. It would be like cuddling a cloud." You say idly, fingers stoking the top of the animals head.

That makes him pause. How'd he cuddle you if there's some barn animal in the middle of the bed? There's no way he could get close enough to you if some pet you found cute was cuddled between you. He clears his throat. "Well, ah, I don't know how the landlord feels about lambs but you can always cuddle me? I'm– I could be soft?" Wow, okay. Not what he wanted to say. He cringes a little.

But you stand up, smiling brighter and gaze focused on him. That settles the feeling in the pit of his stomach. You curl your fingers with his and take his hand, pulling it to your face to kiss his knuckles. "You're my favorite thing to cuddle, you know."

Oh. "Huh. I mean, good." He stumbles out. No, his ears are definitely not feeling warm. And no, his heart isn't beating faster as he follows you towards the next enclosure. "I could wear wool, though? If you wanted?"

That makes you laugh. Eyes trailing to him with such fondness he nearly sinks to his knees. Until he sees the playfulness etched in your face. "I saw you petting those rabbits early. I could wear bunny ears? If you wanted?"

He chokes on air. You might be trying to kill him. His whole face feels as heated as his ears. "Wow. I– if you wanted?"

You giggle, pulling away to observe the next lucky animal that you see.

"Hey. Wait–" He says your name, voice a little pitched. "Did you want–?" You only wink at him. That shuts him. And if he spends the rest of the date a little distracted, well, you seem proud that you managed to make him so flustered.

Your coworker has been talking to you for thirteen minutes and fourty-seven seconds. Jason knows this because he's been watching the clock since he got here. It happens more often than not, him walking you home from work. He shows up fifteen minutes early because he knows you'll slip out given the chance. Something about not taking up too much of his time. Don't you know you're the only one he wants to spend his time with?

Jason crosses his arms, eyes narrowing at your coworker. Three inches. That's the amount of space your coworker has moved closer to you since he's gotten here. Not respectable at all. Doesn't he know you're with Jason? Maybe he should have stopped into that jewelry store he was eyeing earlier. And called Tim to put in an order for rose petals.

Your coworker shifts another inch towards you. And that's it. Your shift has thirty-five seconds left and that's exactly the amount of time it takes for him to be by your side. His arm slips around your waist comfortably, like it belongs there, because it does. He kisses your cheek and lets his gaze settle on your coworker. And if his face is a little more threatening than usual, he definitely isn't trying to intimidate your coworker. (Yes, he is.)

"Ready to go home, sweetheart?" He drawls, body relaxed like he isn't torn between showing your coworker exactly who you're dating and pushing down the jumble of emotion in his throat. "I was thinking take out for dinner?"

You relax into his side. Oh. You relaxed into his side and you're smiling at him. It evens out the pounding in his heart he didn't even realize was happening. The tension threatening to take over his shoulders disappears like it never existed.

"Yeah, Jason, I'm ready. I missed you. Just let me clock out." You pull away– 'no' he starts to think– and then you take his hand, pulling him along with you.

"I missed you too." He answers, and you don't quite see the smug grin he sends over his shoulder to your coworker.

Jason's perfect. Funny. Smart. Gorgeous. Willing to try new things. A total package. That's something you know about your boyfriend. So when he agreed to go dancing with you at Gothams newest club, you were excited. A whole night spent enjoying time with your boyfriend. And you both get to dress up a little. You feel hot, and he definitely looks hot. You didn't think that'd be an issue. But, it is. Because you can see your boyfriend getting held up by two of the prettiest girls you've ever seen.

He's holding two drinks, one for himself and one he went to get for you. It soothes the tightness in your throat that he does not look thrilled to be talking to them. The softness he has when he's with you gone, replaced with poorly masked annoyance.

Any comfort you were feeling from the look on his face disappears when one of the girls puts her hand on his arm, giggling like he's said the funniest thing in the world. Absolutely not. You're walking over to them before Jason even has time to shrug her hand from his arm.

"Hey, honey." You say, voice sweet and sugary as you take one of the drinks from his hand, hooking your arm through his and tucking yourself against him. "Everything okay?"

It makes your heart flutter everytime, the way his entire face seems to change when he looks at you. "Hey, baby. Yeah. Everything's okay. Didn't mean to take so long. Were you worried?" He asks, leaning down to press a kiss to your hair.

The girls seem to deflate at how his complete attention is on you, how he instinctively shifts until you're pressed flushed against his side, two pieces of a whole. You have to force back the pride that threatens to glint in your eyes. "Not worried. I just was getting bored without you."

Neither of you really look over at the girls when they murmur something about catching up with their friends, but Jason manages a polite nod. Once they're gone, his grin widens, eyes teasing. "You were jealous. You called me honey."

You gasp in mock offense, yes, honey isn't the first term of endearment you jump to, but it's a perfectly valid word for him. "Jealous? Jealous that my tall, dark, sweet, and handsome boyfriend was getting hit on?"

He laughs, you think you might have swooned in a different time. "C'mon, pretty. Give me this. I saw you watching."

You can't help but smile at him and wonder, vaugley, if he knows you'd give him anything he asked of you. "Yeah, yeah. I was a little jealous. But, don't think I don't notice when you get jealous. Now, come dance with me. I like this song."

Now it's his turn to gasp, faux denial on his face. "I have never, not once in my life, been jealous."

You roll your eyes, playful and light as you pull him along to the dance floor. "Alright, lover boy. Because you're definitely not the reason my coworker wouldn't talk to me for a week."

He looks pleased at that. "He didn't?"

You raise yourself on your toes, kissing his cheek and leaving a smudge of lipstick. Neither of you move to wipe it off. "Mm. No. He didn't."

"Nice." He mumbles, unhooking your arms so he can hold your waist as you reach the dance floor. "I do get jealous too, though, sometimes."

Laughing, you find the beat of the music together and your world centers on him, just how his centers on you. "I know."

[krirebr]

Luck Be a Lady

Pairing: soft!dark Curtis Everett x female reader

Word Count: ~10.1k

Summary: Desperate for money, you accept a job as a cocktail waitress at an underground casino. You think you know what you're doing, but when you meet Curtis, will you realize you're in over your head?

Warnings: Mob AU, violence, allusions to murder, explicit language, dubcon touching, noncon touching (not Curtis), willfully oblivious reader, SMUT - facefucking, dirty talk, light d/s dynamics, praise kink, other explicit sexual content. This is definitely on the darker end of the soft!dark spectrum, so proceed with caution! All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

Dividers by @thecutestgrotto

Masterlist

A/N: And here it finally is! This is my first real attempt at soft!dark. I hope I did it right! 😂

This was inspired by two things: 1) me going to a rep screening of Goodfellas and spending the entire time wondering why I hadn't done a mob au yet and 2) @bigtreefest saying "enforcer!Curtis Everett and mob boss!Andy Barber" in my general direction. Thanks for the inspo, friend!!

And big thanks as always to @paperweight91 who not only came up with Curtis's name for reader but also offered heaps of encouragement and was a great sounding board. And thanks to @stargazingfangirl18 for helping me figure out how exactly we'd get to the smut. Thanks Siri!

Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. Please come scream at me about this! 😄 As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜

You fruitlessly tug down your very short skirt as Holly talks at you. You’re both standing in the corner of the bar’s basement waiting for the night to start in earnest—your first night.

“Lloyd’s not so bad,” she says of your boss, the man who runs this little underground gambling ring. “You’ll have to split your tips with him at the end of the night, but he doesn’t take that much, and you’ll make enough that you won’t really notice. As long as you do that, he’ll mostly keep his hands to himself.”

You nod along, glancing at the mustachioed man conferring with the bouncer at the door. The interview process for this job had boiled down to a thorough once-over that’d made you feel naked in your jeans and t-shirt and a “You’re not too stupid to take a drink order, are you?” and then you had the job.

Holly had vouched for you. Neighbors for almost half a year, she’d come home early one morning last week and witnessed you trying to convince the landlord that you were good for your past-due rent. She’d taken you for coffee and told you she might be able to help if you were good at keeping your head down and mouth shut. And now you were here.

“The customers, on the other hand,” she continues, smacking her gum, “you’ll have to let them touch, at least a little bit. Within reason, you know? But if anything gets out of hand, you can just tell Jake at the door and he’ll take care of it.”

“Within reason?” you ask, voice shaking, just the littlest bit, as the pit that started forming in your stomach when you agreed to this grows a little more.

The look she gives you verges on exasperated. “Well, you want to make money, don’t you?”

Yes, you do. Very much so. It’s a need, not a want. So you nod and try to listen as she keeps giving you the rundown. 

Before you’re ready, the first patrons start trickling in and then you’re off to the races. It’s not too bad. No one’s orders are too complicated, mostly just bottles of beer and glasses of straight whiskey. The bartender, Colin, is friendly enough, although you learn that he’s another person you’ll need to split your tips with. 

As for the touching, there are hands on your hips, pats to your ass. But you’re rewarded with folded-up bills held up between fingers or tucked into the strap of your top. Or, twice, slid behind the waistband of your skirt. Once you realize that the majority of these bills aren’t ones or fives, but twenties, you care about the touching that comes with them much less. Plus, you’re too busy to really think about it that hard. 

You can’t believe how busy it is for a random Tuesday night, multiple games of poker, craps, and who knows what else all going at once. But when you mention that to Holly, she just laughs and shakes her head. “This is nothing,” she says. “On the weekends there’ll be three more of us and another one of Jake. Things get wild.” 

You don’t have time to decide whether that makes you nervous or excited before someone is signaling for your attention again. You manage to suppress your grimace when he slides his arm around your waist to tell you what he needs from the bar. You’re rewarded for your troubles by a wad of twenties. You aren’t sure who these men are to tip so freely, but you know better than to look a gift horse in the mouth.

It’s an hour or two later that Lloyd calls you over to where he’s speaking to a large, impossibly broad man, dressed in a soft-looking henley under a leather jacket with dark jeans. There’s dark ink all over his hands that disappears up his sleeves and reappears on his neck in intricate lines. He’s got close-cropped hair and a full beard that’s neatly trimmed. His deep blue eyes drill into you right away and you do your best not to shiver.

“Got a new girl tonight, Everett. Still learning the ropes, but she’ll take good care of you, won’t you, Cupcake?” 

“Yes, of course,” you say, before Lloyd wanders off to check on one of the poker games.

The man, Everett, lets his eyes rove over you. “Cupcake, huh?” His voice is deep, gritty, but there's something there that's much gentler than you expected.

You give him what you hope is a coy smile. “Sure. If you want.” Lloyd was treating him like he's important. You hope important means deep pockets.

He hits you with a penetrative stare, so strong you almost have to take a step back. “No,” he finally says. “I don't think so. I'll find something more fitting.” Then he turns and starts to walk away, before calling over his shoulder. “I'm gonna get dealt in. Bring me a whiskey once I'm settled.”

You watch him go for just a moment, and then head to the bar, asking for a whiskey. 

“This for Everett?” the bartender, Colin, asks. When you nod, he grabs a fancy bottle off the top shelf. “This is all he drinks. And he doesn't pay for it, alright? Don't ever think about giving him a bill.” 

You look back at the man in question, seriously looking at the cards he’s just been dealt. Who is he???

You collect his whiskey and move back to him. As you set it down, he turns to you. “How about this?” he asks as he holds up a crisply folded hundred-dollar bill between two fingers. Your eyes widen at the money. All you’ve done is bring him one straight pour. “There’s another one of these in it for you if you make sure I never see the bottom of this glass tonight. Sound good?” And then he folds the bill one more time in his thick fingers, before sliding it under the low-cut neckline of your blouse. Your skin tingles where he brushes against it.

“Yeah, you got it,” you just breathe out, a little shocked you’re able to form words. He gives you a smug smile that you can only describe as shark-like before turning back to his cards, and you understand it as the dismissal that it is. 

You move around the room, collecting empties, getting refills, trying to goodnaturedly accept unsolicited touches. The whole time you feel eyes on you, but whenever you glance Everett’s way, he’s focused on his poker game.

Eventually, a down moment finds you catching your breath against the wall. The moment Holly sees you standing still, she’s quickly making her way to you. “You need to be more careful around Curtis,” she hisses, lowly.

You look at her, confused. “Curtis?” Jake’s at the door. Colin’s behind the bar. You don’t know a Curtis.

“Curtis Everett!” You glance at the man at the poker table. He’s running a poker chip across his knuckles mindlessly. Then he looks up and you briefly make eye contact before you quickly look away. Holly is staring at you and she looks worried. But the name still doesn’t mean anything to you, so you shake your head and shrug. She groans as quietly as she can. “He’s Barber’s top enforcer!”

This whole conversation feels so out of the blue that it takes you a minute to catch up. Barber. Andrew Barber. The most feared mob boss in the city. Probably the state. Maybe even more. Ruthless and exacting was how the papers described him. He’d been the subject of multiple stings and taskforces and whathaveyou but nothing ever stuck. “He works for Andrew Barber?” you ask, shocked and a little appalled.

Holly stares at you in a way that you can only describe as dumbfounded. It takes her a few moments to find her words, then, “Bitch, you work for Andrew Barber!”

Everything stops. “What?” you gasp.

“Oh my god,” Holly groans. “This was such a mistake. It’s an underground card game in his city! Who did you think was running things?”

“I– I don’t know,” you stutter, stupidly. The god’s honest truth is that you’d never really stopped to think about it. You’d been staring down an eviction, struggling to afford groceries. Unable to make ends meet no matter what you did. When Holly told you about this job, all you saw were dollar signs. You didn't think about anything further. Of course, you’d known these games were illegal, but it seemed so minor in the grand scheme of things. You hadn’t connected it to anything bigger because you just hadn’t wanted to.

But now– Now that you know the truth, what are you going to do? You know what you should do. You should walk out the door right now. You should find some other legitimate way to pay your bills. It’ll be safer. It’ll be better. It’ll be so much harder.

As you bite your lip, trying to process all of this information, Holly continues. “Listen,” she says, “still get him drinks, be friendly, whatever you need to do. But keep your distance however you can. Don't encourage him. He's just– He's really dangerous. They don't call him Barber’s attack dog for nothing, ok?”

“Yeah,” you say. You start to look back in Curtis’s direction but stop yourself. You think about the hundred you already have and the one promised to you at the end of the night. You think of how empty your pantry is. But then you see the genuine fear in Holly's eyes. You let out a shaky breath. “Yeah. I got it. Thanks.”

“He doesn't even come in here that often. I'm surprised to see him tonight, so I'm sure it’ll be fine,” she says, but you can tell she’s nervous.

You nod, absently, finally letting yourself glance over at him. His drink is getting close to the bottom. “Shit,” you mumble. “I gotta get him his refill.”

“Do you want me to do it?” Holly asks. 

You should let her do it. You absolutely should. But you just can’t give up on that tip. You shake your head. “No, I’ll be fine. But thanks.”

You head back to the bar and grab Curtis’s top-shelf whiskey of choice from Colin, then make your way to his table. You set it down next to him, hoping to move away without him even noticing, he’s so engrossed in the game. But as you take a step back, his hand shoots out to grab your wrist. He holds it tightly until you meet his eyes. “Good girl,” he murmurs, and you can’t help the sharp intake of breath or the way you feel his words in your knees. He strokes his thumb down the inside of your wrist, then abruptly lets go, pushing his chips to the middle of the table. You step away, gathering yourself as subtly as you can, and get back to work.

The rest of the night goes quickly. The crowd gets a little rowdier as they drink more, but you find that it’s nothing you can’t handle. The reality of who these people are, what they’re connected to, never leaves your mind. But really, they’re not so bad. None of this feels so bad at all. And soon, people start heading out. You’re beginning to clean up, when a recognizable voice rings out, “Bambi!” You turn and lock eyes with Curtis. He crooks two fingers at you and you quickly make your way over to him.

“Bambi?” you ask.

He grins at you and it feels more than a little predatory. You’ll never admit how much you like it. You try to keep Holly’s warning at the forefront of your mind. “Wide eyes and just getting your legs under you,” he says. You instinctively duck your head at that, which earns a dark chuckle. “Here,” he continues, as he pulls a genuine, fat money clip out of his back pocket. You’ve never seen something like it in real life before. He peels off two bills and holds them out to you. “This is what good girls get,” he says, a low rumble in his voice.

You swallow as you take them from him. Two hundred dollars. Twice what you were expecting. “Thank you,” you say quietly. 

He shakes his head. “You earned it.” Then, after one last long look at you, he turns around and leaves.

You stand and stare after him. You don’t doubt anything Holly said, but three hundred dollars, just for bringing him drinks. He doesn’t seem that bad, not really. A little intense maybe, but there’s some sort of interest there, and it can’t be that bad to encourage it, just a little if it earns you these sorts of tips, can it??

Any hesitance you have about this entire endeavor completely disappears as you count your money at the end of the night.

Your first week flies by. You're starting to get the hang of the job. You get along with your coworkers. You get to know the regulars. You like it. Even Lloyd isn’t so bad as long as you give him his cut at the end of every night.

And you’re making so much money.

In your downtime, you pay your landlord what you owe him. You go grocery shopping without scouring for coupons first or calculating exactly what you can afford beforehand. You make a Pinterest board of what you want your apartment to look like now that you might actually be able to buy things to fill it. For the very first time, you’re thinking about things you actually want, not just desperately trying to figure out how you’ll pay your bills. You’ve never felt this calm, this relaxed, this free before. It’s an incredible feeling.

And Curtis. Despite Holly’s reassurances that you wouldn’t see him much, he seems to be there whenever you are, trying to capitalize on his winning streak at the poker tables, you assume. His tips are still insanely generous. You don’t think he carries anything less than hundred dollar bills. 

And there’s just something about him. The way he looks at you. The way he touches you. It’s not like the other men here. His touch is like fire, warming from the inside. There’ve been times when his hand on your hip has almost made your knees buckle. That doesn’t happen with anyone else here.

But you’re being smart and you’re being safe. You are. You’re going to set a savings goal, you think. And once you hit that number, you’ll be out of here, onto something more legitimate. And until then, you’ll just keep your head down and mouth shut, like Holly said. You haven’t even really seen anything. It’s a good plan. It’ll be fine.

She’s right that the weekends are wilder. Even with three additional girls working the room, you’re kept running. You do your best to keep an eye on Curtis’s drinks, but it’s much harder than on weeknights. And you aren’t really able to pause when you drop them off. It’s one of these times, as you’re pulling away from the table as soon as you’ve set his glass down, that you’re stopped short by his hand on you. He pulls you back in by the wrist and says, “They’re just running you ragged tonight, huh, Bambi?”

You smile and shrug. “It’s busy.”

He holds out a bill and you try not to smile even wider as he slips it into the waistband of your skirt. “For all your hard work.”

You bat your lashes a little. “You spoil me.”

“I like spoiling you,” he says, lowly. 

“You’re too sweet,” you say softly. Then, pulling your arm away with a wink, you add, “Gotta run,” and you’re onto the next table.

You’re getting good at this, figuring out what level of harmless flirting is just enough to keep the money flowing. And you’re having fun. You’d never expected that.

Holly and two of the other girls, Jane and Kristi, are congregated at the end of the bar, waiting for drinks, when you join them. They’re all watching you warily. “So, uh,” Jane starts quietly, “you seem to be getting pretty cozy with Curtis.” 

Before you can respond, Holly scoffs behind her. “I’ve tried to warn her but she won’t fucking listen.”

You roll your eyes. You’re tired of hearing this. “I seriously don’t get what the big deal is. He’s nice and he tips well. It’s harmless!”

Kristi just gapes at you. “He’s nice?!”

Holly slams the drinks she was waiting for onto her tray. “Whatever,” she grumbles. “It’s her fucking funeral.”

You shake your head as you watch her go. It’s fine. You can take care of yourself.

The rest of the night goes by in a blur. You don’t get much of a chance to talk to Curtis, but you feel his eyes on you before he disappears a little before closing.

At the end of the night, once you’ve helped clean up, you cash out with Colin and Jake and then go to find Lloyd in his office. You think it’s kind of ridiculous that you’re basically paying him to work there, but it is what it is. And Holly was right, you’re making so much that you barely even notice. 

Lloyd is sitting at his desk, looking a little more disheveled than you’re used to. He startles at your approach, which is also new. 

“Oh, hey,” he says, with slightly rounded eyes. “What can I do for you?”

You look at him, a little confused. “Just here with your cut,” you say as you hold out his money.

His hands immediately fly up to his chest, palms out. “No, no,” he says. “You made that fair and square. You just– you keep what you make from now on, Cupcake. Sound good?”

You swallow and nod, preparing yourself for whatever other price you’ll have to pay for keeping your job, mentally calculating what you’re willing to do. But Lloyd doesn’t do anything, doesn’t make any move to get closer to you. Just stays there at his desk, turning back to his work. “You have a good night,” he says, clearly dismissing you. 

You leave confused, but richer, telling yourself not to question it too hard.

Things go so smoothly for a few weeks that you’re a little shocked when the bubble bursts. 

It’s a relatively quiet weeknight. There are a few games going, but nothing compared to the weekend. The pace of the night feels leisurely. It’s nice.

It’s maybe the first night you haven’t seen Curtis there. It feels weird. He’s become such a part of this place for you. A fixture, like the bar or the carpet. Just one of the elements that make it what it is. But it’s fine. Of course, he doesn’t come every night. He probably has a whole life outside of this. He must’ve gotten bored of playing cards. Oh well. It was nice while it lasted.

You’re passing the time talking to one of the regulars at the bar, Vinny. He’s in his fifties, you think, with gray hair and laugh lines. He’d gone bust at the poker table (or maybe it was craps tonight) earlier and then had moved to the bar to drink away his sorrows and bad luck. That was how his nights tended to go.

He’s sitting on a barstool, his arm around your waist where you stand next to him. He’s a little close for comfort, but he’s always just been a friendly guy, so you’re alright. Which is why you’re so surprised when, in the middle of a story about the good old days of the Copa Cabana, his other hand suddenly finds its way between your thighs. You freeze. For just a second. Then you force out a laugh and try to push his hand away. “Bad boy,” you try to tease, your voice shaking. His hand will not move. What is happening? “Come on, let’s keep our hands to ourselves.”

Instead of doing what you’ve asked, his thumb briefly brushes the inside of your leg and then his whole hand begins moving higher. You stop breathing. You push again but he won’t budge.

“You’re such a pretty doll, aren’tcha?” he says. 

Tears start to gather in your eyes. You look around wildly to see if anyone’s noticing what’s happening. Colin’s busy making drinks. Jake and Lloyd are talking by the door. Everyone else is engrossed in their own business. “Vinnie, stop, please,” you whisper. You don’t know why you can’t get your voice to work, can’t get your body to move.

“Come on,” he cajoles, “I’m being nice, aren’t I?” 

Then his thumb brushes against your panties and your entire body jolts into action. You wrench your leg out of his grasp and take several steps away from him. Your whole body is shaking now. “I gotta–” you start, trying to keep your tone casual and failing miserably. “I gotta get back to work, Vinny.” Then you grab your tray off the bartop and walk away as fast as you can.

You don’t really have a destination in mind. You pick up a few empties as you wander between tables. You can feel his eyes on you, following you. You try to take a deep breath, calm yourself down. It isn’t very helpful. You look up to see Jake by himself now. You make your way over to him, Holly’s words on your first night in your ears. That was out of hand, wasn’t it?

He looks up as you approach. His big golden retriever smile on his face. “Hey, what’s up?” Then he actually takes you in and his smile drops. “What happened?”

“Um, Vinny, he, uh–” You feel a few tears fall down your cheeks and you just shake your head.

Jake’s face darkens. “Did he hurt you?” 

“No, uh, he– he just–” You shake your head again. “No, he didn’t hurt me.”

Jake doesn’t say anything for a moment, just looks at you. There’s something about the way he does it that makes you think he understands everything you just can’t say. He nods once. “Alright. I’ll take care of it. You go take your time in the back. Do what you need to do. He’ll be gone by the time you’re done.”

You let out a shaky breath. “Okay, thank you,” you say so quietly. Then you get yourself to the back room as quickly as you can.

It’s really more of a hallway than a room, small and narrow. All of the storage space for the building is in the legitimate bar upstairs. But there’s enough room for you to crouch down, your knees pulled up tight to your chin. You bury your face in your thighs and let the tears you’ve been holding in finally fall. You’re okay. You’re okay. You’re safe. You’re fine. 

You don’t know how long you’ve spent trying to calm yourself down when a large shadow suddenly looms over you. It takes you a moment to gather your strength to find out who it is. You hope it’s Jake telling you Vinny’s gone. You’re afraid it might be Lloyd, here to tell you to get back to work. There’s a slowly building terror that it might be Vinny himself.

After a deep breath, you look up to find Curtis staring down at you, concern on his face and fiery anger in his eyes. “What happened?” he growls.

You shake your head and turn away. He crouches down in front of you. “Are you alright?”

A humorless, uncontrolled laugh escapes you. Once you finally stop, you ignore his question and ask your own, “Why are you here?”

It takes him a very long time to answer. He just looks at you seriously for several moments. Then, finally, “Jake called me.” While you try to figure out why on earth Jake would do that, he continues, “I'm sorry I wasn’t already here.”

“Why?” you blurt out without thinking. 

He looks away without saying anything. You both just sit in the silence for a few moments. Then, you try to change tactics. “Where were you?” you ask out of morbid curiosity. You can't imagine what his life is like outside of here.

“Working,” he says curtly. He plays with a ring on his middle finger and the movement draws your eyes to his hands, specifically his knuckles. They're scraped and caked with dried blood. 

You swallow and you catch how his eyes track the movement. His eyes are always on you. He catches everything. 

“Someone touched you?”

“Lots of people touch me,” you say, flatly. “It's part of the job. You touch me.”

His eyes narrow at that. “But this was different.” It isn’t a question.

You look down at your hands in your lap and don't say anything. 

“Tell me who it was.”

“No,” you say instinctively, something about the moment feeling incredibly dangerous. 

He huffs in frustration. “Are you trying to protect him?”

“No!” you say, sharply. “I’m protecting myself.”

“You don’t have to do that. Not from me. Not ever.”

You don’t know how to tell him that every atom in you knows that that isn’t true. You can’t explain it, and it wasn’t until the moment he joined you in this little closet, but you’d swear that he’s a danger to you. You just can't articulate how, but you feel it in your bones. And still, here you stay.

At your silence, he grits out, “If you don’t tell me who it was, Jake will.”

Jake probably already has, that’s what you’ve figured. “Great,” you say. “Then you don’t need me to say it.”

“Bambi,” he lets out in an exasperated growl. “I'm trying to help you.” 

You just look at him and then figure you may as well ask the main question that's on your mind. “Why did Jake call you?” 

He ignores you and stands up. “Come on,” he says and extends his hand, “I'm taking you home.”

You just blink up at him. “My shift isn't over.” 

He shakes his hand at you impatiently. “It is now. Come on.”

You shake your head. “Curtis, this is my job. I can't just– Lloyd will–”

“I'll take care of Lloyd. Let’s go.”

You think about going home. About sitting alone in your small apartment. At least here you'll have something to do, things to focus on, to keep you busy. At home, there'll be nothing to think about other than that hand between your legs and– “No,” you say as firmly as you can manage. “I'm staying here. I'm finishing the night.”

His jaw ticks but he doesn’t say anything, just tries to stare you down. You stare right back. You will not concede this. 

Finally, he exhales through his nostrils, then growls out an unhappy “Fine. But I'll–” He's interrupted by his phone ringing in his pocket. He takes it out and glances at the caller ID and sighs. “I have to take this.” He steps away as much as he can in the tiny area and answers with a curt “Everett.” There's a slight pause. “Yeah, I took care of it.” Another pause that has him glancing at you. “No, something else came up.”

You don't wait to hear the rest of the conversation. You take the opportunity to go back to the main room and get back to work. 

You don't see Curtis again that night. You don't spare much thought to where he might've gone. You're too focused on getting through the remainder of your shift. When it's done, Jake insists on seeing you home. You don't ask why. You already know who's behind it.

The next few days are fine. You try to put what happened behind you, doing your best to ignore it. But that becomes impossible when three days after the incident you watch Vinny walk in. You can’t help the little burst of panic you feel as you warily watch him sit down at his usual table and get dealt in. 

As subtly as you can, you make your way over to Jake. You don’t even say anything before he’s looking at you, chagrined. “I know,” he says. “I’m sorry, but I had to let him in. I promise it’s all going to be taken care of. It’s just– You can ignore him tonight, ok? Just trust me. You don’t need to worry about him. I promise.”

“Ok,” you say reluctantly, trying to resist looking back at Vinny. “I just– I didn’t think I’d have to see him again.”

“I really think that after tonight you won’t,” he says sincerely.

You don’t really understand what that means, but you nod anyway. “Ok,” you say. “I, uh, I should get back to work then.” 

He just nods after you, looking a little concerned and a little sad. But the room is filling up, so you don’t have time to delve into it.

Sometime later, as you’re taking a brief moment to idle by the bar, a strange hush descends over the room. You’re facing away from the door, away from the rest of the room, but you see Colin take in whatever it is that’s caused this. His face pales and he lets out a quiet, urgent, “Shit.” 

You turn around to see what on earth could be going on and you immediately freeze. Curtis is here. But that’s not what’s garnering all of this attention. Well, not all. Because he’s not alone, there’s a man with him. A little shorter, not quite as broad. But you’d be able to feel the power radiating off of him, even if you didn’t recognize him. Soft dark hair, thick beard, an immaculately tailored suit. You’ve seen him in the papers, on the news, but in real life, he’s even more intimidating. Andrew Barber.

Barber leans in close to say something to Curtis, who nods, eyes scanning the room until they land on you. Your breath catches, but luckily Colin calls your name behind you and you have an excuse to turn around. He places two glasses of dark liquor on the bar. “Everett,” he says, gesturing to one, then “Barber,” while waving his hand over the other. “Got it?” You nod and place them on your tray. They’re identical to your eyes except for the fact that Barber's has a muddled black cherry at the bottom of the glass.

You carefully bring them over, trying to force yourself to breathe. Curtis intercepts you and grabs the drinks when you're a few steps away. “Thank you, Bambi,” he says, lowly. 

Barber perks up. “This is Bambi? Really?” He extends a hand and you have no choice but to take it. “Andy Barber,” he says with a disarming smile. “It's a pleasure to meet you finally.”

His handshake is firm, demanding. He is terrifying in his friendliness. And he knows who you are. Has known, for who knows how long. You glance at Curtis, but he's just calmly drinking his whiskey. You don't know what to say, what are you supposed to say?? So after too long a pause, you practically whisper, “Thank you, Mr. Barber.”

He chuckles lightly as he takes back his hand. To Curtis, he says, “You're right, Bambi does suit her.” Then he turns back to you and adds, “Andy, please.”

“O– Okay, Andy,” you say, with what you desperately hope is a benign smile. You look over at Curtis, you’re not entirely sure why, but out of these two dangerous options, he, at least, is familiar. “I should get back to work.”

Curtis is staring at you, but it’s Andy who answers. “Mmm, and we have a game to join, don’t we?” Curtis nods but still doesn’t break his gaze. Andy smirks, “No rest for the wicked.”

You have no idea what to do with that sentiment, so you take the opportunity and get out of there. You walk through the tables, checking to see if anyone needs anything, but the mob boss’s physical presence seems to have ground all action to a halt. The room is collectively holding its breath. 

You go back to the bar for want of anything else to do. Colin is standing ramrod straight, coiled in case he needs to spring into action. Lloyd is sitting down at the end of the bar, drumming his fingers, eyes moving all around the room. You settle next to Holly, who looks just as scared as she did that first night when she was trying to warn you off of Curtis. “Is this,” you start to ask, your voice shaking. “Is this normal? Does he come here a lot?”

“No, never” she shakes her head. “Why would he come here? He has real clubs and restaurants. He doesn’t need to hang out in a shit hole like this.” She shakes her head again. “He’d only come here for a reason.”

You turn your head back to the room and find that Andy and Curtis have settled at Vinny’s table, joining his game across from him. Your heart lands in your throat. That can’t– No. You’re just some cocktail waitress. Even with Curtis’s obvious interest in you, you aren’t important enough to bring the most powerful man in the city here. You’re nothing. He must have other reasons.

The room is quiet enough to hear a pin drop as everyone waits for something to happen, which is why when Andy does start speaking, you don’t have to strain your ears to pick up every word.

He looks at his cards carefully, then over at Vinny. “You know, Vinny, you’re a hard man to track down.” His voice is so calm, it sends a chill up your spine. “You don’t go home, we can’t find you at work. I was starting to get worried.” He runs a few chips through his fingers before tossing them into the center of the felt. “That’s why, when I heard you were showing up here, I sent my best man to investigate,” he nods towards Curtis, “just to make sure you were ok.” 

You don’t have a great view of Vinny from where you’re standing, but you can see how stiff he is, how silent. But he still calls when it’s his turn.

“You can imagine my relief when I found out you were alright. Except,” he raises again, a few more chips into the pot, “you’re losing a lot of money, aren’t you? Now, this upsets me. Not because you’re losing your own money. But because it’s mine, isn’t it?”

Vinny finally tries to pipe up. “Andy, hold on. I can ex–”

“You owe me $150,000, Vinny. With interest, that total’s climbing every day. And yet, you sit here and you just keep losing, don’t you? At my own game. What would you do if you won, huh? Would you really try paying me back with my own money? I thought maybe you’d at least have the smarts to cross the border and try this at one of Roger’s casinos. Huh? Paying me back with my enemy’s money, at least that I could respect. But no, it’s only me you think is stupid enough to fall for your bullshit. So now I’m here to give you the chance to fucking do it to my face.” With that, he violently pushes all of his chips into the center of the table. 

Everyone else has folded. It’s just Barber and Vinny now. You’re not sure Curtis even actually played. He’s just staring Vinny down, although occasionally his eyes will flick up and meet yours. You hate feeling like you’re a part of this, but you don’t know what else to do besides watch it play out.

Vinny is just spluttering, while Andy calmly looks on. It’s all the expected, cliche stuff you’ve seen in gangster movies. He’s got the money, he swears. He just needs a little more time. Andy has to know he’s good for it! You want to roll your eyes right along with Andy.

��Call, Vinny,” Andy cuts him off, sternly. “That’s $150,000 I just put in the pot. Call. And if you win, we’re even. Your debt’s erased. But if you lose, well then that’s $300,000 you’ll owe me. And you know I won’t be able to tolerate that. So call. And let’s find out where we stand.”

You can’t see what Vinny’s doing, but you can imagine the way his fingers must be hovering over his chips, his eyes moving down to his cards to check, one more time, if they’re as good or bad as he remembers. You know there’s no way out for him either way. He’ll have to call. He’s just delaying the inevitable.

You feel like you can't breathe as you wait for him to just finally do it, but Andy cuts in again. “The thing I can't understand, Vinny, is why you kept coming here after Curtis showed up. Either you're very stupid or really fucking greedy.” He looks at Vinny carefully. “Maybe a little of both. I hear you've been touching something that doesn't belong to you.”

You gasp. No one notices, but you do. He can't be talking about you. He can't. He can't. 

Vinny seems even more confused than you. “What are you talking about? I haven't touched anything!”

Andy continues to ignore him. “So you're stupid and greedy. That's why you aren't afraid of him like you should be. They call him my attack dog, did you know? Have you heard that? Maybe that’s the problem. Maybe you think he’s some puppy that follows me around. You’d be stupid to underestimate him, underestimate me. But maybe you only do that because you've never seen my dog off his leash.”

Curtis springs into action, lunging across the table to grab Vinny by the collar, and then slams his head into the felt. Before there’s even time to react, he’s stood and he's picking Vinny back up and hurling him onto the floor. Curtis comes around the table to stalk after him and the look on his face has you gasping for breath. You've never seen Curtis like this. There's a glint in his eye that might be the scariest thing you've ever seen. Who is this man? What is he capable of?

Vinny is dazedly trying to crawl away, but Curtis catches him easily. He grabs Vinny’s collar and hauls him back up, delivering two punches to his face in quick succession. The sound it makes. There's no other sound in the whole room. No one's saying anything, no one's doing anything. Everyone's just watching, hypnotized. You turn away, your stomach churning. Your eyes catch on Andy, sitting back in his chair, placidly drinking the whiskey you brought him, completely relaxed, like he's watching anything else. You can't look at him either. 

The room is completely silent except for the crunching of bones, Vinny’s whimpers, and Curtis’s grunts. You look up again to be startled by eye contact with Curtis. His eyes are wild, unhinged. Feral. But there's something else in it, like all of this is for you. That all of you are there, everything is happening, because Vinny dared to touch you. It takes your breath away. It’s mesmerizing.

Andy finally stands and strides over to where Curtis is holding Vinny up in the middle of the room. He looks down at Vinny, then spits in his face. “I'm tired of trying to draw blood from a stone,” he says. Then he turns to Curtis and finishes, “Get rid of him.”

Curtis gives you one last long look, his face unreadable. You feel it in your knees. Then he drags Vinny out, leaving a bloody trail behind him.

The moment they're gone, it's like the entire room can breathe again. “Lloyd,” Andy calls out. “How ‘bout a round for everyone? On me.”

Lloyd nods to Colin who hurriedly starts pouring drinks. And you, so grateful for something to do, instead of just standing there, shaking, start loading the glasses on your tray.

As you begin to pass them out, Andy of all people, pulls you aside. “Bambi,” he says quietly, “I hope you know now, we take care of our own.”

You gaze at him, shocked. It feels like a comfort and a threat. But why? It's not so much the implication that this all had something to do with you, but you can't for the life of you imagine what you've done to get yourself to a place where Andy Barber might consider you his, however distantly. It can't just be that you work here. You can't picture him doing something similar for Holly or Colin. Once again, this all feels so incredibly dangerous. 

While you're struggling to come up with anything to say to that, he grabs a drink off your tray and downs it quickly. Then, with a wink, he turns and leaves. You’re left staring after him until someone calls after you and you're scrambling to pass out drinks again. 

The night ends quickly. No one seems eager to stay and drink and play after everything that's happened. Not when there's still blood on the floor.

You do what you can to help clean up, but when you stare at the stain helplessly, Lloyd tells you not to worry about it. He's got a guy.

Colin walks out with you so you aren’t in the parking lot alone. You're grateful. You're still so shaken. As you approach your car, your beater that you still don’t quite have the money to replace, you see someone leaning against it. You stop short, looking to Colin for help, but he just keeps walking to his own car, his head down. That’s when you know it’s Curtis. 

You take a deep breath and then force yourself to keep walking towards him. You can't begin to parse how you feel to see him now. Your keys are ready in your hand like you might just get in and drive off without speaking to him. You know you won’t.

When you reach him, his voice is rough as he asks, “Are you ok?” He’s cleaned up. There’s no more blood on his hands, his clothes have been straightened.

You open your mouth to answer, even though you have no idea, so instead what comes out is “Did you kill him?”

“Did you want me to?” is his immediate reply.

It stops you in your tracks as all sorts of feelings come bubbling up, ones you can not, will not examine. This is about his propensity for violence, how terrifying he became, not– No. “Did you?” you insist. 

He looks at you carefully then shakes his head. “I don't think you actually want me to answer that.”

“But you've killed before?” You can't stop yourself from pressing, from pushing. You don’t know why. 

He just sort of smiles, gently almost, in a way that is deeply unsettling. “You need to stop asking questions you aren’t ready for me to answer, Bambi.” And it’s the way he says the nickname, like you really are that babe in the woods, just born with no knowledge of the world around you, that has your hackles rising.

“Andy called you his dog,” you say, like he should be offended.

To your surprise, he laughs, his head thrown back. Then he takes a step closer to you, and you take the opportunity to sneak in behind him, get to your car. You realize your mistake immediately when he turns back around and cages you in, your back pressed against the driver’s side door. “Everyone calls me his dog. Because he’s the civilized man in the designer suit, and I’m the animal just begging for a reason to slip my leash.”

Your heart pounds wildly in your chest. You should get into your car. You should drive away as fast as you can. You should never come back. But you don’t. “You did it for him,” you say, mustering all the strength into your voice that you can. “You didn’t do it for me.”

He leans over you, the space between you shrinking rapidly. “Yeah, he asked me to do it,” he nods. “But if he hadn’t, I still would have done it. For you.”

 You try to shake your head, to tell him that that can’t be true, even as a wild, loud part of you starts to rise up and claw out of your chest. You try to tamp it down, deny it, but before you can, Curtis is leaning in further, his whole body pressing against you, and then he covers your lips with his.  

There’s a heat that comes up out of him that fills you, the instant his skin touches yours. His hands are on you, your neck, your hip. You can’t keep track, can only say that his hands are there, everywhere, that his body touches all of yours, that his lips and his tongue are demanding, unrelenting. You are burning up from the inside.

Too soon, but ages later, he pulls away. His eyes are on fire as he looks at you. Then he tears his gaze away, and hits the roof of your decrepit car twice, looking at it disdainfully. “You get home safe,” he says, then steps back to allow you the space you need to get into your car.

You do what he wants you to do. You get in your car, sit in the driver’s seat, and then stare blankly out the windshield. You’ve never felt so out of control in your life. How did this happen? You were flirting for tips, that was all! You encouraged it for money, that was it, and now– You press your thighs together, trying not to pant. You will not be unmoored. 

A slight movement in your periphery makes you notice that Curtis is still standing just to the side of your car, watching you. You turn your keys in the ignition and shift into drive.

It doesn’t mean anything it doesn’t mean anything it doesn’t mean anything, you chant to yourself all the way home.

It’s your next shift back, and everything seems to have changed. You don’t understand it. You keep doing laps of the room, keep sidling up to regulars you were so friendly with just a few nights ago, but now, they won’t even look at you, let alone touch you. No one’s ordering anything.

Or at least, they aren’t ordering from you.

Holly has been running around nonstop all night, basically having to take care of the entire room by herself. You watch man after man after man slip her little bundles of money. 

You want to scream. What the fuck happened? What did you do? What are you going to do?

You go to stand by the bar to wait for something you can do. Colin gives you a brief nod of acknowledgment but that’s it. He’s been cold, too. No. Not cold, distant. You don’t understand what’s changed.

You take a deep breath. It’s one weird night. Things will be better tomorrow.

Things don’t get better. The next night is the same. You’re starting to panic. This job was supposed to be your lifeline. Without it, without the money you were making, you’re not sure how you’ll survive.

Curtis comes in after a couple of hours of nothing. You could cry you’re so happy to see him. But terrified too. If he gives you the cold shoulder, this job really is over. But you have no idea how he’s going to act, not after what happened last time. You’re not sure how you’re going to act either. You can still feel his lips on yours.

You bring him his whiskey immediately and he greets you with an arm around your waist, pulling you in. “Hey Bambi,” he says quietly. Then he gets a good look at you. “What’s wrong?” 

You look at him carefully, not sure what to confide. You aren’t even sure what the problem is. You shake your head. “Not my best night,” you say with a tired smile. “But I’m fine.”

He stares at you for a moment, then stands up. “Come on,” he says, grabbing your hand and leading you to the little back room. You feel eyes on the two of you the whole way there.

Once he’s closed the door behind you both, he asks again, “What’s wrong?”

You sigh. “The last two nights have been weird here. I don’t– I don’t know. I’m just worried. I don’t know what happened but I’m not making any tips. No one’s treating me like they used to.”

“Mmm,” Curtis hums thoughtfully. “I think,” he says as he takes two steps closer to you, which in this small space is significant, “everyone else here has figured it out.”

It’s suddenly a little hard to breathe with him standing over you like this. His presence, his attention is always so much. “Figured what out?” you ask, confused.

“That I have lost my patience for watching other men touch you.” 

It hits you like a freight train. “What?” It comes out in a whisper.

“I’ve let this go on for too long,” he says, his voice is calm, casual. “I don’t want you working here anymore. This is done.”

“I– What? Curtis. What?! I have to work! I have to pay my bills! I don’t understand. I don’t–”

He takes one last step forward. You feel the heat coming off of him. “Shh,” he soothes, cradling your cheek in his hand. “It’ll be alright. I’ll take care of you. I take care of what’s mine.”

You pull your face away, even as the urge to nuzzle into him is so strong. You feel like you’ve missed something, a thousand things. You feel too many steps behind. “Curtis, I’m not– I’m not yours.”

Something comes into his eyes and you’re reminded of him standing over Vinny, covered in blood. His hand travels down from your cheek. He strokes your throat once, and then his hand closes around it. “Look me in the eye,” he growls, “and say that again.”

His hand is firm, snug, but it doesn’t tighten. But you can imagine so easily how it might. You look him in the eye. You open your mouth, ready to say it again. But then– then you see it. In the way he looks at you, the way he’s always looked at you. You feel it in his grip on you, now. You can’t deny it anymore. 

Curtis shoves you into his bedroom. You’re panting already. You need his hands on you, right now. You don’t have to ask for it. He gets you to the center of the room and yanks down your skirt, tearing it in the process. You step out of it and take your blouse off, throwing it on top of your skirt. Curtis’s eyes are cataloging your body, the swell of your breasts spilling out of your bra, your soft tummy, thick thighs. His gaze, as always, takes your breath away.

You reach out for Curtis’s shirt, but he grabs your hands. “I want you on your knees,” he growls and you immediately kneel for him. He throws off his shirt, revealing the expanse of his chest, the muted blacks and grays of his tattoos. You’re desperate to run your hands over them, trace the art, but instead, they just twitch at your side. He'll tell you what you're allowed to do.

He begins unbuttoning his jeans and your mouth drops open. He chuckles darkly. “Perfect little slut.” He takes his phone out of his back pocket and aims it at you, taking a picture as you gaze up at him under your lashes, your mouth wide open. “I've been dreaming of getting you on your knees for me.” He puts his phone on his dresser, then continues taking off his pants. “You ready to choke on my cock, baby?”

“Please,” you whine. You're practically salivating now. His bare thighs are as thick as tree trunks, the muscles corded. His abs ripple as he moves. His shoulders, his back. You want.

He frees his cock and rolls his black boxer briefs down his legs, stepping out of them. It's long and thick, just like the rest of him. Your breath catches. You don't think you've ever taken something that big before.

He takes a few steps so he's completely in your space, his cock bobbing right in front of your face. He takes it in one hand, the other firmly on the back of your head and slowly feeds the tip into your mouth. You taste his musk on your tongue. As he rocks into your mouth, going a little further each time, your hands come up to grasp his thighs. On his next thrust in, you run your tongue along the underside of his dick. His movements stutter just a little and then he looks down at you, a smirk overtaking his face. It's just a touch mean, in a way that has you soaking your panties. “You ready?” he asks, his voice rough. And then without waiting for the answer, he thrusts in all the way, making you take him deep in your throat.

You flail, slapping his thigh as you try to swallow around him, breathing frantically through your nose. After holding you there for a moment, he sets a brutal but steady pace. It takes you a moment, but you find your rhythm, your panic subsiding. Once you feel steady, you lift one hand from his thighs and bring it up to cradle his balls. “Fuck, Bambi,” he grinds out. “You're gonna– I– fuck!” His hand moves from the back of your head down to the back of your neck, which he grips firmly, pulling you off his cock. As you cough and splutter on the floor, he growls, “The first time you make me come is gonna be inside that perfect cunt.”

He helps you stand on wobbly legs, then shoves his hand between your legs, cupping your pussy over your panties. “Shit, fucking soaked just from deepthroating me?”

You let out a needy little whine, trying to push further into his hand, but he withdraws it, instead settling on your hip. “Well,” he grins, “if they’re ruined anyway…” then uses that hand to rip the black lace down the side, letting them fall to the floor. He makes quick work of your bra as well, then takes a step back and sighs, “Shit, Bambi, look at you.” It’s the reverence in his voice and on his face that has you launching yourself at him, unable to keep from kissing him any longer. He lets you, quickly taking control, letting you feel all his hunger, the want he’s kept barely bottled up since he first laid eyes on you. You understand it all now. His erection brushes against you, and now it’s his turn to whine, just a little. 

He pulls away, brushing a hand down your cheek, then says “Get on the bed, on your stomach.” You quickly comply, laying in the center of the bed with your knees pulled up and spread beneath you. He brings his hand down on one asscheek harshly and you can’t help the lewd moan that escapes you. He chuckles, “Oh, I will definitely remember that for later.” He grabs your hips and cants them up, then whistles at your exposed cunt. “I knew it. Absolutely beautiful.” Then he unceremoniously shoves two fingers into your hole and you choke on nothing. “Shh,” he coos. “You can take it. My cock’s gonna be a lot thicker.” 

As he starts scissoring his fingers inside you, you can’t hold it in any longer and start babbling. Mostly a combination of “please,” and “Curtis,” and “I need,” over and over.

“I know, baby,” he says as he pulls his fingers out of you. “I’ve got what you need right here.” You have a brief moment to feel the tip of his cock on your pussy lips before he’s thrusting it into you, as far as he can go without making it hurt. 

“Oh my god,” you cry, pressing your forehead into the mattress and balling his dark blue sheets in your hands. You feel so full. It’s so good. He’s working himself into you as quickly as he can, desperate now. You both are. Once he bottoms out, fully seated in you, he pauses. Then with one hand on your stomach and the other around your neck, he pulls you up onto your knees, your back flush to his chest. You cry out at the new angle; he’s somehow even deeper now. He starts thrusting up into you at a punishing pace. You’re bouncing up and down in his firm grasp. The hand on your neck turns your head to face him, his lips brushing against yours. He holds eye contact with you as the hand on your stomach snakes down your pelvis so his thick fingers can begin circling your clit. “Fuck! Curtis, please!” you shout. 

“Yeah, come on,” he breathes, “you can let go. You can do it. Come for me like a good girl.” It’s those words that send you careening over the edge, your cunt pulsing around his cock, squeezing him until he’s coming too with a grunt, filling you up until both your cum is leaking out around him. 

He holds you there, on your knees, as you both come down, your twin pants all you can hear.

You wake up slowly, the sun shining on you through the soft drapes. You start to shift then groan at how stiff you are. The night before comes back to you. Curtis took you two more times before you both collapsed in satisfied exhaustion. He’s still out like a light beneath you. 

You take a moment to look at him. It’s odd to see him so peaceful, so still. There’s nothing of the feral predator he projects to the world. It makes you feel oddly close to him, seeing him like this.

You carefully get up without disturbing him and begin collecting your clothes. You put on your bra, but there’s no saving your panties. Same for your skirt; it’s ripped along the seam. So instead you pick up Curtis’s t-shirt from last night and put it on. It smells like him. You breathe it in shamelessly knowing there’s no one to witness it.

You savor the soreness as you move out of the bedroom. It’s like you can still feel him inside you, how much he wanted you, needed you. It makes you feel a little powerful, having that effect on a man like him.

You make your way into his living room. You didn’t really have a chance to look at his house last night, as determined as he was to get you into the bedroom. If you’d ever thought to picture it, this wouldn’t be far off. It’s all rich blues and greens and grays, leather and dark wood. Masculine. It suits him. 

As you’re admiring the room, you hear footsteps behind you and then two big arms are encircling your waist, pulling you into him. “Good morning,” he rasps. 

You turn your head to him. “Good morning,” you say with a smile.

“Fuck, Bambi, you’re even hotter in my shirt than you were last night.”

You smirk at him even as your face heats. “Mmm,” you hum. “It’s comfy. You might not get it back.” He nuzzles into your neck as you continue. “I was hoping you might have something I could wear for bottoms, too. You destroyed my skirt.”

His beard roughly drags against your skin as he asks, “Why the hell would I let you wear bottoms?”

You laugh. “Because I have to leave the house, Curtis.”

“No, you don’t,” he says as his hand begins to move between your thighs.

You playfully swat him away, even as you feel yourself getting wet again from his attention. “I have to go home.”

“Why? You’re staying here.” It’s how certain he sounds that has you turning around in his arms.

“What?”

“I don’t like your building. It isn’t safe enough. Now that I finally have you, of course, I’m going to keep you here with me.”

Once again, you feel too many steps behind. You just blink at him, confused. How does he even know where you live??

He takes your chin in his hand, his fingers gentle. “I told you, Bambi, I take care of what’s mine.”

Tag list

@stargazingfangirl18 @yenzys-lucky-charm @thezombieprostitute @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @bval-1 @km-ffluv @texmexdarling @ladyvenera @roxyfan14-blog @darkserenity24 @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @ronearoundblindly @brandycranby @midnightramyeoncravings

[aakeysmash]

college!sukuna accidentally bumping into you at a café. *inspired* by this ask!

college sukuna masterlist

The bells right next to the front door chime when he enters the café. Today he’s distracted: the kitchen sink back at the apartment is currently leaking and he’s searching online for someone to come look at it. Not that he didn’t already try to fix it, but he doesn’t have the right bolt to repair it alone. He’s just going to order the usual, sit at one of the tables in the corner and play candy crush until Yuuji gets out of school.

He’s a regular here since his brother’s elementary school is right in front of it. Sometimes he just wants to kill time, and pastries here are good for his macros. Or at least he tells himself so.

“Hello, what can I get you?” A female voice asks him from the register. He doesn’t strain his gaze from his phone.

“The usual,” he says. Then he thinks about the familiar voice he just heard and snaps his head up.

“What are you doing here?” “Sukuna?” You both say at the same time.

His surprised face morphs into a smug one in a split second.

“Didn’t know you liked me so much that you started to follow me, baby. You could’ve just waited for me at home if you missed me that much, I would’ve made sure to put some cream in your… coffee,” he says winking at you.

You put on a fake smile before answering. His innuendos are getting worse by the day, he’s disgusting.

“I’m going to poison your coffee if you keep this up, Itadori,” you whisper, as to not make the manager hear you. “Go get some pussy, please, you’re insufferable,” you whine when he gets closer.

He looks you up and down, licking a corner of his lips, mischief still in his gaze. He knows you’re right, sometimes he does a bit too much, but the way you huff and puff brings him more joy than any game on his phone does.

“You know I wouldn’t touch you with a ten foot pole, Y/N. I don’t fuck snitches,” he responds, rolling his eyes.

You chuckle at that. This has been one of your inside jokes since the start. You managed to file 15 noise complaints in the first three weeks of your stay in the apartment, and the owner had to threaten to kick out Sukuna if he didn’t stop fucking girls so loudly. Sukuna had to agree and bite his tongue 5 times during that conversation. He knew you filed the complaints just because he didn’t want to say he was the one who ate Yuuji’s cookies, instead blaming you. Yuuji didn’t talk to you for a day for that, and you took it to heart.

Also, you exaggerated how many times he fucked inside the apartment. By a lot. You knew he had game, or at least you were certain of that seeing how confident he was, but he also hated when Yuuji managed to see some of the girls. Which happened only one time and it was when you moved in. You just filed noise complaints for every little noise you heard from his room, and seeing how the landlord didn’t doubt Sukuna had game either, you won by default.

“So… One black coffee? I don’t know your usual, I’m just covering a friend for today. It’s been a long day,” you say sheepishly, putting some of your hair behind your ear, cringing when you hear your own voice. Suddenly, the screen of the menu is so interesting to you. It’s not like you’re embarrassed as hell to see him here when you’re clumsily trying to understand how things work. It’s not like you’re trying not to look at him at all. Fuck. He is never going to let you live it down if you make a wrong move.

“I can see that,” he adds, serious. He sees your crestfallen look when he finishes his sentence. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that out loud, even if it is pretty obvious. He never saw you this nervous.

“Couldn’t you just fucking lie?” You grit out, composing yourself, pinning him with some sort of rage.

“Not my style, doll,” he answers, raising his shoulders. Your eyes turn into slits and you’re about to say something else when he catches movement behind the counter. The manager.

“Two coffees and a strawberry cake,” he says, getting back to his phone.

You raise an eyebrow. You thought he hated strawberries. You start typing his total when said manager turns to Sukuna.

“Your total is-“

“Man, I haven’t seen you in ages,” the man behind you enthusiastically interrupts you.

“Satoru,” the pink haired man nods, pocketing his phone and making some sort of special handshake with him. They know each other?

“Mind if your coworker here comes home with me?” Sukuna asks the handsome man you have next to you.

Your manager is silent for what feels like 10 long seconds. “Y/N, don’t give into this brute,” he tells you, staring at you behind those dark ass black glasses he wore the entirety of the day. He managed to do the work of three people without breaking a sweat, but he also spent most of his time tasting pastries the chef cooked. He’s nice, you think. But he’s weird as hell. No wonder they’re friends.

“He’s actually my roommate, boss,” you say, smiling up at him. Then you look at Sukuna and your smile drops. “Unfortunately.” Your said roommate flips you off.

“You know what, fuck you. I was just doing you a favour by letting you go earlier, stupid,” Sukuna says, bored.

The white haired man chuckles at the interaction, then tilts his glasses down his nose to look at the man in front of you, amused. “Oh, it’s her, huh.”

Sukuna snarls. “She’s a pain in the ass.”

“Oh, he’s talked about me? What did he say? Is it enough to kick him out and ask for Yuuji’s custody?” you ask, mockingly. Your manager turns to you and you’re almost blinded by how blue his eyes are. You genuinely have to blink a couple of times to make sure you’re still able to see.

He completely ignores your questions, giving you a once over. Then he gets his glasses back on correctly.

“Go home, Y/N, don’t worry. You’ve done an excellent job today. Feel free to come whenever,” he says, giving you a smile as bright as his eyes, then leaves while you think about how your cornea must be damaged now.

“Off the clock, come on,” Sukuna says, taking his phone out again, not sparing you a glance.

“Why don’t you jump off of my dick instead,” you hiss, going to take your purse from the service room. You don’t see the way he tips you anyway, even if you didn’t ask, and takes his order to the nearest table, positioning the cake in front of him. Like he’s waiting for someone.

You get back out front and side eye him, rummaging through your purse violently before sighing defiantly. You forgot your keys.

You turn around to look at Sukuna, who is just a couple of tables away, jumping a little when his eyes are already on you. He gives you a confused look behind his cup of coffee, before putting it down and mouthing “You look stupid, come sit.” You raise one of your eyebrows and you’re going to flip him off when someone bumps into you.

“Yo, cutie,” the man in front of you addresses you. You smile politely and sidestep to the left, getting out of the way, but he follows your movement, positioning himself closer to you.

“I was wondering if you were free now that you don’t have that little apron on,” he tells you languidly, swiping your arm up and down with his hand, stopping at your shoulder. When you try to get it off, he just grips you harder.

“Get your hand off of me or you’re getting kicked in the balls in front of everyone,” you deadpan. He’s slimy, probably conventionally attractive for a lot of girls, but he’s creepy.

He whistles lowly. “I love it when they’re a little feisty,” he smirks, trying to get even closer. You’re raising your knee when he gets pushed off of you and you kick a strong thigh instead. You widen your eyes comically and the man you just kicked winces.

“Man, what the fuck-“ the creep starts, before getting interrupted.

“Don’t touch my girl,” Sukuna seethes. The man takes a step back. Your heart skips a beat. You didn’t think he’d come to your rescue. “Even if her kicks are strong as fuck, I gotta say that. I might have unfortunately just saved your sorry ass’ future sad child,” he says, glancing at you. You giggle.

“There’s no way a fine thing like that is with you,” the man continues blabbering, albeit scared of Sukuna’s imposing feature.

“There’s no way a fine thing like me could ever be with someone like you, you mean,” you say, standing closer to Sukuna.

The man scoffs. “You could do so much better.”

"You? Lying is a sin, motherfucker."

On cue, Sukuna raises one of his arms and drapes it over your shoulder. You’re surprised by how delicately he gets you closer to his body, like he’s thinking you aren’t going to like what he’s doing. You look up at him, laying your hand on his chest, giving him the okay. He stares down at you, swallowing.

“Yeah, I’m lucky,” he says thickly, smirking, before lightly kissing your forehead. The kiss is barely there, you wouldn’t even have felt it if right now you weren’t hyper aware of how intoxicating and warm his body pressed to yours feels. You think you might have a fever from how much the spot he grazed is scorching. Your ears are buzzing, and you don’t distinguish the words the two men are exchanging, getting out of your daze only when the creep exits the cafe with his tail between his legs.

“I didn’t need you, you know,” you say to Sukuna, still looking up, letting your hand fall from his chest. Fuck, he’s ripped.

He nonchalantly gets the bag your manager (grinning behind his hand) is passing him before escorting you out. You notice he didn’t get his arm off of you, and you realise you don’t really mind the soft weight of it. Or maybe you just don’t mind being close to him. Or maybe you don’t mind him at all.

“Now you can tell Yuuji how fucking cool his brother is,” he shrugs, getting you imperceptibly closer to him. You roll your eyes, whining, while he huffs out a laugh.

Back at home, Sukuna goes to take a shower, leaving you with a yapping Yuuji. He’s telling you about his day at school and you get your phone out to read the text you just received, noticing the ping sound.

Worst roommate ever: the cake is urs. eat it. or don’t. idc

[luvyeni]

( reaction ) they help you with money problems ! ୨୧ 一 스트레이키즈 ՞

⸃ ⸰ ⌁ when times are tough skz is there to help ヾ

boyfriend!스트레이키즈・ fem!reader ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ g ・ angst, fluff ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ cw ・ money problems‎ wc ・ ‎n/a ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎| ‎ ‎click to library

request. this was a request but i accidentally deleted when i was clearing out request...

「 ୨୧ authors note 」 i hope you like it <3

﹙ 𐙚 : bangchan﹚ .ᐟ

only figures it out when he finds you crying because you wanted to buy him a gift for his birthday, but you were unable to get the one you wanted because you couldn't afford it and even if you saved up for it would take too long. “i don't care what gift you get me.” he says, comforting you. “i like the one you got me.” he said. “i can't even get you a good gift.” he never cared about gifts , he hated seeing you like this. “baby please quit this job , it's not doing anything but stressing you and underpaying you.” he said. “chan i need the money , to pay bills.” you said. “i can't just quit.” he would never tell you to quit your job if he wasn't prepared to tell you he was ready to take care of you. “i have the means to take care of you.” he said. “i don't want to be a burden for you.” “it's a burden seeing you break down over not being able to pay your bills because your job is shit.” you didn't know how to thank him , but he didn't want one.

“don't thank me , just work on unstressing yourself.”

﹙ 𐙚 : lee know﹚ .ᐟ

both of you are pretty stubborn and you're so used to being independent and he just doesn't understand why are you so hell bent in not letting him help you; so it causes an argument. “it's not that big of a deal.” lee know said. “im your boyfriend , giving you money shouldn't piss you off this much.” you rolled your eyes. “it doesn't piss me off , i just don't need your money.” you said. “i heard you crying about not being able to pay your electric bill , what are you gonna do , let your lights get turned off.” you began to get frustrated. “i’ll handle it.” you said. “by working yourself to death?” he shot back , leaving you silent. “take the money.” he said. “i'll pay you back.” he scoffed.

“i won't take it and you know it , stop being stupid.”

﹙ 𐙚 : changbin﹚ .ᐟ

will never care about taking care of you and your needs; he'd even prefer it — seeing you stress stresses him out and he feels like as your boyfriend he should be the one taking care of you anyway. so when he sees you constantly working, it upsets him , and when you start having to cancel dates and spending time with him because you have to work, thats his final straw. “no this is the third date you've canceled.” he said over the phone. “binnie i have to work.” of course you felt bad , but rent needed to be paid. “let me pay your rent for a few months,” he said. “i can't — don't tell me you can't , you can and you will.” he said. “changbin— no im paying for it , i'll send the check to your landlord.” you didn't know what to say. “thank you so much binnie.” you said , so thankful for your boyfriend. “yah , why are you thanking me , this is my job!”

“now clock out and go home, im coming over with some food.”

﹙ 𐙚 : hyunjin﹚ .ᐟ

he would never ask you to quit your job , he knows you'd never do that , but he was also tired of seeing the love of his life stress about cash or constantly working overtime just to stay above water. he also knew you'd die before letting him take care of you fully , even though he was ready to take on the responsibility. “how about 50/50 ?” he asked. “i pay for somethings and you can pay for somethings , when you get a different job we can stop if you want.” he offered. “i don't want to be a burden.” you said. “how would you be a burden if you're paying 50%?” he said holding your hand. “i would rather pay 100% and have you move in with me.”

“but 50% will have to do now , at least i will have you around me.”

﹙ 𐙚 : han jisung﹚ .ᐟ

you accidentally snap at him one day , you didn't mean to and could tell you didn't mean it because you drop down , apologizing profusely, confessing to him about how you were stressed about money and you were just at your breaking point. “whoa , it's okay.” he comforted you. “i know you didn't mean it.” he said. “i’m so sorry ji , i just don't know what I'm gonna do.” he doesn't see anything wrong with his next request. “oh i'll help you.” he said. “i would never ask you to do that.” you said. “i wasn't asking you , i was telling you , if money is the problem , i have the money.” he said. “if i have it then it's yours baby.” he said. “really?” he nodded. “as long as you're happy and not yelling at me , then I'll pay for everything.” you shook your head. “i don't need you to do that.”

“i mean you can try and stop me , but doesn't mean im gonna listen.”

﹙ 𐙚 : felix﹚ .ᐟ

notices you look more and more tired every time you see him , you look more and more skinny and he is just confused. “baby?” he sits you down one day. “yes.” he immediately ask you what's wrong. “you're not looking so good , what's wrong?” he just assumes you're not taking care of yourself , but when you break down and tell him that your job isn't paying you enough , and you have to take different shifts and you barely had money to pay bills let alone the proper food. he lets you finish everything before he just wraps his arms around you and calms you down. “you should've told me , i could've helped you , i want to help you.” he said. “i couldn't do that.” he ignores that. “and watch you struggle? no , until we can get you a new job with better pay , i'll pay for anything you need.”

“you don't have to do this to yourself , let me take care of you.”

﹙ 𐙚 : seungmin﹚ .ᐟ

much like lee know it would often cause arguments , seungmin being more traditional he was always taught a man should be taking care of his love — but how can he do that when his love is probably one of the most stubborn people to ever so graciously walked the earth. “i don't want your money , i can get it on my own.” you had recently lost your job and it was tough finding a job and your bills weren't stopping. “you'll be on the street before than , don't be stupid and let me take care of you.” you scoffed. “so now you don't think i can do it?” he knew you were just frustrated. “i never said that , i said you don't have to do it now if you stop being stubborn and just let me take care of you.” he said. “i can't pay you back.” he rolled his eyes. “why would i ask you to do that?”

“just stay with me and everything you need and want is yours.”

﹙ 𐙚 : jeongin﹚ .ᐟ

he understands that you don't want him to take care of you; no he wouldn't mind it all , but you don't want that , so he helps you find a better job. jeongin is a researcher , he spends all his free time finding jobs for you , picking out all the jobs you'd be qualified for and pays better than your recent job , sending them to you. he's so focused , he helps you fill out a better resume and all. “should we lie a bit?” he sat at your laptop. “no we shouldn't.” you said. “just a little bit , nothing too crazy.” he said. “yeah like what?” you asked , eyebrows raised. “maybe you speak three language.” “but i don't.” “well then learn spanish because im putting it down.” when you get the job he's more excited than you. “i got the job!” he's celebrating. “i knew you could do it , and it pays 3x times more, so you don't have to slave 7 days a week.” he's smiling seeing the light come back into your eyes.

“told you , they love when you speak other languages , but let's actually pick up a spanish book just in case.”

©LUVYENI

[nadvs]

please can we have sleeping with the enemy reader taking care of rafe with his hangover (from your last blurb) 😚😚

aaaa yes omg the fluff! (and the everyone but them can see it trope!) (and the overdue confession!) 🙂‍↕️

based on this fic, continutation of this blurb

rafe can’t even open his eyes yet. he feels like he’s an inch away from death.

about a month ago, he moved out of his dorm and into a house with a group of his teammates. it was a nightmare securing a lease on a house because of the reputation athletes have left on the landlords off campus.

but because rafe was the one who worked so hard on getting the house, and because he’s the team captain, he got the biggest and best room, ensuite attached.

it’s in the top floor. it’s quiet. it gets the best ac. but no amount of ac can make the sickening heat of the hangover he has this morning any better.

he finally opens his eyes. she’s not beside him. if he remembers correctly, he asked her to sleep over last night. and… goddamn it, he called her his girlfriend.

there’s a good chance he scared her away. they’re best friends who hook up sometimes. that’s it. no matter how much his teammates - at least the ones who have the balls to - fuck with him about it.

a few nights ago, a girl struck up conversation with rafe at a party and one of his buddies told her not to bother because ‘he’s basically married’ and the crazy thing is, he let her believe it. he hasn’t hooked up with another girl in ages. he hasn’t wanted to.

it got to him. maybe that’s why he slipped up last night, calling her his girlfriend. if he remembers right, it’s like they agreed to being something more in a roundabout, drunken way. or maybe she was just humoring him and is planning to let him down easy when they’re both sober.

she’s in the kitchen, wearing one of rafe’s shirts, cutting up what little fruit the guys have lying around. the blender was a bitch to clean, tacked with residual protein powder.

she’s awake before everyone, making rafe a smoothie to help cure his hangover. this is 100% girlfriend behavior. she’s doing the absolute most. she knows that.

she tells herself it’s because they’re best friends. she’d do the same for any other friend. but doing it for rafe feels so much more gratifying than if she did it for anyone else.

as she drops banana slices into the blender, she thinks about the regret that washed over rafe’s face last night.

she wonders why he so obviously wished he hadn’t called her his girlfriend. was it because he accidentally exposed what he really thinks of her? or because he didn’t want her to get the wrong idea?

she blends the smoothie, cleans up and pads upstairs to rafe’s bedroom. when she opens the door, he’s sprawled out on his bed, down to his boxers, the duvet half-covering his body.

she’s seen him naked so many times before. but this weirdly feels like it’s the most intimate they’ve ever been.

“did you take my clothes off last night?” rafe grumbles, staring up at the ceiling.

“somehow,” she answers. “i fell on my ass trying to pull your jeans off.”

“oh, yeah,” he laughs. he heard her fall to the floor in the dark. it was hilarious. but then he clutches his head. even laughing hurts. “fuck.”

“imagine how bad you’d feel if i didn’t force water on you last night. you’re welcome, by the way,” she says.

she places the glass on the nightstand and sits on the edge of the bed, glad she only had a couple of drinks last night.

“i made you a smoothie. you need to replenish.”

his tired blue eyes finally land on her. he takes her in, the way her brows are knitted in concern, the way she looks in his shirt.

“and your blender was disgusting,” she adds. “it’s pretty sad that a whole group of grown men don’t know how to properly wash dishes. it took me forever to clean it.”

“you’re talking too much,” he rasps, massaging his temple with his thumb.

normally, she’d tease him back. she knows he’s joking. but the joke doesn’t land. she looks away.

in the sober brightness of the morning, she realizes she feels stupid. they agreed they were just friends, but she’s playing house and acting like a girlfriend to someone who either doesn’t want her like that, or does and won’t admit to it when he’s not drunk.

she doesn’t mind taking care of him. but she’s catching feelings. how can she be friends with someone when every second that passes that they’re not more than that feels like a little dose of rejection?

they’ve always been direct with each other. at some point, that stopped. at least on her side.

“i’m fucking with you,” rafe clarifies. “thank you.”

she scoffs. he hardly ever has manners. she must really look mad.

“sure,” she says. she leans forward, picking up and handing him the smoothie, knowing he’s too tired to get it himself. “do you remember what you said last night?”

rafe’s eyes dart away. he rakes back his tousled hair, sitting up slowly to hold the smoothie. tortuously slow, he takes a sip, making her wait for his answer.

“what’d i say?” he mumbles.

she tilts her head, her lips in a firm line. he said he wouldn’t be embarrassed the next day. he’s acting like he is now, though. or maybe he really doesn’t remember.

she suddenly feels bad for pushing this heavy of a conversation on him when he’s clearly exhausted and feeling so terrible.

“we’ll talk about it later,” she says. it gives rafe a wave of anxiety. maybe she’s planning to let him down gently. to tell him they can’t be more than friends. “hydrate, got it?”

she stands, pulling his shirt off over her head.

“where are you going?” he asks, watching her bend over to pick up last night’s clothes.

“home,” she says. “text me if you wanna hang out later when you feel human again.”

she leaves. he lets her.

he’s in a funk the rest of the morning. he eventually finds the strength to take a shower. he eats his first meal at three p.m.

when he sees the blender on the drying rack in the kitchen, his chest tightens. this isn’t normal. he shouldn’t miss someone he saw just this morning. but he does.

and whatever happened last night is hanging over him. if he knows her, he knows it’s bothering her, too.

he texts her: feeling human again. u busy?

she replies: i’m free and starving.

he smirks at his phone. pick you up in 30

when she sinks into the passenger seat of his suv, she’s uneasy. jittery. as if this is a first date. but when she takes in how tense he looks, she pushes all her feelings away.

“what’s wrong?” she asks. “you good?”

“i’m… this feels weird,” he admits. she stills. so it’s not just her who senses it.

“weird how?”

“what do you wanna eat?” he asks. “where am i going?”

“you’re staying here until you tell me what’s up.”

rafe chews on his lip. he turns his key, shutting the car off, parked in front of her dorm building. he knows there’s no point in arguing with her. she can be stubborn.

“weird how?” she repeats.

“like… i’m nervous or something.”

rafe has known for a while now that he’s someone else around her. or maybe he’s actually himself, and she’s the only person who coaxes it out of him.

“nervous?” she echoes. rafe is only ever nervous before an important game, and even then, he’s more hyped up to win than anything.

he can’t take it anymore. he’d rather rip off the bandaid.

“be straight with me,” he says. “what’d i say that you wanted to talk about?”

she can’t recall the last time she felt so shy around him, if ever.

“do you remember calling me your girlfriend?” she says.

he shuffles in his seat, expelling a heavy breath.

“if i fucked things up, just say it,” he rasps.

“so, you remember?”

“yeah.”

“do you remember how you said you wouldn’t be embarrassed for saying it?”

“yeah,” he mutters sharply. “can you get to the point?”

“can you not be a dick right now?” she says.

he sighs. can’t she tell he’s anxious?

“are you?” she says. “embarrassed, i mean?”

“no,” rafe begins. “i’m annoyed that i said it. it made things awkward.”

“it did,” she agrees.

“okay,” he huffs. “so what now?”

she clasps her hands together in her lap, looking out at the side mirror. she could just say they can forget about it. grab takeout. go back to normal. but going back to normal kind of feels impossible.

“my friends always tell me we act like a couple,” she finally says. “this morning, i was washing your dishes and organizing your fridge and i thought, they’re right. this is the kind of stuff a girl in a relationship does. but then i was like, no it’s not like that. we’re just best friends. but then last night... you said you’d be a good boyfriend.”

“mhm,” he says, bracing for the rejection. the let’s just be friends. or worse, the things are too weird now and we should probably stop hanging out.

she swallows hard.

“i wanted to know if… did something change? were you just drunk or do you actually want to…” she trails off.

for once, it feels odd saying her thoughts out loud to him. because he was always as adamant about not wanting commitment as she was. things have gotten so messy all because he blurted something out last night.

rafe stares at her profile as she looks out the window. she’d fiddling impatiently, like she was the night they first talked at the bar months ago, waiting for someone to take her drink order.

“the guys mess with me about it, too,” he tells her. “they say we act like we’re married or some shit.”

she quirks her eyebrows. they basically do. they see each other almost every day. they bicker. they’re constantly subconsciously touching, whether it’s through joined hands or bumped knees. they have too many inside jokes. they take care of each other. she reminds him of things he can’t afford to forget, like appointments or exams. he makes sure she eats and he pays for everything they do together.

“i don’t look at other girls,” he confesses. “and i know you get hit on when you go out, but it never goes anywhere. i… okay, yeah, fine, something did change at some point. i don’t know when.”

for the first time since she got in the car, she cracks a smile. they’re best friends who are ridiculously attracted to each other and joined at the hip. if that’s not a relationship, what is?

“are we already kind of dating?” she says, finally meeting his eyes.

rafe breathes a chuckle, the heaviness in his chest lifting all at once.

everything was always so easy with her. he assumed it’s because they had no expectations between them. but that wasn’t it. in reality, they had been quietly meeting each other’s expectations without having to try.

“yeah. we are,” he says.

her eyelids flutter as she looks down, gazing at his hand splayed over the dark denim on his thigh. her stomach is numb. her mind is buzzing.

“how’d you get so lucky?” she teases.

rafe doesn’t even have it in him to joke back. he needs to touch her. he leans forward, cradling her jaw, capturing her lips in his.

they’ve kissed a thousand times before. but never like this. this is a kiss that says there’s an understanding that she’s his and he’s hers. and maybe it took them a while to realize that, but now that they’re here, they’re not going back.

(continuation)

[anarchy-and-piglins]

Tommy tries not to stay too long because Mareep gets sad when she's lonely.

She can't tell him this - she's a sheep and all. But she shows it in the way she nuzzles her gentle head into Tommy's chest when he returns, as if she's trying to push out all those sharp and bunched up feelings that get stuck there. They're not bad feelings though. Not good feelings either.

Just feelings. A lot of fucking feelings.

But Tommy likes visiting the cabin. Even back when, it always felt so far removed from everything else. So quiet, not always in the positive sense. He loved it and he hated it. That seems to sum up about everything he remembers from that time.

(He went in once, the first time he visited. Not anymore. Everything was covered in dust, hollow and empty, and Tommy couldn't breathe for reasons beyond the stifled air.)

Being there doesn't hurt the same.

Tommy still marvels at that. Yes, it still hurts and yes, it always will. But there's more than the hurt now. He remembers the laughter and the stupid jokes and the bench and Henry and man, does it feel as if he's aged a decade. He hasn't. He's young. And there's so much ahead of him.

Then the snow shifts behind him with the soft crunching of footsteps. He turns around, and a person Tommy has thought about pretty much every other day for the last eight months is standing against the treeline.

"Hullo," Technoblade says, as if they have seen each other yesterday. He looks a little less exhausted, and a little less jumpy than Tommy has ever seen him before. Tommy's hand curls around the handle of his sword and then relaxes.

"Hey," he says. Then he swallows. "I didn't know you still came around here."

"I don't," Techno says. "Just came to pick up some stuff I left behind."

"Yeah?"

Techno walks around him in a little arch, and in a way that keeps him facing Tommy at least from the side, never the back. Tommy hates that this is who they are now.

And then Techno scoffs lightly, kicking at some rocks Tommy had been piling into a tower once when he was deep in thought. "Bruh, you're not ruining my property value again, are you?"

Automatically, Tommy laughs. Bright and sudden, and sincere. "Wha- Fuck you, you just said you don't live here anymore."

"I could be on my landlord arc," Techno says dryly.

Tommy should leave it at that. The part deep inside him that still feels raw and scared - as if he's sixteen again and the ocean is endless before him - recoils at all of this. But Tommy knows that part of him can be wrong, sometimes, in how it reacts to things. In how it refuses to embrace change.

"What have you been doing?" he asks. Techno watches him for a moment, a little guarded. He shrugs.

"Farmin'," Techno answers after that small second of hesitation. "Hibernating. Just doing my own thing, away from everybody. I'm done being hounded by people." He brushes some hair from his face, longer now than when he was living on this server. Tommy doesn't think he has never seen Techno without fresh scars or bandaged knuckles. It suits him.

"Sounds nice," Tommy says. He thinks about his little cottage, and Tubbo's honey, and how he's been starting to grow his own flowers.

"It is," Techno agrees.

Tommy leaves quickly after that. But when he returns two days later, there is a glint of round netherite hanging from one of the fence post. A compass with an emerald inlaid in the back, that points to a place very far away.

Tommy doesn't think he's quite ready to follow it. But someday he will be.

[rakurairagnarok]

I dedicate this story to my good friend and writing buddy @idesofrevolution. Merry Christmas buddy and please PLEASE Enjoy. Happy holidays to everyone and Happy TF's.

A Green Christmas

`What!!`

Ryan screamed at the news.

You sighed.

´I have no choice, my family has to move, and I have to go as well, I don´t have any accommodation here.´

Ryan grumbled. `Bro... you can´t leave me man... you´re my best bud.´

You grimaced. Your friend had been acting weird lately. You used to be super close, and you honestly still are, but your interests had began to shift. You used to play games, watch cartoons and study together, but lately Ryan had become absent from you life. He had been ´busy´ with other things but his grades had been plummeting and he had picked up smoking. Ryan had no idea you knew this, but you had seen the pictures from your classmates. His wardrobe had changed too. Before he would wear shirts and khakis, now its oversized shirts and hoodies. He started wearing contacts as well, which, to be honest, was a great look for him, he looked very handsome without glasses. His lingo had switched as well. No more academic jargon. Just simple sentences, which almost always had at least one bro in them.

`Look Ryan, I really am sorry, but I just can´t make this work´

Your family was moving, and while you were a college student, who by all accounts should have received some form of scholarship due to your amazing grades, you never did. The truth however, was that you wanted to move. The alienating feeling you got from your former best friend broke something in you, and you had to put some distance between eachother. You could easily apply for the on-campus dormitories but you just couldn`t bear staying near the now almost stranger.

`Look you´d better go, I want to be home before Christmas and I still have a lot of packing to do.'

Ryan sighed and left. After closing the door behind him, You let out a grunt.

"Why does it have to be this way! What happend to him?"

Reluctantly you began packing. Your father would come and get you and your things on Christmas eve, so you had your work cut out for you. You were currently staying Ryan, but this had always been a temporary solution. Ryan's landlord didn't want two friends staying together only couples or families. Ryan had become quite open to you about his sexuality. He had told you he was bisexual and that he could always tell the landlord the two of you were dating, but you had declined. You had a hard enough time not getting picked on. If word would get out that you two were dating, you would not be able to survive. What Ryan didn't know is that you were in fact also bisexual. You really liked girls but men really were where you got your satisfaction. From porn that is, because you were still a virgin. You grew up in a strict Christian household, with a Father from the south. Your parents would never approve and they were the reason you didn't have to work, so coming out was never an option.

A loud knock shook you from your deep train of thought. You opened the door and Ryan was standing right there, smiling.

"Steven, can we talk bro?"

"Ryan, I told you. I need to pack for..."

"Please, just for a little while."

"...Fine..."

Ryan walked in and sat down on your bed.

"Look man... I've been thinking... I need to be honest with you about something."

You looked at your former best friend with confusion. He had been so dominant and confident these last few weeks, and all of a sudden he looked shy and insecure.

"I... I picked up smoking... and... not just cigarettes. Weed too"

You sighed.

"I know Ryan, I have seen you. Don't worry, it's whatever... Your body, your choice."

Ryan smiled.

"Yeah for reallll broo but, I wanted to ask you a favor."

"What is it?" You asked, slightly impatient.

"Come sit down first" Ryan had this shit eating grin on his face, his perfect white teeth on display. Wait that doesn't sound right. he had braces right?

Because you took so long, Ryan grabbed your arm and pulled you onto the bed, right next to him.

"What the hell man!" You exclaimed.

He quickly wraps an arm around your shoulders, his musky scent drilling into your nose, and holds something up to your face.

"I really, really want to smoke this with you man. Like dying wish and shit."

You look down and see a blunt in between his fingers.

"I don't smoke Ryan, you know this" You point out.

" Just one hit bro, that's all, I won't tell anyone, you don't have to smoke any more, just humor me with this man."

You took a deep breath and wanted to decline, but then something clicked.

"You know what. Sure."

Ryan's grin widened. 'Let's fucking go bro!!!" He quickly grabbed a lighter, and lit the blunt.

He took the first hit, blowing the smoke right into your face, the fumes invading your nose and throat, leaving you gasping for air.

"Sorry there bro, just wanted to give you a little taste."

"I'm only taking one hit bro... fuck" Your eyes widen not only did you just curse, something which you rarely do, you also just used bro in your sentence. Hoping he didn't notice you hold out your hand to take the blunt.

Ryan, who's grinning from ear to ear, hands you the blunt, and you quickly take a hit. You deeply inhale, feeling the smoke fill your lungs and the weed invade your brain. A single hit, and you can almost feel your brain stopping.

"W...whaaat the fuuuuuck" You mumble. Your jaw slacks a bit as the smoke escapes from your lips.

"You gonna take that hit or not bro?" Ryan asked with a sly grin on his face.

"Huh didn't I just?'' You asked confused.

"Bro are you already tripping? I just blew some smoke in your face man, thats all. Now come on bro, you promised."

You took a hit, taking a deep breath, feeling the smoke fill your lungs, and your whole body. Slowly blowing out you feel constricted. You look down to see your buttoned up shirt bulging. You tug on it a bit, and it flies open, revealing a chiseled abdomen and two meaty pecs.

"Brooo wat the fahk' You mumble. "My chest is so big... what the hell"

"Yeah bro I know right. I love that strain. Made me who I am today" Ryan smirks as he takes off his hoodie showing his massive arms and chest.

You look in awe as he stretches a bit, his smooth torso , and bulging muscles on display. He drops his sweats, showing off a massive bulge in his white briefs as he looks at you and smirks.

"Wanna take another hit bro?"

Before he even finished his sentence the blunt was back in your mouth, filling you up with even more smoke. You look down and begin to giggle as you bounce your growing pecs.

"Huhuhu broo they are so bigg... what the shit..." You say as a familiar musk begins radiating from your growing body.

Ryan smiles back.

"Yeah bro you're getting so fuckin huge. You're so hot"

You look at him with a flushed face.

"What... did you say?"

"You're hot. You look amazing."

"Thanks..." You can't help but blush, seeing as he himself is a fucking model.

"You're really hot yourself" You say with a beetred face

Ryan stops smiling and looks at you. He sits down and looks you in the eyes.

"I don't want you to go Stevey. I love you..."

Your eyes widen at the words, and before you know it, his lips get pressed against yours. Before you can react he pushes his tongue into your mouth, and a torrent of smoke follows suit. It's almost as if hes blowing you up, and it feels that way too, Your muscles getting bigger, your mind hazier, and your dick... well...

You manage to push away and look at him.

"Ry... I ... "

"yeah?"

"I think... no ... I know... I love you too man"

Ryan signature shit eating grin flies back onto his face.

"Fuck yeah bro!!"

A sheepish smile creeps onto your face as you grab the blunt from his fingers, taking a massive hit before grabbing his neck and blowing the smoke into his mouth.

"You're so sexy." You say as he blows the smoke back into your face.

"What about you then, such a fucking cute stud you are"

The two of you continue laughing, finishing the blunt before crawling into each others arms.

You text your dad that he doesn't have to come get you anymore, as you will be staying with your boyfriend, and promptly block him afterwards.

You nuzzled up to your boyfriends pit and took a deep breath. It smelled amazing and it bricked you up knowing you smell the same.

This will be a pretty special Christmas.

__________________________________________________________

Happy Holidays Everyone!!!! Feel free to send in some asks or order something at Rakurai Inc.!!!

[anonsturniolo]

Handcuffed to love ✧₊⁺

policeofficer/probationofficer!matt x criminal!reader

Part 2 of ???

Part 1- HERE

warnings: mentions of drugs. mature themes follow, read at your own risk.

“Where have you been?” My roommate demanded the second I cracked open the door to our shared apartment. I let out a loud sigh, dropping my keys in the dish by the front door. 

I rounded the couch before throwing myself into it, getting comfortable, “I got caught last night bro.” I whined, rolling onto my back and throwing my arms over my face. 

“What the hell happened.” I begin to retell the story of last night into this morning, making sure to leave out the fact I had basically fallen in love with the cop that arrested me. Jade sits beside me in disbelief. 

“So your PO is coming tomorrow morning?” She asks, making me nod. “If you need anything, I’ll be at Jacksons place.” She announces, getting up and going to her room. I wasn’t even surprised, she mostly stayed at her boyfriend's place already. 

Once she left, I decided to take a shower. I probably should’ve done that when I got home but I just wanted to lay down and rot for a bit. The bed I had to sleep in last night was pretty comparable to a slab of concrete. Once I finished my skincare and changed into my blue and black flannel, a simple black tank top, I was out like a light when my head hit the pillow. 

I was startled awake, feeling like I was being watched. I quickly sit up in bed and flick on the lamp on my nightstand. A quiet scream leaves my mouth once I look to my doorway, to see Matt Sturniolo leaning against the doorframe with an unimpressed expression on his face. 

“What the fuck?!” I spit out, getting out of bed. 

Matt raises his hands, as if it would calm me down in the slightest, “You didn’t answer the door okay? Had to make sure you were here, or alive at the very least.” He replies, turning sideways as I barrel past him. I make my way to the front door to see the damage, but I’m pleasantly surprised to see none. 

“Your landlord let me in.” He comments from behind me. I spin on my heel, a new fire lighting within me. 

“Why the hell did he let you in?” I ask him, crossing my arms across my chest. I took a second to take him in, as he wasn’t wearing his uniform. He had a cream sweater on, light blue loose fitting jeans, tan tims on his feet, and a red hat on his head. He looked nothing like a cop.

He pulled his badge out of his pocket, “Just had to show him this sweetheart.” He grinned at me, before turning around and walking into my kitchen. I followed him with a huff, watching as he opened every cabinet, looking for a few seconds, before moving on to the next one. 

“Is this really necessary?” I ask him once he opens the dishwasher. 

“No.” He immediately replies. I throw my hands up in the air and leave the kitchen. If he wants to go the extra mile, so be it. I’m not gonna follow him around like I have something to hide anyway. 

“You’re 21 aren’t you?” He asks me, walking into the living room. 

I raise an eyebrow at him, “You’re telling me you don’t know how old I am?” I ask, tilting my head in a condescending manner. 

“Drop the attitude.” He glares at me, before entering my bedroom. I can hear him shuffle a few things around, before he walks out with a cocky smirk on his face. He sits down across from me on my loveseat. 

I can’t hold it in anymore, “The fuck is that smirk about?” I ask him, knowing damn well I didn’t have anything that could even slightly incriminate myself.

“I found something interesting in your room s’all.” He replies, his smirk growing, “It’s pink, has a couple different settings-”

“Enough!” I cut him off, letting my head fall into my hands. Of course he found my vibrator of all things. I could feel my cheeks heat up with embarrassment, my head snapping up once he began to chuckle. 

“No boyfriend I take it?” He questions, leaning back against my loveseat, and I can’t help but notice how appealing his lap looks at the moment. A perfect place for me to sit. 

I shake my head, ridding myself of my dirty thoughts, “No boyfriend.” I confirm, not missing the way his face lit up. We go over a few more boring details before he rises from his seat, heading for the front door.

“That’s it?” I ask him, watching as he pauses by the front door. He turns to face me with an unreadable expression. 

He takes a few strides to look down at me, that same cocky smirk on his face, “What, did you expect me to bend you over the kitchen table and have my way with you?” He questions me darkly, his eyes flashing towards my lips for a brief second. 

My breath hitches and he, of course, takes notice. He leans down slightly to the point where I can feel his breath fan across my face, “You’ll be hearing from me, darlin’.” Matt murmurs to me before he gives me one last look, and then he’s gone. 

I let out a huff once he’s gone, and can’t help but let my mind drift as I walk back into my bedroom. All of my dresser drawers are closed and my bed appears to be untouched. I pull back the covers to lay back down, but I’m shocked as I see my pink vibrator resting in the center of my bed, a note attached to it. 

Instantly I rip it off my bed, my heart pounding. Matt had grabbed one of my sticky notes from my desk and stuck it on the side with the settings. I unfold the note and my jaw nearly touches the floor. 

Think about me when you use this, sweetheart 

I bite my lip at the suggestiveness, how the hell did he find out I was even attracted to him? I’m usually really good about keeping a stone face around people that make me nervous, but maybe jail scared that right out of me. 

I throw all caution to the wind and lay down, raising my hips to pull my shorts and underwear down in one go. I eye the vibrator, clicking the small power button and familiarizing myself with the consistent buzz. My eyes flutter shut as I let the small wand travel down my body, my hips jolting as it finally connects to my clit. 

“Taking it so well f’me.” Matt groans into my ear, his dick fucking into me at a ravenous pace. His hands grip my hips so tightly I’ll be left with bruises, and it sends a surge of pleasure through my body. My hands claw into his back once he starts to thrust upwards, the tip of his dick hitting my sweet spot over and over. 

“Matt,” I choke out between moans, making him lift his head from my neck where he had been leaving harsh kisses, “So close.” I whine once our eyes meet, his eyes darkening once he sees my fucked out expression. 

He leans back, thrusting even harder while letting his eyes travel down to where we were connected, “Holy shit.” He groans, lifting a hand to press down on my lower stomach, “You feel me baby? How deep I’m fucking you.” He moans, pressing his thumb to my clit and rubbing furiously. 

My mouth drops in a silent scream as I finally cum, my pussy convulsing around his dick as he continues to fuck me. My broken moans between thrusts sends Matt over the edge, pumping me full of his cum, fucking me softly as if to ensure not a drop is wasted. 

“Good girl.” He quietly praises me, before softly pulling out and flopping onto the bed next to me, tugging me into his warm embrace. Matt places a kiss on my forehead before I’m suddenly shaken from my delusions by my phone ringing. 

I shakily pick up my phone, seeing a phone number I don’t recognize, “Hello?” My voice slightly wobbles as I speak, making me look down to my bed. I had fucking squirted while imagining Matt fucking me, my cheeks flush as I realize how crazy I am for doing all that. 

“You good?” I hear from the other side of the phone, and my heart falls to my stomach. 

“Matt?” I ask, waiting for him to confirm my worst fear. 

“Officer Sturniolo to you, Y/N.” He teases me, making me instantly put my head in my hand that wasn’t holding the phone, “Just wanted you to have my number.” 

I breathe out a sigh of relief, “Okay.” 

He lets out a chuckle, “I’m guessing you just had some fun?” He questions, ignoring my quiet gasp, “Bet you thought of me, huh?” 

“Matt, this is crazy.” I finally whisper, not wanting to confirm I just came to the thought of him. 

“I’ll talk to you soon, sweetheart.” I can practically hear the grin in his voice as he hangs up. I do not like the power this man has over me right now. 

I’m so cooked.

[kaitsawamura]

-> somebody come get her (she's dancing like a stripper)

-> SUMMARY

You have bills to pay. That's the only thing on your mind when you go in for your shift at the strip club. The only thing on your mind until you see Daichi.

Daichi doesn't expect to find you, the girl of his dreams, at the strip club. In fact, he's 99% certain he shouldn't be here. But now he can't stop thinking of all the things he'd let you do to him.

Will your mutual attraction pay off for the both of you?

-> STATS

Pairing: Daichi Sawamura x Stripper!Reader (get that bread!)

Rating: M for Mature, MDNI

Warnings: My take on a corruption kink except Daichi's the one getting corrupted

Tags: Corruption, strangers to lovers, smut I tell you, filthy filthy smut with my husband, strip club au, oral (m receiving), p in v, creampie, a bit of choking (like a tiny bit), hair pulling, nasty nasty f*cking with my husband, sex in public (sorta, it's in a public restroom), a little dominant confident Reader (if I missed anything y'all can let me know in the DM's)

Word Count: 6.3K

Author's Note: I knew the moment I saw Mint's post . : HERE : . that I had to write something about it. They obligingly gave me the go ahead to be inspired so off I went a-writing. Obviously, this might be considered mild corruption by some but to me? This was like I went into a blackout and woke up not knowing what year it was. So, here you go, enjoy some nasty filthy smut with my love!

-> LINKS

Main Masterlist

HQ Masterlist

Playlist

Moodboard

“Rent’s due on Monday,” your roommate reminds you, concern masked with sympathy clear on her face. She’s not trying to be mean or overbearing but damn it, the stress of the situation makes you want to snark back. But you don’t.

“Do you have your half?” She nods. You nod back decisively. “I’m working tonight. Fridays are good days to work. It’s my first one without shadowing anyone. I’ll have the rest of my half in tips, don’t worry.” Her face brightens as she pours herself a glass of orange juice, sunlight streaming in the kitchen window of the tiny two-bedroom apartment you share with her.

“Thank god. The landlord’s being an ass again. We’ve been late one time. I have half a mind to give him a list of all the things wrong in this shithole instead of the check.” You roll your eyes conspiratorially but in reality, you don’t know if you’ll make your half in tips or not. Maybe your boss will give you an advance. You’ll talk to him tonight. He was surprisingly reasonable so the odds were at least in your favor.

Either way, you’ll get the money. You just hope you’ll be able to put the nervous energy thrumming through your veins to good use.

Daichi Sawamura should not have come here tonight. The guys in the office had convinced him, said there was a new pretty girl who was exactly his type. But this place was not the sort he was used to coming to. It wasn’t that this establishment was a bad one or that he had any problem with it; people had to make money how they could. Empowerment and autonomy and all that. It was more that he felt a little inadequate if he was being completely honest with himself. He wouldn’t know what to do with someone from here. He was used to good girls, the ones who had a routine and didn’t like anything too kinky. Which was also fine. But there were things he wanted to try, had a suspicion he would like that he just couldn’t ask of anyone he’d been with. He scrubbed a hand over his face, realizing the conversation he was having completely in his head was stressing him out.

“Dai, bro, just relax. She’s pretty. You better tip her good but you don’t have to talk to anyone but me and the bartender if you don’t want to. Just enjoy the show.” Kuroo smirks at his friend; it has been a long week. It’s not like he doesn’t deserve to wind down. Part of him just wishes he was doing it in the comfort of his home, with his favorite ramen from around the corner and a good movie. But who knows, maybe he’s getting complacent.

So he sits in the seat Kuroo has pulled out for him, a front-row spot directly in the middle of the runway. Right in front of the center pole. The seats are comfortable and he’s got a whiskey neat in his hands. He can feel a little of the stress release from the muscles in his traps, can feel his jaw unclench just in the slightest as the first warm sip of whiskey flows down his throat.

This is fine, he reassures himself, pushing work from his brain. Kuroo takes a sip from his own drink, a fruity one that he insists is the most delicious ever but is just a little too sweet for Daichi. The place is in a lull right now, preparing for the next act. But soon there’s a growing murmur from the back. Someone whistles, and a few others catcall. Daichi bristles just a bit, but he can’t even see anything until you hit the steps and it’s then that Kuroo elbows him.

“That’s her,” he says, raising his voice so Daichi can hear over the now thrumming bass. He feels it in his toes, in his chest, in his head. But your steps, the bounce of your tits in a skimpy bright blue bikini top, he feels in his dick. It barely covers anything, just like the matching bottoms. Cute little bows keep them on your hips and your heels are a deep black. As you get closer, your walk slow and sensuous, he can see the peep toe and your fresh French manicure poking through. He tries to adjust his navy suit pants with little success. He’s in so much fucking trouble.

You strut up the steps, the blinking LED strips embedded into the floor blinking in rhythm with the bass and the rhythm of your hips. You put a little bit of extra attitude into the sway tonight, praying to any higher power that will listen that tonight will be a good one for tips, even though it’s your first show without any supporting performers. Part of you gets it; you’re new. The owner has to make sure you know how to use those doe eyes and amazing tits properly. The other part of you, the one that knows you’re hot and knows exactly what you’re doing, wanted to smirk a little when your boss had said you wouldn’t get a Friday on your own until you’d completed two weeks of bartending and shadowing.

Your hard work has paid off though, and when you take your place at the center of the runway, you know you have your audience hooked even before dancing. There’s one guy in particular, right below you. He got arguably the best seat in the house along with his friend. You’ve seen the friend before, all confidence, slicked-back black hair, and a steamy attractive smile. Your coworkers say he’s pretty regular and always tips well. Thank god. The one next to him though, you don’t know anything about him except for the fact that the five stages of something flow across his face as you make eye contact with him. The low lighting does nothing to hide the blush flushing from the open neck of his crisp white button up to his cheeks and over the bridge of his nose. He’s got a wad of cash already set casually on the bar top in front of him.

You smile, bright and unguarded, knowing. You’ll have the rest of Monday’s rent if he’s an indication of the rest of the customers that will be coming in tonight. He turns away, uncomfortable. Aw, how sweet. So unlike some of the slimy patrons you’re used to. Something you don’t like trips low in your belly. The biggest rule was no sex with any of the customers. It was in place for a reason and a majority of the time was a good one. You remind yourself of it as the song for your first dance starts playing over the speakers.

Buss it, buss it, buss it, buss it

Is you fuckin’? Two shots, fuck it

You take a deep breath, hands on the shiny silver pole, and wrap one leg around it. The metal is cold to the touch but something else has goosebumps crawling up your bare skin. When you spin, turning in the new guy’s direction, your suspicions are confirmed that the feeling is not the rest of the eyes on you but his. And his are suddenly, somehow, the only eyes you want to perform for. So you do.

Daichi can feel Kuroo snap to attention next to him; he can’t blame him. You’re stunning and you know it. You look like maybe you shouldn’t know how to do this so well, but none of that matters as all coherent thoughts leave Daichi’s head when you spin and drop, rolling your hips so your ass faces him. You turn and look at him as you rise slowly, a deliciously naughty smile still all over that pretty little mouth. He rushes to take a sip of his drink, drums his fingers on the bartop, runs them through his hair, anything to occupy his hands. Because he knows the only place they really should be is all over you. Oh, the things he would let you do to him. He’d do anything for you. He takes another gulp of whiskey, disappointed when he drains the heavy glass.

Oh, shit. Oh, shit. He knew you were making eye contact with him but when you get on all fours and crawl to him like some lethal jungle cat, the end of the song nearing, he knows he’s in for it. And he’s okay with that. Any doubts he had, about being here at least, have vanished completely. He doesn’t know what’s gotten into him but he leans forward to meet you where you are at the edge of the stage. The crowd is roaring around him, the cheers only growing louder at the chemistry shooting like electricity through the air between the two of you. They’re jealous cheers he thinks, although he’s sure as hell not looking away long enough to check anyone’s expressions to confirm.

“Got anything good for me, pretty boy?” Your voice is pitched low as you blink big eyes at him, a smirk playing on your lips. Because, goddammit, he is pretty. Prettier than any other patrons you’d ever catered to. You would not mind if he came to be one of your regulars, regardless of any funds that might be exchanged. You would not mind if he came regularly—in your cunt, on your ass, on your tongue… A girl could take her pick with a man like him. Thick dark hair, glittering brown eyes, full lips. A barrel chest and wide shoulders to boot. No sex with the customers, no sex with the customers, no sex with the customers…

You watch, heat pooling low in your belly, as he unbinds the cash you had noticed earlier. You can’t quite figure him out. Because he’s making eye contact with you as he spreads the folded bills, licks his thumb, and pulls out two crisp Benjamins but there is a nervous tremor in his large hands as he passes the bills to you. Your eyes widen, the act dropping momentarily before you catch yourself and push out your bottom lip in a pout.

“Hm, a girl should get a little more than that for such a good performance, don’t you think?” You are completely used to this, the schpeel. You’ve done it thousands of times at the last place you worked and hundreds more at this club. It’s part of the persona within these walls. Mystery man is apparently not used to acting this way. You can see the war within him as you take the bills and he leans back, trying to be casual but every line of him is taught like a rubber band about to break.

“You here all night?” Don’t give anyone your schedule. If they like you enough, they’ll figure it out on their own by being a regular paying customer. You nod, liking this new game. Toeing around something you would normally consider dangerous, if only for all the variables far out of your control. But that makes it all the more fun, especially when he clicks his tongue behind his teeth and replies “Good, then so am I. I have more where that came from. Do you?”

Kuroo is watching the interaction with a gaping mouth. Daichi doesn’t have a clue where this new side of him is coming from. Except. Except he does. And it feels damn good. Despite being sure it is glaringly obvious that he is leaping so far out of his comfort zone, you seem to be very receptive. He shouldn’t be entertaining the idea of staying all night. He could use some sleep. But he could also use that mouth around his cock. You probably have rules, rules that should be followed, for your safety. Daichi knows he’s safe, but you don’t. He most definitely should not ask for your number or give you his or ask what time you’re off. You shouldn’t answer him.

But you do, nodding earnestly when he asks if you’ll be here all night. He has no choice. There’s something about you that he can’t shake off. The extra cash is of no consequence to him, and maybe, just maybe… No, he won’t let that thought go further. He won’t imagine how you’d look on your knees, or bouncing on his cock. He won’t imagine you writhing beneath him or securing him to his headboard with those cuffs he’d bought but never gotten to use. He won’t imagine you breathily calling him pretty boy again even though, fuck, he wishes you would so, so bad.

“What’s your name,” you ask before you can stop yourself, before you rise to your feet. The rules here are good ones, meant to keep both the patrons and performers safe.  You’d worked at other establishments before that didn’t care so much about safety so much as they cared about money.  Your radar has never been off in the past and maybe that shouldn’t be enough for you but everything about Mystery Man makes you want to break every rule ever set before you.  There’s something about him that makes you want to risk it all.  You want to hear him whimper and you’d place bets that you could get him to do it in record time.  Even now, his breathing is shallow and he seems unable to answer you.  His friend leans over, elbowing him into action.

“His name’s Daichi.  And mine’s Kuroo.  Ya know, in case you wanted to know.”  His smile is genuine, not creepy at all.  You return the grin as you stand before turning back to Daichi.  He straightens a little, snapped back to reality by his friend.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you say to Kuroo.  He is attractive, just not who you have your eyes set on.  But it’s good information to pass along to your coworkers.  Judging by his tailored suit that fits just as good as Daichi’s, you’d wager his job pays like his friend’s.  The music swells again, the DJ cueing to your next song.  “Kuroo, make sure your friend doesn’t go anywhere.  Tonight’s for him.”  Kuroo scoffs in friendly disbelief at Daichi’s luck.

“I’m hauling you to the club more often,” he says to Daichi, who flashes a quick small smile.  Oh god, that smile could bring anyone you know to their knees.  It could certainly do it to you.  That smile alone could get you to do anything Daichi would ask.  You point at Kuroo as you take your place at the center pole again.

“I’m holding you to that, Kuroo.”  You brace your hands one over the other on the pole, and shake your ass for all it’s worth.

Body crazy, curvy, wavy, big titties, little waist.

Daichi’s going to have a stroke, he just knows it.  He can feel the veins in his forehead and neck bulging.  The blood has flowed elsewhere too.  His cock is so hard it feels painful.  There are several different ways he could get relief, most of which he should not be considering seeking in a public area.  But it’s unbearable and there’s no way he’s going to let himself come in front of all these other people.  He waits for the end of your current number and then he’s standing so fast his chair screeches out behind him; a couple of people look his way but for the most part, you’ve got everyone’s attention.  Kuroo glances sideways at his friend; he doesn’t say anything, just smirks as Daichi tosses another hundred on the bar top, telling Kuroo to give it to you before rushing to the bathroom.

He makes his way down the hall and notices there are several doors marked RESTROOM in bold capital letters.  Thank god there are single-person stalls.  He stumbles into one, shutting the door and locking it with shaking hands.  The music is still audible, even here; it seems to have dropped to a low steady hum.  Intermission.  Perfect.  Daichi turns to the sink and splashes cold water on his face, one last attempt to snap himself out of this fucking trance.  Because that’s what this has to be.  He’s getting all hot and bothered over someone who he doesn’t even know.  And god, he wants to think that you like him but he knows he’s tipping good and he’s not one of those creeps that can’t recognize it’s your fucking job.

The image in the mirror is one that almost shocks him; his eyes are glazed, and his hair’s a mess.  Just once, he just needs to come once and then he can stay here until the end of the night like he said he would.  He’ll tip you like a good customer would.  Then he’ll leave and he’ll never come back.  Because this?  This is Daichi out of control and he’s not sure that’s a good thing.  Maybe he should go back to making love to nice girls in his king-sized bed.  Yes, that’s what he’ll do.  He’ll leave here and he won’t come back and he’ll never think of you again.

Daichi unbuckles his belt, the metal of the buckle clanking as he yanks his zipper down.  He lets out a pained breath, his cock straining against his underwear.  He slips his hand into the elastic band, taking it into his hand and bringing it out into the air.  He backs up to the wall, the cool air offering little comfort for the engorged head, and closes his fist around himself.  A breath comes fast and heavy out of his mouth as he starts jacking himself off slowly, trying to make the moment last.

You watch as Daichi stands abruptly, so quickly and sharply that he almost topples his chair over.  You watch as he tosses another bill on the bar top, leaning in to say something to Kuroo.  You watch as he throws one last glance your way before beelining to the bathrooms.  Idiot.  Absolute idiot is what you are because you’re making your way off the runway, ignoring the audience as a low boo goes through the crowd.  Your boss catches your eye from the end of the bar and waves you over.

“What the hell is going on?”  It’s not said unkindly but more with an air of annoyance.  This is your first Friday night on your own and you might be blowing it.  But you don’t care.  You put on a fake wince and point at your head, trying to look as contrite and imploring as possible.

“I’m so sorry, I know it’s my first Friday and I’m so grateful.  But I’ve really gotta pee and I’ve got this horrible headache starting.  Can I take ten?  Just ten minutes, enough time for an ibuprofen to set in while I go to the bathroom, and then I’ll be back out.  Please.”  You put those big eyes back to use, blinking slow and tilting your head slightly like you’re trying to relieve the pain of your fake headache.  Your boss squints his eyes but doesn’t protest as he pulls a bottle of Advil from behind the bar.  He hands you a couple with a glass of water.

“Ten minutes.  Go to the bathroom.  Take a breather.  Then get your ass back out there.  I’ve seen the business you’re encouraging after two sets.  You’ll be back up there as one of my main performers if you keep up the good work.”  You smile as you throw the pills back with the water and hurry in the direction of the restroom, pulling on one of the extra robes from the bar.  Now to find Daichi.

A couple is making out in the hallway; you brush past them and knock quietly on the first door.  A voice answers quickly that the stall is occupied but it’s not Daichi’s voice.  You knock on two more doors before getting to the last one.  You suppose he could have gone into the multi-stall restroom but you’d seen the look on his face when he’d stood and you’d bet all the cash he’d given you so far that he wasn’t coming back here to take a piss.  You rap your knuckles on the last single-person stall.  You’re rewarded with his voice coming from the other side.

“There’s someone-ha-there’s someone in here!”  He can barely get the words out; you know what’s going on in that stall and you want to help.  You rub your thighs together, realizing you’re already getting wet.

“Daichi, it’s me.”  This is stupid.  Maybe he doesn’t even like you that much.  Maybe you’re just some stripper at a strip club.  There’s a heavy silence now, almost solid enough that you could cut it with a knife.  Another pause and you’re getting ready to leave, cursing your confidence for all that it’s getting you, but then you hear the click of the door unlocking.  He opens it but only just so.  Still, it’s an invitation and one you are eager to accept.  You open the door just wide enough to slip through to shield yourself from any potential wandering eyes in the hall.  The scene inside the stall nearly wrecks you.

Daichi has backed up against the wall, as far away from you as humanly possible.  It’s so obvious that he’s been jacking himself off. His hair is messy, his eyes wild like he was already on the brink. He’s desperately trying to cover his cock with his hands and even though they’re large, they can’t cover it completely. You meet his gaze, which he tries to avoid, his eyes fluttering left then right with shame, before finally settling on you. Something trips across your skin.

“Babe, let me help you with that,” you whisper as you direct your line of sight to his cock. It twitches as you move closer, slowly, as if you’re approaching a cornered animal. Daichi groans a little when you reach him, one hand steadying on his shoulder and the other reaching up to touch his face.

“This is—this is not what it looks like, I swear. I promise I’m not some creep, I just—” You put a single finger softly to his lips, making sure he’s got his eyes on you. They widen just a bit. In the brighter light of the bathroom, you can see how rich the color of his irises are, golden brown like sunlight streaming through an autumn wood, or espresso, or something corny like that. Fuck the rules.

“Daichi, can I kiss you?” The question is out of your mouth before you can stop yourself. His mouth drops open but his eyes rove from yours down to your lips, then your covered chest, and back up. Finally, he nods so you guide his face down to yours and kiss him. His lips are soft and warm and pliable. He makes a little sound in the back of his throat, so unlike the image he’d put out walking in this place with his fine, tailored suit and stack of cash. Your hand slips from his shoulder and moves down the ridge of his pectoral, then lower still to the hard planes of his stomach. You trail your fingers over the now wrinkled fabric, close to his undone belt and open pants. His cock jumps against your abdomen past his hands and he gasps. “Is this okay?” You ask the question, certain that Daichi just needs the chance to give in. He nods again so you smooth your hand lower until it wraps around his cock.

Daichi’s head thunks against the wall of the bathroom as another sharp breath explodes from his open mouth. “Oh, fuck,” he growls quietly. You move your hand experimentally, softly, swiping your thumb across the head, gathering the bit of precome at the tip and smearing it about. You can’t decide what you want to look at more: the red bleeding over Daichi’s skin from the neck up, his heaving chest, or how his cock looks in your hands. He’s so… responsive. Each turn of your wrist has him shuddering beneath you. More. You need more. You want to see him beg. And part of you also realizes that he needs this too. You drop to your knees and his eyes snap back open as he watches you. “What’re you doing?”

“Only what you want me to do, Daichi. Unless you don’t want me to?” You don’t even finish your sentence before he’s shaking his head. He wraps his hand around yours, enveloping it, and moves it once, twice, over himself. A thought occurs to you, one you’re denying even as you ask him “Daichi, have you ever come down anyone’s throat?” The answer is obvious but you still feel incredulous as he tells you no. The veins in his hands are bulging and he’s still, like the calm before the storm. You lean in, maintaining eye contact, as you blow a breath over his cock. “Do you want to?”

It’s like you flipped a switch. Daichi, slowly now so you have time to pull away if you want to, curls his fingers in your hair, stroking them along your scalp. “Yes, please.” He whispers it, certain this is a dream. This has to be a fucking dream. He’s had a blow job before but never has he ever asked to come in someone’s mouth. He’s a clean guy but he’s not clueless; he just assumed most people thought it was gross and never had a problem with the fact that no one wanted to do that. At least not anyone he had been with. But, oh, he’d thought about it, lots of times. Most of those times in one night.

His pupils are blown wide as you lick your lips and take just the tip, swirling your tongue over the head. His skin is smooth, molten hot. The way your eyes never leave his is something else entirely and when you hollow out your cheeks and relax your throat to take all of him, he thinks he might die. He’s trying to maintain some semblance of control but it is already dwindling to nothing. There’s a coil building in his abdomen. Not yet he thinks viciously. Not yet. You take a few more pulls before releasing him with a pop. Frantic, he feels frantic. Maybe you decided you didn’t want to do this and he’d have to be okay with that, he couldn’t blame you but god damn—

“Daichi, eyes on me.” The man’s Adam’s apple bobs as he locks in on you again. “Let go, babe. Show me how you want it. Pull my hair. Set the pace. And when you’re gonna come, you come down my throat. Nowhere else, you got it? I’ve got five more minutes. Think we can get you there, pretty boy?” He nearly blacks out when you say those words he needed to hear again. Oh, yes, yes he’s sure you can. His eyes search yours once more before fisting his hand in your hair, tightening experimentally. You smile around his cock, deep-throating him once more, but waiting expectantly. He’s not going to come back from this. You’ve ruined anyone else for him. And he’s accepted his fate.

The moment he lets go, the moment he breaks down whatever wall is holding him in place, you can sense it. You place your hands on his thighs as he pulls you nearly all the way off before shoving you back down. Your eyes water just a bit but you feel the slick gather between your thighs. Yes, the girl inside of you that wants to see him to the end hisses. He sets the pace, a strong and quick one, but somehow still gentle. If you said you needed to stop now, you somehow know he’d do so immediately. He twists a little more, angling your head just how he wants it. You set your teeth down ever so lightly just to see….

Daichi whimpers and gasps, the sound nearly a sob on his lips. You swirl your tongue again and suck. “Ha—shit. Just. Just like that,” he grits out as he grips tighter. It hurts a little, your hair and your knees, but the pain swirls with the pleasure in a delicious slide of skin against skin. Your nails dig into his thighs again before he takes one of your hands and closes it around the base of his cock. You grip, working your wrist along with your mouth. He bucks against you, a jerky movement. “I’m close, fuckfuckfuck I’m close. I’m gonna come.” His voice lies somewhere between a bark and a whine. He can’t decide if he wants you closer, or farther, to stop or keep going. His brain is short-circuiting. He tries to pull back just a little bit, but you won’t let him in the best way possible.

You quirk your wrist and tilt your head in just a certain way… Daichi cries out, long and broken, as he curls in over you, his orgasm washing over him in waves so intense his vision goes black. His entire body shudders with his release, his form towering over you as he spurts ropes of come all the way down your throat. You milk him for all he’s worth. Not a single drop is getting away from you, no way in hell. Next time, you want him to come in your pussy. Next time? God, you want there to be a next time. He’s still leaning over you when his breathing slows and steadies; his hands are bracing themselves on your back rubbing soothing circles there with his thumbs. He helps you to your legs and steadies you for a moment.

The silence stretches on as you look at each other, both a little shocked at what just conspired. Daichi slowly puts himself back into his pants and you help him buckle his belt. You’re both on the verge of saying something either extremely brave or extremely stupid with each moment that passes. You’re about to make the first move again when he reaches up and takes your jaw in his hand, running a thumb along the corner of your mouth to gently push the last of his spend into your mouth. You lean into the touch and welcome his finger, sucking it clean just like his dick. He thinks he might be in love with you.

A breathless giggle comes out of you as you back away just a fraction, trying to give yourself space from the startling sensation fluttering in your stomach like butterflies. Your boss is gonna kick your ass if you don’t get back out on the floor. “I would invite you to my place to continue this after I’m off but it’s a little crowded and the walls are thin,” you say, hoping against hope that he wants more just as much as you do. There’s no room for doubt when he leans in and kisses you, deep and slow, tasting himself in your mouth.

“That’s no problem, princess. If you’re still feeling this when you’re off, I’ve got a penthouse all to myself.” Oh, there it is—the swagger you expected him to have. Your eyes glitter as you smooth out your hair, knowing it still looks good enough to perform. If anything, the smell of sex and the appearance of your swollen lips will get you better money, as long as your boss doesn’t catch on. You don’t think he will. “I’ll find you at the end of the night.” You nod, suddenly the bashful one.

Somehow, everything that just transpired did so all in your ten-minute break. In fact, you have one minute to spare as you strut back to the runway, giving your boss a wink and blowing a kiss to the stupefied audience.

“Harder, Daichi, harder.” You can barely get the words out as he thrusts inside of your aching cunt. Your face is pushed into the pillows on Daichi’s king-sized bed, your ass in the air. The sound of skin slapping on skin in the quiet of his room is pornographic but you can’t waste any thoughts on being even remotely embarrassed. Tears stream down your face as he continually hits that spot inside of you that you’ve only been able to hit with a dildo and even then it never came close to this. Daichi’s a machine, the way he keeps going. After you sucked him off and he came so quickly earlier in the night, he was determined to make this one last longer. One of his hands is gripping tightly into the plush of where your hip meets your ass cheek, the other is splayed over your back, even now caressing the skin, alighting it with goosebumps. “Oh, fuuuuuck,” you whine as that same hand snakes around to your neck to pull you up.

His fingers and palm ghost over the skin as he thrusts up into you and it’s all you can do to hold to his thighs for dear life, your nails digging in so hard you’ll know they’ll leave a mark. “Are you close, princess?” He whispers it labored into your ear, his breath hot, his mouth even hotter as he leans in to nip at your pulse point from behind. You nod frantically, almost unable to answer. “Can I come inside, baby? Will you let me? Will you let me be a good boy for you?” His hand moves from your throat to your clit, stroking one slow circle over the oversensitive nub. Thank god for birth control.

“Yes, Daichi, yes, come in my pussy. Oh, god, yes be a good boy for me.” You squeal as he thrusts hard, once, twice, swiping his fingers over your clit again in a more concentrated pattern and you feel your first orgasm of the night sweep over you as Daichi finds his own release with a mangled, animalistic groan.  You think he’s done, especially when he pulls out leaving you feeling way too empty.  But you’re wrong, so, so wrong.  He proceeds to flip you over and push back in, a ring of white forming around where he’s begun thrusting inside of you again.  

“I thought about this all fucking night.”  He surges up over you, grabbing your wrists and pulling them above you.  “I thought about that pretty little cunt around my cock.  I thought about how pretty you’d look laying in my bed.”  One thrust, slow and teasing.  You roll your hips up to meet him, even though your thighs are weak and shaking.  “I’ve never–I’ve never fucked anyone like this before, it’s,” he leans in to suck on your pulse again, runs his tongue over the salty skin there, “magical.”  You whimper beneath him when you feel the familiar coil tightening once more in your belly.  

“Do you think I can make you come again, Daichi?  Can you come for me one more time?”  He groans, sealing his lips over yours as he releases your hands so that can pull him closer into you.  You scrape your nails from the nape of his neck into his hair, and grip, breathless, as his rhythm becomes choppy again.  God, you don’t know how he’s still going.  The two of you are so frenzied, the blood in your veins hotter than a blue flame.  “Look at me when you come, baby, look at me,” you whisper, bringing your hands to his cheeks.  His eyes are glazed, his face strained but still beautiful.  “I’m going to touch myself now, okay?”  His mouth pops open again as he nods, before watching as you wrap one arm around his shoulder and bring your other hand to your clit.  You swipe around his cock, collecting some of the mess you’ve both made there.  You know how to pleasure yourself and with Daichi’s expert stroke, it doesn’t take long before it snaps over you, the walls of your pussy squeezing around him forcing spend from him one more time.  It’s not as explosive as the first time but still enough that you can feel the wet leaking out onto his sheets.  “So good for me, Daichi, look how good you are for me,” you chant as you wring the last of the pleasure from each other.

When it’s over, he stills, pulling out of you and collapsing onto the bed beside you.  There’s a sheen of sweat covering you both.  The cool early morning air coming in Daichi’s open window creates the perfect juxtaposition of sensations.  He reaches over to trace patterns into your palm.  “Can I hold you?”  The question is so sweet, it makes you huff out a laugh.  The man just blew your back out and he asks if he can hold you.  But you are more than willing to oblige him so you roll into his open arm and lay your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart.  You wait a moment before looking up at him, relishing the feeling of his fingers now tracing patterns into your arm and shoulder.

“Didn’t you mention something about handcuffs earlier?”  He looks down at you jerkily, a sheepish grin on his face.  You smile mischievously.  You’re going to ruin him.  He’s going to let you.  And he’s going to love it.

“Let me make you breakfast first, yeah?”  You nod and breathe in the smell of him, all sex and musk and expensive cologne.  Neither one of you knows where this is going to go but right now, it doesn’t matter.  You yawn and snuggle closer.

“Just so you know,” you intone sleepily, “I like French toast.”  He laughs softly, his own body relaxing into a lazy slumber.

“Hm, French toast?  I pinned you as a pancake kinda girl.  Good thing I also like French toast and always keep the supplies in to make it.”  His breathing is slow and shallow, matching the rhythm of yours.  The sun peeks over the cityscape around you as the two of you go under, cradled in each other’s arms.

This work and its digital elements (photo credit to photographer) are © Kait of @kaitsawamura 2024. Please do not alter or copy this work. Please do not repost this work to other platforms without my express permission.

[iridescentmirrorsgenshin]

I have no other place to yap this to so I apologise in advance.

I find it interesting in Alhaitham and Kaveh’s voicelines they tend to talk about each other A LOT in a way of complaining. Such as in Alhaitham’s Good night voiceline where he says that he’d prefer that Kaveh wouldn’t be home at all because all the chaos and noise he makes in the dead of the night. Or in Kaveh’s Good Morning voiceline where he says that he hopes that you don't run into someone who ruins your day first thing in the morning.

I guess it’s what makes other people think that they despise each other’s company. Yet they’re always viewed as a pair and Alhaitham could’ve kicked Kaveh out of the house ages ago. But what’s your opinion on that?

Hiya! there's no need to apologise, this is a safe space for all haikaveh! When I tell you your ask is scratching my brain I mean ITCHING, I have so many thoughts about this part of their dynamic so thank you for enabling me <3 This turned out to be rather long, so I hope it’s helpful to you!

The contention in both Alhaitham and Kaveh’s character stories and voice lines seems to be to create intrigue about the two as individuals, and, in turn, their relationship.

Alhaitham’s ‘good night’ voice line instantly serves as a contradiction to his character. It’s interesting, and telling, that Alhaitham, who is essentially Kaveh’s landlord, and mentions this within his fourth character story, alludes to Kaveh by using ‘roommate’ rather than ‘tenant’. ‘Landlord’ evokes a position of authority over the tenant, whereas ‘roommate’ indicates an equality between two people sharing a house – since it’s Alhaitham who advocates for the term ‘roommate’, it’s telling that, as opposed to what Kaveh believes, Alhaitham wants to establish equality between them.

In terms of what Alhaitham says in this voice line, it explicitly raises a contradiction in the form of a question: if Alhaitham is truly bothered by his roommate’s antics, why doesn’t he simply evict Kaveh?

This is relevant as this question is also posed when we initially meet Kaveh within the Archon Quest, as Kaveh states he dislikes Alhaitham’s personality, to which Alhaitham responds by saying if he bothers Kaveh so much, Kaveh always has the option to move out of the house – to which Kaveh perceives as a threat, only to then dismiss this as Alhaitham ‘changing the subject’, which seems to mean that this ‘threat’ is taken as baseless. As this isn’t called back to, this seems to be the case.

There is no real threat of eviction, and regardless of their disputes, Alhaitham ultimately gives Kaveh no ultimatum to move out. In fact, as discussed here (page 27), as we are meeting Alhaitham and Kaveh for the first time, Alhaitham allowing Kaveh to live with him contradicts his established character of living a life free of inconvenience. This instantly creates intrigue around his and Kaveh’s dynamic – who is Kaveh to Alhaitham for this exception to be made to Alhaitham’s peaceful way of life?

(An additional note of interest is that Alhaitham’s solution to the noise problem seems to be more uncomfortable than calling on Kaveh and telling him to stop his work. Alhaitham says that he’d rather not wear his noise-cancelling earpieces to bed, implying that he does so when noise is a problem at night. However, there’s no mention of Kaveh being stubborn when confronting this issue, which is why he takes to wearing his ear pieces, or any mention of confrontation at all. From this voice-line, it seems that Alhaitham avoids interaction by opting for the least comfortable option, which can be a contradiction to his character. As this is a rather brief voice-line, it’s difficult to ascertain why, but I like the idea that Kaveh is productive at night, and Alhaitham prefers not to impose on Kaveh’s work process – but this is more a headcanon than evidenced interpretation.)

Returning back to the contradiction within this voice-line, at a surface glance, this does appear to be a general complaint about Kaveh, and this can be found in Alhaitham’s lines about Kaveh, and also when discussing Tighnari. Alhaitham refers to Kaveh as ‘overly sensitive’, and ‘constantly making a fuss’.

These can easily read solely as complaints, but when looking to the original CN translation, another interpretation can be found here. Alhaitham describes Kaveh as ‘caring’ or ‘tender’, which is exactly how Kaveh is described within the 3.6 special program (as per minimushiroom on twt), which can allude to how Kaveh is considerate to a fault, in that this serves as a detriment to himself.

This can be seen in Alhaitham’s other Kaveh-centred voice-line, in which he describes Kaveh buying keychains in order to provide meals for sick children, even though healthcare is free in Sumeru. Alhaitham clearly holds the view that this was a redundant action, as Kaveh, being in debt, most likely doesn’t have the money to spend on such investments that are, evidently, dubious.

As Alhaitham provides a rational view here, this contrasts with Kaveh’s act of generosity fuelled by emotion – which highlights the contention Alhaitham has with Kaveh, in that Kaveh places himself in dangerous situations for the sake of others. However, as this can be perceived as a solely derisive line, this essential context is lacking, and can be easily misconstrued. (I think the EN translation here also coincides with this narrative, as minimushiroom notes that the original CN has Alhaitham refer to Kaveh’s sensitivity in a positive way, rather than contemptuously, as the English can be interpreted as.)

Kaveh, similarly, can be seen to complain about Alhaitham in his own voice-lines. This can be seen in the 'Good Morning' voice-line you've mentioned, where Kaveh complains about having to see Alhaitham in the morning, which 'ruins' his day. Additionally, Kaveh's voice-lines discussing Alhaitham refer to Alhaitham as ‘infuriating’ and not wanting to give Alhaitham the satisfaction of thanking him, despite Alhaitham helping him out. However, there is more nuance in these voice-lines than Kaveh simply ‘disliking’ Alhaitham, as this dislike is never stated - rather that he and Alhaitham have a difficult relationship in comparison to the ‘close’ friendship of their past.

Kaveh describes their relationship being a ‘mixed bag’, of both negatives and positives, as well as establishing a thorough understanding of Alhaitham, where other people may misinterpret Alhaitham as they ‘don’t know him well enough’. Additionally, Kaveh notes that he knows that Alhaitham can present himself in a more ‘likeable’ manner, but that Alhaitham refuses to do so, which refers to Kaveh’s contention with Alhaitham discussed within his character stories. This, in turn, generates curiosity, as it appears that Kaveh holds an in-depth knowledge of Alhaitham that the player isn’t privy to.

Referring back to Alhaitham’s ‘Good Night’ voiceline, the question raised is, if Alhaitham has a problem with Kaveh, why doesn’t he just evict Kaveh? And the answer can be found by digging further into Alhaitham’s character stories. Looking to Alhaitham’s fourth character story, it states that he is aware of the dissatisfaction Kaveh may have with their living arrangement but  that ‘it matters not to him’.

This means that he is aware that Kaveh may be unhappy with having to rely on someone else for a stable livelihood, something which his pride doesn’t naturally allow, but that this is also exacerbated due to their previous falling out and the current contentions Kaveh has with him.

At first, this can seem rather abrasive, which does fall in line with Alhaitham’s egoism as this doesn’t directly impact ‘the self’ (discussed further here), however, what immediately follows is Alhaitham’s belief that he and Kaveh are mirrors, in that his own perspective of the world will be enhanced - in the og CN, ‘completed’ -by Kaveh’s own world view.

The implication generated here with the explicit term ‘mirror’, is that, just as Alhaitham benefits from Kaveh, Kaveh, in turn, can benefit from Alhaitham. (As a side note, it is interesting then that the voice-lines in question can be seen to mirror each other – Kaveh mentions Alhaitham in ‘Good Morning’ whereas Alhaitham mentions Kaveh in ‘Good Night’.)

Returning back to Alhaitham’s character story, rather than merely reflecting each other philosophically speaking, I’d say that this also points to their respective progression as people, not just scholars.

To me, this is reminiscent of what Alhaitham says to Kaveh in A Parade of Providence – being ‘correct’, ultimately, doesn’t matter, as there is no ‘correct’ path in life, meaning that there is no ‘correct’ philosophy to shape and guide a person. Rather, Alhaitham asserts that, ultimately, their opposing philosophies are not the issue that exists between them.

The issue that does exist, then, can be surmised from Alhaitham’s actions during the event (discussed further here), in which he researches into Sachin to gauge his influence over Kaveh’s father journeying into the desert, with implicit hopes of providing closure for Kaveh, and potentially assuaging Kaveh’s guilt. This is a personal act with a personal motive; the underlying motive being concern, as opposed to an assertion of ‘correctness’.

In my opinion, I think Alhaitham’s actions during A Parade of Providence are a direct reference, and fulfilment, of Kaveh’s fifth character story. I’ve discussed here that the main reason for the ending of their friendship was them asserting the correctness of a philosophy over the other, and proposing one philosophy as the ‘solution’ to the other’s perceived flaws.

Here Alhaitham can be seen to use Kaveh’s past as the reason for his excessive altruism, implicitly referring to Kaveh’s guilt over being the supposed catalyst for his father’s demise. This final comment of Alhaitham’s appears to be the first time this has been mentioned between them, and it’s enough to be perceived as weaponisation – leading to Kaveh severing their friendship.

In A Parade of Providence, Alhaitham is shown to only have taken the role of commentator to research into Sachin, whose research we are told (by Kaveh), he has no explicit interest in, and it is heavily implied that the only reason he looked further into Sachin, was to prove to link between Sachin and Kaveh’s father. Alhaitham seems to want to absolve Kaveh of this past guilt in hopes that Kaveh will stop placing himself in the cycle of self-sabotage.

For me, when viewing this as a parallel, it highlights that Alhaitham’s motivation in speaking out during their days as students was out of concern for Kaveh, although while holding egoism as ultimately beneficial, and therefore perceivably ‘correct’. The ‘issue’ they’re currently debating is not expressly stated, and although it is unclear if Kaveh understands the implication (as discussed here), as ‘correctness’ has been overturned, there seems to be little left than the personal.

Relating this back to Alhaitham’s fourth character story, for me, Alhaitham referring to Kaveh as a mirror isn’t just referring to Kaveh as a scholar, but a person as a whole. As Alhaitham seeks to improve himself, personally, through Kaveh, it seems that he hopes to be able to benefit Kaveh in turn.

As for Kaveh’s complaints regarding Alhaitham, these can be contextualised within his own character stories. As Kaveh ultimately severed the friendship between him and Alhaitham, Alhaitham offering Kaveh to live with him, despite Kaveh revoking his previous understanding of Alhaitham (as discussed here, page 67), causes Kaveh to be overtly suspicious.

In Kaveh’s Old Sketchbook, it is mentioned that Kaveh believes there to be an ulterior motive for Alhaitham inviting him to share a house, as he believes that Alhaitham wouldn’t do something for someone else without an exchange.

Kaveh, then, openly distrusts Alhaitham due to this unspoken motive, and although he takes on chores to ease his sense of guilt of being a perceived burden, a contention arises here. Due to their previously ended friendship, and with how Alhaitham hurt Kaveh, and how Kaveh may believe he hurt Alhaitham (discussed here), Kaveh sees no reason for Alhaitham to want him around – he treats their relationship as an exchange, asking what Alhaitham could possibly want for him.

Although Alhaitham views Kaveh as a mirror, and therefore, respects Kaveh’s perspectives, Kaveh can potentially view their opposing philosophies as a negative rather than a positive as he had done in the past (as discussed here), as it, perceivably, was what led to the end of their friendship. In this, Kaveh views Alhaitham as disparaging him and his views. As mentioned in his character story, he has no reservations in telling Alhaitham of his debt as Alhaitham has already seen through him in the past, and yet again, upon meeting at the tavern.

Although Alhaitham perceivably views him unfavourably, and his comments and complaints appear to propagate this interpretation, Alhaitham also seems to have no issue with keeping Kaveh around, and interacting with Kaveh, regardless of the problems Kaveh expressly has with him.

To Kaveh, it could be that as Alhaitham has already seen the worst of him, and appears to have no real issue with their stilted rapport, there is no point in donning a front and using niceties. He is open with his issues with Alhaitham, and, in turn, Alhaitham is open with him.

This appears to be a dual negative and positive for Kaveh, as he describes Alhaitham’s constancy as ‘the most unshakable part of one's past is a friend that will never change’. In this sense, his unsteady rapport with Alhaitham is reliable, and therefore, has no reason to change.

Clearly, there is a large disconnect between Alhaitham’s view of Kaveh and how Kaveh perceives Alhaitham’s view of him. As previously mentioned in the discussion of A Parade of Providence, there is an unspoken ‘issue’ between them, and this can be interpreted as dire misconceptions borne from miscommunication.

As discussed, Kaveh and Alhaitham reference each other a lot in their respective voice-lines and their character stories. This alone is enough to connect them, regardless of the cruciality of their mirror motif, as they are key figures of each other’s past, present, and seemingly, future. Despite this, it’s as you say, there’s a common perception to view them as mutually disliking each other, and, to me, this is based upon their first initial interaction, and the way they refer to each other in their own character stories and voice-lines.

It’s notable that Alhaitham refers to Kaveh in his voice-lines when Kaveh is not explicitly relevant, such as in his Good Night voice-line, and, most interestingly, when Alhaitham discusses Tighnari.

This could be because Alhaitham knows of Tighnari through Kaveh, but as this connection isn’t stated, it reads as Alhaitham mentioning Kaveh for no other reason than to complain about his perceived naivety regarding relations with others. But as this is a voice-line designated to discussing Tighnari, it’s interesting, and incredibly noticeable, that Alhaitham then discusses Kaveh instead. It’s similar to what Kaveh can be seen to do, and is observed to do by others, in relation to discussing Alhaitham.

When it comes to Kaveh, however, his complaining of Alhaitham can be seen to link with his process of dealing with troubles in his work. In his Hangout, he states that he takes his work to heart because he cares about it, which is expressed in the same quest in which Kaveh and the Traveller run into Alhaitham in the House of Daena (discussed further here, page 219).

Drawing a parallel here can further contextualise Kaveh’s complaining of Alhaitham – if Kaveh truly disliked Alhaitham, there seems to be no reason for Alhaitham to remain so relevant to him, both in conversation, and in private thought. Additionally, Kaveh is described as an empathetic person, and when dealing with others, he is thusly seen to look for another perspective rather than act on his own subjective perspective.

Looking at his voice-line on Dori, for example, expresses his distaste for Dori pressuring him for Mora due to his debt, however, he also empathises with her, and states that he senses there must be a reason why Dori acts in such a way.

In contrast, this empathy can be perceived as missing in his treatment of Alhaitham, and therefore Kaveh complaining about Alhaitham can be perceived as blatant dislike – which contradicts Kaveh’s benevolence and empathy, which A Parade of Providence particularly stresses.

Kaveh’s treatment of Alhaitham can be seen as deliberately contradictory, as it can cause the player to question why Kaveh reacts in such a singular way to Alhaitham, just as why Alhaitham reacts in a singular way to Kaveh.

In reference to Alhaitham, whilst Alhaitham tends to complain about Kaveh in turn, his actions reveal him. He invites Kaveh to live with him, gives no eviction date, pays for Kaveh’s tabs willingly, (supposedly) buys wine as an apology, and goes out of his way to ensure dialogue with Kaveh – which contradicts his own character stories, in which he appears to favour solitude, and only greets those he considers his friends ‘with a nod or two’.

Moreover, Alhaitham is established as considering Kaveh a necessity to his ‘peaceful life’ he seeks to maintain (as discussed here), and can be seen to implicitly consider Kaveh one of his priorities within his Story Quest.

The idea that Alhaitham dislikes Kaveh seems to stem from Alhaitham being taken literally when voicing an opinion, or an issue, or simply joking, in reference to Kaveh – despite his character stories highlighting that Alhaitham often uses sarcasm in order to subvert expectations.

Alhaitham expressly states that he prefers to be seen as inscrutable, and unknown, by the general public, and uses subversion as a means to do so. In these character stories, Alhaitham openly encourages speculation of his own words.

Without this context, it seems easy to simplify Alhaitham to purely speaking factually when first addressing Kaveh in the Archon Quest – stating that having to explain things to Kaveh is ‘a nuisance’, and yet, it is overlooked that Alhaitham stays in the House of Daena, regardless, knowing Kaveh would find him again.

On the whole, in my opinion, Kaveh’s feelings towards Alhaitham cannot be simplified to ‘dislike’ as this is dually an inherent misunderstanding of his character, and of his and Alhaitham’s relationship, just as Alhaitham’s feelings towards Kaveh cannot be simplified to ‘dislike’ for this same reason.

In the beginning, Alhaitham and Kaveh are not supposed to be perceived as friendly, as Kaveh denies the association of ‘friends’, and Paimon describes them to the Traveller as ‘problematic’.

The reason for this is due to their character arcs being intertwined – the core issue is posed in Kaveh’s fifth character story, in that the question is raised if a compromise can be reached, if both sides of the mirror, can be balanced. At the beginning, they are entirely at odds, but even footing must be found.

I’ve noticed a shift in online discourse after Cyno’s second story quest, as the progression in Alhaitham and Kaveh’s relationship is noticeable – deliberately, due to the flashback scene within their house (which I’ve discussed in detail here, page 122). To me, it’s more common to form the assumption that Alhaitham and Kaveh dislike each other in the Archon Quest, but with recent developments, and, hopefully, future ones, this perception is being overturned in online communities. Perhaps that’s just wishful thinking, but I’m still hopeful!

[vickyvicarious]

I found that my landlord had got a letter from the Count, directing him to secure the best place on the coach for me; but on making inquiries as to details he seemed somewhat reticent, and pretended that he could not understand my German. This could not be true, because up to then he had understood it perfectly; at least, he answered my questions exactly as if he did. He and his wife, the old lady who had received me, looked at each other in a frightened sort of way. He mumbled out that the money had been sent in a letter, and that was all he knew. When I asked him if he knew Count Dracula, and could tell me anything of his castle, both he and his wife crossed themselves, and, saying that they knew nothing at all, simply refused to speak further.

Okay, since I'm on the lookout for documents this time around, this scene is kind of making me wonder what exactly Dracula's letter to the innkeepers actually said. Because it's when Jonathan starts asking for details that the man starts pretending he can't speak German anymore. And the two of them look at one another in fear before he insists that he doesn't know anything but that the money is in the letter. Similarly, it's when Jonathan asks about Dracula and the castle, that they cross themselves and just stop talking entirely.

It seems clear that the locals are hesitant to outright tell Jonathan what they think of Dracula, in a way that has me thinking there is some kind of longstanding understanding that warning anyone/speaking too openly is a recipe for reprisal. Everyone knows Dracula is a vampire but if they talk about it he'll come after them, something like that.

But I wonder now if the letter to the innkeepers was much more explicit about his intentions for Jonathan, or at least much more clearly threatening. I could see him not bothering with any false friendliness with any of the locals. Or even if it's not completely plain, still aggressive. Maybe he tells them that if his guest isn't sent to him on the coach he's booked, then they will have to reimburse him for the cost (an obvious 'you'll pay' threat). Maybe he orders them to tell the traveler no local stories to scare him, because his guest's health and peace of mind is his responsibility. Maybe there are even other details about him expecting Jonathan to reach him with emphasis on tonight that are part of the reason the woman thinks if he delays a few days he will be safer.

The scarier the letter to them is, the braver the innkeeper's wife's actions become. Even if it appears perfectly normal, the mere fact of them receiving direct communication from the Count puts them in his crosshairs, I'm sure. Having Dracula's attention is the opposite of what everyone living here must want. And yet she can't bear not to try and save Jonathan, so she does what she can.

[amethystarachnid]

I have an idea for this Accidental Roommates AU (example: both character and reader book the same apartment and are now roommates), and I hope this makes sense to you! So, it's with Tony&fem!reader. They'll turn into a lovely couple after some time, and adopt a kitten/cat together? Tony Stark is the biggest cat dad in the world, and no one will convince me otherwise hehe.

Thank you! 🧡 (or you can ignore this)

ROOM FOR TWO - part I

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Multiverse

ᯓ★ Story type: short fanfic

ᯓ★ Word count: 6k

ᯓ★ Summary: Finding out that the apartment you were supposed to live in is overbooked isn't the best way to start college, especially if your roommate it Tony Stark in all his arrogance. Will things between you two change when you have to co-parent a stray kitten?

ᯓ★ part II

ᯓ★ TW(s): pure fluff

ᯓ★ AU: Accidental roommates

ᯓ★ Comment if you want to be added to the taglist (specify if you want the everything taglist or for a specific character)

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

A campus rental, small and cozy, isn’t what you pictured when you imagined your first college apartment. The place is narrow, the walls are beige, and the furniture is outdated—but it’s private. Or so you thought.

When you first walk in, your suitcase bumping against the doorframe, you’re ready to start unpacking, excited about this small taste of independence. But before you make it past the entryway, you hear footsteps and a muttered curse.

Then you see him. Standing in the doorway to the kitchen, staring at you like you’re the one who doesn’t belong here.

“What are you doing here?” he asks. His voice is sharp, confused, and a little annoyed. He’s got dark hair that’s messily falling into his eyes and he’s wearing a band T-shirt, ripped and faded like it’s been through too many wash cycles. His jeans are equally worn, fitting him a little too well, and he has this stance—relaxed but tense at the same time—that suggests he isn’t someone who’s often surprised. You know who he is, of course. He’s in your engineering class, always the one who asks questions so far above everyone’s heads that even the professor sometimes looks thrown.

“Um… I live here?” You don’t mean to make it sound like a question, but it kind of is. Because despite the paperwork in your bag and the email from the landlord, this feels wrong. Or at the very least, unexpected.

“No, you don’t,” he counters, folding his arms and raising an eyebrow. “I do.”

You shake your head, forcing yourself to stand a little straighter. “I signed the lease last month. I have emails and everything.”

“Yeah?” He pulls out his phone, scrolling with one hand before he flashes his screen toward you. “So did I.”

You squint, trying to make out the details through the faint glare. And then it hits you. Your landlord—the one who’d been juggling your papers at your first meeting, his glasses slipping down his nose as he talked in circles about tenant rights and late fees—must have double-booked the apartment.

Great.

Tony sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Alright, this has to be some kind of clerical error. I’ll call the landlord and sort it out. This isn’t—” he gestures to you, almost like he’s waving you off, “—what I signed up for.”

“Hey,” you say, putting a hand on your hip. “I didn’t sign up for this either. You think I wanted a roommate?”

“Considering I was promised a solo apartment? No.” He rolls his eyes, the look almost theatrical. But there’s something tired in it, something that tells you he’s just as put out as you are.

You cross your arms and look him over, not backing down. “Fine. Call him.”

He stares at you for a second, like he’s trying to figure out why you’re challenging him, before he pulls up his phone again. He dials, waits for a second, and then mutters a low curse when he’s sent to voicemail. “Of course,” he grumbles. “The guy’s probably out somewhere completely unreachable.”

“Figures,” you mutter back. “This is a disaster.”

Tony shoves his phone back into his pocket and leans against the counter, watching you with a resigned sort of amusement. “Well, I don’t have anywhere else to go. And unless you’re secretly a millionaire with a spare apartment lined up, I’m guessing you don’t either.”

The sarcasm in his voice makes you narrow your eyes. “I have a backup plan, thank you very much,” you lie, because you’d rather not give him the satisfaction of thinking he’s got the upper hand here. But he’s not buying it. The way he’s smirking tells you that much.

“Right,” he says, dragging out the word, “but if you’re planning on staying at this backup plan, you’d better let me know soon because I’d rather not waste time unpacking if I’ll be the only one here.”

You bite back an irritated response, taking a deep breath instead. “Look,” you start, forcing yourself to be diplomatic, “why don’t we just… figure this out later? The landlord will be available at some point, and we can get this sorted then.”

“Fine by me,” he replies with a careless shrug, but you notice his eyes linger on you a little longer than you expect. “So what’s your name?”

“Y/N,” you reply shortly, unsure if you want to give him any more than that just yet.

“Tony,” he says. There’s something about the way he says it that feels almost like a challenge, like he’s waiting to see how you’ll respond.

But you just nod, trying to ignore the way he’s sizing you up, like he’s deciding whether you’re friend or foe. You’re here to study, to focus on your degree—not to get tangled up in whatever Tony Stark’s got going on.

“So, um…” You gesture around the apartment awkwardly, not really sure what to do next. “I guess we should… set some ground rules?”

“Sure.” He pushes off the counter and stands in the middle of the small kitchen, arms folded as he looks at you expectantly. “You start.”

“Alright,” you say, steeling yourself. “Number one: respect each other’s space.”

He nods, almost a bit too seriously. “Agreed. Number two: no loud music after ten.”

You arch a brow, half-smiling. “Already calling me a party animal?”

Tony shrugs, unbothered. “I’ve seen you in class. You don’t look like the type who needs extra chaos, that’s all.”

You’re not sure if it’s a compliment or a jab, but you let it slide. “Number three: split the cleaning. I’m not a maid, and I don’t plan on cleaning up after you.”

“Noted.” He holds up his hands in a mock defensive gesture. “I’m pretty tidy anyway.”

“Good.” You cross your arms, feeling slightly more in control of the situation now that you’re laying down some structure. “Number four: don’t touch my food.”

He smirks at that, leaning a little closer. “You think I want your ramen?”

“It’s very good ramen,” you retort, bristling a bit at the implication.

“Sure, sure,” he says, grinning now. “Anything else?”

“Not for now,” you say, though you know there are probably a dozen more things you could add. But you’ll figure those out as you go. For now, you just want to unpack and get this over with.

“Cool,” he says, nodding in agreement. He turns, heading toward the living area, which also serves as a shared bedroom thanks to a convertible couch and a twin bed crammed into one corner. “So, who gets the couch?”

You hesitate, looking between the couch and the twin bed. The bed is closer to the window, which would be nice, but the couch has more privacy since it’s further from the door. “Uh… maybe we take turns?”

Tony snorts, plopping himself down on the couch and stretching out, arms folded behind his head. “I’m good here,” he says with a smirk, like he’s already staked his claim.

Your irritation flares again, but you let it go, deciding that it’s not worth the fight. “Fine. I’ll take the bed.”

“Perfect.” He doesn’t even open his eyes, clearly satisfied with the arrangement.

You grab your suitcase and start unpacking your things into the small dresser on the far side of the room. Every now and then, you catch him watching you from the corner of his eye, but he doesn’t say anything.

The silence stretches out, a little too heavy and a little too tense, until you can’t take it anymore.

“So,” you say, desperate for a distraction, “what’s your major?”

“Mechanical engineering,” he replies without missing a beat. “What about you?”

“Engineering, too,” you say, feeling a bit relieved that you have something in common. But he just raises an eyebrow, like he’s not sure if he’s impressed or skeptical.

“Didn’t peg you as the type,” he says, his tone teasing but not unkind.

You laugh a little, rolling your eyes. “Yeah? And what’s ‘the type’?”

He shrugs. “Just… different. I dunno. You don’t seem like you’d be into all the math and circuits and long nights in the lab.”

“Shows what you know,” you say, surprised by your own defensiveness. But it’s true—engineering is your passion, even if people don’t always expect it from you.

Tony sits up a little, watching you with newfound interest. “Fair enough. Maybe you’ll surprise me.”

The way he says it, like he’s almost daring you to, makes you feel like you have something to prove. “Maybe I will.”

He grins, and you can’t help but smile back, despite yourself. There’s something about him that’s annoyingly charming, even if he’s a bit smug.

“So, guess we’re stuck together,” he says, stretching again and giving a mock yawn as he looks around the small space. “Might as well make the most of it, right?”

“Right,” you say, trying to ignore the flutter of nerves in your stomach. It’s going to be a long semester.

The evening settles in, the sky outside darkening as you both settle into your corners of the small apartment. And even though it’s awkward and tense and neither of you is thrilled about the arrangement, there’s a strange sense of possibility in the air. As much as you hate to admit it, maybe being roommates with Tony Stark won’t be the worst thing in the world.

Or maybe it’ll be a disaster.

The first few weeks of living with Tony Stark are, in a word, chaotic.

It doesn’t take long for you to realize that sharing a space with him means constantly navigating a fine line between friendly coexistence and utter frustration. He has this way of making himself at home in every corner of the apartment, like he’s somehow managed to expand into all the free space. You can’t go to the bathroom without finding his razor on the sink, his textbooks spread across the counter, or his laundry draped over a chair. And then there’s his music—always loud and mostly classic rock, blaring at all hours, completely ignoring your “no loud music after ten” rule.

One morning, as you walk bleary-eyed to the kitchen for coffee, you trip over a pile of Tony’s sneakers lying by the door.

“Tony!” you shout, cursing as you nearly spill your coffee. “Your shoes are everywhere. I can’t even walk in here without tripping.”

He pokes his head around the corner, toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. “Relax, Y/N, it’s just a couple of shoes. Don’t get your circuits crossed.” He grins around the toothbrush, somehow managing to look amused and cocky at the same time.

You glare. “It’s not just the shoes. It’s the shoes, your textbooks, the dishes you leave in the sink—do you know what a dishwasher is?”

He raises an eyebrow, half-amused, half-unbothered. “Do you know what a chill pill is?”

You roll your eyes, muttering under your breath, and try to focus on your coffee. He’s insufferable, really, and yet… somehow, every time he flashes that grin, you feel a flicker of something you can’t quite name. Not that it makes him any less irritating.

The semester picks up, and with it, so do the all-nighters. You’re both in the same engineering program, and you’re both competitive. When he’s hunched over his laptop at two in the morning, the screen casting his face in an eerie blue light, you find yourself in the same position, furiously scribbling equations, desperate to finish before he does. Occasionally, you catch him glancing over at you, eyebrow raised, like he’s silently challenging you to keep up. And you do.

One night, you’re both exhausted, sprawled on opposite ends of the couch after a particularly grueling set of lab assignments. You’re barely holding a pencil in your hand, too tired to even write another line. He’s in the same state, eyes half-closed, notebook resting against his chest.

“You’re not as bad at this as I thought you’d be,” he mumbles, half-asleep.

“Thanks,” you mutter back, too tired to argue or throw a sarcastic response his way. “You’re not that bad, either.”

He huffs, like he’s barely holding back a laugh. You don’t know why, but the sound actually makes you smile.

Tony’s bad habits still drive you crazy, though, especially when it comes to his tendency to hog the tiny bathroom you both share. One morning, after he’s been in there for over twenty minutes, you finally bang on the door.

“Tony, hurry up! I have class in half an hour!”

The door cracks open, and he peeks his head out, hair still dripping from his shower. “Calm down, I’m almost done.”

“Almost done? You’ve been in there forever!” you snap, crossing your arms.

He grins, completely unfazed. “If you’re so desperate, feel free to join me.”

You feel your face heat up, and before you can come up with a comeback, he winks and shuts the door again, leaving you fuming and red-faced in the hallway. That’s Tony, always pushing buttons just because he can.

Over time, though, things… change. Somewhere between the petty arguments and the grudging coexistence, you start to fall into a rhythm. You still bicker, but there’s an unspoken understanding now. You’ll swap the couch and the bed without making a fuss, automatically take turns in the kitchen, and sometimes, you’ll even study together.

You find out that Tony’s more than just the arrogant guy from class—he’s sharp, quick with a joke, and oddly attentive. Sometimes, you’ll wake up to find a fresh cup of coffee waiting for you, and he’ll wave it off, muttering something about it being “just convenient.” And in return, you start picking up his shoes without complaining, throwing his clothes into the hamper, and even bringing him snacks during your late-night study sessions.

It’s a Friday night, and for once, you’re not spending it at home or at the library. You’ve actually got a date—a rarity in your life—and you spent more time than you’d like to admit getting ready, carefully putting on makeup and smoothing down your dress.

Tony, of course, has been watching with that teasing glint in his eyes the entire time, slouched on the couch with his laptop, occasionally smirking like he knows something you don’t.

“You’re actually going out with this guy?” he asks, after you’ve checked your reflection for the fifth time.

“Yes, Tony, people do go on dates. You should try it sometime.”

He laughs, that casual, easy chuckle that you hate because it always manages to sound good. “I don’t need a date, Y/N. I get enough action as it is.”

You roll your eyes, grabbing your purse. “Enjoy your action tonight, Stark. I’ll be back late.”

But as the evening wears on, your mood changes. You’re sitting at a café table, checking your watch for the third time. Your “date” was supposed to meet you half an hour ago, but there’s no sign of him. A growing feeling of embarrassment builds in your chest, and with each passing minute, it gets worse. You don’t want to be that girl who waits around for someone who clearly isn’t coming. With a sigh, you grab your bag and head home, hoping Tony won’t notice your early return.

When you open the door, though, Tony looks up from the couch, eyebrows raised. “That was… fast.”

You sigh, closing the door and leaning against it, trying not to let the disappointment show on your face. “He, um… he didn’t show up.”

Tony’s expression changes, softening a little. He puts his laptop aside and stands up, crossing the room to stand in front of you. For once, there’s no teasing in his eyes, no smirk. “Wait, he stood you up?”

You shrug, forcing a smile. “It’s not a big deal. I probably wasn’t his type, anyway.”

“Not his type?” Tony’s face hardens a little, his tone sharp. “Y/N, he’s an idiot. You’re amazing. He just missed out on something great.”

You blink, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. “You don’t have to say that.”

He shakes his head, his hand reaching out almost instinctively to touch your shoulder. “I’m not saying it because I have to. I’m saying it because it’s true.” His gaze holds yours, steady and warm, and for the first time, you realize just how intense his eyes are.

There’s a moment of silence, heavy and charged, and you feel your pulse quicken. You’re standing close, closer than usual, and for once, there’s no witty comeback, no sarcastic remark from him. Just Tony, looking at you like he sees something in you that no one else does.

“Hey,” he says softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you murmur, swallowing against the sudden tightness in your throat. “I just… I guess I feel a little stupid, that’s all.”

Tony’s face softens, and to your surprise, he pulls you into a gentle hug, his arms wrapping around you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “You’re not stupid, Y/N,” he says quietly, his voice a warm murmur against your hair. “Some guys are just idiots. Trust me—I know a lot of them.”

You laugh against his shoulder, feeling some of the hurt and embarrassment melt away. “Thanks, Tony.”

He pulls back slightly, his hands resting on your shoulders, his gaze searching yours. “Anytime. Seriously.”

For a moment, you just stand there, lost in his eyes, feeling something shift between you. He’s still Tony—annoying, messy, impossible—but there’s something else there now, something unspoken. And suddenly, the idea of him as just your roommate feels almost… disappointing.

He seems to feel it too, because he lets go and steps back, clearing his throat. “So, uh… if you want, we could watch a movie or something? My treat. I have some popcorn in the cupboard, and I promise not to talk through the entire thing.”

You smile, nodding. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

And as you settle onto the couch together, for once in comfortable silence, you can’t help but feel like this night turned out better than you expected.

The first time it happens, it’s an accident. You don’t even plan on a second Friday movie night, but somehow, it just becomes part of the routine.

A week after your canceled date, you both end up crashing on the couch with a couple of cheap takeout containers, both too tired to think about cooking or studying. Tony puts on an old action flick, and you spend half the movie rolling your eyes at the ridiculous stunts, only to find him muttering a dramatic running commentary just to make you laugh. By the end of it, you’re not sure if the movie was any good, but you’re grinning, and you realize it’s the most relaxed you’ve felt in weeks.

From then on, Friday movie nights are a thing.

Every Friday, no matter how hectic your schedules are, you and Tony put aside a couple of hours to flop down on the couch and watch something. The movies vary—from classic thrillers to cheesy rom-coms, and even the occasional animated film—but somehow, it always feels like the best part of your week. And, slowly, it becomes one of the best parts of living with Tony.

You look forward to the comfort of those quiet evenings, knowing that you can just curl up with a blanket and relax without any pressure or expectations. Tony usually picks the movie, claiming he has “refined taste,” and you mostly let him—except for the times when you insist on watching something with a little more plot and a little less gratuitous explosion.

One Friday Night

It’s late in the semester, and you’re running on fumes. Between exams, projects, and late-night study sessions, you’re barely getting four hours of sleep a night. You’re slouched against the arm of the couch, wrapped in your favorite blanket, trying to keep your eyes open as Tony scrolls through the movie options.

He shoots you a look, one eyebrow raised. “You sure you’re up for this? You look about two seconds away from passing out.”

You wave him off, trying to suppress a yawn. “I’m fine. Just… pick something, preferably not too loud, and not too complicated.”

“Noted,” he says with a small smirk, settling on a lighthearted rom-com.

You start the movie together, but within minutes, your eyelids are drooping, the exhaustion from the week catching up with you. Tony glances over at you occasionally, eyes softening each time he catches you nodding off, but he doesn’t say anything. He just shifts slightly so you’re more comfortable, like he’s already expecting you to fall asleep.

And then, without really thinking about it, you let yourself sink against him, your head resting on his shoulder as you drift off. He freezes at first, his body going stiff as he looks down at you, eyes widening. But you’re already halfway to sleep, curled up with your blanket, completely unaware of how close you’ve moved.

Tony’s expression softens, and he settles back into the couch, letting his arm drape casually along the back, his body relaxing beneath your weight. He takes a deep breath, a tiny smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. He’s always liked having you close, but you’re usually too guarded, too quick to pull away if he even nudges a little closer during the movie. But right now, with you dozing off against him, he can’t help but feel a quiet kind of happiness.

When the credits roll, he’s still sitting there, one arm around your shoulders, careful not to move too much in case it wakes you. He’s not sure why it feels so right, holding you like this, feeling the warmth of your body against his, but he doesn’t want it to end. Not yet.

Eventually, you shift a little, mumbling something in your sleep, and he swallows, feeling his heart skip a beat. He’s never thought of himself as someone who’s into all that romantic stuff, but right now, he’s sure he wouldn’t mind just staying here like this for a little longer.

After that first time, the accidental cuddling becomes a regular part of Friday nights. Some weeks, you manage to stay awake for most of the movie, laughing and joking with him, but other times, especially when you’re exhausted, you inevitably end up leaning against him. And each time, Tony stays perfectly still, like he doesn’t want to ruin the moment, secretly relishing the feel of you snuggled against him, warm and close.

He never says a word about it, and you don’t notice, or at least, you don’t seem to. It’s a quiet, unspoken thing between you. And in a strange way, it brings you closer, turning those Friday nights into something special.

One Friday, as you’re drifting off, you mumble something into his shoulder. “Thanks, Tony… for putting up with me,” you say, voice thick with sleep.

He chuckles softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “Anytime, Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice low. “You’re a lot easier to put up with than you think.”

And even though you’re already asleep, the faint smile on your lips tells him you know.

One rainy Tuesday, you’re buried in textbooks, barely aware of the time, when the door bursts open, and Tony steps in, drenched from head to toe. There’s water dripping from his hair, his hoodie soaked through, but that’s not what catches your attention. It’s the tiny, gray-furred creature cradled in his arms, mewling pitifully as it clings to his chest.

You gape at him. “Tony, what—?”

He grins, holding up the little kitten, who peers at you with wide, curious eyes. “Found her outside the library, all alone in the rain. Look at this face—she’s practically begging for a home.”

You blink, not entirely sure how to respond. “Tony, we can’t just… bring a stray home.”

“Why not?” He’s already taken off his jacket, now gently rubbing the kitten dry with the inside of his sleeve. “She clearly needed someone, and I figured, hey, we’ve got space. I already named her and everything.”

You fold your arms, fighting a smile. “Oh? And what, pray tell, is her name?”

He lifts the kitten up, gazing at her with an affectionate look you’ve never seen on his face before. “This is Dumpling,” he says, voice soft as he scratches under her tiny chin. “She looks like a dumpling, don’t you think?”

You burst out laughing, surprised at how fitting it is. The kitten has round, wide eyes and soft, fluffy gray fur that’s sticking up in odd directions. Despite your initial protests, you can already feel yourself softening.

“Alright, Dumpling,” you sigh, reaching out to stroke her tiny head as she lets out a delicate purr. “I guess you’re ours now.”

Tony grins, triumphant, and Dumpling stretches a little, her tiny body relaxing against his chest. And just like that, you have a cat.

Within days, Dumpling has taken over your lives—and, somehow, your relationship with Tony transforms right along with it. The two of you fall into an easy routine of “parenting,” like you’ve somehow become an unlikely team. Dumpling’s food bowl is filled, water is changed, and cat toys litter the living room floor, a mess that somehow makes the apartment feel homier.

You and Tony develop a sort of playful banter around it, too.

One morning, you catch him standing at the kitchen counter, holding a small spoonful of tuna over Dumpling’s head, his expression one of extreme concentration as he tries to get her to “high-five” for it. You snort as you walk into the kitchen.

“Really, Tony? We’re training her now?”

He turns, smirking. “Hey, she’s got potential. I think with a little more time, she might be able to help us with homework.”

You roll your eyes but secretly love the way he’s taken to Dumpling. “You’re just spoiling her,” you say, grabbing your coffee.

“Oh, and you’re not?” He raises an eyebrow, pointing to the fluffy cat bed you impulse-bought online last week. “I think someone’s getting a little too attached.”

“Okay, fair.” You shrug, and as if on cue, Dumpling saunters over to you, rubbing against your leg and purring. You bend down to pick her up, laughing as she curls up in your arms. “But I’m the responsible one. She’s clearly a daddy’s girl.”

“Oh, so I’m ‘Dad’ now?” he teases, reaching over to scratch Dumpling behind the ears. She stretches into his hand, and he gives you a mock-stern look. “That makes you the mom, doesn’t it?”

You feel a slight flush at his words, but you roll your eyes, playing along. “Fine. But if she wakes up at three in the morning, ‘Dad’ is definitely taking that shift.”

He chuckles, and there’s a warmth to it, a little spark that seems to light up every time he glances at you.

As the weeks pass, Dumpling becomes an integral part of your Friday night ritual, usually curled up in your lap or wedged between the two of you as you watch movies. She has this adorable habit of pawing at Tony’s arm if he stops petting her, and though he pretends to be annoyed, you know he secretly loves it.

One night, Tony is stretched out on the couch, Dumpling sprawled lazily across his chest as he scratches her head. You’re curled up beside him, drowsy after a long week, watching a classic rom-com as the rain patters against the window. It’s cozy, peaceful, and you’re so comfortable that you can’t help but let your head rest against his shoulder. The weight of his arm, slung casually over the back of the couch, feels like it’s holding you there, like maybe he wants you just as close as you want to be.

Somewhere in the movie, Dumpling hops down and trots off to her bed, leaving just the two of you on the couch. You’re both quiet, the movie long forgotten as the rain falls softly outside.

When Tony shifts beside you, you feel him turn slightly, his gaze lingering. You look up at him, and for a moment, the two of you just stare at each other, the space between you seeming smaller and smaller.

He clears his throat, almost like he’s about to break the silence, but instead, he just chuckles softly, brushing a stray hair from your face. “You know, I think Dumpling was onto something.”

“Onto what?” you murmur, heart beating just a little faster.

He grins, that warm, gentle grin you’ve come to love. “She figured out she likes being close to you way faster than I did.”

Your breath catches, and you’re not sure if it’s the rain or the warmth in his voice, but something inside you pulls you toward him, drawn by the tenderness in his eyes, the way his fingers lightly brush your cheek. “Tony…”

He leans in, so close now you can feel his breath on your skin. “Yeah?”

You don’t answer, and he doesn’t wait, his lips capturing yours in a soft, lingering kiss. It’s tender, unhurried, like he’s savoring the moment, and you melt into him, feeling the warmth of his hand gently cradling your face. All those unspoken moments, the teasing, the playful “parenting” of Dumpling, the late-night study sessions—all of it seems to click into place, like you were always meant to be here, like this.

When you finally pull back, your face flushes with warmth, and he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the world.

“I didn’t know I needed that,” he says softly, a little breathless, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek.

You smile, your fingers finding his as you hold his hand. “Neither did I. Guess we can thank Dumpling.”

He laughs, that soft, happy sound that makes your heart skip a beat. “Yeah, our little matchmaker.”

From then on, the apartment feels different, warmer. Friday nights turn into something even sweeter, and Dumpling, your shared “little family member,” watches with a quiet approval, curling up beside you as you and Tony share the couch, hands intertwined, each of you finally knowing exactly where you belong.

Being with Tony as a couple is somehow both everything you expected and completely different. The teasing and playful dynamic remains, but there’s a new, unspoken warmth in everything you do together, a kind of quiet intimacy that’s hard to put into words.

You both quickly fall into a routine, but with small moments that make your heart race, the soft touches and lingering glances that remind you this is real now. Dumpling is still the center of attention in your little “family,” and her mischievous nature keeps you both on your toes.

It’s a lazy Tuesday morning, and you’re attempting to get ready for class. You’re putting on your makeup in the bathroom when Tony comes up behind you, arms slipping around your waist, chin propped on your shoulder as he gazes at your reflection in the mirror.

“You know, you look pretty cute in the mornings, even if you’re annoyed,” he murmurs, grinning as he watches your expression in the mirror. Dumpling is at your feet, playfully pawing at the hem of his jeans as he nuzzles against your shoulder.

“‘Annoyed’ is putting it lightly,” you say, though a smile slips through. “Dumpling decided to wake me up at 4 a.m. because someone decided it was a good idea to feed her a can of tuna last night.”

He shrugs, unrepentant. “She deserves the best. Besides, you look extra pretty when you’re slightly annoyed.” He presses a gentle kiss on your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.

You roll your eyes but turn to face him, the playfulness in his eyes melting into something softer. He brushes a thumb over your cheek and then kisses you softly. You hear a soft meow at your feet, and Tony chuckles against your lips, pulling back only to scoop Dumpling up. “Alright, little one. Mom and Dad have classes to get to. Try not to destroy the place while we’re gone.”

Dumpling mews indignantly but seems satisfied when Tony scratches her head, her loud purr filling the bathroom.

Word about you and Tony spreads across campus faster than either of you expects. For a while, you just think you’re imagining the occasional stares, the murmurs when you and Tony sit together at lunch, his arm slung casually over the back of your chair as he chats with his friends. But soon enough, the stares turn into glares, particularly from some of the girls who used to linger around him before you two were official.

You overhear whispers in the library one afternoon as you’re studying. Two girls at a nearby table are staring over, murmuring to each other with pinched expressions.

“Can you believe he’s with her? Tony Stark?” one of them says, not-so-subtly looking you up and down.

The other girl huffs, rolling her eyes. “She must’ve done something to reel him in. I mean, he could do way better.”

Their words sting, but you pretend not to notice, focusing instead on your notes. Just then, Tony appears behind you, pressing a kiss to your temple, and plopping down in the seat next to you. The two girls exchange wide-eyed glances, their whispers silencing instantly. You try to brush it off, but Tony notices the tension in your shoulders.

“Don’t listen to them,” he says quietly, his hand finding yours beneath the table. “They don’t know what they’re talking about.”

You look at him, and he gives you that soft, reassuring smile that makes everything else fade away. With him beside you, the whispers and stares don’t matter. You squeeze his hand, feeling a quiet pride at being the one he chose.

The Friday movie nights are still sacred, but now they have an even cozier feel. You and Tony snuggle up on the couch, Dumpling curled between you or lazily sprawled across your laps. The cat’s purring is a constant soundtrack, her favorite place being Tony’s lap, where she can knead her tiny paws against his hoodie.

One night, you’re nestled together, Dumpling snoozing away as the credits roll on an old thriller Tony insisted on watching. You turn to him, still feeling the thrill of the movie but comforted by his warmth beside you.

“I think we make a pretty good team, don’t you?” you murmur, resting your head against his chest.

He chuckles, kissing the top of your head. “The best team. Even if Dumpling keeps trying to sabotage my snacks.” He’s referring to how Dumpling “steals” the popcorn from his lap whenever he’s not looking.

You smile, pulling his arm closer around you. “And if she’s got any competition for attention on campus, I think I know who her biggest fan is.”

He laughs, his arm tightening around you, his face lighting up. “Well, can you blame me? Between you and Dumpling, I’ve got everything I need.”

It’s a quiet Saturday morning, and you’re curled up in bed, still half-asleep, when you feel the mattress dip slightly. You open one eye to see Tony settling Dumpling gently beside you, her little head nestled into your pillow. He grins as you blink at him, half-confused and half-amused.

“Good morning, sunshine,” he whispers, leaning down to kiss you. Dumpling lets out a tiny squeak between the two of you, as if demanding her own share of attention.

With Tony’s gentle kiss, the cozy weight of Dumpling snuggled next to you, and the soft light filtering through the window, you can’t remember ever feeling this content. It’s just a small moment, but it’s perfect, each day settling you further into this life you’re building together.

One night, you’re both lying in bed, Dumpling curled up at the foot, fast asleep. You’re wrapped in Tony’s arms, his fingers gently tracing patterns along your shoulder as you lie in comfortable silence, the room lit by the soft glow of the city outside.

Out of nowhere, Tony clears his throat, and you can feel his heartbeat quicken slightly. He takes a breath, then murmurs, “I love you.”

It’s so soft that you almost miss it, but your heart skips, warmth flooding through you. You look up, seeing the nervous but hopeful look in his eyes.

A smile spreads across your face as you reach up, touching his cheek. “I love you too, Tony,” you say, voice soft but steady.

His face breaks into a grin, and he pulls you close, pressing a kiss to your forehead as if sealing the words between you. Dumpling lets out a sleepy, annoyed noise, but you both laugh, neither of you moving.

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[thestrangepoet]

The Furrcinating Adventures of Champion, the Archives Cat | The Magnus Archives Fanfiction | Ch 2/?

Based on @ultramarinaa’s Cat!Martin AU 

CONTENT WARNINGS: None

DISCLAIMER: As per usual, this is an unedited first draft that I haven’t proofread. Forgive any typos and roughness around the edges – I tend not to go back over fanfics, as they’re just a bit of fun writing for me. (I am a full-time professional writer, and if I start telling myself I need to edit and proofread my fanfics, it’ll cease being fun for me.) ← Previous Chapter | Next Chapter →

──── •✧• ────

The weekly Monday team meeting had never inspired much in the way of passion in the past, but then, the topic of Champion the cat had never been raised before.  

“If you’re adamant about it living in the archives, Jon, then my requirement is that it be useful!” Elias repeated, pulling a silk handkerchief from his pocket and discreetly wiping his eyes. He kept a healthy distance from the Head Archivist and the armful of ginger-and-white fluff he held, but the creature’s shedding fur seemed determined to attack him all the same. 

Jon readjusted the cat in his arms, his stubborn scowl set despite his difficult load. “Champion is useful!” he retorted, earning a loud and happy purr from a delighted Champion. “And he will remain useful in the archives, yes. Not in the tunnels!” 

In the what? Martin thought to himself, snapping out of his happy reverie of Jon complimenting him. Admittedly, he hadn’t been paying quite as much attention to the meeting as he ought to have been. It was difficult when he’d been allowed to sit on one of the comfier chairs, and Jon had been scratching behind his ear the whole time. 

“He’ll not be locked in there.” Elias sniffed and narrowed his eyes at Champion, as though he’d like nothing more than to keep the cat underground at all times. “I’m not that cruel. But I have reason to believe there are rats in the tunnels…or at least one…” A smirk played on his thin, pale lips. “It would be a better use of resources to have the cat flush any out.”

“Of course there are rats in the tunnels! This is London! And the tunnels are underground! You can’t expect Champion to rout out every bloody rodent this side of the Thames!” Jon squeezed Champion a little harder than was comfortable, but Champion didn’t protest. 

Tim, however, spoke up from where he was lounging behind them, his chair rocked back onto two legs. “He’s got a point, Elias. Have you seen Champion chase a laser pointer yet? Honestly, it’s pretty tragic. I don’t think he can see all that well, you know.”

“It’s a cat,” Elias drawled, looking down his nose at Tim. “I’m sure its eyesight is fine. Look, this is not up for debate. Either the cat is put to use in the tunnels during the day, or it goes to a cat sanctuary. Tonight.”

Champion wriggled in Jon’s grip, panic surging. If he ended up in a cat rescue centre, then what? He’d have absolutely zero chance of anyone realising something was wrong – a normal family wouldn’t even know things could be paranormally wrong about their cat! If he was going to have any hope of changing back, he had to stay in the archives!

“Shh, shh, it’s all right, Champion, don’t listen to Elias,” Jon said, petting the wiggling giant in his arms. “We’d never put you in a rescue centre. You could live with me! Or Tim!” “Err, actually Boss, my landlord—” 

“Or Sasha! Or even Rosie! No one’s going to abandon you here, don’t you worry.” 

Champion settled somewhat, if only because his heart began to swell at the very notion of not being abandoned. Joy and sorrow in equal measure – Martin had never been so noticed and cared for before. And yet…he wasn’t Martin, was he? They didn’t care about Martin; they cared about Champion the cat. In fact, Martin’s absence had only been brought up in passing at the meeting to ask if anyone had heard from him, and to agree Tim would swing by his flat again that night. 

“The point stands, Jon.” Elias gathered up his files from the meeting and began to head to the door. “If that bloody cat is here when I next visit, it’ll be thrown out the front door. If you’re going to insist on it being here during working hours, it goes in the tunnels.” 

──── •✧• ────

The trapdoor closed behind them, plunging both Jon and Champion into a moment of gloom. Jon rustled around in his bag for a moment, then something clicked; he’d pulled out a flashlight, and its bright beam pierced the dark ahead of them with ease. 

Champion looked up at Jon, bashing his head lightly against the man’s thin leg. 

Please don’t do this! Don’t leave me down here! I can hide under the desk, o-or under the bookcase, or hell, Tim’s car all day, I don’t mind! Just not down here on my own!

Jon, evidently sensing Martin’s distress, crouched down and petted his head lightly. “Don’t you worry. We’ll be fine. If Elias wants you down here, well…we’ll have to do that. But he never said you had to be alone.” 

The head archivist straightened up then, taking a few tentative steps further into the tunnels. “I-I’ll be here with you. And eventually, Elias will realise this is a grand waste of time. Besides…there’ll be horrible echoes in the statement recordings I do down here. He’ll have to give in.” 

He turned to offer a smile to Champion; yet another Martin had gained this week despite months of trying as a human. Still, the reassurance that wouldn’t be alone down there meant Champion trotted after Jon, keeping close to the light and to his companion.

Jon chuckled. “There we are, see? It’s actually not so bad down here, is it? It was worse a few months ago – full of worms. A-and a worm-woman. But she’s not here anymore. Don’t you worry.” 

Jon led them both to one of the many doors leading off from the main tunnel. He paused, pulling out a piece of chalk from his bag and marking an arrow back the way they’d come. Then, he opened the door. 

He peered inside – by his feet, so too did Champion – checking for any sign of danger. Seeing none, Jon pushed the door further open. “Right! This can be our office, then. You don’t need to be wandering the tunnels, Champion – Elias said nothing about that. Only that you had to be in the tunnels.” 

Jon headed inside, setting his bag down on the ground and then sitting himself down. Champion hurried after him curling up as close to Jon’s leg as possible, shivering a little. A comforting hand came down once again to stroke his fur. “Oh, I know…It’s not as nice as the archives, but hopefully, we won’t have to endure this for too long. Just until Elias gets sick of the echo.” 

He pulled out a tape recorder from his bag, giving it a little wiggle to highlight his point. “He’ll have to cave eventually.”

Champion wasn’t so sure. What was to stop Elias simply demanding Jon return to work in the office and then chucking him down in the tunnels and locking the trapdoor? What if Elias got the locks changed? What if he got stuck down there, lost among the twisting corridors – oh God, what if Michael found him again? 

Champion shivered, lying down flat on his front and putting his paws over his eyes. It didn’t last long, however, before a worried Jon scooped him up, tape recorder and statement forgotten on the floor beside him. 

“Oh, Champion, it’s all right! I’m here!” he said, bringing him up for another cuddle that threatened to smother Jon in fluff. “I know, this place is horrid, isn’t it? It won’t be forever, I promise. A-and maybe I can bring some more things down every day to make it comfortable? I wonder if Martin would mind if we borrowed his emergency jumper stash to make you a little bed in here? We can ask Tim to check with him tonight when—” 

Jon’s reassurances were deftly severed by a loud bang from further up the tunnels that made both of them jump. Champion in particular yeowled and scrambled up from Jon’s arms to wrap around his head, knocking his glasses and latching on like the world’s weirdest woolly hat. 

“Gak! Champion, I can’t see if you do that!” 

Still, Champion wouldn’t let go. He stared at the door to their makeshift office in the tunnels, waiting to see what horror had caused that sound even as Jon’s hands tried to unpeel him from his head. 

The hands stopped as the door to their room began to creak open…

──── •✧• ────

[sweetprfct]

The Hate Formula

Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: Living in the same building, across from each other shouldn't be much of a problem, right? But how come you and Joe tend to always push each other's buttons every day? Is it because you both truly just hated each other or is it because there was something more to it?

Author's Note: Let the chaos begin! This was a really fun chapter to write, so I hope you all enjoy! :)

Disclaimer: 18+

Wordcount: 3.4K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five - part six - part seven - part eight - part nine - part ten

“Oh god! Yes, Joe!”

Your eyes snapped open as you grabbed the pillow from behind you and set it over your head. You closed your eyes again and forced yourself to fall back to sleep. It was about 2am, and you still had work the next morning. The last thing you wanted to hear was some random woman crying out Joe’s name in the middle of the night.

“Yes! Yes! Fuck!”

Exhaling a sharp breath, you took the pillow off your head, kicked your comforter frustratingly and swung your legs over your bed. Letting your feet touch the cold wooden floors, you reached over to turn on the light from your lamp and slid your robe around your body. 

“Jesus fucking Christ!” You cursed under your breath when you saw what time it was. 

“Yes! Ah–Joe!” 

Shaking your head, you walked out of your room, out the door of your apartment and into the elevator. The amount of noise complaints that you have filed for Joe for the last two years have been–well– countless. You have filed so many that you have lost track of the amount, and you at least have one almost every month. It wasn’t like you enjoyed walking into your landlord’s office every morning and complaining that the women that Joe would bring home were always too loud. You didn’t need to hear them cry out his name nor hear their moans in the middle of the night, especially on the nights that you have work the next day. 

The noises were worse during the weekends, and you didn’t exactly remember when all of this started. Maybe a month or two after you have moved into the building. All you knew was that this has been going on for the last two years, and it all started on a Sunday night when you were trying to go to sleep early since you have work the next morning, and you heard a woman moaning Joe’s name literally outside the hall. 

When you had opened your front door, you saw the woman pinned against Joe’s front door. His lips on her chest, and his hand was basically grabbing her ass. One leg curled around his hip, and she kept moaning his name. Sighing and rolling your eyes, you walked over to them and tapped Joe on his shoulder. Then, Joe pulled away and the both of them immediately froze and turned to face you. The woman looked annoyed, and Joe’s brows were all knitted together. He also looked annoyed over the fact that you had interrupted his little makeout session in the middle of the hall. 

You could tell that he was a bit drunk by just looking at his glassy eyes and his flushed cheeks. A smirk appeared across his face the moment he saw you standing there, your arms crossed in front of your chest. 

“What is it, love?” Joe asked.

You made a face as soon as you heard the little nickname that Joe had given you. Even in front of the girl that he was making out with, nothing stopped him from flirting with another one. He didn’t care at all about anything. 

“It’s midnight. I can literally hear the both of you through my front door and all the way into my room.”

You heard the woman scoff and saw how she rolled her eyes at you as Joe set her back down. He looked around the quiet empty hallway and turned back to you. 

“No one else is complaining about it.” Joe argued. 

“Take it inside your apartment or I’m gonna file a complaint about you.” You warned him.

Walking away, you sighed in frustration as soon as you closed the door behind you. Settling back in your bed, you pulled the covers close to your chest and closed your eyes. You were tired, and you just wanted to sleep. However, the moment you started drifting off, you started hearing the woman moaning Joe’s name again.

“Ugh!” You groaned in frustration, grabbing your other pillow and set it over your head. 

You didn’t sleep a wink that night, and you immediately went straight to the landlord’s office early in the morning. You had dark circles under your eyes, and you had decided to work from home that day. 

“Mrs. Johnson, I can literally hear them all the way to my room.” You complained. 

Mrs. Johnson sighed, leaning back against her chair and gave you a look. She looked like she didn’t believe a word you said as you continued to explain that this wasn’t the first time you have been hearing these noises.

“Mrs. Johnson, it gets worse on the weekends. I mean… fine, it’s the weekend but really? I have work the next day, and I can’t sleep because of him.”

“I’ll give him a warning.” Mrs. Johnson stated. “If he doesn’t stop then, I’ll talk to him and see what we can do.”

Pursing your lips, you nodded your head and sighed. You entered the elevator going back up to your apartment, feeling defeated and pissed off. You could clearly see her face when you told her what was going on and even if she didn’t have to say anything, you knew she didn’t believe you. You couldn’t help but wonder if it was because Joe was an actor, and he had bigger privileges than you. That just wouldn’t be fair. 

Entering your apartment, you saw Sara sitting on the dining table with her work laptop in front of her. A surprise look washed over her face when she saw you enter the apartment, still in your pajamas and robe. 

“I thought you already left for work?” Sara asked, her eyes scanning your current state.

You looked exhausted.

“I should be asking you the same thing.” You murmured, walking into the kitchen and pouring yourself a cup of coffee. 

“I decided to work from home.” Sara replied.

“That makes two of us.” You exhaled a sharp breath and sat across from her on the dining table. 

“Where did you go?”

You shook your head and rolled your eyes recalling what just happened back in Mrs. Johnson’s office. For some reason, with the way Mrs. Johnson was reacting to your little complaint, you sort of felt embarrassed. You went there early in the morning to complain about Joe for fuck’s sake. But it wasn’t your fault. They really were loud last night, and you couldn’t sleep. 

How come it felt like you were the bad guy here?

“Downstairs.” You bit your lower lip, playing with your coffee mug. “Complained to Mrs. Johnson about Joe’s little noise last night.”

“Ohmygod.” Sara rubbed her forehead softly. “Why? What happened now?”

“Sara, didn’t you hear how loud they were last night?” 

It was only 7am, and you were already frustrated and stressed over this situation. How was Joe able to just tick you off like this even when he wasn’t even around at the moment?

“No?” Sara furrowed her brows. “Don’t you think it’s time to put a stop to this? Do you two always have to banter in the middle of the hall all the time?”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “Sara, I literally couldn’t sleep last night. Are you on my side or his?”

“I’m on the ‘I wanna keep living here’ side.” Sara answered. “You both are lucky that none of the other tenants have filed a complaint with both of your loud bantering in the middle of the hall all the time.” 

Slumping on your chair, you took a sip of your coffee and gazed out of the big glass window for a moment. Sara could see the anger in your face, and it wasn’t just anger. There was some resentment in it too. She wondered if there was an end goal to this little game that you two were playing, and she wondered if you both would ever get tired of it. 

“Did you really not hear anything from last night?” You asked, your voice low. 

“No,” Sara replied, her eyes focused on her laptop again. “I don’t hear anything from his end.”

“Maybe because your room is farther.” You mumbled under your breath, taking another sip of your coffee.

“Maybe…” Sara elongated her words, reluctant to tell you what she really thinks. “Maybe you tend to hyperfixate your attention to him, that's why every thing he does, you sort of notice or hear it.” 

You stared at Sara for a moment before grimacing at the comment she just told you. Sara didn’t know what she was talking about. She has no idea how much hate you held into that man. She didn’t understand how much you just wished he would leave you alone. 

“He’s the last thing that I could be thinking of when I go to bed.” You shook your head and redacted your statement, “Wait, what am I saying? He’s never in my head. I don’t bother thinking of him.”

“Mhmm…” Sara’s eyes were laser focused on her laptop screen.

She didn’t bother arguing with you if you were only just going to keep denying the real reason as to why you kept up this little game with Joe. However, she didn’t think that Joe would also play the game that you started because he also came knocking on your door one Saturday night. You and Sara were watching a comedy movie in your living room, minding your own business and enjoying your night when you both heard a knock. Both of you exchanged looks for a moment. You both didn’t expect anyone coming over, so who was knocking on your door at this hour? 

The moment you swung the door open, you saw Joe standing there waiting for you. The expression on his face was telling you that he was here to irritate you on your peaceful Saturday night. 

“What do you want, Joe?” You asked, crossing your arms on your chest. 

Joe gave you a smile and said, “Can you please turn your laughter down a little? I can hear it all the way across the hall.” 

Was he playing with you? 

Was this his little revenge from the way you interrupted his little makeout session about a month ago? 

“What? She’s not screaming your name loud enough?” You raised your brow at him, anger already slowly coursing through your veins. 

Joe’s grin widened as he took a step forward. His lips grazed over your earlobe, a shiver sent down your spine when you realized how close he was with you. You could practically feel his breathing on your ear. You stood there frozen, your feet glued to the ground, and you could feel him grinning in your ear.

“I like to hear her moan my name clearly.” He whispered.

Immediately, that good feeling that rushed down your body faded as you scrunch your face and pushed him away from you. He laughed softly, stumbling back, and you could see his eyes twinkling in merriment. 

“You’re fucking disgusting!” You exclaimed. 

“If you don’t keep it down, love, I’m gonna file a complaint.” Joe’s voice sounded playful. 

“Then file a complaint. I don’t fucking care, you disgusting pig!” You yelled before slamming the door on his face. 

Shaking the memories away, you exited out of the elevator and pulled your robe closer to your chest. It was in the middle of the night and luckily for you, Mrs. Johnson was still awake. Sometimes you wonder if she ever slept because she was always in her office 24/7. Although, that was the least of your worries right now. Entering her office, she gazed up at you and immediately her eyes rolled to the back of her head as she let out an annoyed sigh. 

“What is it this time?” She asked. 

“It’s literally been going on for an hour now. I can hear it all the way to my bedroom.” You complained. 

Without saying a word, Mrs. Johnson got up from her chair as you followed her towards the elevator. Tension in the air blanketed the both of you as you both waited for the elevator to take you back up to your floor. You crossed your arms in front of your chest and bit your lower lip. You could see from the corner of your eye that Mrs. Johnson looked pissed. 

When the elevator doors opened, you couldn’t help but sigh in relief as the tension left between the both of you. You stood behind Mrs. Johnson as she knocked on Joe’s door. You could hear silent voices behind the door suddenly stopped. When the door swung open, you and Mrs. Johnson gasped in surprise and immediately turned away. 

“Oh my god!” You exclaimed, turning your back to Joe. 

He was literally naked and a small towel was the only thing covering his front. Mrs. Johnson was even more frustrated as she shook her head, her hands found her hips. 

“Mr. Quinn, is this how you greet your guests?” She asked, her voice cold. 

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Johnson. I thought it was just her.” Joe disappeared from behind his door and grabbed a bigger towel to wrap it around his waist before stepping out from behind the door again. 

You knitted your brows. What did he mean by that? So, was he doing all of this on purpose? He purposely knew that you were going to be on the other side of the door, so he was acting like this? 

What a fucking asshole.

Your blood was literally boiling as you side eyed him, and he was giving you a devious grin. His eyes were only to you, and he didn’t even care that Mrs. Johnson was literally in front of him. She sighed and rubbed her forehead as she looked over her shoulder to look at you before turning back to Joe. 

“The two of you are literally the worst part of my job.” Mrs. Johnson murmured. 

Your eyes widened as you turned to face both of them. How were you the bad guy all the time? Joe was the one who was always causing trouble, and you were just telling her the truth! 

“He’s literally the one who’s making noises all the time!” You argued.

Joe scoffed at your argument, “Me? I can hear your goose laugh all the way to my apartment all the time!”

Your jaw dropped on the floor as you took a step forward towards him, your eyes sparking in anger. 

“Oh, yeah? Does the whole floor really have to hear you having sex all the time?”

“Does the whole floor have to hear your annoying laugh all the time?” Joe argued, taking a step forward towards you too.

“At least I’m not a fuckboy who brings different women every night, thinking he’s all that.”

“At least I’m not spending my weekends with cheap pizza and a pint of ice cream all the time.”

“I’ll rather spend my Saturday nights with cheap pizza and a pint of ice cream than breaking a woman’s heart and leading them on, acting like I’m interested but really, I’m just a player who loves the fucking attention!”

Joe knitted his brows, his eyes blinking at the argument you threw at him. Suddenly, he realized there was a deeper meaning in the sentence that you just yelled at him. He stared at you, stunned and didn’t know what to say. Mrs. Johnson pushed the both of you away from each other as she stepped in between the two of you. 

“Enough!” She exclaimed. 

Joe saw the look on your face when you realized what you told him as the both of you slowly looked away from each other and turned to Mrs. Johnson, who looked angry and exhausted. 

“I’ve had enough of both of you! One more complaint and I will kick the both of you out of here!”

Your mouth hung open in shock as Mrs. Johnson pointed at you and then at Joe, giving the both of you a warning look before walking away. Your nose flared in anger as you gave Joe a cold side eye. He also looked stunned from what Mrs. Johnson just said. You were mentally punching Joe in your head at the moment. You wouldn’t be in this situation if he would just shut up for once and stop pressing your buttons. 

Exhaling a sharp frustrated breath, you turned and walked back to your apartment.

“Hey.” Joe called out. 

Pausing in your tracks, you turned to him. “What?!”

Joe walked closer to you, his chocolate button eyes staring deeply into yours. For some reason, there was something in his eyes that you couldn’t describe what it was. It was almost too genuine, but you doubt it. He was an actor. He could pretend anytime he wanted to. 

“I’ll keep the noise down.” He stated sternly. “If you start talking nice to me.”

His face was inches close to yours as you smiled and glanced down at his bare chest. Your index finger grazing over his soft skin, making Joe hitch his breath. He could feel his skin burning under your touch, and he tried to hold himself together as he felt his face flushed. Then, suddenly, the smile on your face fell.

“I’ll rather live on the streets than be nice to you!” You stated. 

Then, your fingers found the hem of his towel before you yanked it down and immediately turned your back to him, smiling deviously. You didn’t even bother looking back as you walked towards your apartment.

“Hey!” Joe exclaimed, immediately picking up his towel and covering his front. 

Before you could close your front door, you cheekily grinned as you watched him walk back to his apartment, his bum literally hanging out in front of you. You couldn’t help but stare at it before closing the door. 

“I told you that this was going to happen!” Sara scolded you the next morning when you had told her Mrs. Johnson’s warning from last night. 

You bit your lower lip, feeling your blood rushed to your cheeks. Sara was furious, and you couldn’t blame her because you knew how many times she had warned you about this and the day had finally come. 

“I’ll try to stop.” You murmured, hanging your head low.

“You better because I want to keep living here.” Sara barked. “That little game you and Joe are playing is not just about you two. It’s affecting my living situation too, and I’m sure everyone on this floor is sick of it too.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”  

Sara sighed and shook her head as comfortable silence blanketed the living room. You knew that this time, you had fucked up. This time, it was partly your fault for bringing Sara into this mess. 

“I’m sorry.” You said again, interrupting the silence. “I’ll try to be… civil.”

“It’s okay.” Sara murmured. “Before you told me about this, I actually have something to tell you. Maybe it will help you to avoid Joe.”

“What is it?” 

“My co-worker Garrett saw the picture of us on my Instagram, and he was wondering if he could take you out on a date.”

You raised your brow at her, reluctant about the idea. 

“I hope he’s not an asshole.”

“He’s not. He’s really nice.” Sara smiled excitedly. “He’s blond, has green eyes and he works in Finance.”

You chuckled softly at the description that Sara gave you. You knew that she knew how picky you were with men. It had to be someone that was your type when it came to looks besides the fact that you were also picky with their personality. It was no wonder as to why you were still single until now. 

“Well, if he’s so nice and beautiful, why don’t you date him?” 

Sara shrugged and said, “Because I don’t like him like that. We’re just friends.”

You let out a soft hum as you thought over the suggestion that Sara gave you. You didn’t really want to go and date someone that you didn’t know. Someone you haven’t met at all, and you truly didn’t like being set up on a blind date. However, maybe Sara was right. This might help you avoid Joe. You could see him less if you had your attention to someone else. 

“Fine.” You agreed. “But if this doesn’t work out, it’ll be all your fault.”

Sara laughed softly. “Alright, alright.” 

********

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